The Distant Clue
The bottle in Elias Thorne’s hand weighed two pounds of cold glass and heavy water, a weight that anchored him against the gale as he climbed the last hundred yards of the gravel path leading to the St. Jude’s Clinic. He had carried the tincture for three days, wrapped in oilcloth to protect it from the frost, the liquid inside a murky amber that smelled of dried lavender, crushed willow bark,...
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