The Serpent's Shadow Read Online Free PDF

than just salves and balms; there was magic there, magic infused into the herbs with which they were made. It was not a magic that would ensnare a man’s mind and passion for all time (although she could, but would not, do that as well). This was the gentle magic of the earth, green magic, Maya’s own. It fed and nurtured, fed the generous instincts that were part of man or woman, creating a beauty that would not fade.
    The young woman took out one of the jars, a gentle face cream compounded of aloe, rosewater, glycerin, and several healing herbs. She opened it gingerly and sniffed. Her face reflected her delight in the scent of roses that wafted up from the cream. “They are very effective, far more so than anything that you will have seen heretofore. See—here they are labeled, each for what it is for. You can leave off whatever you have been doing and use these preparations exclusively; I promise you will be very happy with the results. You may have these to try. When you are satisfied, you may have him make up more as you need them.” Getting her to stop taking those daily doses of arsenic will do a great deal to settle the rest of her problems.
    She closed the box and pushed it over to her visitor, who picked it up. Miss Smith’s hands trembled only a little with eagerness. “These samples are included in your consultation fee,” Maya continued. “Now, I think that we should suit well as patient and physician, but what say you?”
    Miss Smith replied with a real smile. “I shall be returning—and so will my friends.”

    Once her visitor—her first patient—had gone, Maya cheerfully organized her notes under the name of Helen Smith—“Helen,” for Helen of Troy. If Miss Smith’s face failed to launch ships, it certainly had the power to create quite as much mischief as her name-sake had. Subsequent patients would be filed under similarly fictional names, memorable only to Maya, so that if anyone should somehow gain access to her records, they would have no way of connecting real person to fictional identity. And the consultation fee of five whole shillings resided safely in Maya’s strongbox; a woman of Miss Smith’s profession might sometimes neglect her butcher’s and dressmaker’s bills, but dared not anger her physician, once she had found one who would not betray her.
    A few more “Smiths,” and not only would the household prosper, Maya could spare time and medicines for others who needed them, but had no means to pay for them.
    And we can pay our own butcher’s bills. Maya smiled, opened the heavy filing drawer in her desk, and filed Helen Smith’s history away in an empty slot. It would be time for supper soon, and she was definitely looking forward to sharing it with her household, with this much good news to tell them.
    Since her father’s death, Maya no longer stood on ceremony with those others would call her servants. Yes, they performed tasks for her while she provided their incomes, food, and shelter, but without them, she would have been hard put to pursue the life she had chosen. Certainly, she could never have found English servants she could trust as she did her little family.
    The single note of a gong vibrated through the house, telling her that supper was ready. She carefully turned out the electric light on her desk—a small miracle, one as marvelous as any magic of her own, to make light appear and vanish at the turn of a key! The sun had set while she played hostess to Miss Smith, and now the only light came from the corner gaslight out on the street. She shivered as she left the office, glancing out the window at the shiny, rain-drenched cobbles; it could have been ice that glazed them, and not water.
    The noise and merriment in the small room just off the kitchen dispelled her shivers. The entire family, including the children, sat on the floor on cushions and carpets in the area