Chapter 9 - The Poisoner's Vault
"You think you're very clever, don't you, my dear?" Victoria whispered, her voice dropping into a low, murderous rasp that no longer pretended to be polite. "You think a title and a marriage certificate will protect you in this house?"
"I don't need a certificate to protect me, Victoria," Clara said, leaning forward across the mahogany table, her green eyes locking onto her enemy's with lethal intensity. "I have your syringe."
Victoria’s posture went rigid as a corpse.
"What did you say?"
"The small glass vial you dropped near the pantry stairs last night when you pushed me," Clara lied smoothly, her tone completely devoid of hesitation. "The one labeled Thallium Sulfate - 0.05% Solution. It’s currently in a safe deposit box at the Bank of Scotland in Edinburgh, along with a statement signed by your father's primary physician."
The lie was brilliant, birthed from the sheer desperation of their plight. There was no vial in Edinburgh, but Victoria didn't know that. She knew only that she had lost her footing during the scuffle near the pantry, and that she had indeed lost a small ampoule from her velvet apron pocket during the chaos of the night.
Victoria’s hand snaked out, gripping the edge of the table so hard her long nails turned blue. Her platinum-blonde hair seemed to bristling under the chandelier light.
"You are playing a dangerous game, girl," Victoria hissed.
"It's not a game, Victoria," Daniel interrupted, standing up from his chair and looking down at his stepmother like a judge pronouncing a sentence. "It's an eviction. You have forty-eight hours to pack your personal belongings and vacate the St. Jude Estate. If you are still on this property by Thursday morning, the Edinburgh police will execute a warrant for the attempted murder of my father."
Victoria stared at them—at Daniel standing tall in his black suit, and at Clara sitting proudly in her burgundy silk, her copper hair shining like a shield of fire.
She didn't scream. She didn't throw her china. She slowly stood up from the table, smoothed down her white silk gown, and looked at Clara with an expression of pure, unadulterated evil.
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"Forty-eight hours," Victoria murmured, a chilling, faint smile touching her red lips. "A great deal can happen in forty-eight hours, Daniel. Especially in a house as old... and as dark... as this one."
She turned and walked out of the breakfast room, her silk gown rustling against the doorframe like the scales of a serpent sliding through dry leaves.
