Free The Final Formula by Becca Andre

door.
    “You’re so tight-lipped about this. Why?”
    He opened my door and held it. His fingers tapping the window in what might be annoyance. “I’m not human. That makes some people…uneasy.”
    “Not me.”
    “Because you’re too curious to know better.”
    “Are you implying that I lack sense?”
    He finally smiled. “Enough questions. Get in. We need to get out of here.”
    “How can you not bleed unless cut by iron?” Talk about some handy magic. “Will you show me?”
    “Later.” He gestured at the passenger seat. “We need to go before the alarm is raised. A servant could walk into his office at any moment.”
    True. I got in and leaned over to unlock his door.
    “How’d His Grace know you were magical?” I asked when James slid in behind the wheel. “Did you let your eyes glow?” I hadn’t been able to see from where I stood.
    He fired up the car and began to back out of our parking space. “My strength, I guess.”
    I hadn’t considered that. “And speaking of strength.” I hesitated not wanting to insult him. “Was he stronger than you?”
    “He appears to know some martial arts or something.”
    “You don’t know?”
    He concentrated on his driving and didn’t look over. “He won’t get the drop on me again.”
    I smiled and leaned over to pat his knee. “I’m sure he won’t. And I’ll quit pestering you about your magic.”
    “Uh-huh.” He wasn’t buying that either.
    “It was still a foolish risk. What if he’d incinerated you?”
    “Hellhounds don’t burn.”
    “Seriously? How—”
    “Didn’t you say you weren’t going to pester me?” The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
    I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms. “Fine.”
    We drove half a block in silence.
    “The Flame Lord didn’t destroy the Alchemica,” he said. “Now what?”
    Good question. “I’ll think of something.”
    “I don’t doubt that.” He chuckled and reached for the radio dial.
    I propped my elbow on the armrest and watched the Elemental Offices shrink in the side view mirror. Now what?

Chapter
6
    T he wall clock in my attic workshop read 1:00 p.m., and I had little to show for five hours of work aside from a clean room. The smell of bleach still hung in the air, and for the first time in months, the tables were uncluttered. Vials of purified ingredients sat in racks, labeled and alphabetized. Clean glassware rested in neat rows on the plastic shelves I’d picked up at the discount store. Even my prized fractionating column sparkled with cleanliness, ready for its next application. If only I knew what that was.
    I straightened and rubbed my lower back. I’d only finished half my bullet quota for the day, having procrastinated with the cleaning. I needed to get busy, but I just wasn’t with it. James and I had gotten in late yesterday afternoon, and though I’d gone to bed early, I’d managed only a few fitful hours of sleep. I’d skipped lunch, remaining in my room rather than braving the kitchen. Hunger I could handle; James’s brothers I preferred to avoid. I knew they’d have something suggestive to say about our two-day absence.
    In truth, avoiding the Huntsman boys wasn’t the only reason I hid in my workshop. All my leads had run dry, and I had no idea how to recover my lost memories. My future held nothing beyond filling bullets destined to take the lives of innocent animals. I braced my hands on the table and bowed my head. I must have missed something. Some clue. Some formula. Something.
    “Addie!” A thump on the door accompanied George’s voice.
    I growled under my breath. Why wouldn’t he leave me alone? “I’m busy!” I picked up the syringe and selected a bullet.
    The door opened, but I didn’t look up. I clenched my teeth and sunk the needle into the soft plastic of the modified Nosler tip. “If you want these finished by four, you’d better leave me alone.” I depressed the syringe, careful not to overfill the tiny reservoir.
    “Which is