The Final Formula

by Becca Andre

  “Busy place,” James commented and led the way inside.

  James was right. Every table and stool was occupied. More people stood in clusters around the room. The compass pointed into the room, but Emil was nowhere in sight.

  “There’s a back room,” James said.

  “And a loft.” Rowan nodded toward a staircase and the open balcony above.

  “I’ll check the loft,” I said. The compass wasn’t much help in a multi-story building. I turned to Rowan. “You want to do your thing and chat with the bartender?”

  “My thing?”

  “The part where you cut to the head of the line. I believe you referred to it as tipping well.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’ll check the back room,” James offered. He didn’t wait for a comment, but started forward, weaving his way through the crowd.

  “Wait and I’ll go upstairs with you,” Rowan said.

  “I can manage. Go on.”

  He gave me a frown, but started toward the bar.

  A man and woman squeezed past me, momentarily blocking my view of Rowan’s progress. I gave up trying to watch and headed for the stairs. Halfway up, I glanced back. Rowan had made it to the bar and was already chatting with the barmaid. A good tipper, my ass.

  Smiling, I pulled out my compass. The needle still pointed to the back wall.

  The loft was larger than the room downstairs, taking up the space over it as well as the back room James had gone to investigate. A second bar lined one wall, every stool taken. A band played country music on a small stage in the back, and much like downstairs, every table was full. I scanned the crowd, looking for Emil’s blond head. This wasn’t a place I’d expect him to be, but my compass didn’t lie.

  Five minutes later, with a quick tour of the room behind me, I still didn’t know where Emil was. Maybe James and Rowan had better luck.

  I turned back toward the stairs and caught a glimpse of blond hair. It wasn’t Emil, this guy wore a pirate suit, but there was something familiar about him. He stopped to let a pair of women exit the stairs, and I got a look at his face. It was one of the young men I’d seen at the nightclub. The ones exchanging vials.

  He headed down the stairs and I hurried after him. Before I reached the bottom, a group of costumed revelers started up, forcing me to squeeze against the wall to let them pass. It held me up, but I was able to see my guy slip out the front door.

  By the time I reached the first floor, he was long gone. I glanced around, hoping to catch sight of Rowan or James, but couldn’t see much past the crowd. Not wanting to lose my man, I stepped outside. If I’d waited a moment longer, I would have missed him as he headed down the alley beside the bar. The furtive glance he shot over his shoulder made me want to follow.

  I hesitated. Rowan would be pissed if I wandered off on my own, but seeing this same young man here, where Emil was, couldn’t be a coincidence. Rowan could whine about it later. Decision made, I hurried to the corner of the building and looked down the alley.

  The young man was nearly to the opposite end, walking side-by-side with a second man. Something about this man was familiar, too. Another guy from the nightclub? The second fellow wore a fleece jacket and dark pants. It could be a military costume, but I couldn’t pick out the details in the dim light.

  The pair rounded the corner at the far end of the alley, and I sprinted after them. Running on my toes to silence my tread, I slowed when I neared the corner then carefully peeked out. The men had stopped a few feet away, both with their backs to my position. I quickly ducked out of sight to be sure I wasn’t spotted. I leaned against the weathered brick. What should I do?

  “There. He works in that room over the garage. Maybe even lives there.” The voice was youthful. Tentative.

  I leaned out enough to see the building he referred to, and blinked in surprise. It was the building in the photograph I’d found in Xander’s basement. In it, Emil had been climbing that exterior staircase.

  “You’re certain?” the young man’s companion spoke, startling me. His voice was rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in awhile or had a cold. I pulled back out of sight once more.

  “Yeah. I can—”

  “No. Thank you. You may go.”

  “Go? You’re not going to arrest me?” Relief crept into the young man’s tone.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Voran.”

  “Oh, okay. Sure. And the alchemist?”

  “Unregistered formulas may not be sold to the public. We enforce those laws for your safety.”

  We? The guy was PIA? I peeked out to take another look.

  “Um, okay. Thanks.” The young man turned back toward my alley.

  Stifling a gasp, I pulled back then hurried away from the corner. A darkened doorway interrupted the brick wall ten feet away. Heart thumping, I slipped into the alcove it created. Something rattled at my feet and I looked down. An empty beer can. The noise had been slight, but…

  Footsteps approached, the pace rapid. I pressed my back to the wall and tried to blend with the shadows. The young man in his pirate garb hurried past, giving no indication that he’d heard me. Perhaps he was too absorbed in his own worries to notice.

  I gave him time to reach the street before I left the deep shadows around the door. The rumble of a male voice drew me back to my vantage point at the corner. Who was the PIA guy talking to now?

  “Affirmative,” he said, and I realized he spoke into a cell phone. “Target is said to be inside, though I haven’t confirmed it.”

  He paced as he spoke, and his path crossed the pool of light near the back door of the bar. He turned and my breathing grew shallow. Beneath the jacket, he wore black fatigues. Then too, if he really was PIA, he could be part of a SWAT team.

  Another step and the light fell across his face. I stopped breathing entirely. I’d seen him before, both at the Alchemica and the gun shop. Though he wasn’t smiling now, I knew that if he did, I’d see his overlapping front teeth. He was the one who’d cornered me against that dumpster where I first met James.

  So, he wasn’t PIA, or his actions weren’t sanctioned by them. The director had claimed that the raid on the Alchemica and the gun shop weren’t his. I just hoped the director had been telling the truth.

  “I hardly think this warrants a full extraction team.” He paced out of the light as he continued to talk. His stride carried him back to his starting point.

  “That was different,” he said. “She had help. Magical help.”

  I fisted my hands. He was talking about me.

  He shoved his free hand in his jacket pocket and stopped pacing. “Whatever you think best. What’s your ETA?”

  I glanced up at the upper story over the garage. The blinds were drawn, but light leaked around the edges. Was Emil home? How did I warn him? Did I have time to find Rowan and James?

  “Three minutes. I’ll be waiting.” He took the phone from his ear and ended the call.

  Three minutes. It was up to me then.

  An idea forming, I ducked back into the alley and retraced my steps to the alcove. The empty beer can lay were I’d kicked it earlier. I picked it up and hesitated. This could be a bad idea, but I didn’t see myself having much choice. Releasing a breath, I hurled the can against the opposite wall. Within the narrow alley, it made quite a racket. Pulling out a straw of my special pepper dust, I pressed my back into the alcove and waited. If the guy was preparing to extract someone, he’d want the area clear.

  I wasn’t disappointed. In only a matter of seconds, he stepped into the alley. He didn’t call out, but walked forward, his stride confident as he scanned the shadows.

  Keeping my eyes on the man, I removed the Parafilm I’d used to seal the ends of the straw and waited.

  He stopped before my alcove. He shouldn’t be able t
o see more than my silhouette, but that didn’t stop him from starting toward me. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting.”

  For the first time, he hesitated. “You’re a girl.”

  “You’re a genius.” I stepped forward to meet him and brought the straw to my lips. I had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen in recognition before I blew the pepper dust in his face. I didn’t need to be close. A little went a long way.

  He grunted and stepped back, but I didn’t stick around to see his reaction. I took off at a dead run for Emil’s door. Making no effort to be quiet, I thumped up the stairs and pounded my fist against his door.

  “Emil! It’s Amelia. Open up!” I banged a few more times.

  The door abruptly opened, and I stumbled through the doorway—right into Emil.

  “Amelia? What—”

  I grabbed the door and slammed it closed, then threw the deadbolt. “Why haven’t you answered your phone?” I didn’t wait for answer. Gripping his arm, I pulled him away from the door.

  “What’s going on?”

  A thump sounded against the door and I jumped.

  “A team is here for you. Guys in black fatigues. They look like PIA, but I don’t think they are.”

  Emil frowned at the door when a second thump followed. That made up his mind and he turned back into the room.

  “Do you have any potions?” I eyed the apparatuses set up on folding tables around the room. Emil had cobbled together a lab reminiscent of my own, though his cash flow must have been better. His equipment reflected that.

  “How many are there?” He moved around the tables, grabbing up several vials.

  “I’m not sure. They must have just arrived.” No way it could be Crooked Teeth. He was probably still rolling around in the alley. “Do you have a back door?”

  “No.” He had to raise his voice as something slammed into the door. It sounded like they were trying to break it down.

  “What potions do you have?” he asked.

  “Some alchemically enhanced pepper dust.”

  “That’s it?”

  Well, that and a vial of Rowan’s headache remedy, but that wouldn’t help much here.

  “You need to get away from those Elements.” Emil pocketed another vial.

  “They’re the reason I—”

  The door crashed open, and I turned with a gasp expecting a team with a battering ram. Instead, Crooked Teeth stood on the threshold, the door dangling from one hinge.

  Before I could process that, Emil stepped past me. I caught the glint of a vial as he raised his hand to throw.

  Crooked Teeth’s arm came up as well, a high caliber pistol gripped in his hand.

  “Emil!”

  A pop accompanied a flash of light from the gun barrel. Emil grunted and stumbled forward.

  “No!” I reached for him, but stopped as glass shattered at his feet. He’d dropped the vial.

  A dingy brown cloud filled the air around him, forcing me back. He crumpled to the ground and lay still.

  “Don’t move,” Crooked Teeth said. The cloud did little to hamper visibility. I could see that he had the gun trained on me.

  I wanted to go to Emil, but I didn’t want to chance the gas cloud—or the gun.

  “What kind of potion was that?” Crooked Teeth asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re an alchemist.”

  “It was his potion, okay?”

  The cloud had nearly dissipated, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Keeping an eye on his gun, I started forward. When he made no move to stop me, I knelt beside Emil. A bloodstain spread over his stomach, but his chest rose and fell as it should.

  “Frank, what happened?”

  I gasped and looked up to find a second man in black standing in the doorway.

  “He tried to throw a potion at me.” Crooked Teeth—Frank—kept his gun and eyes on me. “I’ll keep an eye on her. You get him.”

  The other man came forward, and with an ease that surprised me, lifted Emil in his arms.

  “Up.” Frank gestured with his gun.

  I rose to my feet watching the other man carry Emil toward the door.

  “What are you doing with him?”

  Neither man answered me as Emil was carried out of the room. I started after him, but Frank raised his gun, stopping me.

  “What a stroke of luck finding you here.” Frank smiled, exposing those overlapping front teeth. It wasn’t a friendly smile. “I’ve lost several good men hunting you.”

  “And that’s my fault?”

  He didn’t answer me. Instead, he gestured toward the door with his gun. It looked like he was finally going to accomplish what he’d attempted at both the Alchemica and the gun shop. I had to get word to Rowan and James. Let them know that I’d been taken. But how—

  The compass! I stuffed my hand in my pocket and closed it in my fist.

  “Freeze!” Frank leveled the gun between my eyes. “What do you have there?”

  “A compass?” I slowly pulled it out and showed him.

  “Turn out your pockets.”

  I set the compass on a nearby table and proceeded to do as told. All my other pockets were empty.

  “Let’s go,” Frank said once I’d shown him the insides of my pockets.

  I left the room without a backward glance. Maybe Rowan and James would find the compass and follow it to Emil…and me.

  A dark, late-model car waited at the base of the stairs, the trunk open. I was shocked to see Emil lying inside.

  “The trunk?” I asked. “Is that really necessary?”

  “Move.” Frank made it clear that it wasn’t up for discussion. When I reached the car, he stopped. “Climb in with him.”

  “What?”

  He leveled the gun on me. “I’m to deliver you alive. The number of holes you collect is up to you.”

  “Deliver us to whom?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  Having delayed all I could, I climbed into the trunk with Emil. It was a large car, but the fit was still close. The lid slammed closed, plunging us into complete darkness. It looked like I’d finally find out who’d been chasing me all these months.

  Chapter

  23

  We didn’t drive far, though it was hard to judge distance or even the passage of time while locked in a trunk with a bleeding man. I couldn’t see, but I patted Emil down and found the wet place on his stomach. I wiggled around until I had my jacket off and used it as a compress. At least, I hoped that was what I was doing. The darkness was too complete to tell more, but I did find the vials he’d slipped in his pocket. I guess Frank didn’t think an unconscious man a threat to throw a potion. I tucked them away, hoping to find a use for them later.

  Unable to do anything else for Emil, I turned my attention to my surroundings. I couldn’t find any kind of release for the trunk lid, nor were the taillights accessible from the inside. So much for alerting any following motorist to our plight.

  The car came to a stop, the faint squeal of old brakes loud in what sounded like an enclosed space. Doors slammed, and a few minutes later, the trunk lid opened. I squinted against the bright light, focusing on the familiar man standing over me.

  “You!” I gripped the lip of the trunk and pulled myself upright. Agent Lawson took a step back as I scrambled out, but one of the men caught me by the arm before I could close the distance between us.

  “If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was call. Emil’s been shot!”

  “What’s this?” Lawson returned to the trunk, his footfalls echoing off the unpainted cinder block walls. We were in a garage—a run-down, two-car garage that smelled of rust and old oil. Like the others, Lawson was dressed in black fatigues, the PIA insignia stitched in dark thread on his black jacket. I wouldn�
�t have noticed it if not for the bright light of the bare bulb overhead.

  “He was going to throw a potion at me.” Frank curled his lip, exposing those overlapping front teeth. “The wound isn’t mortal.”

  “How do you know?” I demanded. “He was shot in the stomach. Bullets ricochet, organs seep. It could—”

  “I don’t guess it matters,” Lawson said.

  “Doesn’t matter?” I tried to tug my arm free, but the man holding me tightened his grip. “He needs medical attention!”

  Lawson frowned at Emil’s unmoving form. “Is that why he’s unconscious?”

  “I think his own potion knocked him out,” Frank said.

  “What shall I do with her?” the man who held me asked.

  “Cuff her to something.” Lawson tossed him a set of handcuffs.

  “Hey,” I protested as the man pulled me across the room. I tried to dig in my heels, but it made no difference. The guy was seriously strong. “This goes way beyond bringing me in for questioning,” I shouted at Lawson.

  No one bothered to answer. The man stopped near a workbench and snapped one cuff around my wrist before snapping the other to a vertical piece of conduit.

  “You’re sure they know this formula?” Frank asked.

  “One of them does,” Lawson answered. “She’s forty-two and he’s sixty-six.”

  “Wow.” Frank braced his hands on the lip of the trunk, looking down at Emil. “It really works then. Eternal youth—and life.” He spoke the words in a reverent tone.

  “You should get back before you’re missed,” Lawson told the men.

  “You’ll keep us posted?” The man who’d cuffed me walked back to Lawson, a limp in his stride. He gripped Lawson’s shoulder in an oddly sympathetic gesture as he passed.

  “Of course.” Lawson followed the men to the door and after a quiet exchange, closed it after them.

  “So, you’re the guy behind this,” I said now that we were alone. “The Alchemica, the gun shop, and over in Covington tonight.”

  Lawson pulled out an old-model flip phone and opened it. “You’re an elusive woman, Ms. Daulton.” He hit a button and brought the phone to his ear.