The Blood Alchemist (The Final Formula Series, Book 2) (25 page)

“That was a controlled explosion?” James asked.

“Are you suggesting it wasn’t?”

James snorted and rose to his feet. “We need to move before the whole place burns down.”

“Rowan.” I stood beside James, eyeing the flames. The edges of the hole were burning heartily, leaving a shifting gap for us to pass through. Worse, the stairs were gone. A six-foot earthen wall rose where the stairs had been.

James snugged the tarp around my shoulders.

“What are—” I didn’t get to finish as he turned his back toward me, squatting a little.

“Get on,” he said.

“Won’t that make it harder for you—”

“No. I can do it. The iron hinders me, but I’m still more than human.”

I decided not to argue and climbed on his back. He passed me the chain with its cumbersome hasp that still dangled from his collar. I wrapped it around my own shoulders to keep it out of the way.

“Hang on,” he said.

I did as he asked then sucked in a breath as he sprinted toward the flames. I’d seen him vault an eight-foot fence before, maybe…

He jumped, but between my added weight and the iron, he only caught the lip of the hole.

The flames crackled around us, the heat so intense it stole my breath. Using the strength of his arms, he pulled us up until his chest was level with the top of the hole.

“Climb off.” He was breathing heavy, and the muscles of his arms stood out in sharp relief as he clung to the earthen wall.

I gripped his shoulders and struggled to do as told, using his body as a ladder. My waist was even with his head when I suddenly couldn’t move any further. The chain I’d wrapped around my shoulders had become entangled with the hasp.

Unable to move my upper body higher and not able to reach back to untangle the chain, I swung a leg to the side. My bare foot caught the lip of the hole, and I pulled my lower body up beside it while the flames crackled around us.

Suddenly the earthen wall gave. I lost my foothold and fell back against James. He grunted, sliding back several inches. We dangled over what was left of the stairs burning merrily below.

“Addie!” James’s gasp became a cough as smoke and flame enveloped us.

I swung my leg to the side again, a little further this time, and caught the lip of the hole. I twisted and wiggled, and finally managed to get my other leg beside the first. The ground held, and I pushed myself up on my hands and knees so I could untangle the chain.

Once free, I threw myself back from the hole. Choking, I doubled over, trying to get control of my lungs. I needed to get back in there and help James climb up, but I couldn’t quit coughing. The flames at my back grew hotter and hotter.

Hands gripped my shoulders and the tarp was jerked away. I straightened, turning to face my attacker only to find James standing behind me. He hurled the flaming tarp aside and without a word, pulled me into a hug. His skin was hot and streaked with soot, but no worse than my own.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a moment.

I’d finally stopped coughing. “Yes. Sorry.” I forced my raw throat to swallow and stepped back. “The chain got tangled.”

He frowned, not looking all that reassured.

I glanced up at the cabin, noting with alarm how fast the flames were spreading.

“Come on. We have to find Rowan.”

The back door was only a short distance from the burning hole I’d blown in the cabin.

“Let’s try the front door.” I started in that direction, but James stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

“My brothers. Stay alert.” He stepped around me and led the way toward the front of the house. He held the chain in one hand, the hasp dangling a good foot below his fist. It would make a decent flail. I wondered if he’d use it.

We circled the house and made it to the small porch without incident. George’s big 4x4 still sat in the drive—or rather, the twin ruts that served as a drive.

James gripped the doorknob. It turned beneath his hand and he pushed the door open.

I tensed, half expecting an attack, but none came. The cabin was silent.

A trickle of smoke escaped along the upper edge of the doorframe. Damn, the fire was spreading fast.

“Stay low,” James whispered and started forward.

I bent over and followed him. The smoke was thin, but the flickering light of the flames was visible through the kitchen doorway that led toward the back of the house.

Little light reached the hall, and with both bedroom doors shut, the darkness grew more complete as we moved along.

James stopped and I stumbled into him. With a hand on his back and the wall, I managed to right myself. That’s when I heard a moan…and noticed the smell.

“It’s Brian,” James whispered.

It seemed my mixture had overcome the power of James’s blood. His brother reeked of vomit and shit.

“I can’t leave him here, Addie.”

I sighed as best I could without taking too deep a breath. I couldn’t ask him to.

“Drag him outside,” I whispered. “I’ll go to Rowan. Meet me there when you get him clear.”

“Be careful.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Thank you.”

I patted his hand, then listened to him drag Brian away. He knew what his brothers were, and yet he couldn’t leave them to be burned alive. They didn’t deserve his compassion.

I trailed my fingers along the wall, but it was only a short distance to Rowan’s door. Sliding my fingers along the varnished surface, I found the knob. It turned beneath my hand, but when I tried to push it open, it moved only a fraction of an inch and stopped. Was the frame warped, causing the door to stick?

I stepped back and threw my shoulder against it. Nothing. I tried again, harder this time, and gained nothing but a bruise. But something metallic rattled above my head. I reached up and found a hasp with a padlock. That was new. The hasp was crooked and two of the four screws weren’t flush with the metal surface, as if it had been hastily installed.

I smiled. Even without his magic, Rowan was still a handful.

I turned and opened the door to the lab. If I could find a screwdriver, I could remove the hasp. The lab was on the back of the house and light from the fire flickered through the back windows. I ran to the nearest counter and began pulling out drawers at random. In the third one, I found a screwdriver.

“You bitch!” Hands caught my shoulders and whipped me around before the words could even register.

I found myself face to face with Henry. On instinct, I jabbed the screwdriver at his eyes.

He moved with those uncanny reflexes James displayed and swatted my hand aside. Instead of taking out an eye, I only managed to scratch his palm, but I was able to hold onto my makeshift weapon.

I wasn’t as quick, and he backhanded me hard enough to throw me into the counter. I took a kidney shot from the open drawer, but managed to keep my feet beneath me.

Henry fisted his hand around the scratch on his palm. “That’s the second time you’ve made me bleed.” He unclenched his hand and jerked his Bowie knife from his hip. “Your turn.”

I gripped my screwdriver tighter, glancing around for a more suitable weapon. In the back of my mind, I knew it was pointless. No way in hell I could go hand to hand with him. To have a hope of surviving this, I needed a potion.

Henry took a step toward me, the firelight shining through the windows caught on his blade. He treated that knife better than the women he dated, and I didn’t doubt that it had been honed to a wicked sharp edge.

“Where shall I cut first?” He took another step, then abruptly doubled over and started to retch.

Judging by the smell and the stains on his shirt, he was no better off than Brian.

A smile curled my lips. Maybe that said something about me, but I didn’t care. If I could give these bastards a fraction of the pain they’d given James over the years, it was worth a little more dirt on my soul.

Henry straightened and glared at me. “What the fuck did you give us?”

“It wasn’t a secret. I gave George my ingredient list.”

He lunged at me, leading with his knife.

I jumped back, but I hadn’t been ready and overbalanced myself. My feet shot out from under me, and I landed hard on my butt—which is probably what saved me. Henry slashed the air where I’d been, his momentum carrying him forward, face-first into the heavy metal hasp at the end of James’s chain.

Henry collapsed on the floor in front of me.

“What are you doing in here?” James asked. As always, James had entered the room without my awareness.

I got to my feet. “Rowan’s door is locked.”

James didn’t respond. He walked out into the hall and, with two running steps, slammed his shoulder against the door. Wood splintered and it popped open.

“I tried that,” I muttered, hurrying past him into the room. The smoke was thicker in the hall now, trickling into the back room.

The sun had set, but the evening light was enough to brighten the room, at least to my dark-adapted eyes.

“Addie?” Rowan said when I stepped into the room.

“Yes.” I circled an overturned armoire and the scattered contents from a chest of drawers, moving toward the bed. The mattress had been removed, leaving just the headboard and box spring. Rowan sat propped against the headboard. He had one hand free, but the other was bound to the bedpost.

I moved closer and gasped. Even knowing what to expect, the sight still made me queasy. They hadn’t bound him; they’d shot quarrels through his wrists. Blood trickled down the forearm he’d gotten free, but his range of motion was hampered by the quarrel through his shoulder. The other arm was pinned at biceps and wrist. One knee and the opposite ankle had been similarly tacked to the box spring beneath him, rust-colored stains discoloring the flowery fabric. But there were other stains on his clothing. How many quarrels had he pulled free only to have them shoot him again?

“Rowan.” I hurried to his side and carefully climbed up on the bed.

“I can’t get any leverage.” He spoke the words through gritted teeth. A sheen of sweat coated his face.

“James!” I called.

“Be right there.” His voice echoing in the hall. He must not have come in the room with me. He’d gone back for Henry.

“Leave that sick bastard where he lies and get in here,” I shouted.

Rowan flinched.

“Sorry.” I pulled his hand from the quarrel he was attempting to dislodge. “Wait.”

“Oh God,” James said from the end of the bed.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Rowan licked his dry lips and tried to smile.

“Just sit still. We’ll get you out of here.” I turned toward James. “We need to find a hacksaw or something—”

“Let me in there.”

I scooted back and climbed off the bed, letting James take my place. “What are you going to do?”

He gripped the quarrel embedded in Rowan’s shoulder.

“You’re going to pull it out? James, he’s most likely healed over it.”

“I’ll heal again,” Rowan said. “Do it.”

James rose up on his knees and braced his free hand on Rowan’s chest.

“Wait,” I said. “Let me get something to bind the wound.”

“No time,” James said. “The fire’s spreading fast.”

I glanced at the doorway, noting the smoke trickling in along the top of the jamb. James was right; we were running out of time.

“What’s on fire?” Rowan asked.

“The cabin.”

“Does this have something to do with the explosion earlier?”

“Yes.” James didn’t elaborate.

“What happened?”

“Addie found something flammable.”

“Ah.” Rowan didn’t seem surprised.

“Sorry, man,” James muttered, then jerked the first quarrel free with a grunt.

Rowan gasped and blood welled around the hole in his shirt. An older rust-colored stain already discolored the same area.

James worked quickly, focusing on the task rather than Rowan’s grunts of pain each time he pulled a quarrel free, ripping the skin open anew.

It felt like it took hours, but I suspected it wasn’t more than a few minutes. The worst were the quarrels through Rowan’s ankle and knee. I suspected the shooter had intentionally done that to damage the joint. Even if Rowan had gotten free, he couldn’t have gone far.

James slipped Rowan’s arm across his shoulders and helped him from the bed. I led the way to the door, noticing how much heavier the smoke was. Crouching, I stepped out into the hall. Flames now licked around the kitchen doorway.

“James, hurry. The fire’s spread to the hall.”

“What exactly did you blow up?” Rowan asked, the words muffled through clenched teeth.

“An old moonshine still.” James’s voice was strained.

“Save any of the ’shine?”

“No.”

“A shame.”

We reached the living room, and I almost tripped over Henry. James must have dragged him this far before I called him back.

I looked up and found James watching me.

“Go on.” I coughed in an attempt to clear my lungs and leaned down to grab Henry’s wrist. “I got the dumb bastard.”

James nodded and helped Rowan out the front door.

Gripping Henry’s wrist in both hands, I backed toward the door, dragging him across the hardwood floor. Had it been carpet, I probably wouldn’t have been able to budge him. I almost couldn’t move him now. Lugging two hundred pounds of dead weight around unfamiliar furnishings wouldn’t have been easy in the best of conditions. In a burning house with low visibility, it was nearly impossible.

My heel clunked against the edge of a chair, tripping me. I released Henry’s wrist and reached back to catch myself. Not a chair, a small end table. My elbow clipped a heavy wooden lamp. It tumbled off the table and landed on my toe.

“Damn!” My cry led to another coughing fit. I squatted beside the table and pulled my shirt over my nose. I patted around the floor, searching for Henry’s wrist. I found the leg of the table. He should be right—

A hand grabbed my ankle and I screamed. My foot was jerked from beneath me, and I fell back, landing on the lamp I’d just knocked to the floor.

“Bitch,” Henry whispered. His silhouette rose before me, backlit by the fire that had spread across the kitchen.

I rolled off the lamp, caught it by the cord, and slung it at Henry’s head. It connected with a satisfying thump, followed by the sound of Henry hitting the floor. Had I knocked him out?

Henry groaned.

Damn. He was still conscious—or partially. I scooted away from him, but couldn’t maintain my silence as another cough escaped.

“Addie!” James appeared beside me. Scooping me up off the floor, he carried me outside.

Once on the porch, he tried to hand me off to Rowan, but between coughs, I insisted I didn’t need help. We’d just pulled five quarrels from Rowan’s body, and though he tried to hide it, he could barely stand. I wasn’t going to let him help me to the truck. Instead, we hobbled along side-by-side while James went back for Henry.

Rowan slumped against the front fender and eyed the flames. “No homemade napalm this time?”

“The still was all I had handy.” I moved toward the door, determined to climb inside. My feet were already numb.

James emerged from the cabin, Henry slung over his shoulders. He carried him to where Brian lay on the frozen lawn and dropped him there.

“I need to find George.” James joined us by the truck.