The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(88)

"You forget that the guild is aware of the existence of magic. Mr. Clark read the article and he too came sniffing around Hale. It is only a short leap from Jonathon to me. Too short."

"You were worried they would discover you were a magician." I understood now. It wasn't greed that had driven him to kill Hale but fear. Fear of having his apothecary's license revoked, at the very least.

"I would never work again," he said. "All my hard work, all the years of building up a reputation among London's elite....gone. I could not allow it. I could not let Jonathon's greed and stupidity ruin me."

"And yet here you are, running from the law, and all that you feared would come to pass is about to. If you are caught, you will be hung. If you are not caught, you still cannot return to London and keep shop. You've become a wanted man."

"I'll start again, elsewhere. This is England, Miss Steele. There are other cities where London's guilds don't reach. Cities large enough where a fellow can disappear without the police noticing." His words may have sounded brave, but his thin voice told the real story—the thought of starting again overwhelmed him.

"And what will you do to me?" I asked.

"That depends on how easily I get away. I have no qualms about shooting you if it helps me escape."

"Shooting me will achieve nothing. It will only anger Mr. Glass. With me gone, you'll have no leverage, no bargaining chip with him. He'll see you are arrested for your crimes."

He merely lifted one shoulder and tightened his grip on the gun.

"Did you shoot at us yesterday and frighten the horses?" I asked.

"I haven't been anywhere near you."

"Coyle, then?"

"Lord Coyle is his own man. I have no influence over him. If he decided to protect me from scandal and suspicion, then that is not my affair."

"Why would he want to protect you?"

"I am a magician, and he likes magic things, particularly my medicine. It eases his biliousness for a few days."

"Is that why you're going to him now? For protection?"

He did not answer.

The coach slowed. We had arrived at Belgrave Square. Pitt thumped on the roof. "Stop here!" He pushed open the door and ordered me out. "Act normal. If you make a sound, I'll shoot." He wrapped the flap of his jacket over his hand and the gun.

He threw some coins at the driver as we exited the hack. The driver didn't even check them before driving off at speed. Pitt marched me up the steps to Lord Coyle's residence, the gun barrel pressed against my spine. A cold sweat trickled down the back of my neck.

"Knock," he ordered me.

The butler opened the door, saving me the trouble. He lifted woolly eyebrows, first at me then at Pitt. "Yes?"

Pitt ushered me past the butler then kicked the door closed. "Get me Coyle," he demanded.

"Sir!" The butler's face turned an unhealthy shade of puce. "This is an outrage.

"Get Coyle now." Pitt whipped his jacket back, revealing the gun.

My lower lip wobbled. I caught it between my teeth and tried to convey urgency with my eyes.

The butler nodded and hurried away. A moment later, Lord Coyle emerged from the library, where he kept his magic collection hidden behind a false wall. His butler did not reappear, but another fellow, just as substantial in girth as Coyle with an equally impressive mustache, followed him out. He gasped when he saw Pitt's gun and backed up to the library door again, although he didn't disappear altogether.

"What is the meaning of this?" Coyle demanded. "Who are you and why are you pointing a gun at that girl?"

"Sir," Mr. Pitt said, licking his lips. "I'm your pharmacist. Pitt. Remember? You usually send your man but you've been to my shop once."

Lord Coyle merely grunted. I suspected that was an acknowledgement because he didn't look confused by Pitt's claim. "Answer my other questions."

"I need your protection, my lord." Pitt's voice rose an octave and sweat beaded on his brow again. He wasn't certain of this part. He was gambling with his life and the odds were not yet clear.

"Who is this man, Coyle?" the other gentleman asked. "What's going on here?" He spoke with a measure of authority and an unmistakable haughty tilt of his chin. He must be Coyle's equal, not another servant. Unlike Lord Coyle, he kept a wary eye on the gun. Coyle paid it no mind, keeping his steady gaze on Pitt.

"A good question," Coyle said. "What do you mean you need my protection?"

"From the police," Pitt said. "They want to arrest me for murdering my business partner."

"My god," the gentleman muttered. "Murder!"

"And did you kill him?" Coyle demanded of Pitt.

Pitt wiped his sweaty top lip on his shoulder, leaving a smear on his jacket. "I had to." I suspected if anyone else had asked, he would not have answered. But with Lord Coyle, he was like a naughty child, eager to make up for his mistake beneath the critical gaze of his father. "He was going to reveal everything about magic to a reporter. My magic."

Coyle's snowy mustache twitched. His sharp eyes flicked to me. Behind him, his friend looked uncertain how he ought to react. "Magic?" Coyle bellowed. "What rot is this?"