Pulis set down his fork.
The corners of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.
It was the satisfaction of a researcher who had observed an interesting result.
"Not afraid of dying?" His voice remained flat.
"Experimental drugs are dangerous, after all."
Evan gave a bitter smile, with just the right mix of desperation and recklessness. "Professor, in my current condition, if I don't take a chance, I'll probably never get anywhere."
Pulis knew about Evan's syphilis, of course.
The whole school knew. He fell silent for a few seconds, his gaze behind the lenses as though he were calculating something.
"Come to my Laboratory before this afternoon's practical."
After that, they finished lunch in silence.
Pulis ate very little. He barely touched most of the food on his plate, though he finished his milk.
When he rose to leave, Evan noticed something odd about the way he walked. His steps were so light they made almost no sound, as if the soles of his leather shoes never quite touched the floor.
Evan looked at the soft white bread, grilled sausage, and fish, then took Pulis's plate.
Under the other students' snickering and strange looks, he packed up the food to eat that evening.
After all, a meal like this would cost at least twenty cents at a restaurant!
At 1:10 p.m., Evan arrived at Teaching Building No. 2 on time.
The stairwell smelled of lime and old wood. His leather shoes struck the marble steps as he climbed floor by floor.
He was a little short of breath by the time he reached the fourth floor, but he was far better off than yesterday, when he had needed to lean on the wall after every couple of steps.
Pulis's Laboratory was at the end of the corridor.
It had a heavy oak door with no nameplate, only a copper room number.
Dim light leaked through the gap beneath it.
Evan knocked twice. A curt "Come in" sounded from inside.
He pushed the door open and entered.
The Laboratory was about a hundred square meters, much larger than an ordinary classroom.
The curtains were tightly drawn, and the electric lights overhead had been turned down to their lowest setting. Amber gloom filled the room.
Tall wooden cabinets lined the walls. Handwritten Latin labels were pasted to their doors, and through the glass panels Evan could see rows of bottles and jars.
Some held liquids, others powders. Several large glass jars contained dark objects he could not identify, floating in formalin.
The air carried a complex smell of alcohol, herbs, and metal, beneath which lay a deeper, indescribably sweet and bloody scent.
Pulis stood behind a long laboratory bench, his graying hair silver in the dim light.
He heard Evan's footsteps but did not look up. He simply picked up a small black glass bottle from the bench and held it out.
"One pill at a time, once a day, for four days. Remember, the two medicines work better together."
Evan took the bottle and weighed it in his palm.
It was slightly larger than yesterday's bottle, similarly unlabeled, with its stopper sealed in black wax.
He could not help asking, "Professor, what does this do?"
Pulis finally looked up. The faint overhead light reflected off his lenses, concealing the expression in his eyes.
"It helps the health medicine I gave you earlier make you stronger more quickly."
He paused, then added, "But it needs ample nutrition and intense exercise to work properly.
Otherwise, you'll feel unbearably hot."
Evan gripped the bottle tighter, undisguised excitement on his face.
To Pulis, he probably looked like a desperate, impoverished student clutching at one last straw.
"Understood!"
Pulis nodded slightly, bringing their brief exchange to an end.
Evan carefully tucked the bottle into the inside pocket of his jacket, against his chest, then turned and left the Laboratory.
The sound of his footsteps gradually faded down the corridor.
After the oak door closed, the Laboratory was quiet for several seconds.
Then a figure emerged soundlessly from behind a row of cabinets against the wall.
She was an ordinary-looking young woman in a white laboratory assistant's uniform, her dark brown hair gathered into a simple bun.
Her face was so unremarkable that no one would give her a second glance on the street. But she walked just like Pulis, without a sound.
"Master." Her voice was low and even, devoid of emotion.
"Taking the Night Demon Potion and Blood Potion together would likely kill an ordinary person from anemia.
Even if he survived, there's a good chance he'd mutate into an incomplete bloodthirsty vampire."
She paused before continuing carefully. "This is rather risky. If those people at Miskatonic University find out, they may come after you."
Pulis did not turn around.
He stood at the laboratory bench, slowly and attentively stirring a dark red liquid in a beaker with a glass rod.
"His side effects were milder than I expected," he said softly.
"In the first twenty-four hours after taking the Night Demon Potion, an ordinary person would suffer at least three bouts of severe dizziness and uncontrolled anemia.
But he only mentioned one dizzy spell, low blood sugar, and swollen muscles."
The glass rod tapped twice against the side of the beaker with two clear chinks.
"Perhaps he has some unusual drug resistance."
"After all, people who come out of Arkham City tend to have peculiar traits."
At last he turned around, his pale blue eyes gleaming coldly and faintly behind his lenses.
"If he truly survives, he might become the final test subject."
He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his shirt cuff.
"How are the other five?"
The Female Assistant's reply was just as flat, as though she were reporting the inventory of laboratory supplies.
"Two are dead. Their bodies have been recovered and are in the Underground Cold Storage."
"The other three came to school today.
All have severe anemia and ashen faces. One already needs to hold on to the wall to walk."
Pulis put his glasses back on, pushed the frames up his nose, and nodded.
"Let's go perform the autopsies."
He walked toward an iron door deep in the Laboratory, one Evan had never noticed. Taking a brass key from his waistcoat pocket, he inserted it into the lock.
The lock turned with a dull click.
"I have a feeling."
The iron door opened.
Though the Laboratory was on the fifth floor, beyond the door lay a flight of stone steps descending into the depths.
"The Magic Potion that will let us overcome sunlight is close at hand."
After getting the bottle, Evan did not rush to take a pill.
He first went to the first-floor chemistry laboratory to complete his afternoon practical.
The experiment involved preparing and identifying calomel and mercuric chloride.
Evan stood at his station and followed the steps Professor Mons had written on the board that morning, weighing, grinding, and heating each substance in turn.
The blue flame of an alcohol lamp licked the bottom of a flask. Liquid in a glass tube slowly boiled, sending up steam with a sharp metallic smell.
His movements were much steadier than before. His fingers no longer trembled, and he could see the graduations on the measuring cylinder more clearly.
When the experiment ended, he put away the equipment and hurried to his small-group recitation class in the next building.
Three rows of desks filled the modest classroom, with all fifteen seats occupied.
Their instructor was a young lecturer in his early thirties from the Chemistry Department. Everyone called him Mr. Wright.
He had studied under Professor Mons and stayed at the university as a teaching assistant after graduating.
He dressed more simply than the professors, in a gray checked shirt with the cuffs neatly buttoned.
His blond hair was cut short, and his gray eyes hid behind thick, round-framed glasses. He was not tall.
He stood somewhat stiffly at the lectern and always cleared his throat before speaking.
"All right, let's take attendance."
He opened the register and ran the tip of his fountain pen down the list.
"Terry Morales?"
"Here."
"Jack Habiny?"
"Here."
He read out the names one by one, and answers rose from around the room.
The small-group recitation class was not a place to memorize passages from a textbook.
It was where students proved what they could do. Every time they spoke, every answer they gave, and every performance at the blackboard was recorded by the lecturer and reported directly to the professor in charge of the main course.
The requirements were strict.
Homework checks, unannounced recitations, solving problems at the blackboard, summarizing lectures, and rapid-fire questions.
The pace was fast, the pressure high, and there was nowhere to hide a lack of ability.
Their performance here accounted for a substantial share of their final grade in the course.
In other words, no matter how well the professor taught or how attentively they listened in the main lectures, a disastrous showing in the small group could ruin the course for them.
"Now summarize what Professor Mons taught today."
Wright closed the register. His gaze swept the classroom and stopped at the back row.
"Evan Arkham, you start."
The name rang a bell.
During lunch, he had run into Professor Mons in the faculty lounge. The older man had made a rare comment that a student had answered well today.
Hearing Mons say "well" was probably the equivalent of hearing someone else call a student brilliant.
Evan stood without opening his notes.
"Today's lecture mainly covered the medical applications and toxicology of heavy metal compounds."
"The core topics were calomel and mercuric chloride..."
When he finished, Wright's gray eyes flashed behind his glasses. He nodded with satisfaction.
"Very good."
"Morales, add to that."
Morales was the student with side-parted hair who had repeatedly looked back at Evan that morning.
Evan glanced at him and sat down.
The moment his back met the chair, an indescribable sense of relief washed over him.
The Panel described the reversed effect of Phenobarbital as a "slight improvement" to memory and reaction speed.
But to Evan, it felt like much more than "slight."
He could clearly feel his thoughts growing sharper, as if someone had wiped a dusty pane of glass clean.
He could recall almost every section of the morning's four lessons, down to details like a circle drawn in chalk on the blackboard for emphasis.
The system should be right. This must be the combined effect of recovering from anemia and improvements to my other bodily functions.