The Element of Death (The Final Formula Series, Book 1.5) by Becca Andre

painful center of the matter. Yet oddly, he felt much closer to Rowan. But not close enough to take this conversation further.
    He rose to his feet. A wave of vertigo washed over him, and he gripped the counter until it passed. Damn, he’d lost more blood than he realized, or maybe the iron embedded in his skin compounded the problem.
    “Where are you going?” Rowan asked.
    “I’m trying to see how screwed we are.”
    “ Can you see?”
    “My night vision is better than a human’s, but without the hound, I can’t see in total darkness.”
    “You speak of the hound as a separate being.” Rowan scooted around in the small space.
    “No. At least, not a sentient being.” James struggled to find the words. He’d never discussed this with anyone. “But it is…other. I’m still me, just in another form.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”
    “Intuitively. Maybe.” Rowan’s voice was no longer muffled. He must have crawled from beneath the counter.
    James took a careful step away from him, moving toward where the doorway had been. He held his uninjured hand before him, tucking the other against his chest. He moved slowly, but even so, his bare foot collided with something that clanked when he kicked it. He bit back a curse.
    “What was that?” Rowan asked.
    “I’m guessing a ring stand.”
    “Say what?”
    James bumped his fingers against an earthen wall, and followed it to a corner. “I think Winters dabbled in alchemy.”
    “He lived and died long before magic returned.”
    “Alchemy is basically Old Magic, you know. How do you think the first grim was created?”
    The ground rumbled, setting off a clatter of falling debris around them. James clung to the earthen wall. He raised an arm above his head, expecting to be struck, then the rumbling stopped.
    “Aftershock?” Rowan asked in the silence.
    “It was never an earthquake. Gertrude sicced Winters’ minions on us, but they ran out of energy. We need to get out of here before they recharge.”
    “Minions?”
    “Ghosts. The spirits of his victims. Winters was a medium in life. Mediums can summon souls from beyond, and powerful mediums can trap them here.” James moved forward, rounding the end of the earthen wall. “But he wasn’t only a medium. I think he used the ashes of his cremated victims as ingredients in his blood alchemy formulas.” The powder Gertrude had thrown in his face had been alchemical.
    Rowan remained silent and James wondered what he was thinking. He decided not to ask and continued around the corner. Ahead, he could see the faint outline of a mound of broken cinder blocks. He wouldn’t want to step on those with his bare—
    Wait. He could see.
    James hurried forward and dropped to his knees in front of the wall of debris blocking his way forward. A faint line of orange light spilled from a tiny crack near the base of the wall. The other side must be open to the cremator. Maybe the entire room hadn’t caved in.
    “James?”
    “There’s a little light leaking in over here. I might have found a way out.” Fingers still sore from the last digging he did, he gripped a block and pulled it free. Dirt fell and the crack widened, letting in a little more light. He grabbed another block and repeated the process. It was slow going with only one hand, but he didn’t want to chance leaving blood smeared where Rowan might brush against it.
    He tossed a block aside and heard the scuff of a shoe behind him.
    “Let me help,” Rowan said.
    “No, stay back. I’m still bleeding, remember?”
    Another rumble, this one louder, and the walls to either side began to rain pieces of broken masonry. James tensed, ready to assume a fetal position in the corner, then the quaking stopped.
    “It appears the minions are gaining strength,” Rowan said.
    “Perhaps you should wait under the counter until I get the way clear.”
    The last shaking of the room had opened the crack a little wider, and James could