The Final Formula

by Becca Andre

“What about water?” I called after her.

  She hesitated and glanced back. Cool and elegant on the surface, but I’d caught a glimpse of the dark undercurrents beneath. She gave me a knowing smile and left without a word.

  I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Elements.”

  I ducked into the bathroom to splash a little water on my face and pulled my hair into a ponytail. No need to look like I’d lain in bed all afternoon. What did Rowan want?

  Anxious, I hurried to his office at the back of the house. The door stood partially open, so I gave it a light knock.

  James opened the door and flashed me a grin. “Come in.”

  I took a few steps into the room and stopped. Rowan had company. A man stood with his back to me, engaged in conversation with Rowan. I frowned, trying to puzzle out why the guy seemed familiar when Rowan looked up, catching my eye.

  “Finally,” he said.

  The other man turned, the movement drawing my attention. I gasped as he faced me.

  “Hello, Addie,” Agent Lawson said.

  Chapter

  25

  For a moment, I could do nothing but stare at the man before me. This made no sense. Rowan had ashed him. James even confirmed it.

  Agent Lawson gave me an odd smile and I reached for my back pocket.

  “Addie, don’t.” James caught my wrist. “It’s not Lawson. It’s Lydia.”

  “Lydia?” Rowan’s friend? The one with the facial deformity? I glanced at Rowan, but he said nothing. He leaned against the front of his desk, an amused glint in his gray eyes.

  “I’m sorry to startle you,” Lydia/Lawson said, pulling my attention back to her/him.

  “How…?” I stumbled on the question, not sure what to ask. Dear God, she looked exactly like him. Same hair, same height. Even the voice sounded the same.

  “I’m a mimic,” she answered. A frown creased Lawson’s brow. “You didn’t know that?” She looked back at Rowan.

  “But it’s so perfect,” I said before Rowan could speak. “The voice, everything.”

  “I mimic at the genetic level.”

  “He must have driven that car in the garage,” James explained. “Lydia found some DNA…or something.”

  She gave him a fond smile—which looked really weird on Lawson’s face.

  “But why look like him? What are you going to do?” I directed the question at Rowan.

  “Lydia will search his office, and when we locate it, his home.”

  “You think the PIA is involved?”

  “I believe Lawson’s behavior warrants further investigation. That doesn’t mean the agency as a whole had anything to do with it, but I prefer to remove all doubt and investigate him myself.”

  I smiled, pleased that he wasn’t going to rely on the PIA’s word, but before I could comment, Donovan walked in. He turned to James. “Are we ready?”

  “Lydia?” James prompted.

  “You’re going?” I asked him.

  “I’m going to walk in with her, pretend like I’m there to see an agent.”

  “I’m driving the getaway car,” Donovan said. He gave me a wink, and I couldn’t help but grin. The big guy had a knack for making me smile.

  “I expect frequent updates,” Rowan said.

  “You’re not going?” I asked.

  “No need. James can watch her back.”

  I turned back to James and he smiled. It struck me then how much my sidekick had come into his own over these last few days. The Elements turned to him more and more, trusting him with Era and now Lydia.

  I stepped forward and hugged him. “You’ll be careful?”

  He drew in a breath, perhaps surprised by my actions, but quickly regained his composure. “Always.” He hugged me back. “Don’t wander off again. We had a hell of a time tracking you—even with your compass.”

  I released him. “I’ll behave.”

  “Yeah, right.” He grinned.

  “Shall we?” Lydia asked.

  The others agreed and, promising to call Rowan with any news, they left the room. Donovan pulled the door shut behind him. I guess now was as good a time as any. I took a deep breath and turned to face Rowan.

  “Thank you for returning my vials.”

  He straightened and walked around behind the desk to his chair. “I hope I haven’t made a mistake.”

  “You think I’d use a potion against you or—”

  “No.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the polished surface. “I fear the return of your potions will make you over-confident.”

  “Over-confident?”

  “Your tendency to jump into situations without thought.”

  “I do not. I—”

  “So, you thought it a good idea to take on those guys by yourself?”

  “Are we back on this? Look, it wasn’t—”

  The cell phone lying on his desk began to buzz. “Hold that thought,” he said and picked up the phone. He glanced at the screen and then brought it to his ear. “I’m listening.”

  His Grace could really use a catchier greeting.

  He picked up a pen and pulled a notepad closer. “Go ahead.”

  I stepped back from his desk and sat in one of the other chairs while he wrote. I fumed in silence, annoyed that he’d take a call in the middle of our argument. Over-confident. Bullshit. My confidence was completely warranted.

  “Yes, thank you.” Rowan ended the call. He ripped the top sheet from his notepad and got to his feet.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “My contact at the police department was able to get me the last number Lawson called.”

  “What?” I came to my feet. I hadn’t even realized that was a possibility. “Who was it?”

  Rowan glanced at his paper. “The number is registered to an Ian Mallory at 601 Beechnut Street.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “No.” He came around the side of his desk.

  I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “What are you going to do?”

  “I thought I’d drive over and take a look.”

  “Now?” It was all I could do not to rub my hands together in anticipation. I’d finally meet the man who commanded Lawson. The man who’d been after me all these months. “I’m coming with you.”

  “You were just released from the hospital. You’re staying here.” He moved to step around me, but I caught his arm.

  “You’re not going without me.”

  Rowan frowned. “And your presence will help how?”

  “I’m not without resources. I snuck into your offices.”

  “And I caught you.”

  “So?” Okay, not much of a comeback, but he wasn’t going to win this argument.

  “If you get caught tonight, you may not be able to kiss your way out of trouble.”

  I ignored the heat in my cheeks. “A little faith, Your Grace.”

  He studied me a moment.

  “Don’t leave me out of this.” I gripped his arm tightly. “Please.”

  He held my gaze for one long moment before releasing a sigh. “Very well. Get what you need.”

  I tried not to grin. “You might want to change into something dark and a little less,” I gestured at his expensive sweater and slacks, “GQ.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “Well, you are the breaking and entering pro.”

  I ignored that and hurried from the room.

  Rowan pulled to the curb and put the Camaro in neutral. The sun had set, leaving only the occasional streetlight to illuminate the tree-lined avenue. A light wind set the bare branches in motion, causing a play of shadows along the cemetery entrance across from us.

  “Do you want to call your guy back and check the address?” I asked.

  Rowan picke
d up his notepaper and held it closer to the driver’s-side window, reading it in the illumination of the nearest streetlight. “We must have missed a house. Are you sure the last one was 599?”

  I scooted forward, squinting through the windshield. “Check out the gate. Specifically, the arch.”

  He rested an arm atop the steering wheel, tipping his head to see around the rearview mirror. The light just reached the cemetery entrance. The numbers worked into the metal arch were in shadow, but still visible—601. The house number we were looking for.

  Rowan pulled out his phone and dialed. A short conversation, and he tucked it back in his pocket. “This is the address registered to the number Lawson called.”

  “Maybe it was a cover.” I assumed a phone could be registered to a false address.

  Rowan grunted. “Possible.” He shut off the car and pulled the key from the ignition. “Ever go walking through a graveyard after dark?”

  “Not in the last three months.” If he thought the suggestion would frighten me, he was wrong. I opened my door.

  Rowan chuckled and we climbed out of the car. The headlights flashed as he locked the doors. In silence, we walked side-by-side toward the entrance. At least we wouldn’t have to do any breaking and entering.

  “I once took a girl to a cemetery—back in my high school days,” Rowan admitted.

  I grinned. “How’d that work out, Casanova?”

  “She went into hysterics and I had to take her home.”

  I snorted. “So, not a venue you ever tried again?”

  “Until now.”

  I gave his shoulder a shove as we stepped beneath the arch and into the cemetery. “No offense, but I’m more likely to throw a potion than jump into your arms.”

  “Let me know when I need to duck.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to our surroundings. “Wow.” The cemetery spread before us, taking up several city blocks. Streetlights dotted the narrow roads that wove among the graves, but the bulk of the place lay in darkness. Large trees crowded the headstones, their bare branches casting eerie shadows in the half-light.

  “Nice place,” I said. We started forward, our shoes on the asphalt the only noise.

  “It does have a certain ambiance.”

  I glanced over, amused, but he kept his attention on our surroundings. I didn’t see a caretaker’s building, just hundreds of headstones and a half-dozen mausoleums.

  “Since we suspect necromantic involvement, should we be concerned that we’ve ended up in a graveyard?” I asked.

  “Caskets are buried within a cement sarcophagus under six feet of soil. Even accounting for the unnatural strength of the dead, I doubt any could be raised to attack us.

  Good point, but it didn’t completely alleviate my unease.

  “Besides, you have me,” he added.

  I chewed my lip and managed to stop an eye roll. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  We walked for perhaps half an hour, staying on the road. No need to wet our shoes in the dewy grass. It wasn’t like we’d find the mystery phone hidden in a planter.

  It surprised me that Rowan bothered to examine the place so thoroughly. Perhaps, like me, he hated to admit defeat. Seeming to hear my thoughts, he stopped at the next intersection.

  “I suspect this is a waste of time. I think you’re right about using this address as a cover.” He crossed his arms and frowned back toward the lights of downtown.

  I hated to see his disappointment—and that wasn’t the reaction I thought I should be feeling. Shouldn’t I be disappointed for myself alone? Another lead had run dry. Rowan had put a lot of effort into helping me, but learning what had happened to the Alchemica and recovering my memory was ultimately my problem.

  “Maybe Lydia and James found something,” I said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Or perhaps James could look Lawson up in hell and interrogate him.”

  The corner of Rowan’s mouth quirked.

  As I was contemplating another option, a low thump interrupted. Oddly, I felt it as much as heard it—as if it came from underground.

  Rowan dropped his arms to his sides, his eyes meeting mine.

  “I take it you heard that,” I whispered.

  He looked around, eyes sweeping the shadows. I did the same, not so sure I wanted to locate the source. He’d said it’d be nearly impossible for the dead to escape their graves, but at the moment, I wasn’t so sure.

  “This way.” He stepped into the grass. “I think.”

  He led me a dozen yards and stopped. Time slipped past as we stood listening, and I began to doubt what I’d heard. Sound could carry in odd ways, especially at night.

  Stone grated on stone from somewhere close by. Rowan caught my arm and pulled me down behind the nearest headstone. We crouched in the damp grass, waiting. I wondered if I’d be able to hear anything over my pounding heart.

  “The mausoleum,” Rowan whispered. He nodded toward the large stone structure about thirty yards away.

  I squinted, trying to make out the building’s contours in the shadows. Something glinted in the darkness, and I leaned forward, pressing my palm against cold granite to keep my balance.

  Another flicker satisfied my suspicion. “There’s a light, under the door,” I whispered. “Maybe a candle.” The dead would have no need for a candle. Would they?

  “Let’s check it out.” He still held my upper arm, but slid his hand down to grasp mine as we stood.

  Surprised by the handholding, I followed him on a meandering course that drew us closer and closer to the building. The headstones in this part of the cemetery were worn almost smooth with age, and I noted that most had been here since the 1800s. Rowan led me over behind another headstone. No light flickered beneath the door. Everything was as quiet as…well, the grave. Which upon reflection, was how I preferred my graves.

  Rowan started forward and I followed, hoping we wouldn’t have to venture inside the mausoleum. I gripped his hand and got a squeeze in return, though he kept his eyes on our destination. In weathered stone above the door, the name Mallory was inscribed. I pulled up short.

  “What is it?” Rowan whispered.

  “The name. Over the door.” I nodded at it.

  “Good catch. I missed it.” He gave my hand another squeeze and pulled me forward. I guess he didn’t share my apprehension.

  A metal door barred the entrance. A hasp with a rusted bolt through the staple appeared to be the only security measure. Where were the chains and padlocks? Didn’t the family worry about vandalism? Or maybe, considering the age of most of the graves, there was no longer any family to look after the place.

  Rowan plucked out the bolt and opened the hasp. He released my hand to take the door handle in both of his. The thing looked heavy.

  I tensed, ready for the screech of metal on metal, but it swung open silently—and judging by Rowan’s expression, easily.

  I expected darkness within, but found it as well lit inside as out, thanks to a multitude of holes in the roof. Years of leaf litter lay piled against the sides of the room, leaving the center oddly clear. Sealed vaults lined the walls, but I didn’t stop to read the names. My attention centered on the sarcophagus in the center of the room. Constructed of flat black stone, it seemed to be made of shadow. More disturbing was the lid leaning against its side. Was this the source of the noise we’d heard?

  Rowan started forward and I followed, adjusting the fanny pack strapped around my waist. The confidence my vials lent me diminished with each step. I let Rowan move ahead of me. He clearly intended to peek inside. Myself, I could forgo that pleasure—until he looked over the side and grunted.

  I stepped up beside Rowan and understood his surprise. It wasn’t a sarcophagus with a body inside. It was an empty space, with a staircase leading down into some kind of cellar. A l
ight flickered on the wall below.

  The sarcophagus stood waist high, and Rowan vaulted the side with ease, dropping down onto a landing at the top of the steps. Wordlessly, he offered me a hand. I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want him to go alone. Nor did I want to remain here alone.

  I took his hand and let him help me into the sarcophagus. The stairs below the first two were rough-hewn rock. Fitted stone of the same variety lined the walls. The floor might have been more of the same, but I couldn’t see it for the dark red area rug.

  We stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared in awe—or at least, I did. Bookcases lined two of the walls, their shelves loaded. I couldn’t be certain in the dim light, but they looked like hardbound volumes from centuries past. No cheap paperbacks or glossy dust jackets. A pair of wingback chairs sat in one corner, a table between them. The candle sat flickering next to an open volume, but whoever had been reading wasn’t in the room.

  I took a step forward and then another, my tread muffled by the thick carpet.

  Rowan’s hand settled on the small of my back, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

  “Get the candle,” he whispered.

  I looked back and saw why. The stairs had descended along one wall, but beneath them stood an arched doorway. The candlelight reached no more than a foot into the blackness.

  I did as asked, glancing at the open book on the table. It appeared to be an old medical book. Dense text covered one page while the other presented a rather graphic illustration of an amputation. Great. Like I needed to see that at this moment.

  I snatched up the candle in its old-fashioned metal holder and hurried back to where Rowan waited for me at the doorway. I let him take the candle, keeping my hands free to fling a potion if necessary.

  The hallway, or should I say, tunnel, pressed close. The arched ceiling cleared Rowan’s head by inches and the walls brushed his shoulders in spots. Tight spaces had never bothered me before, but this did. I couldn’t seem to draw a breath deep enough.

  Rowan’s body blocked most of the light, throwing the room we’d just left into darkness. I rested a hand on his waist, reassuring myself with his nearness, and tried not to think about my exposed back—or the fact that I’d never hear anyone approach across that thick carpet.