The Final Formula (12 page)

“Boy? You’ve got what, a couple of months on him?” Rowan returned to the prior topic of my age.

I took a sip from my glass.

“I’ve been wondering how someone barely out of high school could rack up nine bands.” He glanced at my upper arms where my tattoos should be. “I understood it took decades.”

“I’m a prodigy?”

“You sound uncertain.”

“No, that would be annoyed.”

He leaned up and braced his elbows on the table once more. “And why is that?”

“You already know too much about me,” I turned his previous words back on him.

He caught my jest and that smirk appeared. “I don’t know how you dance.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dance with me.”

“I…”

“No respect for the courage it took me to ask?”

“Please. You do not lack the courage.”

“Then shall we show the children that we’re not the fuddy-duddies you claim?”

Hearing Rowan use such a term made me laugh. I couldn’t help it, though I suspected the three drinks had something to do with it.

He grinned and got to his feet. “Come on, alchemist, or do you lack the courage to try something new?”

“How do you know this is new?” I didn’t know that.

“Just a guess.”

I frowned, annoyed that he’d think me so unworldly—even if I was.

“Is this all part of your master plan? Take my vials, get me drunk, and have me make a fool of myself. Vengeance is yours.”

“If I wanted to get you back, it wouldn’t be like that.”

“Yeah. Way too complicated for you.”

“Wow, you must really be afraid if you have to resort to insults.”

“I’m not afraid.”

He held out a hand. “Prove it.”

“Fine.” I took his hand. He’d intentionally goaded me into this. I knew it, and I’d given in anyway. Bizarre. He pulled me to my feet and my head spun.

“Careful,” Rowan said and put a hand on my hip to steady me. “Maybe you should have stopped at two.”

“You’ve had at least as many, and I suspect yours were stronger.” I had no idea why I argued that point.

“I’m a lot bigger than you.” He probably thought he could get the better of me now that I was a little tipsy. His hand moved to the small of my back and steered me toward the dance floor.

All right, no more alcohol. I’d been denied my alchemical protection; I couldn’t let my mental abilities be impaired as well.

Lost in my musings, I didn’t notice that we’d reached the dance floor until Rowan stopped. “Oh God. I’m going to need another drink.”

Rowan chuckled, took my hand and pulled me out among the gyrating bodies.

This couldn’t be happening. Me, dancing at a nightclub with an Element. The Flame Lord, no less. Maybe this was all a bizarre dream. Or maybe I still lay in the ashes of the Alchemica, my mind turned to mush.

It wasn’t hard to feel the music. The thumping techno beat vibrated the floor beneath my feet, and all I had to do was move with it. I might have been premature in praising James’s dancing skill. In his own way, Rowan moved just as well. Bastard. I had yet to discover something he couldn’t do.

The crowd parted and suddenly James joined us with Tasha tow. He grinned at me, and I gave him a wink. “Having fun?” he leaned over to ask.

“Can’t you tell?”

James laughed at the obvious sarcasm and danced beside me. Tasha stared at him in wide-eyed wonder. Normally, I would have been more critical of the skimpy outfit she wore, but I was firmly ensconced in my house of glass, so I kept my opinion to myself.

A crowd of Tasha’s friends joined us, and before long, I found myself dancing with people I didn’t even know. Strange men danced close, light touches and smiles among the heat and moving bodies. I looked around, trying to find James, but my height put me at a disadvantage.

Hands settled on my hips and a male body pressed against my back. Laughing, I glanced over my shoulder and met familiar gray eyes rather than the green I expected. Rowan grinned at my surprise, but I refused to let him intimidate me. Instead, I leaned back and continued to dance, my movements now in sync with his. I expected a few beats of dirty dancing. I didn’t expect his hands to slide down over my lower stomach and press me tight against him.

“Rowan!” I forced a laugh and stepped away before turning to face him. He grinned and continued to dance. Amused, I shook my head and joined him. Yep, the Flame Lord had an ornery streak.

Rowan closed the distance between us and pulled me into something like a waltz. I laughed at how ridiculous we must look.

“You’re showing your age,” I told him.

“Am I?” He pulled me closer like the couples around us. “Is this better?”

How to answer that? Pressed so close, I couldn’t help but notice the muscle beneath the black silk, or the way his warm hands slid over the bare skin of my back. I glanced up and found him watching me. His gray eyes were hooded, but I still caught a glimpse of burning orange around his pupils. Was the room so warm from the press of dancing bodies or something a little more Elemental?

He leaned down. “You’re thinking again.” His lips brushed my ear as he spoke, and hot as I was, chill bumps rose. “What about?”

I needed a reprieve. Distance. Time. Something. “I’m thirsty,” I blurted.

“I can fix that.” He slid an arm behind my back and guided me through the press to the bar. I guess I wasn’t going to get the distance. Maybe I should have said I needed to use the restroom.

We worked our way through the crowd, and I slipped into a slim gap at one end of the bar. Rowan stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders. It wasn’t like I blocked his view—he could almost rest his chin on the top of my head if he wished.

The barmaid standing closest to us looked up from the drink she was mixing and gave Rowan a smile. “Back again? What’ll it be?”

While he ordered, I caught the dark looks from several patrons who’d been waiting longer. Oddly, no one said anything. Curious, I turned to look at Rowan.

“What?” he asked. Dark brows rose over those unusual gray eyes. What was it about this man that commanded such instant respect from everyone? Well, everyone but me.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Get your way all the time. No waiting in line outside. No waiting at the bar.”

“I tip well.”

I frowned. “No.”

He propped a foot on the rail beside my ankles. “Yes.” His hand found my waist again, his warm palm sliding around to the bare skin of my back. “How do you get your skin so soft? An alchemical secret?”

The question threw me. “Are you coming on to me?”

“You just noticed?”

Whoa. “I’m an alchemist, remember?” I lowered my voice. “Your sworn enemy.”

“I don’t believe I swore anything of the sort.”

“You drunk?”

“Buzzing pleasantly.” His hand rose to my cheek. “You?”

Warmth crept up my neck, though the brush of his fingers made me want to shiver. “The same.”

“I remember kissing you in the kitchen. I liked it.” He watched my mouth as he spoke.

“Are you going to kiss me again?”

His eyes rose to mine. “Will you expect another glass if I do?”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

He chuckled and I could feel the rumble beneath the hand I’d placed on his chest—whether to push him away or not, I hadn’t decided.

“You’re not afraid of me at all, are you?” he asked.

“Nope.”

He leaned over to my ear. “I’ve been known to lose my temper and ignite things I shouldn’t.”

Ah, a little insight into his burn phobia. “I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered.

He moved back enough so I could focus on his face. Orange encircled his pupils again, but it was such a slim line, I doubted it was visible to those around us. I wondered why he kept doing that. I considered asking, but before I could, he leaned in and covered my mouth with his.

My hands fisted in his shirt, but I didn’t push him away. Instead, I kissed him back, parting my lips to let him in. The faint scent of his cologne took me back to our first meeting, and I discovered that I remembered the particulars very well. Unfortunately, my mind hadn’t exaggerated his skill.

I pulled back and he did the same. “Your eyes are glowing,” I whispered.

“I’m hot.”

I snorted. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”

He grinned and his eyelids lowered over his blazing eyes. His full lips were damp and flushed from our kiss, and I wanted to kiss him again.

What was wrong with me? I pushed him back, but he caught my wrist.

“Addie?”

“I need to visit the ladies’ room.”

He frowned. “No, you’re running.”

“I’ve had too much to drink. Let me go.”

He studied me a moment longer and then released my wrist. I hurried away and didn’t look back.

I spent more time than
necessary in the restroom trying to regain my composure, or at least sober up. No more alcohol. Dear God, I’d kissed Rowan—again. He might be attractive, but shouldn’t I at least like the guy before sticking my tongue in his mouth?

I remembered those glowing eyes and shivered. Apparently, they didn’t only glow when he lit fires—unless you counted the one he lit in me. Damn it. I hadn’t even told him about the vials I’d seen around the club. I’d come here for a reason, and making out with Rowan wasn’t it. I needed to go find James. His common sense would straighten me out.

My goal in mind, I left my refuge and walked out into the dimly lit hall. The ladies’ room and men’s room lay at opposite ends of a corridor that was bisected by an opening back to the club. An exit sign glowed over a door across from the opening, casting a red haze over the area. I’d nearly reached the entrance to the club when a man stepped into the hall, but he didn’t head toward the men’s room. Glancing over his shoulder, he hit the release bar on the exit door and stepped outside. Light spilled across his face for a moment, catching on his blond hair.

I stopped where I stood and watched the door begin to swing closed. At the last instant, I hurried forward and followed the man outside. I’d recognized him, and for a girl with no memory, a familiar face was not something to be ignored.

A well-lit parking lot greeted me. The man hurried away along the back wall of the club, but glanced over his shoulder when the door slammed shut. He stumbled when he saw me. Memories surged, but the young man before me didn’t match the image of the sixty-year-old man from my memories.

“Emil?” My voice was little more than a whisper, but he stopped and stared. He slipped a hand behind his back and I tensed. “Grand Master, it’s me,” I said a little louder. I hoped he knew who I was—that’d make one of us.

“It can’t be,” he said.

My doubts vanished. That wonderfully familiar voice set off a volley of images ricocheting through my skull. The lab and years of experiments with one familiar figure running through them all. An older man with graying blond hair.

“Emil,” I whispered, lost in the memories.

Hands gripped my shoulders. I blinked and looked up into his familiar face. Or was it? How was it possible that we looked the same age? His shocked expression matched my own, and then his brow wrinkled in what looked like apprehension.

I gripped his wrists while he held my shoulders. “Tell me you know me. Or did they get you, too?”

“Get me?”

“I remember nothing before the night the Alchemica burned. Nothing except alchemy.”

The youthful face of my mentor frowned. “Nothing?”

I shook my head. “What happened? I thought you were dead.” Tears slid down my cheeks, but I ignored them. “Please tell me you know me.”

A familiar smile—minus the lines at the corners—curled his lips. “Of course, I know you.” His hands rose to cup my face. “I thought
you
were dead.”

“Not dead, lost.” I cried in earnest now. “So lost.”

He opened his mouth to answer when a crash sounded behind us. I spun and instinctively reached behind my waistband for the potions that weren’t there. Damn it, Rowan.

Smoke suddenly billowed around me, and I dropped into a crouch. Fingers brushed my shoulder before slipping away. I opened my mouth to call out to Emil and pulled in a lung full of smoke. It wasn’t smoke; it was Knockout Gas. And thanks to Rowan, I didn’t have the antidote on me. Had Emil thrown the grenade in our defense? If so, he’d gotten the ratio of powder to propellant just right. I smiled and my world went dark.

Chapter
12

I
woke choking on ammonia fumes.
My eyes flew open and focused on a hand holding a slim vial inches from my face. Smelling salts. I jerked back and smacked my head on the wall behind me.

The man with the salts squatted beside the cot I lay on, but rose to his feet as I sat up.

“Who are you?” I rubbed the back of my head, squinting up at him in the low light.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he capped the vial and set it on the table beside my narrow bed before moving toward the door on the far wall.

I lowered my arm and caught a glimpse of the black bands encircling my biceps. I’d been out at least three hours if the concealing cream had worn off. James and Rowan had lost me.

The man reached the door and flipped the light switch. Bright florescent light replaced the dim emergency glow. Squinting, I glanced around the small windowless room. It was little more than a closet with nondescript beige walls and matching commercial-grade carpet. A second cot sat against the opposite wall, the small table between. I hadn’t a clue where I was.

“It really is you,” the man said, drawing my attention back to him.

Something about his voice stirred my memory, but it didn’t set off the disorienting ricochet that seeing Emil had. I looked him over, trying to link the familiar voice with the man before me. Gray colored his brown hair at the temples and a slight paunch beneath the open sport coat marked him as middle-aged. An average looking guy of average height. I wouldn’t have looked twice if we’d passed on the street.

“You know me?” I got to my feet.

Dark brows descended over brown eyes, and he closed the distance between us. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

I stepped back, uncertain of his intentions. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand.” His eyes dropped to the tattoos encircling my arms and he frowned. “You insult me, Amelia.”

I started to respond and stopped. “Who?”

“Me. You insult me. Why—”

“No, I meant, what name did you call me?”

He crossed his arms and pursed his lips as he seemed to contemplate whether to answer.

“Amelia was it?” The name didn’t trigger any memories. “I think you have the wrong person.”

He barked a short laugh. “Do you really think I’d fall for that? I’ve known you since you were twenty-three.”

Twenty-three? I didn’t look much older than that now, but even a short-term acquaintance wasn’t something I could ignore. I took a step closer before I thought better of it. “Who am I?”

He snorted. “Testing me, I see. Okay, I’ll play along. You’re Amelia Daulton, master alchemist and according to Emil, his most promising protégé.” He spoke the last words in an accurate mimic of Emil’s voice. So accurate that I had to grip the table as the déjà vu made my head spin.

When I blinked my eyes back into focus, he was frowning at me.

“Who
are
you?” I asked.

He studied me for one long moment, his countenance no longer amused. “Why the—”

“Who are you?” I repeated with more force.

“Neil Dunstan.”

Neil. Another wave of déjà vu washed over me, but oddly, no memories surfaced.

“Amelia?” He gripped my shoulders.

“I don’t remember,” I admitted.

“Don’t remember what?”

“You. Me. Anything. Nothing before the night the Alchemica burned. Nothing except alchemy.”

“Are you serious?” Neil straightened, his arms falling to his sides.

“Very. So you can stop acting all pissy because I don’t remember you.”

The door opened, and we both turned to face the newcomer.

“What’s taking so long? You were supposed to revive her and bring her to me.” Agent Lawson stepped into the room.

“You.” I fisted my hands as his gaze settled on me. He’d set me up, used me to try to catch Emil. It occurred to me that when he’d come to the gun shop, he’d been looking for a man. It’d been Emil all along. I didn’t know what part Neil had played, but I wasn’t about to stand around and find out.

I snatched up the vial of smelling salts and pulled off the cap in the same motion. An irritant, the weak solution of ammonium carbonate wouldn’t do much…unless it connected with something sensitive. I slung the contents in Lawson’s face and bolted for the door. Neil didn’t try to stop me.

The same shade of beige colored the hall outside my room, but the worn commercial-grade carpet was a few shades darker. Definitely an office building of some sort, and judging by the elevator at one end, a multi-story building. Perhaps downtown? I didn’t stop to figure it out, but sprinted down the corridor—or tried to in my heeled boots and tight skirt. I didn’t have time to wait on an elevator. I needed the stairs.

The smell of coffee wafted out of a small break room on my right. A man and a woman stood before a vending machine and looked up as I ran past.

Footsteps thumped on the carpeted hall behind me, but I didn’t turn to see who it was. Perhaps Neil had decided to come after me, or maybe it was the man or woman from the break room. It wouldn’t be Lawson. An ammonia solution to the face should take him out for a bit.

The elevator dinged and slid open. I skidded to a halt and gasped as James stepped off the car, followed by a pair of robed Elements: Rowan and Donovan.

“Addie!” James leapt across the space separating us and pulled me into a painfully tight embrace.

“Freeze,” a voice said from behind us.

I looked back and my jaw dropped open. Lawson stood only feet away. Liquid coated his cheeks, but he didn’t even blink as he trained the gun on me. I must have missed his eyes.

James’s unnatural snarl coated my skin in gooseflesh.

“James, wait,” Rowan said.

Without warning, James released me and sprang forward.

I reached for him. “Don’t—”

The report of the gun deafened me in the enclosed space.

“James!”

He rocked back with the impact, but didn’t go down.

“Shit!” Lawson scrambled back, raising his gun once more.

Gray robes filled my peripheral vision to either side.

“The gun,” Rowan said.

“I got it,” Donovan answered. Neither sounded that excited.

Lawson pulled the trigger and the gun clinked. He tried again and again, backing away when James took an unsteady step toward him, then another.

“James.” A note of admonishment entered Rowan’s tone.

Without warning, James sprang and caught Lawson by the throat, slamming him against the wall. With one arm, James held him off the floor.

“She was in your line of fire.” His words were a barely intelligible snarl.

Lawson choked, unable to respond. His gun clattered to the floor as he used both hands to cling to James’s wrist.

The people from the break room charged forward, guns leveled on James. More agents? Suddenly their weapons went up in a white-hot blaze of light.

“Enough!” Rowan shouted. “James, release him.”

I belatedly realized that James still held Lawson. I couldn’t let him strangle the guy. I stepped forward and gripped James by the forearm. “It’s okay. Let him go.”

James didn’t respond, though he’d quit snarling. His breath wheezed in and out, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“James, please.” I tugged at his arm.

He finally relented, and Lawson slid to the floor at our feet. I pushed James back a few paces to give Lawson some air. James continued to glare at the downed agent, eyes at full glow, but he wrapped an arm around his ribs. A hole marred his shirt on the lower left side of his chest. Through the rent in the fabric, I could see the wound the bullet had left in his flesh. The lack of blood unsettled me. If someone opened fire on a wax manikin, I imagined it would look the same.

“What’s the meaning of this, Your Grace?” An older man in a gray suit had joined us, several more men and women following.

“Director.” Rowan dipped his hooded head in the man’s direction, confirming my suspicions that these were the PIA offices. “I came to collect what was taken from me.” To my surprise, his hand came to rest on my shoulder. “She was under my protection. My personal protection.”

“But she’s an alchemist. She’s human.” The director’s agents gathered behind him, but no one pulled a weapon—or spoke.

“She’s mine.” Rowan’s tone left no room for argument. His statement grated, but I didn’t want to argue while we had a PIA audience. I’d save it for later.

The director glanced between us. “I didn’t know,” he finally said.

Nice. It seemed that the director of the PIA, the man who kept order among the magical, caved to Rowan’s will as quickly as the next man.

“Bill me for the guns.” Rowan turned away.

“And the burns?” Waylon asked.

“There aren’t any.” Rowan turned back toward the elevator and Donovan joined him. James and I hurried to follow. I remembered the time Rowan had incinerated a gun James held. It hadn’t burned him, but I credited that to James’s natural immunity to fire. I guess that wasn’t the case. I’d have to ask how that worked sometime.

“Wait,” Director Waylon stopped us. “There’s still the matter of the formula—”

I turned to face him. “What formula?”

“The Final Formula.”

“What?”

“We believe your Grand Master may have found the Final Formula.”

I remembered Emil’s youthful face and a wave of despair washed over me. I braced a hand against the elevator doorframe. He’d beaten me to it. Emil had found the Final Formula first. My life’s work. The culmination of—

“No,” I whispered. The sound of my own voice brought me back. I shook my head trying to dispel the foreign emotion. Where had that come from?

“Addie?” Rowan stepped up behind me.

The surge of disappointment faded, the emotion so distant it seemed to belong to someone else. Goosebumps rose on my arms. Had I connected to the person I once was? Rowan claimed that all Alchemica alchemists were obsessed with finding the Final Formula. Maybe he was right.

“Your Grand Master didn’t discover the Final Formula?” the director asked.

“I—”

A thump sounded, and I looked back to find James slumped in the corner of the elevator.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Miss Daulton,” the director said.

“Your agent shot my friend. He needs medical attention.” I stepped back onto the elevator. “You know where to find me.”

The director frowned, but didn’t argue. The elevator door slid closed between us.

I moved to James’s side.

“Hey.” I gripped his arm. “How bad is it?”

“I’ll be okay,” he breathed.

“Your Grand Master?” Rowan leaned against the wall beside the control panel, his face in shadow beneath his hood.

“He’s alive.” I turned to smile up at James. “Emil’s alive. I saw him outside the club. The PIA gassed us, but he got away.”

“He abandoned you?” Rowan asked.

I rounded on him. “He probably expected me to have the Knockout Gas antidote—like any alchemist would—but some asshole took my vials and left me defenseless.”

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Without a word, Rowan exited. I followed, still fuming.

“Amelia?” Neil waited not far away. He must have run down the stairs to catch us. He walked over and offered me a manila folder. “Your file. Or as much as they’d share with me.”

I studied it a moment before plucking it from Neil’s hand. “Why give me this?”

He leaned closer to whisper, “It might help you remember—and then you’ll know why.”

“That’s cryptic as hell.”

He smiled and handed me a business card. “Should you need to reach me.” He nodded to the others. “Gentlemen.” Without another word, he stepped onto the elevator and the doors slid closed.

“Amelia?” Rowan prompted.

“That’s who they think I am.” I held up the folder.

He hesitated, then turned toward the lobby doors. “You can explain in the car.”

It was then that I noticed the silence in the lobby. At least a dozen people were standing around the large room. All were staring at us.

Donovan held the door and we followed Rowan outside. A flash of light exploded in my face, then another. It took me a second to realize that it was a camera. More flashes followed us down the steps to the waiting limo.

“Your Grace!”

“Your Grace!”

A couple of reporters clamored for Rowan’s attention, then they saw me. With my bare arms in clear view, it didn’t take long before the words Alchemica alchemist were on their lips. Rowan didn’t slow until he reached the car. He stood to the side while we entered, and climbed in last. He never did answer the reporters.

“Must be a slow news day,” I muttered.

“It’s always like this when we show up at the PIA offices in the limo and robes,” Donovan said. “I suspect the doorman tips off the media.”

I sat beside James, and Rowan and Donovan took the seat across from us. The white leather seats and gray carpet gave the small space an expansive feel.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” I asked James.

“I need to change,” he answered in an airy whisper.

“Can you do it here?”

“Not enough room.”

“We’ll be at the office in ten minutes,” Rowan said. He leaned his head back, but didn’t bother to lower the hood. The sunlight filtering through the tinted windows illuminated his unshaven lower face. His lips pressed together in a thin line before he spoke. “I’m very disappointed in you, James. You might have damaged my relationship with the PIA.” He sounded more tired than angry.

James didn’t immediately respond. When I opened my mouth to argue his case, James gripped my arm. “Addie was between us.” James’s words came out soft and pained. “When he drew his weapon—”

“No,” Rowan cut him off. “I asked you to wait and you didn’t. You frightened him, and he recognized you for the predator you are. The fault wasn’t his.” Rowan leaned up and the hood slid back off his head. He looked like a man who’d been up all night. His pale skin emphasized the dark circles under his eyes. “You make the rest of us look bad.”

“But I’m not yours. I’m…Old Magic.”

Rowan leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “You’re mine.”

James bowed his head. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”