Alchemist Academy: Book 3

by Matt Ryan

  “Verity, leave the room,” Quinn said.

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  Verity’s face twitched before she swirled around and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Quinn pulled out a drawer and lifted a stone with his bare hand. It was beige, with two parallel red lines running around it. Now I saw what he’d used as inspiration for decorating his office. I’d never seen such a stone.

  “I see you don’t know this particular stone. Let me assure you, it’s a fascinating one. It took me a long time to get it just right.” He got up from his chair, tossing the stone up, then snatching it from the air.

  Bridget groaned. “Why can’t you just tell us what you want? We’re never going to buy into your bullshit.”

  Quinn walked behind her and she glared at the space in front of her. She looked tense, yet prepared to take whatever he dished out. I, on the other hand, turned in my chair, not one to give a viper her defenseless back.

  He touched Bridget’s hair and pulled a few strands into his hand. She slapped him away and he bent down close to her, staring at me. Bridget slammed her head back and head-butted Quinn in the mouth. Without so much as a flinch, he stood up, smiling, and licked the trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.

  He held out the stone in his hand. “This is a compulsion stone, and one of the most difficult stones to make. If I use this on both of you, you will be begging me to do whatever I want. Mix in the memory stone, and I could put you back in that cage after I’m done and we would start again tomorrow as if for the first time. In fact, maybe we’ve done this before.” His gaze lingered on me before he continued. “Maybe this is the tenth time we’ve been up here now. Maybe you’ve done things you would never do in a million years. Maybe—”

  “He’s lying,” Bridget interrupted.

  “Am I?” He walked in front of us and leaned against his desk. “I suppose there would be some marks or physical representation of previous encounters if what I was saying is true.”

  I touched the wound on my head and a shiver ran down my spine. The idea of doing something and then having no memory of it felt like pure evil—it terrified me. I looked to Bridget, and she looked how I felt. We needed to get out of there quickly.

  “All of this can end, if you’d just answer a few questions. So, let’s try this again. Where is Blane?”

  “I don’t know. My mother took him away when you attacked.”

  “So, you admit you have him?” He rubbed his chin.

  I gritted my teeth.

  “He knows she has him,” Bridget said.

  I started feeling out of my depth communicating with the man and slumped in my chair.

  “Where was the next jump location?”

  “Brazil,” I said, knowing full well my mom wouldn’t be going there now. If she was going to get anywhere . . . Dammit. I closed my mind and tried to think of shoes.

  “Where would she go? Just take a guess.”

  “I really have no idea.”

  “Yes, you do.” He rolled the stone in his hand.

  I wanted this to all be over, but I wasn’t about to give him so much as a clue to my mom’s whereabouts. Lips thinning, I looked out the window.

  “I guess this is going to be an interesting evening for the three of us, then.” He smiled, then shrugged. “A little bothersome, but I like girls with some fight in them.”

  Bridget stood up from her chair and sauntered over to him. Quinn watched her with a cocked brow, licking the corner of his mouth and tasting the blood. I sat on the edge of my seat, trying to send Bridget a what-in-the-hell look, but she wasn’t about to be interrupted.

  “Aren’t you sick of using those to get what you want?” she asked. “Don’t you, for once, want to know what a woman is like without forcing her with a stone?”

  “That’s close enough.” He held out a hand and grinned at Bridget’s question. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “Let Allie go, and it can be just the two of us.” Bridget produced a sultry look and pulled down her shirt a few inches, revealing the top of her cleavage.

  Quinn’s face told me how much he enjoyed her offer, but it made me want to throw up. I got up from my chair. “No. I won’t leave you with this maniac.”

  “Maniac?” Quinn said.

  “Allie, I’ve got this.”

  “No.”

  Quinn crossed his arms, looking me up and down. “We could have a little tussle—some hair pulling, clothing removal, maybe a little slap and tickle. Afterward, I can forgive you for lying to me today and give you another chance to tell me where Blane is.”

  Bridget shot me a look and addressed Quinn. “We don’t know where the ancient dude is.” She sighed. “And why would someone like you need to resort to using a tool as addled as Blane?”

  “I don’t need that fool. But I can’t let Cathy get her hands on the philosopher’s stone. She will be the end of us all. Surely, you must see that?” Quinn looked at me.

  “I think—”

  “No, you don’t think. You’re a little girl who has buckets of talent and an empty head. Do I really have to lay it out for you? Search your gut, and you’ll know I’m right.”

  “You’re wrong.” I wanted to punch him, but settled for clenching my fists. “She wants me to take the stone.”

  He threw his head back in laughter. With a look from Bridget, I threw a punch at his pointy face. Quinn caught my fist in his hand and Bridget used the distraction to wind up and give him a swift kick to the junk.

  Quinn groaned and hunched over. His expression turned to pure rage and he roared. He fell forward, grabbing for Bridget. She moved to the side, just out of his reach, and uppercut him in the throat. He coughed and fell to his knees.

  Garbling out a few incomprehensible words, Quinn tried to get to his feet, but Bridget cross-chopped his arm, sending the compulsion stone across the floor. I snatched it up and struggled to keep it in my gloved, shaky hand. My heart had never beat so fast, and I felt as if, at any second, this lion on the floor was going to jump up and have us for dinner.

  “Hit him with it in the neck,” Bridget ordered. “He’s exposed. Hurry!”

  Quinn saw the stone in my hand and jumped at me like a rabid wolverine. His weight was more than I could handle as he pushed me back, stepping on my feet and snarling in my face. I used all of my strength to stay standing but lost the battle, sending both of us falling to the floor.

  I saw the pale section of skin around his neck and shoved the stone toward it. He grabbed my hand and squeezed, turning it, trying to break my arm. I howled in pain and slapped him with my free hand.

  Bridget stood over us and swung a chair, which struck Quinn in the head. I used this moment to shove the compulsion stone onto his bare neck. It dissolved and he stopped moving, his face cleared and the crazy left his eyes.

  I scurried across the floor, getting away from him.

  “Get up,” Bridget ordered.

  After he was standing, I asked, “How do we get out of this house without getting caught?”

  “The door behind me leads to my playroom, and no one knows there is a door behind the whipping wall,” Quinn said. “That will lead to my private garage.”

  “How long do you think this stone will last?” I asked Bridget.

  Quinn answered. “For an alchemist of my caliber, no longer than five minutes.”

  “We’d better get moving,” I said.

  “Wait. We have the enemy in our hands here. We should ask a few questions.” Bridget moved closer to Quinn. “Tell me how we can hurt your organization the most.”

  “Create the philosopher’s stone before we do.”

  “How close are you?” I asked.

  “We’re a few weeks away, by my estimation.”

  I glanced at the door, feeling Verity’s presence. “What do we need to know about your plans?” I asked.

  “The thing you need to know more than anything is our plans for you and
your mother. It won’t be long until—”

  Verity pounded on the door. “You okay, Quinn?”

  “Tell her you’re okay,” Bridget whispered.

  “I’m okay.” Quinn’s bottom lip was shaking and he had a bead of sweat on his forehead.

  “We’ve got to hurry,” Bridget said.

  “Wait. What are you going to do to my mom?”

  Verity pounded on the door again and rattled the locked handle. “If you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down.”

  Quinn moved toward the door.

  “No,” I said. “Answer me first. After that, don’t let Verity through that door at all costs, and forget we were ever here.”

  Quinn stopped and nodded. “We know where your mother is going to be. There is a trap set, and she’ll fall into it.” He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “We know all the places your mother will be.”

  “Verity!” Quinn screamed and went toward the door. “You can’t come in.” He pushed against it and brought out a stone from his pocket. He pushed the stone against the door and a liquid spread over the door jamb.

  Bridget pulled me toward the playroom. She opened the door and I followed closely behind. The purple room held what looked like a dungeon of torture. Whips, chains, flogs, and an assortment of harnesses were spread around the room in fastidious order.

  “There.” She pointed to a wall with score marks around a vertical gurney, shackles and ropes hanging from either side. When we ran up and pulled on the wall, it slid open.

  I looked back and heard Quinn and Verity screaming at each other. I regretted not telling Quinn to kill himself after taking Verity out first.

  “Come on,” Bridget said.

  The narrow passageway went around in a circular pattern. We jogged down the stairs as quickly as we could, until we hit a dead end. I pushed against the wall and it swung open, revealing a large garage that held a fleet of exotic cars.

  “I’ll choose,” Bridget said.

  “No, he’ll have LoJacks on these.”

  Bridget grimaced and kept her eyes on a black Lamborghini. “Come on, they won’t even be able to catch us in that.”

  “We’re better on foot.” I rushed to the door at the end of the garage and flung it open. The bright sunlight shone through and I held up my hand. A long driveway led up to a solid steel gate, flanked by a ten-foot concrete wall wrapping around the property. I couldn’t see anything beyond the walls, or even a decent way to get over them.

  “You hear that?” Bridget said, looking behind us.

  I did. They’d opened the door to Quinn’s playroom. His screams now flooded down the stairs and into the garage.

  “Get in the car. Slam it against the door,” I yelled, and ran to the secret door as Bridget jumped into the car.

  I shoved the secret door closed and stood back, motioning Bridget to hit the door. She started the car and it roared to life. She turned sharply and the back tires spun. The car slid sideways and hit the wall, blocking the door and shattering the side window.

  A rattled Bridget got out and threw the keys across the garage. She stared at the car and backed away. “Come on, I bet we can open the gate manually,” she said, looking out to the motor sitting next to the large, sliding steel gate.

  We exited the garage and looked around the front yard for Quinn or anyone else. It appeared to be a side entrance, with little yard space beyond the driveway. The house towered behind us and the many windows served as reminders someone could be watching.

  Bridget ran up to the motor and reached around and underneath it until she smiled. “Found it.” The gate slid open and the hills of LA sprawled out below us. Trees and sparse landscaping filled in the divides between the luxury mansions spread over the hills.

  I pointed out a house near the bottom of the hill and we ran for it. When we reached the finely manicured back yard, we hopped over a small wall and landed on the bright green grass surrounding a rectangular pool. I looked back up the hill to Quinn’s house. I felt it was important to remember exactly where it was, for the day I’d come back to burn it down.

  Bridget sneaked around the house, looking in through the large windows. “I don’t think anyone is home.”

  “It’s probably locked.”

  She pulled on a sliding door and it opened. Smiling, she pulled on it enough for us to get into the house, and we walked into the empty, glossy white kitchen. An ornate arrangement of fruit sat on the white countertop, the colors popping against the monochromatic room.

  Bridget dashed over and grabbed an apple. I watched her hoard some fruit for a bit and then peeked into the hall and back out through the slider we’d come in.

  “We shouldn’t stay here for long,” I said.

  “We should make some stones while we can.”

  A phone hung on the wall near the end of the kitchen. I didn’t notice it at first because it looked like a white brick on the wall. I pulled the handset off and stared at the numbers on the phone. Embarrassingly, I had no idea what Mark’s number was, or even my mom’s.

  Bridget rushed over and took the phone from me. “I’ll call the minis.”

  “Who?”

  “The Minitrepids. The people Mark’s with. They can help us get out of here,” she said as she dialed the phone. “Hell, they might be able to portal right here and rescue us.”

  As she held the phone to her ear, I could hear a faint ringing noise. Then the voice of a man answered at the other end.

  “Wes?” Bridget said.

  The voice yelled at the other end.

  “Dude, stop talking. You need to tell Mark that Allie and I escaped and are at . . .” She lowered the phone and pointed at a white basket.

  I dashed to it and pulled an envelope out and handed it to Bridget.

  “Okay, we’re at 3232 West Palm, Beverly Hills. We’re in freaking Beverly Hills?” Bridget listened on the phone while I moved side to side, resisting the urge to yank the phone from her.

  “Please hurry.” She hung up. “They’re on their way.”

  “They’re coming here? What if Quinn gets here first? What if they find us? I can’t go back there. I won’t.”

  Bridget ran to the sliding door and locked it. “Check the other doors.”

  I ran down the hall and locked the garage door. We both ran to the massive glass front door and checked the lock. Out front, a perfect-looking green lawn spread out to a line of hedges and then the road. A car drove by and I dashed behind the wall and out of the way.

  “Don’t worry, they’ll get here.”

  “Did he say Mark was with them?”

  “I don’t know. But we should make a few stones, just in case they’re running late.”

  It was a great idea. I ran to the kitchen, flung open the cabinets, and put ingredients—a mixing bowl, and a spoon—on top of the island. “You know what any of this can make?”

  “Kick-ass cookies?” Bridget shrugged.

  “Let’s mix the ammonia, vinegar . . .” I tapped my chin, looking over the spread. “Oh, how about this potpourri mix? I mean, this stuff could make anything.”

  The ammonia and vinegar made for a terrible-smelling mix as I moved my spoon around. Then I grabbed a handful of potpourri mix from the centerpiece and dropped it in. It smelled of fruit and cinnamon.

  This particular stone had a patchwork of colors around it, with a primary light blue color. “What do you think it does?” I asked.

  “I bet it’s a breaker stone. Probably some terrible cloud of poison or something will come out of it.”

  A tap on the glass at the front door stopped us cold. I ducked down next to the island, even though I knew the front door was out of sight. I peeked over the counter to see Bridget peering around the corner to the front door.

  “Who is it?” I hoped for a delivery guy, or a pool boy.

  “It’s two dark alchemists.”

  They pounded on the door again, then rang the doorbell.

  “Maybe they’ll just leave,
” I said, and stood up. I had one stone I could use on them, but I’d rather not have to.

  I moved up next to Bridget and dared a look around the corner. I spotted the two men at the door. They apparently both shopped at the same store, because they were wearing matching long black coats. One of the men dropped a stone next to the door and they both took a few steps back.

  “I think we’d better run,” I said. “They’re about to blow the door.”

  “What?” Bridget looked around the corner, and one of the men spotted her. They pointed and yelled, and then the stone exploded, sending shattered glass deep into the house.

  I yelled and threw my stone at them. It struck the floor at their feet and broke open, and they both collapsed to the ground. I stepped out from the kitchen and felt the glass crunching under my feet.

  “Be careful. That cloud might still be dangerous.”

  The two men didn’t move, and the white cloud around them dissipated in the wind. What had that stone done? Both of us stepped closer to the men, glass breaking under our feet. We got to the front door and I kicked one of their feet. He didn’t move, but I saw his chest moving with a breath. Maybe I’d mixed too much; I had a tendency to do that. At least I hadn’t killed them.

  “What should we do with them?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe we should move to another house.” She ran back to the kitchen phone and put it to her ear. “Phone’s dead . . .”

  “Crap.” I looked out past the front door and spotted a long black car parked out in front of the house. “I think there’s more out there.”

  “The minis are going to jump right into a trap.”

  “We know you’re in there,” a woman’s voice yelled.

  The voice grated at my nerves, and I looked through the narrow window next to the front door. Verity was standing on the other side of the car, looking right at me. I had no reason to shy away, so I stared at her and tried to give her a fierce look.

  “Keep them coming and we’ll keep sending them to hell,” I yelled, thinking it sounded pretty badass.

  Verity laughed and pointed to the right and left, directing concealed people.

  “They’re coming,” I said, and backed away from the door.