The Alchemist's Flame (18 page)

“Are you cold?” He slid his warm hands along my arms. If any more goosebumps could rise, they would have.

“Not now.”

He rubbed his hands up my arms. “Where does Era find these dresses?” His lips brushed my ear as he spoke.

“No clue.” I closed my eyes as his warm lips found my throat.

His hands left my arms to travel down my sides to my hips. He hesitated, then his fingers slid up to my waist. “Are you wearing underwear?” He sounded scandalized.

I laughed. “Of course. Something that qualifies… barely. Era was adamant about no panty lines.”

“For that mental image alone, I’m going to buy her that new car she’s been admiring.” His right hand slid around to my back as he spoke, then he trailed a single finger up my bare spine. “But nothing on top.”

“It’s built into the dress.”

“Ah.” His lips brushed the nape of my neck. “So, once I get you out of this dress, you’ll only be wearing these heels and a pair of underwear that barely qualifies to fit the definition.”

“Yes.” I tried to swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Come back to the manor with me.”

I bit my lip, aware of my pulse pounding in my ears. If I slept with him again, I would never be able to leave him—not that I really thought I could now.

“Addie?” He took his lips from my throat and straightened.

“The others are staying with you. They’ll feel your magic.” They probably felt it now.

“So?”

I turned to face him. As I suspected, the orange now stretched across his irises.

“If you’re worried about a repeat of what happened with David in my office, don’t be.”

David would have to be a moron to interrupt us again, but I didn’t say that.

Rowan frowned. “If it really bothers you, we can go to your place. Though that twin bed is a bit limiting.”

I snorted in spite of my uncertainty. “Did you have something acrobatic in mind?”

“I like to keep my options open.” He cupped my chin, tipping my face up and forcing me to meet his gaze. “Something’s troubling you.”

I had promised never to lie to him. Brushing off this question would be lying.

“I’m worried about you,” I admitted.

“About me?” His brows rose.

I crossed my arms, but it wasn’t the cold that made me uncomfortable. “Colby and David both expressed concern about your control.” I finished in a whisper.

“I see.” He released me. “You’re turning me down because you think I’ll lose control and hurt you.”

“No, of course not.” I laid a hand over his heart. “I trust you implicitly. I’m afraid
for
you, not
of
you.”

His frown didn’t lift. “I’m not that far gone.”

“Nor are you the stoic Flame Lord I first met.”

“Wasn’t it you who told me that it was okay to feel?”

“That’s what I used to think; now I’m not so sure.”

“I think you were right.” He traced his fingers along my jaw, tipping my chin up once more. “I had forgotten what it was to feel.”

His lips took mine, and any further argument I might have considered died. Donovan was right. Leaving Rowan wasn’t an option. As was always the case, the solution would have to be alchemical.

He pulled back, my face now cupped in his hands. “Well?”

“Your argument has merit.”

He smirked. “Does that mean I convinced you?”

A buzzing noise interrupted before I could answer. Rowan frowned and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Sorry. I’ve been expecting a call. The family from Tokyo had their flight delayed.” He turned on the screen and his frown deepened. “It’s Waylon.”

“Answer it. Maybe he has news about the fire.” Elysia was anxious about that.

Rowan took the call. “Waylon.” A short pause. “What?” Another beat of silence. “I don’t need this now.” He bowed his head and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “I’ll be over.” He ended the call.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“George and Henry escaped.”

My stomach dropped. “You need to call James.”

Rowan’s attention was still on his phone. He tapped the screen, brought the phone to his ear, and waited. And waited. “James. Call me.”

“Voicemail?” I asked.

“Yes. Do you know Elysia’s number?”

“She can’t afford a phone. Here.” I held out my hand. “Let me call Ian.”

Rowan frowned, but handed me the phone.

“Is James there?” I asked when Ian answered.

“I believe he took Elysia to see her grandmother.”

“Crap.” Grams had been dismissed from the hospital and was supposed to be staying with some relatives. I had no idea where.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked.

“James’s brothers have escaped.”

“That was just a matter of time.”

I grunted. “I’m hoping James can track them down.”

“Shall I prepare one of your scrying compasses? We have the purified essence of the blond one’s blood. There will still be plenty left for your finder’s potion.”

I smiled. “Do it. I’ll get back with you.” I hung up and handed Rowan his phone.

“What are you up to?”

“We have Henry’s blood. Ian is making a compass.”

“Huh. How long will that take?”

“Maybe half an hour.”

“That should give me time to see Waylon.”

“Why?”

“He said he had something to show us.”

“Us?”

“Well, he only meant me, but I want you to come. You tend to be valuable in these situations.”

“You say the sweetest things, Your Grace.”

He curled a finger under my chin, tipping up my face to stare into his glowing eyes. “If things ever calm down, I intend to see what you’re wearing under this dress.”

“You have a one-track mind.”

The Camaro’s tires squealed faintly as Rowan brought the car to a stop in the parking area behind the PIA’s downtown office. I hurried from the car, almost jogging to keep up with his long stride as he crossed to the side door. Stupid heels. The next time I had to attend a formal occasion, I would take along a pair of sneakers.

Rowan pressed a button beside the card reader to the right of the door. A harsh buzzing noise echoed inside.

I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets and looked around. The parking area was well-lit, but shadows still clung to the edges of the lot.

Rowan rang the buzzer again.

A hint of movement near the far corner of the lot drew my eye, but when I looked, there was nothing. Why was I so uneasy? James’s brothers should be long gone by now.

Rowan banged his fist against the steel door, startling me.

A clink and the door opened, swinging inward. I stepped forward, anxious to get out of the cold, and stopped. We were staring down the business end of an MP5 held by a large black man in SWAT gear.

“Who are you?” the big man commanded.

“Remove the gun from my face,” Rowan said, his tone icy.

The man tipped the gun upward, though he held it ready. “Who are you?”

“Waylon is expecting me,” Rowan said, his voice still cold.

The big guy pulled a radio from his belt. “Director, are you expecting someone?”

“Yes,” Waylon’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Tell him Miss Daulton is with me,” Rowan said.

The man relayed the message.

“Bring them here,” Waylon responded.

The man returned the radio to his belt. “This way.” He gestured for us to follow and led the way down the hall to a set of stairs.

We exited the stairwell, and I recognized the unadorned cinderblock walls and cement floor that led to the holding cells. The pane of glass in the door had been repaired, but I did little more than notice. The door stood open, and a man in one of those cheap PIA suits lay a few feet inside the door. Another man was snapping pictures of the floor, while a second guy knelt beside the downed man. I didn’t need Ian here to tell me the man on the floor was dead.

Director Waylon stood a few yards away, his back to us while he spoke to a man in SWAT gear.

“…no evidence,” the man was saying to Waylon. “My guess is they stole a car.”

“There should be video surveillance,” Waylon said. “Go talk with Brooks in security.”

The man nodded and hurried off on his new task. Waylon turned, watching him go, and his gaze fell on us.

“Thank you, Johnson,” he said to the man who had escorted us. “You may return to your post.”

The big man nodded and retreated in the direction from which we had come.

“What do you have to show me?” Rowan asked.

“This way.” Waylon led us into the cellblock, stepping carefully around the dead man.

I glanced down as I passed. His sport coat was open, revealing the white, button-down shirt underneath. A good-sized bloodstain drew my eye. He had been stabbed in the stomach. Unease tingled along my nerves.

“This is how we found their cells,” Waylon said to Rowan.

I pulled my eyes away from the dead man and watched Rowan step closer to one of the cells. He gripped the door and pulled. “It’s locked.”

“They both are,” Waylon said.

The man kneeling beside his fallen comrade snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, the sound echoing off the unadorned walls.

My heart thumped a hollow beat in my chest. I moved closer. “Show me the wound.”

The man looked up with a frown. “Who are you?”

Rowan returned to my side. “What is it?”

I kept my attention on the PIA agent. “Please show me the wound?”

The man glanced past me, and I looked over my shoulder to find Waylon standing there.

“I might have some insight,” I told him.

Waylon gave the man a nod, and he began unbuttoning the shirt. Once open, he pulled the fabric away from the man’s stomach, revealing three deep slashes.

I pressed a hand to my mouth.

“Gavin,” Rowan whispered.

Chapter
18

I
stared at the wound in the dead man’s stomach. It looked like Albright’s, but I couldn’t say for certain that the man had been soul ripped.

“What’s going on?” Waylon asked.

“May I use your phone?” I asked Rowan.

“Why?” His eyes narrowed. He knew why.

“Ian can tell us for certain.”

“Addie.”

“Don’t let your prejudice stand in the way of gaining some answers,” I whispered, not wanting to argue in front of the others—though Waylon was close enough to hear.

“Fine.” Rowan handed me his phone.

“The compass?” I said when Ian answered.

“Complete.”

“You’re amazing.”

“I know. Shall I bring it to you?”

“That’s why I’m calling. We could also use your insight. I think Gavin has been here.”

“Where?”

“The basement of the PIA offices.”

The line went dead. An instant later, a portal shimmered open and Ian stepped out.

“Jesus,” Waylon whispered and took a hasty step back.

“Afraid not,” Ian answered. He held out his hand, offering me the compass.

I took it and balanced it on my palm. The needle swung around, pointing behind me. I resisted the urge to turn and look. The compass only indicated direction. George and Henry could be in the next block, or hundreds of miles away.

Ian turned to face the body and his blue eyes flickered white for an instant. I would have missed it if I hadn’t been looking. His gaze returned to mine. “You’re right.”

Gavin had broken George and Henry out of jail. The notion made me sick.

“Who is this guy and what is he talking about?” Waylon demanded.

“This is Addie’s…business associate.” Rowan spoke the title as if sharing a dirty secret.

“Allow me to introduce Ian Mallory,” I said, knowing Ian’s old world etiquette made a lot of introductions. “Alchemist and lich king.”

Waylon’s brows rose.

“Ian, this is Director Waylon. He oversees the regional PIA office.”

“Ah.” Ian dipped his head to Waylon. “The diversity of New Magic probably keeps you on your toes. What kind of talent do you employ?”

“None,” Waylon said, his tone curt.

“Aside from a few agents who are sensitive to magic, it’s an entirely human force,” I said.

Ian grunted. “That sounds…suicidal.”

“The PIA was created to police the magical community,” Waylon said with heat. “To have the magical in our ranks is a conflict of interest.”

Ian looked at me, then Rowan before turning back to Waylon. “And you were keeping a couple of Hunters locked in your basement?”

“They barely qualified as magical. Enhanced hunting capabilities?” Waylon waved a hand, dismissing the threat. “A problem if they got hold of a gun—”

“Or a rock,” Ian cut in. “Any projectile, anything that could be used as a weapon—and for a Hunter, that’s any inanimate object.”

“My most sensitive agents couldn’t detect any magic in them.”

“They have hellhound blood flowing in their veins.”

Waylon snorted. “Hellhound?”

“Guardians of the land of the dead. You reacted when Addie told you I’m a lich king, so you will allow that I know a little about the magic of death?”

Waylon frowned, but he didn’t deny Ian’s claim.

“Hunters can be a real problem,” Ian continued. “They have just enough of the blood to bring out the human arrogance, while lacking the beast’s sense of place in the world order.”

I stared at Ian. He had perfectly described the difference between James and his brothers. A difference I had often puzzled over. “You knew some Hunters once?” I asked.

“Personally, no. Just stories my grandfather would tell. The man who taught me alchemy was also keen on the lore.”

“Huh.” Ian always surprised me. I wanted to ask more—especially about his alchemy teacher—but that could wait.

“What did you have me keeping in my basement?” Waylon demanded of Rowan.

“A couple of sociopaths with enhanced hunting capabilities,” Rowan answered.

“I’ve told you all that I know about this.” Waylon gestured at the hall that led to the cells. A gurney had arrived, and a pair of men in white uniforms was transferring the dead man to a body bag. Waylon turned on his heel and walked toward the stairs.

“Waylon,” Rowan said.

He stopped, but didn’t turn. “You tell me nothing, yet expect me to do my job. I learn more from the dead. Maybe I should hold séances.”

“Inadvisable,” Ian said. “That’s a good way to get possessed.”

“See, I didn’t know that, either.” Waylon walked away, and this time, Rowan let him go.

I frowned at Ian.

“What?” He looked genuinely puzzled.

I turned to Rowan. “We now have the means to locate not only George and Henry, but possibly Gavin, and with him, Neil. So, how are we going to do this?”

“We?”

“Please tell me you’re not going to start this overprotective crap again.”

“As your associate so eloquently put it,” Rowan said, “we aren’t dealing with common human thugs. This is the upper echelon of Old Magic.”

“On which
your
magic doesn’t work,” I reminded him.

“It might work on George and Henry. I wasn’t close enough last time.”

“They’ll be armed by the time you find them. You won’t get the chance to get close enough.”

“And you’ll fare so much better.” Rowan lifted a brow.

“I have some new Knockout Gas canisters with better range.” I turned to Ian. “Tell him about the new canisters.”

“You think
I
can convince him to let you go up against a pair of Hunters, a grim, and a psychotic alchemist?”

“Ian.”

“The truth is, neither of you should go,” Ian said. “Send me and the boy.”

“James,” I said.

“I don’t want you anywhere near him,” Rowan said.

“He’s within yards of me daily,” Ian answered. “He follows my granddaughter around like a lost…pup.”

The wheels of the gurney squeaked. The agents had finished loading the body and were pushing it away.

“Come.” Rowan walked toward the stairs. “We can argue about this as we drive.”

“Drive? Drive where?” I asked.

“Wherever the compass leads us.”

“We need to locate James first. Until I find a way to sever the bond between Neil and Gavin, James is the only one who can chase Gavin away.”

“We can still get an idea of where they are,” Rowan said. “I’m not going to sit around and wait for them to show up.”

“Let Ian come with us.” I jogged up the stairs after Rowan. “He broke Henry’s arm last time. They couldn’t do a thing to stop him.”

“I’ll think about it.”

I caught up with him in the hall. “You’ll take Ian with you if you have any hope of seeing what I’m wearing under this dress.”

We had reached the side door, and it wasn’t until that moment that I realized that Johnson, the big guy in the SWAT gear, stood a short distance away. My cheeks heated.

Rowan turned to face me. “That’s extortion.”

I lifted my chin, ignoring the curl of his lips. “It is what it is.”

“It’s inappropriate,” Ian muttered.

“Says the man with the collection of body parts back at my lab.”

“Anyone I know?” Rowan asked Ian.

“Not unless you’re a lot older than I think you are.”

Rowan grunted. “Fine. He can come.” He pushed open the door and walked outside.

“I can’t decide if that was a victory or not,” Ian said.

“It was.”

“Because you agreed to model your unmentionables?”

I snorted at the delicate phrasing. “The debate was whether I was wearing any.”

“We are not having this conversation.” He pushed open the door and followed Rowan outside.

“Wow. I think I embarrassed the dead guy.”

Johnson grunted. “The guy who collects body parts. You magical are twisted.”

“I’m not magical.” I gave him a grin. “I’m an alchemist.”

“Believe me now?” I asked Rowan.

Xander’s big house sat on the rise before us, and the compass needle pointed straight at it.

Rowan pulled over at the curb where we could watch the house through the gate, up the long drive. “Are we sure that thing works?” He waved a hand at the compass Ian held.

“Yes.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and scooted up between the front seats. “Ian can’t go near the place—unless they’re hanging out in the cemetery again.”

“Unlikely,” Ian said.

“Do we have an excuse to knock at the front door?” I asked.

Rowan turned to frown at me. “No.”

“You didn’t even try to come up with one.”

A car drove past us—a sleek white Jaguar—and stopped at the gate. The driver barely paused and the gate swung open. The car continued up the drive and stopped in front of the house. A pair of young men emerged from somewhere to the right of the entryway. They wore matching slacks, white shirts, and ties—reminding me of the valet drivers at the restaurant tonight. When they opened the car doors for the people inside, I realized that was exactly what they were. The man and woman who climbed out were dressed much like Rowan and I.

“I think Xander is hosting a party,” I said.

“The car attendants are dead,” Ian said. “Liches, weakly held.”

“You can tell that? From here?”

“Yes. And they aren’t the only dead.”

The hairs on my arms rose.

“You’re telling me that Xander employs the dead?” Rowan demanded.

“I doubt he pays them,” I said.

“Addie.”

“He is the Deacon,” Ian said, as if that explained everything.

Rowan looked over, a frown shadowing his eyes. “This isn’t your world.”

“No, but this Deacon uses the same tactics. Fail him, anger him, and you will serve him.” Ian glanced back at me. “Right?”

I sighed.

Rowan twisted around to look at me. “Is there something you wish to say?”

I might as well come clean. “Ian and I found something in Xander’s cooler last December. You remember the one in Neil’s old lab?”

“What were you doing there?” Rowan’s voice held that unnatural calm I didn’t care for.

“I figured out that was where Neil had been keeping Ian’s heart, so we went to retrieve it.”

Rowan’s brows rose a little, but he didn’t interrupt.

“There were a couple of new jars, with labels.” I hesitated. “One said Megan Fields.”

“The reporter?”

“The one who gave us so much trouble. The one Xander wanted to teach a lesson.”

“Why didn’t you mention this?”

“For one, I knew you would be pissed and that it would just add more fuel to the Ian fire.”

“Bad pun,” Ian muttered.

“But mainly,” I hurried on, “I wanted to make certain this was our Megan.”

“What did you learn?”

“Absolutely nothing. I finally decided to risk stealing the heart and letting Ian call her to us, but when we went back to get it, it was gone.”

“Call her to you?” Rowan glanced at Ian.

“Liches can be controlled via their hearts,” I said.

“I assume that’s why you took yours.” Rowan continued to watch Ian.

“Yes.”

Rowan leaned back in his seat, one finger tapping against the steering wheel. Another car passed us—a dark red Mercedes—and drove up to the Deacon’s house. The same young men hurried over to park it while two women in dark dresses climbed out. The driver stopped to caress the cheek of one of the young men before handing him her keys.

“No offense, Ian,” I said, “but most necromancers are just plain twisted.”

“If you refer specifically to this family of necromancers, no offense taken.”

Rowan put the car in gear.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“Drive around the block and let Ian out; then you and I are going to crash a party.” He pulled away from the curb.

“Sounds…fun.”

“And me?” Ian asked.

“If there are dead around, perhaps you can blend in.”

“I can.”

Rowan pulled the car to a stop. Ian reached for the door handle, but Rowan placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “You have an agenda of your own. Can I trust you?”

“If I said yes, would you believe me?”

To my shock, Rowan smiled. “Don’t give me a reason, Mallory. It would be a shame to endure all that you have only to fall short now.”

“Indeed it would, Your Grace.” Ian opened the door and climbed out.

I pushed up the seat and followed him. “Hey,” I said before he walked away. “No foolish risks, okay? If you find something worth investigating, let me know.”

His cheeks dimpled. “Of course, Mistress.” He turned and headed for Xander’s house.

I crossed my arms, watching him walk away…into the lion’s den.

I squirmed in my seat as the valets approached the car. I couldn’t see their faces well in the dim light, but they didn’t move like they were dead.

“What happens if we get caught?” I asked.

Rowan put the car in neutral and put on the brake. “I will simply tell Xander that there has been a breakout at the PIA. I was in the area and stopped to warn him.”

“You can’t tell him they are Hunters. As best I can tell, he still doesn’t know about James.”

“Okay.” Rowan pulled out his wallet.

“You’re going to tip these guys?” I whispered. “What use do the dead have with money?”

Rowan hesitated.

“Oh man, they probably expect a command.” I rubbed my palms against my knees. Were we doing the right thing?

“A command?”

“Don’t scratch the car, boy. Easy on the transmission.” I started to run my hand through my hair and stopped myself before I messed up Era’s hard work. “Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten rid of Ian.”

“I can do this.”

I glanced over.

“After all, I am the Lord of Flames.”

“And that helps how?”

“You’ve always praised me on my arrogance.” He pushed open his door, startling the young man on his side to a halt. Rowan climbed out and stood over him. “This car is important to me. Don’t make me regret entrusting her to you.”

“Yes, sir,” the valet agreed, dipping his head.

I bit my lip. Yes, Rowan still had it.

My door opened and I looked up at the other young man. My breath caught. It was the surly young man Rowan and I had met at Xander’s funeral home.

He stepped back, his eyes on the ground as he held my door. Had he been a lich then?

I climbed out and hesitated. Should I speak? Ask if he needed help? No, it was too late for that.

Rowan appeared beside me. “My lady?” He offered his arm.

I gripped his sleeve, anchoring myself in this insanity, and let him lead me toward the house.

“What’s wrong?” Rowan whispered as the young men climbed into the Camaro.

“That boy. He was one of the young men working at Xander’s funeral home. The grumpy one.”

Rowan stopped, looking back. “Perhaps Ian was mistaken. We were pretty far away.”

“Ian is scary good. If he said they’re liches, they’re liches.”

“All right.” Rowan turned to face the door. “But I can’t dwell on that now.”

I looked up, ready to argue that he couldn’t ignore it, and noticed that he had closed his eyes. He released a slow breath, and it plumed in the cold air before him. He straightened, then opened his eyes, his cool gray gaze meeting mine.

“Let’s do this.” He led me up the wide sidewalk and onto the landing beneath the arched entryway. The front door swung open as we drew near, held by an older man in black and burgundy livery. Another lich? He dipped his head as we entered, then closed the door behind us. The thump of the heavy door sounded so final.