The Blood Alchemist (The Final Formula Series, Book 2) (3 page)

I stared back at her. She referred to the soil sample Rowan had taken when we were trying to figure out what had happened to the Alchemica. Before we found out
I
had happened to the Alchemica.

Then it hit me what she was saying. The bullet was alchemical. My heart skipped a beat, and I looked over at James. He met my eyes then began to frown, coming to the same conclusion I had—or so I suspected. I opened my bag and dug out a set of rubber gloves and a pair of tweezers.

“Addie?” Rowan prompted when I snapped on the gloves.

“Let me check something?”

He studied me a moment and then nodded.

I stepped up to the wall and carefully dug out the bullet. I dropped it in my gloved palm, turning so that the overhead light illuminated it. An iridescent glaze coated the outer surface and though the end had flattened where it had hit the stud, I could see that it had a Nosler tip.

“Oh God,” I breathed, understanding the victim’s mysterious death. It shouldn’t have been possible and yet—

“Addie, what is it?” Rowan asked.

I looked up, but it was James’s eyes I met.

“It’s one of mine.” I turned to face Rowan. “I designed it.”

Chapter
2

R
owan’s gray eyes probed mine. “What do you mean, designed it? Designed it to do what?”

“It’s what I did at the gun shop.” I waved a hand in James’s direction, reminding Rowan that I’d worked at James’s gun shop before we’d teamed up last fall. Suddenly, the crime scene messages made sense. The shooter knew that I would recognize the bullets. “They’re alchemically enhanced to kill animals in under ten seconds.”

“What?”

“Animals,” I repeated. “Human blood can’t trigger the alchemy. The magic remains inert, though the bullet itself could still kill you.”

“Jason was shot in the arm.” Rowan gestured at the dead man. God, he knew him by name?

“She said human blood, Rowan.” Lydia joined us. “We’re not human.”

I stared at her. Lydia was a geneticist. If anyone knew, she would. “Are you saying the magical are different? Genetically?”

“I guess you missed Lydia’s article in
Genetics
.” Donovan gave Lydia a smile.

“So, the bullet’s alchemical.” Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. He often did that in frustration, but he also did it when one of his headaches was coming on. Fire Elements walked a fine line. If they didn’t maintain constant control of their element, it could kill them. Headaches were the first symptom.

“Rowan—” I began.

He dropped his hand. “It always comes back to you.”

Not a headache then.

“That’s not fair,” James spoke up. I couldn’t believe he would defend me. “She did design them for game. I helped fill quite a few of them myself.”

I forced myself to speak and not give in to the wailing despair inside of me. “We need to find out who bought the bullets.” I turned to James. “George would have records.”

James frowned. “You want to call him?”

“No, but I will.”

Rowan pulled out his phone, and I thought he wanted me to call right then. Instead, he turned and walked over to the others. He dismissed them, thanking them for their time and asking them to stay safe. Someone was killing the magical—with my bullets.

The other people left and Rowan returned to us, dialing his phone. He brought it to his ear. “Waylon? It’s Rowan. I have another one.” He listened for a moment and then gave an address. He’d called the director of the PIA.

“Take Addie home,” Rowan said to Donovan after ending the call. “I’ll wait for Waylon. James—”

“I’ll stay with you,” James said, then continued when Rowan frowned. “Some nut is shooting the magical with Addie’s bullets. It’s not safe until we catch him.”

Rowan arched a brow. “I believe you qualify as magical.”

“I’m already dead.” He matched Rowan stare for stare. I suddenly felt like I didn’t know James at all. He wasn’t my timid sidekick anymore.

“Fine.” Rowan didn’t look annoyed. He almost looked…amused. I puzzled over this new dynamic between them. I’d caught a glimpse of it last fall, when I met them at the Elemental Offices to heal Era. They seemed more like…brothers.

“Shall we?” Donovan turned to me.

“Yeah. Sure.” I glanced at Rowan. “If you need me—”

“I know where to find you.” He turned and walked away. I’d been dismissed.

I glanced at James, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Time to go.

“Why don’t you hate me?” I asked Donovan once we were on the freeway.

“Life’s too short—or maybe in our case, too long—to hate.”

“Still.…”

“We all have regrets. Some of us even have to remember them.”

I shook my head. “I can’t imagine you’ve done anything all that bad.”

“I went down a dark path. Lost myself.” His voice grew softer. He fell silent, and I was just about to speak when he continued. “Rowan showed me the way back.”

I decided not to pry. Instead I gripped his arm where it lay on the armrest between us. “I’m glad you found your way.”

Donovan gave me a smile, and for a little while, we rode in silence.

“How is Rowan?” I asked. “He looks…tired.”

“He has a lot going on right now.”

“His antidote?”

“He has a vial left.”

I’d given him two vials a month ago. “I once swore to find a way to cure him—but I got distracted.”

It was Donovan’s turn to pat my arm. There was so much I wanted to ask him, but I didn’t have the courage. I slumped in my seat, and we lapsed into silence again. It wasn’t the stiff, awkward silence I’d shared with Rowan, but I could feel the undercurrent of things unsaid.

I let my mind drift to the alchemical puzzles facing me. Refining my burn salve, helping Rowan, and now, countering my own bullets. I’d have to look up that article Lydia had written. God, if I’d only known that the magical were genetically different, I would have designed the bullets another way. Once again, I’d taken a short cut and used blood alchemy, and it had come back to haunt me.

But I couldn’t change the past. I needed to design an antidote. Something that would work quickly to neutralize the alchemy in the bullets. I’d named them Heart Seekers because the magic was designed to react with the blood, then seek out the heart. If I could—

“Addie?”

I straightened in my seat. We’d arrived at the shop.

“You okay?” Donovan asked.

“Yeah. Just…puzzling things out.”

He pressed his lips together, considering me a moment. “You need to take better care of yourself. You’re looking a little worn down.”

“It’s been a rough couple of months.” I gripped the door handle and hesitated. “Thanks, Donovan.”

“Stay out of trouble, little alchemist.”

I snorted. “Like that’s going to happen.”

Donovan just winked. I hopped out of his SUV and closed the door. He remained at the curb until I got inside. I relocked the door and watched his taillights fade through the front glass. I hadn’t realized how much I missed Donovan.

“I began to despair of your return,” Ian said from beside me.

I jumped and whirled to face him, banging my knee against the table by the door. “Damn it, Ian. Would you
please
stop doing that?”

“Forgive me. I was concerned.”

“Since when?” I headed for the lab.

“You are my guide in this world.” He followed me through the curtain divider. “What did His Grace want?”

“A solution to a puzzle.” I never knew how much to tell Ian. He was the enemy of an enemy, but I didn’t know if that made him my friend. “I have a few formulas to try,” I said. “You up for an all-nighter?”

“And miss my beauty sleep?”

“Ha ha.” Ian didn’t sleep—or eat, or even need to breathe for that matter. Sometimes I wondered what he did with all that time.

“But I’m not so sure about you.” He stopped across the counter from me.

I remembered Donovan’s comments. “Do I look that bad?”

“Not if dark circles and pallid skin are fashionable in your world.”

I rolled my eyes and opened the cabinet below the bench. I’d need a—

“Before we begin, I have a phone call to relay,” Ian said, interrupting my search.

The only calls I received were crank calls amused by the name of my shop. Perhaps I shouldn’t have named it
The Addled Alchemist
, but at the time, it seemed apt.

“Dr. Albright would like to see you at your earliest convenience.”

I looked up, alarmed. “Did he say why?”

“No. Such details aren’t divulged to the secretarial staff. His or yours.”

“Damn, you’re on tonight.”

“I try.”

I frowned. Why would the head of the Burn Center call me? Did he want more of the burn salve or had the recent attention it had drawn become a problem?

“He probably wants to increase his order,” Ian said. “I can add it to the other potions you wish me to work on while you get a good night’s sleep.”

“Ian.”

“You will make a poor impression for our sole client if you cannot stay awake for this appointment.”

I studied the man who stood before me. “Why are you still here? I don’t buy that I’m your guide. The world hasn’t changed that much in the last….”

“Two centuries,” he finished. “And actually it has.”

My mouth dropped open. “That long?” I frowned. “But you said the Deacon imprisoned you. Xander’s only in his fifties.” Among the necromancers,
Deacon
was the title given to their leader, the most powerful among them. In the Cincinnati area, that was Xander Nelson.

“I referred to the man who originally bore the title, not his descendant.” Ian snorted. “Xander. He doesn’t possess a fraction of his ancestor’s power.”

I stared at the impossibly old man in front of me. “The original Deacon
Made
you?”

“How else could he imprison me in that tomb?”

He turned to his workbench, busying himself arranging his test tubes and beakers.

I stepped around to the end of his counter, studying his profile. What had he done to warrant such a fate? Ian was intelligent, but he was also witty, not to mention, pleasing to the eye. What had he been like in life? A ladies’ man?

“How old were you?” I asked. “When he made you a lich.”

He uncapped a bottle of sage oil and added a few drops to a test tube. “Thirty-four.”

A man in his prime. That fit. “Did you deserve such a fate?” I asked.

“I was a necromancer. A practicing necromancer.”

“So was he, apparently. I meant, what did you do to him? Steal his girl?”

Ian looked up, his glare as cold as his skin. “The only girl involved was my daughter.”

I blinked. “You had a daughter?”

“And four sons.”

I hadn’t expected that. “So, what happened?”

“He took my daughter. And three children later, Made her as well.”

“Oh.” My voice sounded small in the sudden silence.

“He’d bring the babies to my tomb, taunting me with my own grandchildren. They were all girls. That’s why he Made her. He claimed I’d cursed her—or that she was a witch.” He turned away. “He has her still.”

“He entombed her? Like he did you? You think they’re both still,” I stopped myself from saying
alive
, “around?”

“Yes.” His voice dropped to a whisper, then he turned back to his bench.

I suspected there was a lot to the story he wasn’t telling me. Also, he could be lying. “And his descendants, like Neil, continued to use you. This is about vengeance.”

He stopped fumbling with his beakers and turned to face me. “This isn’t petty vengeance. It’s not about a couple of necromancers pissing in each other’s graves.”

Interesting analogy.

“He took my little girl, violated her, stole her life
and
her death. Even if I could kill him, it wouldn’t be enough.” A manic light danced in his eyes, and I resisted the urge to step back. “I want to take down his family. Everything he’s built.”

“But isn’t his family yours?”

“No.”

An abrupt answer. The clock on the wall struck the hour. Ten o’clock.

“Write down what you want me to work on, then get to bed.”

“Ian.” I gripped his arm, aware of the coolness of the fabric, not warmed from within.

“Don’t.” He held my gaze. “You don’t know me.”

I pulled my hand from his arm. “What—”

“Write down those formulas, then you can get some sleep. What time shall I wake you?”

I sighed. “Six.”

“This Albright doesn’t come in until—”

“Six, Ian.” I walked over to get my notebook. It had been a long day. I didn’t think I’d sleep, but I could certainly use the quiet to think.

I spent more time than I normally did in front of the mirror the next morning. Dressed in the only thing I owned that wasn’t jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt, I gave the lapels of my jacket a tug, straightening the dark blue fabric along my shoulders. The pantsuit was sadly outdated, but it still had the tags when I bought it. Shopping in second-hand clothing stores rarely netted a fashionable wardrobe—just a cheap one.

I found Ian in the lab, his work area much more cluttered, and a collection of newly completed formulas arranged in my area. The smell of freshly dried thyme hung heavy in the air, mixed with lesser scents I couldn’t identify. It seemed he had indeed pulled an all-nighter.

“You’ve been busy,” I said.

A mortar and pestle sat at one end of his bench. A crucible of charred ivy leaves sat nearby, and a fine powder coated the bottom of the mortar. It was a testament to Ian’s strength that he could create such a powder as fine as flour with such crude instruments.

“What are you making with the ivy?”

“Prep work. Should you need it in ground form.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I suspected he did things like this out of boredom rather than consideration. He had to do something with all that free time. His lab had been incredibly well organized.

“Just trying to earn my keep.” He gathered a handful of vials and headed for the front room.

I followed, trying to decide if that was a quip about him selling some of his old books to pay the first month’s rent.

“You know I’m going to pay you back for those books.”

“It matters little.” He set the vials along the shelves offering our meager wares.

I remembered the potions that Emil, my former Grand Master, had been selling, and the thriving business he’d done. Of course, Emil had been tinkering with brain chemistry to make the untalented believe they were magical. The weird thing was, that potion had actually been effective on those that already possessed magic. I’d been forced to use it on Rowan, after Ian had nearly killed him.

Ian turned toward me, his eyes sweeping over my attire before settling on my face. “How much sleep did you get?”

“A few hours.”

“When you perish from exhaustion, shall I Make you?”

“Kind of you to offer, but no thanks.”

Movement outside the front door drew my attention, and I turned to see a familiar silver limo stop beside the curb. Sunlight glinted off the polished exterior and I squinted against the glare.

“This looks promising,” Ian said, following my gaze.

A moment later, the back door opened. My heart rolled over in my chest as Era climbed out.

“You need to go,” I said to Ian.

“Friend of yours?”

“Friend of the Flame Lord.”

“Interesting.” A dark portal appeared behind him. He took a single step back and it winked closed.

“Interesting, indeed,” I muttered.