The Final Formula

by Becca Andre

  The first photo fascinated me. I didn’t look younger than I did now—just heavier. But something in my expression betrayed a different me. I looked like a kid.

  My eyes drifted to Neil. The passing of years was much more apparent with him. He looked like a teenager in the picture, so different from the middle-aged man I’d met today.

  I dug out the business card he’d given me when he’d handed me the folder. Neil Dunstan, alchemist. And below that, a local phone number.

  I glanced up at his picture. He’d been nice to me today, and I felt certain, back then. “What do I have to lose?”

  Neil answered on the second ring. “Amelia, how are you?” he said after I’d identified myself. A smile colored his tone. “Did you get a chance to read the file?”

  “I did. Thank you.” I hesitated, not sure how to proceed. “You’re an Alchemica alchemist?”

  “I was.”

  “You…” I didn’t want to say flunked out. “You quit?”

  “Not exactly.” He shifted the phone around. “I’m driving. Could I call you back, or better yet, stop by? Your memory problems concern me. Maybe I can help?”

  That was exactly what I wanted from him, but should I invite him here? James stood across the room, helping Ginny grind some herbs. Even if Neil’s intentions weren’t so pure, I wasn’t alone.

  I agreed and gave him the clinic’s address. Neil must have been in the area because he arrived ten minutes later. He greeted James, smiling like he knew him well, before joining me at the bench.

  “Just like old times.” He eyed my setup.

  “I’ll take your word on that.”

  “Right. Sorry. What are you working on?”

  I didn’t think Rowan would appreciate my sharing his weakness, so I shaded the truth. “His Grace suffers from migraines.” Not exactly, but close. “I thought I’d try to brew him something to help.”

  “Nice of you.” He took a seat on a nearby stool.

  “He’s been good to me.”

  “And the boy?” Neil nodded toward James and lowered his voice. “One of his?”

  Rowan had claimed him. “Yes.” I pulled my notes closer, pretending to need to read them. “What of you? Do you work for the PIA now?”

  “On a contractual basis, though it does grant me access to a lab.”

  “Nice.”

  “It pays the bills.”

  We drifted into an awkward silence. “So, um, you weren’t at the Alchemica when it was destroyed?”

  “You got me kicked out.”

  “What?” I looked up.

  To my surprise, he laughed. “Don’t worry about it. In the grand scheme of things, you probably saved my life. I would have been at the Alchemica when it blew.”

  “Maybe, but… What did I do?”

  “I cheated. Some of the work I was doing for you drew attention to that. The Grand Master isn’t…open-minded.”

  “Oh. So, I didn’t rat you out or anything?”

  “You were too absorbed in your own work to get involved. I doubt you even noticed I was gone.” He laughed to take the sting out of his words, but it didn’t help.

  “That doesn’t paint a very nice picture.”

  “You were driven, Amelia. Focused. As was I.” He gave me a wink and rose to his feet. “Slide me your journal, and I’ll write down a couple of the memory potions I know.”

  “Off the top of your head?”

  “I don’t have your memory for formulas, but I’ve used these recently.” He sighed. “Mother suffers from dementia.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  He gestured at my journal.

  “Go ahead.” I wasn’t concerned about him seeing any of my notes. Like he said, I had near perfect recall. My notes left out a lot of the details.

  He took my journal to the corner table and for the next fifteen minutes, busied himself filling several pages.

  “What’s up?” James asked, joining me.

  “Neil’s sharing a few memory formulas he knows.” I shrugged. “Something else to try.”

  “Cool.” He gazed at Neil, his forehead wrinkling.

  “You busy?” I asked him.

  James’s attention returned to me. “Not at the moment.”

  I set a mortar and pestle in front of him—these considerably smaller than the set he’d manned for Ginny.

  His dark brows rose. “I’m just a food processor to you.”

  “You’re more than that and you know it.” I patted his arm. “Now get choppin’.”

  James laughed and set to work. His strength would create some really fine powders. I’d have to grind for an hour to produce what he could make in minutes.

  “A powder?” Neil asked, stopping beside us.

  “So it can be portioned out, adjusting the dose accordingly.”

  “Mmm. Good idea.” He handed me the journal. “I hope something here helps. Let me know?”

  “You’re leaving?” I tried to hide my disappointment. I’d hoped to spend more time discussing the past. He’d known me, and from the sound of things, he’d known me well.

  “I got a text.” He sighed. “Mother.”

  “I understand.” I walked with him to the door. “Thanks for coming by. Maybe we can get together another time.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.” He gripped my shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Amelia.”

  “Addie. Call me Addie.”

  He studied me. “That might take some getting used to.” He released my shoulder and with a fond smile, left.

  I placed the last of the beakers on the drying rack and stretched to relieve the stiffness in my shoulders. I loved being back in an actual lab, but after six hours on my feet, it was time to call it a day. Rubbing my lower back, I crossed to the table where I’d left my notes.

  “Need a massage?” a voice asked from behind me.

  I gasped and turned toward the door. Rowan leaned against the jamb watching me.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered. “It worked.”

  He frowned and started toward me. “Don’t say that with such surprise.”

  I could only stare. He looked good. Damn good. And the way he moved…

  I gave myself a mental shake. “I meant, it worked this fast.” He stopped in front of me and reached for my face. I froze, but he only pulled a pen from behind my ear and offered it to me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No, thank you.” He’d shaved and changed clothes, though he still wore black. This time, a fitted mock-turtleneck with the usual tailored slacks. They fit way too well to be off-the-rack. When he lifted a brow, I realized he’d caught me looking.

  The heat rose in my cheeks and I turned back to my notes. “You don’t have to thank me. Just doing what I do.”

  “Eliminating pain and saving lives? You sure you’re an alchemist?”

  “That’d be the one thing I am sure of.” I kept my attention on my notes.

  “Right. The amnesia.” Rowan leaned against the table beside me, tucking his hands in his front pockets. “What name shall I call you?”

  “Addie’s fine. I know who she is.”

  “A mouthy little alchemist?”

  “See, you know her, too.” I sighed and grew serious. “I haven’t a clue who Amelia Daulton is.” I hated admitting that, especially to him. Perhaps I did lack humility, but my intellect was a source of pride. My sole source in all honesty.

  “Did Emil really discover the Final Formula?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Was he telling the truth?”

  I stopped fiddling with my notes and looked up at him. “You think he’s lying?”

  “I don’t know what to think. That’s why I asked you.”

  “You don’t like him because he’s an alchemist.”r />
  “That’s not why I don’t like him.”

  I hadn’t expected Rowan to admit his dislike. “Then why?”

  “I can’t answer that. It’s intuitive.”

  Okay. Not an answer I thought I’d hear from the ever decisive and always opinionated Flame Lord.

  “Have you considered that perhaps it was you who found the Formula?” Rowan asked.

  I smiled at his flattery, but the feeling faded quickly. “Alchemy is the one thing I do remember. I don’t know the Final Formula.” I shook my head and dropped my eyes to my notes. “Guess I’ll have to find another obsession.”

  Rowan took a moment to respond. “I’m sorry, Addie.”

  His sincerity surprised me. “I’ll survive.”

  “Of course you will; otherwise, my life would be too easy.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t help myself.

  “So.” He hesitated. “You and your Grand Master?”

  “That’s what he tells me.”

  Rowan snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I’d tell you, too.”

  I looked up, not sure how to take that. He raised a brow daring me to ask—

  A scream rang out and we both jumped in surprise. Running footsteps echoed in the hall. An instant later the door banged open. Ginny stood on the threshold, her gray hair a mess and the lower part of her dress streaked in dirt.

  “Three men in camo,” she gasped. “In the parking lot, with crossbows. They called James by name.”

  I gripped Rowan’s arm. “The idiot brothers.”

  “And then they shot him.” Ginny pressed her shaking hands to her wet cheeks. “I…I think he’s dead.”

  Chapter

  15

  I pushed past Ginny and ran out into the hall, sprinting toward the clinic’s back door and the employee parking lot beyond. Ginny must be mistaken. James’s brothers would never kill him.

  I hit the back door at a run and cringed as it clanged against the rear wall of the clinic. The sound rang through the small parking lot, and I skidded to a halt. The sun had set, leaving a deep red smudge on the western horizon. A single streetlight stood near the center of the parking area, its flickering light unable to reach the hedge-lined edges of the lot, but it was bright enough to illuminate James’s prone form. He lay on his side, back toward me, a few feet away from what I presumed was Ginny’s car. The trunk stood open, a crate lay tumbled on the asphalt.

  I didn’t notice much else, my attention focused on James. He wasn’t moving.

  Arms wrapped around me from behind, and I had an instant to realize it was Rowan before he dropped us both to the ground.

  “Are you insane?” Rowan demanded, his mouth near my ear. He raised his head to survey the shadows, his eyes already aglow. He pulled me up so we were both crouching and eased us back toward the door, his flaming eyes sweeping the parking lot.

  “You can’t use fire right now,” I whispered. “I don’t know how well that healing formula worked.”

  “Get inside,” he said, ignoring my warning.

  Why was I not surprised that he didn’t listen? I slipped a finger beneath the sweatband I’d shoved up around my biceps, hidden under my shirtsleeve. Rowan would never forgive me for this, but he wasn’t going to kill himself over me. I pulled out a slim straw—a stir stick I’d taken from the clinic break room—and blew the powder I’d packed inside into his face.

  “You’re not going to kill yourself on my watch,” I said. He doubled over with a gasp and I shoved him back through the open door. He stumbled, colliding with the interior wall and dropped to a knee. I slammed the door closed.

  A quarrel clanged into the metal door right in front of my face, and I bit back a cry. The Huntsman boys didn’t miss; the shot had been a warning. I whirled to face the parking lot. George leaned against the side of Ginny’s car, a crossbow hanging casually from one hand.

  “Stupid move, Addie.” George pulled another quarrel from his quiver and flashed me a grin. The whiteness of his teeth stood out against the patches of black face paint he’d applied in a camo pattern. He continued to smile as he loaded his bow.

  “You’re not going to shoot me,” I started toward James.

  “You sound pretty confident.”

  “You would have shot me already.” I hesitated when he raised his bow.

  He studied me across the sights a moment then started to laugh before lowering his weapon. With one booted foot, he nudged James over onto his back.

  I covered my mouth with one hand. A quarrel was embedded in James chest, directly over his heart.

  I ran the last few steps and dropped to my knees beside him. I heard my knees smack the asphalt rather than felt it. I’d gone numb. I stared at his chest noting the lack of blood—and movement.

  “He’s not breathing!” It came out as a startled gasp rather than the accusation I’d intended. I pressed my fingers to his throat and jerked my hand back in surprise. His skin was cold. How could he be that cold when he’d only been shot moments ago? I touched him again, searching for a pulse and found nothing.

  I raised my eyes to George, trying to blink my blurring vision into focus. “You killed him?” My voice broke on the last word. I swallowed and tried again. “You killed your own brother?”

  George began to laugh, and I came off my knees, going for the bastard’s throat. Not the smartest of moves, but damn it, I wanted the satisfaction of strangling him with my bare hands.

  I should have gone for a potion. My outstretched hands didn’t even make contact. He backhanded me and sent me sprawling, face down, not far from James’s still form. I sucked in a breath of tar-scented asphalt and pushed myself up on my hands and knees. I paused, considering the potions on my person.

  Aside from the potions I’d designed for Rowan, I hadn’t accomplished much in my few hours in the lab, but I did have a blow tube of alchemically enhanced pepper dust. Before I could reach for it, a hand gripped me by the collar and pulled me to my feet.

  “Idiot,” Henry said, his hot breath against my temple.

  I tried to pull away, but he pressed something cold and sharp against my throat. I’d guess his favorite bowie knife.

  “He never told you, did he?” George gestured at James’s body.

  “That he’s a grim, yes.” I swallowed. That he was a grim. Oh God. I couldn’t stop the hot tears that spilled down my cheeks. How could he be gone? The one person who’d been there for me when I had no one. My partner in crime. My sidekick. My best friend.

  “Brian!” Henry’s shout caused me to jump, and his knife bit into my throat. “You find it?” If Brian heard, he didn’t answer.

  “Why do this?” I asked.

  George studied me, looking far too amused for a man who’d just killed his brother.

  “Did you really think we’d let you take him?” Henry asked. “He is ours. Our family treasure.”

  “If you treasure him, why did you kill him?”

  Henry and George laughed.

  Brian walked around the far end of the building, something clanking in his hand. As he drew closer, I saw that it was a collar. A rusted, metal collar. He dropped to a knee beside James and began to fasten it around his throat, snapping a padlock in place when finished. Why, I hadn’t a clue. Some sick joke on James’s other form?

  George braced a foot on James’s shoulder and leaned over to grip the quarrel shaft. His large biceps flexed and he pulled it free with a wet sound. James gasped and his eyes flew open. Blood immediately bloomed around the hole in his gray T-shirt.

  “James?” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I’d been so certain he was dead.

  “Addie?” James turned his head and saw me. “Let her go!” He struggled to rise.

  “Lie still.” George leaned an elbow on his knee, his foot still braced on James’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding. You wouldn’t want to get
any of that on her. She’s not one of us.” George lifted his eyes to mine then licked the bloody arrowhead. His hazel eyes took on a faint green glow.

  “To share the power of his blood, you must be genetically like him—as only full brothers can be,” Henry said. His grip tightened on my shoulder. “You won’t be able to do anything with him, alchemist—except die.”

  “Get that knife away from her throat, Henry.” James tried to rise again, the padlock clanking against the iron encircling his throat. Was this their plan? Collar him and treat him like an actual dog?

  “I’m not going to let you do this,” I said to George.

  “Really? And how will you stop me?” George turned to Brian. “Bring the truck around.”

  Brian gave me a grin before he ran off to do George’s bidding.

  I clinched my fists.

  “You have nothing,” George continued. “The one man who might have stood a chance against us, you took out of the picture.” He gestured toward the back door of the clinic. “What did you blow in his face anyway?”

  I didn’t answer, but it did alarm me that Rowan hadn’t tried to come after me. Had my newly designed Extinguishing Dust had a side effect I hadn’t anticipated, or was he that pissed at me for knocking out his power? Maybe it was a dumb move on my part, but if Rowan killed himself because of me, I didn’t think I could live with that. I’d take my chances with the idiot brothers.

  “It doesn’t matter,” George continued when I remained silent.

  “Let her go,” James said. “I’ll come willingly.”

  George grinned, leaning heavily on his knee and forcing a grunt from James. “You won’t put up much of a fight with that iron collar around your throat.” George looked up at me. “Besides, she is a bit of an asset to the business. A real Alchemica alchemist.” He looked down at James again. “She’s the one who invited you to the Alchemica three months ago, isn’t she? No wonder you ran off so quick. Did she mention on the phone that she was a necrophile?”

  “What—” I didn’t get to finish my question.

  James snarled and lunged at George, managing enough force to dislodge George’s boot and send him stumbling back a few paces. James came up on his knees, but made it no further. He doubled over, a hand to his chest.