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happened,” I continued. “The salve was not used according to the directions I gave or—”
    “The same nurses who’ve used it in the past were the ones administering it.”
    “Might the patient be magical? Sometimes inborn magic can react in odd ways with alchemy.”
    “There were three different patients and none of them admitted to being magical.”
    I frowned. That didn’t mean they hadn’t lied, but it would be a striking coincidence if all three were magical. The greater Cincinnati area did have a higher concentration of magical folks, but the percentage of the population was still small.
    “Contamination?” I offered, grasping at straws.
    “Possible.” Albright sighed. “In light of the problems inherent with a handmade salve and the pressure we’ve been feeling from the public, I think—”
    “Let me try again.”
    “Miss Daulton.”
    “Please. You said yourself that you’ve never seen people heal the way they have with my salve. Recovery time has been shortened by months. Scars are nonexistent. Can you just throw all that away because a handful of magic haters start waving signs?”
    Dr. Albright bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose just above his glasses. The gesture reminded me of Rowan. Or maybe it was becoming everyone’s reaction to me.
    “I’m also working on a formula to accelerate healing after a skin graft.” In truth, I wanted to develop a formula to regrow skin where there was none. But when dealing with the nonmagical, it was best to start small. Ease them into what I could do.
    “That’s possible?” He looked up, interest erasing the frown from his features. When you get right down to it, Dr. Albright genuinely cared. He was willing to take chances—even on a controversial magical cure—if it meant helping people. I suspected that was why Rowan had sent me to him.
    “Anything is possible with alchemy.”
    A faint smile twisted his wrinkled face. “The hubris of an alchemist.” He leaned back in his chair. “Dr. Brant did warn me.”
    I opened my mouth, about to ask who, when I remembered. Dr. William Rowan Brant. Once a well-respected volcanologist, now better known for his philanthropic endeavors—specifically those that benefitted burn victims. At least, that’s what you learned if you did a web search on him. Very few people knew that he was also the Lord of Flames.
    It sounded like Rowan had warned him about me.
    Dr. Albright sighed. “Very well, Miss Daulton. I’ll give you one more chance.”
    I started to thank him, but he raised a hand to stop me.
    “Our work here is coming under a lot of scrutiny, both from the hospital board and at the national level.”
    “I’ll personally prepare the next batch.”
    He came to his feet and I did the same. “Then I shall expect perfection.” He offered his hand and I took it.
    Perfection. That shouldn’t be a problem.
     
    The hospital halls passed in a blur once again as I walked back toward the elevators. What had gone wrong? I knew it wasn’t anything I’d done, but we’d made so many batches lately that I wasn’t certain if it had been me or Ian who’d prepared the last one. Still, I stuck by my assumption that someone had done something to contaminate it. Ian was far too talented to screw up a basic burn salve.
    I arrived at the elevators and hit the down button. A newspaper machine sat to one side, my own face looking back at me through the glass.
    “Oh shit,” I muttered, moving closer.
    Flame Lord Supports Magic in Medicine . The picture was the same one that had made a run in the paper almost two months ago. It showed James and me leaving the PIA offices in the presence of two hooded Elements: Earth and Fire. My upper arms were bare and my tattoos clearly visible. The black bands were a symbol of rank at the Alchemica. Was the photo just to show Rowan’s association with alchemy? Or had I been named?
    I reached in my pocket, but I didn’t have any change. Maybe Ian could find another