by Becca Andre
“Come on, Ad. James and the Elements are counting on you.”
Another deep breath, and I set to work getting my blood into the little vial. The sliver of glass protruding from my foot made it easier to funnel the droplets through the small opening. I had to stop from time to time to regain my composure, but I finally managed to collect about ten milliliters. I swirled the vial to mix my blood with the last of the powdered necro essence. The job complete, I pushed myself to my feet—well, foot.
I ripped a swatch from my dress and used it to smear the outside of the door with my makeshift potion. I draped the scrap of fabric over the window frame when I finished. Holding up the vial, I eyed the few milliliters of solution left inside. Would it be enough? And the bigger question, would the tiny fraction I’d smeared on the door attract the zombie away from me? Time to see if I had learned anything from Ian’s lessons in necromancy.
I selected the largest male body—a rather hairy fellow on the lower right shelf. I didn’t know if it made a difference when it came to the strength of the dead, but I figured the guy with the most muscle mass was my surest bet for a battering ram.
I reached out and touched the man’s stubbled chin. “This is so nasty.” My fingers brushed his lower lip. The skin was cool, yet still pliable. I pulled my hand back.
“You can do this.” I gripped his chin again and pulled his mouth open. It moved a lot easier than I expected.
“Ew, ew, ew.” I tipped up the vial, letting a few drops fall into his mouth. I didn’t know how much it would take to wake him, but I hoped the less I used, the shorter the time he’d remain animated. I capped the vial and tucked it in a pocket along my ribs.
Would it work? Would—
The man’s eyes opened and I jumped back.
“Crap!”
He groaned and his filmed over eyes shifted to me.
I covered my mouth with my hand and stumbled back out of his line of sight. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea.
He sat up, batting at the body bag. Unable to puzzle his way out of it, he grabbed the heavy plastic and ripped it open.
Okay. No worries about his strength then. I backed away.
The zombie staggered to his feet. He lifted his head. Sniffing the air? Then he turned and faced…me.
I raised my hands in a worthless gesture to ward him away and noticed the blood smeared across my right palm. I eyed the swatch of fabric hanging from the window frame. The zombie stood between me and the door. I now wished I’d chosen the withered little old lady. This guy was huge—six-five, at least. His shaggy brown hair almost brushed the ceiling and the small space seemed even smaller.
He took a step toward me and his hands came up, reaching.
I pressed my back to the wall. There was nowhere to go. Even if I could fit through the little vent in in the ceiling, I couldn’t reach it unless—
I climbed up the shelves on my right, clambering onto the empty one at the top. A thump and the shelves swayed. A hand brushed my ankle. I jerked my legs out of reach, falling on my stomach. I fisted my right hand to keep from smearing the blood mixture everywhere and crawled toward the other end of the shelf. The end by the door.
Another impact and the shelf rocked, almost overturning. I reached out and caught the window frame, sliding off the shelf before he could topple it. I pulled the swatch of fabric loose and scrubbed my palm as I turned to face the zombie. He groaned and though still several feet away, reached for me.
“Here, you want this?” I dangled the scrap of fabric before him. “Fetch.” I shoved the fabric through the hole, then climbed the other shelf. I hesitated when I discovered that the shelf wasn’t empty. Nine familiar mason jars took up the space. I’d found the missing hearts from Ian’s crypt.
A thump shook the whole room. I looked back. The zombie stood at the door and thumped two meaty fists against it. Yes, it was working!
My breath came in ragged gasps, but with the noise the zombie was making, I doubted he’d notice me.
The noise. I hadn’t considered it in my grand plan. Neil and Ian should be busy sending out the rest of the liches. They’d be upstairs, maybe even outside. Was anyone else around? Since there were bodies in here, I figured the place must be an operational funeral home, but it was probably too late in the day for any employees to be milling about.
What was Neil doing here anyway? Xander was supposed to own nearly every funeral home in Cincinnati. Was this one of the few he didn’t own, or were we no longer in the city?
The zombie continued to pound on the door. I began to fear that he’d run out of juice when something popped. A hinge? He hit it again and the upper right corner bowed outward. Yes!
“Kick it,” I muttered, and to my surprise, he did. A coincidence? I didn’t stop to think about it as the lower hinge broke and the door burst open.
I cringed at the noise, but the way was open.
The zombie left the cooler. I was about to follow when he caught the door and ripped it away from the frame. The door clattered to the ground and he followed. He flipped it over and crouched on the surface. Leaning forward, he braced his hands wide and licked the stainless steel.
I flashed back to the time I’d met a zombie outside the ruins of the Alchemica. He’d leaned down in the same way and licked the grass where I’d wiped James’s blood. That had been the first time I’d met Neil’s mother. Xander had later mentioned that the zombie had been her husband.
The thought stopped me. Oh God. Had that been Neil’s dad? No wonder the guy was so screwed up.
I retrieved the remnants of my dress, stained with Rowan’s blood. I couldn’t bring myself to feel pity for Neil’s screwed up childhood.
I skirted the naked, hairy fellow crouched on the cooler door, and limped out into the room. No one had come running. Now what? Fleeing wasn’t an option. This wasn’t about me. Even if Ian Made me, I’d keep fighting to see the Elements safe. I had to stop the liches. But it didn’t end there. I had to make certain James remained free. And the only way to make that happen was to take down Neil.
I started toward the lab equipment.
A clank sounded behind me, and I turned to find the zombie climbing off the cooler door and shuffling my way, the scrap of fabric clutched in one hand. Unease tingled along my spine. I’d told him to fetch it.
As if he read my thoughts, he lifted his arm, holding the fabric as if to hand it to me. He took a step forward.
“No.” I raised both hands, palms toward him. My mouth dropped open when he halted.
“Stop!” a voice yelled from the door to the hall.
I spun to face Frank. No. I couldn’t let him stop me. I needed a weapon. I needed a—
I glanced at the motionless zombie. “Get him.” I pointed at Frank.
The zombie sprinted across the room and tackled Frank.
I pressed a hand to my mouth to hold back the hysteria that wanted to break free. Oh my God, I could use alchemy to do necromancy.
The zombie won the wrestling contest, and now held Frank immobile within its arms. Ian had explained that the reason liches rotted so slowly was because they grew into their death. Apparently, their strength worked the same way. Frank was closer to life than the zombie.
“You’re a necromancer?” Frank asked, loathing in every syllable.
“No, I’m an alchemist.” I wasn’t limited to one flavor of magic. I turned back to the workbench.
Now to demonstrate my skills with elemental fire. One last time.
Chapter
27
I glanced at the zombie frequently while I worked, expecting the animation to fade at any moment. I still didn’t understand how I managed to control him. Raising him, I could see. Necro blood could animate the dead. But why did the zombie obey me? Was it because I’d used my own blood to reconstitute the
necro’s essence? In a sense, my Perfect Assistant Dust worked the same way. I’d used my blood to key it to my commands. Which was a skill few alchemists, if any, could imitate.
Leaving that mystery for later, I turned back to my workbench and the Mason jars lined up along the edge. Three of the jars lacked a heart, at least, the heart’s original form. Two held a sifting of ash, and the third, a withered husk. I theorized that these were the three who’d attacked the museum. Rowan had ashed two of them, and the last I suspected had fallen prey to James.
If my theory was correct, then what happened to the lich also happened to his heart. Did that street run both ways? I glanced over at Frank. The Mason jars had names on the lids and his sat in the center.
“You’re a monster,” Frank said.
“Perhaps.” I carefully picked up the Erlenmeyer flask that held my faintly glowing formula. Flickers of flame danced through the viscous orange liquid, awaiting release. That would be the tricky part, but I’d planned for that. The success with my zombie-raising potion had given me an idea.
“It’s because of you and that damn Formula that all this has happened.”
Maybe that was true as well, but I didn’t acknowledge him. I carefully pipetted a milliliter of orange solution into each Mason jar.
“I tried to kill you,” Frank continued. “I blew up your alchemy shop, but you escaped.”
I looked up. “That was you?”
“You have the devil’s luck.”
I set aside the pipetter and met his hate-filled eyes. Nothing I could say would ever make it right with this man. And I really couldn’t fault him. “I can’t give you life, Frank. But I can release you.”
He stared back at me, his eyes dropping to the macabre display along the counter.
“To be dead is to always be some necro’s slave.” I picked up a well-sharpened cork knife and nicked the index finger on my left hand.
“Truer words have not been spoken,” a new voice said from the other side of the room.
I gasped and turned to find Ian standing at the end of the workbench.
“Yes, free me!” Frank shouted.
“Release him!” I called to the zombie. Odd that I didn’t want him singed by the blaze. Odd and a little unhealthy.
I flicked my finger over Frank’s jar, sending a drop of my blood into the murky liquid that held his heart—and a trace of my glowing formula. A four-foot flame blasted out of the jar, and I jerked my hand back with a gasp.
“What the hell?” Neil stepped into the room.
Frank shouted something. I didn’t catch the words before he was consumed by fire. But it hadn’t been a shout of pain; it had been a shout of release.
Neil jumped aside to avoid being burned. The flames vanished in the next instant, leaving nothing of Frank. It had truly been elemental fire.
“Grab him!” I shouted at the zombie, and once again he obeyed, wrapping his large arms around Neil’s upper body.
“What’s the meaning of this, Mallory?” Neil demanded. “Release me or consider our deal null and void.”
Ian stepped up behind me, catching my arms in his icy grip. My zombie slumped to the floor without a sound.
“Glad to see you came to your senses.” Neil tugged at his robes, straightening them with a jerk.
“It wasn’t me,” Ian said. “Though I did free you.”
I sighed. Potion-animated zombies were worthless against a real necromancer. I’d need to remember that.
Neil had started toward us, but hesitated on Ian’s explanation. Neil’s eyes narrowed and shifted to me. “You’re saying she animated a corpse?”
“My guess is that’s how she escaped the cooler.”
Neil eyed the cooler before returning his stare to me.
“Envious?” I asked. “Give me my bullets, and I’ll teach you how.”
“Make her,” Neil said to Ian. He gave me a smile. “Then you will be compelled to tell me.”
“How did you command the dead?” Ian asked.
I saw no reason not to answer. Maybe it would buy me some time. “The necro essence.”
“But—”
“I reconstituted it with my blood.”
“Your blood,” Ian repeated, his tone subdued.
I frowned over my shoulder at him.
His eyes met mine for an instant before shifting to Neil. “You’re certain about this?”
“Yes.” Neil closed the distance between us. He eyed the counter where I’d been working.
I glanced at the hearts. Just a drop of my blood in each jar would set off the alchemy and ignite the flames. Had the liches found the Elements yet?
“What are you doing?” Neil asked
“Righting a wrong.” I flexed my biceps, but Ian held me tight.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Neil demanded of Ian.
“This is it, Nelson. The last act I perform before you pay up.” He pushed me away from the bench and toward the steel table in the center of the room.
“You’re hardly in a position to negotiate,” Neil said.
Ian stopped and looked back at him. The two men eyed each other for one long moment before Ian started me toward the table. He was really going to do it.
My heart thumped against my breastbone. I’d deluded myself earlier; I wasn’t as indifferent to death as I thought. At least, not this death. Would Ian drop my heart in the jar Frank’s had just vacated?
We drew near the table, and I noticed the wrist and ankle restraints. Not your typical autopsy table. I tried to pull away, but Ian’s grip was far too strong.
“Why?” I whispered, my throat raw with fear. “I helped you.”
“I’m sorry, Addie.” He picked me up, and I fought in earnest, almost managing to roll off the far side of the table. Ian subdued me easily, and I wondered how many times he’d done this.
“I gave you back your body. Regenerated your heart and freed you from the crypt.”
“Yes, thank you. But in the grand scheme, it means little. Her release is all I seek.”
“Get on with it,” Neil complained. He turned and walked to the counter where I’d been working.
Ian ignored him. Instead he reached up and brushed a tear from my cheek. “He doesn’t understand what he’s destroying. But I would rather end you than give him that power.”
He shrugged off his jacket, then turned his attention to undoing his cuff links. The old gold winked in the light, and I saw the elaborate “M” scrolled on the smooth surface.
I remembered the jars in Xander’s cooler. “I’ve seen that before.”
Ian raised a brow in question.
“You cuff links—or the “M” rather.”
He turned the cuff link and examined the surface. “At the mausoleum, I’d wager.”
“No.” I glanced in Neil’s direction and continued in a whisper. “I saw it on a pair of clay bottles—or were they canopic jars?”
Ian stilled. “Where?”
A phone rang, the sound muffled until Neil pulled it from his pocket. He answered it, turning his back on us.
“Where?” Ian repeated.
“And what happens after I tell you? Will you kill me?”
“So, I trade one master for another?”
“I have no need to enslave you.”
Ian glanced at Neil, frowning. “I could Make you and command you to tell me.”
“Why haven’t you done that with Neil?”
“He doesn’t personally have the knowledge. The potion he’s brewing will enable him to get in his uncle’s inner circle and learn the location of the Deacon’s tomb. But one of the key ingredients of that potion is failure. Hence, your blood.”
In other words, everything that had been done to m
e had been to secure Neil’s place in necromancer hierarchy. Fury filled me, but I couldn’t give in to that now. First, I had to convince Ian to let me go; then I could take care of Neil.
“I’ll swear a blood oath to tell you all I know,” I said.
Ian focused on me once more. “You would do that?”
“Yes.” I didn’t look away.
Ian’s intense blue eyes bore into my own, calculating.
“The Elements are at University Hospital?” Neil said into the phone. “So? Get over there. Finish them.”
I swallowed. Why had they taken Rowan’s body to the hospital? Or had one of the others been hurt? I had to convince Ian to free me.
“Once Neil brews the Final Formula—and he won’t have any trouble if I’m at his command—he becomes a full-fledged necromancer. He won’t need to give you any information; he’ll command you to do his bidding.”
“You’re implying that I have no honor?” Neil had finished his call.
“I’d be surprised if you can even spell the word,” I said.
Neil narrowed his eyes before turning back to Ian. “Come get me when you’re done. I have things to do.” He turned and left the room.
I watched him go—as best I could from my prone position. I’d like to think that Neil, a man who’d once been my friend, didn’t want to watch me die. But who knew what the guy really thought? With his family history, he couldn’t be mentally stable.
Ian wordlessly began to undo my bonds.
I stared at him. “You’ll free me?”
“You will personally show me these canopic jars. That is your oath. You will not be able to break it.”
“Of course. And if it doesn’t lead to your daughter, will you give me back to Neil?”
Ian simply met my gaze, saying nothing.
Very well. That left me one course of action. I climbed off the far side of the table and faced him across it. I’d only get one shot at this.
“I’ll need a knife, or something sharp.” My shaky voice wasn’t entirely a staged effect.
