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

“Release him!” a new voice shouted.

Agent Johnson and a half-dozen other men had their weapons aimed at James.

James lifted his lips in a silent snarl. He shoved the man away from him and in another shimmer of darkness, he was again the hellhound.

“Nelson, stop him!” Rowan shouted at Doug.

Doug rose to his feet, his blue eyes locking with Rowan's. “No.”

I stared at Doug. Was he doing this because he refused to take an order from Rowan?

“James will kill them,” Rowan said. “The Hunt has consumed him.”

“I won't give him a command.”

Rowan frowned, glancing from Doug to James.

James took a step toward the agents, his paws flexing to expose ebony claws that dug into the stone floor.

“Addie?” Rowan said.

“Yes?”

“Scream.”

“Wh—”

Fire suddenly enveloped me, blue-white flames so close that the heat seared my cheeks. I threw my arms up to shield my face, and the sleeves of my coat burst into flame.

I screamed.

Chapter 3

F
ire filled my field of
vision, and I squeezed my eyes closed.

Arms suddenly wrapped around me, and I was taken to the floor. We twisted just before impact, and I landed on a warm chest instead of unforgiving stone.

“Addie.” James's arms tightened around me.

I pressed my hands against his bare shoulders and pushed myself up until I could meet his glowing green eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked me.

“Of course.” I frowned. “What the hell got into you?”

He cupped my face between his hands. “Your skin is hot.”

“Are you with us now?” Rowan asked from above us.

James pulled back his lips, exposing teeth that weren't human.

“Quit,” I whispered. “He was just trying to get your attention. You know he would never hurt me.”

James still glared past my shoulder.

I leaned closer and whispered, “You know what that cost him. He's already had a vial of his remedy today.”

James's glare became a frown.

“Addie?” Rowan offered me a hand, then pulled me to my feet when I took it.

“That was a little extreme,” James said.

Rowan dropped the sweatpants he was carrying on James's bare stomach. “How about you get dressed and do what you came to do?”

James still looked angry, but did as told, springing to his feet a moment later.

The trigger-happy agent was no longer in the room, but those that remained were watching James with concerned expressions. More than one still held his weapon.

James looked down at the three dead men, then over at me. “You're getting better at this.”

“Perhaps, but I rather wish I didn't have to.”

He grunted, then headed for the open sarcophagus. With little effort, he vaulted the stone wall and disappeared down the staircase inside. I wondered if there were any lights on down below—not that it mattered to James. He could see in total darkness.

Waylon released a breath. “Damn. I knew what he was, but seeing it…” He shook his head. “What just happened?”

Rowan didn't immediately answer. He touched my chin, tipping my face upward before he ran his fingers beneath my cut cheekbone. “James is very protective of Addie.”

“Okay.” Waylon's tone made it clear that he didn't find that answer enlightening.

“Is she all right?” Doug joined us. “May I?” He reached up to touch my cheek.

Rowan's hand shot out, catching his wrist. “What the hell was that all about?” he demanded, keeping his voice low. “Why didn't you stop James?”

“I swore I would never give him another command,” Doug said, his voice just as low. “I keep my promises.”

“You promised James?” I asked, wondering how James got him to do that.

“No, myself.”

I blinked. Doug kept surprising me. Had I misjudged him so badly?

“He would have killed that man,” Rowan continued. “And probably the others, too.”

“James? No.”

Rowan took a step closer. “Yes.”

Doug frowned, glancing toward the door where the other agents were gathered. They didn't look as antsy as their trigger-happy coworker, but they were all watching the sarcophagus. They didn't have to wait long.

James hopped out the sarcophagus as easily as he climbed into it, then walked over to us. “It was them.”

“How do you know?” Waylon asked.

James touched the side of his nose. “Scent.”

Waylon's brows rose. “Seriously?”

James regarded him with a cool stare.

“That's not going to hold up in court.”

“You're certain it was them?” Doug asked James.

“Yes.”

“Do your brothers make it a habit of shooting dead men?”

“What?”

“The quarrels were shot into the victims postmortem.”

“So he claims.” Agent Bruner walked over. “But he has no theory how these three men died in rapid succession.”

“Cause of death is a mystery. Perhaps it was something chemical.” Doug's gaze met mine before he turned back to Waylon. “But I can tell you that the crowbars and jack were never used.”

“And how would you know that?” Agent Bruner asked.

“There's stone dust on their hands and beneath their nails. I suspect you'll find their tools clean and no scratches on the sarcophagus lid. You should find their fingerprints instead.”

“Are you suggesting they lifted the lid by hand? Why?”

“They were commanded to.” Doug answered. “They were blood animated. I feel the lingering necromancy. This also means they've been dead longer than they appear.”

“Because necro blood prevents rot,” I said, remembering what Elysia told me.

Doug nodded, then addressed Waylon. “Time of death will be difficult to pinpoint, but I would estimate at least a month.”

“A month? No way,” Agent Bruner said.

“As Addie said, necromancer blood delays rot. You're just going to have to take my word on it.”

Agent Bruner frowned, but didn't comment. I suspected he didn't like being shown up, but he was smart enough to realize that Doug could offer some valuable insights he would have missed.

“But why the charade?” Waylon asked.

“I don't think it started out as one,” I said. “These men came here to pay back Ian and me for sending them to jail.”

“Idiots,” James growled the word. “Ian would have just played with them.”

“And Addie?” Waylon's sharp gaze settled on me.

“I can defend myself.” I waved away the comment, relieved that Waylon looked more amused than suspicious. “Anyway, these guys were interrupted by a necromancer.”

“Neil?” James asked. “He's the one who showed Gavin this place.”

“A month ago, Neil couldn't have commanded these men to remove the lid,” Doug said.

“Why not?” Waylon asked. “Neil is a necromancer as well as an alchemist, right?”

“Neil was stunted,” I said. “He couldn't touch his magic until he took the Final Formula—on the first day of spring.” Neil had also given Alexander the Formula, but I didn't go into that.

“Then who animated these men?” Waylon asked.

I frowned at the three dead men. Why had it been staged to make us think George and Henry killed them?

“Addie?” Rowan pulled my attention to him. “What are you thinking?”

“We need to determine how these men died.” I turned to Doug. “Was it something magical or…”

“Alchemical?” Doug offered. “How would you know if alchemy was used? You can't sense magic.”

His comment brought back my new memory of Neil saying nearly the same thing. Unlike Neil, Doug didn't smirk, but he clearly doubted me. The magical always doubted those without talent. It was moments like these that I fully understood the pride Waylon took in proving them wrong. I admired his determination, but I also knew he carried it too far.

“Would you let us help you?” I asked Waylon. “Let Doug autopsy these guys? Let me study the toxicology reports and other lab findings?”

Agent Bruner cleared his throat. “There are regulations. We can't let anyone come in off the street and expect our findings to hold up in court.”

“I am licensed,” Doug said. “You're welcome to verify it.”

“And I'm not going to be running any tests,” I said. “I just want to review the findings. Consider me a consultant, an expert in the field of alchemy. Unfortunately, I don't have a license, but I can show you my tattoos.”

Doug snorted, but Agent Bruner didn't look convinced. “Director?”

Waylon studied us, a frown creasing his brow. “All right. Dr. Nelson may
observe
the autopsies, and you may consult on our lab findings, Miss Daulton.”

“Can I observe in the lab, too?” I asked. If the technician was agreeable, I could make sure any alchemical evidence was preserved.

“On the condition that you only watch.” The corner of Waylon's mouth twisted upward. “I believe you set off the sprinklers last time you were there.”

“Hey. You know that wasn't my fault.”

“Perhaps, but it is my understanding that it is a valid concern.” Waylon glanced at Rowan, his smile larger.

“Did you rat me out?” I asked Rowan.

“No. Your reputation precedes you.”

 

The PIA's lab technician handed
me the printout, and I dropped onto the nearest stool to examine the report.

“I assume you know how to read that?” he asked.

“Yes. I was a chemist before I became an alchemist.” I knew that was true even though I had no specific memories of those days. Just as I didn't remember learning to read one of these printouts. That didn't stop me from understanding what I saw.

“Find something?” Rowan had stopped a few feet into the room and gave me a smile when I looked up.

“No, nothing.” I frowned at the form I held. “No evidence of alchemy.”

“What about something more mundane, like a poison?”

“I don't see anything I recognize, but when the body breaks it down, there may be byproducts I'm unaware of. I need to ask Doug.” I turned to the technician and held up the printout. “Can I keep a copy of this?”

“The director said I should give you whatever you want.”

“How about the infrared spectrometer?” I nodded at the instrument.

The man laughed. “I don't think that's what the director had in mind.”

“Do you need one?” Rowan asked me.

“If I said yes, would you buy me one?”

“Of course.”

I gave the technician a grin. “And most girls can only expect flowers and chocolates.”

“Most girls wouldn't be turned on by lab instrumentation,” Rowan said.

“Shows what they know.”

The technician smiled at our banter, giving Rowan a glance when he wasn't looking. The newspapers had made a big deal about me being the Flame Lord's girlfriend, so the guy probably suspected who Rowan was. But he wouldn't be working here without the proper clearance, so I wasn't overly concerned.

The door opened and Waylon walked in. “How are things progressing up here?”

I waved the sheet of paper. “Nothing alchemical.”

“So much for a lead there.” Waylon turned to the technician. “Thanks for staying over, Thomas.”

“All part of the job, sir. And getting to watch Miss Daulton work was…enlightening. I didn't expect her to be a scientist.”

Waylon cleared his throat. “Watching her work?”

“Just a demonstration,” I said quickly. “I didn't blow up anything, and I didn't tamper with evidence. Mr. Thomas here,” I gestured at the technician, “didn't believe.”

He stuffed his hands in his lab coat pockets and shrugged. “It all sounded pretty incredible. Now I wonder.”

“Oh, I can bottle magic. I can even teach you to.”

“But I'm not magical.”

“Neither am I.”

He fell silent, seeming to consider that.

“How's Doug progressing?” Rowan asked Waylon.

“I was on my way to check. Care to join me?”

“Are you done here?” Rowan asked me.

“Yes.” I exchanged a handshake with the technician, thanking him for his help.

“If you do get that alchemy course up, I might have to check that out,” he said, referring to the proposed curriculum the University of Cincinnati had approached me about.

“I hope so.” I gave him a final farewell, and followed Rowan and Waylon from the room.

“It seems you have done a lot to turn alchemy's reputation around,” Waylon said to me.

“That is the goal.”

Rowan didn't look over, but I caught his smile. We had come a long way since the days when he thought me just another power-hungry Alchemica alchemist.

Doug was stripping off his gloves when we entered the room. He was deep in conversation with Agent Bruner and both of them wore white lab coats over a set of scrubs. Had Doug been allowed to do more than observe?

“Have you finished?” Waylon asked them.

“For now,” Bruner said. “We'll have to see what the lab finds, but Dr. Nelson was right. None of the men were killed by the quarrel. They were already dead when they were shot. I should have considered it by the lack of bruising and bleeding.”

“Most of the bleeding would have pooled in the skull with the victims on their backs,” Doug said. “I wouldn't have noticed at the scene if I hadn't picked up on the necromancy.”

I was pleased to see that the pair had made up. Judging by Waylon's smile, he was pleased, too.

“We did swab their mouths and sent that off in hopes of identifying the necromancer's blood,” Bruner said.

“Excellent.” Waylon gave him a single nod. “We may deal with the magical, but only hard evidence stands up in court. It's the great irony of my job.”

Doug's brows rose, and I suspected he had never considered the trials of Waylon's position. His vibrant blue eyes shifted to me. “How about you? Find any hard evidence?”

I handed Doug my printout. “No alchemy. Do you see anything? Byproducts of a poison, or…”

Doug studied the sheet for a moment. “Hey, Bruner, look at this.” He pointed at a line on the report when Bruner joined him. “I think we can rule out a gas.”

“What gas?” I asked.

“These men suffocated,” Bruner said. “But we found no evidence of strangulation. I thought the perpetrator might have used an asphyxiant, but there's no evidence of that here.”

“A shame,” Doug said. “It was a good theory.” He frowned at the bodies laid out on the three tables. All were covered with sheets, leaving only their upper halves exposed.

Someone knocked and I looked up, then blinked in surprise. Ian stood on the threshold of the open door.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I—”

“Ian.” I hurried to him. “Where have you been?”