Authors: Becca Andre
“I appreciate your attention to the matter,” Rowan said, his composure unbroken. “But I want to know why she did it.”
Xander snorted. “I doubt she knows why. Since Ethan died last year, she’s been worse than ever.”
Goosebumps rose on my arms. “Ethan?” That’s what she called the zombie she was with at the Alchemica.
Xander turned to me. “Her husband.”
“Oh.” Had the zombie been her deceased husband? I could feel Rowan watching me and suppressed a shiver.
A thump sounded from Douglas’s direction, and I glanced over before I could think better of it. The body on the table sat up on its own accord, its open torso not as empty as that of the zombie I’d met the night before.
Douglas looked up, his eyes meeting mine. His irises had faded to white, reminding me of Clarissa. Were white eyes a reflection of a necro using his gift? He shoved a gloved hand into the gaping hole in the man’s torso and began tugging out ropes of blue-gray intestines. He dropped them into the tray where they wiggled like snakes, unwilling to stay put. My stomach lurched and I jerked my eyes away. Cheeks warming, a knot rose in my throat. I had to get out of here.
“Oh, crap,” I said, drawing both Xander and Rowan’s attention. “I completely forgot. I need to make a call.” I turned to Rowan. “Can I use your phone?”
His brow wrinkled while he held my gaze, and then, to my shock, he wordlessly handed me his phone.
With fingers not exactly steady, I turned on the screen. “Damn, no signal,” I mumbled, not even seeing the screen. “Be right back.”
No one tried to stop me as I left the room, making my escape into the empty hall. The air seemed fresher here—and cooler. My entire body had broken out into a cold sweat. I stumbled away from the room and back up the hall. I’d find the stairwell and go back outside. Maybe sit on the curb beside Rowan’s car. I hated to appear weak in front of him, but better that than to pass out at the Deacon’s feet.
I reached the end of the hall and opened the door only to discover that it wasn’t the stairwell. In my confusion, I’d opened the door on the left rather than the right, but thoughts of stairs and curbs had left my mind. The room before me was a lab. An alchemy lab.
Chapter
20
M
esmerized, I walked into the
lab. It wasn’t a large setup, but the equipment was quality. The alembic and retort, standard tools of the trade, looked brand new. Volumetric flasks, graduated cylinders, and stoppered test tubes sat in neat rows on the shelves over the polished stainless-steel bench top. None of the glassware appeared chipped or cracked. I ran a hand over a rack of digital pipetters. What I wouldn’t give for a lab like this. Did it belong to the Deacon’s nephew, or were there others who studied the art? Either way, it showed an acceptance of alchemy I hadn’t expected.
Rowan’s phone buzzed in my hand, and I jumped, nearly dropping it. The screen lit up and a bar across the top showed the first line of an incoming text.
Brothers gone further afield than expected. We—
I resisted the urge to touch the bar and read the rest. It appeared to be from Donovan. Perhaps reporting on his and James’s progress with the Huntsman boys. What were they going to do?
I pulled my eyes from the screen and once more took in my surroundings. What was
I
going to do? The situation presented a unique opportunity to nose around. If Clarissa’s son used this lab, I might be able to learn something.
Shoving Rowan’s phone in my back pocket, I began a closer inspection of the lab. Nothing was brewing at the moment, but I might stumble upon some notes or a journal. I moved quickly, glancing toward the door often and listening for the sound of Rowan’s departure. I didn’t want to get caught in here. Claiming I’d picked up a cell signal in the basement room probably wouldn’t fly. I closed the drawer I’d opened and hurried on.
The lab was tidy and devoid of any scrawled notes or a notebook of formulas. It clearly wasn’t my place. I was about to give up when I noticed a desktop computer against the far wall. Unfortunately, it wasn’t on, but that didn’t stop me from going through the desk. In the wide center drawer, I found a legal pad covered with dense notes. I pulled out the pad and studied the notes written in a neat hand. A wave of déjà vu washed over me, and I had to grip the edge of the desk to steady myself. Wh—
A thump in the hall, and I whirled to face the open door. No one stood there, nor the hall beyond, but something heavy rolled across the floor nearby. I remembered the man in the room with the caskets. Was he wheeling one around? I needed to get moving.
My eyes drifted back to the legal pad. I wanted to study it more closely, but didn’t think I should take it with me. I glanced at the printer/scanner attached to the computer. If only—
Rowan’s phone!
I pulled it from my pocket and hit the power button. There, in the bottom right-hand corner: a camera icon. I touched the screen and it became a viewfinder.
Feeling like a secret agent in some spy movie, I began to snap pictures. I worked quickly, not bothering to read the notes that covered the next few pages. That could wait until later. I turned the page and hesitated. The notes stopped halfway down the sheet. Below them, written at a sideways slant, was an address. The writing was hurried and less tidy than the meticulous notes above, but clearly in the same hand.
Careful to get everything in the frame, I snapped a picture and turned the page. It was blank, as were the ones that followed. I flicked back to the front and began to replace the pad in the drawer. A manila folder caught my eye.
I glanced toward the door. The casket rolling had quieted, but the silence did nothing for my nerves. I slid out the folder and opened it. Emil stared up at me from a glossy photo. Startled, I gasped and fumbled the folder. Fortunately, the photo was paper-clipped to the inside cover. Hands shaking, I laid the folder on the desk and removed the paper clip. Two other photos lay behind the first. All three were candid shots. Two were taken from an elevated position behind the club were I’d met Emil. The third showed Emil climbing a set of steps along the outside of a brick building I didn’t recognize.
I turned to the rest of the folder’s contents and, this time, found my own image. A newspaper clipping from the day before showed James and me leaving the PIA offices. Unnerved, I flipped through the rest of the folder. All were newspaper clipping or printouts from Internet news sites. Stories about the Alchemica’s destruction or news of what had become of the alchemists. I longed to read the stories, but limited myself to a few quick shots of the more interesting headlines. I might be able to look them up later.
A door slammed with a heavy metallic clang, and I dropped into a crouch. Belatedly, I realized it was the freight elevator upstairs. Heart hammering, I closed the folder and shoved it and the pad back in the drawer. I’d been in here too long.
I peeked out into the hall and discovered a casket between me and the stairwell door. A quick glance in both directions and I stepped out. The freight elevator on my immediate right was closed, but the thrum of its motor indicated that it was on the move. I began to circle the casket, moving toward the stairs.
“I’ll call you when we find her.” Xander’s voice preceded him into the hall.
I ducked behind the casket and immediately regretted the action. I should have started toward him, pretending to be returning from my call—or lost. I couldn’t very well stand up now. He’d see me cowering—or worse, wonder what I’d been doing.
“I want to question her,” Rowan said, joining him. Their footfalls echoed off the unadorned walls as they approached.
“Do what you will.” Anger colored Xander’s tone. “I don’t care what you do. I’m tired of cleaning up her messes.”
I assumed he spoke of his sister. Charming people, necromancers.
A heavy latch released and the thick door to the freight elevator began to open behind me. Not wanting Xander, or Rowan, to find me cowering there, I lifted the drape encircling the base of the casket. A simple aluminum frame held the coffin, leaving a space beneath. I stepped over a support bar and let the drape fall behind me—just as the elevator clanked open.
I froze, waiting for the person on the elevator to notice the movement of the drape. Fortunately, the heavy fabric stopped moving almost immediately. Once settled, it cleared the floor by millimeters so my feet weren’t visible.
“Good morning, sir.” The man’s voice echoed within the elevator.
I didn’t get a chance to savor my near-miss as the casket began to move. Gripping the rail to either side, I shuffled along with the coffin. I had to bend so far over, I was in danger of kneeing myself in the nose. The wheels grated first over concrete and then the metal surface of the elevator floor. Oh, crap. Where was he taking me?
The door closed with a reverberating clank and the elevator shuddered into motion. I suspected I’d hitched a ride with the evening’s guest of honor in the parlor upstairs. I hoped I could make my escape before visitation started.
The elevator stopped, and a moment later, the doors banged open. The casket started forward, and I moved with it. The slow progress made me nervous. No doubt, Rowan had left the building by now. And he would probably come looking if he didn’t find me outside.
I stumbled as the casket moved from tile to carpet, but my grip on the support rails kept me from falling. I assumed we’d arrived in the viewing parlor.
“Wait,” a youthful voice called. It sounded like one of the boys we’d met upon our arrival. “Don’t come any further. That’s the cart with the gimpy wheel. Xander will be pissed if you rip the carpet.”
A door slammed nearby and footsteps approached. “Problem?” a new voice asked. The tone was authoritative, but I didn’t think it was Xander. Maybe Douglas?
“The stand has a bad wheel,” the young man explained. “It’ll damage the carpet.”
“So bring up another one and shift the casket onto it.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the man who’d been pushing the casket. The elevator thumped closed and a low hum announced its descent. I had to get out of here before he returned with the new cart.
“So, you guys hanging out with New Magic now?” the young man asked.
“No.”
Silence followed the statement, and I imagined the young man was waiting for Douglas to elaborate. He didn’t.
“Come on, Doug, spill,” the young man tried a more direct approach. “Who was that guy? He walked around here like he owned the place.”
“Aunt Clar set eight dead on him last night. He wasn’t happy.”
“Sweet. I wish I had—”
Footsteps approached. “Gentlemen, is there a problem?” Xander.
The young man launched into another recitation of the gimpy-wheeled casket cart.
“Why don’t you run down and help Hank select the right one?” Xander suggested.
“Yes, sir.” A door slammed a moment later. The stairwell, I assumed. Now there were only two people I needed to get rid of.
Go on.
I silently encouraged them.
No need to trouble yourself with this minor task.
“He gone?” Doug asked. For a moment, I thought he referred to the young man, then realized he meant Rowan.
“Yes.”
“So, he bought it?”
Bought what? I stopped pleading with them to move on and listened closer. Maybe they had been aware of Clarissa’s actions.
“Don’t underestimate him,” Xander said.
Doug grunted. “Sounds like Aunt Clar did.”
“Perhaps, but I believe the alchemist had a lot to do with it.”
“The alchemist? Come on. She nearly puked downstairs. She wouldn’t stand a chance against Clar.” Doug laughed.
Bastard. I made a finger gesture in his direction. Rowan’s phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I just managed not to thump my head against the bottom of the casket. Good thing the phone was set on vibrate. Trying not to move the drape, I pulled the phone from my pocket.
You there?
the text read. Donovan again? Unless Rowan had found another phone.
“I want you to go find your cousin,” Xander continued. “I’m sure he had a hand in this.”
I raised my head and frowned at the curtain. Was he talking about Clarissa’s son? Maybe the Deacon wasn’t involved.
“Give me a break,” Doug complained.
The elevator doors clanked below us. I’d run out of time. An idea forming, I pulled Rowan’s phone closer and began to scroll through his contacts. He’d have to excuse this invasion of privacy. There. Xander Nelson. I hit call then cringed as the faint sound of the ring came from the speaker. Would they hear—
A phone rang from somewhere nearby, but it didn’t drown out the hum of the elevator.
“Don’t argue with me,” Xander said, his voice moving away. “I want to know what they’re up to.”
“Making us look bad,” Doug muttered. He walked away—much to my relief.
The hum changed pitch and abruptly cut off with a thump. I took a breath and climbed from beneath the casket. It rested half in and half out of the visitation parlor. Staying low, I backed away. I could see the back of Doug’s blond head as he walked off down the hall.
My elbow clipped an easel displaying a large floral wreath and it leaned precariously to one side. I caught the easel leg and rose to my feet in time to catch the wreath. The upper curve pressed against my face, the fresh flowers rubbing cool petals over my cheeks. The elevator doors banged open, and I shifted the wreath back onto its stand. A few petals fell to the carpet, but I left them to dart deeper into the visitation parlor. Multiple rows of chairs now filled the room, but thankfully it was otherwise empty.
Voices carried from the direction of the elevator. I turned and ran across the room, stopping right before the foyer entrance. When I saw no one; I hurried toward the front door.
“Hey!”
I jumped and spun to find Doug walking out of the sitting room to my left. I guess the back hall must tie into it.
“Hey,” I replied in an attempt to sound casual. I hoped my leaping pulse wasn’t visible in my throat.
“What are you still doing here?” he asked, closing the distance between us. His eyes were blue again.
I gripped Rowan’s phone, but my fictitious call would seem a weak excuse after all this time. “Restroom,” I answered. They had to have a public bathroom. I just hoped my current location supported the excuse. I didn’t actually know where the restrooms were.
Doug eyed me a moment, and I began to fear my excuse had fallen flat.
“You nearly jumped out of your shoes there.” He gave me a smug smile, a dimple forming in one cheek. He might have been handsome if he wasn’t such a jerk.
“You startled me.”
“I think we make you uneasy.” He raised his pale brows in question, but he didn’t look concerned. “You seemed…uncomfortable downstairs.”
Rowan’s phone buzzed and I jumped again. Damn it. I needed to get out of here. I glanced at the screen.
Nelson Funeral Parlor.
Crap. Xander had read his caller ID and was returning the call.
“You’re an ass,” I told Doug and turned toward the front door. I almost collided with Rowan.
“Is my phone ringing?” he asked me, ignoring Doug completely.
“Yes.” I slipped past him and out the front door.
Rowan followed me outside, the front door slamming behind him. “Are you going to let me answer it?”
I handed him the still buzzing phone. “It’s Xander. Tell him I accidentally butt-dialed him.”
“You what?”
“Hit a wrong button and called him.” I started down the front steps.
Rowan answered his phone. He didn’t use the term
butt-dial
, but he did give Xander my excuse. While he tied up that loose end, I hurried around to my side of the car and got in. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
Rowan’s door opened and the car shifted as he sat down. “Any particular reason why you’re pranking the Deacon and cussing his son?”
I opened my eyes and leaned forward. Rowan wasn’t smiling, but the glint in his eyes suggested amusement.
“I might have found us a lead.”
He pulled his door closed. “Go on.”
I told him of the alchemy lab and directed him to the pictures I’d taken. He shuffled through the photos while I told my tale.
“Do you think it’s Clarissa’s son?” I asked.
“This is the clinic’s address.”