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Back Maplecroft
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
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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. •   •   •

She threw the vial. It hit him without hurting him that I could see, but the stopper had been removed and the contents splashed against his neck—splattering him from chest to cheekbones.

He winced, blinked, and regarded her with bemused astonishment. “What sad little trick have you played, Doctor Jackson?” He reached for his shirt buttons and tugged them, opening the fabric to expose his chest as if to examine it.

“The only one I had,” she spit, and crumpled back to the floor.

He looked to me, as if I might explain.

So I did. In two steps I was past the table, and very near to him. I swung the axe.

He lifted an arm fast enough to deflect the blow, but the axe was heavy and my arm was strong; I caught him across the shoulder, missing most of the dampness she’d spilled upon him. He caught the iron head with his hand. It cut down, not too deep . . .

. . . but he withdrew, clutching at his fingers. The metal had burned him, or shocked him. He let go of the axe and pushed it away, trying to push me with it.

I ducked back, leaned to the side, and took another swing—not a great one, for I was off balance and we were in closer quarters now: between my sister and the table behind me, between the walls and the cooker with its opened cupboard and foul-smelling contents.

My next blow took him closer to the collarbone. It left a hard red dent in his flesh, but it did not cut him. What was he made of, now that he was no longer a man? His skin was tougher than leather!

He laughed at me, and pushed me back when I struck again. He grabbed at the handle this time; he was learning, you see. And he nearly jerked the weapon free, but I held on tightly and I would not let him shake me loose.

I kicked him and the leverage pushed me back, onto the floor on my rear, sliding and picking up splinters, picking up bruises.

“You can’t hurt me, little sister.”

“Yes, she can . . . now,” Emma panted.

He ignored her, and tended to me instead. He loomed over me, not quite close enough to hit. It was the most open target I was likely to have . . . his shirt was still open, wet with the contents of Emma’s vial. He was close enough that I could see the skin begin to bubble there, a tiny sizzling frisson that told me he could be hurt after all. That’s what it said, that raw little patch of burning skin: We have hurt him. The toxins—Seabury had inoculated us against their deadly effects, but this creature before me, he was vulnerable. Why, I did not precisely know. Patterns, I supposed.