Free Tenfold More Wicked by Viola Carr

cast her patient into shadow.
    Eliza cleared her throat. “Sorry to keep you waiting, madam . . .” Her guts heated. “Oh. I’m so terribly sorry. I was expecting . . .”
    â€œNo matter.” The gentleman—fancy that!—jumped up, bowler hat in hand. A youthful fellow, blond with an upturned nose. He bowed, eyes—green or hazel?—twinkling. “Moriarty Quick, at your service or for your entertainment, whichever lasts the longer.”
    Despite her embarrassment, the Dubliner’s lilt on that odd greeting charmed her. “Delighted, sir. Dr. Eliza Jekyll.”
    â€œI know who y’are. This is your office.” An impish smile that matched his surname. Expensive bottle-green coat, black satin necktie in an elaborate knot. Not impecunious. Vain, she guessed; he had the kind of rakish aspect that had beenfashionable twenty or thirty years ago, but was now considered disreputable.
    â€œPlease, sit.” She took her own desk chair, confused. Dozens of physicians worked in the West End alone. Had she come recommended? “Forgive my presumption. It’s only . . . a female physician tends to attract . . .”
    â€œOnly the finest clientele, I’m sure. Yours is the clever sex, and mine the humble. I submit eagerly to your expertise.”
    He muffled a dry cough, reminding Eliza of her own parched throat, where that new pink remedy’s sweetfire flavor lingered. “Water, sir? Or tea?”
    â€œI could murder a whiskey.” Another cheeky smile. “But we’ve barely met. Water would be grand.”
    She poured two glasses, and sipped. Pink iridescence swirled from her lips, coating the water’s surface like oil. “What can I do for you, Mr. Quick?”
    â€œIt’s more a question of what I can do for you .” He hooked the brass frames of green-tinted spectacles over his ears. They made him look faintly demented. “I’m something of a professional meself. With a certain specialty, if you take my meaning.”
    â€œI’m afraid I do not.” But her heart sank, despairing. Why could no one take her seriously? After Razor Jack’s sensational trial, she’d been targeted by gossip-mongers and rubber-neckers who wanted a glimpse of the infamous “lady doctor” who’d single-handedly caught the lunatic. She’d felt like a zoo exhibit, poked and prodded for public amusement.
    â€œI’m rather busy,” she added shortly. “If you’re merely curious, I’d prefer you to leave now.”
    â€œBut we’ve barely begun. Shall we take a look?” And he circled the room, examining her trinkets and poking at her papers. “Yes. I see. Hmm. Thought so.” From his coat skirts—voluminous like a pickpocket’s—he produced a silver tobacco case and a wad of matches. He thumbed the case open and dipped in a match, coating the head in sparkly black powder.
    She jumped up. “I’d rather you didn’t smoke. I say, whatever are you doing?”
    He just struck his match— ker-pop! —and flicked it into her water glass. Hissst! The match sizzled out . . . but the water’s surface caught alight. A tell-tale lick of strawberry flame.
    That oily iridescence, washed from her lips. Finch’s remedy. Unorthodox. Illegal. Dangerous.
    â€œOh, dear.” Regretfully, Moriarty Quick shook his head . . . but above those sinister glasses, his cunning eyes gleamed. “That’s alchemy, Dr. Jekyll. Whatever shall we do with you?”

THE BEST IN TOWN
    W HAT’S THE MEANING OF THIS?” ELIZA DEMANDED. “Slip some noxious poison into my drink, will you, like a common cad?” Lizzie remained oddly quiescent, but still Eliza’s pulse thudded, demanding she act. Scream. Run. Smash those glinting spectacles into his eyes and watch them bleed.
    Quick didn’t smile. Not a gloat or threat in sight. “Told ye I know who