The Blood Alchemist (The Final Formula Series, Book 2) (17 page)

“They don’t know yet.” Rowan took his hand from Aaron’s back and stepped away. “You seem to have figured out what he needed.”

“He was fussy. Walking and talking seemed to help.”

“About alchemy?” The corner of Rowan’s mouth twisted upward.

“He was helping me work out a formula.”

“And was his insight helpful?”

“Quite.”

Movement drew my attention, and I saw Donovan standing in the doorway. He gave us a smile. “A friend of the family is here for the baby.”

I suddenly realized why the baby’s aunt had been so hesitant to come see him. As an empath, the little guy would have picked up on her distress.

Rowan retrieved a blanket from the crib and draped it over my shoulder and Aaron. “You want to take him out? Then his dad can come in and pack him a bag.”

“Yeah, sure.” I turned toward the door, and Rowan’s hand settled on the small of my back. We walked a few strides before he seemed to catch himself and pull away.

“I need to speak to Waylon,” he said and slipped past us to hurry down the hall.

“I guess the PIA guys are here?” I asked Donovan.

“Yes.” He watched Rowan go before turning back to me. “I’ll show you where the car is.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I rubbed Aaron’s back and followed Donovan, trying to think happy thoughts.

A middle-aged woman met us in the drive and hustled us toward her Honda parked at the curb. A car seat took up much of the real estate in the back seat. She took the baby from me and expertly maneuvered him into position. He was more alert now and laughed while she strapped him in.

I rubbed my shoulder, chilled now that his warmth was gone. I waved at him through the window, then self-consciously glanced around. Weird how attached I’d become to the little guy. It must be the empath thing.

With nothing else to do, I returned to the living room and discovered that someone had turned on the TV. The local news was on. I stopped and stared as the camera panned out, showing the front of my former shop. I hurried to locate the remote and turn up the sound.

“…shop where he mixed his tonics. Local residents claim that the business had only been open a month and little was known about the alchemist who ran the place.”

Good. They hadn’t associated the shop with me. I had enough bad press already.

“Though little can be told from the lab’s current state, questions about cleanliness—”

“Cleanliness?” I glared at the TV. “And it’s a formula, not a tonic.”

“Do you always argue with the television?” a female voice said from behind me.

I turned, and there was Cora standing on the threshold. “Only when they screw up the facts.”

“Era?” She tried to hide it, but I could see the hope in her eyes. It must rankle her to have to turn to me.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

Cora smoothed a lapel on her coat, though it didn’t seem to need it. Her pantsuit looked freshly pressed, her dark hair neatly coiffed atop her head.

“I’ve called around to her friends. No one has seen her.” She looked toward the door that led to the garage. “And now another murder.”

“Yes.”

She faced me once more, a frown darkening her features. “Then what are you doing in here?”

“Uh…”

“Rowan called you in to help with this investigation and you’re sitting here watching TV?”

“I was just walking through and saw—”

“I will allow that you are a little brighter than most, but I do not see why Rowan thinks you can be an asset. Although, I guess you did recognize your own bullet.”

I crossed my arms. “I did not design the bullets to kill the magical.”

“So you say, but really, what is that worth?”

“I designed the bullets
after
the Alchemica.” I wasn’t the same person I’d been at the Alchemica. “You can ask James. He was there when I made them.”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “James, the grim you found for your necro buddy. Odd that you remained with James, even when you didn’t remember.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then thought better of it.

“No witty comeback?” she asked.

“It would be lost on you.”

She frowned.

“How about this,” I said. “I have some truth serum. We could each take a dose—so you can verify that it works—then ask me anything. I have nothing to hide.”

She snorted. “You do nothing
but
hide. From your past, from yourself. Until you face who you really are, you can never speak the truth.”

Score one for Cora. I was speechless.

“I thought so.” She turned and headed for the garage. “Come along. Rowan is waiting for you.”

I frowned after her, wishing I had some way to make her see the real me. Yet I also feared she was right. One thing was certain, I’d been standing in here pouting long enough. Maybe I couldn’t convince her that I was no longer the Alchemica Master who’d had Era taken, but I could prove that I was an asset to solving these crimes.

The garage was a lot busier than it had been earlier. I assumed the half dozen extra people were PIA. Rowan and Director Waylon stood off to one side, discussing something. Whatever it was, neither looked pleased. Cora walked over to join them, but I stopped just inside the pedestrian door.

I turned toward the body and was pleased to see that Lydia had joined us. She knelt beside the dead woman, across from a man in a suit. The suit looked nicer than what a PIA agent usually wore, but it was hard to tell from behind. His gloved hands traveled over the body in a way that spoke of competence and experience.

I moved closer.

The man lifted his blond head. I sucked in a breath as I met Doug’s blue eyes. Oh God, where was James?

Chapter
12

D
oug rose from his squat to stand beside me. “You look surprised to see me.” The corner of his mouth ticked upward, hinting at the dimples in his cheeks.

“That’s because I am,” I answered honestly. “Did Neil get you a job with the PIA, too?”

The smile vanished and his eyes narrowed as he studied me. “No. Father and I gave Cora a ride over after the memorial. Father thought my skills might be beneficial to the investigation.”

“Your skills?”

“I’m a forensic pathologist.”

“Really? I thought you were a mortician.”

“I give Father a hand from time to time.”

“Seems a waste of a fancy degree like that.” If I remembered right, you had to go to med school and then complete a residency program. I made a mental note to pay closer attention to the guy. Apparently, he was no dummy.

“I also do some work for the coroner’s office. It pays well, but it’s…limiting.”

“No opportunity to exercise your other talents?”

The smile made another appearance. “Exactly.” His bright blue eyes lightened to the color of faded denim.

I stiffened. If he had the audacity to animate her, I’d—

“Addie?” Rowan stopped beside me. No doubt he’d seen me fingering my pocket, where the vial of alchemical mustard gas was hidden. Unfortunately, he’d approached Doug from behind, so he missed the reason I reached for a vial.

“In answer to your question,” Doug turned to Rowan, his eyes bright blue once more, “the shot in the leg was the only injury.” He crossed his thick arms, and his attention shifted back to me. “It seems your bullet proved effective once more.”

I gave him a frown before turning to Rowan. “Have you seen…my sidekick?” I didn’t want to say James’s name in front of Doug.

“He had an errand to run.”

“Ah.” Thank God he was paying attention.

As if to emphasize my point, Xander stepped through the open garage door and stopped beside Director Waylon.

“Any thoughts on what happened here?” Rowan asked.

I realized he was speaking to me.

I heard a faint snort from Doug, but ignored him. Instead, I turned my attention to the scene.

The body lay just outside the open driver’s door. Her purse still rested on the center console, and the keys were in the ignition. On the passenger seat, a plastic bag held what appeared to be a gallon of milk. It looked as if she’d stepped out of the car, but hadn’t had a chance to gather her things. The vehicle was fully in the garage, increasing the likelihood that the gunman had been in here with her.

I turned, surveying the area. The skin on the back of my neck crawled as I spotted a small closet in one corner. The door stood slightly ajar.

“He was waiting for her. In the closet.” I nodded in that direction, certain of it.

“And you came to that conclusion how?” Doug asked.

Rowan met my eyes, then turned and started toward the closet.

“He really listens to you,” Doug muttered once we were alone.

I ignored him, my attention on Rowan. I didn’t expect the killer to still be there—especially since we had already met him on the street—but the dark crack between the door and jamb gave me the feeling I was being watched.

Rowan moved closer, his shoes tapping against the cement. It was easy to hear because the room had gone silent.

He stopped beside the door, though not directly in front of it. Reaching high to avoid contaminating the knob, he eased the door open a little more. The light within the garage illuminated a small space crowded with Christmas decorations, yard implements, and an assortment of boxes neatly stacked on shelves to either side. In the center, a rod held a few heavy winter coats. It would be a tight fit, but a person could squeeze between the coats and peer out through the crack.

“If he was here, it was premeditated. Again.” Rowan turned to face me. His eyes drifted to the inside of the closet door and a hint of fire ignited around his pupils.

“What is it?” I asked.

He pushed the door and it swung outward, revealing the inner surface—and the letters written in blood.

My breath caught as I read them.
Nice work, Amelia
.

“I was wondering if there was a message,” Waylon said.

“A message?” Xander had walked over with the director. He eyed the door, then gave me a frown. “Have there been other messages?”

“At every scene.” Waylon studied me as well. “They’ve all been about alchemy—or her.”

“Really.” Xander continued to watch me. “Any idea why?”

“None,” Waylon said.

Xander made eye contact with Rowan. “No connection between the deaths and alchemy?”

“Nothing we could find,” Waylon answered.

I frowned. Rowan hadn’t told the director of the PIA that the bullets were alchemical…and mine?

“What do you think, Ms. Daulton?” Waylon’s eyes narrowed, and I got the distinct impression that he’d love to take me in for questioning.

“I think someone is taunting me,” I answered. “Why, I haven’t a clue.” That was the truth. Why kill people with my bullets and tease me? Though I did know a trio of Hunters who loved to torment me, but would they kill for a little fun?

I needed to figure out who was doing this before the killer moved on to bigger targets—like the Elements.

My eyes drifted to the coats in the closet where the gunman had stood. “Lydia?” I had an idea.

She stood a short distance away, watching. “What is it?”

“He would have been rubbing against those coats. If he lost a hair or something, could you use it?” Lydia had the magical ability to mimic anyone’s physical appearance. All she needed was a DNA sample.

She stood straighter. “Yes.”

Rowan’s lips compressed into something close to a smile. “And we’ll see what our murderer looks like.”

Doug grunted, but if he had a comment, he didn’t voice it. He didn’t seem surprised by my suggestion, so he must be aware of what Lydia could do.

Lydia stepped in the closet and began examining the coats.

Rowan returned to my side. “You are good at this.” His comment surprised me.

“I’m observant. Most alchemists are.”

“Perhaps.”

“What’s she doing?” Waylon asked. “If she contaminates—”

“Just watch,” Rowan said.

“This should be interesting,” Xander said.

A moment later, Lydia pulled the door closed to give herself some privacy. Like James, she removed her clothes to change—not because they’d vanish, but clothes that fit a five-and-a-half-foot woman didn’t do so well on a larger man.

Her change was considerably slower than James’s. Ten minutes later, she opened the door, and we found ourselves staring at the dead woman’s husband. Fortunately, he’d gone back in the house, so Lydia closed the door and tried again.

This time, it was nearly fifteen minutes before she opened the door. I gasped when she stepped out, recognizing the man instantly.

“Damn,” Director Waylon said.

“Addie?” Rowan prompted.

“It’s Frank,” I said.

“You know him?” Lydia asked. She offered a hopeful smile, exposing Frank’s overlapping front teeth.

“Frank Liles,” Waylon said. “He was one of my best agents—until he went missing several months ago.”

Rowan didn’t comment, instead he watched me.

“He was one of Lawson’s men,” I said.

A muscle ticked in Rowan’s jaw.

“He worked with Robert Lawson, yes,” Waylon said. He glanced between us, frowning.

Lawson and several of his fellow agents had been made into liches and used to do Neil’s bidding. Ian had been Neil’s pawn. It had been Ian’s power that had made them into liches. Frank’s heart had been one of those on Ian’s shelf. One of those hearts that was currently missing.

I swallowed, aware that Rowan still watched me.

“I don’t understand,” Waylon said. “Does this mean Frank was here? Recently or before he disappeared?”

“I’m not sure,” I said.

“This makes no sense.” Waylon rubbed the back of his neck. “No more sense than why these people are dying from such minor gunshot wounds.”

I met Rowan’s eyes. I still didn’t understand why he hadn’t told Waylon about the bullets. I couldn’t believe he was protecting me. Was he afraid to give the PIA that kind of power over the magical? Lawson had bought a lot of George’s bullets.

George. He might not be the shooter, but he might be supplying the ammo.

Lydia returned to the closet to change while Waylon pulled Rowan aside. Xander and Cora followed.

I looked up and found Doug watching me. He leaned down. “I think you know more than you say.”

I held his gaze, refusing to let him intimidate me.

His eyes went completely white this time.

A scrape on the cement made me glance behind him. The dead woman fisted her hand. The sound had been her nails scratching the pavement.

“I still think you’re an ass.” I’d told him that the first time we met.

Doug’s eyes instantly reverted to bright blue. He gave me that smile. “I’ll learn your secrets, alchemist.” He turned and walked away.

The closet door opened and Lydia emerged. She gave Doug’s retreating back a frown. How much of our conversation had she heard? I considered asking when she stumbled and fell against the doorframe.

“Hey.” I stepped up beside her and caught her elbow. “You okay?”

“I think I overdid it.” Her laugh sounded forced, and she gripped the doorjamb to steady herself.

“Lydia?” Rowan hurried back to us.

I gave him my place, and he slipped an arm around her.

“Two back-to-back changes didn’t used to bother me.” She drew a deep breath. “Maybe I’m getting too old for this.”

I studied her. It was hard to judge with her uneven features, but I’d guess her to be closing on fifty. I wondered how she and Rowan knew each other. They’d always struck me as more than magical acquaintances.