The Catalyst of Corruption (The Final Formula Series, Book 4) (25 page)

It was my turn to sigh.

 

We found Livie, Doug, and
Blake in the morgue. The room contained a bank of four mortuary drawers and a separate walk-in cooler. After being in several larger establishments, I couldn't help but notice that the Mallory Funeral Parlor was humble by comparison. Which made me realize that I had been visiting far too many morgues.

“Is Rowan coming?” Livie asked.

“He said to start without him,” I said, letting her assume he was just busy with his job.

Livie gave me a nod, then walked to the cooler and removed the white box I remembered from the other night. She set it on the table in the center of the room and removed the lid.

“Is that good enough?” she asked Blake. “Or do I need to remove them from the box?”

He stepped up beside her and looked inside. “Oh, wow. Those are real, aren't they?”

The corner of Livie's mouth curled upward. She didn't have the dimples, but the gleam in her blue eyes reminded me of Ian. “No, I keep our Halloween decorations in the cooler.”

Doug snorted and Blake gave him a glare.

“Yes, they're real,” Livie said, seeing the need to spare Blake's feelings. “I guess I'm a little indifferent. I forget that most people don't see human bones on a day-to-day basis.”

“And you do?” Blake asked, his eyes a little wide.

“Well, not typically in a box like this.” She smiled. “Do you want me to take them out?”

“No, no. This is fine.” He turned his attention to the bones. He took a deep breath and without comment, closed his eyes.

I expected him to reach in the box or something. When he just stood there, I glanced at the others.

“What are you doing?” Livie asked, giving into the same curiosity that plagued me.

“Opening myself.” Blake rolled his shoulders. “This isn't the only spirit here.”

“Yeah.” Livie shrugged. “It's an old house that's seen its share of good times and bad. There's an especially strong one in the—”

“Attic,” Blake answered. “He hung himself there.”

Livie's brows twitched upward. “Yes. Did he give you his name?”

“Nathan… Shaw. He was the gardener.”

“Very good,” Livie said.

Blake frowned, though he hadn't opened his eyes. “He's pissed that I saw through his whole demon charade.”

Livie giggled. “His charade sucks. A demon wouldn't curse you with a ribald collection of late nineteenth century words for, um, genitalia.”

Blake's eyes flew open. He blinked once, then abruptly doubled over with laughter.

“Do I even want to ask?” Era grinned.

“Probably not,” Livie said. “Grams forbid me from going up there when I started asking her what certain words meant at the age of five.”

“You were hanging out in a haunted attic at the age of five?” I asked.

Livie shrugged. “I'm a necromancer. You either get used to the ghosts or go nuts.”

Blake was watching her, a surprised expression on his face. I suspected he'd never considered that aspect of being a necromancer, and I wondered if he could relate. I suspected his childhood hadn't been easy.

“Besides, he's harmless,” Livie added.

“No, he's not,” Blake said.

“Thank you,” Doug said.

Blake stared at Doug, clearly shocked that he had agreed with him.

“How is he dangerous?” Livie asked.

“He's starting to move things, right? He showed me a heavy armoire.”

“It fell over last summer. Shook the whole house.”

“That was him. He wants to use this newly developing skill to harm the living. You need to get rid of him.”

“How?”

“I could do it. If you like.”

I would accuse Blake of using it all as an excuse for another visit, but it sounded like his information was accurate. Even Doug was looking at him with less malice.

“Seems a shame to miss out on that high-quality poetry,” Livie said.

Blake smiled. “Unfortunately.”

Doug cleared his throat. “So the bones? You do remember they're the reason we're here and not my cute cousin?”

“Doug.” Livie swatted his arm.

“Right.” Blake leaned over to look into the box, the move most likely an effort to hide his blush.

Era took the opportunity to swat Doug's shoulder as well.

What?
he mouthed at her.

Blake released a noisy breath. “Okay. Here goes.” He stuck his hand in the box and once again closed his eyes. A clatter echoed from within the container and he gasped. Tipping his head back, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth.

“Blake?” Era took a step toward him.

“Are you okay?” Livie asked, touching his shoulder.

He jumped as if she had shocked him and sprang away from the table. The box wobbled, almost spilling onto the floor, but Livie caught it and set it upright.

Blake slumped against the mortuary drawers and covered his face with both hands.

Era hurried over to him and gripped his arm. “What did you see?”

“It was awful,” he spoke into his hands. “She showed me a hospital, I think. It was a long time ago, so I'm not sure. Mid, maybe early eighteen hundreds. The conditions—oh God. It was horrible.”

“She was a patient?” I asked. “At a hospital?”

“The grounds Music Hall sits on have been used for a variety of purposes over the centuries,” Era said. “At different times, there was a hospital, an insane asylum, an orphanage, and a graveyard located on different parts of the property.”

“I think she was a patient,” Blake said. “There was a man. He would visit and—” Blake hesitated. “She always knew when he was coming because that's the only time the nurse would comb her hair.”

“A doctor?” I asked. Didn't they travel around back then?

“She died giving birth, and they buried her on the grounds. She hates that because now she can't escape the place.”

“I got that much. Did she tell you where she wants to be buried?”

“No. There's something she wants to do. A truth she wants revealed.”

“Okay. What?” And if we did this, would she move on?

“All I see is a small house in the woods. It sits on the same property as a much larger house, and there's a cemetery between the two.”

I looked at the others, but they looked as confused as I felt. “We're going to need a little more information.”

Blake's brow furrowed. “The big house is at the end of Lichfield Avenue.”

I frowned. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because,” Doug spoke up, “it's my father's house.”

Chapter 21

I
stared at Doug. “Why would
the ghost that's been haunting Elysia want to go to your father's place?”

“I'm wondering the same thing.” Doug frowned at Blake.

“I'm just telling you what I saw,” Blake said. “I didn't know your address. Besides, why would I send you there if I was making this up?”

“You haven't been watching the news?” I asked Blake.

“No. Why?”

I turned to Doug, but he just sighed.

“Is there a house in the woods behind your dad's place?” I asked. “I know there's a cemetery.” I didn't remember seeing any other structures when Ian and I had snuck in, but Xander owned a dozen acres, and the forest had been thick.

“There is an old caretaker's cottage that's been sitting dormant for at least the last fifty years. When we were kids, my brother and I used to dare each other into the basement—until Father found out.”

“The basement, yes,” Blake whispered. “I see the basement. There's a door and—”

“It leads to an old root cellar,” Doug said. “There's nothing down there. Just some rotten furniture and a few really big spiders.”

“I might have braved some liches,” I said, “but I draw the line at spiders.”

Something rattled, and it took me a moment to realize it was the cardboard box sitting on the table. It abruptly slid forward and tumbled off onto the floor. It landed on its side, spilling about half the bones. The skull rolled free and came to a stop against Blake's shoe.

“She really wants us to go,” Blake whispered, his eyes wide. I wondered what he saw that we couldn't.

“Doug, can you get us on and off the property unseen?” Rowan asked from the doorway. I had no idea how long he'd been standing there.

“I can, but do you really think this is worth pursuing?”

“It's the one thing I can pursue, and at this point, I'll take it. As for being worth it, I believe anything that might give Elysia some relief is worth it. I think you agree.”

Doug nodded.

“Then shall we?”

I glanced over at Era and she smiled. Yes, Rowan was taking charge, and like me, she took that as a good sign.

We thanked Livie for her help, and after collecting a bag of Grams's freshly made ham salad sandwiches, we were back on the road.

Blake released a sigh and slumped in his seat.

“You good?” Era asked, patting his knee.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Missing the off-color poetry?” she asked.

“No. That guy was a jerk.” He frowned. “Some of the things he said to Livie… I wanted to punch him.”

I smiled and leaned across Era to hand our young medium a sandwich. “Eat this. I guarantee you'll feel better.”

“Dear God,” Era said around a bite of her own sandwich. “I have no idea how Elysia stayed so thin being raised by a woman who can cook like that.”

“Should I mention that there are brownies in this bag?”

Era groaned.

 

Doug did know a back
way onto his father's property, but the surprising aspect was that he was willing to take his car over the rutted dirt road that circled through the hills.

I gasped and gripped my door handle when he hit a surprisingly deep rut. “I didn't expect you to go off-roading in this car,” I said.

“Why not?” Doug steered through a narrow section, branches scraping along either side. “It's just a car. If I break it, I'll get another.”

I caught the glance Rowan gave him and smiled. No, the Camaro would not be making this trip. We'd be walking.

Doug parked the car along the remains of a slat-board fence and shut off the engine. “The old caretaker's house is a few hundred yards through those trees.” He gestured through the windshield, then glanced back at Blake. “This feel right to you?”

“I won't know until I see the house—or most likely, the basement.”

Doug shook his head. “I hope you know what you're looking for.” He leaned over and took a flashlight from the glove box before leaving the car.

We followed him into the woods, and I was grateful I had grabbed my jacket. It was a blustery April afternoon, and cool under all these trees. I couldn't help but wonder if I was feeling a chill from the air or for another reason. We were about to sneak onto the Deacon's property, and I knew Xander had no compunction about the immoral things he did. Maybe he hadn't wanted Doug and his brother exploring that old house because he had used it for other purposes.

I shivered and tucked my hands deeper into my jacket pockets, wrapping one hand around a vial of alchemical mustard gas.

Doug stepped over the fence where one of the rails had fallen and we followed.

“Does your father have a security system?” I asked.

“Closer to the house. No need to run it out here. You saw the road in.”

“True.”

We followed him through the woods, stepping over moss-covered logs and wading through thick piles of leaves from last fall. He was right. It didn't look like anyone had been this way in a while.

The forest was so dense, the old house seemed to appear out of the gloom when we were just a few yards away, startling me. But I had been concentrating on my foot placement and not paying close attention.

“Wow, that has some ambiance,” Era said. “Can you imagine what it looked like back in the day?”

I had to agree. Looking past the decay, I could see that it had been an attractive home and was bigger than I expected, set out here in the trees with a now overgrown stepping stone path leading up to the front porch. Of course, now it looked like something off of
Scooby Doo
—which Era might appreciate more.

“Watch your step,” Doug said, leading us up onto the porch. The steps were stone, but stacked rather than mortared together. Most had tumbled off or were about to. The porch itself was more stable, and we waited while Doug shouldered the door open. It hadn't been locked, but the weather had warped the old wood to the point where it was swollen into the doorframe.

Once inside, Doug pulled out his flashlight and shined it around the area. At one time, it had probably been an airy entryway with rooms to either side. Now, it was slowly decaying into nothing. Doug chose the room to our right and led us inside. No furniture had been left, and any shelving on the walls had long since fallen to the floor and turned to more rubble. The ceiling above us had caved in, leaving the interior open to the sky. It was an odd sensation to be inside and yet not.

Doug didn't give us much time to look around before working his way along the less rubble-strewn perimeter of the room to the open doorway across from us.

“The floor was pretty solid, but watch yourselves. It's been…God, decades since I've been in here.” Once in the wide hall, he shined his flashlight through an open doorway and down a set of rough-looking stairs. Several of the risers were rotted through.

“The steps, on the other hand, aren't so solid.” He glanced at Blake. “Follow me down. The rest of you don't need to go.”

“Aw, man. I love creepy basements,” Era complained.

“Did you forget about the spiders?” I asked.

“I'm sure there are a bunch in here, too.”

“Thanks for that.”

She smirked and leaned into the stairwell, watching Doug start down.

Blake stepped up beside her.

“You good with this?” she asked him.

“The creepy basement, yes.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “The necromancer… no thanks.”

“He's an okay guy,” I reassured him.

Blake just shrugged and started down the stairs after Doug.

“You got the stairs?” Rowan muttered to Era once Blake started down.

“Yes,” she replied in an undertone.

I smiled. Apparently, Blake and Doug were in no danger of falling.

“Everything cool?” Era asked Rowan. “You were pretty upset earlier. Not to mention, you're going to wear that phone out.”

“It looks bad that we've disappeared from the public eye, even for just a morning. I guess the media is camped out on the lawn at the Offices.”

“You didn't say anything about that,” I said.

“I didn't want to concern you.”

“Afraid I'll put you all under house arrest again?”

Rowan glanced over, a small smile curling his lips.

“What are you doing?” Doug's voice echoed up the stairs.

A reverberating clang rang out from below us, followed by a thump.

“What the hell?” Doug sounded more surprised than upset.

Rowan pulled out his phone and switched on his light. “Do you think we should—”

Blake cried out—whether in surprise or pain, I wasn't sure.

“Move!” Doug shouted.

Rowan stepped up to the head of the stairs, but Era caught his arm.

“I feel necromancy,” she said.

“What?” Rowan stared back at her.

A growl sounded from below closely followed by another.

“Go.” Era waved us forward. “Or I'm leaving you on your own.”

“The stairs,” Rowan said to me, lifting his phone to illuminate them. “You first.”

He didn't have to tell me twice. Using the light from his phone to avoid the holes in the boards, I hurried down the stairs. The floor of the basement was hard-packed dirt. I made that observation easily since Doug's flashlight lay on the floor, the beam of light shining against the opposite wall.

I ran toward the flashlight and snatched it up. A shout of pain sounded and I whirled, aiming the beam of light in that direction.

Blake lay on the floor, struggling with a familiar furry form. It was a zombie dog like the ones Ian had used to guard his crypt. I flashed back to a similar scene when Rowan was the one being held to the floor.

As if the memory had summoned him, Rowan stepped up beside me.

The dog pinning Blake vanished in a flash of blue-white flame. Blake cried out, but I suspected it was surprise, not pain.

“Stop!” Doug shouted, drawing our attention. Six decayed canines stood motionless before a dark doorway Doug faced. “Back in your—”

Doug didn't get to finish as a pair of dogs leapt from the darkness, clearing the backs of their motionless fellows and slamming into Doug's chest. The impact staggered him, but he didn't go down.

He punched one, his fist connecting with a crunch like dried twigs. It crumpled at his feet, but the move gave the second dog a chance to sink its teeth into his shoulder. He grunted and reached up to seize the animal by the back of its neck. He jerked downward, but failed to dislodge it. Instead, his hand came away with a hank of crumbling fur that dissolved into dust in his hand.

He stumbled backward as the dogs he had been holding immobile surged forward. His heel caught on the uneven floor and he fell on his butt.

“Let go,” Doug breathed and finally managed to sling the dog clinging to him aside. He rolled onto his hands and knees, now face to face with the decaying canines charging toward him.

“Doug, stop them!” Era shouted, jumping down the last few steps.

“I can't.” Doug was on his knees, gripping his shoulder as he watched the dogs encircle him. “Bastard drained me.”

“Then move!” Blake called, struggling to push himself to his feet.

Era ran to Doug's side, then stepped past him.

“Era!” Doug reached for her.

A sudden burst of air kicked up a semicircle of dust around them, then slammed outward with a low sound not unlike thunder. The dogs went flying, slamming into the walls with a magnificent, collective crunch.

Doug looked up at her, a grin creasing his cheeks. “That works.” Leave it to the necromancer to be amused at this moment.

“What the hell?” Blake whispered. He had regained his feet, but was clinging to a support post.

I looked over to see what had become of Rowan. He stood with his head bowed, one hand braced against the post at the bottom of the stairs. Had ashing a single dog drained him so much?

“Rowan?” I laid a hand on his shoulder.

He straightened at my touch. “I'm okay.”

“No, you're not.” In the beam of my flashlight, I could see that his nose had bled.

He rubbed a hand across his upper lip. “I'm fine,” he said with more force, though he kept his voice low. He faced the others. “We need to move. They won't stay down long.”

“What are you talking about?” Era asked. “Did you miss the crunch when they hit?”

“They regenerate,” Doug said.

As if to illustrate his statement, a soft growl sounded from the darkness near the far wall. I shined my light in that direction. One of the dogs was already climbing to its feet.

“Dear God, it's getting up.” Blake's wide eyes were on the dog that was trying to stand. Blake took a step, and his knee appeared to buckle. He caught the support pole once more. “Why am I so weak?”

“Death hounds feed on the life force,” Doug answered. He sounded like he'd been running. “If it holds onto you for very long, it will kill you.”

Blake blinked.

“Era!” Doug shouted.

The dog had sprung forward, bounding silently toward them.

Era stepped in front of him, and with a negligent wave of the hand, sent the dog back into the shadows where it hit with another crunch.

A growl sounded from the other side of the room.

“I'm too drained,” Doug said. “I can't stop them.”

Rowan took a deep breath, drawing my attention. His eyes were orange.

“Don't you dare,” I said.

“No choice.”

Before I could speak, every hound in the room went up in a flash of blue-white flame—an instant before another explosion of wind hit them. The blue-white flames suddenly winked out, leaving a pair of the dogs only partially consumed. Their superheated corpses ignited with the familiar orange-yellow flames of common fire. The half-burnt bodies were picked up by the gust and slung against the wall where one landed on the broken remains of a chair. The surge of air strengthened the flames, catching the old wood on fire and adding some light to the room.