The Catalyst of Corruption (The Final Formula Series, Book 4) (10 page)

For a moment, I just stood there, so surprised, I couldn't move. Ian might lay a hand on my back or give my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but he had never embraced me. Feeling a little awkward, I hugged him back. I hadn't told anyone about Rowan's decision. He hadn't joined us for breakfast, and I had pretended to be unaware of his location.

I had considered telling James during our trip through the land of the dead, but I could never converse comfortably with him as that werewolf thing. Something about his true form made me want to run the other way, not share the wounds on my soul.

“He fears he'll hurt you again,” Ian said.

“It's more than that. He believes he'll lose control completely, unless he shuts himself down emotionally.”

“That might save innocents, but it will kill him.”

“I know.” I stepped out of his arms.

Ian watched me. “What are you thinking?”

“I had an epiphany last night. A way to help Elysia, but after a discussion with Cora, I think it might help Rowan, too.”

“Tell me.”

“You heard about what happened to Elysia at Music Hall?”

“Doug said she had been possessed.”

“Yes. He also mentioned that necromancers tend to attract ghosts. When I asked if he was safe, he told me that necromancers also have a natural defense against them.”

“That's correct. We must consciously let a spirit in.”

“Doug said her defenses are weakening. That got me thinking. If necromancers attract ghosts, then one without any defense might be driven mad by them. I understand that it's easy to mistake a ghostly voice with one in your head.”

Ian frowned. “I'm not sure if the insanity is caused by spiritual influence, or if the insanity causes the necromancer to inadvertently let the spirits in.”

“Have you noticed increased ghost activity around the insane?”

“It's so common, most necromancers wouldn't even comment on it.”

“Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” I muttered.

“Where are you going with this, and what does it have to do with Rowan?”

“It sounds like his defenses are also failing. Yesterday, he experienced the symptoms of Fire use when he had used none.”

“I don't think it's the same problem Elysia is having…”

“Both of their defenses are failing. What if I could rebuild them, alchemically?”

Ian frowned. “And how do you propose we accomplish this?”

I took a breath. “Ash alchemy.”

Chapter 8

I
held my breath, waiting for
his answer. Would he come clean and tell me what his journal contained?

His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “What do you know about ash alchemy?”

“Neil and I were studying it just before I found the Final Formula. Your mention of the term brought that much back. I don't know what we were actually trying to accomplish.”

“No, Addie. This is not the answer.” He returned to his workbench and picked up a pipetter.

“Just hear me out.” I followed him. “We don't have to murder anyone to get the ashes.”

He added a milliliter of solution to the swirling mixture in the beaker on the stir plate before him. The yellow solution turned dark green. “Actually, you do, but that's not my concern.”

I arched a brow. “If murder doesn't deter you, then what?”

“With ash alchemy, you don't replace one power with another, they're additive. Elysia will remain a soul reaper and Rowan a Fire Element. Their troubles will continue.”

I studied him. “How do you know that?”

“I had a thorough education.”

“You mean you actually performed—”

“My mentor had a vast library of obscure alchemical texts.” He added another milliliter of solution to his beaker, and its contents turned black.

“Okay, so ash alchemy is additive. We just have to add an ability that helps each of them.” I walked to the end of the bench, letting that sink in. “Or I can use the additive properties of ash alchemy to add something of my own creation.”

He turned away from his work, his keen eyes meeting mine. He didn't want to admit it, but I had stirred his alchemist's curiosity.

“Something of your own creation,” Ian repeated.

“Sure, why not? I create potions all the time. Instead of capturing magic in a vial, why not capture it in a body?” A twinge of déjà vu momentarily darkened the edges of my vision. My pulse jumped. I was on to something.

Ian had looked away, missing me gripping the counter to steady myself.

“Don't take this the wrong way,” he said, “but alchemy is a simplified form of inborn magic. Take your analogy where the body is the vial. The body is so much more complicated than a glass vial, and the magic within, at least in the necromancer's case, is the magic of life—his very soul.”

“Yes, which is why blood alchemy is so powerful. We tap into that magic of life.” My excitement grew as I made another connection. “And through ash alchemy, we tap into the complex body, the vial that contains it.”

Another wave of déjà vu washed over me. I stilled, willing the return of the memory whose surface I was scratching, but nothing came.

Ian noticed this time. When I blinked my eyes back into focus, he was gripping my elbow.

“I'm on to something,” I whispered. “Tell me more about ash alchemy. Teach me.”

“I will not.” He released my arm.

“But if we can save Elysia…and Rowan.”

“No.” He gripped my shoulders, bending down so he could look me in the eye. “We lose the ones we love. You must accept that. Death, be it physical or any of its other forms, always wins. Always.”

And yet, here I stood talking to a man who had died almost two hundred years ago.

“Death is a transition, not the end.” In my mind's eye, I saw James's true form. “Death can transform.”

The déjà vu hit me, and my past swallowed my present.

 

Neil leaned against the cluttered
workbench, his arms crossed, revealing his tattoos through the split sleeves of his alchemist's robe.

“Go on,” he told me, his white eyes intense. He never bothered to wear his contacts when we were alone.

“Don't you see?” I answered. “That's how the grim was created: ash alchemy. The answer has been staring us in the face the whole time. Or at least, staring you in the face. It's right there in your necromantic lore.”

“And I was supposed to take the fairy tales told to me as a child as truth?”

“There are truths buried in all myths. You just have to be able to sift them out. Find the magic in the seemingly mundane.”

“You're saying the grim is not necromantic.”

“Necromancers wield their souls, the magic of life; the grim harnesses the power of death.”

 

I coughed, tasting blood. Blinking,
I tried to clear the dizziness that overwhelmed me.

“Addie?” Ian's strong hands gripped my shoulders. I was sitting on one of the lab stools. He must have placed me there because I didn't remember sitting down.

“Here.” He pressed a napkin into my hand. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“Déjà vu,” I muttered.

“You remembered something?”

“I told Neil that the grim was created via ash alchemy.”

Ian released my shoulders and straightened. “You need to let this go.”

“But—”

“You are over-looking the part where you have to murder someone to use this form of alchemy. More than that, you have to burn them alive. After this morning, I would think you would have more appreciation for that.”

I frowned.

“Despite what you think or what that little weasel Neil put you up to, you are a good person. Ash alchemy is not the solution. Focus elsewhere and put that brilliant mind onto a path that might find us a viable answer.”

“I'm right about this.” I slid off the stool and started for the stairs. “I have that appointment with Dr. Steadham at ten.”

“Addie.”

I stopped and looked back.

“Ash alchemy was my downfall. Don't let it be yours.”

I wanted to mouth off and give him some cocky reply, but something in his expression stopped me. I took another approach.

“But maybe, if what you tried had worked,” I said, “it would have been your greatest accomplishment.”

I left him standing there and headed upstairs.

 

Elysia, James, and Doug were
gathered around the table, dirty dishes bearing the remnants of breakfast spread across the surface and the scent of sausage lingering in the air. The TV was on across the room, but no one was watching.

“Why not?” James asked Elysia. “It would be a good job.”

“I don't know the first thing about being a legal assistant.”

“Isn't it mostly filing?”

“I'm sure it's a bit more complicated than that. You have to have a degree.”

“You have a four-year degree,” Doug spoke up.

“In history.”

“What's up?” I walked over to the table.

“Cora offered Elysia a job at her law firm,” James said.

“A sympathy gesture,” Elysia said. “I'm not qualified.”

“But if this job will help you adopt Kari's baby…”

“I'm not so sure that's a good idea anymore.”

That declaration was met with silence. Elysia had been enthusiastically working for weeks to make this happen.

“What are saying?” James asked her. “You're not going to go through with it? You'll leave him for some child-abusing stranger to take?”

Elysia laughed, but there was no joy in it. “As hard as the adoption process has been for me, I'm sure that won't happen.”

“It might.”

“What the hell?” Elysia pushed to her feet. “Once you found out what I was, you couldn't run away fast enough. Yet you want me to adopt an innocent kid? I
was
that innocent kid. I had a mother who was a soul reaper. No child should have to go through that.”

James rose to his feet. “I'm not running away.” He gripped her wrist. “Come.”

“Where?” she demanded.

“Not here.”

She seemed to notice that Doug and I were still there. “Sorry,” she muttered and let James lead her away. A moment later, the door to her room closed. I took it as a good sign it wasn't slammed.

“Enjoying breakfast?” I asked Doug.

He pushed away his empty plate. “The food was good. How's the ankle?”

“It's still tender, but I can use it.”

“Unreal.”

“You're the same. Sometime when you're feeling especially masochistic, cut yourself. Watch how much faster it heals.”

“Huh. Maybe that'll be more fun than staring at the walls.”

“I could teach you alchemy. I'm always on the lookout for a good assistant. I bet you've even had a chemistry class.”

“Several. It wasn't my favorite subject.”

“Sacrilege!”

He laughed and got to his feet. “I appreciate the offer, but I don't think I'm alchemist material.”

We began to gather the dirty dishes. I might not have shared the meal, but Elysia was an awesome roommate. I tried to return the favor.

I plugged the drain and started to fill the sink. “Well, you're welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

“Thanks.” He set his stack of dishes beside the sink. “I know it doesn't seem like it, but I really am grateful.”

“It's fine. I get that your world has been turned upside down. I've been there myself.”

“Yes, but you don't remember it.” He grinned.

“Have I told you about my Atomic Diarrhea potion?”

He laughed and headed back to the table for another load of dishes.

I smiled to myself, glad I could cheer him up a little. Of course, my life had been turned upside down just this morning.

With that thought, a new wave of anxiety washed over me. What if I couldn't cure Rowan? What if I never got him back?

No. I wouldn't think like that. I could do it. I was a master alchemist, the best of the best. I had found the Final Formula. I could do the impossible.

“What the hell?” Doug said.

I looked up, expecting that he had stuck his hand in an unseen syrup puddle. Instead, he hurried toward the couch. Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, he turned up the volume.

I shut off the water and went to see what had caught his attention.

On the screen, a pair of brown-robed men were being interviewed by Natalie Gomez. She had interviewed me on several occasions. I suspected she got all the magical assignments.

“Is it—” I began.

Doug lifted a hand, asking me to wait.

“It's something I've been considering for a while,” the man standing closest to Natalie said. His subtle accent teased my ears.

I gripped Doug's arm. “That's not your father.”

“No.”

“You have?” Natalie asked the man.

“Yes. I really don't understand why we hide our identities.”

“James!” I called over my shoulder.

“I always thought the Elements encouraged it,” Natalie continued.

“We might work with New Magic, but we don't answer to them,” he said.

“I wondered if this morning's breaking story might have influenced you, Deacon.”

What breaking story? He didn't ask, so he clearly knew what she was talking about—unlike me.

“Let's say it emboldened me to take Old Magic in a new direction.” He reached up and laid a hand on his hooded head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw James and Elysia stop beside me, but we were all too intent on the screen to speak.

The Deacon pushed back his hood, and I sucked in a breath. He looked just like Ian—if Ian ever chose to get a modern haircut.

“Alexander,” I whispered.

“The demon himself,” Elysia agreed.

“Jesus.” Natalie's microphone picked up her soft exclamation.

Alexander smiled, his cheeks dimpling as his vibrant blue eyes sparkled with pure mischief. “As I was saying, I see no reason to hide. We might be necromancers, but in this modern age, that's nothing to be ashamed of. It's time we came out of the… crypt.” He gave Natalie a wink at the pun.

“Oh dear God,” Elysia muttered. “Just stick your hand down her pants and be done with it.”

Doug crossed his arms. “He doesn't have to. She's about to orgasm right there.”

James snorted.

I hurried across the room and shouted down the stairs. “Ian, come up here. Quickly!”

A second later, a portal opened a few feet away. “Addie, what's wrong?” Ian asked before he was completely in the room.

“The
Deacon
just decided to show the world his face.” I gestured at the TV.

Ian turned, his gaze settling on the screen. The camera had zoomed in, capturing a nice closeup of Alexander's smiling face. Without a word, Ian walked over to join the others, and I followed. I wasn't sure what I expected, but his silent focus made me uneasy.

“So,” Natalie said, the word an airy exhalation. “You're making a break from New Magic?”

“We have no problem with them. We just wish to go our own way. Chart our own course in this modern world.”

“And what course is that?”

“One that involves a little less fire.”

Natalie fawned over him some more, but I was too furious to pay close attention. They cut back to the studio, and I was about to turn away when the screen was filled with a sight I had witnessed first hand. It was Hueston Woods Lodge, where the world's Elements had gathered last February. Where I almost died.

The footage was shot from the air, zooming in on the fire burning along one section of the roof.

“This was the scene almost two months ago when a fire did extensive damage to the local resort,” the voiceover told us. “But it was only today that we learned that the fire might have been magical.”

They cut to footage of an interview with a man I remembered from that night. He still wore his burgundy vest with his gold nametag. Barton Smitters. The lodge stood in the background, surrounded by scaffolding. A large blue tarp covered a section of roof.

“It had to be the Flame Lord,” Barton said. “Unless you know someone else with glowing orange eyes who slings fire around. He vaporized a couch mere feet from me. Good thing it wasn't occupied.”