The Element of Death (The Final Formula Series, Book 1.5) (2 page)

Rowan slumped over, his arms braced wide to hold himself up. His skin had taken on a translucent glow as if his soul had risen to the surface, seeking escape.

Shit.
James sprang forward, grabbing Rowan beneath one arm and pulling him to his feet. Rowan grunted as James’s claws bit through his sweater. Not being too particular, James found the nearest weak spot and ripped a hole into the mortal plane.

Gavin snarled as light spilled into their world.

James hurled Rowan through the opening and jumped out after him.

Chapter

2

J
ames landed on four paws,
scattering the leaf litter that covered an overgrown cobble drive.

Rowan stumbled a few steps then dropped to his knees.

Shifting human, James hurried over and knelt beside him. “Rowan?”

“Damn you.” Rowan came off the ground, slamming into James’s chest and sprawling him on his back. Rowan’s knee rammed into his gut, expelling the air from his lungs. James didn’t even see the punch coming until it connected with his chin. His jaws snapped together, driving his nonhuman teeth into his gums.

Rowan pulled back for another punch, but James caught his fist against his palm, the smack of flesh on flesh loud. With Rowan’s eyes on full glow, James wasn’t surprised when the world ignited around them. What did surprise him was the way the dried leaves caught fire. Rowan didn’t catch things on fire; he vaporized them.

When James failed to let go of his fist, Rowan took a swing with the other arm. James caught that hand, too.

Rowan snarled in frustration, blood dripping from one nostril and a sheen of sweat coating his face. He struggled to pull free, panting with the effort.

“Rowan, stop.” James tightened his grip. Flames licked around his bare shoulders, but did no damage. Even in human form, the hellhound blood protected him.

But it didn’t protect Rowan. The sleeve of his sweater caught fire, flames crawling up his arm. James shoved him back, but couldn’t toss him aside. The open area around them burned for several feet to either side.

Rowan continued to struggle, unaware of his burning sleeve. It seemed James had gotten his wish: Rowan had lost all semblance of control.

“Would you quit?!” James released him and Rowan immediately took another swing. James ducked the uncoordinated move and caught him around the waist. Slinging him over his shoulder, he ran through the flames, escaping the fire.

James set Rowan on his feet then caught the hem of his sweater, pulling the garment off and tossing it away.

The sudden move threw Rowan off balance, and he staggered to the side before falling to one knee. The joint smacked the cobbles hard enough to bruise. He slumped forward, catching himself on quivering arms. The white T-shirt he wore bore no singe marks, though a line of blistered flesh marred his right forearm.

James knelt beside him, alert for any sudden moves. “What were you saying about control?”

“When I get my breath back, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Fair enough.” James settled to the ground and watched Rowan a moment to make sure he wouldn’t collapse—or attack him again—then lifted his head to look around. The leaves still burned, but with the lack of wind and diminishing fuel supply, it didn’t look like the fire would spread. The old cobbled drive led to an equally decayed building a dozen yards away. The stone exterior had a Greco-Roman flavor with the columned entryway and peaked roof. James thought the two-story structure a school, then he noticed the smokestack rising another two stories above the building.

Mature forest encroached from every side, giving the impression that the building had been dropped in the woods. No overhead power lines, no trappings of modern civilization. Just the scent of fallen leaves, damp earth, and crumbling stone. He didn’t even hear any cars in the distance.

“Where are we?” Rowan asked, head hanging.

“I don’t know.”

Rowan lifted his head to look at him. A sheen of sweat coated his face and dampened the edges of his auburn hair. “How could you not know? You brought us here.”

“I found a thin spot.”

“What?”

“A thin place between the mortal plane and the next.”

Rowan wrinkled his brow.

Uncertain what the expression meant, James hurried on. “I panicked, okay? It takes less time if I use a preexisting portal.”

“A natural phenomena?”

“No. More like a heavy traffic area. A lot of people died here.”

“Here?”

James waved at the building.

Rowan followed the gesture and grunted. “We’re near Cleves.”

“You’ve been here.” Thank God. Maybe they weren’t that far from the manor.

“No, I read the words on the portico.”

Portico? James looked closer at the front of the building, his eyes settling on the decorative porch over the open front door. The weathered letters carved into the stone facing were barely legible.
Winters Crematorium.

“There are urban legends about this old crematorium up on Buffalo Ridge,” Rowan said. “Some crazy doctor by the name of Winters owned the place. Rumor has it that he was convicted of abuse of a corpse, and the place closed down.”

Disturbing. “Buffalo Ridge? Are we still in Cincinnati?” James wasn’t a native to the area, but Rowan was.

“West of the city.”

James frowned, eyeing the building. “But why is the veil so thin here? You take the dead to a crematorium, you don’t use one to make them dead.”

“You tell me. Death is your element.”

James wanted to shoot back a smartass comment, but what could he say? Rowan was right. If anyone knew death, it was James.

Rowan braced his hands on his thighs and bowed his head.

James studied his face—or what he could see of it. Had he always been that pale? “Are you all right?”

“No.” A drop of blood fell from his upper lip.

Anxiety dumped adrenaline into James’s bloodstream, but he had no outlet for it. Nothing to attack, nothing to hunt. Nothing but guilt.

“I need to get you home,” James said.

“Not through…that place. I’ll walk.” Rowan kept his head bowed.

“
Can
you walk?”

“Screw you,” Rowan mumbled.

James sighed. He hadn’t been trying to insult him. “I don’t suppose you have your phone?”

“It’s in my car, at the hospital.”

The hospital? James decided not to ask. “I can go to the manor and let Donovan know where you are.”

Rowan grunted, head still hanging.

James didn’t want to leave him here, but it was either that or carry him out of these woods and hope to find a pay phone—or a sympathetic motorist.

James heard a distant rumble. Thunder? He sniffed the air, sorting through the scents: the pungent pine near the corner of the building, the musty dampness of the moss along the foundation, the faint spice of Rowan’s cologne…but there, a hint of ozone.

“A storm’s coming. Why don’t you wait on the…” What had he called it? “Porch-thing.”

“Portico,” Rowan muttered.

“It looks like a porch.” James slipped a hand beneath Rowan’s arm.

“I can walk.” Rowan pushed himself up, swaying as he got to his feet.

“Uh-huh.” James kept his grip on his arm.

“It’s Italian.”

“Say what?”

“Portico. It’s Italian for porch.”

“Ah.” James started him moving. “Do you know Italian?”

“Took an architecture class once.”

“I thought you studied volcanoes.”

“There was this cute co-ed. She was studying to be an architect.”

“I see.” James bit his lip to keep from smiling and helped him to a seat on the steps. Rowan must be a little out of it if they were having this conversation. “If it should start to storm before I get back, take shelter inside.” He glanced up at the building. It looked structurally sound and—

A flash of movement at an upstairs window drew his eyes. Something white, but now that he looked closer, he didn’t see anything. A trick of the light?

“So, you strand me in the forest and leave me to take shelter in a haunted crematorium.”

“Haunted?” James called the hound and studied the building. The walls weren’t an obstacle; if anyone were inside, he’d see the glow of their soul. For an instant, he thought he saw a flicker, but it didn’t reappear. “It’s empty.”

Rowan raised his head. “You looked for ghosts?”

“I see souls, the living and the dead.” He stepped away.

Rowan frowned, but James didn’t give him a chance to comment.

“Be right back.” Using the hellhound’s dimension as a way to travel between points on the mortal plane, he became the hound, ripped open the portal, and jumped through.

James stepped out on the manicured lawn in front of the Elemental Manor. Ivy scented the air from the vines climbing from the gray stone exterior of the first floor to the timber and stucco of the second floor. Cedar mulch and juniper bushes competed for his attention, but he went deeper. Hot metal and burnt oil. Not Cora’s sleek little BMW. Donovan’s decade-old SUV. Good, he was here.

James examined the souls scattered around the large house and found the one he sought in the garage. Donovan must have just arrived.

James slid into that twilight region between the mortal plane and the next, effectively becoming a ghost. He didn’t need an opposable thumb to open the garage door; he walked through it.

Donovan had his back to him, digging through the mountain of outdoor supplies in the back of his vehicle. “Glad you’re back, son. I was getting worried.” Donovan tugged a warped campstool from the bottom of the pile and turned to face him.

James stopped, surprised anew at the big man’s awareness of his surroundings. There was no way Donovan could have heard him. Shifting to human form, he crouched before Donovan, the cement cold beneath his bare feet.

“Donovan, I—” James hesitated. Donovan had always been kind to him, always giving him the benefit of the doubt. God, how could he tell him he’d almost killed Rowan? He forced himself to continue. “I screwed up. I got angry and—”

“Son, it’s okay. All that matters is that you’re safe.” He opened the stool and set it on the floor. The stool began to move, the bent leg appearing to straighten on its own, though James knew it was Donovan’s magic at work. Donovan possessed the elemental power of earth, though in this modern world, elemental magic was specific to a state of matter: solid, liquid, gas, and plasma. Donovan had the power to manipulate any solid object.

“Did Rowan and Addie find you?” Donovan asked.

James released his tense crouch, and his bare ass hit the cement. He’d forgotten; Donovan didn’t know. He hadn’t read Addie’s journal entry.

“James? What’s wrong? Have you seen Rowan and Addie?”

“Yes.” The word was little more than a whisper.

“You’re scaring me. Where are they?”

“She’s—she’s not—” He had to stop to swallow. He wanted to soften the blow. Protect her. But what could he say? He settled for the truth. “It was her all along.”

“I don’t follow.”

A slight hesitation, then the words tumbled free in a mad rush. “She had Era captured and used her to brew the Final Formula. Neil did the dirty work for her and in exchange, she was going to give him…me.” His voice broke on the last word.

Donovan frowned, though he looked more concerned than angry. “Did she regain her memories?”

“No. Neil had her journal. He was behind it all: the zombies at the clinic, Lawson and the other liches. We read her journal entry, Rowan and I. Rowan commanded her to fix Era, and we left.”

A shorter pause this time. “Where’s Rowan?”

“The Winters Crematorium near Cleves.”

Donovan grunted. “What were you doing out there? Was Neil—”

“I got mad. Again. I picked a fight with Rowan, then jerked him into the place where the dead go. It…it hurt him.” Donovan didn’t look happy, so James hurried on. “You need to go get him.”

“All right.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Yes, but it’ll take me an hour, maybe longer, depending on traffic.”

“Okay.” James rose to his feet, then stilled as Donovan moved closer. “I’ll go back and stay with him until you get there.”

“Good. I’ll feel better knowing you’re watching over him.”

Donovan trusted him to watch over Rowan? Stunned, James didn’t know what to say.

“How about some clothes? I’ve got your duffle bag in the truck.”

James blinked, forcing his attention on Donovan’s question. “Wouldn’t work. I change form as soon as I jump through. Any material object touching my skin vanishes.”

“If I tossed in the duffle after you jump in?”

“That might work.” James hadn’t experimented much with the portal. Growing up, his brothers had been very adamant that he not shift forms. Even to the point of making up lies about certain body parts shriveling and falling off if he shifted too much. Gavin had cracked up when he asked him about it.

Donovan returned to the SUV and quickly threw a few things into the duffle bag: granola bars, a couple bottles of water, and a first-aid kit. James frowned at the last. Rowan healed so quickly, he rarely needed medical attention.

“There’s some ibuprofen inside,” Donovan said, catching his frown. No doubt, he knew Rowan had another headache. It was a common side effect when Rowan used his gift, and Donovan probably suspected he’d used it to defend himself against James.

“I’m sorry,” James said.

A big hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Apology accepted. Now keep an eye on the hothead until I get there.”

James nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. He stepped away, forcing Donovan to release him, then shifted into the hellhound to jump through the portal.

“You know, that’s some very cool magic you have there.”

James looked up, meeting his eyes. That might be true, but he doubted Donovan would be willing to pay the price to possess such magic. He pulled open the portal and jumped through, his body morphing into the hellhound-human hybrid on its own. Reaching back, he caught the edge of the portal before it could close.