[English] HEART OF VENOM

Heart of Venom
Heart of Venom Page 10



An image of Jo-Jo sitting on the steps at the Briartop museum stared back at me.

I recognized the photo as one that had run in the newspaper a few weeks ago, one of many that the media photographers had snapped after clementine's botched heist that night. The rest of the story had been carefully cut away from the photo, along with the other people in it, leaving only the image of Jo-Jo behind. The paper had been folded into a small square, and the edges were soft and worn, as though Grimes had been carrying it around in his pocket for a while.

This must have been the thing that had finally fully reignited his interest in Sophia, even more so than Fletcher's death. The reason Jo-Jo had been shot.

My surprise quickly faded away, but a sick, sick feeling lingered in my stomach. Because Jo-Jo wouldn't have even been at the museum if not for me, if I hadn't asked her to come and heal Phillip after clementine had shot him.

My fault - it was my fault

that Grimes had come after the Deveraux sisters again. I'd put Jo-Jo in the spotlight without even meaning to, and now she and Sophia were paying the terrible price for it.

My fingers curled around the clipping, crushing the newspaper into a small, round wad. Not for the first time, I cursed clementine Barker and then Jonah McAllister, who'd hired her in the first place. McAllister couldn't have possibly realized that this would be one of the consequences of his actions, but I knew that he would enjoy it all the same, should he ever learn of it. There were few things the weaselly lawyer liked better than causing trouble for me and mine.

I let myself fume about McAllister for a moment before I tossed the wadded-up newspaper clipping aside.

My eyes scanned the ruined salon a final time, but there was nothing else to see or do here, so I grabbed my sandals from the corner and slipped them on.

I'd just started to leave when my cell phone rang.

It was such a loud, jarring, unexpected sound that I whirled around, a knife in my hand, ready to kill whatever was making that noise. But after realizing that it was only my phone, which I'd left on the buffet table, I let it ring until it went to voice mail. I picked it up and had started to slip it into my pocket when it began ringing again. I had a sneaking suspicion who was calling and that he wouldn't give up until I answered.

"What?" I growled into the receiver.

"Finally!" Finn practically shrieked in my ear. "There you are! I've been calling and calling you!"

"Yeah, well, I've been a little busy, in case you haven't heard."

"I got off the phone with Bria a few minutes ago," Finn said. "Tell me what happened."

I quickly filled him in on everything that had happened. While I talked, I left the salon and walked down the hallway, my sandals sloshing through the puddles of

water. I stepped out onto the front porch, stopping to shut the door behind me. At least, I tried to. Its hinges had come loose from the frame, and it wouldn't quite close all the way. Another thing that Grimes had broken - and something else that he was going to pay for.

When I finished, Finn was silent for a moment. Then he let loose with a very long, very loud, very imaginative string of curses that quickly devolved into a raging manifesto about how Grimes should be brutally tortured, stitched back together, and then tortured again for everything that he'd done to Jo-Jo and Sophia.

"Well," I drawled when Finn had finally calmed down enough to let me get a word in edgewise. "I second all that. In fact, I'm getting into the car right now to go make it happen."

"I'm up in cypress Mountain meeting with a client, but I can leave right now and be down there in a few hours," Finn said. "Then we can go after Sophia together."

"There's no time. I need to get to her as soon as possible. There's no telling what Grimes will do to her."

I didn't tell him that it might already be too late. Finn knew that as well as I did.

"You can't go after Grimes alone," Finn said. "Who knows how many more men he has on that mountain of his? At the very least, you'll be outnumbered."

"I can, and I'm going to. I don't care how many ****ing men he has. I'll kill every single one of them if that's what it takes; you should know that."

"I do know that. I also know that you're upset, but going up there on your own isn't a smart move," Finn said. "You know it too, deep down inside. You're just not thinking clearly right now because you're so angry."

Jo-Jo! Sophia! Jo-Jo! Sophia!

The sisters' screams echoed in my head again, and once more all the images, all the terrible memories, of the day overwhelmed me. Sophia stumbling into the salon, telling us to run. Jo-Jo stretching her hand out toward her sister. Sophia hanging on to the doorframe with all her might. The coppery smears of Jo-Jo's blood on Bria's sheet of elemental Ice. The agony in her eyes at the thought of Sophia in Grimes's clutches. The cold touch of Jo-Jo's hand at cooper's house.

Finn was right. I was angry. But I was determined too.

And waiting simply wasn't an option, no matter how dangerous doing this alone was going to be.

"My thinking is crystal-clear," I snapped. "Save Sophia. kill Grimes. It's pretty cut-and-dried. Save your breath, Finn."

"Gin, wait - "

I hung up on him. The phone started ringing a second later. No doubt, Finn thought that he could talk me out of it. He should have known better.

Chapter Ten

With my phone turned off and tossed onto the passenger seat of Roslyn's car, I left Jo-Jo's salon and drove over to Fletcher's house, my house now. I zoomed up the driveway, making the tires spit out gravel in every direction, crested the ridge, and parked.

The ramshackle structure looked a bit odd, since it featured a mishmash of white clapboard, brown brick, and gray stone, all topped off by a tin roof. But to me, it was simply home. To the right of the house, the yard stretched out before abruptly dropping off into a series of jagged cliffs. To the left, the woods formed a solid line of green, gray, and brown.

I got out of the car and headed for the front porch.

Normally, I took a moment to reach out with my magic and listen to the stones around me, in case anyone had decided to lie in wait to ambush the Spider at home. But today I didn't even bother. If someone was out there, then today was the unluckiest day of his life, because the idiot would be my warm-up for Harley Grimes.

But as I opened the heavy black granite front door shot through with thick veins of silverstone, nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the chirping of the birds in the trees or the rustle of the rabbits in the underbrush. Good. I didn't want anything else to slow me down and keep me from reaching Sophia as quickly as possible.

I stepped inside, shut the door behind me, and headed straight for Fletcher's office. I hated delaying even a second, but I needed more information before I went after Grimes, and this was the one place I was sure I could get it.

A large maple tree shaded this part of the house, and even with the day's sun, Fletcher's office was dark enough that I had to turn the lights on to see what I was doing.

The room was a mess, with papers, pens, and folders stacked everywhere, from the desk in the back to the bookcases standing against the walls to the file cabinets that squatted on either side of the door. But there had been a method to Fletcher's madness, and I'd slowly been figuring out his system.

In fact, I'd been spending more and more time in his office over the past few weeks, trying to track down the mysterious M. M. Monroe, the long-lost relative that

Mab's will had listed as heir to all of her earthly possessions. I hadn't had any luck so far, but going through the files had finally nudged me into straightening up the old man's office. At least a little bit. I left most of his things where Fletcher had kept them, though. In a way, it made me feel like he was still there, still guiding me, even though he'd been dead since last fall.

I hadn't run across any information about Grimes, Hazel, and their men, but there had to be something there.

Fletcher and Grimes had almost killed each other over Sophia, and the old man had made Grimes stay away on his mountain ever since then. Still, Fletcher had liked to keep tabs on everyone who was up to no good in Ashland, and there was no way that he wouldn't have tracked Grimes through the years, especially if he thought that

Grimes might be a threat to the Deveraux sisters again someday.

I started with the file cabinets beside the door, flipping through all of the folders inside. No file on Grimes.

I moved over to the bookcases, rifling through the items on every shelf. No file. I went over to the desk, sorting through all the papers on the battered surface and then all the ones in the various drawers. Still no file.

Frustrated, I slammed the last drawer on the desk shut, then swiveled Fletcher's chair back and forth, making the wheels go screech-screech-screech . I studied every part of the office, wondering if there was anything that I'd missed, any possible place that Fletcher might have stashed some information on Grimes that I'd overlooked.

And that's when I noticed the sticker on one of the bookcases.

It...

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Those were the last words in the file, and I traced my fingers over them. The paper was smooth, but touching it calmed some of my anger and worry and made me feel like Fletcher was watching over me.

"consider it done," I murmured.

The old man didn't respond, of course, and the quiet of the house soaked up my whispered words, and I knew that he would have approved of what I was going to do.

Like I had told Finn, my plan was simple.

Save Sophia. kill Grimes. Stab to death anyone who got in my way.

I showered just long enough to wash the blood off me.

Then I geared up for my rescue mission.

Black hiking boots with reinforced steel toes, dark blue jeans, a tight fitted red tank top under a long-sleeved dark green T-shirt. In a few minutes, I'd transformed myself from spending a summer day at the salon into tackling a dangerous job in the forest as the Spider. Despite the fact that it was ninety degrees outside, I also put on a gray vest lined with silverstone. I'd seen how well-armed and trigger-happy Grimes and his men were, and the magical metal in the vest would stop any bullets that came whistling in my direction, along with absorbing some of Grimes's and Hazel's Fire magic, should they get the chance to use it on me.

I also made sure that I had plenty of knives. One up each sleeve, one at the small of my back, one tucked into each boot. My usual five-point arsenal, which I supple - mented by sticking a couple more knives into the various pockets on the front of my vest. I had a feeling that I'd need every single one of the weapons before this was all said and done.

When I was properly outfitted, I went downstairs to the den. It was a comfortable room and one that I spent a lot of time in, but I moved past the worn furniture and over to the fireplace. I reached up inside the chimney and pulled down a black backpack that I kept there in case of emergencies - like this one.

I unzipped the bag, which contained more knives, a couple of guns, silencers, and plenty of ammunition.

Making sure that the weapons were in working order, I inventoried the other items inside. climbing rope, some packets of dried food, a bottle of water, a few small tools, a hand-cranked flashlight, a pair of binoculars, waterproof matches, a couple of tins of Jo-Jo's healing ointment. Everything I should need to get up the mountain to Grimes's camp, rescue Sophia, and get back down again.

I threw Fletcher's folder of information into the top of the bag, then zipped it shut. I hefted the backpack onto my shoulder and started to leave the den, but a couple of sly wink-winks of silverstone caught my eye. I stopped and stared at the mantel above the fireplace.

A series of framed drawings were propped up there, the runes of my family, dead and alive. A snowflake and an ivy vine for my mom, Eira, and my older sister, Annabella. Bria's primrose rune. The neon pig sign outside the Pork Pit that I'd drawn in honor of Fletcher. A hammer, Owen's rune, representing strength, perseverance, and hard work.

The drawings were the same as always, but there were new ad***ions on the mantel: two silverstone pendants, one snowflake and one ivy vine. My mother's and Annabella's runes. I'd draped the necklaces over their matching drawings, so that the two snowflakes and the two ivy vines were resting next to each other.

For years, I'd thought that the pendants had been lost forever, buried in the rubble of our mansion the night

Mab had murdered my mother and Annabella. But Mab had had the runes the whole time, and they'd been on display at Briartop, along with all of the Fire elemental's other treasured possessions. At least, until Owen swiped them from the museum and gave them to me, something that had touched me more than he knew. Probably more than anyone knew.

I reached out and touched first one rune necklace, then the other, my fingers trailing over the smooth, hard, cold metal. I'd already lost too many people I cared about.

I wasn't losing Sophia too. No matter what I had to do, what I had *****ffer through, or what I had to sacrifice to get her back.

I looked at all the drawings and the necklaces in turn, fixing the runes in my mind, letting them remind me of exactly who and what I was fighting - and killing - for.

Then I left the den and the symbols of my family behind.

I'd almost reached the front door of the house when the phone in the hallway started to ring. I thought about answering it but decided not to. It was probably Finn again, trying to talk me into waiting for him.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. More than two hours had passed since the men had stormed into the salon, and Grimes and Hazel were probably back up on their mountain by now, thinking that no one was coming after Sophia. I'd already spent enough time going to the salon and then coming home. Necessary trips, but every minute that ticked by was another one that Sophia spent with Grimes, another one that he could be torturing her.

So I walked right on by the ringing phone. It wasn't until I was outside and had stepped off the front porch that I realized that I wasn't alone. Another car sat in the driveway, with a man leaning against it: Owen Grayson.

Owen had on the same sort of clothes as mine - brown boots, brown pants, black T-shirt. His arms were crossed over his muscled chest, while the bright sun brought out the blue highlights in his thick black hair. He was as ruggedly handsome as ever. Or maybe I just thought so because I knew that he wasn't mine, not anymore. Not for weeks now. And he probably never would be again.

"Owen?" I asked, stopping short at the sight of him.

"What are you doing here?"

Instead of answering me, he reached into his car and grabbed a black backpack that was eerily similar to mine.

He shut the car door and walked toward me. A series of clink-clank-clink-clanks drifted over to me as whatever was in his bag shifted back and forth. The sounds of guns, knives, and other sharp bits of metal jostling together was as familiar to me as a lullaby - and much more comforting.Owen stopped in front of me and hoisted the backpack onto his shoulder. His gaze met mine, his violet eyes dark, somber, and serious. "I'm here to help."

Chapter Eleven

Words just . . . failed me.

For a moment, I was completely speechless. Of all the people who would offer to help me with something like this, I hadn't thought that Owen would be one of them.

Not anymore. Not after I'd killed his first love. But here he was anyway, despite everything that had happened between us. And it felt . . . good. It felt . . . right .

"Phillip called and told me what happened," Owen said. "I tried to call you, but your phone kept going straight to voice mail, so I called Finn. He said that he was driving back to Ashland but that he wouldn't be here for a couple of hours and that you were determined to go after this guy Grimes immediately. So I came to help."

Anger sizzled in my chest, but I couldn't blame Phillip and Finn for their actions. Like Phillip had said, they were just trying to make sure that I didn't go off and get myself killed out in the middle of the woods. I would have done the same thing if they, Bria, or anyone else I cared about had been bound and determined to go after a dangerous criminal by herself. Well, actually, I probably would have hog-tied them and gone in their place.

Still, Owen and I . . . we weren't exactly together these days. Sure, I'd gotten him out of the vault and away from clementine and her giants at the Briartop museum, but

I didn't want him to think that he owed me anything for that, because he didn't. Not one damn thing. I would have gladly battled clementine a thousand times for him, even now, after he'd broken my heart. Because that's what you did for the people you loved. You fought for them no matter what - and no matter how terribly they hurt you.

"You don't have to go with me," I said. "It's not your fight."

"Yes, it is," Owen replied. "I care about Jo-Jo and Sophia too. More important, I care about you , Gin. I know how much this has to be hurting you right now."

That was the one thing about Owen that continually surprised and scared me, just how well he could see past my usual indifferent mask and suss out my true, buried emotions.

Still, I kept that mask up and locked in place as I stared at him, trying to see if he really meant what he said. But his eyes were clear, his stance tall, his jaw tight and determined. He seemed like the Owen of old, before Salina had wreaked such havoc on us.

But there was something else lurking in his face, a wariness that I hadn't seen before. It almost seemed as if he was holding his breath and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As if I was about to say or do something that would injure him so greatly that he would never, ever recover from it.

But I had no idea what that could possibly be.

"You don't owe me anything, if that's what this is about," I said, struggling not to show anything of what I was really feeling. "Not for what happened at Briartop and not for Salina either."

Owen did the last thing that I expected him to: he smiled. A great, big, beautiful smile that brightened his whole face. "I knew you were going to say that."

"Okay," I said, not quite sure what he was getting at.

"But that doesn't make it any less true."

Owen nodded. Then he blew out a...

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As I drove, I told Owen everything that I knew and suspected about Grimes. While I talked, he leaned over into the backseat, unzipped my backpack, fished out

Fletcher's file on Grimes, and started reading through it.

Owen frowned. "The name sounds familiar. Why do you think Grimes came after Sophia again after all these years?"

That newspaper clipping of Jo-Jo flashed through my mind. Guilt twisted my stomach, but I made myself shrug. "Probably for pure meanness. Fletcher took her away from him, and Grimes didn't like that. So he finally decided to do something about it. The coward just waited until after Fletcher was dead to make his move."

"Do you think that he knows about you?" Owen asked. "That Fletcher trained you?"

I thought of the way Grimes had so casually thrown his Fire magic at me, then walked away, so sure in the knowledge that the flames would roast me where I stood.

"I don't think so. Otherwise, he would have brought more men, at the very least, and he wouldn't have left me alone with the ones he did bring."

Owen nodded his agreement, then hesitated. "I haven't said this yet, but I should have. I'm glad that you're all right, Gin."

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road and my face blank, not letting him see how much his words meant to me, how much they would always mean to me.

I left the suburbs behind and wound my way up through Northtown, the rich, fancy, highfalutin part of Ashland, where the wealthy, social, and magical elite lived. We passed mansion after mansion, all with tasteful yards that were as lush and green as they could be, despite the scorching summer sun beating down on them. I drove fast, and we soon left the immaculate estates behind and started winding our way up through the mountains above Ashland.

Our route took us by country Daze, an old-timey store owned by a friend of Fletcher's. Several cars were parked in the gravel lot that fronted the store. But that wasn't what caught my attention - the man standing by the stop sign did.

He was an older man, with a bit of wispy white hair that stood straight up as if in defiance of the wilting humi***y of the day. Despite the heat, he wore brown boots, along with blue pants and a long-sleeved blue cotton work shirt, and his dark, burnished skin hinted at his cherokee heritage. An old, weathered brown satchel sat at his feet.

But the most interesting thing about Warren T. Fox was the rifle that he had casually propped up on his shoulder, as though it was perfectly normal for him to be standing by the side of the road holding a gun. Well, this was Ashland. I would have been more surprised if he didn't have a weapon.

Warren peered at our car as it approached him. He must have spotted Owen and me, because he grabbed his bag, straightened up, and started walking in our direction, rifle and all.

"What is he doing?" I asked. "Has Finn made some pass at Violet that I don't know about, and Warren is finally going to shoot him for it?"

Violet was Warren's college-age granddaughter and Eva Grayson's best friend. Finn liked to flirt with Violet as much as he did with every other woman who crossed his path, despite his involvement with Bria.

Owen shifted in his seat. "After Finn called me, I made a few calls myself."

"To Warren? Why?"

"Because nobody knows these mountains better than he does," Owen said. "Warren's told me more than one story about his hiking and hunting adventures, and I thought that we could use his help finding Grimes's camp."

It was a smart idea, something that I should have thought of myself. Sure, I had Fletcher's maps of Grimes's camp, but there was nothing like firsthand knowledge. As much as I would have liked to tell Owen that we didn't need Warren, I couldn't. I didn't like putting Warren in danger, but Owen was right. If Warren knew the area around Grimes's mountain hideout, then that gave us an even better chance of finding and rescuing Sophia as quickly as possible. Besides, even I had no desire to tangle with an irate old coot like Warren T. Fox.

So I rolled down my window, slowed, and stopped in the middle of the road. Warren ambled over to my side of the car and leaned down so he could peer inside at us.

"I'm looking for a guide," I drawled. "Or maybe a hunting buddy, depending on your point of view. know where I might find somebody like that?"

A grin creased his face, adding more layers of wrinkles to his features. "I think that I know just the fella for you, Gin." His smile vanished. "I only wish the circumstances were different."

"Me too, Warren. Me too."

I unlocked the car, and Warren opened the back door.

He paused a moment, staring at all the blood staining the backseat, just like Owen had. Warren harrumphed, as if the sight offended him, or maybe it was because he knew that it was Jo-Jo's blood. But he got in anyway and shut the door behind him.

"How is Jo-Jo?" he asked in his high, thin, reedy voice.

"Hanging on - for now. I figure that having Sophia there when she wakes up will make all the difference."

He nodded. "That it will. So why don't you stop lolly - gagging in the middle of the road, and let's get on with it."

"Why, Warren," I drawled again. "I thought you'd never ask."

I put the car back into gear, eased forward, and made a turn at the stop sign, going even deeper into the mountains and drawing that much closer to Grimes's camp - and Sophia.

Chapter Twelve

Once again, I recapped the morning's events at the salon.

Warren listened to my story, nodding his head here and there.

When I'd finished, I added, "Owen says that you like to go hiking and hunting up in the mountains and that you might know the area around Grimes's camp."

Warren's lips puckered, as though he'd bitten into a lemon. "It's more than just a might know . I've been there before."

My eyes shot up to the rearview mirror. Warren stared back at me, his mouth still twisted into that sour expression.

"When?" I asked.

"The last time Grimes took Sophia."

Suddenly, I realized what had been missing from Fletcher's writings on his battle with Grimes: that mysterious third person he'd tried so hard not to mention.

"You . . . you helped Fletcher rescue Sophia all those years ago? I thought that you and Fletcher had a falling out over a woman when you were young and that the two of you didn't speak after that."

Warren looked at me in the mirror another moment before he turned his head and stared out the window.

"Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. Fletcher and I used to go hunting in the mountains together all the time when we were young. After he left and moved down into the city, I kept on going without him."

"So when Jo-Jo approached him about getting Sophia back, Fletcher needed you to guide him."

"Actually, Jo-Jo came into my store one day, covered in mud and crying up a storm. I'd never seen her before, so I asked her what was wrong, and we got to talking.

She told me how Grimes had kidnapped Sophia and how she'd been out in the woods trying to find her sister with no luck." Warren cleared his throat. "So I told her about Fletcher being the Tin Man."

I could picture it all in my mind. Jo-Jo stumbling into country Daze, Warren sitting down with her, Jo-Jo sobbing out her story, Warren realizing that she had a problem that only his former friend could solve - The right tires hit a rumble strip on the side of the road, jolting me out of my musings. I turned the wheel, edging the car away from the dangerous curve. The road straightened out for several hundred feet, so I looked at Warren in the rearview mirror again.

"That was how the two of them met? Because of you?"

Warren nodded. His dark eyes met mine in the mirror again. "I knew that he could help her, that he was probably the only one who could help her. Even back then, Harley Grimes had a reputation for being an evil, vicious, crazy son of a bitch."

"Half giant, half dwarf, and all mean," I murmured, echoing what Jo-Jo had once told me about Grimes.

Warren nodded his agreement. "But I didn't think that Fletcher would ask for my help too. At first, I refused, but then Jo-Jo came back to the store and begged me to guide him up there. I couldn't turn her down then - or now."

"Thank you, Warren," I said in a soft voice. "For everything."

"Bah," he said, waving his hand. "Don't thank me until it's over, Sophia is back where she belongs, and that bastard Grimes is finally dead."

He stared out the window again, his eyes distant, his lips pinched together, the lines on his face grooved even deeper with old memories, old hurts, old heartaches. I wondered what Warren was seeing, what he was remembering, what he was feeling. If he was reliving the trip he'd taken with Fletcher so very long ago or if he was thinking ahead to the danger he was going to face for a second time.

Either way, there was nothing for me to do but keep on driving and hope that I could get us all back down the mountain again in one piece after we rescued Sophia.

Warren directed me to one of the many scenic overlooks on the narrow, curvy, switchback roads of...

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bag that I'd left at his house a few months ago. But that had been back before Salina had come into our lives. I wondered if he still had my things or if he'd thrown them out.The last notion made my heart twinge with pain, but I ignored it and focused on the signs and trails again.

"c'mon. We need to get moving."

I slid my backpack onto my shoulders and headed for the eastern trail. Owen and Warren did the same with their gear, then fell into step behind me.

With myself in the lead, we walked a good distance in silence with only the sounds of the forest around us. The high, cheery chirp-chirp-chirp of the birds in the trees, the low, lazy drone of bees and other bugs, the sharp, crackling rustle-rustle-rustle of lizards, frogs, and other critters in the underbrush of dry leaves.

This was a pretty patch of woods, and if we'd been out on a summer hike, I would have taken my time and enjoyed the scenery. The dark brown soil of the forest floor gave way to the lush, vibrant green of leaves, and the arching branches of trees stretched high into the cloudless sky above. The thick canopy dappled the forest in shifting shadows, which provided some welcome relief from the July heat, although the humi***y was as muggy and oppressive as ever. Despite the shade, sweat trickled down my neck and the small of my back, making my clothes stick to my skin like patches of soggy tape. I could have used my Ice magic to help cool myself, but I didn't want to waste my power like that. Not when I had a feeling that I'd need every ounce of my strength to go up against Grimes.

His combination of giant and dwarven blood made him tough enough, but add his Fire magic to that, and you had a truly dangerous enemy. Not to mention the fact that Hazel had the same sort of strength and Fire power that her brother did and how much malicious glee she took in using her magic to hurt other people.

But what worried me the most was Sophia. She'd been shot at least twice before she'd stumbled into the salon and then was burned with Hazel's Fire when she'd been dragged away. I didn't know how many more injuries Hazel and Grimes might have inflicted on her in the meantime or how much blood she might have lost.

So there was a very real chance that Sophia wouldn't be well enough to leave the mountain under her own power.

Since she had an even more muscular body than Jo-Jo's, she weighed more and would be even harder to move. But

if we had to carry her all the way down the mountain, so

be it.

After about half an hour of following the trail, the three of us stopped. We all chugged down some bottled

water, and then I drew out the maps of the area that had

been in Fletcher's file and showed them to Warren and Owen.

Warren tapped his finger on one of the maps, then pointed up ahead. "The edge of Grimes's property, at least what he likes to think of as his property, starts about another two miles up the trail, beyond that next big curve."

I eyed the sharp bend, where the trail made a hard right and disappeared behind a thick stand of oaks. "Will he have guards posted around the perimeter?"

Warren tapped another spot on the map. "Not way down here but definitely farther up the trail. There's another path, well, more like a deer track, that runs parallel to the main trail. We can follow that. It leads to a ridge that overlooks Grimes's entire camp. We can get our bear - ings there and decide where to go to next."

And see whether Sophia is even still alive.

He didn't say the words, but we all knew that it was a possibility, that Sophia might already be dead. That maybe all Grimes had wanted was to kidnap her so he could torture her to death.

Owen must have seen the worry in my face, because he gave my arm a gentle squeeze. "We'll find her, and we'll get her out of there. Jo-Jo can fix the rest. That's what you always say, right?"

"Right."

I echoed the word back to him, but my voice sounded faint and hollow, even to me. Because there were some wounds, some hurts, some sorrows that even Jo-Jo's Air magic simply couldn't fix, and Sophia had them, She had ever since the first time Grimes had taken her. Her raspy, broken voice, the sadness that glimmered in her black eyes, the way she sometimes tensed up when a new customer entered the Pork Pit. And now her worst nightmare, her deepest, darkest fear, had come to life and was happening to her all over again. Sophia had barely survived what Grimes had done to her the first time. I didn't know what - if anything - would be left of her after this new round of horrors.

"Gin?" Owen asked in a soft voice.

"c'mon. Let's find this trail of Warren's. The sooner we set eyes on Sophia, the sooner we can rescue her."

Owen gave my arm another squeeze. Then he shouldered his backpack, while Warren hoisted his rifle onto his shoulder again. Together, the three of us started back up the trail.

We'd only gone about fifty feet when a man rounded the bend in front of us.

He wore brown boots and pants, a short-sleeved white button-up shirt, and an old-fashioned brown fedora that was an exact match for the ones that Grimes's men had on when they'd swarmed into Jo-Jo's salon. He also had the same sort of large, old-fashioned revolver strapped to his side as they had. All of that marked him as one of

Grimes's men - and as good as dead.

The man spotted us at the same time as we saw him, and he stopped in his tracks in the middle of the trail. His eyes widened in surprise, and his hand dropped to the gun on his belt. The man's fingers curled around the hilt of his revolver, but he didn't immediately yank it out and start shooting at us.

His first mistake - and his last.

Chapter Thirteen

Instead of palming a knife, surging forward, and killing the man where he stood, I held my hands out to my sides, gave him a bright, friendly smile, and slowly ambled toward him.

"Oh, thank goodness! Finally, we see another hiker out here in the middle of nowhere. can you help us? Because my friends and I, we are totally lost."

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at Owen and Warren. All the while, though, I kept moving closer and closer to the man. He kept his eyes trained on me, his suspicious gaze flicking over my clothes, as if he was wondering why I was wearing jeans and long sleeves when it was ninety degrees out, but he still didn't make a move to draw his gun. Even if he did, it wouldn't much matter.

The silverstone in my vest would catch any bullets he sent flying my way.

I drew even nearer to him. The guy must have decided that I wasn't all that much of a threat - long dark clothes notwithstanding - because he ****ed his head and leaned to the side, trying to get a better look at Owen and Warren on the trail behind me.

He frowned, and then his eyes bulged again. He must have spotted Warren's rifle and finally realized that we weren't lost hikers after all.

But it was already too late.

Even as the guy fumbled for his gun, I stepped forward and slammed my fist into his face. His head snapped back, and I sucker-punched him in the gut. I followed up those first two blows with hard, brutal jabs to his chest, stomach, and groin.

After the last few hours of worrying about my family, driving all over Ashland, and gathering supplies and intel, it felt good to finally act , to finally do something that would actually get me closer to rescuing Sophia.

So I kept hitting him, over and over again, driving my fists into his body with quick, precise, debilitating strikes.

He was listing from side to side and about to topple over when I finally grabbed his arm, turned my body to his, and flipped him over my shoulder and onto the ground.

He rocked back and forth on the trail, coughing, sputtering, and trying *****ck down as much oxygen as he could, since I'd pummeled all of the air out of his lungs. I had a knife out and up against his throat before he knew what was happening or could even think about reaching for his gun again.

He froze, his mouth gaping like a fish's as he stared up at me.

"If you make one sound, one ****ing sound , I will slit your throat and leave your miserable carcass out here for the crows to pick over," I snarled.

He snorted, like he didn't believe that I'd actually make good on my threat, so I nicked him with my knife. He hissed with pain and surprise, so I cut him again, a little deeper this time.

"What did I say about making a sound?"

The guy finally realized that I was as mean, heartless, and crazy as I claimed to be and swallowed down the scream that was rising in his throat. Pain filled his hazel eyes, along with fear. Good. That would make this easier.

"Gin?" Warren asked. "What are you doing?"

"There's some duct tape in my backpack," I said, not really answering his question. He'd figure it out soon enough. "Hand it to me, please."

Owen stepped forward and walked around me. A zipper sounded, and he reached into the bag, which was still on my back, and rifled through the items inside. A moment later, he zipped the bag back up and handed me the duct tape. He didn't say a word the whole time. Good. I didn't want him to. I didn't want anything to distract me from what I had to do now.

I kept my eyes on the guy on the ground. "If you make one sound that I don't like, one small snort or grunt or fart, I will cut your throat quicker than...

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"I'm staying too," Owen said in a quiet voice.

I stared at them both again, but their shoulders were set, their mouths fixed in flat, determined lines. They knew what I was going to do now, what I had to do in order to have the best possible chance of saving Sophia.

"All right," I said. "But don't say that I didn't warn you."

I turned to my prisoner and ripped the duct tape off his mouth. The guy hissed with pain, but that was the only sound he made. He'd learned that much, at least.

"It's finally time for you to be useful," I drawled. "Tell me about Grimes's camp and what he did with the woman he kidnapped this morning, the one with the black hair and clothes."

The guy shook his head. "I'm not telling you a thing, not one damn thing."

"Sure you are," I replied in an easy voice. "Everyone talks eventually. Even me. The only question is how much it has to hurt first. And believe me when I tell you that I'm very, very good at inflicting massive amounts of pain on people in a very, very short amount of time."

He gave me a surly look. "You think I'm scared of you? Please. You couldn't possibly be the Spider. That ruthless bitch would have killed me the second she saw me. Not dragged me halfway up the mountain instead."

"You're right," I replied. "So maybe I should get on with things. Wouldn't want to disappoint my fans."

I slid my backpack off and set it on the rocks. Then I started rolling my shoulders and swinging my arms from side to side, limbering up for what was to come. I even did a couple of squats, just for kicks. Yeah, it was a show more than anything else, but sometimes a little show was all you needed to get someone to see things your way.

But the guy kept quiet through my warm-up routine, so I decided to up the ante by palming a second knife and turning toward him.

He let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, look, she has another knife. What do you think you're going to do with that, honey? cut me up a steak for dinner?"

I kicked the guy's right knee out from under him, and he landed awkwardly on his ass on the rocks. Before he could yell with pain, I slammed my boot into his ribs, driving the air out of his lungs again.

And I didn't stop there.

Again and again, I kicked him in the ribs, chest, and stomach, until he got the message. He groaned and rocked from side to side, trying to find some position where his body wouldn't ache, but there wasn't one. I'd made sure of that.

When his moans finally died down, I straddled him and crossed my blades over his throat. "Now, sugar, I'll show you exactly what I intend to do with my knives - unless you start talking."

The guy glared at me, still defiant. "Go to hell. You won't get anything out of me. I'm more scared of what Mr. Grimes will do to me than some bitch with a couple of knives."

"Your mistake, sugar."

"Why is that?"

I leaned down so he could see exactly how cold and empty my eyes were. "Because Mr. Grimes isn't here right now - but I am."

Before he could protest, I slapped the piece of duct tape back over his mouth.

And then I started cutting him.

I used small, shallow cuts at first. A nick here, a thin slice there. Little more than paper cuts, really. But the longer I worked on him, the deeper I went, slowly sawing into his neck, his arms, and the thick muscles of his chest.

I didn't particularly enjoy torturing people. In fact, it went against everything that Fletcher had ever taught me about being an assassin. No kids, no pets, no torture.

But Sophia's life was at stake, and there was nothing that would keep me from rescuing her, not even Fletcher's

killer code of honor.

Owen and Warren stood a few feet away, watching the

whole thing. Every slice I made, every bit of blood that

spurted out of the guy's wounds, every muffled scream he

let out through the tape over his mouth as I dug my blades deeper and deeper into his tender flesh. They didn't say a word, and they didn't try to interfere. Even if they'd wanted to, Owen and Warren couldn't have stopped me. Not from doing whatever it took to save Sophia. Not even from this.

The guy writhed on the ground, trying to buck me off, but I dug my knees into his chest and used my weight to hold him in place.

And then I cut him some more.

It went on for about three minutes before the guy started shaking his head up and down, as though he were trying to scream,

Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm ready to talk!

I rocked back onto my heels and coldly considered him. "I'm going to take the tape off your mouth now.

You'd better be ready to tell me everything I want to know. Because if this is a trick and you even think about screaming, then I'll bury my knife so deep in your throat that you won't let out so much as a whistle before you die. Understand?"

The guy furiously nodded again, his head moving even faster than before.

I leaned forward and yanked the tape off his mouth.

"Now, where is the woman Grimes took? What does he plan on doing with her?"

"She's - she's at camp!" he sputtered. "It's about another hour away, just like the old man said!"

"Is she still alive?" I had to ask the question, even though my heart felt as hard and heavy as a brick in my chest, dreading the answer.

"Yes! Yes, she's still alive!" the guy said, the words tumbling out of his mouth one after another. "Grimes wants her for himself! He told the rest of us not to even think about touching her!"

I didn't have to ask him any more questions, because the guy started babbling all about Sophia, Grimes, and the camp. He told me everything that I wanted to know and a few things that I didn't. Apparently, in his free time, Grimes liked to go trolling through Ashland, especially around the community college. Once he saw a girl he liked, he grabbed her off the street, out of one of the parking lots, or even right off campus and brought her up to his mountain camp, and he didn't let her go until she died from the torture, rape, and abuse that he subjected her to. Occasionally, Grimes would get bored with a girl before he killed her, and he'd give her to the rest of his men as a reward for their loyal service. The girl always died real quick after that.

The whole thing made me sick, but it matched up with the information in Fletcher's file.

But what was especially revealing was that Grimes wasn't the only one in on the act. Hazel enjoyed torturing the girls even more than Grimes did, beating them, berating them, and using her Fire magic on them again and again for no real reason other than the fact that she could. Sometimes she was the one who would go trolling and bring back whatever young man caught her eye to meet the same sad fate as the kidnapped girls.

"How many men does Grimes have?" I asked. "Where are they stationed? What kind of weapons do they have?

Do any of them have elemental magic?"

The guy hesitated, so I cut him again to encourage him to keep talking. After a few more slices with my knife, he sang like the proverbial canary.

According to my new best friend, Grimes currently had around three dozen men working for him - a mix of dwarves, giants, vampires, and humans, all armed with guns, knives, and whatever other weapons they could make or scrounge up. But Grimes and Hazel were the only ones with elemental magic. A few guards patrolled the camp perimeter, but Grimes counted on his ruthless reputation to keep most folks away, along with the booby traps that surrounded his camp.

Apparently, my guy was a relatively new recruit and had been sent down to do a sweep through the park and make sure that no one was hanging around who shouldn't have been and that no one had tracked Sophia to Bone Mountain.

"Grimes said that some woman tried to stop him," the guy babbled. "Some chick who got lucky and took out a couple of our guys. He said that once he had the dwarf under control, he was going to go back for the other chick - and that he was going to teach her a lesson that she wouldn't forget."

"Well, Grimes doesn't have to worry about finding me," I said. "Because I'm going to find him first. Anything else you want to add?"

The guy didn't say anything, so I casually twirled my knives in my hands to motivate him one final time.

"That's it! That's it!" he sputtered again. "That's all I know. I swear! I swear! I wouldn't lie, not to you." He

stared at the knives in my hands - knives stained a bright, glossy crimson with his blood. He shuddered, but a desperate, hopeful light still flared in his eyes, despite what I'd done to him. "So . . . I was helpful, right? I mean,like, really, really helpful. I told you practically everything there is to know about Grimes and his operation."

"Oh, yeah. You sang your sweet little heart out for me."

I didn't add that it had been a foregone conclusion.

Few people could resist more than a few minutes of torture, even me.

"So . . . you . . . you're going to let me live, right?" the guy asked.

Behind me, Owen and Warren remained still and silent. They hadn't said a word while I'd carved up and questioned the guy, and they didn't speak now....

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Lots of folks used the sunburst symbol for magical trip wires and booby traps.

Warren got down on his hands and knees, laid his rifle and satchel aside, and carefully crawled forward. "What do we have here?"

He hooked his finger under something and gently pulled it up so Owen and I could see the thin, translucent fishing line that had been strung ankle-high between the poplar and another tree on the opposite side of the track.

The left end of the line was wrapped around a wooden peg that had been driven into the ground, while the right end was merely taped to the tree, right on top of the sunburst rune. As soon as you walked through the fishing line, the tape would rip off the rune, and the sunburst would flare to life and explode with elemental Fire. Simple but effective.

Warren pulled out a pocket knife and carefully cut through the part of the line that was attached to the peg, disabling the trap.

"From what I remember, we'll run across more than a few of these. Best to clear a path now," he said. "While we're not being chased."

"Agreed," I said. "But let's also leave a few of them intact. We don't want Grimes's men realizing that all of the traps have been disarmed and that strangers are near the

camp. They probably know where the traps are, but if

we're lucky, they might forget about them in their haste to get to us. And wouldn't it just be a shame if they tripped them and got a face full of elemental Fire instead of us?"

"Sneaky." Warren's face creased into a devilish grin.

"Fletcher would have done the exact same thing."

I grinned back at him. "I know."

Warren was right. We found several more traps after that. Most were set dozens, if not hundreds, of feet apart, but some were clustered together so tightly that if you tripped one, you'd set off three more in rapid succession. You wouldn't even realize what was happening until the multiple jets of elemental Fire hit you from all sides and scorched you to ashes on the spot. I had to admire

Grimes's slyness, if nothing else.

But not all of the traps were magical. In fact, many were crude, simple devices. More fishing line strung ankle-high between two trees that would send a spiked club swinging in someone's direction. Snares hidden under piles of dry leaves that would haul you up into the air when you stepped into them. Even a six-foot-deep pit lined with sharp, pointed wooden stakes, complete with a body lying at the bottom of it.

At one time, the body had been a young woman, judging from her slender form and the pale purple dress she wore. She'd run right into the pit, which was hidden behind a bush, and had fallen stomach-first onto the stakes, one of which had driven all the way through her body and punched out her back. Like she was a piece of meat skewered on a kebab. Really, that's all she was now.

I didn't know how long she'd been dead, but the stench of rotting flesh wafted up out of the pit, turning even my stomach. The bright sun only intensified the putrid scent, making it shimmer up like sickening heat waves. Flies swarmed all over the woman, and bits of her flesh hung in tatters on her arms, where the crows and other carrion birds had picked and raked at her skin with their beaks and talons. Other animals had been nibbling on her too, judging from the bits of bone that peeked out here and there among the rest of her decomposing skin.

All around her, the rocks in the bottom of the pit alternated between shrieking with all of the terror, fear, and agony the girl had endured and chuckling with the sly, dark malice of the people - the monsters - who'd done this horrible thing to her. Both sounds made me sick to my stomach.

I wondered if she'd been one of the college girls Grimes had kidnapped, how long he'd tortured her, and if this grisly death was her reward for finally escaping him. Well, at least the poor thing wasn't suffering anymore - but I was going to make damn sure that Grimes did. For her and all the others he'd done this to.

Owen stared down at the body. "Eva has a shirt that same color. She had it on the other day when she went to class."

Warren and I didn't respond. We all knew that ours was a dark, dangerous, violent city, but this - what Grimes did to these girls - was cruel, even by Ashland standards.

Owen shook his head, as though that simple motion would fling away his troubling thoughts and the horrible sight before us. He bent down and studied the ground around the trap. "There are a lot of boot prints here. We must be getting close to the camp."

"close enough." Warren spat on the ground again. "close enough."

There was nothing that we could do for the woman, so we left her where she was, staked at the bottom of the pit.

Maybe when this was all over, I'd come back and give her a proper burial.

We walked for ten more minutes before Warren put a finger to his lips and crouched down on his knees. He held his rifle and satchel down by his side and slowly started moving forward. Owen and I tightened our grip on our own weapons and bags, stooped down, and followed him. The three of us crawled up to the top of a stone ridge, then got down on our bellies and slithered forward so that we could peer over the edge of the rocks.

Harley Grimes's camp lay below us.

This particular ridge dipped down into a steep, rocky hillside that ran for about two hundred feet before flattening and spreading out into a clearing in the middle of the forest. The camp looked to be about half a mile wide from west to east and also that deep from north to south before the trees took over again on the far side of the clearing.

A large rectangular building perched on the far west end of the camp, and the gray cinderblock structure had the low, squat, utilitarian feel of a barracks. From what I remembered from Fletcher's file, that was where most of Grimes's men stayed, each one with his own little cot, like they were in the military instead of a vicious mountain gang. Another building to the right was made out of the same cinderblocks, although it was a much smaller square. Steam escaped from a couple of metal pipes set into the roof. I breathed in deeply, and a whiff of cooked meat and some sort of stewed vegetable drifted over to me. Grimes's version of a kitchen or mess hall.

My suspicions were confirmed a few seconds later when a couple of men pushed out of the double doors that fronted the building. Both were carrying tin cups and matching plates of food that they took over to some wooden tables that had been set up between the kitchen and the barracks.

Like the rest of Grimes's men, they wore old-fashioned suits, and they took the time to remove their hats and shrug out of their jackets before they sat down to eat. Murmurs of their conversation drifted up the ridge, but the words were indistinguishable, so I examined the rest of the area, comparing it with the maps in Fletcher's file.

Not much seemed to have changed since the last time the old man had been up here to spy on Grimes. A couple more cinderblock buildings dotted the landscape, some used to store the guns that Grimes ran, while others housed the cash, gold, and valuables that he took in exchange for them. At least a dozen men moved in and around the structures, chopping wood, hauling boxes here and there, and doing whatever other chores they'd been assigned. I even spotted two guys tinkering with a rusty old jalopy that had been parked to one side of the kitchen, as though they were trying to get the ancient car to rumble to life.

At the east end of camp was another, larger building

made out of gray clapboard, with snakes of copper wiring peeking out from the sides and back like the quills on a porcupine. More steam drifted up from that area, and I breathed in again. This time, I got a whiff of something sour. No doubt, that was the spot where Grimes and his men brewed up their mountain moonshine. It didn't surprise me that they made their own hooch. In fact, it seemed to fit in perfectly with Grimes's old-fashioned gangster mentality, and I was willing to bet that his homegrown moonshine was stout stuff, all the better to rile up his men when they went down into Ashland on one of their tears.

But it was the structure in the center of the camp, directly across from us, that held my attention, a three-story plantation house. Unlike the other plain, faceless structures, it was a beautiful building, with an elegant, airy design. The white paint gleamed like a pearl in the midday sun, while the glass windows glimmered like diamonds next to the black shutters. A porch wrapped around the front of the house, which was surrounded by a wide, grassy yard and a white picket fence. A variety of pink, red, and white roses twined through the fence slats, their delicate petals and thick green vines providing vivid splashes of summer color.

If it hadn't been for the plain, grim, depressing look of the rest of the camp, I would have thought the house was a beautiful mountain hideaway. But the more I stared at the structure, the more something about it bothered me, like I'd seen it somewhere before.

Three stories, plantation style, white paint, front porch. My stomach turned over at the wrongness of it . . .

"Is it just me, or does that house in the middle look like Jo-Jo's place?" Owen whispered.

"It's not just you," I replied in a low voice. "I wonder when Grimes built that."

According to Fletcher's maps, there had been a house in that spot...

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But there was nowhere for her to go.

Even if she could have gotten away from Grimes, there was nothing but clear space all around her, which would make it all too easy for one of the men on the porch to step forward, take aim, and put a bullet in her back.

Still, she tried.

Sophia waited until Grimes turned his head, and then she brought up her good arm and punched him in the face, making his spiffy white hat fly off his head. She kept hold of him, spun him around, and hooked her arm around his throat, using Grimes as a shield between her and the guys with guns on the porch. She also plucked Grimes's revolver out of the holster on his belt, thumbed back the trigger, and held the weapon up to his head.

Sophia didn't say a word, but she didn't have to. Her meaning was crystal-clear. If any of the men followed her, she'd shoot Grimes in the head with his own gun. I thought she should go ahead and do that anyway.

Apparently, Sophia had the same idea, because she pulled the trigger.

Click.

Click. Click.

Click.

I could hear exactly how empty the revolver was all the way up on the ridge.

"Really, Sophia," Grimes drawled, his voice drifting up to our location. "You didn't think that I'd keep a loaded gun anywhere you could get your hands on it, now, did you?"

Sophia growled and smashed the weapon into the side of his head. She shoved Grimes forward, then turned and ran away as fast as she could on her injured leg.

Sophia hadn't gone ten steps before a ball of elemental Fire streaked through the air and slammed into her back.

One second, Sophia was hobbling across the yard as fast as she could. The next, she'd fallen to the ground, rolling around in the dirt and trying to smother the flames that scorched her skin.

Hazel walked out from around the side of the house, where she must have been waiting for Sophia to make a break for it. She had swapped the red wrap dress that she'd had on in the salon that morning for a similar one in the same off-white as Grimes's suit. She stopped in the yard long enough to help Grimes get to his feet and re - trieve his white hat. Then she walked over to Sophia, who was on her back on the ground. Hazel gave her an evil grin, then started kicking her.

Thwack.

Thwack. Thwack.

Thwack.

Over and over again, Hazel drove her foot into Sophia's body. Sophia grunted with every blow, but she didn't give Hazel the satisfaction of screaming. Still, every vicious kick that Hazel inflicted on her was like a knife slicing into my own heart.

"Warren," I asked between gritted teeth. "Please tell me that you can shoot that bitch from here."

He shook his head. "I could, but you know that will give away our position. The second I fire, Grimes will know that we're here, and it'll all be over."

"All right, then. I'll take care of it."

I started to get to my feet, but Owen grabbed my arm.

"Stop," he said. "Stop and think for a second. Warren's right. We need to hold on to the element of surprise as long as we can. Going down there right now is suicide.

We all know it. Grimes's men will cut you down before

you get halfway across the clearing. Or worse, they'll capture you along with Sophia."

"I know," I said, choking out the words. "But I can't stay here and do nothing. Not while they're hurting her - "

"Enough!" Harley Grimes's voice rang out through the clearing as he strode forward. "That's enough!"

Thwack.

Hazel gave Sophia one more hard, vicious, brutal kick, then reluctantly backed away.

I held my breath, waiting to see how badly injured Sophia was. But after a few seconds, she rolled over onto her right side, then slowly pushed herself up. It took her a few more seconds to stagger back up onto her feet. Dirt, leaves, and grass stained the skirt of her white dress, while the back was scorched from Hazel's elemental Fire. Her hair had come loose from its ponytail, and the white ribbon lay crumpled in the dust. Sophia shoved her black locks back off her face, leaving a bloody streak on her cheek on top of the burn that was already there, and fixed her cold gaze on Hazel.

"Wimp," she rasped. "That didn't even tickle."

Anger mottled Hazel's face, and she started forward, fists clenched, ready to hit Sophia some more. But Grimes held his arm out, stopping his sister.

"I said that's enough , Hazel."

She put her hands on her hips and glared down her nose at her brother. "You're not going to let her get away with this, are you?" Hazel demanded. "I told you that she would try something like this. She would have put a bullet in your head if she could have. You should just kill her. I've never understood your fascination with her. She's always been more trouble than she's worth."

"Sophia has always been high-spirited," Grimes said.

"That's one of the qualities that I admire most about her."

Grimes moved forward. He held out a hand, as though he was going to caress Sophia's cheek, but she jerked back out of his reach and curled her lips at him in disgust.

Grimes regarded her for a moment, then slapped her across the face, just like he had in the salon. He was much stronger than Hazel, and the brutal blow sent Sophia spinning to the ground again.

"But you're right, sister," Grimes said in a calm, cold voice. "Sophia does need to be punished for her insolence, and I know exactly how to do it."

He gestured at the men still standing on the porch.

They hurried into the clearing. Two of them grabbed Sophia's arms and hauled her to her feet, while the third kept his gun trained on her.

"Bring her," Grimes said.

He pivoted on his heel and strode off toward the east end of camp. The men forced Sophia to follow him, while

Hazel brought up the rear.

I looked at Warren. "Do you know where they're taking her?"

He nodded, his face dark, grim, and troubled. "I have a good idea. And if I'm right, then it's the same wretched place that Fletcher and I rescued her from before."

Warren crawled away from the edge of the ridge, got to his feet, swung his satchel over his shoulder, clutched his rifle in front of him, and moved out.

The pine trees that clung to the crest screened us from any prying eyes below as Warren led Owen and me along the top of the ridge. With everyone focused on Sophia and

her impending punishment, no one noticed us darting along the parallel path high above their heads.

Gunshots rang out through the camp, three blasts of three, for nine shots total. They must have been some sort of signal, because more men appeared in the clearing below. They left whatever they'd been doing behind, stepped out of the various buildings, and fell into step behind Grimes, Hazel, Sophia, and her guards. Every new man who appeared made my heart sink a little more, because each of them would make it that much more difficult to save Sophia from whatever terrible thing Grimes had in mind for her.

Warren, Owen, and I moved as fast as we could, but it was still slow going, running up and down the ridge, having to stop to skirt around or climb over the rocks and fallen trees that sporadically blocked the path.

Finally, after ten minutes, we had left the rocks behind and plunged back down into the forest. Warren didn't follow a set path but instead led us through one gap in the trees after another, still keeping an eye out for traps and circling around to the extreme eastern side of the camp.

We hadn't gone far when the stench of death hit me.

One moment, all I could smell was my own sweat as the July sun baked me in my long clothes and silverstone vest. The next, the stench of rotting, putrefied flesh hit me like a punch in the nose, forcing its way down my mouth and throat and choking me from the inside out.

Behind me, Owen let out a low, strangled cough, as disgusted by the horrid scent as I was. Warren stopped long enough to pull a blue bandanna out of his pocket, knot it around his neck, and use the cloth to cover his nose and face as best he could before moving forward again.

Three minutes later, Warren stopped, crouched down low, and gestured for Owen and me to do the same. Together, we eased up to the edge of the tree line and peered through the screen of leaves, branches, and bushes.

Another clearing lay before us, much smaller than the spot where the buildings were located and only a couple hundred feet from end to end and top to bottom. At the western end, a narrow trail curved into a sharp bend before disappearing into the trees and leading back to the main camp.

Grimes was already there, along with Sophia, Hazel, and the rest of his men. Several worn, weathered tombstones dotted the landscape, like faded brown and gray daisies that had sprouted up out of the bed of dead leaves, twigs, and grasses. But Grimes ignored the markers and strode forward until he was standing on the edge of what looked like a trench about seven feet deep and fifteen feet square. If there had been any water in it, it would have been a bona fide moat. At first, I thought that perhaps it was another trap and that there were sharpened stakes lining the bottom.

I was right, and I was wrong.

Because it was a pit. Only there weren't stakes at the bottom. There were bodies.

Chapter Sixteen

Owen, Warren, and I were on a slight...

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But it apparently wasn't enough that Sophia had already been shot and kicked and was now wading through death. Grimes and Hazel decided to torture her with their Fire magic too.

The two siblings reached for their power, and flames

sparked to life on their fingertips, dancing back and forth like molten-lava butterflies in the soft summer breeze. Their magic moved in perfect harmony, the flames undulating in time and even burning at the same intensity. Then, together, they threw their magic forward. Sophia's hands tightened around the shovel, and she stopped digging, knowing what was coming next, but she didn't hunker down or try to move out of the way. Instead, she stood there straight and tall as two balls of elemental Fire raced through the air and exploded into the bank, one on either side of her.

The scorching heat from the twin blasts blew back into Sophia, knocking her down onto the bodies again. I could feel the intensity of the elemental Fire all the way over where we were in the woods, and I could imagine how excruciating it must have been for her to be so close to it.

But once again, Sophia slowly picked herself up and staggered back onto her feet. The skin on her face, neck, hands, and arms had reddened from the blast, although

I couldn't tell if it was only temporary from the heat or if her skin had been that badly burned.

But maybe the worst part was that the shifting cadavers beneath her feet actually ignited - at least, their clothes did. Oily smoke boiled up from the torn, bloody fabrics that were still clinging to the rotten limbs, adding to the horrible stench in the air.

Sophia glared over her shoulder at her two tormenters.

Hazel cackled and threw another ball of her Fire magic into the bank close to the dwarf, the flames exploding and washing over even more of the corpses. More wretched smoke bubbled up around her, until it hung over the pit like the foulest sort of fog. After another moment, Sophia turned around and went back to her digging, the flames of Hazel's magic licking at her and the dead all around her.The men who'd come to watch hooted with delight through the whole horrible thing. A few even stuck their revolvers up into the air and fired off some shots. The sharp cracks rattled around the clearing, punctuating the men's mocking laughter. Hazel played to the crowd, holding her long off-white skirt out to one side and elegantly bowing to the men before sending little bursts of Fire straight into Sophia's back. Not enough to kill the dwarf but more than enough to hurt her. Grimes tipped his white fedora back from his forehead, as though he wanted an even better view. Then he simply stood there and watched the whole thing, his lips curved up into a small, sinister smile.

The searing heat from the elemental Fire. The foul, rotten stench from the swollen, bloated bodies. The acrid aroma of burned flesh. The bugs humming through the air, hungry for whatever blood and bones they could find.

Hazel preening. The men jeering. Grimes grinning.

And Sophia in the middle of it all, dressed up like a pretty, if stained, porcelain doll, as though she should be having tea in some summer garden instead of digging a mass grave.

It was one of the most disturbing things, one of the most sickening things, one of the cruelest forms of torture that I'd ever seen - and there wasn't a damn thing that I could do about it.

More than once, I started forward, determined to slash my way to Sophia, no matter how suicidal that would be.

But every single time, Owen put his hand on my arm and kept me from giving in to my murderous rage. Even though I wanted nothing more than to leap out of the trees and cut down every single person I saw, I couldn't.

There were just too many men between her and me, not to mention Grimes and Hazel and their damned Fire power. They'd cut me down with their guns and magic before I could even get close to Sophia, much less rescue her.

Besides, I had Owen and Warren to think about too.

They'd come with me of their own accord, but I was still responsible for them. I might be okay risking my life but not theirs.

So I crouched there in the woods, and I watched the torture of someone I loved.

More than that, I memorized it - every gleeful yell, every crackle, pop, and sizzle of dead, smoking flesh, every foul smell that oozed through the air, every hiss of pain that escaped Sophia's burned, blistered lips.

Oh, yes, I watched, and I memorized every single black deed, every horrible thing, every bit of agony that Sophia was enduring. One by one, I embraced all of the sadistic terrors and the cold, black, unending rage that went along with them.

"What do you want to do, Gin?" Owen asked.

Hazel sent another blast of Fire magic into Sophia's back, causing Grimes and the rest of the men to howl with laughter again. The force of it made the dwarf clutch the shovel and hunch over in pain, but after a few seconds, she straightened back up and started digging again.

"The second that there's an opening, we rescue Sophia and get her the hell out of here. And while we're at it, we take these bastards out along the way," I said, my voice dripping with all the venom in my heart. "Every last one of them. No survivors - and absolutely no mercy."

Chapter Seventeen

Eventually, Hazel grew tired of her gruesome game and quit throwing her Fire magic at Sophia. The bodies continued to smolder, though, and I didn't see how Sophia kept from retching at the gruesome graveyard stench - or breaking down entirely.

"We've got some business to attend to back at camp.

You five, stay here and watch her," Grimes ordered some of his men. "She's a clever thing. Don't let her out of your sight, and don't go near her, no matter what. She's killed more than one man with a shovel."

Sophia spun the shovel around in her hands and gave the men on the bank a dark, toothy grin. More than one shuddered and looked away from her. Nobody wanted his skull bashed in, and they especially didn't want to end up in the pit with all of the other bodies. But the men did as Grimes ordered, drawing their guns and lining up on the dirt bank opposite her, making sure to keep well away from the edge of the pit.

Sophia studied them, considering her options, looking for any sign of weakness, just like I would have. But the men had the high ground and the guns, and she knew it.

So Sophia shrugged and went back to her digging, stabbing the shovel into the black earth, then swinging the dirt away in sharp, vicious arcs. I wondered if she was imagining that the earth was Grimes and Hazel. I would have been.

"Good," Grimes said in a pleased voice. "You've decided to behave. You see? We're making progress already.

I'll be back just as soon as I can, darling. Then we'll have a nice dinner and talk about our future here together."

Sophia kept her back to Grimes so he couldn't see the disgust on her face, and she kept right on digging, as if she hadn't even heard him.

But she wasn't the only one who didn't like his words.

Jealousy pinched Hazel's face, and she gave her brother an incredulous look. A few flames sparked on her fingertips, further hinting at her anger, but Hazel quickly curled her hand into a tight fist, smothering the Fire before anyone else noticed it. It seemed that Hazel didn't like it that Grimes was planning to devote so much of his time and attention to Sophia. I imagined that Hazel enjoyed playing queen of the mountain, given that I hadn't seen another woman in the entire camp.

Ever the gentleman, Grimes held out his arm to his sister. Hazel took it and shot Sophia a triumphant look, but the dwarf ignored her. Together, the siblings left the pit and headed back toward the main part of the camp, along with the rest of their men. The five whom Grimes had ordered to stay behind leaned against some of the sturdier-looking tombstones.

One minute slipped by, then another, then another.

Still, I waited, wondering if this might be some sort of trick, if Grimes and especially Hazel might double back and hide in the woods so they could torture Sophia some more, should she try to escape again. But five minutes passed, and they didn't reappear. Maybe they really did have some other business to take care of, after all. I wondered what was so important that Grimes would leave Sophia for it, especially when he'd just captured her again.

"How do you want to do this?" Owen whispered.

I stared at Grimes's men, who were standing roughly parallel to our position in the trees, before studying the landscape around us. Because this wasn't just about killing the men in front of me; it was also about making sure that we got Sophia away from Grimes forever.

Finally, I turned to Warren. "What's the fastest way back down the mountain to the car?"

He pulled his blue bandanna down from around his nose so he could answer me. "The same way we came up."

"There are no other shortcuts? No way we could get there quicker?"

He shook his head.

"What about Grimes and his men? Is there another trail that they could take to get in front of us and cut us off?"

Warren shook his head again. "Not a direct trail, no, although they can always just cut through the woods."

I nodded. It wasn't ideal, but there was nothing that I could do about it.

"And how do you want to take out those guys guarding her?" Owen asked.

I unzipped my backpack, drew...

Heart of Venom
Heart of Venom Page 18



"Whoa, now, boys," I drawled, doing as he asked and faking surprise. "Hold on there a second. There's no need to get violent. I'm just a little lost way out here in the woods, and I was wondering if you could help me. How do I get back to the Bone Mountain trail from here? Because I, like, totally lost my map back in the woods. One second, I had it. The next - poof! - the wind sent it sail - ing right over one of the ridges."

The leader frowned, his eyes scanning the woods behind me. "You're out here by yourself? Just you?"

"Yup, it's just little ole me," I said, making my voice even more syrupy-sweet and helpless. "All by my lonesome."

The man lowered his gun, his thumb tapping against the hilt as he tried to figure out whether I was telling the truth. Apparently, he wasn't concerned about one lone woman, because he holstered his gun.

"Did you hear that, boys?" he said, looking over his shoulder at his friends. "This poor little lady is lost. Lucky for her that she wandered into our camp, eh?"

He let out a dark chuckle, and all the men joined in his laughter, no doubt salivating over all the horrible things they wanted to do to me. They wouldn't be laughing in another minute, two tops.

I kept the empty, ***zy smile on my face and sidled even closer to him. "So can you help me figure out how to get back to the trail, then? Because I've got to tell you that it feels like I've been walking around out here in circles forever ."

The man crooked his finger at me. "Sure, honey. come on over here, and we'll fix you right up."

I went to him, my face all wide-eyed innocence, even as I surreptitiously palmed a knife and dropped it down by my side. Owen crept toward the man standing at the back of the pack, while Sophia eased a little closer to the side of the pit and hoisted her shovel up onto her shoulder, as though she were taking a break.

The leader held his hands out to his sides, like he was welcoming me with open arms. I stopped in front of him and gave him another empty smile. He lunged forward, grabbed my arms, and yanked me up against him, grinding his body against mine.

"Hey!" I cried out in a mock-helpless voice. "What are you doing? Get your hands off me, you creep!"

"Oh, I'll be putting more than my hands on you in a minute. You go ahead and scream as loud as you want to, honey." The man sneered into my face, his breath smelling of sour moonshine. "We like it better when they scream, don't we, boys?"

"Really?" I purred. "That's funny, because I was thinking the exact same thing about you. No, that's not true. I actually like it better when you just die ."

I brought my left hand up and slammed my knife into his throat. He died with a choking gurgle, spraying blood all over my hand, face, and clothes, but I didn't care. Because the warm, sticky drops told me that I was finally doing something to help Sophia - like killing these bastards where they stood.

I shoved the dying leader away, stepped forward, palmed a second knife, and rammed both blades into the next man's chest. By this point, the others realized that I wasn't the innocent little Bambi that I appeared to be, and they raised their guns once more.

But Owen and Sophia didn't give them a chance to fire at me. Owen put his pistol up against the back of the man's head in front of him and pulled the trigger twice.

Thanks to the silencer I'd given him, the gun barely made a sound, and the man was dead before he hit the ground.

Meanwhile, Sophia whipped the shovel off her shoulder and slammed it into the knees of the guy closest to her, causing him to howl with pain. He toppled over into the pit, and Sophia whacked the shovel against his head, caving in his skull with a satisfying crack .

That left one man standing. He looked around at his fallen buddies, his eyes wide with confusion and fear, wondering how they'd all died so quickly. He drew in a breath to scream, but my knife in his throat cut off that concern.

Less than a minute after it had begun, it was over, and all five of Grimes's men lay dead at our feet. A good start but not enough. Not nearly enough.

I walked over to the edge of the pit, bent down, and held out my hand. Sophia clasped it, and I pulled her up and out of the trench. Up close, the stench was even more putrid and overpowering, the bodies bloodier and more rotten than I'd imagined. How had she managed to stand it? Both now and back then?

Sophia swayed forward, and I held her until she was steady on her feet. Owen stood off to one side, watching our backs.

Soot and ash flaked off Sophia's once-white dress, which hung in burnt tatters on her back, while the heels had snapped off her shoes. Her black hair was a singed, tangled mess, while blood had soaked through the white bandages that had been placed over the gunshot wounds on her left arm and thigh. But the worst part was her skin, which was red, raw, and blistered, from her fingertips all the way up her arms. Her throat and face were as bright and shiny as a ripe tomato, her cheeks puffed up from the burns so that they seemed like they would pop if you so much as looked at them too hard.

Every single part of her had to just hurt . But she was still standing, still breathing, still in one piece. Everything else could be fixed - on the outside, at least.

"Jo-Jo?" Sophia rasped in her broken voice.

"cooper healed her," I said. "At least, he tried to. I don't know how well he did. Maybe he'll know more about how she's doing when we get back to his place."

Worry glimmered in Sophia's black eyes, but she nodded.Then the dwarf did something that she'd never done before in all the years that I'd known her: she threw her arms around me and hugged me tight.

"Thank you," she whispered in my ear.

I would have hugged her back if I didn't think that it would have caused her even more pain. "You are more than welcome. Now, come on. Let's get out of here."

Sophia nodded and pulled back. She leaned down, grabbed her shovel, and used it as a sort of walking stick.

Together, with Owen, we headed toward the woods and our escape route.

Chapter Eighteen

Warren stepped out of the trees and met us at the edge of the forest, still clutching his rifle.

"Anything?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not a peep so far. I don't think that anyone in camp heard what happened here, but it won't be too long before Grimes or some of his men come to check on the others. We need to disappear into the woods before they spot us - "

It was as if his words summoned up all the bad, capricious luck that I'd been expecting ever since we'd first set foot on Bone Mountain, because one of Grimes's men chose that exact moment to run into the clearing.

"Hey," he called out, still jogging forward and waving to someone behind him. "Go get Stewie, and come help me. Mr. Grimes changed his mind. He wants the woman brought back - "

He turned around and stopped short at the sight of Owen, Sophia, Warren, and me standing to one side of the clearing. His gaze zoomed in on the dead bodies of his buddies sprawled among the worn tombstones. The guy sucked in a breath, but he did the smart thing and didn't approach us. Instead, he did something far, far worse: he pulled his gun out of the holster on his belt and fired three quick shots up into the air.

I cursed and started forward, ready to kill him, but Warren beat me to it. The old man raised his rifle to his shoulder and put a bullet in the other man's forehead.

But the sharp, staccato sounds of the revolver and the rifle echoed around the clearing, then bellowed through the trees and rattled farther out into the main camp.

Shouts rose in the distance, indicating that Grimes, Hazel, and everyone else would descend on the area in minutes, if not sooner.

"What do you want to do, Gin?" Owen asked. "Make a stand here?"

I shook my head. "No. There are too many of them.

They can easily outflank us, and they have more weapons than we do. Now we run."

Sophia hurried forward, but after a few yards she pulled up short and hissed in pain, despite the shovel that she'd been using *****pport herself. A bit of blood trickled down her bare leg.

"How bad is that gunshot wound in your thigh?" I asked.

"Just bandaged," she rasped. "Not healed."

That's what I'd feared, but there was nothing to be done about it. So I put an arm under Sophia's shoulder, taking some of her weight. Together, we headed for the trees.

Crack!

Crack! Crack!

Crack!

We didn't even make it into the woods before a couple more of Grimes's men raced into the clearing, guns out and firing at us.

"You take Sophia!" Owen shouted, raising his own weapon to fire back. "Warren and I will cover you!"

"Do it!" I yelled back. "But stay close to us! We can't afford to get separated!"

Owen nodded, and he and Warren let loose with another volley of shots. Their guns would be more effective than my knives at this range, even though all I wanted to do was turn around and throw myself at Grimes's men.

Together, Sophia and I hobbled into the woods and back up the faint path that Warren had made earlier when he'd led us down to the pit.

Crack!

...

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Heart of Venom Page 19



Everything I saw only made me more determined to make sure that the others got off the mountain - even if I didn't.

"Get Sophia out of here!" I yelled, stepping away from the lip of the ridge and waving the others on past me.

"Go! I'll hold them off!"

Sophia pulled up short. "No," she rasped. "Don't. Too dangerous."

"Somebody has to slow them down, and it's going to be me. I made Jo-Jo a promise that I'd rescue you, and I'm going to keep it. You wouldn't want to make a liar out of me, now, would you?" I grinned, trying to show her that

I knew what I was doing - and what it would cost me.

Sophia didn't say anything, but fear filled her eyes, fear for me and of what Grimes and Hazel would do to me

if I was captured. But that was something that I couldn't let myself think about right now. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to do what needed to be done in order to save my family.

"She's right," Warren said, ripping the bandanna from around his throat and using it to make a crude bandage for his leg. "Now, come on. I'll drag you if I have to, but we both know that we don't have that kind of time right now."

Warren couldn't drag anyone, not with that bullet in his leg, but he was just stubborn enough to try, and Sophia knew it. She also realized that he was right.

Sophia gave me one more sorrowful look before she threaded her arm through Warren's. Leaning on each other, the two of them slowly crossed the ridge, stepped onto the trail on the far side, and vanished into the woods.

I shrugged the backpack off my shoulders and dropped it at my feet, along with the bloody knife that I'd been holding. I palmed my second knife, then pulled out the one from the small of my back and the two from the sides of my boots. I grabbed a couple of guns out of the backpack and laid them on the rocks. Then I stuffed all five of my knives inside the backpack, zipped it up, and handed it to Owen.

"Here," I said. "Take this. I don't want Grimes getting his grubby hands on Fletcher's maps or the knives that you made for me. Don't worry. I've got plenty more weapons in my vest."

"Don't," he said in a low, strangled, anguished voice.

"Don't give me your knives. Don't give up. Don't you dare

give up."

"I'm not giving up. I'm being realistic."

More shouts echoed through the trees, along with a few more crack s of gunfire, as if to punctuate my words.

"I want to stay with you," Owen said, his words almost a snarl. "I want to fight with you and be by your side to the end - no matter what that is."

"I know," I said, my voice as calm as his was violent.

"But you can't. Warren and Sophia are both injured, and they will never get off the mountain without help - your help. Grimes's men will catch up with them and drag them back here. He'll use them as leverage against us, and then we'll all be dead. So I want you to go, Owen. I need you to go. Please. For Sophia and Warren - and especially for me."

Owen closed his eyes a moment, his body shuddering, as though his heart was tearing in two as he accepted the truth of my words and what we both had to do now. Then he snapped them open, grabbed my arm, and pulled me close to his body.

"Whatever happens, you survive," he growled. "I'll come back for you as soon as Sophia is safe. I promise."

Stubborn determination blazed in his violet eyes, making them burn as brightly as amethyst stars, and my heart swelled with love for him. Despite everything that had happened between us and all the ways that we'd hurt each other, I still loved him. I would love him for as long as I lived.

I just didn't know how much longer that would be.

Because I didn't think that I would survive this fight.

Grimes and Hazel had too many guns, too many men, too much magic, and I was all out of time - and options.

This one precious moment might be all that I had left.

So I cupped Owen's cheek with one hand and stroked my bloody fingers over his face, smoothing out his worried frown and trying to memorize his features. I stared into his eyes, letting him see just how much I cared for him, just how much I loved him. Then I wrapped my arms around his neck and crushed my lips to his, wanting to feel his arms around me just one more time.

He returned my kiss with equal fervor, wrapping his arms even tighter around me. Emotions exploded inside me, one after another - heat, desire, need, want, love. For a moment, I gave myself over completely to it, this hot, burning, unending wave of emotion that threatened to pull me under and drown me with its intensity.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Another round of gunfire burst out, closer this time, shattering the moment, and our kiss ended as quickly as it had begun, although the emotions lingered, sparking through my body like bolts of electricity, jolting every part of me and making me feel more alive than I ever had before.

Owen leaned forward and touched his forehead to mine, still staring into my eyes. "Survive," he whispered.

"Promise me."

"I promise," I whispered, even though I knew the words were an empty lie. Then I stepped away from him.

"Now, go. Before it's too late for all of us."

His eyes met mine, violet and gray, and the emotions roared over me again, even stronger than before - heat, desire, need, want, love. They made me want to fight, they made me want *****rvive - for him, for us - even though there was a slim chance of that, at best. Still, I grabbed onto those feelings, those emotions, those soul - wrenching jolts, and added them to the cold, black rage that was steadily beating in my heart, crystallizing my determination to protect him and the others, no matter what.

Owen nodded, shouldered my backpack, and started backing away across the ridge. He kept his gaze on mine the whole time. All too soon, though, he reached the trees on the far side. I grinned, trying to reassure him.

He returned my grin, although agony still burned in his eyes at the thought of leaving me behind. But Warren couldn't get Sophia off the mountain by himself, not before Grimes's men caught up with them, and we both knew it.

"Go," I called out to him. "Now."

Owen gave me one more longing, solemn look before he turned and disappeared into the trees. I watched him go, wondering if I'd ever see him again.

I hoped so.

But hope was a useless emotion in this situation, so I set it aside and locked it down tight inside me, along with all of my other soft feelings, where they would stay safe and out of the way of what was to come. Instead, I embraced the blackness in my heart until there was nothing left but the icy rage to kill every single person who came within arm's reach of me.

Until I was no more and no less than the Spider once again.

Then I unzipped a pocket on my vest, grabbed one of

my extra silverstone knives, and went to face my enemies.

Chapter Nineteen

When I was sure that Owen, Warren, and Sophia had a good head start on Grimes's men, I stepped out into plain

view on the top of the ridge, my knife in my hand, making sure that everyone in the clearing below could see me.

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

A few bullets pinged harmlessly off the ridge farther down the slope. Most of the men seemed to be armed with revolvers, so they weren't really in range yet, but they surged forward, scrambling up and over the rocks, trying to fix that. I stood there and let them come.

My gaze scanned over the men, and I counted at least a dozen headed my way, each armed with at least one gun.

There were probably more of them at the east and west ends of camp, slogging through the woods and racing toward my position, but they wouldn't be a factor right now.

Twelve on one. Not bad odds, considering.

"This is for you, Fletcher," I said. "I hope that I make you proud."

Crack!

Crack! Crack!

More bullets pinged off the rocks, although they were slowly getting closer to hitting the mark. Still, I waited.

Until finally - crack! - a bullet chipped into the stone at my feet.

I grinned. Now that was definitely close enough. Still, I waited until most of the men had climbed a few feet higher before I crouched down and held my hand up.

A silver light flared in my palm, centered on my spider rune scar, as I reached for the Ice magic flowing deep inside my veins. I studied the glowing circle and eight thin rays of silverstone embedded in my skin, watching the shimmer of magic grow and grow as I grabbed hold of more and more of my power. I wondered if this was the last time that I'd ever see my own rune.

Well, if it was, I was going to make it count.

I reached for the closest rock. The stone steamed and sizzled with cold, as though I were searing my spider rune into it with the icy brand of my hand. In a way, I supposed that I was. It took less than a breath before cold crystals started spreading out from my palm, encasing the rock that I was touching, then flowing on to the next craggy stone and the one after that and the one after that.

Jo-Jo had always told me that I was one of the strongest elementals she'd ever seen, and I'd proven that to myself when I'd gone toe-to-toe with Mab and her Fire and lived through the...