Chapter 4: The Draught

I waited until the sun went down.

All day I carried the vial in my sock, and every time I moved I felt it against my ankle.

By dusk Monday I was on Legare Street again, standing at his iron gate in my yellow rain slicker.

The jasmine hung heavy and sweet over the wall.

The gate swung open before I touched it.

He was in the doorway at the top of the steps, in shirtsleeves, with his hair loose around his shoulders.

He looked like he hadn't slept.

"You came back," he said.

"I brought you a present."

I walked up the steps, dug in my sock, and set the vial in his palm.

He went still.

"Where did you get this?"

"Manigault. Three in the morning, at the diner. He had pie."

I folded my arms.

"He told me to pour it in your drink. Ten seconds and I'd be free."

Emeric lifted the vial to his face.

He breathed in once, and I watched his jaw lock.

"Silver nitrate," he said. "Wolfsbane, ground fine. And something sweet to cover it."

"What does it do?"

"It doesn't break an oath, Clem. Nothing breaks an oath." He turned the glass in the light. "It stops the heart that holds the oath."

I had to sit down on the top step.

He crouched in front of me, close but not touching, and set the vial on the stone between us.

"Pippa told me the Court would unbind you gently," I said. "A cup of something sweet."

"She said that?"

"She's his ward, Emeric. She lives in his house."

His face tightened.

"Ask me," he said suddenly. "Ask me why he wants me dead. You haven't, and I'd like you to."

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