Part 1 (1/2)

Poison.

by Bridget Zinn.

Acknowledgments.

THE MASTER TRIO POTIONERS' flat didn't look impregnable. From the outside it just looked like an enormous ramshackle old house. One in bad need of a paint job.

But Kyra knew better.

The first-floor doors and windows bore elaborate magic wards that would alert the Potioners as soon as Kyra touched a windowsill or doork.n.o.b. And-unless the Potioners had disabled the bellows contraptions Kyra herself had set up-the wards would knock her out with a puff of sleep potion. Only charmed residents could pa.s.s when the wards were in place.

No, there was no getting in on the ground floor.

But Kyra also knew there was a window on the second story that had been stuck for years. That would be her way in.

Which is why she found herself scaling the side of the old house in broad daylight to clamber in through a half-open window. It wasn't the best idea in the world, but it was Kyra's only option.

Kyra had been watching the house for days.

Once upon a time the home belonged to a wealthy merchant, but there'd been a tragic fire years before that had killed Lloyd Newman and his family. These days it was split into four apartments. The downstairs was occupied by two noisy families, and in one of the upstairs units lived an old hermit named Ellie.

Then there was the fourth apartment.

The ill.u.s.trious Master Trio Potioners' lodgings. The one she was about to break into. These weren't just any old potioners-if Kyra did say so herself-but rather the most highly esteemed in the kingdom, sought out by even the king himself. Their specialty was poisonous weaponry, and they not only manufactured the weapons, they knew how to use them. Better than anyone else around.

The rough, sun-warmed s.h.i.+ngles that sided the house were perfect for climbing, and the nearest village was a good twenty-minute walk away. It wasn't like anyone was going to see her. Almost no one was home.

The families were out to work and school in the village; the potioners, she a.s.sumed, were out hunting Kyra. And the hermit-well, he never went anywhere, anyway.

Kyra hoped he stayed put behind his papered-up windows and didn't go tromping outside on one of his rare outings. Even a hermit would likely be bothered by the sight of a young woman dressed entirely in black clinging to the side of a house.

Kyra's left hand cramped as she reached for the next s.h.i.+ngle. What she wouldn't give for a st.u.r.dy length of rope to climb. She cursed quietly. What was she doing wis.h.i.+ng for rope? If she was going to wish for something, it should be something really important.

Like pie.

Warm from the oven, all crispy, crackly crust and oozing, juicy berries.

All of this hiding and skulking about was going to her head.

There were other things on her wish list-some of them even more important than pie.

At last reaching the window, Kyra pulled herself onto the ledge, flattened her body, and slid through, rolling to the floor and springing to her feet.

It was eerily quiet. She half wished Ellie the hermit would make a sound. Move a piece of furniture or something.

Kyra automatically checked her weapons. Slim holsters on her legs contained several dozen of her signature six-inch-long throwing needles, each tipped with poison.

The outside of the holsters held weapons of a different kind-special pockets of poison that no one knew about but Kyra. People had seen the effects, of course; and a mystique had built up around Kyra's ability to take out combatants with a mere breath. One tap of her palms against her holsters and she had a fistful of poison to blow into the face of anyone who tried to take her on.

It was extremely effective. Especially at close range.

Her weapons in order, Kyra scanned the apartment. Three bedrooms to her left in various states of lived-in-ness. In front of her, the potions lab, the vials and burners empty and cold. She had a wistful moment as she breathed in the familiar alkaline stink of the lab, but it gave way to irritation when she saw that whoever had last used the beakers and dishes and retorts hadn't cleaned them. ”Ned,” she muttered.

To the right was the kitchen, but...

Not a speck of food left out.

She ignored the pangs of hunger she felt. Directly in front of her was the treasure she'd come for: the potions cabinet. Inside the gla.s.s doors were shelves of bottles in every color in the rainbow, glittering in the sunlight.

Kyra opened the large cupboard door and rifled through the bottles. Each potion was part of a numbered system. Charm potions were in the 01 series, glamour potions 02, and so on. What she was looking for was in the 07 series.

Although she could certainly use that cloaking potion with the spray top.

Kyra dropped the bottle into the small bag tied at the side of her waist.

She had to focus and not get distracted by all of the potions she'd like to steal away. She was here to get a very special potion, one that had yet to be recreated by any other potions maker.

Kyra found the 07 series and picked her way through the smooth gla.s.s bottles.

It wasn't there.

She stepped back and grasped the cupboard door. It had to be here.

Methodically, she examined every bottle on every shelf, starting with the 01 series. The light in the room s.h.i.+fted slowly as the sun moved across the sky.

Nothing.

A s.h.i.+ver of unease ran through her. Where was it?

She was going to have to check the rest of the rooms.

Hunting for the glimmer of a wayward potion bottle, Kyra carefully made her way through the apartment.

Hers was the first bedroom, and it was empty. The old feather-stuffed mattress was propped up against the wall, dust bunnies clumped along the baseboard. Her old partners had certainly wasted no time in getting rid of her things.

The next bedroom was a bit of a disaster. Actually, a complete disaster.

Ned's room.

Clothes were strewn all over, draped over half-drunk bottles of home-brewed ale, a half-eaten pie in a state of decay, and who knew what else. Kyra eyed the mess, reluctant to take a step into the room for fear of putting her foot into a hidden pudding bowl or something worse, but there was nothing to be done. She kicked her way through the rubbish, hunting for a stray s.h.i.+mmer of gla.s.s.

In the dresser she found two bottles of extra-sharp ginger brew, lots of balled-up underwear she hoped were clean, a wedge of cheese, and a piece of paper with a clumsily drawn dancing bear announcing a show featuring animal tricks.

No potion.

Which left only the final room. Hal's.