"I prefer to call it a passion," she counters, sweetly. "It's more accurate. And poetic--a passion for poison."

Flavia still feels an immense amount of pride, saying the words; they recall for her the moment of discovery, Harriet's old chemistry book falling from the library shelf, opening to reveal illustrations of disembodied hands working a strange alchemy of fire and liquid and laboratory glassware.

"I'm interested in a career in the sciences, yes," she affirms.