Free The Perfect Poison by Amanda Quick

a bone-rattling thud. The muffling, entangling robes proved a great hindrance to landing solid blows. In the rising tide of firelight Caleb saw his opponent’s pistol on the floor.
    The cult leader fought back like a man who was, indeed, in the grip of a demonic possession. But there was no science in his efforts, just a great deal of wild thrashing, punching and screaming. There was also a great deal of odd cursing.
    “You will burn in Charun’s dungeon of fire, unbeliever.”
    “By the power of Charun, I command you to die.”
    The man was truly mad, Caleb thought. He was not just another dangerous criminal talent who had set himself up as the head of a cult. The Servant actually believed in the demon lord that he had created in his own demented mind.
    “We have to get out of here,” Caleb said, trying to reach some remnant of sanity in the man’s disordered brain.
    “It is Charun.” The leader struggled to his knees, suddenly fascinated by the flames. “He is here.” In the flaring light there was awe and euphoric wonder on his face. “He has come to deliver me from you. Now you will pay with your soul for daring to assault one who serves the demon.”
    The flames had reached a cloth-draped table. The black fabric quickly caught fire. Heavy smoke roiled through the room. The leader appeared utterly transfixed by the growing inferno.
    Caleb picked up his gun and brought the butt of the weapon down quite forcefully against the back of the other man’s skull.
    The leader slumped forward.
    Caleb dropped the gun into his pocket. Staying low in an effort to avoid the worst of the smoky atmosphere, he pulled out a large handkerchief and clapped it across his nose and mouth. A quick glance around told him that they were the only two people left in the chamber.
    Once again he seized the cowl of the Servant’s robe and used it to drag the unconscious man across the stone floor.
    He hauled his burden past the black velvet curtain. The air on the other side of the doorway was much sweeter but the passageway was unlit. Darkness loomed.
    He dropped the handkerchief and flattened one hand on the wall of the stone tunnel. Behind him there was another violent whoosh as the velvet curtain fell to the flames. He did not look back. Using the old stones and the scent of fresh air as a guide, he made his way toward the far end of the tunnel, dragging the leader behind him.
    Lantern light splashed ahead, pushing aside the darkness. A moment later a figure loomed. The glary yellow light illuminated a familiar face.
    “Imagine meeting you here, cousin,” Caleb said.
    “What the devil kept you?” Gabriel Jones reached down to assist with the unconscious leader. “The plan was for you to come out with Fletcher and the boy.”
    “Didn’t want to risk losing this bastard.” Caleb sucked in the clean air. “Then there was a small problem with a fire.”
    “Yes, I can see that. Who is he?”
    “Don’t know his name yet. Calls himself the Servant of Charun. Whoever he is, he’s mad as a hatter. Fletcher and the boy are safe?”
    “Yes. They’re waiting for us outside. So are Spellar and some constables. They’ve rounded up several of the cult members.”
    “No point arresting them. They were all young, gullible street boys. I’m quite sure that whatever belief they had in the powers of their demon lord just got extinguished.”
    They emerged from the tunnel to find several frightened acolytes and a considerable number of constables milling around the yard of the old, abandoned inn that had served as the cult’s temple. Lanterns lit the chaotic scene.
    Edmund Fletcher hurried toward him. The boy he had rescued was at his heels.
    “Are you all right, sir?” Edmund asked.
    He radiated an exultant excitement. Caleb recognized the aftereffects that often accompany a close brush with danger combined with the powerful thrill that comes from pushing one’s talent to the maximum degree. He was starting to feel a similar rush of