by Becca Andre
I gritted my teeth, annoyed that he’d made no effort to deny anything. I pulled at my handcuff, but there was no give. The bracket tacking the conduit to the wall prevented me from lowering my hand below the level of my waist.
“I got them,” Lawson said into the phone. “Both alchemists.”
I stopped rattling the cuffs to listen.
“Shall I bring them to you or—” He fell silent, tapping a finger to the phone pressed to his ear.
“An old garage outside Covington,” Lawson said. “The Grand Master has been shot.”
At least he’d acknowledged it. I’d begun to wonder if he even knew that Emil was bleeding on his trunk floor.
“His color is still good, but it was a gut shot. If anything was—” He fell silent once more, and the tapping finger stilled.
“Yes, sir,” he answered after a moment. “I will.” He pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call.
“So, you’re not running the show.”
His gaze shifted to me, forehead bunching as he looked me over.
“What?”
He moved closer. “You’re really not magical.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then why is he registering you?”
“What? Who?”
“The Flame Lord. He started your registration with the PIA.”
“He did?” When Rowan had claimed me before the director, I’d thought it was a ruse to get the PIA to let me go. It pissed me off that he hadn’t told me about it, but I didn’t want to react in front of Lawson.
“You didn’t know? Is he holding you against your will?” Lawson seemed genuinely outraged. Perhaps he had some scruples after all.
“And this upsets you why?”
“Declaring you magical gives him jurisdiction over you.” Lawson fisted his hands. “He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”
“And yet you kidnap me and allow Emil to be shot. From where I stand,” I rattled my cuff, “I’m not seeing the difference.”
“No, I suppose not.” He turned on his heel. Several angry strides took him across the garage before he spun around and came back to me. “The PIA was created to keep the magical in their place, and yet the agency bows and scrapes like everyone else.” He smashed his fist into his palm.
“I get the sense you don’t like the magical much.”
He gave me a glare.
“Doesn’t that make you a bit of a hypocrite, Agent Lawson?”
He leaned forward, bracing a hand to either side of my head. “I sense magic; I cannot use it. I am not one of them.”
I itched to use a potion, but I’d still be cuffed to the wall even if it did incapacitate him. I’d have to wait until he released me.
“You lied to me about the boy.” Lawson pushed off the wall, but didn’t move away. “It wasn’t a potion.”
James.
“The Flame Lord is registering him as well,” Lawson continued. “He claims the boy is a shape-shifter.”
Close enough.
“He’s powerful. Very powerful.”
I held his gaze, refusing to give him any more information. Lawson was a magic hater. A magic hater that worked for the PIA. Not a good combination.
Lawson held my gaze for a few more seconds. “Why do you work for the Elements, Ms. Daulton?”
“Who said I did?”
Lawson gave me a look that said he believed differently.
“The question is who do you work for? Who wants the Final Formula?”
“Who doesn’t?” He turned and walked away, this time he left the garage entirely, slamming the pedestrian door behind him.
“Emil?” I called out.
Silence answered me.
For the next few minutes, I gave the cuffs a thorough workout, but found no give in either the handcuffs or the conduit. Unwilling to concede defeat, I turned my attention to the workbench beside me. A rusted toolbox took up most of the lower shelf, but it was too far away to reach.
Greasy bottles of oil and cans of assorted lubricants and solvents sat closer. Most were flammable, but burning down the garage wasn’t an option. There were plenty of alchemical applications for the ingredients before me, but without time or a lab, I was a bit limited. However, a simple mechanical adaptation might be practical. With my small hands and a little oil, I might be able to slip the cuff.
I stretched out as far as I could, reaching with one foot toward the shelf holding the oil. The toe of my sneaker touched one bottle. I leaned further, resting my weight on the handcuff and the other leg. I lunged, but instead of slipping my foot behind the bottle, I tapped it dead center and toppled it over backwards.
“Crap.” I fell to the side, slamming my shoulder against the corner of the workbench. “Damn it.” That hurt.
I regained my balance for another attempt when the pedestrian door opened. Smothering a gasp, I stumbled back against the wall as Lawson walked in. I didn’t want him to see the advantages of my current position. He might move me elsewhere.
My fears proved unfounded. He had his cell phone pressed firmly to one ear and didn’t even glance in my direction. Out of options, I slipped my hand into my front pocket and fisted one of Emil’s vials.
“Now?” Lawson stopped beside the car and paused to listen. “Okay. Where?” He listened a moment longer then ended the call.
“Time to go,” he said to me. He pulled out a keyring.
“Go where?”
Without answering, he slipped a key into the lock and removed the cuff from the pipe. Now was my chance.
I flicked the cap off the vial and flung the contents in his face. I wasn’t certain what the potion was or how it would affect him, but any liquid thrown in the eyes tended to slow someone down. Or it should. I hadn’t much luck with the smelling salts.
Not waiting for a reaction, I turned and ran. If I could make it outside, maybe I could lose him in the dark.
“No!” he shouted.
I’d reached the car, halfway to the pedestrian door, when he fired. Pain laced through my right calf. My leg buckled, throwing me into the front fender of the car. I thumped into the metal hard enough to leave a dent. Pushing myself upright, I turned to face him.
“Don’t move,” Lawson started toward me, his gun trained on my chest. “I will shoot you again.”
“What about the Formula? If Emil or I know it—”
“You’ve both taken it.” He continued toward me. “You’re immortal.”
“It’s an anti-aging potion, not a get-out-of-death-free pass.” Was that why he was so indifferent about Emil’s injury?
He stopped a foot away. The potion ran down his cheeks and dripped off his chin. “What?”
“I don’t age, but I can die.”
“That’s not what—” He frowned and shook his head before turning wide eyes on me, his pupils fully dilated. “What was in this potion?” He ran one hand over his wet cheek.
“It was Emil’s. I was just hoping it was acidic.”
His eyes swept over me, lingering on my hips. “What’s in your pocket?” He twitched the gun at my right pocket. “I feel confusion.”
Stunned, I pulled a vial of orange liquid from my pocket. Rotating it, I read the small label taped to the glass. “Identity Crisis.” It was the same potion Emil had attempted to hit Rowan with at the Elemental Offices. “It causes a temporary memory lapse.”
“Your left ankle holds pain. What is it?”
“A blow tube of pepper dust.” Perhaps I should have made an effort to reach it.
I studied him. Was that what a Sensitive saw—not only the magic, but its purpose? Well, a powerful Sensitive anyway. Emil’s potion must have elevated Lawson’s skills. Impressive.
“What’s—” Lawson stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. To my surprise, he turned to face
the garage door.
Limping, I took a step back and then another, eying the distance to the pedestrian door. It felt like a red-hot poker had been jabbed in my calf, but it held my weight. That would have to do. I turned and ran.
I made it half the distance before he opened fire. Expecting a bullet, I dove to the side, but slipped on a patch of oil. I went down on one knee, cracking it against the concrete. The new pain momentarily masked the old.
A snarl stood my hair on end, and I twisted around to look behind me. A massive hellhound stood before the garage door. A door now pockmarked with several bullet holes. Lawson hadn’t been shooting at me.
James’s glowing green eyes shifted to me before returning to Lawson. He started forward, his claws clicking on the cement floor.
“Shit,” Lawson whispered and pulled the trigger again. The garage door shook with the impact, the bullet passing right through James. Lawson squeezed off a couple more shots that left my ears ringing. Wood splinters rained down on James, or through him rather, scattering on the floor at his feet.
Lawson staggered back, gun trained on James. “What is he?”
“That’s your shape-shifter,” I answered.
“The boy?” Lawson stepped back until he stood even with me. “No, he’s more. He’s death.”
I glanced up at the wide-eyed man beside me. Considering that he could now see magic’s purpose, that was disturbing.
James continued toward us, his attention focused on Lawson.
“Stop!” Lawson cried. When his command failed to get the desired result, he grabbed me, shielding his body with mine. “I’ll blow her head off.” He shoved the gun barrel into the soft underside of my jaw. I gripped his forearm, but didn’t have the strength to pull him away.
James hesitated. His hackles rose and black lips lifted to reveal gleaming teeth that looked far more plentiful than the typical canine’s. He crouched, the muscles beneath his shaggy fur quivering.
A hot gust of air ruffled my hair as if a furnace had kicked on.
Lawson glanced over his shoulder and whimpered. His gun ground deeper into my jaw, forcing my head back.
“Dinner, little brother?” a dark voice whispered from behind us. The other grim. James had opened the portal. He intended to rip Lawson’s soul. I had to stop him; I couldn’t question the dead.
“James—”
The pedestrian door rattled and Lawson turned slightly, keeping both James and the door in view. The lock snicked and the door swung open. Rowan stood on the threshold, Donovan’s bulk filling the space behind him. Rowan hesitated, taking in the scene, and then flames ignited in his eyes.
“It’s him,” Lawson whispered and swung the gun toward Rowan.
Rowan lunged forward and Lawson fired.
“Rowan!” I screamed.
James sprang, but I knew he was too late.
Fire raced across the garage, lapping up the very air as it roared toward us. I squeezed my eyes shut and heat enveloped me, so intense I feared I’d been roasted alive. And in the next instant it was gone—and so was Lawson. Released from his support, I staggered away and almost went down before arms once more embraced me.
“I’ve got you,” Rowan said against my ear.
“Addie!” James caught my face in his palms, tipping my head up to look in my eyes. A frown replaced his worried expression. “Damn it, Rowan, her skin is hot.”
“It’s just a flush. She was never in danger.” His arms tightened around me.
I pressed my hands against James’s bare chest and pushed him back, giving myself room to step out of Rowan’s arms.
“Sorry,” James muttered. He dropped his hands to cover himself and stepped out of my line of sight.
I raked my fingers through my hair. It wasn’t his nudity that was the problem. Lawson was gone. Rowan had ashed him. Well, I assumed Rowan had killed him. James might have gotten his soul first—not that it mattered. My only lead was gone.
“James.” Donovan tossed him a sack and then turned to close the door.
“What happened?” Rowan asked.
“I found Emil, but guys in black fatigues found him first.” I limped around to the open trunk.
“Addie you’re bleeding,” James said.
“Lawson shot me.” I leaned in the trunk and touched Emil’s cheek. His skin was warm and his breathing seemed okay, but a stain darkened the carpet beneath him.
“He shot you?” Rowan stepped up beside me.
“I wish you hadn’t ashed Lawson. How am I supposed to find out who he called?”
“What do you mean?”
James, clothed now, squatted beside me and ran his hands lightly along my injured calf.
“Lawson wasn’t running the show. He called someone to find out where to deliver us.” I gasped in surprise as James ripped open my lower pant leg. The force threw me into Rowan.
“Easy,” Rowan said.
“God,” James whispered.
I looked down and saw my white sock soaked in blood, trickles running over the sides and heel of my shoe. I’d been fine up to that moment. Now a cold sweat coated my skin and the edges of my vision began to darken.
The world swung around me and then seemed to stabilize. It took me a moment to realize that Rowan had picked me up.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I don’t do so well with blood. Or autopsies. Or zombies.”
“That’s all right.” Rowan turned toward the door. “You have other skills that make up for your shortcomings.” He began walking toward the open door.
“Emil.” I suddenly remembered. “We have to get him to a hospital.”
“We need to get you to a hospital,” Rowan said.
“I got him, Ad,” James called from behind us.
I looked back and watched James lift Emil from the trunk. Relieved, I let my head rest on Rowan’s shoulder. I inhaled the scent of his cologne and relaxed. All the excitement was beginning to catch up with me, leaving me exhausted. My forehead came to rest against the side of his neck. His skin was very warm.
“If I should pass out, there’s a vial of your headache remedy in my bra.”
“Does that mean I have your permission to search for it?” Was he smiling?
I considered his question. “I think I’d prefer to be conscious for that.”
“Really?”
The warmth of my skin now rivaled his. “So I can smack you, of course.”
“Of course.”
Yeah, he was definitely smiling.
Chapter
24
I opened my eyes and waited for the outdated wallpaper to swim into focus. A TV mounted high on the wall flickered through a weather broadcast without sound. Nope, not my room at the manor. I squinted at the time in the lower right-hand corner of the screen. 8:32 a.m.
James’s concerned face came into view. “Addie?” My bed shifted as he settled on the edge.
“Hey, Fido.” His dark hair stood in disarray like he’d just gone furry—or had been raking his hands through it. “Is everything okay?”
“It is now.” He smiled. “How do you feel?”
“I’m conscious. I think.”
“You seem pretty lucid to me.” He pushed back my hair where it’d fallen over one cheek. “I was worried.”
“Why? I got shot in the leg, not the head.”
“I know, but…” His brow wrinkled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I smiled at his concern. “You’d still have Era,” I teased.
“Era?” He looked up with a frown. “She likes me, not the other way around. I haven’t the heart to chase her away. She wouldn’t understand.”
He was such a sweet guy. I patted his hand then pushed myself up into a sitting position to look around. “They gave me a room?”
“Rowan insisted.”
> I smiled and shook my head. “So, no problems with the surgery?”
“None. The doc stitched you up and dug out the bullet.”
“Not in that order, I hope.”
He snorted. “Yeah, you’re fine.” He stood up and I pushed back the sheet. A large bandage covered my calf. I flexed my leg. It was sore, but not overly so.
“Don’t get too crazy,” he said. “You’ll pull the stitches.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“Pain killers.”
“Ah.” The wound must have been shallow. A powerful painkiller would have left me loopy. I felt clearheaded. “Just me and you?” I hoped I didn’t sound too disappointed.
“Rowan walked downstairs to use the phone. Or were you referring to Emil?”
Guilt wormed its way through my gut. I’d forgotten. “How is Emil?”
“He came through surgery fine, but…” James turned away. “Let me find you a wheelchair. You need to see him.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and slid off. The room wavered and I gripped the bedrail. I guess the painkillers hadn’t completely worn off.
“Addie. Your leg.” James stepped forward and steadied me with a hand on my elbow.
My head cleared and I glanced down. I had no trouble standing. “It’s just a little tender.” I tried to take a step toward the door, but he wouldn’t release me.
“Let me see.”
I figured it was easier to comply than argue. I sat back down and leaned over to peel back the bandage. A faint pink line about three inches long bisected my calf. I pulled the bandage off and a tangle of dark knots fell out. I realized they’d been stitches.
“Dear God,” James whispered. “You’re healed.”
“How many stitches?” Stunned, I stared at the three-inch scar.
“I don’t recall, but they had to dig deep. The bullet lodged against the back of your shin bone.”
I looked up, meeting his wide eyes. “It has to be the Formula. I’m not magical.”
“No, just immortal.”
Rapid healing, no aging. I’d been so caught up with being the first to find the Formula, I hadn’t fully understood what immortality meant. I still didn’t, but I had time—lots of time—to come to terms with it.