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work? She’s more or less stunted.”
    “The antidote really didn’t work?”
    “It worked, but…” I dropped onto the nearest stool. “It wore off.”
    Ian frowned.
    “Unless you can give me a good reason to blame her magic, I’m going to suspect it’s something Neil did. According to James, Neil claimed to have designed his potion using his own blood.”
    “Then it’s not a version of your Necro Extinguishing Dust. He’s designed it around his own stunted power.”
    “That’s what I suspect.”
    “So, we’ll need a sample of his blood to reverse it.”
    “If I knew where he was, I would definitely take that route. Few things would give me more pleasure than taking a sample—or all—of his blood.”
    “Your dark side is showing.”
    “I would love to show Neil my dark side.”
    Ian’s dimples made an appearance. “And I would love to watch.” His expression turned serious. “Barring draining the little weasel, what do you suggest?”
    I shifted on my stool. “The azoth.”
    Ian pursed his lips, his expression skeptical. He had a right to be. So far, my success at harnessing the power of the azoth—the universal medicine or universal solvent, depending on how you used it—was hit or miss. I could create a burn salve to heal third-degree burns, but it had to be tailored to the individual. I could also make my Fire Element remedy using my blood instead of Rowan’s, but nothing else I had tried to make with the azoth had worked. Eventually, I got tired of cutting myself and gave up.
    “I need to figure out how it works.”
    “No success at the library?”
    I had done some research on the topic, but the true reason I had been visiting the Cincinnati Public Library was their amazing genealogy department. I had promised Ian that I would learn what happened to his sons. But I hadn’t told him about it because I didn’t want to get his hopes up should I fail.
    “I doubt I can find anything in the public record.” I had read everything I could find on Paracelsus. He had supposedly found the azoth in the fifteenth century. According to Ian, Paracelsus was the azoth, and I was most likely his descendant.
    “We need to cure my granddaughter, and soon. She’s far too powerful to last long stunted.”
    I remembered his smile when Ian realized how strong Elysia was. “Do you want to tell me about this curse you placed on your own family?”
    “No, but I know you won’t let it rest until I do.”
    “True.”
    Ian picked up another test tube and swirled it in silence. “I didn’t curse my daughters,” he said without looking up. “I cursed Alexander.”
    Alexander Nelson. The Deacon of Ian’s day and the man who stole his daughter.
    “In what way?” I asked.
    “His purpose for joining our blood was to father an heir with our combined strength. To ensure the Nelson Family dominance in future generations. He didn’t value a daughter.”
    “Because she couldn’t pass on the Nelson name.”
    “Correct. So I saw to it that our power would only pass to his daughters.”
    “And from what Elysia says, I’m guessing you were successful. Impressive. How’d you hit him with it?”
    “He enjoyed tormenting me. He frequently took his meals in my tomb. It was a simple matter to slip the potion into his wine while he entertained himself with the women he brought.”
    I cringed. It wasn’t enough that Alexander had taken Ian’s daughter as his wife against her will, he also cheated on her in front Ian.
    “He must have really hated you,” I said.
    “It was a simple thing. Isabelle chose me—and he blamed me for her death.”
    “Ah.” Isabelle had been Ian’s wife, but he spoke of her so infrequently that I barely knew more than her name. “But for Alexander to take a young girl—”
    “Mattie shared a likeness with her mother. Plus, Alexander was insane.”
    “I see.” It was a common affliction among necromancers, especially the powerful. “That’s some impressive alchemy. I assume you