The Blood Alchemist (The Final Formula Series, Book 2) (10 page)

“Yes.” I forced a smile as he stopped beside me. “I know it’s painful, but could you estimate how long it took the magic to take effect?”

The scowl that hadn’t left his face deepened, so it surprised me when he answered. “I didn’t put a watch on it, but I’d say under a minute.”

“A minute? Not seconds? You’re sure?”

“I know death when it calls me.”

Disturbing. “It was designed to stop the heart in under ten seconds.”

Doug stepped closer, so close that if I leaned forward, we’d be touching. “It doesn’t stop the heart, it explodes it. And it takes time to build up the pressure.”

Coolness replaced the heat in my cheeks as the blood drained away.

“Back off,” Rowan said in that cold tone that always gave me shivers.

“It was designed for animals,” I said for what felt like the fiftieth time. “A humane end when hit by some dumbass hunter who can’t shoot straight. Those animals can linger for weeks while the wound festers and eventually kills them.”

“Hell’s blood, she’s one of those bleeding heart animal lovers.” Doug rolled his eyes, but he did move away.

“Why the bullets exist does not change the fact that they do,” Rowan said. “Nor does this argument help locate the one pulling the trigger.”

Doug and Xander were both focused on Rowan. I used the distraction to knock the box of Ziploc bags to the floor. The box landed on its side, spilling half its contents—on top of the soiled bag.

“Shit,” I muttered. I squatted beside the mess and quickly began stuffing the loose bags back into the box. My heart thumped a little harder as I considered the possibility of losing the soiled bag.

“Just leave it,” Doug said from above me.

“I’ve got it,” I said. A glimpse of red caught my eye through the layers of clear plastic. I slid the bags aside and reached for the one I sought. My hand curled around the bag on the bottom, and I struggled to ball it in my fist without being too obvious.

“Allow me,” Rowan said. The scattered bags went up in a flash of blue-white flame—right in my face. I gasped, sucking in the odor of burnt plastic, and fell on my butt. Fortunately, I kept the bag fisted in my hand. I just hoped it was the right one.

Rowan stopped beside me and wordlessly offered a hand. I took it and let him pull me to my feet.

“I’ll call if I learn anything,” Rowan told them. He didn’t wait for a response before he started toward the door.

I lengthened my stride to keep pace with him, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

“See that you do,” Xander called after him.

He didn’t sound as forceful as earlier, and if not for his recent loss, I’d be tempted to give him a grin. As it was, I was lucky he hadn’t attacked me on sight. My bullet had killed his grandson.

Rowan and I didn’t speak until we were once more seated in his car.

“You do have a way of making my visits with the Deacon interesting.” Rowan slid the keys in the ignition.

“It’s not intentional.” I pulled the bag from my pocket and released a breath. It was the right one.

“I knew you had it.”

I looked up, surprised he’d understood my reaction.

“I waited until it was in your hand before I acted,” he continued.

When close enough, Rowan could actually see inside the things he ignited. I didn’t fully understand how that worked, but it enabled some scary-ass precision.

“Thanks for not burning my face off,” I said.

His gray eyes glinted. “You’re welcome.” He started the car. “Why did you want the dead kid’s blood?”

“Necromancer blood. I want to know why my bullet worked on him. I’d like Lydia to take a look. How different are necros from the rest of us?”

“Genetically, I don’t know. Otherwise, they’re very different.” He put the car in first and I reached for my seatbelt. “We’ll go see Lydia now.”

“Thank you.” I took a breath. “And thank you for letting—helping me take this.”

“If it gets me closer to stopping the murders, I’ll let the ethics slide.” He pulled away from the curb.

Right. It wasn’t that he trusted me, he just wanted the killings to stop.

“That’s my opinion as well,” I said.

He glanced over, but if he had a comment, he didn’t voice it.

Lydia’s lab was stunning. Pristine white workbenches with computerized instrumentation and several microscopes. Refrigerators with glass doors displayed neatly arranged petri dishes or racks of tiny PCR tubes.

“Wow,” I whispered.

Rowan chuckled beside me.

I didn’t have a full understanding of what went on in a genetics lab, but the topic intrigued me, so I did know a little.

“Addie.” Lydia laid aside her clipboard and walked over to greet us. “I’m so glad you finally came to visit.”

“I even brought a gift.” I held up the soiled baggie.

“Rowan said you had something for me.” Rowan had called ahead to make sure she was in. She took the bag. “Blood?”

I went on to explain how I’d procured it while she took the bag to the nearest counter.

“I’d hoped you could tell me how the necros varied genetically from the rest of the magical populace,” I concluded.

“I can tell you how this individual varies, but I won’t be able to make a broad statement without more data points.”

“More blood samples.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Rowan said to me before turning to Lydia. “I don’t need to tell you that this is confidential.”

“I got that.” Lydia grimaced, but I suspected it was really a smirk. Until I knew her better, she would be tough to read.

“Take what you need,” I said, “but leave me some.”

Her brows rose. “For your potions?”

I hesitated, aware of Rowan standing beside us. “Yes.”

She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Like what?” She seemed genuinely interested, and that surprised me. Wasn’t she concerned about what an Alchemica alchemist might do with a blood sample? Then, too, it was necromancer blood.

“There are a few things I’d like to try.”

“A few? But there’s not much sample.”

“I don’t need much. Once I isolate the essence of his power—”

“You can do that?”

Rowan cleared his throat. “I have a few errands to run. You mind if I leave Addie with you?”

I frowned. He wasn’t going to stay and supervise my work? Then, too, he was leaving me under Lydia’s more knowledgeable eye.

“That would be lovely,” Lydia said, sparing him a glance before turning back to me. “Would you show me? I’m sure I can locate any equipment you need. This is just the genetics lab. We also have…”

“Peas in a pod,” Rowan muttered as he turned and walked away.

I smiled to myself before launching into a refreshingly technical explanation for Lydia. Rowan was probably right. Within minutes, I forgot my concerns about blood alchemy—or the fact that Rowan and I were getting along.

A short time later, Lydia was well on her way to extracting some DNA while I had a culture tube of powdered necromancer essence.

“And this will become a quintessent ingredient in other formulas?” Lydia asked. She’d picked up on the alchemy terminology quickly and now spoke as if she’d been studying the discipline for years. To say I was impressed with her quick mind and attention to detail was an understatement.

The door opened and Rowan walked in.

“Back so soon?” Lydia asked.

“It’s been nearly two hours.” The corner of his mouth twitched, hinting at a smile.

I glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that he was right. When I turned back, I noticed snowflakes on the shoulders of his dark wool coat.

“It’s snowing?” I asked Rowan.

“It’s coming down hard. There’s over an inch on the ground.”

“But it was raining when we got here.”

“The temperature’s falling.” The amused glint was back in his eyes. “Are you finished?”

“Yes. I purified that blood sample and…” I picked up a rack of stoppered test tubes. “I made this.”

Rowan eyed the tubes. “And that is…”

“An antidote for the bullets.” I couldn’t hide my smile.

Rowan looked up, his expression growing serious. “Already?”

“I worked out the formula after we found the bullet, but the shop blew and—” I waved away the excuses. “Lydia had what I needed so I mixed up a batch.”

“She’s amazing, Rowan,” Lydia said.

“You’re one to talk.” I hoped my blush wasn’t visible. “It’s designed to be taken orally. That’s the quickest way to get a potion into the body.”

“What about an injection?” Rowan asked.

“An—”

“You know, an auto-injector, like an EpiPen. People with life-threatening allergies don’t have a lot of time, either.”

“True.” I turned to Lydia, raising my brows.

“That’s an excellent idea,” she said, “but would it still work?”

“Absolutely, but I don’t know anything about auto-injectors. I’ve never used one as a delivery mechanism.”

“And yet Bang Snaps are perfectly feasible.” Rowan clearly referred to the time I’d hit him with an alchemically altered novelty firework.

“Well, yeah. For a powder.” I was really blushing now, so I focused on Lydia. “Could you get some of those auto-injectors?”

“Certainly, leave it to me. If it’s starting to snow, you two should get moving.”

We spent a few more minutes discussing dosages then thanked Lydia for sharing her resources with me. To my surprise, she gave me a hug.

“Anytime.” She released me and turned to Rowan. “You must bring her back again.”

“I’m sure she can find her own way.” He lifted my coat from the peg by the door and passed it to me.

“Yes, of course.” I pulled on my coat and gave Lydia a smile, then followed Rowan outside.

Rowan was right about the snow. The flakes were falling thick and heavy, already accumulating on his Camaro in the short amount of time he’d been inside. The snow coated every branch and horizontal surface. The world had become a scene from a Christmas card.

I stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, hating to make tracks in the fresh snowfall. A light wind swirled the flakes around me, catching on my hair and lashes. I tipped my face up, loving the feel of the cool flakes melting against my cheeks. The sensation was familiar.

“Addie?”

I gasped and straightened, immediately feeling like an idiot. “Sorry.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets and started toward the car. I had to slow my pace when one foot slipped out from under me. The rain had frozen, leaving a thin sheet of ice beneath the layer of snow. I hoped they’d treated the roads.

The wind kicked up, pelting my face with thick wet snowflakes. I bent my head to avoid the worst of it, sniffing my suddenly running nose.

The lights on the Camaro flashed as Rowan unlocked the doors, and I hurried to climb inside. A gust whipped through the car when Rowan got in. I reached for my seatbelt as he started the engine. He didn’t immediately pull out, adjusting the heat and turning on the windshield wipers.

“There are napkins in the glove box,” he said.

“What?”

“Your nose is bleeding.”

I touched my upper lip and discovered that he was right. I opened the glove box and pulled out a napkin, dabbing the few drops from my lip.

“Déjà vu?” he asked, using the same term I did to describe my powerful memory surges.

“Maybe.”

“You didn’t remember anything?”

I folded the napkin and dabbed my nose. It came away clean. “It was the snow,” I admitted, not looking at him. “Something familiar about it.”

“The snow?”

“I’m forty-two. Snow should be familiar, but—” I studied the napkin, unable to describe it. “Maybe it’s the storm or the bite of the wind.” I shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

He was silent, but I didn’t look over. I just folded the napkin into smaller and smaller squares.

“You don’t want to take the Final Formula and find out?” he asked.

“No!” I pressed my lips together, embarrassed that I’d all but shouted the word. “No. I don’t need to know.” I stopped playing with the napkin. “You can drop me at the new shop.”

He put the car in reverse and started to back out. “The gas isn’t on. No heat. You’ll stay at the manor.”

“It’s not that cold.”

“It’s twenty-seven degrees.” He shifted to first and headed for the street.

“But—”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“Cora’s going to flip out.” I slumped in my seat.

“Let me worry about her.”

I groaned. “You always say that.”

“She hasn’t killed you yet.”

I snorted, smiling in spite of myself. “Thanks, Your Grace. I feel much better.”

“You’re welcome.” The backend fishtailed a bit as he pulled out onto the street. I gripped the door handle and resigned myself to a long drive.

Forty minutes later, we’d only managed about half the distance to the manor. Rowan had turned the radio to WLW after a jack-knifed semi had diverted us onto the back roads. The weatherman had bumped the storm up from a snow squall to a blizzard.

We passed a few salt trucks, but the snow was falling too fast for them to keep up. The rear-wheel drive Camaro wasn’t the best choice for the icy conditions, but Rowan managed to keep it on the road. Though every time we crossed a culvert or bridge, I could feel the back end trying to come around on us.

Rowan’s phone buzzed in the console.

“Check that for me?” He didn’t look over, keeping his attention on the road.

I picked up the phone and tapped the screen. “It’s a text. From Cora.”

“Read it.”

“Where are you?” I read aloud.

“Taking the long way home. The interstate is closed.”

I typed his response and read hers. “Be safe.”

Rowan didn’t respond so I assumed my secretarial duties were complete and returned the phone to the console.

A few more slow miles passed under the wheels of the Camaro as road closures and accident reports continued to pile up on the radio.

“Sorry to have you out in this,” I said. “I guess I should have just left the blood sample with Lydia and saved the rest for another day.”

“I’m grateful for the antidote.”

That warmed me. “Still, I know you don’t like having your baby out in this.”

“My baby?”

“The Camaro.” I turned my attention to the snow-covered landscape.

“It’s not—” Rowan didn’t get to finish as a dog darted out of the shrubbery lining the road.