The Necromancer's Betrayal (The Final Formula Series, Book 2.5) (9 page)

She sucked in a breath. “What?” The man
was
insane.

“He has an antidote that will return it once the grim… James is free.”

“Where is James?”

“I’ve kept him sedated while the two of you were out.” Neil gave them a sheepish look. “I couldn’t have stopped him if he woke first.”

“See, paranoid,” Doug said.

“Practical.” Neil faced her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t think of any other way to accomplish this. And believe me when I tell you that this is the last thing I’d wish on any necromancer.”

Elysia frowned. The guy didn’t sound crazy. “How long will it take the bond to dissolve?”

Neil glanced at Doug before answering. “With the average necro, I’d say a day, maybe less.”

“And me?” She knew she was anything but average.

“I can’t say.” Neil placed a hand on her shoulder, his white eyes meeting hers. “But I can help you through it.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and released it. “I honestly don’t understand why you want to free him, but that’s your choice. I’m here if you need me.” He handed Doug the vial, and with a nod to her, turned and left the room.

Elysia met Doug’s gaze.

“You don’t have to do this. I can’t see how being bound to you is any hardship for… James.” Doug seemed to be making an effort to treat James like a person.

“I know you’re thinking that I could let him go on his way, but that wouldn’t make it right. In a sense, he’s immortal. I took that away from him. Worse, he’ll be lucky to see another decade.”

“Would you please stop talking like that. You are
not
cursed.”

Why would Doug not even consider the possibility. James, at least, allowed that it was possible. And she would bet that Neil would buy into it wholeheartedly. Hell, the man was an Alchemica alchemist.

“Why have you never mentioned Neil?” she asked.

Doug glanced toward the door, then continued in a softer tone. “He’s a bit of a family… embarrassment. My father named him heir at his birth, but had to rescind the proclamation when he proved to be stunted.”

“God, he was strong enough to be named heir at birth?” Highly talented necromancers—like Doug or his father—could taste power in the blood of another. But that power often didn’t manifest in children, let alone infants.

“Yes. He wasn’t expected to make it to puberty, let alone past it. But he proved his mettle by surviving his childhood, then he turned to alchemy to preserve his sanity.”

“He’s an Alchemica alchemist.”

“A master alchemist. He didn’t survive, he thrived.” Doug placed the vial in her hand, then closed his fingers over hers. “He knows his trade.”

She released a breath. “I don’t trust alchemists.”

“Because of the supposed actions of one centuries ago. Necromancers get a bad rap, too, but you know we’re not evil.”

“True.” She uncurled her fingers to study the vial. Did she dare put her trust in an alchemist? “Am I crazy to consider this?”

“Binding James is clearly plaguing you. And I suspect for you to be happy, you have to at least try to free him.”

“You’re right.” She couldn’t condemn James to only a few more years of life.

“I know you, El.” Doug pressed his palm to her cheek. “And while we wait for the bond to dissolve, you can stay with me. I’ll help you through this.”

She swallowed. She had to try—for James. A twist of the cap, and she downed the contents before she could think better of it. She expected it to taste like medicine, or maybe burn like whiskey; instead it was like she had swallowed a shot of Novocain. Her tongue went numb, then her throat. The potion reached her stomach and flowed outward. Her vision darkened, and the scent of Doug’s expensive cologne faded.

“Elysia?” Doug sounded far away. “Hey—”

The numbness shrouded her mind.

Arms encircled her, and she was lifted from her feet. Doug. “Where—”

“Home,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”

Doug’s townhouse lay on a quiet, tree-lined street close enough to be convenient to downtown, but not so close that the noise and bustle invaded the space. The floor plan was open and the walls lined with windows, especially in the back of the house. Elysia was certain she would have been more impressed if she wasn’t struggling to hold herself together. It had only been two days since she had taken Neil’s potion, but it felt like two weeks.

She stepped through the French doors onto the cobbled patio behind the townhouse, determined to escape the gloom inside and enjoy the unusually warm day. The sun’s brightness hurt her eyes, and the rays seared her cheeks. She turned to flee into the house, but stopped herself.

This was wrong. It was February. A warm sunny day should be a reprieve. A balm on the soul. She closed her eyes and tipped up her face, trying to capture that feeling.

Nothing. Her skin felt too tight, as if trying to contain an essence that had always flown free.

“You can do this,” she said.

Do this
, the wind whispered.

She shook her head. The whispers had started yesterday afternoon. Sometimes, she deciphered the occasional word, but most of the time, it was nothing more than background noise. She hadn’t told Doug, but it was only a matter of time. It was getting worse.

The bond had to fail soon. Her power was locked down within her body. Unable to escape. How could it possibly still hold James within its grasp.

“James.” His name escaped on a gasp, the bond springing to life and doubling her over with a mix of pain and pleasure. Through the haze, she wondered if James had felt that in his hotel room, wherever that was. Doug had promised to supply him with lodging until this was finished. She had insisted. She wanted to tell him goodbye once this was over, and make sure he returned to Athens unharmed. But for now, she stayed away from him, hoping the bond would dissolve more quickly. It wasn’t helping.

She gripped her thighs, slowly releasing a breath as the sensation of his presence faded into the now familiar numbness.

“Ely!” The French doors slammed and hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her upright before crushing her against a wide chest. The scent of Doug’s cologne assailed her sensitive nose, making her want to gag. She pushed away from him and took a step back.

“It’s not working. I can still feel the bond.”

The bond?
The wind sounded puzzled.

She resisted the urge to plug her ears.

“Ely?”

“I want the antidote.”

“It’s only been forty-eight hours. It seems a shame to quit after you’ve endured this long. I asked Neil to brew something for the pain.”

Invisible fingers brushed her cheek. A spider web? She rubbed at the sensation. Wasn’t it the wrong time of year for spiders?

“I can handle the pain,” she said. Once past the initial shock of not being able to relieve the pressure, the pain had settled into a dull ache, not unlike a stubborn sinus headache.

Doug touched her shoulder, the weight of his hand heavy against her skin.

She took another step away from him, and her back bumped the plate-glass window at the same time something crunched underfoot. She took a hasty step to the side and looked down. A bright red cardinal lay on the ground at her feet.

“It’s dead,” she said.

“I moved the bird feeder farther out into the yard, but they still occasionally hit the glass.”

She looked up at the window and saw her own reflection. Her white eyes stared back at her. “I can’t feel it,” she admitted. She should have felt it from the next street over, but the dead bird lay at her feet, and she hadn’t felt a thing.

“Then there’s no way you can feel the bond.”

She turned to face him, her eyes meeting his bright blue gaze. “What are you saying?”

He looked away. He did that a lot these days. Would there come a day when he wouldn’t look at her at all?

“You’re going to be fine. Another day, maybe two, and the bond will fail.”

Two days? She didn’t want to think about enduring two more hours.

He pulled his keys from his pocket.

“Where are you going?”

“Father called. He needs my help with something.”

“But—” She couldn’t tell him she didn’t want to be alone. That the whispers plagued her more when he wasn’t around.

“I won’t be gone long.” He lifted a hand toward her cheek, and she took a hasty step back.

“I’m sorry,” she said, catching the hurt look in his eyes. “My skin… it feels bruised.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then sighed. “I’ve got to go, Ely.” He returned to the house, leaving her alone in the backyard.

Soon,
the wind reassured her, then tugged at her hair.

Elysia stared at the dead bird. It couldn’t be soon enough.

She hurried inside. Maybe she would watch some TV—and turn up the volume. Anything to drown out the whispers.

Doug’s overstuffed couch and the drone of the TV were a deadly combination. Elysia couldn’t keep her eyes open. She had gotten little sleep the past two nights, and now it caught up with her. The buzz of the TV faded into the background.

Dreams of surreal landscapes and sibilant whispers plagued her. It wasn’t the dim red landscape of her recurring dream, but it had a similar feel. She soon found herself running, trying to escape a whispering pursuer.

Darting across a street of red cobblestone, she stepped beneath a wrought-iron arch and found a sprawling cemetery. Leafless trees and ancient headstones dotted the rolling hills that stretched as far as she could see.

To most, a cemetery was a place to be avoided. It was a place of horrors and nightmares. To Elysia, it represented peace and rest. A respite from pain and tension. But not tonight.

She reached out, but all the graves were empty. Gaping holes in front of the weathered tombstones bore witness to the theft of the dead.

The whispers drew closer, crowding behind her just outside the iron arch. She stumbled forward. The thief hadn’t taken everything. Something still remained. Something that called to her. Her solace. Her savior.

Empty graves stretched for miles, and it seemed she had walked everyone of them, searching each empty hole.

Elysia.
The whisper was right behind her. She whirled, expecting a nightmare, and found… nothing. Darkness had swallowed the empty cemetery she had just crossed.

She stumbled, trying to escape the whispering darkness. Her next step met nothing but empty air, and she screamed as she tumbled backward into the open grave.

Strong arms embraced her before she hit the ground. “Easy. I have you,” a male voice said.

She turned to face him and cried out in relief. “James!” She threw her arms around his neck. “I’ve searched everywhere.”

“I know.” He leaned down and took her mouth with his own, a growl in his throat and sharp teeth nipping her lips.

She pressed closer to him, reveling in the taste of him, the feel of his warm hands over her bare skin, the bite of his claws.

He growled her name, low and seductive, and the muscles beneath her navel tightened.

She wanted to answer, but a metallic rattle silenced her. It sounded like chains. She looked down and, for the first time, saw the heavy iron shackles around his raw wrists. When she looked back up, she noticed the collar of the same gray metal around his throat. A chain stretched from the collar, vanishing into the darkness behind him.

“They’ve bound me. Will you free me?”

“But the whispers.”

“Be brave.” The voice was no longer his, but the cloaked woman’s from her dreams. “I won’t let him win.”

Elysia sat up with a gasp. She was on Doug’s leather couch in his upscale townhouse. His big screen blaring a news report. She swung her feet to the floor and leaned forward to brace her elbows on her thighs. Exhaling, she rubbed the back of her sweat-dampened neck. Her skin still felt tight and warm. Even so, she remembered his touch and shivered. As if she wasn’t tormented enough, having semi-erotic dreams about James wasn’t helping.

She rubbed her hands over the hot skin of her face and straightened. Her eyes settled on the TV and she gasped. The screen showed a pair of brown-robed men standing with a news reporter.

“… no reason for concern,” one man said. “But I will get to the bottom of it.”

“No reason for concern? Sir, the hospital staff claimed she had no knowledge of having been Made.”

“That’s highly unlikely,” the other man said.

Elysia straightened. The other man was Doug. And the first man was most likely his father, the Deacon. Was this what he had been called away to do?

“But this necromancer is out there now,” the reporter insisted. “What if he Makes someone else?”

“Impossible,” the Deacon said. “Such necromancers are the stuff of legend and fairy tales. The extremely rare individual who possesses the talent, might make one, maybe two liches in his entire lifetime.”

Elysia lifted a brow. That wasn’t accurate. Well, perhaps it was true for those necromancers with barely enough juice to make a lich, but she knew Doug had more than enough strength to create as many liches as he chose in his lifetime. And she had to assume his father was the same. Granted, they couldn’t create a lich with only the power of their blood, but the Deacon was definitely sugarcoating things for this interview.

“Why so few?” the reporter asked.

“To Make is to give of yourself. Give too much and you cease to be.”

“It kills the necromancer?”

“To put it in layman’s terms.” There was a smile in the Deacon’s voice.

The reporter responded with a smile of her own. “Thank you, Deacon. You’ve put my mind at ease.”

“It’s no problem, Natalie. I’m glad to have the opportunity to dispel the degrading rumors about my kind. I am—”

A crash sounded from the kitchen and Elysia jerked around to look over the back of the couch. “Doug?” Was he back? Perhaps the interview had been recorded, or this was a rerun. How long had she slept?

Elysia came to her feet at the sound of breaking glass and instinctively reached out with her senses. Still groggy from the nap, she had forgotten that nothing worked. The numbness pulled a soft gasp from her.

Another small sound from the kitchen drew her attention away from her magical problems. Unless Doug had acquired a cat she was unaware of, there was someone in the house.

On tiptoe, Elysia crept to the stone fireplace and the wrought iron rack of fire tools on the hearth. Careful not to make any noise—no more than she already had—she withdrew the poker. Metal scraped lightly against metal. The sound seemed loud to her ears, but the soft noises continued in the kitchen.

Elysia gripped the poker, the iron cold against her palm, and crept across the plush rug to the kitchen door. She didn’t want to call the police only to find out Doug
did
have a cat, or a cleaning lady. Leaning against the wall beside the kitchen door, she peeked inside. A woman knelt beside the French doors, gathering the pieces from a broken pane.

For a moment, Elysia entertained the hope that she really was a cleaning lady—except, the backyard was inaccessible from the street, and this woman was wearing a bathrobe. The woman reached out a hand for the next piece of glass and stopped in mid-motion. Slowly, she rose to her feet and turned to face Elysia as if she had known she was being watched.

Elysia pressed a hand to her mouth. The thin robe covered a hospital gown decorated in pink and blue teddy bears. It was the girl from the convenience store.