Read The Miskatonic Manuscript (Case Files of Matthew Hunter and Chantal Stevens Book 2) for Free Online Page A

obviously heard the argument before, “you know they’ll come right back and say a retroactive law would be unconstitutional.”
    Why was it, then, Worthy asked, after chemists had stockpiled millions of doses of LSD while it was legal, and Congress then decided to outlaw the molecule in 1966 without a single meaningful public hearing, without demanding peer-reviewed medical testimony to back up all the wild assertions from crewcut rural sheriffs about kids staring into the sun till they went blind and jumping out of high windows because they thought they could fly, that no one in Washington said “Of course you can continue to distribute and sell all the supplies you have on hand because we can’t make a law retroactive”?
    “Funny, I don’t remember that,” said Worthy, deadpan. “But more to the point, there’s no authority in the Constitution for any government agency to regulate drugs, so every drug law is already unconstitutional, and unconstitutional laws are deemed to have been null and void from the moment of their inception, which means they’ve all been guilty of kidnapping and false imprisonment under color of law, which have always been felonies.”
    Les and Matthew smiled. Les got up to let Tabbyhunter, who’d been standing there chattering at them, out the back door. The gray tabby rarely meowed; he chattered like a squirrel. Les grabbed a couple beers and a couple cans of soda pop from the fridge, set them on the table. Les kept a squat little bottle for himself, some kind offoaming brownish concoction from the Philippines. Worthy thanked him, seemed to realize he’d been preaching to the choir for some time now. He took a deep breath, chuckled a little, popped the top on a can of 7-Up.
    “Wait, I’ll get you a glass and some ice,” Les offered.
    “No, no. This is fine. Sorry, guys.”
    “Worthy,” Matthew nodded, “We’d all love to see an end to the Drug War. But I don’t think we’re going to resolve all our differences over tactics here today. You wanted to talk about finding a lost book.”
    “Yes. Sorry. It gets very frustrating, trying to be more like my older brother, trying to seem calm and witty and philosophical in front of the cameras and the microphones, when what’s needed is something to shake them out of their damned complacency.”
    “It’s OK, Worthy. You’re among friends.”
    Worthington Annesley shrugged, back in control. “So, ‘The Miskatonic Manuscript.’”
    “Hm?”
    “The missing H.P. Lovecraft notebook that I hope you can help me find. It actually relates to a distant ancestor of mine.”
    “Tell us more,” Matthew said, happy to be getting down to business. “When did it go missing? This would be a hand-written single-copy manuscript, not something that was ever set up in type and printed?”
    “Maybe I’d better start from the beginning.”
    “Good idea.”
    Worthy Annesley had run into some contemporary evidence, he said — “in fact there’s more and more of it, if you search online” — that things, beings, did indeed seem to exist, moving all around us, that remained invisible to the naked eye, but reflected or fluoresced light when photographed with modern electronic cameras, registering images just outside the wavelengths of human vision.
    “Mm-hm.”
    “Sounds kind of nutty, I know.”
    “Worthy, the quantum physicists say there could be as many as 31 parallel dimensions wrapped around us here, like helical ribbons,” Matthew volunteered. “That there are more things in heaven and earth than can be perceived by our unassisted senses, our adult senses as we’re conditioned to use them, isn’t far-fetched to me.”
    “OK,” Worthy chuckled again, seemed to relax a little. “I did a little checking up on you, Matthew. I know you’ve done some lecturing at the university on the literature of the entheogens, the psychoactive plants. It was one reason I thought you might be a good match for this job, that you’d understand