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

by Becca Andre

  “A tempting argument.” She bumped my shoulder with hers.

  “You’ve spent just a few hours in each other’s company, and already you’re whispering.” Rowan set the box on the low table in front of the couch. “Is it a girl thing?”

  “Yes.” Lydia laid down the injection pen she’d just finished filling and walked to the sink to wash up.

  “We can’t tell you more, or we’d be forced to kill you.” I joined Lydia at the sink.

  “Which would be a shame,” Lydia said.

  “Truly. Bumping off the pastry delivery guy is always a bad move.”

  Rowan sat down on the couch and pulled the box closer to open it. If he had a comment, he kept it to himself.

  “So, what’s the occasion?” Lydia asked when we joined him. She took the lone chair by the window on the opposite side of the table, leaving me to share the couch with Rowan.

  “No occasion. I was in the area. I knew you liked them, and Addie has never had them.”

  “In the area?” Lydia laughed and leaned over to select a pastry. “Where did you go for lunch?”

  “I had an errand to run.”

  “Ah.” She scooted back in her chair. “Lucky us.” She gave me a wink.

  I grinned and picked up a pastry of my own. A thick layer of fluffy white cream lay sandwiched between a split pastry so light that it left a trail of fine flakes in its wake. I took a bite, and the powdered sugar puffed up my nose and dusted my shirt—but I no longer cared.

  “Oh. My. God.” I said around a mouthful of heaven.

  Lydia laughed. “Incredible, huh?”

  I made the appropriate sound of agreement. Wow. If the old bakery building I worked in had been in competition with this place, it was no surprise that they’d closed their doors. Silence reigned while Lydia and I scarfed down our confections.

  “Aren’t you going to have one?” Lydia asked Rowan.

  “He’s already had two,” I said before he could answer.

  “Oh, really?” He leaned back against the couch, laying an arm across the top. “And how did you come to such a conclusion?”

  “There are a few crumbs on your coat and only eleven pastries in the box.”

  “But wouldn’t that make only one missing?” Lydia asked.

  “A local, family-owned bakery would sell a baker’s dozen: thirteen. It’s good business.”

  Lydia looked at Rowan. “Is she right?”

  “Yes.” The corner of his mouth rose.

  “Nice detective work,” Lydia said to me.

  “He also has a little powdered sugar on his chin.”

  Rowan straightened and rubbed a hand across his lower face.

  “Psych.” I grinned. “You should know better. You already checked yourself in the rearview mirror.”

  He dropped his hand and smiled in earnest. “And how would you know that?”

  “What’s that, Mr. Never-a-hair-out-of-place?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glint of movement among the snow-dusted tree branches beyond the window. A bird? Before I could decide, Lydia stood to get another pastry and blocked my view.

  “You know, Rowan—” Lydia didn’t finish, and a loud pop echoed around the room. She stumbled forward and fell against the table. Had she tripped?

  “Lydia?” I rose to my feet to help her when Rowan jerked me down behind the table where he now crouched.

  “Stay down!” He caught Lydia by the arm and pulled her to him, then kept backing until he’d pulled her over behind the laboratory bench. “She’s been shot.”

  Ice seeped into my veins and I glanced at the window. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from a single hole in the center of the pane.

  I jumped to my feet, not caring that I made myself a target, and ran to the counter where we’d been working earlier. I snatched up one of the completed pens and ran back to where Rowan knelt on the floor, cradling Lydia against him.

  “Hang on, Lydie. Addie will fix you.” He looked up as I dropped beside them. Anxiety etched his features, and fire burned in his eyes as it rode his emotions.

  “I know,” Lydia whispered, her cheek against his shirt. “I told you, Roe. She’s amazing.”

  I jerked the cap off the end of the auto-injector. Not wanting to waste time pulling up her sleeve, I stuck the pen in the side of her neck, close to where the neck met the shoulder. I depressed the plunger, injecting the antidote. Once empty, I pulled out the needle. Blood immediately welled, marking the hole I’d just made.

  “Lydia?” Rowan asked.

  She gasped and pressed a hand to her chest, doubling over.

  My own heart pounded as she began to thrash in his arms.

  He held her tighter, taking the abuse. “Addie, do something!” Panic colored his tone and fire colored his eyes.

  I held up the pen. I had done something. I had—

  Lydia stopped thrashing and simply went limp.

  “Lydia!” Rowan lowered her to the floor and caught her face between his palms. Her poor damaged face that had seen so many surgeries. He pushed back her turtleneck and pressed his fingers to the heavily scarred flesh of her throat. “Oh, God, no.” He cupped her face in his hands once more. “Lydia.”

  I just stared at them, unable to understand, or unwilling to. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t breathe.

  Rowan looked up and his orange eyes met mine. “Why didn’t it work?” His voice broke on the last word, and he stopped to swallow.

  I rose to my feet.

  “Why didn’t it work?” Anger began to replace the confusion.

  I struggled to understand. The antidote. He was talking about the antidote. It didn’t work.

  Something clattered to the floor, and I realized that the empty pen had fallen from my numb fingers.

  The antidote had failed. Another formula had failed. Like the compass and the burn salve, only this time someone had died. Lydia had died.

  A strangled sob escaped my throat, and I turned and ran. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t stand there looking at what my bullet had done, what my antidote had failed to do. I couldn’t bear to watch Rowan mourn the only piece of his family he had left—and blame me for it.

  Chapter

  16

  I ran down the hall and slammed my hands against the door release without stopping. Cold air hit me in the face, freezing the tears on my cheeks. The door exited on the side of the building, and to my left, a small open yard gaped between me and the wooded area visible from Lydia’s lab.

  I skidded to a stop, slipping on the icy sidewalk. The trees. I’d seen movement in the trees. Rage replaced my despair in a single heartbeat. Was it Frank Liles, the lich Lydia had mimicked at the last murder scene? That sick bastard was killing the magical with my bullets. I remembered the hole in the window and how Lydia rose to her feet at just that moment. Had Rowan been the intended target?

  All logical thought left me, and I wanted only one thing: that murdering bastard’s throat in my grip. I ran for the trees, consumed with the lust for another’s blood. The emotion was so pure, so all encompassing, that I actually laughed. A saner part of me knew I was staring death in the face, but what did it matter? I had nothing. I’d lost my best friend, my lover, and now, my alchemy. There was really nothing left to lose.

  I made it to the trees without being shot and slowed my pace. I needed to think, to plan, or I’d never get to bathe in any blood except my own.

  The snow wasn’t as deep beneath the trees, the canopy of branches having caught a good bit of it. I didn’t see any tracks, but the snow-covered leaf litter made it hard to judge.

  I started forward, looking for signs as I wove my way between the trees. Head down, I stepped carefully around fallen logs and bushes. I glanced at the back of the Institute and tried to
triangulate the shooter’s position. I moved a little deeper into the trees, glancing back often.

  “Hunting for something, alchemist?” a familiar voice asked.

  I gasped and turned as Henry Huntsman stepped out from behind the nearest tree, his white and tan camo blending perfectly with the snow-covered leaves. A scoped rifle hung from one shoulder. I recognized the make—and the caliber bullet it took.

  “You!” I launched myself at Henry with the sole intent of scraping out his eyes. I managed to make contact with one cheek before he could lunge to the side. He didn’t try to escape, but came back at me. His hand closed around my throat, lifting me from the ground and slamming me against the tree he’d just stepped around. My head thumped against the unyielding wood and pain splintered my skull. The world darkened around the edges.

  Henry trailed his fingers over his bloodied cheek. “You dumb bitch,” he whispered, stepping closer.

  “Henry.” George materialized out of the trees a few yards away, Brian at his shoulder. Both wore the same camo Henry sported. And both carried rifles.

  “You fucking bastards.” I choked around Henry’s grip on my throat.

  “Bring her.” George waved Brian forward, and he stepped up to give Henry a hand, grinning at me as he did. Abruptly, he straightened and brought the rifle to his shoulder, aiming back through the trees—toward the Institute.

  All three of them went still, then I heard it.

  “Addie?” Rowan’s voice carried across the snow-dampened grounds. A pause, then a door slammed.

  “He went back inside,” Brian said.

  “Unlike some people, he’s not stupid enough to run out here.” Henry grinned at me.

  “He’ll probably sneak out the back, like he did at that clinic,” Brian said. Rowan had managed to catch him that time. “Shall I circle around and take him out?”

  “No.” The word came out on a shallow breath, and I tried to swallow around Henry’s grip on my throat. “Whatever you want. I’ll get it.”

  George moved closer. Hazel eyes narrow and calculating, he glanced between me and where Brian stood, awaiting his command.

  I considered the things he could want and settled on the obvious answer. “The Final Formula. The Elixir of Life. I’ll brew it for you. All of you.”

  George’s eyes narrowed further. “You know it?”

  “It’s my formula, dumbass. Neil stole it from me.” I ran out of air and stopped with a wheeze.

  “He said your memory had been wiped. The amnesia.”

  “And you believed him?”

  George raised his arm, and I expected a slap, but he gripped Henry’s wrist instead. “Release her.”

  Henry did as told, and I slumped against the tree, drawing deep breaths through my nose.

  “So you can brew us this formula.” George studied me with an eerie detachment that made my skin crawl.

  “Then we don’t need that necromantic fuck,” Henry said.

  “What about the Element?” Brian still stood ready, glancing between George and the building.

  “I don’t understand why you’re trying to kill him,” I said. Would it help Rowan if I told them that I needed the blood of an Element for the Formula?

  “The pompous ass sent the police after us. The human police. Like we’re just some common thugs.” Henry answered.

  “You’re pissed because he didn’t recognize you as magical?”

  “We’re Hunters. They write fucking myths about guys like us.”

  Somehow, I managed to hold my tongue on that one. So, they’d tracked Rowan down because he offended them. Lydia had just been an accident. The realization made me sick.

  “Besides,” Henry continued, “there are three other Elements.”

  My breath caught. They knew.

  “True.” Brian gave George a hopeful look.

  “Why does Neil need Element blood?” George asked me, his gaze calculating.

  I hesitated, not wanting to give him too much information. I could launch into a discussion of prima materia, the first matter, and how it corresponded with the classical elements.

  “Is it because they’re already immortal?” George asked.

  Okay, so much for withholding that information.

  “We already have that,” Henry said.

  “Or we did.” George frowned at me.

  “James,” I whispered.

  “Would that work?” Henry asked. “Could you use our brother’s blood?”

  I remained silent, not sure which answer would be the most helpful—or harmful.

  George pulled a cell phone from his pocket and offered it to me. “Call him to us.”

  I hesitated. Give them James or give them Rowan?

  “Brian get ready to—” George said.

  I swallowed and took the phone. James would survive the ordeal. Probably. I opened the phone. It took three attempts, but I managed to dial his number.

  “It’s me,” I said by way of introduction.

  “Addie?” James asked.

  I closed my eyes in relief. Hot tears slid down my cheek.

  “Addie, what’s wrong?”

  “James, I need you.” I couldn’t manage much more than a whisper, but knew he’d have no trouble hearing me. “Rowan’s in danger. We’re at the Institute. Come to me. Quick.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I hit end and offered George his phone. “He’s coming.”

  George and Henry were already moving, pulling crossbows from the leaves beneath a nearby thicket.

  “Brian, restrain her,” George barked.

  “But—” Brian began.

  “Forget the Element. There’s been a change of plans. Make this look good.”

  Brian caught me by the upper arm and pulled me to him, my back to his chest. Something cold pressed against my throat, then I felt the bite of a blade: his Bowie knife.

  I glanced back at George, but both he and Henry were gone.

  “He’ll smell your blood,” Brian whispered. “He won’t like that.”

  The air wavered a few feet in front of us. A pool of darkness gaped open and spit out a familiar black dog. His glowing green eyes fixed on us and a snarl stood my hair on end.

  “They’re loaded with my bullets. Rowan’s inside,” I whispered. “Please, James.”

  James glanced at the rifle Brian had leaned against the tree, then raised his eyes to his brother and lifted his lips.

  “Try it, and I’ll slit her throat before you reach me,” Brian said. “Then George and Henry will finish the Element.”

  A shimmer of darkness, and James the man knelt in the snowy leaves before us. “Call George back, and I’ll—” James twisted to the side, but I didn’t see the quarrel until it thumped into the ground where James had been.

  “Don’t presume to make demands, little brother.” Henry stepped out of the thicket across from us. He moved with ease, not even snagging his clothing on the thorny branches.

  James snarled again. It was a sound no human throat should be able to make.

  Henry tossed aside the empty crossbow and jerked a thin blade from his belt. A throwing knife?

  “You’ll never hit me with that,” James said.

  “Who said I was aiming at you.” Henry’s lip curled and his gaze settled on me.

  Brian laughed, not worried about Henry’s knife hitting anything but its target.

  James didn’t comment. He sprang, hands reaching for Henry.

  A thunk, and James crumpled to the ground at Henry’s feet, face-first in the snow. A quarrel protruded from his back, still quivering from impact.

  George stepped into my peripheral vision, his crossbow in hand. “Nice work,” he told his brothers.

&nbs
p; Henry sheathed his knife, then regarded me with his permanent sneer. “Let her go so she can cry over his dead body again.”

  Brian laughed and took the knife from my throat.

  I pressed my hand to my neck, and my fingers came away slicked with blood. Not a huge amount, but more than I expected. The sight made my knees weak.

  “Now the Element?” Brian asked.

  “In a moment,” George answered.

  “What?” I faced him. “But I did as you asked.”

  George ignored me. “Brian, get that collar on James.”

  Brian pulled a familiar iron collar from the large flap pocket on his coat, and began to secure it around James’s neck. Did he just carry the thing around on the chance of finding James, or had they hoped he’d be with Rowan today? I didn’t ask.

  Once the collar was padlocked in place, Brian gripped the quarrel and jerked it out of James’s back.

  James gasped and pushed himself up on his hands and knees. “Damn you,” he said through clenched teeth. He might be dead, but he still felt pain like everyone else.

  “Brian, clean up the blood.” George said.

  “You don’t want to—” Brian began.

  “Later.”

  “George, I give you my word,” James said, looking up at his brother from his knees.

  “The collar stays on,” George snapped. He took a breath and continued in a more level tone. “Brian, the blood.”

  Brian dropped to a knee behind James and caught him by the back of the iron collar.

  Unease washed over me, and I took a step toward them. “What are—”

  Henry caught me by the upper arm and pulled me back. “Watch.”

  Brian leaned down and ran his tongue across the wound in James’s back. James sucked in a breath, his shoulders tensing. He tried to pull away, but Brian tugged him back.

  “What the hell?” I wanted to go to James, but Henry’s hand was already crushing my biceps.

  Brain lapped the blood from his brother’s back, unmindful of the audience. A moment later, he released the collar and leaned back. The skin of James’s back was free of blood—and injury.