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

by Becca Andre

  Her smile faded to confusion. “I thought you had amnesia.”

  “I do, but I’ve met my colleagues. They weren’t nice people.” I watched the city beyond the dark tinted windows. “I was one of them.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “They told me.” And gave me one of my old journals.

  “You believed them?”

  I didn’t want to talk about it—and certainly not with her. “It’s the past.” I shrugged. “I get to try again.”

  “You say that like you did wrong.”

  “I can’t remember what I did.” That was as close as I wanted to take her. I took my eyes from the scene outside the window and faced her once more. “I want to take alchemy in a new direction. Make it available to others. Help instead of hoard.”

  “Like this burn salve?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I bet Rowan approves. He’s got some major empathy for burn victims. Not surprising, considering what happened to his family.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, when he came into his power. How it slipped his control.”

  Actually, I didn’t. Cora had once implied that something had happened, but she hadn’t given me the details.

  “Oh, right,” I said. “I know his family suffered…”

  “Not really. I doubt they felt anything.” Era looked down at the coffee cup she held. “Except his niece. He incinerated the house and everyone and everything in it. I suspect he recognized her at the last moment and tried to pull out.” She shook her head. “I guess she lingered in a burn clinic for months.”

  I swallowed. Oh, Rowan. “Who all was in the house again?”

  “His parents, younger brother, and his sister, her husband, and daughter. I guess they got together every Christmas.”

  I remembered again when Era had burned her arm and Rowan had nearly freaked out. He was the one who told me to take my burn salve to the medical profession. I was trying.

  “It’s always amazed me how he could lose control like that, then go on to become what he is.” Era looked up, meeting my gaze once more.

  “I suspect that is what made him what he is,” I said. A control freak without peer. “He knows what happens when he loses it.”

  The limo had reached the hospital and pulled up near the curb. It had begun to rain on our way over, but that didn’t deter the protesters. Near the far door, a small cluster of rain-soaked folks stood holding their smeared and drooping signs. I had to admire their persistence.

  The limo door opened, and I glanced up to find Marlowe shielding the opening with an umbrella. “Thanks.” I gave him a smile and started to climb out.

  “Let me walk you in,” Era said. “I don’t like the look of that mob.”

  I stopped and glanced back at her. “It’s hardly a mob and what would you do?”

  She arched a brow and her amber eyes took on a metallic sheen.

  “That won’t be necessary. Besides, they don’t let nuts like them inside. Thanks for the ride.”

  “I’ll give you a ride back.”

  “Era—”

  “I insist.”

  I decided not to argue.

  Chapter

  3

  It took the entire elevator ride and the long walk through the sparsely populated hospital hallways to get my mind around what Era had told me. My heart ached for Rowan, but it also made me even more determined to see my burn salve accepted by the medical profession. It wouldn’t help his family, but maybe it would give him some comfort to know that burn victims would no longer have to suffer the way his niece had. I could do that much for him.

  Ian’s concerns on the earliness of my visit proved to be unfounded. I caught Dr. Albright just fifteen minutes before he needed to be elsewhere.

  “Thank you for stopping by,” he said once we’d exchanged greetings and a handshake. “This won’t take long.”

  I sat in the chair across from his desk, an uneasy flutter in my stomach. Why did I suddenly feel like I’d been called to the principal’s office?

  Dr. Albright settled into his chair with an ease that belied his apparent years. He folded his weathered hands atop a manila folder, and his intelligent blue eyes bored into my own.

  “I’ll come right to the point. The last batch of salve you sent us failed to have any positive effect as a burn treatment.”

  “What?” I sat up straighter in my chair. I’d been expecting a request to increase his order, or maybe some repercussions on the questions the protest had raised. This wasn’t anything I’d even considered.

  “The salve failed. We need to—”

  “No,” I cut in. “That’s not possible. My formulas don’t fail.”

  “Miss Daulton, I’m not saying it’s a personal failing, but these things happen.”

  “No, they don’t. I’m a master alchemist; my formulas never fail. That’s what makes me what I am.”

  Dr. Albright frowned. He didn’t look like he bought it, or he thought me the most arrogant person on the planet. Clearly, he hadn’t spent much time around the magical.

  “Something’s happened,” I continued. “The salve was not used according to the directions I gave or—”

  “The same nurses who’ve used it in the past were the ones administering it.”

  “Might the patient be magical? Sometimes inborn magic can react in odd ways with alchemy.”

  “There were three different patients and none of them admitted to being magical.”

  I frowned. That didn’t mean they hadn’t lied, but it would be a striking coincidence if all three were magical. The greater Cincinnati area did have a higher concentration of magical folks, but the percentage of the population was still small.

  “Contamination?” I offered, grasping at straws.

  “Possible.” Albright sighed. “In light of the problems inherent with a handmade salve and the pressure we’ve been feeling from the public, I think—”

  “Let me try again.”

  “Miss Daulton.”

  “Please. You said yourself that you’ve never seen people heal the way they have with my salve. Recovery time has been shortened by months. Scars are nonexistent. Can you just throw all that away because a handful of magic haters start waving signs?”

  Dr. Albright bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose just above his glasses. The gesture reminded me of Rowan. Or maybe it was becoming everyone’s reaction to me.

  “I’m also working on a formula to accelerate healing after a skin graft.” In truth, I wanted to develop a formula to regrow skin where there was none. But when dealing with the nonmagical, it was best to start small. Ease them into what I could do.

  “That’s possible?” He looked up, interest erasing the frown from his features. When you get right down to it, Dr. Albright genuinely cared. He was willing to take chances—even on a controversial magical cure—if it meant helping people. I suspected that was why Rowan had sent me to him.

  “Anything is possible with alchemy.”

  A faint smile twisted his wrinkled face. “The hubris of an alchemist.” He leaned back in his chair. “Dr. Brant did warn me.”

  I opened my mouth, about to ask who, when I remembered. Dr. William Rowan Brant. Once a well-respected volcanologist, now better known for his philanthropic endeavors—specifically those that benefitted burn victims. At least, that’s what you learned if you did a web search on him. Very few people knew that he was also the Lord of Flames.

  It sounded like Rowan had warned him about me.

  Dr. Albright sighed. “Very well, Miss Daulton. I’ll give you one more chance.”

  I started to thank him, but he raised a hand to stop me.

  “Our work here is coming under a lot of scrutiny, both f
rom the hospital board and at the national level.”

  “I’ll personally prepare the next batch.”

  He came to his feet and I did the same. “Then I shall expect perfection.” He offered his hand and I took it.

  Perfection. That shouldn’t be a problem.

  The hospital halls passed in a blur once again as I walked back toward the elevators. What had gone wrong? I knew it wasn’t anything I’d done, but we’d made so many batches lately that I wasn’t certain if it had been me or Ian who’d prepared the last one. Still, I stuck by my assumption that someone had done something to contaminate it. Ian was far too talented to screw up a basic burn salve.

  I arrived at the elevators and hit the down button. A newspaper machine sat to one side, my own face looking back at me through the glass.

  “Oh shit,” I muttered, moving closer.

  Flame Lord Supports Magic in Medicine. The picture was the same one that had made a run in the paper almost two months ago. It showed James and me leaving the PIA offices in the presence of two hooded Elements: Earth and Fire. My upper arms were bare and my tattoos clearly visible. The black bands were a symbol of rank at the Alchemica. Was the photo just to show Rowan’s association with alchemy? Or had I been named?

  I reached in my pocket, but I didn’t have any change. Maybe Ian could find another copy.

  A hand gripped my arm and I jumped in surprise.

  “Looks like you made the front page.”

  I looked up into Henry Huntsman’s sneering face. A scruff of blond beard covered his chin, hiding any resemblance he had to his brother James.

  “You’re famous, Amelia.”

  I guess that answered whether the article had named me. I’d gone by the name of Amelia Daulton while at the Alchemica—though I remembered none of it.

  Henry used his grip on my arm to pull me against him, poking something in my ribs.

  “A gun?” I whispered. “You brought a gun into a hospital?”

  “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “No problem. You’ve got that covered.”

  The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. With something close to a growl, Henry shoved me forward—right into another camo-swathed chest.

  I stumbled away and thumped my back against the wall of the elevator.

  George, the eldest of the Huntsman brothers, watched me through narrowed eyes. The collision hadn’t budged him.

  I pushed off the wall and tugged my jacket straight. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your charming company?”

  “You can tell us where our brother is.” George leaned close, trying to intimidate me with his size. He spent more time with his weights than anything else, and he had the body to prove it. Not overly tall, he made up for what he lacked vertically in bulk. That might cower some people, but muscle intimidated me far less than a quick mind.

  Henry stepped into the elevator with us and the door slid closed.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Did your necro buddy renege on the deal?” The last I’d seen of the Huntsman boys, they’d been working with Neil, a necromancer and former colleague from my Alchemica days. “Let me guess, he offered you the Final Formula in exchange for James.”

  “The final what?” Henry demanded.

  “The Elixir of Life.” George caught both my shoulders and pushed me back against the wall. Like Henry, his face hadn’t seen a razor in a few weeks. “What do you know of that?”

  I frowned at George’s question. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been in the room when Neil forced me to recite the Formula.

  “It just seemed like something he would offer.” I considered the potion vial I had tucked in my pocket. It would work well in this small space. Unfortunately, it would work just as well on me. I’d bide my time. Meanwhile, maybe I could figure out what these idiots were up to.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked.

  “Why is our brother always with that Element?” George’s hazel eyes narrowed. “Did you give James to him?”

  “James doesn’t belong to me. He doesn’t belong to anyone.”

  Henry snorted, and George glanced over at him, a faint curl to his lips.

  “That includes you guys,” I added.

  They didn’t get a chance to respond as the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slid open, revealing the busy first-floor lobby.

  George captured my upper arm in his too tight grip. “Come on.”

  “You don’t have to manhandle me. I’m coming.”

  He didn’t release my arm, but I didn’t protest. This wasn’t a good place to make a scene. Of course, being dragged around by two good-sized guys in camo didn’t make for a discreet departure. Every head in the lobby turned to stare at us. It didn’t help that my image currently graced the front page of the Cincinnati Enquirer.

  We hit the exterior door and a wet wind slapped me in the face. The storm had picked up strength while I was inside. I threw up an arm to shield my eyes, stumbling against George before I righted myself.

  “Knock it off, alchemist.” His growl wasn’t a bad imitation of James’s.

  “Hey, there she is!”

  I followed the sound and discovered the remnants of the rain-soaked protesters staring at us.

  “It’s the alchemist!” another shouted.

  A handful of people arriving and leaving the hospital stopped to stare.

  “Thanks a lot,” I muttered to George.

  “Keep moving.” He jerked my arm again. The bastard was going to leave a bruise.

  The protesters started toward us, muttering words of encouragement to one another. I caught “witch” and a similar sounding word. Wow, these people were really pissed off. Maybe I should offer a public apology for relieving pain and saving lives.

  The rumble of an engine preceded a squeal of tires, and George’s big 4X4 stopped at the curb, Brian behind the wheel. He kicked open the door and jumped out. To my utter astonishment, he held a crossbow in hand.

  The protesters skidded to a halt, and when he turned the bow in their direction, half their number fled screaming. So much for not causing a scene.

  “You guys are utter morons,” I said. “I mean, I always suspected, but wow…”

  “Get in.” George shoved me toward the open truck door.

  “Hey, let her go!” Era ran toward us.

  Brian whirled around, bow coming up.

  “No!” I screamed.

  The quarrel released with a twang, but Era must have seen it coming and tried to dodge. The quarrel took her through the shoulder. The impact knocked her back and she dropped to a knee.

  “Don’t waste the special quarrels,” George said as Brian reloaded the bow.

  Era pushed to her feet. Her hand drifted to her shoulder, and the muscles in her jaw tensed, but she showed no other evidence of pain. “I said, let her go.”

  George reached behind his back and pulled out a handgun. My blood ran cold. That gun was the same caliber as my bullets.

  I gripped George’s wrist. “What are you loaded with?”

  “What does it matter?” He caught my wrist with his free hand and squeezed until I released him. “Unless…” His hazel eyes shifted to Era, narrowing. She had doubled over, muttering something I didn’t catch.

  I shoved a hand into my pocket, fumbling for the vial.

  “Unless she’s magical,” George said.

  I looked up, understanding. “You know what my bullets can do.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He cast me a glance and sneered.

  He knew? I found the vial. Sucking in a breath, I smashed it to the ground at George’s feet. A greenish-brown cloud billowed up. It wasn’t much: a weak, alchemical variation of mustard gas. A cloud to obscure the user and confuse the target while
noxious fumes burned the sensitive tissues in the nose and throat. The Huntsman boys began to cough immediately.

  Era looked up, her eyes going wide as I ran toward her.

  “Run!” I grabbed her arm and pulled her around. My eyes began to water as the cloud enveloped us.

  Era coughed, but managed to run beside me. The limo was closer than the hospital entrance, so I steered her toward it.

  Tires squealed behind us, and I looked back to see George’s 4X4 swerving away from the curb. The cloud of brown-green gas dispersed in its wake. The truck did a U-turn and barreled back toward us.

  “Hurry!” I pushed Era into the limo.

  “Marlowe!” I called to the driver, climbing in after Era. “We’ve got company!”

  “I see. Hold on!”

  I closed the door then fell on the floor as he jerked the limo to the left, leaping away from the curb.

  Era gripped the edge of the seat, her complexion pale. I wanted to go to her, but it was pointless to try while Marlowe was driving like a bat out of hell.

  He drove through the side streets, seeming to choose direction at random. I wondered what the people outside the car saw. A banged up Volkswagen or something else. Illusions aside, there was no denying that Marlowe was a damn good driver. It might look like he was driving a compact car through these narrow streets, but the limo was anything but compact.

  We took an onramp to the nearest interstate, and the swerving lessened. I was able to climb up on the seat beside Era. She sat with her eyes squeezed shut, a sheen of sweat already coating her face. The shoulder of her coat was bloodstained around the quarrel shaft, but not excessively. Or so I told myself. I had no clue, but figured she’d be bleeding a lot more if it had hit an artery or something.

  “Era?” I squeezed her wrist, just above her clasped hands. “Hey, you with me?”

  “I can’t…feel anything.”

  My stomach clenched. “In your hand?” Was it nerve damage or—

  “No. I mean, the air. I can’t feel it.” She opened her eyes and her gaze locked with mine. “It’s like before, when everything was so…hazy.”