by Becca Andre
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“Cora.” James merely held her gaze, unruffled by her outburst.
She huffed out a breath. “Damn that exasperating man. He could barely stand.”
“Who? Rowan?” I asked. Was she referring to last night or this morning? In the past, my remedy had brought him back to full strength quickly.
She whirled to face me, and I realized she hadn’t seen me until that moment.
“I thought you said he still had some of his remedy,” I continued, walking over to join them. “Do I need to—”
“You’ve done enough,” Cora snapped at me.
I glanced at James, raising my eyebrows in question.
“Footage from the wreck made the news this morning,” James answered.
Shit. “Was his identity compromised?”
“Nearly. Some kid on the bridge recorded all of it with his phone. Fortunately the video was grainy and distant.”
I remembered the kid from the pickup truck and wondered if it was him.
“The news crew footage was much better,” Cora said. “They paint a charming picture of you—and by extension, him.”
“I was trying to protect him.”
Cora gave me a final glare and turned back to James. “I’ve got a meeting this morning. Head over to the Offices and keep the hot head out of trouble until I get there. Donovan will just go along with him.”
“What about Era’s—”
“I’ve already spoken with her.”
“Okay.”
Cora gave him a stiff nod. “Thank you, and be safe.”
“Always.”
She turned and left, slamming the front door behind her.
“Was it really that bad?” I asked now that we were alone.
“Era recorded it.” James gestured toward the hall that led to the den.
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“They made you look like a crazy woman, and portrayed Rowan as having no control over you. He’s gotten calls from the PIA, the Deacon, and even the European Elements.”
“What was I supposed to do? He was coughing up blood, and there’s a film crew not twenty feet away.”
“I know,” he said, his tone soft.
I looked up, meeting those solemn green eyes. God, I needed a hug.
He turned and headed for the stairs. “I’ve got to get going. Era can show you the clip.”
“Hey!” I called after him.
He hesitated, his foot on the bottom step.
“What about your brothers? Did you and Donovan find anything?”
“It wasn’t them.” He jogged up the stairs, leaving me alone in the foyer.
“So much for the stress-free day,” I muttered and went off to find Era.
I didn’t find Era in the den, I found her in the sunroom, standing before the bright wall of windows that looked out over the snow-covered backyard. The storm clouds were gone and the morning sun made the scene blinding.
“Hey,” I said by way of greeting. “What are you doing in here all alone?” The faint scent of bacon and coffee still hung in the air, but this late in the morning, the breakfast cart was gone.
“That’s about all I’m allowed to do.” Her tone sounded bitter, but when she turned, she offered me a smile. “If you’re looking for Rowan, he left a while ago.”
“I know. Actually, I was looking for you.”
“Really?” Her fair brows rose in a look of genuine surprise.
“I hear you recorded that news story. Do you care to show it to me?”
Her brows snapped back down. “I’m not so sure you’ll want to see it. Me, I’d rather find that reporter bitch.” Her eyes glinted in the sunlight.
“It can’t be that bad.”
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
Ten minutes later, I was as pissed off as Era. They had cut the footage to make it appear Rowan had tried to stop me from throwing a vial and failed, then the mud splattered across the lens. They never explained that it was mud and not a potion.
“They showed you rescuing that family for like ten seconds,” Era complained. “Then spent the next five minutes calling you crazy.”
“Technically, they only showed Rowan’s fireworks in the rescue,” I clarified. “Perhaps I should just be grateful they fuzzed out my revealing shirt.”
“Rowan was livid,” Era said. “It’s probably a good thing Donovan went with him, or this evening, we’d be seeing a new story.”
“He was that mad?”
“Nobody likes to be made to look a fool,” she said. “Especially with clever editing.”
True. The video did make Rowan look anything but in control, and control was something he took very seriously.
I sighed and scooted to the edge of the leather couch. “Nothing I can do about it,” I said. “I need to get back to the shop. I’ve wasted enough time.” I rose to my feet. “Do you think Marlowe would give me a ride?”
“I could.” She stood beside me. “I can even give you a hand. Or are you going to refuse me again?”
How could I say no now? “Very well. Let’s see how much of that chemistry you remember.”
The building Rowan had chosen for my new lab was an excellent one. The kitchen was spacious with lots of counter space and shelving. The gas range and hood were in good working order, and there was even a convection oven and a commercial grade refrigerator. Though I couldn’t decide if the lingering scent of donuts was a blessing or a curse.
Ian had done wonders bringing our new lab up to speed. Without the need to eat, sleep, or even keep warm, he’d worked through the night to transfer all our salvageable equipment to the new building. My only complaint was that, although the gas had been switched on this morning, he hadn’t bothered with the heat.
He made an excuse to Era about the recent arrival of the gas company, but I could tell by his sheepish expression that he hadn’t even considered warming the place up. After nearly two hundred years in a crypt, he hadn’t had to bother with such things in a long time.
He excused himself not long after we arrived, claiming he had an appointment with his financial consultant. I figured he was meeting with his book dealer. I gave him some of the burn salve I’d just mixed up to deliver to the hospital, and sent him on his way.
The building warmed quickly, or maybe, as was usually the case, I just didn’t notice the chill once I became absorbed in my work. And we had a lot of work: burn salve, bullet antidote, more remedy for Rowan—though I’d need his blood to finish.
Things were going so well that it surprised me when, a few hours later, Era told me she needed to go.
“Bored already?” I asked.
“Already? It’s been three hours.” Era laughed. “Besides, James is the one who wants to be a chemistry major. I was just hoping for a chance to ogle your assistant.”
I almost dropped the test tube I was filling.
“Don’t look so shocked. You’re a woman. You must have noticed that Dmitri is smokin’.”
And dead. “He’s not your type,” I blurted.
Era crossed her arms. “Oh, really. And what is my type?”
Come on, Addie, think. “He’s gay.”
Era’s arms dropped to her sides. “No way.”
“Afraid so.”
“What a waste.”
“Yeah. I’ve been trying to keep him away from James. Dmitri is a hopeless flirt. He’d make James uncomfortable.”
Era snorted. “A flirt. I second that.” She shook her head. “Damn.”
I turned back to my test tubes, congratulating myself on a crisis averted. I’d even found an excuse to keep James and Dmitri apart.
No, this was wrong. All I was doing was
digging myself deeper. I needed to come clean on this.
“Era—”
“Hey, I’m cool. I was just crushing on him a little.” She turned and headed for the coat rack. “Better to know now.”
I lost my nerve. “Are you going back to the manor?”
“Eventually.”
“You shouldn’t be out running around. If—”
“God. Not you, too. I thought you were cool.”
“Did I just lose my cool cred for caring about you?”
She gave me a dark look as she pulled on her coat.
“Era, please.”
“If I told you I was going back to the manor, would that make you happy?”
“It would make me more happy if you actually went.”
Her lips curled into a smile. “You’re scary good, you know that?” She turned and headed for the door.
“Era.”
“See you at dinner.” She pushed open the door to the front room and was gone.
I removed the test tube I was heating from the flame, then hunted around for a rack. By the time I reached the front door, her car was pulling away from the curb.
“Crap.” Should I call someone? With what? The building didn’t have a phone, but I could try the convenience store on the corner.
Get a grip, Ad. She said she’d see me at dinner. She was probably just going to drive around to blow off steam.
I walked back in the lab and stopped beside my bench. Between Ian’s work last night and mine today, we’d completed the formulas on my list. I glanced at the clock and was surprised to discover it was after noon. Ian had yet to return and that concerned me.
He’d had plenty of time to deliver the salve and sell a few more of his antique books. He should have been back hours ago. Perhaps he’d found a new clothing store—the man was obsessed with his wardrobe—or maybe another necromancer had found him. That gave me a chill. Ian was powerful, but he was still dead. He could be controlled.
My concern growing, I locked up the shop and walked to the corner convenience store. It turned out that they did have a pay phone, and I was able to call a cab. I didn’t have a lot of money, but I could afford a short trip.
Ten minutes later, I stepped beneath the arch at Greenlawn Cemetery. Snow had blanketed the grounds, leaving several inches atop the hundreds of headstones and lining the branches of the leafless trees. Several sets of tracks, both canine and human, disturbed the fresh powder on the twisting road through the cemetery, but my tracks were the first to break the snow leading up to Ian’s mausoleum. That told me nothing about Ian—he didn’t need to travel by foot—but it did reassure me that no one else had been here.
Inside the mausoleum, I found the sarcophagus that hid the stairs to the crypt open. I made a mental note to have Ian close it. Without him here to guard the place, any brave soul could walk in and steal his treasures. Perhaps we should clean it out entirely.
I flicked on my flashlight and descended the stairs. The first room felt deserted without the warm glow of the wall sconces. I couldn’t tell if any more books had been taken—by Ian or anyone else. Moving on, I walked to the second chamber, but the room’s only furnishings were the stout wooden tables and the empty shelves.
“Ian?” My voice echoed off the hand-fitted stone that lined the walls.
I swung my flashlight around the room, more to check that we’d gotten all the equipment than expecting an answer from him. I moved my flashlight beam along the shelves until I came to the final set. The shelves that contained the heart jars. I didn’t want to look, but I should. I couldn’t let myself forget what Ian was.
The yellow beam of light swept across those shelves and I sucked in a breath. They were empty.
Chapter
10
I stared at the shelf where the hearts had been. Had Ian taken them, or had they been found by someone else? The sarcophagus was open in the next room. Anyone could walk down here.
A soft thump echoed through the chamber, and I whirled toward the hall. I stood still, hardly daring to breathe as I listened. The sound came again, and I released a shaky breath. The old metal door must be moving in the wind. I hadn’t bothered to secure it before coming downstairs.
“Addie?”
A scream escaped as I spun in the opposite direction, the beam of my flashlight catching on Ian’s face.
He blinked in the light and raised his hands in surrender. “Easy.”
I realized I held a vial of alchemical mustard gas ready to smash at his feet.
“Shit, Ian. Don’t do that!”
His fair brows rose. “I merely came looking for you.”
I ran a shaking hand over my face, trying to get control of my breathing. “How about not appearing two feet behind me and whispering my name?”
“It was more than two feet and I didn’t whisper.”
“Ian.” I dropped my hand to frown at him. “Admit it. You love doing that.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” A smile dimpled his cheeks.
“By the way, I told Era you were gay, so you can stop flirting with her.”
“Shall I flirt with His Grace instead?”
I shook my head and turned toward the first room. What did it take to rattle the guy?
“May I ask what you’re doing here?” he followed me into the hall.
“Looking for you,” I answered over my shoulder. “Where have you been?”
“I delivered your salve, then met with the book dealer. He was able to sell Frankenstein for thirty-nine hundred dollars.”
I stopped on the area rug and turned to face him. “Seriously?”
“It wasn’t a first edition. And a little worn. One of my favorites, I’m afraid.”
I snorted. “Did you admire Dr. Frankenstein?”
“His approach to necromancy was unique.” Ian shrugged. “After I sold the book, I procured a couple of those mechanical pipetters you mentioned.”
“Okay. Good.” I really needed to catalogue what he had down here. “And by the way, you need to keep the sarcophagus closed, or we should move the rest of the books out of here.”
“Considering your penchant for losing labs in fiery explosions, they’re probably safest here.” He raised his head, looking up the stairs. A low rumble of stone on stone echoed down from above.
I took an involuntary step back, recognizing the sound. The vaults upstairs were sliding open. “Ian?”
“You didn’t expect me to do the lifting, did you? I just acquired this coat.” He smoothed the lapels of the brocade smoking jacket he wore. Where he found such things, I had no idea.
Moans and shuffles echoed down the stairs as the mausoleum’s occupants rose from their graves.
“Must they be so noisy?”
“Reanimating that which once lived causes…echoes of that life. To muffle it requires that I give more of myself, and I hardly see the point of the trouble.”
I looked up, noting that his blue eyes had faded to nearly white. “Is it taxing?”
“The opposite, in truth.”
I studied him as the zombies upstairs shuffled and moaned. “It feels good?”
His pale eyes left the stairs to focus on me. “A necromancer possesses an abundance of life. To keep it inside is painful…and dangerous.”
“Dangerous? To whom?”
“Himself. The Deacon wanted me sane, so he buried me here, among my family.”
Stone ground against stone as his family shifted the lid of the sarcophagus into place.
“I didn’t think you felt pain—or anything else.”
“It is not a true physical sensation, though those in life perceive it to be.”
I decided not to ask. Though his words did offer some enlightenment. Necromancers
were often referred to as crazy or going crazy. Perhaps there was more to it. I thought of Neil’s mother, Clarissa. She’d been completely nuts. I also thought of something she’d said.
“Neil’s mother once told me he was stunted, that he couldn’t touch his necromantic power.”
“That’s true. That’s also why he was so obsessed with finding the Elixir of Life.”
“Then why hasn’t he gone crazy?”
“There are ways around it. One is alchemy, another is possession.”
“Possession?”
“By the spirits of the dead.”
“Ghosts?”
“Yes. Feeding on the soul of the living gives them energy to sustain their existence—and gives the stunted necromancer a way to bleed off the excess.”
“Have you ever—”
“No.” He snapped the word, surprising me. “It’s an abomination.”
Huh. “So there are some things even necromancers won’t do.”
“Very few.” The corner of his mouth rose. I had yet to truly insult the guy. I’d begun to think it impossible.
“So, what’s wrong with being ghost chow?”
Ian’s smirk became a genuine smile. “There is always the possibility of a powerful spirit making the possession of a weaker person permanent. Even the weak spirits can imbue some of their personality onto their host, though the effects gradually fade.”
“Yet faced with insanity, I can see where it might appeal—”
“No. It is only for the weak.”
His strong feelings surprised me. “So that leaves the stunted necromancer with alchemy. How can that help?”
The sarcophagus lid slid across the opening, gradually blocking the light filtering down through the decaying roof of the mausoleum. The rectangle of light grew smaller and smaller.
“There are potions to numb the call.”
“The call?”
Ian’s white eyes shifted to me. “Of the dead.”
I know death when it calls me. I remembered Doug’s words and shivered.
“And then there is the legend of the Elixir of Life.”