The Fifth Essence (The Final Formula Series Book 5) Read online

  The Fifth Essence

  Becca Andre

  The Fifth Essence

  Copyright © 2017 by Becca Andre. All rights reserved.

  First Smashwords Edition: May 2017

  Editor: Shelley Holloway

  Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Some might argue that alchemy isn’t a science, but I would beg to differ. Like any science, answers are found through the process of experimentation and analysis. But it also takes a big dollop of intuition and confidence to solve an alchemical mystery.

  I frowned at the printout, trying to decide if I saw any evidence of alchemy in the data.

  “It’s definitely organic,” said Mr. Thomas, the Paranormal Investigation Agency’s lab technician. “It’s not pure blood, but it’s one of the major constituents.” He leaned back in his seat, eyeing me. “Is that normal?”

  I glanced at Ian before answering. He lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t offer anything more helpful.

  “To be honest, I don’t know if this was once a potion or not,” I told the technician. I had worked with Mr. Thomas before, and he had shown some interest in learning more about alchemy. I didn’t want to deter a prospective student before we had begun. “We found it with some other items that were almost four hundred years old.”

  Mr. Thomas blinked, his gaze shifting to the old-fashioned vial that held the brown sludge we were analyzing. “How could something that organic not be decayed away?”

  “I suspect there’s a magical component,” I said.

  “But four hundred years? That’s before magic returned.”

  “New Magic,” Ian corrected. “Old Magic has always been around—as has alchemy.” A smile dimpled his cheeks.

  I was half tempted to point out that Ian was over two hundred years old, but learning that Ian was a lich—a dead man with his consciousness still intact—might be a bit much for Mr. Thomas to swallow.

  “With closer study, I may be able to determine the potion’s purpose.” I gathered the assorted printouts we had generated and slid them into a manila folder before turning to Ian. “I think we verified our suspicions that it’s blood alchemy.”

  “We could have had James verify that when he returns.”

  “I didn’t want to wait that long.” I winked and he smiled, but the opening of the door prevented further comment. I glanced over, more out of curiosity than because I expected to see someone I knew. It surprised me when Director Waylon walked into the lab. He had given me permission to use his lab’s resources to analyze my sample, but I didn’t think he had intended to supervise.

  “Good, you’re still here.” Waylon’s gaze settled on me. “I feared I had missed you.” Maybe he wasn’t here to supervise.

  “Did the lack of explosions throw you off?” I asked. “I told you that I don’t blow up something every time I’m in the lab.”

  Only the briefest of smiles creased Waylon’s face before he sobered.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. Something must be troubling him if he didn’t respond to our running joke. “Has George resurfaced?” James’s brother was number one on the PIA’s most wanted list, especially after he and their other brother Henry had murdered three agents last week. James had killed Henry, but George had gotten away.

  “No. This is something new.” Waylon’s gaze shifted to Ian. “An odd zombie situation. I wondered if I could get your input, Mr. Mallory.”

  I stared at Waylon, shocked that he would ask. He never sought magical help. He made it a point of pride that the PIA operated with an entirely mundane human force.

  “I would be glad to lend my assistance,” Ian said. “But such matters are typically brought to the Deacon’s attention.”

  “Since a new Deacon hasn’t been officially named, I contacted Doug. He’s already at the scene.”

  “I’ll go,” Ian said, then turned to me, his look questioning.

  “You can drop me at the lab,” I said. Since my involvement in Xander’s death, I wasn’t comfortable around Doug.

  “I would like you to come, too,” Waylon said before Ian could comment.

  “I can’t do much with zombies.” Not without some preparation, anyway.

  “It’s not the zombie that’s the problem. It’s the man he bit.”

  “Did he get an infection?” I teased.

  “He got something.” Waylon’s eyes met mine. “He’s now a zombie, too.”

  That sobered me. “You’re implying that he became a zombie because one bit him? You know it only works like that in Hollywood.”

  “Exactly,” Waylon agreed. “That’s why I need your input. Both of you.”

  I glanced over at Ian and found him frowning. “Ever heard of such a thing?” I asked.

  “No. I would suggest a lack of competency with the examination, but if Doug is involved, that isn’t the case.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “I won’t know until I see it.”

  “Addie?” Waylon gave me an expectant look.

  I released a breath. “Show us what you got.”

  Waylon nodded. “I’ll drive you over.”

  It looked like I would be spending some quality time with Doug this afternoon. That would probably take all the fun out of this new magical mystery.

  I stepped out of Waylon’s car and warily eyed the storefront behind the yellow crime-scene tape. Bernie’s Flowers was stenciled on the wide front window used to display an assortment of floral bouquets and balloons.

  “Addie?” Waylon stopped beside me.

  “Last fall, a woman was murdered with one of my bullets,” I said, not taking my eyes off the storefront. “She worked here.”

  “Yes, I remember. The owner is New Magic.”

  “But you said there were zombies. Did the owner piss off a necromancer?”

  “Come inside and maybe you can help me figure it out.” He headed for the front door, leaving Ian and me to follow.

  The scent of fresh flowers greeted me, a reminder of the bouquets Ian often brought home to use as both ingredients and to decorate Elysia’s dinner table. Though I knew he visited the florist mainly to purchase fresh flowers for his wife Isabelle’s grave.

  A couple of men were in the room. One held a clipboard and the other a camera. Waylon greeted them, but didn’t stop to talk. He led us through a doorway behind the register, into a second room set up as a workshop. Several counters were cluttered with half assembled bouquets, spools of ribbon, and other assorted odds and ends a florist might need.

  Though more crowded than the first room, I had no trouble picking out the one person I did know. Doug Nelson stood at the far end of the nearest counter.

  He turned to face us, his white eyes settling on Ian. “Grandfather.”

  Knowing that a necromancer’s eyes only turned white when he used his magic, I studied the older man standing a short distance from Doug.


  Goosebumps rose on my arms when I noticed that his dilated eyes were on me. Drool wet his chin, dropping onto the red apron he wore.

  “Director.” An agent stopped beside us.

  “Is this the owner?” Waylon gestured at the man in the red apron.

  “Yes. Bernard Rosenberger.”

  Ian left my side and moved closer. His blue eyes faded to white and he grunted.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “He’s willful.” Ian studied the old man a moment, then laid a hand on Doug’s shoulder. “I’ve got him.”

  Doug’s white eyes reverted to vibrant blue, and he lifted a hand to rub his temple. “Thank you.”

  “What do you mean willful?” Waylon asked.

  Doug turned to face him. “He is, from what I can tell, a zombie. An animated corpse. He should have no will.”

  “This isn’t natural?” Waylon asked.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from pointing out that nothing about necromancy was natural.

  “No,” Doug answered. “He feels almost blood animated, but he can’t be. His nephew watched him die—after he was bitten.”

  “By one of his employees?” Waylon had his notebook out.

  “That’s the story I got,” Doug answered. “Mr. Rosenberger…contained that man”—Doug waved a hand toward the far side of the room—“who is also a zombie.”

  I followed his gesture and noticed the mass of ivy growing over the far wall. Oddly, a pair of agents stood watching it. I opened my mouth to ask for clarification when the ivy moved.

  “What the hell is that?” Waylon asked.

  “The zombie,” Doug answered. “Well, he’s inside. I sense him. Apparently, Mr. Rosenberger’s magical talent has to do with encouraging plant growth. That’s how he contained the zombie.”

  I took a step to the side to see around the counter and noticed that several long strands of ivy covered the floor.

  “Where is the nephew?” Waylon asked.

  “University Hospital,” an agent spoke up.

  Waylon turned to the agent. “Was he bitten?”

  “No, but he was injured, requiring surgery. We’ll have to wait until he’s recovered to get a statement.”

  I walked over to Ian while Waylon asked a few more questions about the nephew’s arrival time and when he thought Mr. Rosenberger had come into work.

  “What do you think?” I asked Ian. “Is this necromancy?”

  “Yes…and no.”

  “Would you like to elaborate?”

  “Doug’s right.” Ian eyed the zombie florist, his expression puzzled. “He feels blood animated, yet I do not sense any blood.”

  “Would you care to put that in layman’s terms for the non-necromancers in the room?” Waylon rejoined the conversation.

  Ian smiled at Waylon’s phrasing. “There is power in a necromancer’s blood, and that power can animate the dead. Give the dead a sense of purpose—to find more blood.”

  “Then why do it?” Waylon asked.

  “It makes them easier to control,” Doug said, then turned to Ian. “I didn’t sense any blood, either.” Doug crossed his thick arms. “But there’s…something. It’s like it’s just below my perception.”

  Ian’s white eyes shifted to him, but he didn’t comment.

  The zombie watched Doug, but its gaze moved to Waylon when he turned away to speak to an agent. The zombie opened its mouth, allowing more saliva to spill free.

  “You’re right,” I spoke up. “It’s not like other zombies.”

  “How would you know that?” Doug demanded.

  “It’s aware of its surroundings. It looks at each person when they speak.” Its dilated eyes had shifted to me.

  “It’s a zombie,” Doug said. “It doesn’t think.” The zombie’s gaze shifted to him, belying his words.

  “That’s creepy as hell.” I rubbed the chill bumps on my arms. “It reminds me of the time Alexander had a few zombies chase Livie and me.”

  “I don’t sense a ghoul master,” Ian said.

  “Then what do we have here?” Waylon asked. “Is it necromancy or not?”

  “Someone is playing with us,” Ian said. “Someone with the ability to mix necromancy with other magics, say, in a potion.”

  “Neil,” I said. Would he do this? Could he do this? Why?

  “Last I saw, you and he were working together.” Doug’s blue eyes narrowed. “Did you experiment on a New Magic business just to throw us off?”

  “I am not working with Neil,” I said. “Don’t muddy the facts because you’re pissed at me.”

  “Then explain that.” He waved a hand at the zombie florist.

  “I can’t.”

  “How do we explain it?” Waylon cut in.

  “Analysis,” I said. “We isolate the magic that created it and track it back to its creator.”

  “Are you talking lab analysis or alchemy?” Waylon asked.

  “Both.”

  Doug huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes.

  “And what do we do about this?” Waylon gestured at the florist-turned-zombie.

  Ian glanced over at Doug. “Only fire or decapitation stops the undead. Fire would destroy the evidence.”

  I swallowed.

  “Director?” Ian gave Waylon a questioning look.

  “Could I impose on you and Doug to help us take both zombies back to the morgue? Waylon asked. “There’s a van in the back lot—”

  “We can transport them there without a van,” Ian said. He and Doug could take them through the land of the dead.

  Waylon nodded. “I’ll give Agent Bruner a call to let him know you’re coming.” Doug had worked with Bruner, the PIA’s pathologist, before.

  Ian turned to me. “Shall I return for you when we’re done?”

  “Yes, please.” It wasn’t like I wanted to join them—and it wasn’t the zombies’ company that disturbed me.

  Doug walked over to the ivy-covered zombie and addressed the two agents standing nearby. “I’ll hold him if you two would care to cut him free.”

  They didn’t look too certain, but a nod from Waylon got them moving.

  Waylon turned to me. “Could I have a word?”

  I agreed and followed him back to the front of the store.

  “What’s going on with you and Doug?” Waylon asked once we were alone. “Wasn’t he staying with you?”

  “He moved out once we resolved the problem with Ian’s brother.”

  “Ah.” Waylon continued to watch me.

  “Doug blames me for his father’s death.”

  “Are you to blame?”

  “I did nothing to prevent it,” I answered honestly, holding Waylon’s gaze.

  He grunted. “I know there was some bad blood between you and Xander.”

  “He wasn’t a good person. He Made Megan Fields, to ensure her silence about those magic bullets. He used one of his liches to impersonate a medical doctor to stop me from healing burn victims. The list goes on.”

  “But was that Xander or Alexander?”

  “After forty years as Alexander’s puppet, there was no distinction.” I sighed. “Maybe there was once, and I think that’s the man Doug remembers. Perhaps Doug thought he would return once Alexander was gone.”

  “But he was denied the opportunity when his cousin killed his father. Why does he blame you?”

  “I was working with Neil at the time.”

  Waylon’s brows lifted. Apparently, no one had given him the full story. “And you could have stopped Neil from killing Xander?”

  “I probably wouldn’t have been successful, but I could have tried. I made some bad choices, and now I have to pay for them.”

  “You once told me that there are no wrong actions when you’re doing the right thing
.”

  “I discovered that the end doesn’t always justify the means.”

  A small smile curled Waylon’s mouth. “And I discovered that sometimes it does.”

  I knew Waylon had covered up evidence to keep Doug from being wrongly accused in one of Neil’s schemes.

  “I might be a bad influence.”

  Waylon turned serious. “You didn’t kill Xander?”

  “No.” Not technically, I just helped Neil use him as an ingredient. An ingredient that I suspected had just come back to bite me in the ass.

  I sat on the back stoop outside Bernie’s Flowers and watched a PIA van pull away, carrying the evidence they had gathered to the forensics lab. My attention drifted back to Ian and Doug, who had just returned from delivering the zombies to the morgue. They stood in the small parking lot beside Doug’s car. A car I had ridden in before. I assumed they discussed the upcoming necromancer gathering that would formally name Doug the new Deacon, but I didn’t join the conversation.

  I studied the sidewalk at my feet, bothered anew by how much my fallout with Doug troubled me. We had become friends during the time he had stayed with me. At least, I considered us friends. Now, he saw me as an enemy.

  After several minutes, Doug and Ian separated, and Doug climbed into his sleek Mercedes and drove off.

  I got to my feet and walked over to Ian. “Let’s go tell Waylon we’re done here, then you can take me home.” Back to the lab where I could lose myself in my work.

  “I believe Doug will come around in time,” Ian said, ignoring my comment.

  “I doubt it.”

  “He knows Neil is to blame for his father’s death.”

  I didn’t want to get into that again. “What do you think? Is Neil to blame for what happened here?”

  “It’s possible, but I don’t see the motive.”

  “I don’t see one, either,” I admitted.

  “Perhaps we should wait for the lab and autopsy results. Necromancy is no longer the only magic in the world.”

  “Hey now. Alchemy has always been around, too.”

  “True, but the advent of New Magic really opened the possibilities.”