The Blood Alchemist (The Final Formula Series, Book 2) (9 page)

“Appearances can be deceiving.” I snapped my seatbelt. “I take it there’s been another murder.”

“Yes.”

“My bullets?”

“So it would seem.” He put the car in first, the tires squealing faintly as he pulled away. “The call was from Xander. His grandson was shot.”

I glanced over, shocked. “A necromancer?”

“It appears your bullets are effective against Old Magic as well.”

Rowan parked the car at the curb and shut off the engine. A light rain had started to fall, but not enough to cloud my view through the windshield. My heart thumped against my breastbone as I eyed the familiar edifice of the Nelson Funeral Parlor. I wasn’t too fond of entering the lair of the city’s most powerful necromancer—well, living necromancer—but that wasn’t what set my heart racing. The last time I’d been here, Rowan had learned the truth about what I’d done to Era and given me a stay of execution.

Then there was the little detail that Clarissa, the Deacon’s sister, had died during our last visit. This couldn’t end well.

“Did the shooting happen here?” I asked.

“No.” Rowan pulled the keys from the ignition, but didn’t move to get out. “Xander wants you to identify the bullet.”

So, that was the reason Rowan wanted me along. “Why didn’t he just send it to the PIA?” They were capable of making that determination. They’d gotten enough samples from Rowan.

“They’re necromancers. They do things differently.”

I released a breath, staring through the windshield at the building.

“You don’t have to do this,” Rowan said.

I frowned, but didn’t look at him. He’d let me off the hook?

“No, you gave him your word,” I said. “We’ll do this.” That was true, but I also didn’t want to look weak in front of him. I opened my door and climbed out. Rowan joined me, and without further comment, we walked up the steps to the funeral home.

On this visit, they weren’t preparing for a funeral though the smell of fresh flowers still perfumed the air. We were greeted just inside the door by the same surly young man we’d met last time.

“He’s waiting downstairs,” the young man said before Rowan could ask. “This way.” He turned and led the way into a waiting room to our right.

“Thank you,” Rowan said to his back.

A door labeled
Employees Only
stood open, revealing the wide hallway behind the viewing parlor, along with the freight elevator and stairwell. Our guide pushed open the door to the stairs and jogged down, leaving us behind.

“Congenial fellow,” I said.

“True.” Rowan pushed open the door to the stairs and held it for me.

I wanted to ask him why he was being so nice, but didn’t get a chance as our guide was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The unadorned hall stretched out in both directions, the cement floor unpainted and the cinder block walls an unimaginative white. The faint scent of formaldehyde reminded me of my first visit here.

To my surprise, our guide didn’t direct us to the body preparation room Xander had met us in last time. “Last door on the right.” The kid pointed up the hall in the opposite direction. He didn’t wait for a response, just turned and disappeared into the stairwell.

I stared at the door he’d indicated. “Neil’s lab.”

“So it would seem.”

Why Neil’s lab? If they weren’t going to gross us out with a necromantic autopsy—a sight I never wanted to witness again—why not meet in Xander’s posh office upstairs? I didn’t particularly want to visit that locale either, but it made more sense than here.

Rowan took a step in that direction.

I caught Rowan’s arm, but couldn’t voice my concerns when his gray eyes met mine.

“What is it?” Rowan asked.

“I lost almost everything when my shop blew. I’m not well-armed.” I didn’t like to admit that. It wasn’t my failing, but it was a failing all the same.

“No chicory extract?”

I snorted, remembering the time I’d held him at bay with a vial of chicory root extract. “Rowan. I’m serious.”

He held my gaze for one long moment. “I’ve met with the man for over a decade. He’s not going to start anything now.”

“I’m not worried about Xander.”

Rowan’s brows lowered. “Neil.”

“I don’t think his goals are in line with the rest of his necro brethren.” I took a breath. “And he’s an Alchemica alchemist.”

“Your Grand Master could never get the better of me—and neither could Neil.”

“He knocked out your power,” I whispered.

“With an alchemically treated quarrel.” Rowan started walking. “If he pulls out a quarrel, I’ll ash it.”

“I wish you’d take this seriously.”

“I do. And I doubt he has the balls to face me.” He stopped before the door and gripped the knob. “He’s not half the alchemist you are.”

How was I supposed to interpret that? Was Rowan complimenting my skills or my cojones for having the nerve to face him? I didn’t have time to ask as Rowan pushed the door open and walked inside.

I followed and discovered that Rowan was right. Only Xander and his son Doug waited for us. But that wasn’t what surprised me. The room was no longer a lab. The counters and cabinets still remained, but all the equipment was gone. Had Neil moved out or had Xander thrown him out? Xander might be his uncle, but I’d gotten the sense that Xander didn’t think much of Neil.

“Rowan.” Xander stepped forward and offered a hand. “Thank you for coming.”

“It wasn’t a problem.” Rowan took his hand.

The civility between these two men always surprised me. Especially after the events of last October. I hadn’t asked, but I would have thought the death of Xander’s sister—a death I could have been blamed for—would have made this meeting awkward. Or did Xander not know what truly happened here?

Xander raked a hand through his blond hair. Knowing Ian was an ancestor, I studied the man a little closer. Aside from the blond hair and blue eyes, I didn’t see much of a resemblance. Xander was built like a linebacker with broad shoulders and a thick neck, where Ian was more the quarterback in my sports analogy.

Xander must have noticed my interest. Eyes the color of faded denim shifted in my direction. “And the one responsible.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m told the bullet was yours.”

“A few months ago, I worked at a gun shop that produced alchemically enhanced bullets designed for game.” I crossed my arms. “I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“And I didn’t bring her over here for you to accuse,” Rowan said.

Xander frowned, but didn’t comment. Instead he waved a hand at his son, who’d sat quietly on a stool through the whole exchange.

Doug frowned in turn, but got up and went to the big walk-in cooler that had once served as a temporary prison for James. I had a moment’s unease that history would repeat itself and stepped to the side to see inside the cooler better. The space wasn’t as big as I expected. Shelves lined all three walls and appeared to be used for storage. I noticed a few chemical bottles—from Neil’s time here?—and an assortment of boxes and jars. My eyes caught on the old-looking clay jars on the right. Weird things to keep in a cooler. Curling lines embellished each. I couldn’t tell if it was a W or an M, or maybe just a decorative doodle.

Doug retrieved a Ziploc bag from a shelf in the back. A dull lump occupied one corner. My bullet.

He brought the Ziploc to me. “Don’t remove it from the bag,” Doug said.

The bullet and the corner it rested in were liberally smeared with blood that had yet to congeal or lose all of its redness.

“How recent was the shooting?” I asked more out of curiosity than anything else.

“A few hours ago,” Xander answered.

“Well, are you going to take it?” Doug asked, still offering the bag.

“I don’t need to. The caliber is the same as my bullets and the iridescent sheen suggests alchemical enhancement.”

Doug dropped his arm but continued to glare at me.

I ignored him and turned back to Xander. “And the one killed was a necromancer?”

“Yes.” A muscle flexed in Xander’s jaw. “My grandson.”

I glanced at Doug. I estimated him to be in his late twenties, old enough to be a father, but—

“My older brother’s boy,” Doug said.

“My condolences,” I said.

“And mine as well,” Rowan added. “But if you don’t mind, could you tell me if the wound would have been fatal without the magic?”

“No,” Doug answered for his father, his tone cold. “He was shot in the ass and nowhere near any of the gluteal arteries.”

It might have been funny if not for Doug’s seething anger. He seemed…offended.

“You think the location intentional?” I asked.

Doug glared at me.

“All of my people were shot in innocuous locations,” Rowan said. “Limbs, shoulder, hand. All were alone at the time, and at home or at their business.” His attention shifted to me. “The gunman was hiding in the home of the last victim, waiting for his arrival.”

“That wasn’t the case here,” Doug said. “We were at…the park.”

“You were present?” I asked. “Can you tell me more?”

Doug dropped the bag and its gruesome contents on the counter, the bullet hitting with a muffled thunk. “No, I can’t.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

“I apologize,” Xander said, breaking the awkward silence. “He’s taking this hard.”

I made a sound of understanding and eyed the doorway.

“Any information you could provide could prove helpful,” Rowan said. “I’d also recommend you turn the bullet over to the PIA for ballistic testing.”

“Perhaps,” Xander said. “But after the memorial.”

Memorial, not a funeral. “You intend to cremate him?” I asked.

Xander regarded me with cool blue eyes. “We are necromancers, Miss Daulton, and there are rival families. I will not let him lie in some city morgue. Do you understand?”

“I think I do.” I suppressed a shiver. Nothing like a rival necromancer to take your deceased family member for a walk.

“You need to warn your people,” Rowan said to Xander. “Your family.”

“I will.”

“I’m concerned that the PIA database has been compromised,” Rowan said.

“We should never have let them come into power,” Xander said with heat.

“Doesn’t your nephew work for them?” I asked. Back in the fall, Neil had been working as an alchemist for the PIA.

“I wouldn’t know. After what happened upstairs, I disowned him. I would have done it years ago, but his mother always talked me out of it. Damn alchemists.” Xander glared at me before turning to Rowan. “You’d better watch your back around them.”

“What happened?” Rowan asked.

“Clarissa was murdered.”

“You never mentioned this. I attended her memorial and—”

“I was too pissed at the time. It was
her
Grand Master.” Xander jabbed a finger at me. “Then my moron nephew kills him and denies me vengeance. I could have made him a lich, entombed him, and had him tormented for centuries.”

That sounded familiar. I guess the Nelson family hadn’t changed much over the years.

“I’m sorry.” Neither Rowan’s tone nor his expression gave anything away. Like me, he knew that Neil had lied to Xander about what really happened.

Xander waved away his sympathy.

“Keep your people safe, Xander,” Rowan said. “And keep me apprised of any further developments.”

“That street runs both ways.” Xander offered his hand and Rowan took it.

I eyed the bullet lying on the counter while the men shook hands. It surprised me that Old Magic was susceptible to it as well. Were they like New Magic and genetically different from the rest of humanity? That smear of blood held the answer. It also held the essence of a necromancer’s power. Trying to capture Ian’s essence in the dead dog’s blood hadn’t worked.

Xander had his back to me and didn’t see me lift the blood-smeared bag from the benchtop, but Rowan’s eyes flicked in my direction.

“I also want to know if there’s been a security breech with the PIA database,” Xander continued.

I gestured at Rowan, encouraging him to keep talking. Meanwhile, I plucked a clean bag from the box on the counter. Fortunately, it appeared to be the same brand as the one holding the bullet.

“I will,” Rowan answered, “but I need to ask, was your grandson ever registered?”

Xander fell silent and I froze. He’d hear the Ziploc if I opened it now.

Abruptly Xander expelled a breath. “I’ve never agreed with forced registration. We can animate a corpse, not incinerate entire city blocks. What is the point in keeping tabs on us?”

I pulled open the clean bag then the other, timing it to Xander’s impassioned words.

“What were you just saying about lich-making and centuries of torture?” Rowan continued, a hint of amusement in his tone. I didn’t look up to verify.

Glancing at the open door, I shifted the slippery bullet toward the open end of the bag, while trying to get the clean bag beneath it. If Doug should return or Xander turn around…

“How about the portals to another dimension?” Rowan added.

“The portals are the stuff of legend, and lich-making is incredibly rare as well as dangerous.”

I glanced up, interested in the conversation, and the bullet fell to the edge of the bag. A gasp escaped before I could help it. Then the bullet tumbled free.

Chapter
7

X
ander started to turn, but I only caught the motion out of my peripheral vision. The bullet struck the lip of the clean bag and miraculously, dropped inside. I let go of the original bag and it fell to the floor at my feet, the end of the counter hiding it from Xander’s line of sight.

“Dangerous how?” I asked, pretending to examine the bullet within its new bag. I scooted it around, smearing the inside of the new bag with the blood that still remained on the bullet and praying that Xander wouldn’t notice that the bag wasn’t zipped.

“Dangerous to the practitioner.” Xander frowned watching me handle the bullet. “What are you doing?”

“I was wondering, if you don’t mind me asking, how quickly did the magic take effect?”

A muscle ticked in Xander’s jaw. “Are you congratulating yourself on its efficiency?”

“I’m designing an antidote, and I’m wondering if I need to make any adjustments for Old Magic.”

“An antidote?” Xander turned toward Rowan, and I quickly sealed the bag. “Were you going to mention that?”

“I said designing.” I returned the bullet to the counter and stuffed my shaking hands into my pockets. “It doesn’t exist yet.”

Movement pulled my attention from Xander’s scowl. Doug walked back into the room, and I took a hasty step to the side, covering the soiled bag with my feet.

“Still here?” Doug demanded.

“The Flame Lord’s alchemist was just telling me about the antidote she’s designing.”

“An antidote?” Doug asked. “For the bullets?”