The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(6)

I stood and touched his arm. "Was Chronos disappointed when he found out?"

"Furious," Hale said. "He ranted and raved. He even picked up one of my jars, and was about to throw it at the wall, until I wrestled it off him. I managed to calm him down and explain the difference between my profession and my magic. My work is not in the same field as my magic, although they're related."

I wagged my finger at him. "I know where I've heard your name now! You're Dr. Hale of Dr. Hale's Cure All." We used to keep a bottle of his medicine in our kitchen. It soothed some headaches but cured little else, despite its claim. "But if you don't work as an apothecary, why is your name on the bottle?"

"It's common practice for actual doctors to lend their name to medicines. It makes them more authentic in the public's eyes, you see, and that helps sales. A pharmacist friend asked me to give my name to his cure-all, and I readily agreed. Most of those medicines are his." He nodded at the jars. "Some are my own, once infused with magic—which no longer works, alas. I had one in my pocket when that patient came in." He opened his drawer and pulled out a small brown bottle stoppered with a cork. "I saw him gasp his last breath—or perhaps it was simply a breath—so I whispered my spell into the bottle and trickled some of the medicine into his mouth."

"The article didn't mention medicine," I said heavily.

"An oversight on Barratt's part. Unfortunately, the medicine only gave the patient a few more minutes of life. I had hoped for days or even weeks. Imagine the attention then!" He returned the bottle to his drawer. "You both look as disappointed as Chronos when he learned my magic is in medicines and not actual doctoring."

I glanced at Matt. He didn't look disappointed; he looked eager to get away.

"Apothecary magic is just as interesting and important as any other," Hale said defensively.

"A magical doctor can cure a man with nothing more than his hands," Matt said with a speaking glance at the jars.

Hale sniffed and crossed his arms. "Yes. Well. As a physician, I am able to cure people of their illnesses too—sometimes forever—whereas the effects of magic are fleeting, whether performed by a doctor or apothecary. Besides, magical doctors are rare, apparently."

"You've never come across any?" Matt asked.

"No."

"You've never suspected any of your colleagues of being magical? Have any performed feats of doctoring too extraordinary to be explained away?"

"No. As I said, magic is rare, and the sort of magician you're looking for is the rarest form, according to Chronos. Not even he knew if one exists. Of course, I wouldn't expect artless like you two to understand."

"We're learning," I said.

"Anyway, it was nice to see that my magic still works, since I don't use it often, and even more satisfying to have it come to Barratt's attention. Sales of Dr. Hale's Cure All will increase dramatically as a result of the article, I expect. My friend will be pleased."

"Are all the Cure-All bottles infused with magic?" Matt asked.

He hesitated. "Just my own medicines." Again, he indicated the stack of shelves with its bottles of all shapes and sizes. I did not see a Cure-All among them, except for his personal bottle that he slipped back into the desk drawer.

"Come, India," Matt said. "We've got work to do."

Hale thrust out his hand, and Matt shook it and thanked him. "It was a pleasure to meet you both," Hale said. "Be sure and let me know when The Times will run the article so I can tell all my friends and the staff here. They'll enjoy reading it, I'm sure."

Matt went to open the office door only to have it wrenched open from the other side. Dr. Wiley stood there with another man of advanced years who sported a dense gray beard and matching eyebrows that crashed together in a severe frown. They stood aside to allow us to pass.

"You're from The Times, are you?" asked the older man.

Matt nodded and kept walking.

"Do you carry a letter of introduction from your editor?"

Matt stopped. "I don't usually need one."

The man looked Matt over then straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. He was still a much less impressive figure than Matt. "Then how can we be certain you are who you say you are?"

"We don't have time for this," Matt growled.

"What did you say your name was?"

"It's Glass," Dr. Hale said, joining us in the doorway. "And this is Miss Steele. Dr. Ritter, they're genuine, I assure you."

Dr. Ritter was the principal doctor at the hospital and therefore the chief of staff. He was Dr. Hale's superior. "Your assurance is meaningless, Hale."

Hale blinked rapidly behind his spectacles. "Pardon?"

Ritter pushed past me and into the office. Wiley scampered after him. "Pack your things and leave," Ritter said as Wiley closed the door. "You no longer work here."

"B-but I can't just leave." Hale cried. "What about my patients?"

I held my hand up to Matt, who stood a few feet away, his fingers tapping against his thigh. I pressed my ear to the closed door and could just make out Ritter's furious words.

"You have embarrassed this hospital for the last time! You're a disgrace to your profession, and I've had enough! The article was the last straw! Going public with such a fanciful, ludicrous claim of miracles…it's beyond the pale! Take your medicines and leave before I throw you out myself."