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

by Becca Andre

  “Holy crap.” I stared at Brian as he got to his feet. He rubbed the back of his hand across his lips. Even in the bright light of day, I could pick out the glow in his hazel-green eyes. “You healed James?”

  “We are our brother’s keepers, alchemist.” Henry leaned down to speak in my ear. “Take heart. Now he won’t bleed out.”

  James knelt in the leaves, frowning up at us. “What are you going to do?”

  “Me?” George asked. “Nothing. You’re going to go collect the Element.”

  “I am?” James didn’t look convinced.

  George removed a slim tin from the chest pocket of his coat. I wasn’t sure what it was until George slid a quarrel from his quiver and dipped it into the tin.

  I stared at the iridescent paste that coated the tip as George presented it to James. It was the Extinguishing Dust formula Neil had stolen from me. That’s how the Huntsman boys had knocked out Rowan’s power last time.

  “You have three minutes,” George told James. “Once time is up, Henry gets to show the alchemist his knife collection.”

  James sprang to his feet, the padlock clanging against his iron collar. “Perhaps I’ll put the quarrel through his eye.”

  “You could,” George agreed, “but then, who will save the Element?” He gave Brian a nod.

  A grin creased Brian’s face as he retrieved his rifle from where it leaned against the tree. Without comment, he turned and ran into the woods. A few strides into the foliage, he seemed to vanish.

  “He has enough of your blood in him to make this interesting,” George said.

  James snatched up Henry’s discarded bow and took the quarrel from George’s hand.

  “And James,” George said as he turned to go. “If that collar vanishes from your throat, we kill them both.”

  James held his gaze for one long moment, then turned and sprinted for the Institute. He didn’t bother using the trees for cover, but ran for the recessed door I’d exited through. I wondered if he was following my tracks in the snow, or something else. With that collar on, he wouldn’t be able to see souls.

  He skidded to a stop just before reaching the door. The distance was too great to tell for certain, but I’d swear he was scenting the air. Abruptly, he turned and ran for the front of the building, ducking behind a few shrubs before slipping around the corner.

  “Do I really get to use my knives?” Henry’s voice broke the silence.

  George gave him a humorless stare and walked over to us. Without comment, he pulled my hands in front of me and bound them with a cable tie.

  “Why are we bothering with the Element?” Henry asked. “We have what we need.”

  “Insurance. We know Element blood works.” He gave the cable tie a tug then stepped back. “Make her scream.”

  Henry chuckled. “But three minutes aren’t up.”

  “He’s trying to goad James into action,” I said.

  George’s attention shifted to me, though his expression didn’t change.

  “Whatever.” Henry fisted his hand in my hair and jerked my head back. “It’s fun either way.”

  “I won’t scream.” I knew that was probably untrue, but I’d hold out as long as I could. I refused to be their accomplice in this. Any more than I’d already been, that is.

  Henry’s hand came to rest on my cheek; then I felt the cool brush of steel along my cheekbone. “You don’t need both eyes to brew us that formula.”

  I lifted my bound hands, trying to catch his wrist; then the blade bit into the soft flesh beneath my right eye.

  I screamed.

  Henry released me with a laugh.

  I stepped away from him, raising my hands to my face. A gash leaked blood along my right cheek, but that seemed to be the only damage I’d suffered. I turned to keep both Huntsman boys in view and discovered George was gone.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me,” Henry said.

  I wasn’t going to be his captive; I turned and ran toward the Institute. I made it about ten yards before I was tackled from behind. Henry took me to the ground, and I landed on my stomach in the snowy leaves. I thrashed around, trying to wiggle out from under him. He caught me by the hair and pulled my head up, painfully arching my spine.

  “Rowan!” I screamed. I wanted to add run, but Henry ground his knee into my over-arched back, and I whimpered instead.

  “Now, now,” Henry chided. “You’ll spook the prey.”

  “Hurt him, and I won’t brew you the Formula,” I whispered.

  “You’ll do what we tell you to.”

  “If you really think that, you’re a bigger dumbass than I realized.”

  He slammed my head into the ground. The move surprised me, and I took the impact full in the face. When he pulled my head up again, my nose and lower lip were bleeding.

  “Get off her,” Rowan said.

  I blinked my tearing eyes, shocked to find him standing over us.

  “Envious?” Henry asked. He pulled my head back further, and his opposite hand found my waist and slid upward. He never reached his goal. Rowan tackled him.

  I managed to roll clear and, for a moment, just stared at them. How had Rowan found us? And why didn’t he ash—

  A hand caught me beneath the arm and George hauled me to my feet.

  “Enough.” George held a crossbow in his other hand. He lifted it and fired. Rowan and Henry were still locked in combat, but the quarrel flew true and thunked into the back of Rowan’s right shoulder. His right arm dropped to his side, and Henry used that moment to land a solid punch to Rowan’s chin. The hit threw Rowan back, and he landed with a pained grunt, no doubt driving the quarrel deeper.

  Rowan rolled onto his side, then pushed himself to his knees. That’s when I noticed a second quarrel in his calf.

  Leaves rustled behind us, and I turned to watch Brian shove James forward. An empty crossbow slid from James’s fingers.

  Rowan was powerless.

  “Bind him,” George threw another cable tie to Henry. “We need to get moving.”

  “Why not just kill him?” Henry waved a hand toward where Rowan knelt in the leaves.

  “When the time comes, I’ll give you the honor.” George caught my arm once more, and pulled me along with him as he walked away.

  Chapter

  17

  George’s 4x4 wasn’t big enough for all of us. I sat sandwiched between him and Henry while Rowan, James, and a protesting Brian rode in the bed. The temperature was only in the mid-thirties today, but at least Brian was dressed for it in his hunting gear. Rowan wore his long wool coat, but poor James had nothing at all.

  Worse than the temperatures and the wind chill was the length of the drive. George drove east for over an hour, taking narrower and narrower back roads until it seemed there was no road at all, just a couple of ruts between the trees. The houses grew smaller, and the space between them larger. The last one we’d passed was several miles from the little cabin where George finally stopped.

  Henry grunted as George shut off the engine. “Looks just like I remember.”

  “Bring her inside.” George opened the driver’s door and climbed out.

  Henry gripped my arm and manhandled me out of the truck. George was giving Brian orders to move the others inside as well, but I didn’t get to stay and check on them. Henry hadn’t released me and now pulled me toward the cabin. I didn’t put up a fight. That would just earn me more bruises.

  The cabin smelled of dust and disuse. George followed us into the front room and lit an oil lamp. As the light filled the room, I sucked in a breath as glinting eyes stared down from the walls around us. Dozens of stuffed animal heads decorated the space: deer, elk, bear, boar, and several other exotic animals that no longer roamed these woods—or never had.

 
“Come.” George turned and led me toward a darkened hallway.

  I followed on hesitant feet. The hall was short, containing only two doors. George opened one and waved me in ahead of him. So far, he hadn’t shown any physical interest in me, but that didn’t make me any more comfortable about entering a bedroom with him. I tried to rotate my hands, but the cable tie around my wrists limited my mobility. Even if I had a potion—that worked—I couldn’t throw it.

  My steps hesitant, I moved forward and then came to a full stop once I saw what the room contained.

  “A lab?” I asked, stunned. And not just a makeshift one. There were counters and cabinets, a sink, and even an exhaust hood on one wall.

  “So it would seem,” George answered.

  I gave him a frown and moved further into the room for a better look.

  Canisters for film development sat prominently on the counter in front of me. On a nearby shelf, bottles of developer, acetic acid, and fixer took up most of the space. A clothesline with clips stretched across the back of the sink, and large square trays and tongs occupied a nearby dish drainer. A photo lab.

  And yet the windows contained only pull-down blinds, and the bulb overhead was incandescent.

  I began opening the cabinets, the movement awkward with my bound wrists, and found a large hot plate and a collection of heavy stockpots. But the most out-of-place items were the cold medicine boxes in the cabinet over the sink. There were dozens of them.

  “Well?” George demanded.

  “It’s a meth lab.”

  His brows rose.

  “A dealer, not a user.” I closed the cabinet I’d been investigating and turned to face him. “Are you thinking of branching out?”

  George crossed his large arms. “Cousin Robert was into photography.”

  “It’s a cover. Cousin Robert is a drug dealer.”

  George frowned. “Was.”

  Gooseflesh pebbled my arms. Was Cousin Robert lying out in the woods somewhere, a crossbow bolt through the heart? I didn’t ask.

  “Can you work with what’s here?” George demanded.

  “Yes.” That was the truth. It was actually a pretty nice set up. “All I need are the ingredients.”

  George’s hazel eyes narrowed. “You’re stalling.”

  “I can’t create a potion out of thin air. Shall I make you a list?”

  He frowned at me a moment longer, and then gave me a curt nod.

  I found a pen and paper in one of the drawers. “This would be easier if you removed this.” I held up my bound hands, displaying the cable tie.

  “No.”

  I sighed and started writing. It wasn’t easy, but I managed. Various possibilities occurred to me—things I could brew instead. But what was the point? They would just fail.

  Of course, my potion didn’t have to be alchemical. These idiots were going to ingest whatever I brewed.

  I thought of Lydia and considered a more permanent solution—but would James…and Rowan approve? I was supposed to be seeking redemption. Killing these men in cold blood probably wasn’t the solution—even if the three in question were murdering psychos themselves.

  I sighed and ripped the sheet of paper from the pad and passed it to George.

  “I listed the chemical name followed by a source of that compound if you can’t find it in the pure form.”

  “What’s the difference?” He scowled at the list.

  “The purer the ingredients, the less work I have to do and the quicker I can whip up the potion.”

  George studied me, but didn’t comment.

  “What?” I asked, uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

  “You really are one of those alchemists. A blood alchemist.”

  “Yes. Why should that bother you? You’re a murderer.”

  “Neil said you are, too.”

  Did Neil refer to how I’d killed Emil? Or had I killed other people in my forgotten past? I decided I didn’t want to know. I raised my chin, looking George square in the eye. I wouldn’t let him see how much that bothered me.

  “My little brother wouldn’t approve.”

  “He’s killed far more than I have.” I remembered the three men James had killed at the gun shop last fall. Granted, they’d been liches, but he had still ripped their souls from the mortal world. I hoped my kill count was less than three.

  George stepped closer. “James hasn’t killed anyone. You stopped him from taking that Element’s soul.” George had witnessed the time Neil’s mother had taken command of James and almost forced him to kill Rowan.

  “James soul-ripped three of the men who attacked the gun shop.”

  “He’s come into his full powers. He can now rip souls.”

  “Yes.” My tone was hesitant. There was an intensity about George that unsettled me.

  A series of thumps was followed by a crash in the front room. I turned toward the open door, my heart in my throat. Had James or Rowan made a bid for his freedom?

  “Damn it, would you hold him?” Henry’s voice sounded strained.

  The thumps came again, in the hall this time. Rowan slammed into the wall across from the door, mere feet from where I stood. They’d stripped off his coat, leaving him in the white button-down shirt and dark pants. I glimpsed the cable tie binding his wrists before he righted himself.

  Suddenly, Brian was there. Rowan ducked and Brian’s fist connected with the log wall. Brian howled in pain, gripping his wrist with the opposite hand.

  But Rowan hadn’t stopped. He spun away from the wall, then turned, using his momentum to slam an elbow into the side of Brian’s head before the guy could recover.

  Movement out of the corner of my eye reminded me that I wasn’t alone. I reached out, trying to stop George, but I was too late. A flick of the wrist sent a throwing knife whirling into the fray. I didn’t even have time to shout a warning.

  Rowan grunted as the slim blade slammed into the back of his thigh. He fell back against the wall, and an instant later, a quarrel struck his shoulder, pinning him in place.

  George caught my bound hands without taking his eyes off the confrontation. “Secure him.”

  “He needs to die.” Henry stepped into view. He held an empty crossbow, and a trickle of blood colored his upper lip. “There are other Elements if we need the blood later.”

  Rowan reached up and gripped the quarrel with his bound hands. He lifted his lips, exposing his clenched teeth, before jerking the quarrel from his shoulder. Brian hurried to step out of his reach.

  “Enough.” George dragged me with him as he stepped forward.

  Rowan frowned, but didn’t speak. My eyes were drawn to the growing bright red stain around the hole in his shirt.

  Brian pulled his hunting knife from his belt and shoved Rowan toward the open door across us.

  Rowan stumbled, but caught himself on the doorframe. It looked like a bedroom, though George didn’t give me a chance to stand and watch.

  “Don’t screw this up,” he said to Henry before dragging me back to the front room.

  George released me, but before I could turn to look back down the hall, he jabbed his stiff fingers into my shoulder and gave me a shove. “Sit.” A chair caught the back of my knees, and I sat down hard, kicking up a cloud of dust from the cushion. While I coughed, George squatted in front of me and began removing my shoes and socks.

  “What are you—”

  He held up a vial he found in my left sock and set it on the table behind him.

  “If you want my vials, all you had to do was ask. Unbind my hands and—”

  He rose, catching my bound hands, and pulled me to my feet.

  I started to breathe a sigh of relief, expecting him to unbind me, but he gripped my shoulder and spun me so I stood wit
h my back to him. His large hands fell to my waist and he began to undo my pants.

  “George! What—”

  The soft hiss of a blade leaving its sheath preceded the press of his knife against my throat.

  “Don’t move,” he said, his voice low and angry. “I know what you’re capable of.”

  The knife left my throat, and an instant later, his hands returned to my pants.

  “George,” I whispered. My heart raced and I tried to push his hands away with my bound ones, but he had the zipper undone and pushed my pants down over my hips. They slid to my ankles.

  “Step out of them,” he commanded.

  My balance wasn’t the best, but I managed.

  No sooner was I free of my pants then he jerked me around to face him. The knife made another appearance, slicing through my bonds. Immediately, it returned to my throat.

  “Whoa,” Henry said, stepping out of the hall.

  “Give me a hand,” George said, his voice just this side of a growl.

  “You seem to be doing well on your own.”

  George glared at him, and Henry hurried over, dropping his empty crossbow onto the chair I’d just vacated.

  “Ensure that she doesn’t move,” George told him.

  Henry stepped up behind me, and now it was his blade at my throat. He let me feel the sharp edge, forcing me to tip my head back to avoid it.

  “The Element?” George asked.

  “Secured.”

  “That was quick.” George pulled off my jacket and tossed it aside.

  “I got creative.” Henry chuckled.

  “What did you do?” I whispered.

  “Ever see a butterfly collection? All those bugs tacked in place with stick pins.”

  I pulled in a breath, careful not to move against his blade. The quarrels. “You shot him.”

  “Quite a few times.”