The Catalyst of Corruption (The Final Formula Series, Book 4) (3 page)

“I was considering paying him a visit at home,” Rowan cut in.

“No,” I said.

“I agree with Addie,” Doug quickly added.

Rowan lifted a brow, but before he could speak, James joined us.

“Agree with Addie about what?” James asked.

Doug faced him. “About Rowan
not
visiting my father.”

Rowan's phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket, and after glancing at the screen, answered it. “Waylon,” Rowan said into the phone. “Are you about to spoil my afternoon?”

“Now what?” I muttered. Director Waylon was head of the PIA, the Paranormal Investigation Agency. He wouldn't call Rowan unless he had a problem.

As Rowan listened, I glanced up at James. James's hellhound half gave him superhuman hearing. He had no trouble listening to the other side of telephone conversations. A deepening frown shadowed his green eyes, and he moved closer.

“I'm on my way,” Rowan said to Waylon, then ended the call.

“What's going on?” I asked.

It was James who answered. “Waylon thinks he found my brothers.”

“What?”

“Well, where they were holed up. If he had actually found them, he probably wouldn't have been able to call.” James grimaced.

In other words, Waylon would have been dead.

“Where?” I asked.

“Ian's crypt.” James answered.

What? “How would they know about his tomb?”

“Apparently, Gavin didn't free them,” Rowan took up the story. “He locked them up somewhere secure. Being new to town, his options were limited.”

“He closed them up inside?” I asked. “That was over a month ago.” How were George and Henry still alive?

“He must have left them some supplies.”

“God, I never considered that they might be confined. I was just relieved that they seemed to be leaving us alone.”

“Fortunately, someone found them,” Rowan said. “Well, fortunately for us, not so fortunate for the three guys who discovered them.”

Fortunate because if his brothers died, James would be exiled from the mortal plane. “Who were these guys?” I asked.

“Waylon doesn't know. They have police records for things like theft and vandalism, so they were probably up to no good. Waylon estimated that they've been dead for several days to a week. It was the smell that led to their discovery.”

I wrinkled my nose. “How does he know it was James's brothers?”

“At this point, it's just speculation. He wants us to help him make that determination.”

“Us?”

“You're good at crime scene investigations.” Rowan turned to James. “I would like you to come, too.”

James didn't look so sure. “Alexander wants Elysia, and without Ian here…”

“Give us time to drive over,” Rowan said. “Pop in, take a look, and come back. Bring me a pair of your sweatpants, and I'll take them along so you don't have to flash any PIA agents.”

James gave him a dark look, but moved off toward the stairs to do as Rowan asked.

“I could tell you how long they've been dead,” Doug spoke up. “Better than anyone the PIA employs.”

Rowan considered him. “Okay.”

“Let me grab my jacket.” Doug hurried to the room he now shared with Ian.

I watched him go, surprised by his eagerness to help us.

“You okay with that?” Rowan asked, catching me frowning after Doug.

“Sure. We might as well put him to work.”

Rowan smiled. “My thoughts exactly.”

 

Rowan didn't park along the
curb as he did the first time we visited Greenlawn cemetery. Instead, he drove beneath the arch and parked behind the collection of late-model sedans lining the narrow road.

Doug climbed out of the Camaro, then held the door while I slipped out of the back seat. I looked up, ready to thank him, but he had closed his eyes, his head tipped back and a smile on his face.

“Enjoying the ambiance?” I asked.

He opened his eyes, and his white irises met mine. “I appreciate your hospitality, but I do find it a bit lacking.”

“My apologies. Had I expected your visit, perhaps I could have picked up a corpse or two.” A necromancer had to periodically use his magic or suffer potentially debilitating pain. The more powerful the necromancer, the more frequent the need. “Couldn't you find a few flies to animate around the lab?”

“Actually, there's a rather large spider under your workbench.”

I stiffened. “Don't you dare.”

He laughed and closed the door, his eyes reverting to their former blue.

“You two coming?” Rowan called, already several yards away.

Doug gestured for me to precede him, and I eyed the headstones around us. I was pretty sure that Doug was an okay guy, but I wasn't thrilled about walking through a cemetery with him.

“I don't think I want you at my back,” I said.

“That's harsh. What have I ever done to you?”

“How about that autopsy the first time we met? Or the dead woman you animated at that murder scene?”

“I was just teasing you.”

“You have a morbid sense of humor.”

“Naturally.” His cheeks dimpled with a grin.

I rolled my eyes and hurried after Rowan. Yes, Doug was definitely Ian's descendant. At some point, we should probably tell him.

We made our way through the headstones to Ian's mausoleum. We were still yards away when I began to detect the odor that had brought the mausoleum to the PIA's attention. Was there anything more foul than the smell of a decaying corpse?

A pair of men stood outside the door, talking in low voices, but they fell silent when we approached.

“He's waiting for you inside,” the large man closest to the door told us.

“Thank you, Agent Johnson.” Rowan gave the man a nod. Agent Johnson knew who we were. He had been at the lodge last month when Gavin had nearly killed me.

We followed Rowan inside, and I immediately wanted to pull my shirt up over my nose to mask the smell. I had hoped the bodies would be gone by the time we got here, but apparently, that hope had been in vain.

The small room normally lay in shadow, illuminated only by the daylight slipping through the multiple holes in the roof, but this afternoon, it was well lit with several battery-powered lanterns. A half-dozen agents milled around the room, gathering evidence and snapping pictures.

“Thank you for coming.” Director Waylon stepped forward to exchange a handshake with Rowan, then he addressed me. “It's good to see you out and about, Addie.”

“It's good to be out and about.” I gave him a reassuring smile. Waylon had been a frequent visitor during my week-plus hospital stay. I sometimes wondered if he felt guilty because he had been the one to take me to the lodge where I had nearly died. Whatever his reasoning, we had become something like friends since then.

Waylon's gaze fell on Doug. “Mr. Nelson?” It was clear that Waylon hadn't expected him.

“It's Dr. Nelson, actually.” Doug offered his hand. “But you can call me Doug.”

Waylon nodded and took his hand. “You're more than a mortician?”

“Forensic pathologist. I do some work for the coroner's office.”

“I didn't realize.”

“Do you mind if Doug takes a look at the bodies?” Rowan asked.

“No, I'm pleased to have his expertise. Though I don't think it any great mystery how these guys died—or who killed them.”

Waylon called over to the man currently checking the bodies, and introduced him as Agent Bruner.

The agent's eyes narrowed as he studied Doug. “If you're with her,” he nodded at me, “you're magical.”

“I'm a necromancer,” Doug answered as easily as someone would admit to being an accountant or an electrician.

“So, you could make these guys get up and dance a jig?”

“I could, but that would compromise the evidence. Do you have a pair of gloves I could use? I'm afraid I've come unprepared.”

The man glanced at Waylon, and at his nod, led Doug over to where he'd been working.

“Perhaps you are unaware,” Waylon said to Rowan, “but the PIA does employ individuals trained in the forensic sciences.”

“I'm aware,” Rowan said. “I didn't bring Doug because I doubt the PIA's competence. I just wanted to give him something to do.”

Waylon's brows rose, but he remained silent.

“There has been a shake up in the necromancer power structure.”

A frown replaced Waylon's questioning expression. “Were you going to tell me?”

“At the moment, there's not much to tell. Xander isn't returning my calls.”

“Do you suspect foul play?”

“I'm sure it's foul,” I spoke up. “But I don't think anyone was murdered against their will.”

“Against their will?” Waylon asked.

“We suspect a new Deacon has been named. According to necromancer tradition, the previous Deacon can expect to be Made. Doug said that his father viewed it as his reward.”

Waylon shook his head. “Necromancers,” he muttered, his gaze moving to Doug, who had donned a pair of gloves and was now examining a body. “And what of the son?”

“He wasn't as keen on the idea,” I said. “When he showed up in my lab with a knife through his chest, I had to give him the Final Formula to save him. He's been bunking with Ian since. As Rowan said, we brought him along today to keep him from going stir crazy.”

“And there was no foul play involved?” Waylon asked.

“With regard to Xander.”

Waylon continued to watch Doug. “Perhaps Doug would like to give me a statement about his attempted murder and his father's disappearance.”

I glanced up at Rowan.

“If I have learned anything about Old Magic,” Rowan said, “it's that they prefer to keep their affairs to themselves.”

“And New Magic is so different?”

A smile curled Rowan's lips. “Point taken.” Rowan sobered. “I'll speak to him.”

“So, what makes you think George and Henry were here?” I asked, trying to move things along. The less time I spent confined with this smell the better.

“Come. I'll show you.” Waylon started toward the bodies. “I hope you're not squeamish.”

“I am, but you can just pick me up off the floor when this is over.”

Waylon chuckled and kept walking, but Rowan's hand settled on the small of my back. He knew I wasn't kidding.

The three bodies lay around the open sarcophagus. A jack and a pair of crowbars lay nearby where someone had pried open the lid. The large slab of stone leaned against the side of the sarcophagus, the carved name on the surface visible.
Ian Mallory, 1791 - 1825.

Waylon stopped beside the stone box and bent to pick up the bright orange coveralls that lay on the floor beside it. “We found these downstairs,” he said. I remembered George and Henry wearing those same coveralls when Ian and I had visited them in their cells.

“And then there is the manner of these deaths.” Waylon gestured at the bodies.

I gave in and pulled my shirt over my nose as I focused on the three bloated bodies. Puddles of noxious fluids had formed beneath each, further validating that they had been here a while. I took a step closer, Rowan at my side, and saw that each man had died the same way: a quarrel through the eye.

“Obviously, we haven't had time for a more in-depth investigation,” Waylon said, “but from what we can tell, the method of death is what you see. We don't get many homicides perpetrated with a crossbow.”

I took a step closer, studying the features of the nearest dead man. His face was bloated, but I still recognized it. I moved on to examine the other two.

“Addie, what is it?” Rowan asked.

“I know these men.”

“You do?” Waylon pulled a notepad from inside his coat.

“Well, not know,” I clarified. “Ian and I had a run-in with them when I first came here last fall.” When I had offered Ian the Final Formula in exchange for his lab.

“What happened?” Rowan asked.

“They followed me into his mausoleum, and Ian chased them off. They ran out of here so fast that they stumbled right into the cops who were looking for them. I later read that they'd held up a nearby convenience store.”

“That's true,” Waylon said. “But it was their first major offense, so they got three months and community service.”

“And once released, they decided to pay a visit to the guy they saw as responsible for their imprisonment,” Rowan said.

“They got a nasty surprise when they opened the crypt,” I said. Not that Ian would have been any better if they had found him in residence. “Morons.”

“Shit!” one of the agents shouted.

I turned in time to watch an agent draw his gun and point it in my direction. That's when I saw the open portal beside me. The agent must be a Sensitive. Clearly, he saw the portal, too.

James leapt through the opening, landing on four paws a few feet from me.

The agent's dilated eyes went wide and he fired.

A puff of dust exploded at James's feet, then a searing burn tingled across my cheek. Surprised, I lifted a hand to my face, and my fingertips came away bloody. It took me a second to realize that the bullet had ricocheted off the floor and grazed my cheek.

Stunned, I looked up from my fingers and met James's glowing eyes. He lifted his lips and with a snarl, spun toward the agent.

“James, no!” Rowan shouted.

James sprang.

The agent screamed and fired again. James's body jerked with the impact, but it didn't alter his flight. Darkness enveloped him in midair, and he was human. He landed in front of the agent and in a move almost too fast to follow, caught his wrist.

Even from across the room, I heard the crunch of bone. The man cried out, and the gun tumbled from his limp hand.