The Alchemist's Flame

Home > Other > The Alchemist's Flame > Page 23
The Alchemist's Flame Page 23

by Andre, Becca


  “They’ll be armed by the time you find them. You won’t get the chance to get close enough.”

  “And you’ll fare so much better.” Rowan lifted a brow.

  “I have some new Knockout Gas canisters with better range.” I turned to Ian. “Tell him about the new canisters.”

  “You think I can convince him to let you go up against a pair of Hunters, a grim, and a psychotic alchemist?”

  “Ian.”

  “The truth is, neither of you should go,” Ian said. “Send me and the boy.”

  “James,” I said.

  “I don’t want you anywhere near him,” Rowan said.

  “He’s within yards of me daily,” Ian answered. “He follows my granddaughter around like a lost…pup.”

  The wheels of the gurney squeaked. The agents had finished loading the body and were pushing it away.

  “Come.” Rowan walked toward the stairs. “We can argue about this as we drive.”

  “Drive? Drive where?” I asked.

  “Wherever the compass leads us.”

  “We need to locate James first. Until I find a way to sever the bond between Neil and Gavin, James is the only one who can chase Gavin away.”

  “We can still get an idea of where they are,” Rowan said. “I’m not going to sit around and wait for them to show up.”

  “Let Ian come with us.” I jogged up the stairs after Rowan. “He broke Henry’s arm last time. They couldn’t do a thing to stop him.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  I caught up with him in the hall. “You’ll take Ian with you if you have any hope of seeing what I’m wearing under this dress.”

  We had reached the side door, and it wasn’t until that moment that I realized that Johnson, the big guy in the SWAT gear, stood a short distance away. My cheeks heated.

  Rowan turned to face me. “That’s extortion.”

  I lifted my chin, ignoring the curl of his lips. “It is what it is.”

  “It’s inappropriate,” Ian muttered.

  “Says the man with the collection of body parts back at my lab.”

  “Anyone I know?” Rowan asked Ian.

  “Not unless you’re a lot older than I think you are.”

  Rowan grunted. “Fine. He can come.” He pushed open the door and walked outside.

  “I can’t decide if that was a victory or not,” Ian said.

  “It was.”

  “Because you agreed to model your unmentionables?”

  I snorted at the delicate phrasing. “The debate was whether I was wearing any.”

  “We are not having this conversation.” He pushed open the door and followed Rowan outside.

  “Wow. I think I embarrassed the dead guy.”

  Johnson grunted. “The guy who collects body parts. You magical are twisted.”

  “I’m not magical.” I gave him a grin. “I’m an alchemist.”

  “Believe me now?” I asked Rowan.

  Xander’s big house sat on the rise before us, and the compass needle pointed straight at it.

  Rowan pulled over at the curb where we could watch the house through the gate, up the long drive. “Are we sure that thing works?” He waved a hand at the compass Ian held.

  “Yes.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and scooted up between the front seats. “Ian can’t go near the place—unless they’re hanging out in the cemetery again.”

  “Unlikely,” Ian said.

  “Do we have an excuse to knock at the front door?” I asked.

  Rowan turned to frown at me. “No.”

  “You didn’t even try to come up with one.”

  A car drove past us—a sleek white Jaguar—and stopped at the gate. The driver barely paused and the gate swung open. The car continued up the drive and stopped in front of the house. A pair of young men emerged from somewhere to the right of the entryway. They wore matching slacks, white shirts, and ties—reminding me of the valet drivers at the restaurant tonight. When they opened the car doors for the people inside, I realized that was exactly what they were. The man and woman who climbed out were dressed much like Rowan and I.

  “I think Xander is hosting a party,” I said.

  “The car attendants are dead,” Ian said. “Liches, weakly held.”

  “You can tell that? From here?”

  “Yes. And they aren’t the only dead.”

  The hairs on my arms rose.

  “You’re telling me that Xander employs the dead?” Rowan demanded.

  “I doubt he pays them,” I said.

  “Addie.”

  “He is the Deacon,” Ian said, as if that explained everything.

  Rowan looked over, a frown shadowing his eyes. “This isn’t your world.”

  “No, but this Deacon uses the same tactics. Fail him, anger him, and you will serve him.” Ian glanced back at me. “Right?”

  I sighed.

  Rowan twisted around to look at me. “Is there something you wish to say?”

  I might as well come clean. “Ian and I found something in Xander’s cooler last December. You remember the one in Neil’s old lab?”

  “What were you doing there?” Rowan’s voice held that unnatural calm I didn’t care for.

  “I figured out that was where Neil had been keeping Ian’s heart, so we went to retrieve it.”

  Rowan’s brows rose a little, but he didn’t interrupt.

  “There were a couple of new jars, with labels.” I hesitated. “One said Megan Fields.”

  “The reporter?”

  “The one who gave us so much trouble. The one Xander wanted to teach a lesson.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this?”

  “For one, I knew you would be pissed and that it would just add more fuel to the Ian fire.”

  “Bad pun,” Ian muttered.

  “But mainly,” I hurried on, “I wanted to make certain this was our Megan.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I finally decided to risk stealing the heart and letting Ian call her to us, but when we went back to get it, it was gone.”

  “Call her to you?” Rowan glanced at Ian.

  “Liches can be controlled via their hearts,” I said.

  “I assume that’s why you took yours.” Rowan continued to watch Ian.

  “Yes.”

  Rowan leaned back in his seat, one finger tapping against the steering wheel. Another car passed us—a dark red Mercedes—and drove up to the Deacon’s house. The same young men hurried over to park it while two women in dark dresses climbed out. The driver stopped to caress the cheek of one of the young men before handing him her keys.

  “No offense, Ian,” I said, “but most necromancers are just plain twisted.”

  “If you refer specifically to this family of necromancers, no offense taken.”

  Rowan put the car in gear.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Drive around the block and let Ian out; then you and I are going to crash a party.” He pulled away from the curb.

  “Sounds…fun.”

  “And me?” Ian asked.

  “If there are dead around, perhaps you can blend in.”

  “I can.”

  Rowan pulled the car to a stop. Ian reached for the door handle, but Rowan placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “You have an agenda of your own. Can I trust you?”

  “If I said yes, would you believe me?”

  To my shock, Rowan smiled. “Don’t give me a reason, Mallory. It would be a shame to endure all that you have only to fall short now.”

  “Indeed it would, Your Grace.” Ian opened the door and climbed out.

 
I pushed up the seat and followed him. “Hey,” I said before he walked away. “No foolish risks, okay? If you find something worth investigating, let me know.”

  His cheeks dimpled. “Of course, Mistress.” He turned and headed for Xander’s house.

  I crossed my arms, watching him walk away…into the lion’s den.

  I squirmed in my seat as the valets approached the car. I couldn’t see their faces well in the dim light, but they didn’t move like they were dead.

  “What happens if we get caught?” I asked.

  Rowan put the car in neutral and put on the brake. “I will simply tell Xander that there has been a breakout at the PIA. I was in the area and stopped to warn him.”

  “You can’t tell him they are Hunters. As best I can tell, he still doesn’t know about James.”

  “Okay.” Rowan pulled out his wallet.

  “You’re going to tip these guys?” I whispered. “What use do the dead have with money?”

  Rowan hesitated.

  “Oh man, they probably expect a command.” I rubbed my palms against my knees. Were we doing the right thing?

  “A command?”

  “Don’t scratch the car, boy. Easy on the transmission.” I started to run my hand through my hair and stopped myself before I messed up Era’s hard work. “Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten rid of Ian.”

  “I can do this.”

  I glanced over.

  “After all, I am the Lord of Flames.”

  “And that helps how?”

  “You’ve always praised me on my arrogance.” He pushed open his door, startling the young man on his side to a halt. Rowan climbed out and stood over him. “This car is important to me. Don’t make me regret entrusting her to you.”

  “Yes, sir,” the valet agreed, dipping his head.

  I bit my lip. Yes, Rowan still had it.

  My door opened and I looked up at the other young man. My breath caught. It was the surly young man Rowan and I had met at Xander’s funeral home.

  He stepped back, his eyes on the ground as he held my door. Had he been a lich then?

  I climbed out and hesitated. Should I speak? Ask if he needed help? No, it was too late for that.

  Rowan appeared beside me. “My lady?” He offered his arm.

  I gripped his sleeve, anchoring myself in this insanity, and let him lead me toward the house.

  “What’s wrong?” Rowan whispered as the young men climbed into the Camaro.

  “That boy. He was one of the young men working at Xander’s funeral home. The grumpy one.”

  Rowan stopped, looking back. “Perhaps Ian was mistaken. We were pretty far away.”

  “Ian is scary good. If he said they’re liches, they’re liches.”

  “All right.” Rowan turned to face the door. “But I can’t dwell on that now.”

  I looked up, ready to argue that he couldn’t ignore it, and noticed that he had closed his eyes. He released a slow breath, and it plumed in the cold air before him. He straightened, then opened his eyes, his cool gray gaze meeting mine.

  “Let’s do this.” He led me up the wide sidewalk and onto the landing beneath the arched entryway. The front door swung open as we drew near, held by an older man in black and burgundy livery. Another lich? He dipped his head as we entered, then closed the door behind us. The thump of the heavy door sounded so final.

  “Your coat, my lady?” The doorman’s question jerked my attention back to him. He regarded me with neither interest nor distain.

  Rowan stepped around behind me and helped me out of my coat, then passed it to him.

  “The name?” the man asked. He didn’t look dead.

  “Brant,” Rowan answered. “Are we late? Has the Deacon begun without us?”

  “No, sir. You have arrived in plenty of time.”

  “Excellent.” Rowan gave the man a smile and once again offered me his arm.

  I laid a hand on Rowan’s sleeve, impressed with his apparent ease in this situation. But unlike me, he was used to servants and high-society manners. He also dealt with all things magical much better than I did.

  We moved away from the door, my heels clacking against the glossy black tile. A wide, curving stairway led to the upper floor, the steps carpeted in a deep burgundy that reminded me a little too much of blood. Doorways opened off the foyer to either side, both filled with Xander’s well-dressed guests. I was reminded of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Masque of the Red Death. I hoped this evening ended better for us and the other partygoers.

  The chatter of many voices and the occasional burst of laughter echoed out of each room. Rowan steered me toward the one on the right. I gripped his sleeve more tightly, steeling myself for my first introduction to necromancer society.

  I wasn’t sure what I expected. Maybe an autopsy table in the midst of all the finery with well-dressed necromancers fighting over who got the victim’s heart. I found nothing of the sort, of course. It was the typical party. People stood around in small groups, chatting about innocuous things. It wasn’t all that different from the Elements’ party.

  We moved through the crowd and I surveyed the faces. I didn’t see anyone I knew. Apparently, Rowan didn’t, either, because he didn’t stop to speak. He led me to another doorway that opened onto an enormous room on the back of the house.

  “Wow,” I whispered.

  Like the foyer, the floor was done in the same glossy black tile, broken up with dark burgundy area rugs beneath clusters of furniture around the perimeter. The color scheme reminded me of Xander’s office in his funeral home downtown. The room rose two stories with an open balcony on the second floor that faced the outside wall and its multitude of windows. A few guests stood near the balcony rail, wine glasses in hand as they admired the view.

  This area was also filled with guests, though not packed as tightly in the much larger space. Rowan stopped beside an unoccupied cluster of chairs and pulled out the compass. I stepped closer to watch the needle. It now pointed back the way we had come—toward the center of the house.

  “Upstairs or down?” Rowan asked, his tone soft.

  “Necromancers. Definitely down.”

  He chuckled and tucked the compass away. “Shall we look for a stairwell?”

  More doorways opened off this room, no doubt leading to the wings to either side. Through one, an occasional servant entered or exited, most carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres or long-stemmed glasses of wine.

  “Kitchen is that way.” I nodded toward the doorway. “I bet he has a wine cellar—among other things.”

  “Don’t spook yourself. Aside from the staffing—which is probably only for this party—I can’t imagine him practicing his art in his own home.”

  “He’s plenty creepy enough.”

  “Perhaps, but he’s also fastidious. His art is a bit…messy.”

  “Thanks for that mental image.”

  Rowan smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  He offered me his arm, and we strolled across the room, avoiding the clusters of people on a slow winding tour of the area. I didn’t see any guests venture into the kitchen hallway.

  “How do we do this?” I whispered. “It doesn’t appear to be a public area.”

  “Arrogance. We pretend like we belong.” Rowan turned toward the kitchen hallway, his stride confident. He even smiled and nodded at another couple as we passed.

  I gripped the sleeve of his tuxedo, feeling the strength of his biceps, and tried to appear equally indifferent. Nervous, I glanced back at the room we were leaving, my gaze drifting up to that second-story balcony. I tightened my grip on Rowan’s arm. Xander stood near the rail, his back to us, but facing him was Neil.

  Chapter

  19

  “What is it?” Rowan asked, noticing the g
rip I had on his arm.

  “Xander and Neil are on the balcony,” I whispered.

  “May I have your attention?” A voice called out.

  We were in the hallway now, but Rowan stopped and turned toward the room.

  Up on the balcony, Xander now faced the crowd. He braced his hands on the rail and smiled down at the people gathered below him. The low rumble of dozens of conversations gradually died out, the silence spreading back into the parlors. People filed out of those rooms, filling the open space in the great room beneath the balcony. I pulled Rowan deeper into the dimly lit hall where we couldn’t be seen, but we could still hear.

  “First of all,” Xander begin, “I want to thank all of you for coming out tonight on such short notice, but I could not wait to share my good news.”

  A murmur of voices from the crowd.

  “Isn’t that Clarissa’s boy?” a man standing outside our hallway asked his companion.

  “I am thrilled to announce,” Xander continued, his voice silencing the murmurs, “that my nephew, my beloved sister’s only surviving child, has managed to put himself back in contention for heir.”

  The crowd exploded in excited chatter, some brave souls even shouting questions to Xander.

  “Isn’t he stunted?”

  “What of your son?”

  The noise continued for a few moments, but gradually died out, many people waving noisy neighbors to silence.

  “This is unprecedented, I know,” Xander continued. “Suffice it to say, my nephew proved me wrong.”

  “Is that even possible, Deacon?” someone called from the crowd. The comment was met with good-natured laughter.

  “Rare, but possible,” Xander replied, a smile in his voice. “As many of you know, I’ve always held alchemy in contempt. After all, it is the realm of the untalented.” The crowd laughed along with him.

  “I’ll show you untalented,” I muttered.

  “But my nephew has proven that alchemy can be quite powerful. He is on the verge of unstunting himself.”

  More murmurs from the crowd, but they settled quickly this time.

 

‹ Prev