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Chapters (206)
  1. Praise for Maplecroft
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  57. •   •   •
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  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  69. •   •   •
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  71. Nance O’Neil
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  84. Emma L. Borden
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  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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  101. Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
  102. Emma L. Borden
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  104. Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
  105. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
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  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
  138. •   •   •
  139. Emma L. Borden
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  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  150. Emma L. Borden
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  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  176. Emma L. Borden
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  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

The tip of the cane passed over the nails, each one pounded into the floor in a haphazard line. Then the left foot, and the right. `

“You see? It’s only a peculiar sensation, that’s all.”

It descended the stairs with great deliberation, moving from the brightness upstairs to the cold, muted light here below. It did so with grace, and with the countenance of a curious man who is delighted by all the wonder he surveys.

It was of average height and a slender build, with a face that seemed very lean and sharp. That face cast strange shadows when it moved, those cheekbones, that high forehead, the cut of those rather full lips and devilishly arched brow. If I’d seen him on the street and mistaken him for a man, I would not have said he was handsome . . . not at first. But I would have looked at him twice, and on a second look, I might have revised my estimation.

I should say instead that it was compelling.

It wore a suit that had been finely tailored, perhaps for someone else. An expensive suit, and worn with rigid confidence . . . but I believe it was likely stolen. All of it, black and gray. From the shiny black shoes with the pointed toes, to the gray felt hat with the sweeping curves and lofty height.

It looked so very human, until it smiled at me.

I was cornered, pressed up against the wall, holding the vial of toxin between my fingers, behind my folded-up knees so he couldn’t see what I was doing as I worried at the wax, picking at it without looking at it. I met his eyes instead. They were cold, not like a serpent’s but like a shark’s. Dead and hungry.

Slowly, deliberately, with profound and devilish malice, the thing walked toward me. It stopped less than ten feet away, and planted its cane down hard. Right atop the cooker, whose cabinet door I’d closed.

•   •   •

(I wondered if I should’ve left it open after all. If I could have found some way to push the creature inside, in case that might’ve killed it. Surely nothing could survive a bath in the cooker, could it? Not even this bony shark of a thing? Regardless, it was too late. I’d made my decision, and I would have to live with it. Or die by it, as the case may be.)

•   •   •

In that low, odd, smoother-than-oil voice, he said, “Doctor Jackson?”

I was startled by how unstartled it appeared. “Doctor Zollicoffer?” I replied in a whisper, not because I was afraid of him (although I was), but because my strength was almost gone—and a whisper was the most I could manage. A whisper, and a frantic wheedling with my thumbnail, struggling to remove the stopper on my vial of toxin.