Chapter 289: Brewing the Recipe

My face split into a smirk I didn’t quite feel but performed anyway because that’s what the moment seemed to require.

“It was Brutus who gave me the idea, actually. Big guy’s got more going on upstairs than most people give him credit for. He remembered something from his time before the prison, some rumor or story about a compound with very specific properties, and I managed to track down the actual formula through channels I’m keeping to myself for now.”

“What do you plan to do with something like this?” Atticus pressed, and there was genuine worry in his voice now. “If someone uses it for the purposes I think you’re considering—the consequences could be severe. Not just for whoever takes it, but for whoever provides it.”

“What I plan to do with it isn’t important right now,” I said, keeping my tone light but firm. “What matters is whether you have the ingredients to make it or not. Can you do it? Yes or no?”

Atticus stared at me for a long moment, clearly wrestling with whether to press the issue or trust my judgment. Finally he nodded slowly, decision made.

“We have most of what’s needed in current inventory.” He folded the papers carefully and tucked them into his robes. “I’ll have someone fetch them right away.”

He disappeared into the warehouse’s depths, moving between workers and equipment with the efficient purpose of someone who knew exactly where everything was stored. Dregan remained beside me, unusually quiet, his expression thoughtful in ways that suggested wheels were turning behind that wild orange hair.

“You’re playing with fire, lad,” he said finally, his voice lacking its usual jovial crudeness. “Whatever you’re planning with that recipe, it’s dangerous. Not the fun kind of dangerous where you might get your bits caught in machinery, but the serious kind.”

“I know,” I acknowledged simply. “But it’s necessary. Trust me on that.”

“I do trust you,” he said, then grinned suddenly, the serious moment passing as quickly as it had arrived. “Though if this backfires and gets your pretty arse in trouble, I’m claiming first dibs on coming to rescue you. Mostly because rescue missions make for excellent stories to tell over drinks, and I’ve been running low on good material lately.”

Atticus returned a few minutes later carrying a small leather pouch that clinked softly with the sound of glass vials touching. He extended it toward me with obvious reluctance.

“Everything you need is in here. Measurements are precise—don’t deviate from the recipe even slightly or the results could be unpredictable. And Loona?” He caught my eyes, holding them with unusual intensity. “Be careful. Whatever you’re planning, whatever this is for… be careful.”

I took the pouch with a lick of my lips, feeling the weight of possibilities contained in leather and glass. “Careful is my middle name,” I lied cheerfully.

Then I turned and practically skipped toward the exit, my earlier darkness lifting slightly under the warmth of their concern and the satisfaction of having obtained what I needed.

I waved goodbye over my shoulder, calling out, “Try not to blow anything up while I’m gone! Or if you do blow something up, make sure it’s spectacular enough to be worth the property damage!”

“No promises!” Dregan shouted back. “Spectacular explosions are basically my love language!”

When I arrived back at the theater, the first thing I did was track down Brutus, following the sound of deep laughter and clinking glasses to the bar and lounge area we’d set up on the first floor.

I found him exactly where I expected—completely naked and sprawled across one of the plush couches with two noblewomen draped over him like expensive accessories, their elaborate dresses hiked up around their waists and their faces flushed with wine and recent exertion.

His massive frame dominated the furniture, scars catching lamplight and creating topographical maps across his skin. His remaining arm was wrapped around one woman’s shoulders while she traced patterns on his chest with manicured fingers.

I walked up and dropped the leather pouch onto the table in front of him with enough force to rattle the glasses sitting there. “We have what we need,” I announced, satisfaction coloring my voice. “Time to start cooking.”

Brutus groaned, a sound of profound reluctance that rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest. “Can’t it wait until after I’m done here? Ladies paid good money for the full evening experience, and I’m a professional who takes pride in customer satisfaction.”

“The ladies can entertain themselves for a few hours,” I countered. “This is more important. Besides, they look like they could use a break anyway—you’re not exactly gentle, big guy.”

One of the noblewomen giggled at that, her voice pitched high with alcohol and endorphins. “He certainly isn’t! But that’s rather the point, isn’t it?”

Brutus sighed but began extracting himself from the tangle of limbs with surprising care given his size, setting the women aside gently before standing to his full impressive height. “How did it go?” he asked, reaching for his pants. “The secret meeting?”

I hesitated, the image of severed heads flashing across my vision with unwelcome clarity. “It didn’t,” I said flatly. “The Velvets are dead. Mavus killed them and delivered their heads to me personally as an object lesson about not spying on him. Also he’s the one who sent that assassin after the Ivory Gambit, and he’s playing some larger game that involves us whether we want to be involved or not, but he won’t tell me what it is yet.”

Brutus stared at me for a long moment, processing this information dump. Then he sighed again, deeper this time. “Fuck.”

“Succinct summary. My thoughts exactly.” I gestured at the pouch. “But we can worry about Mavus’s mysterious machinations later. Right now we have work to do.”

Brutus picked up the pouch, examining it with the careful attention of someone who understood that small packages could contain disproportionate amounts of danger. “Alright. Give me a few hours to brew this properly.”

Several hours passed in a blur of productive violence and chemical precision. Brutus and I disappeared into the backroom of the basement where we’d set up a makeshift laboratory, surrounding himself with beakers and burners and the kind of focused concentration that suggested he was genuinely enjoying himself despite his earlier reluctance.

Meanwhile, I stood in front of Lord Verrin tied to his support pole, still restrained exactly as we’d left him.

The fat nobleman looked significantly worse for wear—his expensive clothing was rumpled and stained, his face was haggard from lack of sleep, and his eyes tracked me with the wary attention of prey that had learned predators visited regularly.

“You again,” he croaked, his voice rough from disuse. “Come to gloat more? Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

“Humiliated?” I repeated, moving closer with exaggerated curiosity. “Lord Verrin, I haven’t even started with the humiliation yet. Everything so far has just been basic captivity.” I slapped him across the face—not hard, just enough to sting and make him flinch. “This is for owning Felix and treating him like disposable property.”

“I paid good money for that boy!” he protested, and I slapped him again, harder this time.

“This is for not appreciating what you had.” Another slap, my hand connecting with his jowl and making it wobble. “This is for being too stupid to realize you were sitting on gold and treating it like dirt.” Slap. “This is for making me listen to you whine.” Slap. “And this one’s just because I’m having a bad day and taking it out on you makes me feel better.”

By the time Brutus was done he was holding a small vial of luminescent green liquid that seemed to glow with an internal light. Lord Verrin was sobbing quietly and I was feeling significantly more centered than I had since leaving that circular room in the library.

Brutus held up the vial, letting the light catch and refract through the green substance in hypnotic patterns. “It’s done. Exactly to specifications.”

I took it from him carefully, holding it up to examine the color and consistency. The liquid moved with unusual viscosity, neither quite water nor quite syrup, and it pulsed faintly as though it had a heartbeat. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

I laughed lightly, the sound carrying genuine satisfaction and dark anticipation in equal measure. It was time. Time to enact the first part of my plan, to set wheels in motion that would either secure our future or destroy us completely.

Either way, it was going to be spectacular.

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