Page 46 of A Touch of Treachery (Section 47 #3)
The scientist’s head snapped back, and he flailed and thrashed against the ropes as though he was having a violent seizure and couldn’t control his own body. Blood poured out of his eyes and nose, like rivers of scarlet lava flowing down his skin.
I sucked in a breath, and a strange scent flooded my nose—harsh, acrid sulfur mixed with a lighter, gooey note, like burned sugar.
The aroma slithered down my throat, and the foul smoky-sweetness made me want to vomit.
Even though Desmond had described Redburn to me, what it did and how it felt, seeing the formula in action, hearing Ethan’s screams, smelling his skin burning . . .
It was one of the most horrific things I’d ever witnessed.
Less than a minute later, it was over. Ethan slumped forward, his body covered with those ugly, ugly burns and his eyes still bulging, this time in death.
Desmond remained tall and rigid beside me, as though his body was made of glass and he would shatter if he so much as breathed.
I tightened my grip on his hand, trying to comfort him in whatever small way I could.
After a few seconds, he shuddered out a breath, and his face hardened with the same determination that was pumping through my own body.
Shock filled the faces of the other paramortals, although it quickly morphed into a mixture of grudging admiration and cold calculation.
“ This is my Redburn formula,” Henrika said, even more pride rippling through her voice as though she hadn’t just dished out a brutal, agonizing death to another person.
“I’ve been developing it for years, and I have conducted extensive tests, both in and out of the lab.
Redburn has a ninety-nine-percent success rate, whether it is used as an explosive or as a poison, like you just witnessed.
To date, only one person has ever managed to survive being exposed to it. ”
Henrika’s gaze flicked over to Desmond. A muscle twitched an angry rhythm in his clenched jaw, like the timer on a bomb counting down to a massive explosion.
Niles crossed his arms over his chest. “Ninety-nine percent? You told us the formula was one-hundred-percent effective.” He scoffed. “Any scientist would tell you those are not the same. You promised us something strong enough to kill every paramortal, no matter their powers or abilities.”
Henrika nodded. “I did, and I’ve been wrestling with that problem for the last several months. I’ve run one experiment and simulation after another, but no matter what I do or what variables I input, I can’t quite make my formula one-hundred-perfect effective.”
“Who cares if it’s not one-hundred-percent effective?” Oriana gestured at the dead scientist still tied to the tree. “Ninety-nine percent is good enough for me.”
“Me too,” Steig chimed in.
“It matters to me ,” Henrika hissed, anger creeping into her voice. “Because it’s my formula, and it is brilliant . Except for one tiny, unforeseen, unexpected outlier.”
Once again, her gaze flicked over to Desmond, and a cruel smile slowly curved her red lips. “But luckily, I’ve finally found a way to rectify this flaw.”
“Flaw? What flaw?” Oriana asked. “You just said your formula was foolproof!”
“No, it’s not,” Niles argued.
“I don’t care what the two of you are going on about,” Steig cut in. “I want to see another demonstration . . .”
The three of them kept arguing with each other, but I tuned out their chatter. Instead, I thought about everything Henrika had just said about her formula, along with everything that had happened over the past few days.
During the Vault mission, Iris Berriston and Bryce Finkley had both had chances to kill me, but Iris claimed that she’d been ordered to let me live, and Bryce had only tossed a smoke grenade at me instead of a real bomb.
Then Henrika had sent a personal invitation to me and a video to General Percy, basically forcing him to let me come to the resort.
More than once, I’d wondered why Henrika now wanted me alive, instead of trying to orchestrate my death like she had before.
For the first time, I realized her seeming benevolence hid a sinister purpose: to make sure I ended up right here, right now.
Henrika kept staring at Desmond, and the greedy look on her face was like a key opening a lock in my mind.
Henrika hadn’t just fooled the two of us.
She had been pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes this entire time.
This had never been about a weapons auction.
Henrika had never intended to sell her Redburn formula to any of the paramortals—at least, not until it was foolproof .
Her pride, ego, and arrogance wouldn’t let her sell a weapon that wasn’t one-hundred-percent effective, and there was only one way she could perfect her gruesome formula.
Henrika inviting us to her resort hadn’t been about me or my father or the Mexico mission.
At least, not directly, although I got the sense that was among her list of priorities, along with thumbing her nose at General Percy.
Even stealing the undercover list had just been a feint to hide what—or rather whom—Henrika was really after.
My plus-one, as her invitation had said.
Desmond.