[English] HEART OF VENOM

Heart of Venom
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But I wasn't going to run. I might have given Sophia and the others a good head start, but her injuries, combined with Warren's, would make their escape a slow one.

I still needed to give Grimes, Hazel, and their men something else to focus on for at least a little while longer: me.

I slid my knife up my sleeve, grabbed the guns from where I'd placed them on the rocks, and waited for

Grimes's men to come.

After seeing what had happened to their buddy with the broken neck, Grimes's men quit trying to climb up the frozen rocks to get to me. But they had just as hard a time getting back down again, and several slipped off the ridge and fell to the ground below. Moans, groans, and high pitched whimpers drifted up to me, along with the sharp, satisfying snap-snap-snap of bones breaking. My elemental Ice hadn't killed any more of the men, but I'd put at least a few of them out of commission. Hard to think about chasing after someone when your own femur was sticking up out of your skin like a lollipop gushing blood.

I looked down dispassionately at one man, who was crying, rocking back and forth, and clutching his leg. I could see the white of his bone from where I was. He wouldn't be getting up without an Air elemental to heal him. Even then, the process of being healed would be as excruciating as the broken leg itself. They should just shoot him. It would be kinder -

Crack!

A bullet zinged off the rocks to my right, and I realized that one man had already made the trek through the woods and up the side of the ridge.

Crack! Crack!

Too bad he had lousy aim. The bullets pinged off the rocks around me, but none of them actually came close to hitting me.

I ducked down behind a boulder, then scrambled on top of it and launched myself through the air. The man raised his gun, but I hit his body before he could pull the trigger, and we both went down on the ground. I was the only one who got back up.

Footsteps crunched through the leaves on the trail to my right, and shouts rose from that direction, like a pack of hounds baying out their location.

"Up here!"

"There she is!"

"Get that bitch!"

Men darted out of the woods and headed toward me.

I raised the guns in my hands and took aim.

Sophia. Jo-Jo. Fletcher.

That was the mantra I chanted in my head as I fired off shot after shot, carefully aiming at every person who came within range of my weapons and trying to make every single bullet count. Man after man went down, tumbling to a stop at my feet with holes in their heads, necks, and chests, but all too soon, my guns click-click-clicked empty.

I threw them away, palmed the knife that I'd tucked up my sleeve, and grabbed another one out of a pocket on my vest. More properly attired, I twirled the weapons in my hands and stepped forward.

Sophia. Jo-Jo. Fletcher.

I whirled first one way, then the other, cutting into every man who got within arm's and knife's reach of me, trying to make every single slice and stab as devastating as possible. Blood spattered everywhere, on me and especially on the rocks. Below my feet, the stone began sing - ing a dark, rousing tune about all the death that I was dealing out, and I found myself merrily, loudly humming along in time to it, even though I was the only one who could hear the vicious chorus.

I sang, but the men screamed, the sounds rending the air like my knives did their flesh, the high, sharp echoes reverberating around the ridge and then rattling off into the trees and forest beyond. I hoped Sophia could hear these bastards' terror. I hoped it put the same hard, merci - less smile on her face that it did on mine.

Sophia. Jo-Jo. Fletcher.

Time ceased to have any meaning. There were just enemies to cut down, one after another, as quickly, brutally, and efficiently as I could, before moving on to the next

man standing. I stabbed arms and legs and chests. Drove

my blades into throats and ripped them out again. Even punched my knife through one man's eye. His screams were among the loudest and most satisfying.

That man fell, and I whirled around to face my next foe - and realized that Grimes and Hazel stood behind me, flanked by several more of their gang.

Grimes's gaze scanned over his dead men at my feet, then flicked up to me. His expression was unreadable, but I knew exactly what I looked like. Strands of dark brown hair falling out of my ponytail and sticking to my sweaty, blood covered face and neck. Even more blood spattered across my hands and arms, with still more soaked into my vest and the rest of my clothes. Even my socks squished with blood, and my boots had left behind an intricate pattern of dull brown stains on the gray rocks, as though I'd been tracing a complicated dance routine over and over again.

"Who the hell are you?" Hazel asked.

I grinned. "Your worst ****ing nightmare."

The men standing behind Grimes and Hazel shifted uneasily on their feet. Their leaders might not be afraid of me, but they were - and with good reason.

I gestured at the dead men all around me. "You know, you really should get yourself some better help. All your boys are good for is target practice."

"Take her," Grimes ordered in a cold voice. "Alive."

I grinned even wider and twirled my knives, flinging fat drops of blood off the ends of the blades. "Please," I snarled, staring at the men behind him. "Step right up and die."

Nobody made a move toward me. I let out a dark, happy chuckle, then clucked my tongue. "So hard to find good help these days."

"Now!" Grimes screamed, his calm faccedil;ade finally cracking.

Apparently, Grimes's men were more afraid of him than they were of me, because they rushed forward.

Fools. I raised my knives again and stepped up to meet them. First, I'd take care of Grimes's men, then Hazel and the big man himself -

"Now, Hazel," I heard Grimes say.

A second later, thousands of hot, invisible bubbles brushed against my skin. I had just enough time to grab the man in front of me, turn him around, and use him as a shield before a ball of elemental Fire blasted into us.

The flames exploded on the man's chest, burning away his clothes and immediately turning the upper half of his body into a charred, blistered mess. He started screaming and didn't stop, so I shoved him out of the way and took a step toward Grimes and Hazel, who were holding hands, as if they were combining their magic.

That was all I saw before another blast of elemental Fire came my way. Then another one, then another one.

I managed to duck the first two balls but not the third one, which hit my shoulder like a red-hot sledgehammer and spun me around. Before I could move, before I could react, a fourth blast of Fire hit me square in the back.

This time, I screamed.

Because I was almost out of magic, and I didn't have any way to stop the elemental Fire washing over me. The silverstone in my vest heated up as it soaked up the worst of the flames, but it didn't absorb enough of the magic, not nearly enough.

The men attacking me fell back, as they started yelling and trying to get away from the flames before they leaped from my body and onto theirs. The stench and sizzle of my own charred flesh filled my nose, and smoke boiled up from my clothes, mixing with the lingering fog from my elemental Ice. The heat and pain were so intense that

I couldn't tell which way was which, and before I could figure out where and whom to attack, a fist shot through the flames, slamming into my skull.

Mercifully, the world went black after that.

Chapter Twenty

The sun woke me.

It streamed in through the open window, as sweet and innocent as could be, warming everything that it touched with its soft golden rays. Outside, birds trilled out high, happy notes, accompanied by the low, steady bass beat of bumblebees and other bugs.

I cracked my eyes open. A painting of puffy clouds drifting across a summer sky covered the ceiling above my head, like they always did whenever I woke up at Jo-Jo's house after a fight to the death. For a moment, I relaxed, even though part of me wondered why I was lying on the hard wooden floor instead of in the bed beside me. But the more I stared at the ceiling, the more it seemed like there was something slightly . . . off about it. Like the painting wasn't the same one that I'd seen so many times before.

A soft summer breeze fluttered in through the window, ruffling the pretty, delicate lace curtains - and bringing the stench of death along with it. And I finally realized that I wasn't in Jo-Jo's house after all; I was in Harley

Grimes's piss-poor substitute.

But instead of springing to my feet, I lay there on the floor and took stock of the situation, trying to force the rest of the fuzziness to fade from my mind. I still had on the same bloody clothes as before, although I could feel the breeze dancing over bare patches on my arms and legs from where Grimes's and Hazel's elemental Fire had seared through the fabric. The soft kiss of the wind made the burns and blisters that marred my skin start pulsing with pain, and I had to grit my teeth against the sensation. More cuts and bruises dotted my body, adding to my aching exhaustion. I'd put up a good fight, but it had left its mark on me.

Once I realized that I was more or less in one piece, I focused on my magic. My spider-rune ring was still empty and would be until I filled it up...

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The only things that were different were the photos on the wall next to the stairs. Instead of shots of Jo-Jo, Sophia, Finn, Fletcher, or even me, pictures of Harley Grimes covered the wall. Most of the photos had the brown, faded, vintage look of old daguerreotypes, and almost all of them showed a grinning Grimes tipping his fedora, holding a glass jar of moonshine, or clutching a pair of revolvers crossed over his chest, as though he really was some romantic bootlegging outlaw mugging for the camera, instead of a sick psychopath who liked to kidnap and torture folks.

Other pictures showed Hazel in the same poses, along with one of her on a high ridge, looking off into the distance, queen of everything she surveyed, a set of diamond pins glinting like some sort of crown in her wavy black hair.

There were even a few family portraits of Grimes and Hazel with a couple of other men who looked like them. Probably Horace and Henry, the brothers Fletcher had killed.

But there was one photo in particular that made me stop with one foot in midair: a picture of Sophia.

It was about halfway down the wall, right in the middle of a cluster of pictures of Grimes with his guns, and it looked like it had been taken with an old Polaroid camera. At first, I wasn't sure that it was Sophia. She looked so young in the photo, and she was wearing another white dress patterned with tiny red flowers. Her black hair was much longer and tied back into a pretty braid that trailed down over her right shoulder, but she was staring at the camera with the same flat, murderous expression I'd seen earlier at the pit.

The photo must have been taken the first time Grimes had kidnapped Sophia, which meant that he'd kept it all these years. Once I spotted the one, I noticed more photos of my friend. They lined the bottom of the wall, leading back up to the first.

All of those photos looked as though they'd been taken at a distance and featured a very young Sophia in various spots: on the lawn at Jo-Jo's house, on the front porch of country Daze, sitting in a library, reading a book.

These pictures must have been snapped before Grimes had kidnapped her the first time. Because in all of them, she looked relaxed and happy and was sporting a variety of clothes in a rainbow of colors - white jeans, red tops, khaki shorts.

None of the photos showed Sophia in her dark Goth clothes. I wondered if she'd adopted the style after her first encounter with Grimes. I would have never wanted to see another dress, ribbon, or pair of high heels again either, if I'd been her.

Just how deep Grimes's obsession with her ran made the whole thing worse and reminded me that I needed to find some way to kill him before I died up there on the mountain. Otherwise, Sophia and Jo-Jo would never be safe."come on," Hazel growled from the bottom of the staircase, realizing that I'd stopped to stare at the photos.

"keep moving."

One of the men behind me shoved his gun into my back, encouraging me. I stared at the first photo of Sophia in the white dress for a second longer before trudg - ing the rest of the way down the stairs.

I wasn't terribly surprised when Hazel led me into the back half of the house. I steeled myself and stepped through the doorway after her, expecting to find some sort of twisted replica of Jo-Jo's salon, but the area was completely different. Instead of combs, curlers, and hair dryers, Grimes had set up a fancy, old-timey office and parlor in the space.

An antique desk trimmed with brass stood in the middle of the room, close to the back wall, with a variety of leather wing chairs arranged in front of it. A perfect place for Grimes to hold court and pontificate to his men. All of the seats were a dark green, except for the one behind the desk. It was the same vibrant cherry red as the salon chairs at Jo-Jo's.

A set of double doors to the left of the desk led out to what looked like a stone patio and then a fenced-in yard beyond. Grimes stood on the patio a few feet outside the open doors. He was dressed in a fresh suit, this one in a pale baby blue, and a blue fedora with a matching feather stuck in the brim perched on his head. I wondered how many of those old-fashioned suits he had hanging in his closets and in how many different colors.

But the surprising thing was that Grimes wasn't alone.

Someone was on the patio with him. I couldn't see who it was, though, or even if it was a man or woman. A bit of black fabric was barely visible around the edge of one of the doors, telling me that the person was wearing some sort of dark pants, but that was all.

Grimes had his hands up and was gesturing. Bits of conversation drifted in through the open doors to me.

". . . bit of a problem . . . nothing that I can't handle . . . the shipment won't be delayed . . ."

Then the other person: "The guns had better not . . . that would . . . upset me."

I still couldn't tell whether the stranger was a man or woman. I was too far away, and the voice was too much of a low, smoky murmur.

I'd thought that Grimes would dress down the mystery person for his or her insolent tone and not-so-veiled threat, but the pleasant smile on his face tightened, his lips pulling back to show even more of his perfect teeth, as though he was grinding his molars together to keep the expression firmly in place. After a moment, he nodded.

"Of course."

I frowned, wondering who this person was who could intimidate Grimes with only a few words, especially since I, with my knives and my killing spree of his men, didn't seem to have had much of an impact. I tried to shift to one side, so I could get a better look at his mysterious guest, but a rough hand on my shoulder and a gun shoved against my spine made me stop.

Grimes's answer must have satisfied the other person, because he or she didn't say anything else. Grimes swept his fedora off his head and gave a low, elegant bow, but

I couldn't see whether the other person returned the gesture with a polite nod of his or her own. Grimes turned, as if watching someone walk through the backyard. A second later, something creaked, like a fence gate being opened. Then . . . silence.

Grimes settled his hat on top of his head again, then strode inside the office and shut the double doors behind him.

Hazel looked at her brother. "Well?"

"There was a bit of . . . concern about all of the noise and commotion, and of course, we left the client waiting here in the house for far too long while we dealt with the situation," Grimes said. "All of which I apologized profusely for, in ad***ion to offering a discount for all of the worry, waiting, and trouble, so I think that I managed to salvage the deal."

Hazel crossed her arms over her chest. "I told you that we should have waited until after this was done before you went after that haughty Deveraux bitch again."

Grimes gave his sister a cold, chilling look. "And I told you that I wanted Sophia back as soon as possible - back here with me, where she belongs."

Hazel's nostrils flared, and her jaw tightened, but she didn't argue with her brother any more. Still, it was obvious that she had no love for Sophia. I wondered why - well, beyond the obvious fact that she was a sadistic bitch.

Was Hazel jealous because Grimes was still so fixated on Sophia all these years later? Because he'd apparently spent months building a replica of Jo-Jo's house for her to live in? Because he'd decided to bring her there despite the fact that it might jeopardize some big gun deal that the brother and sister had cooking? Or maybe it was a combination of all that and more. Grimes bringing Sophia in, even as his victim, would threaten the amount of time that he had for Hazel. Maybe that was why she liked torturing people so much, especially the young women Grimes kidnapped and brought here. Maybe Hazel didn't want any competition for her brother's attention - or anyone replacing her as queen of the mountain.

"Besides," Grimes said, "it's not my fault that our guest was left waiting. It's hers ."

He pointed an accusing finger in my direction. All eyes turned to me, and I gave them all a ****y smile.

"Why, if I'd known that y'all had company, I wouldn't have bothered killing your men up on the ridge," I said.

"I would have come straight on over here and shown your guests exactly how hospitable I could be - along with the rest of you."

Hazel stepped forward and backhanded me.

Pain exploded in my jaw, making every nerve ending in my face pulse with agony once more. White stars exploded in my vision again, and I rocked back on my feet, but I didn't give her the satisfaction of stumbling. Instead, I blinked away the spots, stared back at her, and slowly swiveled my head from side to side.

"Thanks," I drawled. "My neck's been killing me all day, but that cracked it just right for me."

Hazel started forward to backhand me again, but Grimes cut in.

"Not now," he said. "You'll get your chance soon enough. I need some information from her first."

"Fine," Hazel muttered in a sullen tone. "We'll do it like usual."

I wondered what like usual was, but since it probably involved my screaming, bloody, torture-filled death, I didn't dwell on it too much. I'd find out soon enough.

Grimes moved over and sat down behind his desk, leaning back in his cherry-red leather chair. Hazel went over...

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Behind me, the three men with the guns shifted on their feet, making the floorboards creak and groan under their weight. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two men on my right exchange a nervous glance. They seemed much more concerned by my threat than Grimes did.

Then again, I'd already killed a passel of their buddies, and the day was still young.

But Grimes had a different reaction from his flunkies.

He ignored me completely. Instead, he swiveled around in his chair and reached for a decanter of clear liquid on a table behind his desk. Grimes unstoppered the bottle, and caustic fumes from whatever was inside assaulted my nose. Some of his mountain moonshine, I guessed, gussied up in fancy crystal. Mountain strychnine, from the harsh scent of it. That wouldn't just put hair on your chest; it would burn it clean off. And probably take a good portion of your esophagus along with it.

Grimes poured himself a couple of fingers' worth of moonshine into a crystal tumbler, then swiveled back around to face me again. Once he'd had a few sips of the foul brew, he set the tumbler aside and picked up a silver picture frame perched on the right side of his desk. He studied the photo for a moment, then set the frame down at an angle. The same sullen photo of Sophia that I'd seen earlier on the wall by the stairs peeked at out me.

"I knew that Sophia was mine from the first moment that I saw her," Grimes said. "Hazel and I were out getting supplies at this little country store down the mountain a ways. Sophia was there with her sister."

A jolt went through me. country Daze - he had to be talking about country Daze, Warren's store. No wonder the old coot had been so insistent on coming with Owen and me. Warren probably felt guilty that Grimes had first laid eyes on Sophia in his store, as guilty as I felt for Jo-Jo's picture being in the newspaper and leading Grimes back to her and Sophia all these years later. And especially for letting Sophia dispose of so many bodies for me over the years.

"Of course, I tried to do the right thing and court her proper," Grimes continued, still staring at the picture of Sophia, his eyes distant and dreamy with memories. "But Ms. Deveraux wouldn't have any of that. She thought that I was a bad influence on Sophia. She should have kept out of things that didn't concern her. But that won't be a problem now, will it?"

I thought of how casually Grimes had shot Jo-Jo in the salon and how cold, pale, and lifeless she had looked lying on cooper's kitchen table. She could have taken a turn for the worse. She could have needed more healing magic than cooper had to give.

She could have died in the time that I'd been up here on the mountain.

My heart squeezed at the thought, aching worse than any of my injuries, but I kept my face calm, as though we were talking about the weather, instead of a brutal attack on someone I loved.

"Oh, I don't know," I replied. "Jo-Jo is stronger than you think. She's a tough old bird. She might just surprise you - again."

"What do you mean by again ?" Hazel asked.

My gaze cut to her. "Who do you think hired Fletcher in the first place? Jo-Jo wanted her sister back, and she decided to do whatever was necessary to make it happen."

"Yes, let's get back to Mr. Lane," Grimes said, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers again. "I'm interested in why you said that he sent you, since I know that he's been dead for months now."

His voice and words were casual, but once again, a bit of unease pinched his face. Whatever Fletcher had done to Grimes all those years ago, however badly the old man had hurt him, however close the old man had come to killing him, it had left a lasting impression. Good. I wanted Grimes to be afraid. I wanted him to sweat and worry and wonder. But most of all, I wanted him *****ffer for as long as possible before I ended him.

Even if I had no idea how I was going to accomplish that right now.

"Oh, you're right," I agreed. "Fletcher was killed last fall."

My gaze dropped to the floor, but I wasn't seeing the gleaming, pristine wood. Instead, blue and pink pig tracks spattered with blood filled my vision, along with a crumpled, ruined figure that had had the flesh peeled from his bones with Air magic. Fletcher. More memories rose in my mind of that horrible, horrible night when

I'd realized that the job that I'd been sent out on was a trap and that I was too late to save Fletcher from being tortured to death inside the Pork Pit.

But I pushed the memories and the emotions back down into the bottom of my black heart and smothered them with a cold, icy layer of rage, just like I had done with the pain of my injuries. Because now was not the time to show any sort of weakness.

"If Lane is dead, then why are you here?" Hazel asked.

"Because he trained me," I answered in a voice that was even snider than hers.

"And who are you?" Grimes asked.

"My name is Gin, like the liquor."

They both gave me blank looks, apparently not getting the joke. Nobody appreciated irony these days.

I sighed. "My name is Gin Blanco," I replied. "But y'all probably know me by another one: the Spider."

The three men behind me sucked in a collective breath.

They shifted on their feet again, backing away from me and making the floorboards creak-creak-creak-creak with their jerky, hurried movements. Well, it was good that my reputation had preceded me. Perhaps when it came time for me to kill Grimes and Hazel, these fools would cringe and cower instead of getting in my way. A nice thought, but I wasn't going to pin my hopes and dreams on it.

But once again, the brother and sister seemed completely unconcerned by my moniker.

"The Spider?" Hazel sneered. "Really? You're the big, bad bitch who took out Mab Monroe? I don't believe it."

I shrugged. "Believe it or not. Doesn't much matter to me."

"You're lying," Grimes said. "The Spider would never come here. She would never waste her time on some ill-advised rescue mission."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that it was so ill-advised, seeing as how I'm standing here and Sophia isn't." I grinned. "Y'all didn't catch her, did you?"

A muscle twitched in Grimes's cheek, but he returned my shrug with one of his own, as though the fact that

I'd stolen Sophia right out from under his nose was of no consequence. "This isn't the first time that Sophia has escaped. She'll be back here where she belongs soon enough."

Hazel let out a derisive snort, then rolled her eyes. "All you've done for the past several months is talk and talk about Sophia Deveraux. I don't see what you find so fascinating about her. She's just a dwarf. Not even a very pretty one at that. Did you see those tacky clothes she had on? Not to mention that horrid spiked collar that she was wearing. You could do better, Harley. So much better. At the very least, we can find you a college girl who will clean up much nicer than Sophia Deveraux ever could."

From the evil glint in her eye, what she really meant was some poor girl whom Hazel would have an easier time torturing, an easier time breaking. It wouldn't surprise me if Hazel got even more enjoyment out of using her Fire magic on their victims than Grimes did. Sadistic bitch.

Grimes studied her a moment, as though he were considering her words, and a hopeful smile curved her crimson lips. Grimes stood up and walked around his desk, and Hazel turned to meet him. She held her hands out, reaching for his -

Grimes slapped her across the face for her trouble.

Hazel stumbled away, hitting the doors at the back of the office hard enough to make the glass rattle in the panes. She whirled around, her mouth open wide in surprise, a hand pressing against her cheek as if she couldn't believe the growing red welt there - and the fact that

Grimes had hit her, his own sister, as casually as he would hit anyone else.

"Sophia is mine ," Grimes growled, his brown eyes darkening with fury, as though the answer to Hazel's question should be obvious. "She's the only woman I've ever met who's strong enough to be mine. She's the only one who's never been cowed by me or backed down from me. All the others who have come through here over the years have been weak, foolish creatures, crying to go home, cringing at the smallest little thing, begging for mercy until I give them to my men just to be rid of their incessant whining. Every single one of them has displeased me, disappointed me with her weakness. But Sophia never has."

Fletcher had said in his file that Grimes was sick and twisted, but I was beginning to realize exactly how warped he really was. Harley Grimes imagined himself to be the king of this little mountain, and he took whatever and whomever he wanted, brought them here, and expected them to serve him in any way that he deemed fit. And when someone displeased him, when she cried, screamed, and sobbed at the terrible torture that he inflicted on her, then the fault was hers, and off to his men she were sent, *****ffer that much more.

"You're right," I said. "Sophia is strong. She's certainly stronger than you, you sick son of a bitch. And as long as I'm alive, you will never lay one hand on her again, not so much as one ****ing finger ."

...

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The men didn't speak, but a collective sense of anticipation and excitement rippled through them, as though this were some show that they'd witnessed many times before and were eager to see repeated. One guy even drew a silver lighter out of his pocket and lit a cigarette with it, as though this was some sort of smoke break before the main event started. He kept snapping the lid up and down on the lighter, ready to get on with things.

I wondered how many other folks had stood in this exact same spot, facing down Grimes's mob. Would these gangsters all raise their weapons and fire at once? Would

they swarm me en masse? Or would they all throw themselves at me, drive me to the ground, and tear me limb from limb? No way to know, until they decided to attack.

I'd killed around a dozen men up on the ridge, but there were a dozen more gathered around me now. My gaze roamed over the crowd again, this time searching for any sign of weakness, any gap in the ring that might be big enough for me to fight my way through, any way that I could escape and live to kill another day. Or at least get back to Grimes and take him down before I died.

But there was nothing - no weakness, no gap, no hope of escape.

So I straightened my spine, stared back at the men, and braced myself for my impending execution.

I didn't have to wait long.

I'd only been standing in the ring of men for about two minutes when the front door of the house banged open, and Grimes and Hazel appeared. Hazel had her arm linked through his, and Grimes escorted her down the steps, through the yard, and out into the clearing in a show of gallantry as complete as any old-fashioned Southern gentleman ever could have managed.

The men parted enough to allow Grimes and Hazel to join in the ring. Once again, the big man kept out of arm's reach of me, but I swallowed my frustration. I couldn't kill Grimes, but I couldn't survive this either, despite my promise to Owen that I would. I'd known that the words were most likely a lie when I'd said them, but I'd at least hoped to destroy Grimes before I met my own end. Now I didn't even think that would happen.

My heart clenched at the thought of Owen, and I focused on the tightness in my chest, imagining it as a drumbeat and letting it steady me.

Live, live, live, live . . .

I could almost hear Owen's voice whispering that to me over and over again, and I seized onto that determination until there was no room for anything else. No doubt, no hesitation, no fear. Just the will to do what needed to be done *****rvive this.

Because if I couldn't kill Grimes now, that meant that

I had to live to try again another day.

The Fire elemental swept his hat off his head and bowed low to the crowd, before straightening back up and gesturing at me with his dapper fedora. "Allow me to introduce Ms. Blanco," he said in a loud, booming voice. "At least, that's what she says her name is. But we don't pay too much attention to names up here, do we, boys?"

The men all chuckled. Several wet their lips as they stared at me, while others slowly looked me up and down, their lecherous gazes trying to see my breasts through the blood-soaked vest that I wore.

"Now, we all know what we do to the folks we decide to bring up to our camp or those who wander in here by accident," Grimes continued. "We give them a choice. They can stay, or they can go."

A choice? I seriously doubted that, but I had no idea what he was babbling on about.

"Usually, that choice only involves a few of you, since it's a reward for those who have worked extra hard over the last few weeks. But I think that you will all agree that Ms. Blanco's .. . antics have earned her a special sort of punishment."

The men all hooted and hollered, their dark cheers rising in a swelling tide of impending violence. The guy with the lighter clicked it on and held it up as if he was at a rock concert, while a few of the others fired their guns into the air or stamped their feet, like they were bulls about to charge me. I really should have been wearing a red cape. It was my color, after all.

Grimes raised his hands, and the commotion slowly quieted down. "Now, you all know how many good men we lost today because of Ms. Blanco and her friends."

The crowd sobered at that, and angry, accusing gazes slammed into me from all sides.

"Rest assured that we will track down the other people responsible for the attack on our camp, and we will deal with them accordingly. But in the meantime, there is the question of what to do with Ms. Blanco."

Grimes looked at each man in turn. "Well, boys? What should we do with her?"

A chorus of shouts erupted from the crowd.

"kill her!"

"Shoot the bitch where she stands!"

"Throw her in the pit!"

Naturally, that last screamed request came from Hazel.

Grimes grinned and cupped a hand to his ear, as though he were listening to each and every hoarse, murderous scream and was considering them all quite carefully. From Fletcher's file and what I'd seen, I'd thought that Grimes was just another bad guy, just another underworld thug, just another elemental who used his magic to keep his minions in line. But I had to admit that he had a certain charisma to him, a certain way of playing to a crowd, a certain cruel strength that others might admire and flock to. I had no doubt that his men feared him, but they respected him too.

After a few minutes, he raised his hands, and the men quieted down once more. "Well, those are all fine, fine ideas, but I have one that I think you'll like even better,"

Grimes said. "As some of you know, Ms. Blanco here claims to be the Spider, the most feared assassin in all of Ashland."

This time, derisive laughs and snorts rippled among the men.

"Now, I doubt that she's telling the truth," Grimes continued. "But let's say that she is. I know how much you boys like to go hunting, and I'd say that this is a prime opportunity to go up against the best of the best. Wouldn't you?"

More hoots and hollers. More stomping feet and lascivious grins. More fingers rubbing over the triggers of guns and the hilts of knives, itching to use the weapons on me.

"Now, we've all suffered a terrible loss here today,"

Grimes said, when the men had fallen silent once more.

"This woman has taken our brothers in arms from us.

Fine men and fine soldiers. She came up here, snuck up here in the shadows, and killed them, like a hunter shooting deer from a stand. Hardly sporting at all. So I say that we give her a taste of her own medicine and show her what it feels like to be hunted for a change."

Grimes fixed his gaze on mine. His eyes glowed a bright, almost golden brown, not from any Fire magic that he was embracing but from the strength and surety of his own crazy convictions.

"I like to think of myself as a sporting man, Ms. Blanco," Grimes said. "And the rules of this game are quite simple. You get a five-minute head start. After that, it's open season - on you."

When I didn't respond to his taunts or show so much as a flicker of fear, Grimes turned to his men once again.

"Bring her back dead, and you'll be richly rewarded," Grimes said. "Or, if you prefer, bring her back alive, and, well, the man who bags her can have her for an hour before we throw her in the pit and finish her off."

This time, the hoots and hollers were so loud that you could probably hear them on the next mountain over.

Apparently, Grimes's boys were all about the thrill of the chase. Fools.

"Now, being the sporting man that I am, I will warn you that I'm not going to handicap Ms. Blanco in any way," Grimes said. "Some of you saw her fight up on the ridge, so you know exactly how dangerous she is already."

No weapons, no supplies, and a body full of aches and pains. Nah. I wasn't handicapped at all.

"Oh, yeah, she might have been tough up on the ridge," Hazel chimed in, ****ing her hip to the side and striking a pose. "But that was when she had a couple of knives on her. I think the boys won't have nearly as much trouble with her this time around. Don't y'all agree?"

The men roared with laughter. They didn't notice Grimes arching a black eyebrow at Hazel and her cringing and quickly bowing her head in apology. Apparently, the big man didn't like anyone ad-libbing on his time.

So that's why he'd let me keep my clothes, boots, and vest - so I'd put up more of a fight and give his men a better show. The way things stood now, I'd either get gunned down in the woods like a deer or dragged back there and raped before being roasted like a pig in the pit by Hazel.

I flashed back to the dead woman whom Owen, Warren, and I had found in the stake-filled trap that morning.

I wondered if this was the same choice that she'd been given: stay here and live a short, torture-filled life, or try to get away and die.

That black rage rose in me again, and I let the cold seep into every part of my being, let it coat all the aches and pains in my body, let it fill in the hollow space where

I'd used up so much of my magic, let it freeze out everything that might distract me from what had to be done now. Oh, yes. I embraced the rage until it was the only thing thrumming through my body - along with the will *****rvive.

Grimes's...

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Grimes thought he was giving his men an advantage by taking away my knives, but he hadn't realized that I didn't need weapons or that the simplest thing could be the most dangerous in certain situations - like the cigarette lighter that I was still holding.

One of Grimes's men appeared in the doorway. His eyes locked onto the bit of metal gleaming in my hand.

"No!" he shouted, realizing what I was about to do.

"Stop - "

I grinned again, clicked the lighter on, and tossed the flickering flame onto the floor.

WHOOSH!

The thing about mountain moonshine that made it so irresistible to some folks was the high alcohol content. I'd only been sucking down the fumes for a minute, and I already felt light-headed. In my case, I wasn't looking for a buzz so much as a burn, and I got one.

It only took a second for the fire to zip across the alcohol trail that I'd created on the floor and over to the puddles of liquor. It wouldn't be long before the flames would cause more of the glass jars to shatter, which would add even more fuel to the fire. I grinned into the heat of the flames even as the guy at the door turned and ran.

This should keep at least a few of Grimes's men busy and out of the hunt. Otherwise, the whole camp might go up in smoke - and wouldn't that just be a crying shame.

Shouts rose from the front of the building as smoke boiled up and the fire started edging toward the windows.

The shimmering red-orange flames made the stills glow a bright copper.

Crack!

Crack! Crack!

Crack!

I ducked, thinking that the idiots outside were shooting at the building, but it was only the glass jars breaking. More moonshine spilled to the floor, and the flames arched higher.

"Burn, baby, burn," I murmured, encouraging the fire a final time before turning and running out the back door.

Chapter Twenty-two

Several working stills squatted in the backyard behind the building, but they were far too big and heavy for me to tip over and add to the mayhem, so I raced past them, my eyes fixed on the woods ahead.

Crack!

Crack! Crack!

Crack!

Bullets pinged off the metal stills and pipes and rattled away into the trees. Apparently, my five minutes were already up. Or maybe I'd forfeited my laughable head start by not playing by the rules.

Apparently, not as many of Grimes's men as I thought were staying behind to fight the fire, because more shouts rose behind me.

"There she is!"

"I see her!"

"Get that bitch!"

I hopped over the white picket fence at the edge of the yard and darted into the woods. Despite the fact that men with guns were chasing me, I still made myself slow down and watch where I put my feet so I wouldn't fall victim to one of the traps strung up around the camp. I had no desire to escape the hunting party only to get a face full of elemental Fire from a sunburst rune seared into one of the trees.

But the good thing about nasty surprises like booby traps was that they could work both ways - like helping me thin out the murderous herd thundering through the forest behind me.

I darted through the woods as fast as I could, searching for anything that might trip me up - or at least injure one of my pursuers. More bullets crackled through the trees and leaves around me, but they weren't as close as they had been before, meaning that I'd managed to put a little distance between myself and my would-be murderers.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the sun gleaming on something close to the forest floor, and I veered in that direction. Even though I knew it was there, it still took me a few seconds to spot the fishing line. The trap was identical to the first one that Warren had disarmed earlier. One end of the line taped to a sunburst rune that had been scorched into a tree trunk, the line running across the path at ankle level, then the other end wrapped around a small peg that had been pounded into the ground.

Perhaps Lady Luck had finally decided to smile on me, because this particular peg was actually hidden by a thick rhododendron bush. I stepped off the path and crouched down behind the bush, making sure that I was as hidden as I could be by the arching branches and green, glossy leaves. Then I carefully took hold of the fishing line and waited - just waited.

Ten . . . twenty . . . thirty . . . forty-five . . . sixty . . .

I counted off the seconds in my head as I listened for sounds of pursuit. Finally, after about three minutes, two men came crashing through the woods toward me, rifles clutched in their hands. I peered through the branches at them.

"Did you see her?"

"Where did she go?"

"We need to find her!"

They shouted back and forth to each other as they moved through the woods. Grimes had trained them well. The two men stayed within sight of each other at all times so they could watch each other's back, and they were close enough together that they wouldn't miss me hiding in a clump of bushes between the two of them.

Slowly, they crept toward my position. I stayed still and quiet, my blistered, bloody fingers curled around the thin fishing line, as though I were a spider hanging on to a piece of my own web.

"careful," one of the men said as they neared me. "You know this section is dotted with traps."

"What kind?" the other man asked. "Pits, snares, or Fire?"

"Fire, I think," the first man replied. "But you don't want to trip any one of them."

The other man nodded his head and started moving forward again, his eyes sweeping the forest floor, while his buddy kept a lookout on the landscape around them.

The men were fifteen feet away from me . . . ten feet . . . seven . . . five . . . three . . . one . . .

"Stop," the first guy said. "I see some fishing line. Be careful - "

I grinned and yanked on the line, pulling the tape free of the sunburst. The rune flared to life on the tree trunk on the opposite side of the path, burning an angry red in warning.

"What the - " That was all the first guy got out before a ball of elemental Fire exploded all over him. He went down in a singed, smoldering heap, screaming and clawing at the flames that were melting his skin, hair, and eyes.

The second man stared down dumbstruck at his buddy, as if he couldn't believe that the other man had been careless enough to actually trip the trap. I surged to my feet. A branch crackled under my foot, but I didn't care. The man whirled around just in time for me to slam my fist into his chest. He staggered back, and I yanked the rifle out of his hands, flipped it around, and shot him in the throat with his own weapon. He was dead before he thumped to the forest floor -

The feel of hot, invisible bubbles popping against my skin was the only warning that I had that I wasn't alone. I threw myself down onto the ground.

A ball of elemental Fire slammed into the tree above me, showering me with hot sparks and smoldering splinters. Another gust of magic swept through the air. I grabbed the guy I'd shot and rolled him over so that he was on top of me. A second later, another ball of Fire hit the tree a few feet above my head. The flames washed over the man's body, burning through his clothes and leaving nothing behind but charred, ashy, flaky skin. The amount of Fire would have killed him had he not already been dead.

The stench of seared flesh filled my nose, along with noxious clouds of smoke. I coughed and shoved the burned body off me. The rifle still in my hand, I staggered to my feet and risked a glance through the trees. I didn't see any more men chasing me. They were probably busy putting out the fire I'd started. No, this time, Grimes and

Hazel themselves were hunting me.

Grimes was carrying a rifle, which he raised to his shoulder and pointed in my direction. But I wasn't as concerned about him as I was about Hazel, who gave me a cruel grin even as more elemental Fire flashed to life in her hand. I could dodge bullets a lot longer than I could dodge magic.

Even as Hazel reared back her hand to throw her power at me, I fired off a few haphazard shots with my own rifle, then turned and started to run once more.

WHOOSH!

The Fire slammed into the spot where I'd been standing, and the heat from the blast nipped at my heels like a pack of hungry wolves, even though I was ten feet away and moving fast. Hazel wasn't holding back. She didn't want to take me back to camp alive. She just wanted me dead.

The feeling was mutual.

But with my magic still so low, there was no way that I could go toe-to-toe with her. And with Grimes by her side, I couldn't hope to hide in the woods, sneak up, and shoot her in the back either. That meant running away and coming back to fight another day. I wasn't ashamed by my retreat, though. I'd gotten Sophia away from here, so I'd kept that promise to Jo-Jo. Now I just needed to find a way to keep the one that I'd made to Owen to live through this.

So I ran and ran through the woods as ball after ball of elemental Fire tore through the trees, bushes, and rocks all around me. If Hazel wasn't careful, she was going to set the whole mountain ablaze with her magic. Or maybe that's what she wanted, for me to get trapped in the middle of a raging forest fire. Dead was dead, after all. I didn't think that Hazel would be too picky about how she accomplished my demise.

Either way, there was nothing that I could...

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"Besides," Grimes continued, thinking that I was wavering, "I'm starting to take a shine to you, Ms. Blanco.

You're strong, just like you said Sophia was. And I do so admire the strong."

He didn't admire strong people; he wanted to break them to make himself feel stronger. That's what he had tried to do to Sophia all those years ago: break her spirit, break her strength, break her will to live, *****rvive all the horrors that he had visited upon her. But he hadn't broken Sophia, and he wasn't going to break me either.

"come on, now," he said, his voice taking on a soft, cooing note. "If you come back with us quietly, I'll keep you for myself. None of my men will touch you. I promise you that."

Hazel's mouth gaped open for a moment before her whole face tightened with rage and jealousy. The Fire flickering in her hand coalesced into a ball of molten lava that oozed out between her fingers and splattered onto the rocks at her feet, causing the stone to shriek in agony.

But Grimes didn't notice. He only had eyes for me.

After a moment, he licked his lips, like his men had done back at camp, and his gaze flicked up and down my body.

No doubt the bastard was thinking about how I'd look in a pretty white dress with my hair in a sweet little braid.

Well, he was never, ever going to find out.

My only regrets were that I wouldn't get a chance to tell my friends and family how much I loved them and that I wouldn't be able to stop Grimes once and for all.

I thought of Owen and how he'd kissed me on top of the ridge. There had been a desperate promise in that kiss, one that said that there was still a chance that things could get better between us, one that had kept me going through all of this. Just when it seemed like we'd finally turned a corner, we were going to be torn apart again forever.

But Owen would understand. He'd seen the pit. He'd seen what Grimes and Hazel had done to Sophia. He'd understand why I had to do this. I just wished . . . I just wished that I could have seen him once more.

But wishes were for fools. People made their own decisions, their own lives, their own fates. That was what Fletcher had always said, and it was certainly true in this case.

I'm sorry, Owen. So sorry. I wish that I had been able to keep my promise to you.

I slowly held the rifle out to my side, laid it down on the ground, and kicked it away, sending it skittering across the stones. Then I straightened back up, holding both of my hands out to my sides. Grimes smiled with hungry, sadistic glee, thinking that I was finally surrendering, that I was finally weakening, that I was finally giving up.

His grin lasted until I started walking backward toward the edge of the cliff.

"Don't be stupid," Grimes warned. "You'll never survive a fall like that."

"Probably not," I agreed. "But I have no interest in being your little torture toy either. I'd rather take my chances with the river and the rocks. Simple as that."

Before he could react, and still thinking of Owen, I turned and threw myself off the cliff.

Chapter Twenty-three

It seemed as though I had a pair of cement blocks strapped to my boots. That's how quickly gravity yanked me down.

The cliff rushed by my face in a swirling mix of grays and greens, and the wind tore at my hair and screamed in my ears.Even as I plummeted toward the rocks, river, and rapids, I grabbed hold of what little Stone magic I had left and used it to harden my body as much as I could. I reached and strained and clawed for all those tiny bits of power, trying to weave the scraps into my usual solid shell, but I didn't know if it would be enough. If not, at least the end would be quick.

I hit the water a second later.

The impact knocked all of the air from my lungs and pulled me deep beneath the surface. For a moment, everything went cold and wet and black, and I thought that I was dead.

But then that pesky, determined, undeniable instinct *****rvive, to live, rose inside me, and I realized that the pressure in my lungs hurt too much for me to be dead.

It took me several sharp, hard kicks before I was able to break through to the surface. Even then, all I managed to do was swallow down a quick breath before the current dragged me under again.

I'd jumped into the Aneirin River twice before. Once from a balcony at the Ashland Opera House after a botched hit. Then again from the top of a moving train in order to escape Elektra LaFleur, an assassin with electrical elemental magic. But this was far more brutal an experience than either one of those previous adventures. In both of those cases, the water had only wanted to drag me down, down, down. But now it wanted to pull me every which way, dash me against the rocks, suck me down, push me up, and repeat the whole process over and over again until my mind was spinning around as much as my body was.

I quickly exhausted what was left of my Stone magic, and my skin reverted to its normal texture. That meant that I felt every single pull and grab and yank of the water, every slam of my body against a half-submerged rock or a gnarled fallen tree, every slash of a sharp stone across my skin. Good thing these weren't shark-infested waters, or I would have been their buffet, that's how much blood seemed to flow from the dozens of tiny nicks and cuts that crisscrossed my body. Still, I laughed at the thought.

At least, I tried to. All I really ended up doing was swallowing more water.

Just when I was about to give in and let the water sweep me under forever, the rapids surged forward, flowing even faster than before, as though they were building toward some grand finale. All that was missing was some wild, loud, bombastic music to go along with the steady surge. I blinked through the sheets of water stinging my eyes. Why was there so much blue? It almost seemed like the river was flowing into the sky -

I barely had time *****ck in another breath before I plunged over the waterfall.

It wasn't a terribly steep drop, maybe thirty feet, but the force of the fall stunned me, and my mind went blank. Then my body slammed against the bottom of the pool below, snapping me out of my dangerous daze. Still, it took all the energy that I had left to kick my legs, claw my hands upward, and finally break free of the surface once more.

I blinked wearily and looked around, wondering what new challenge awaited me. But the waterfall must have been the end of the rapids, because the river formed a large, sedate pool before slowly flowing out of the other side of the wooded canyon that I was in.

The muddy bank was only about fifty feet away, but it took me much longer than it should have to flounder in that direction. At this point, I didn't even have the strength left to use my arms to pull myself through the water. All I could do was weakly kick, like a puppy that was in way over its head.

Eventually, though, I made it over to the bank. I tried to get to my feet, but they kept slipping and going out from under me. So I sank onto my knees and slopped forward through the mud, sending sprays of it in every direction. I got free of most of the water, although it still lapped at my ankles, bringing a bit of fresh misery with every slow, cold surge.

The sun beat down on my head, frying my scalp, but even that warmth seemed distant and far away. Finally, I couldn't go any farther. No matter how hard I tried, my arms and legs wouldn't cooperate, and I just lay there, panting for breath amid the mud, rocks, and dead limbs that formed a sort of driftwood fence on the bank.

I made sure that my face was out of the water as best I could. Then the blackness rose in my mind again, and this time, I didn't try to fight it as it blotted out everything else.

Sophia was in trouble.

That was the thought that hummed through my mind as I ran toward the storage room, grabbed a paring knife lying on a table there, and hurried back to the double doors that led into the front of the restaurant. I peered out through one of the windows, but the two giants had their heads down, counting the cash from the register. I opened one of the doors just wide enough for me to slip into the storefront, then tip-toed over to the end of the counter and hunkered down there, out of sight of our attackers.

I crept up to the corner of the counter and peered around it. The blond kid was still lying in front of the counter where Mason had dumped him, his thin arms and legs sprawled out at awkward angles. So was Sophia. I hadn't realized it before, but she'd cut her head when it had slammed against the counter, and blood had dripped down the side of her face and pooled on the floor. For a moment, I thought that she was dead, that I was too late to save her, that I'd failed her.But I made myself keep staring at her, and I saw that her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Some of the tightness in my own chest eased. As long as she was still breathing, Jo-Jo could fix the rest. That was what Fletcher always said whenever he came home with a knife, a gunshot, or some other wound he'd gotten as the Tin Man.

The giants finished counting the cash, split the bills between them, and walked around the counter so that they were looming over Sophia and the boy again. I thought that they might pick up Sophia and carry her into the back of the restaurant. That's what they'd been talking about before - taking her back there so they could kill her. The kid too.

But instead of trying to move her, the other giant, Zeke, got down on his...

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Again and again, he lashed out at me.

I lay there and let him hit me, cradling the knife in my hand and trying to hide it as much as possible. I didn't really have another option. I needed the knife to kill him, and if he realized that I still had it, he'd kick it out of my hand and keep on beating me until I ran out of magic.

Then he'd do the same to Sophia and the kid, and I couldn't let that happen.

Finally, after about three minutes of whaling on me, Zeke ran out of steam. He gave me one more vicious kick to the side."That'll teach you, you little bitch," he growled again.

I lay limp and still on the floor, as though he'd long ago knocked me out with his attack.

Zeke finally snapped back around to Sophia, who hadn't stirred the whole time. He focused his angry glare on her for a moment before turning to the boy.

"As for you two," he snarled, "you're both turning out to be more trouble than you're worth. And now I have to carry you all by myself."

Zeke kept grumbling as he leaned down and grabbed Sophia's shoulders again. Then he started dragging her around the counter and down the aisle. But he wasn't taking her anywhere. Not if I could help it.

I waited until he had reached the end of the counter and was trying to figure out some way to keep the double doors open long enough to shove Sophia through to the other side.

Then I climbed to my feet and staggered after him. Every movement, every breath, hurt, but I put my hand against my ribs, gripped my knife even tighter, and hurried after Zeke as fast as I could. Lucky for me, he was having a hard time with

Sophia's dead weight and the doors, so he was moving slowly.

He'd just managed to prop her up against the side of the counter when I crept up on his blind side and stabbed my knife into his back. But he was even bigger and stronger than his partner, and his punches had weakened me. So the knife didn't sink all that deeply into his muscles. I pulled it out, but before I could stab him again, he turned and punched me in the chest.

This time, I went down on the ground, and I didn't get back up. It hurt too much to do that.

Zeke loomed over me. "You are one determined little bitch, aren't you? Seems to me like someone should teach you some manners."

He reached for me, and this time, I knew that he wouldn't stop hitting me until I was dead. But the thought didn't feel me with dread. If anything, I got a sense of peace. At least, this time, I'd tried to do something. At least, this time, I'd tried to help, instead of cowering on the stairs and watching Mom and Annabella disappear into balls of elemental Fire.

That was something, I supposed -

A hand clamped around Zeke's ankle and yanked him down. I blinked, and it took me a moment to figure out what had happened. Sophia had finally woken up.

Zeke put his forearms out in front of him, breaking his fall, but he still went down on his hands and knees. Sophia scrambled to her feet, then threw herself onto his back, driving him into the floor. He arched back, trying to throw her off him, but she slapped his hands away, grabbed his head, and slammed it into the door on one of the stoves. The giant kept fighting, but Sophia kept her grip on his head and beat it into the oven - again and again and again - until the metal dented.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

She kept up a steady, furious rhythm, dashing his head against the oven door, as though she wanted to shove it right through the metal, each blow seeming a little harder and more brutal than the last.

Finally, after about the sixth or seventh time, something crunched , and the coppery stink of blood filled the restaurant. The giant quit struggling, and his muffled cries vanished altogether, although his arms and legs kept twitching with small, disjointed spasms.

Sophia leaned back and rolled off him, breathing hard.

She swiped her black hair out of her eyes, leaving behind a dark stain on her face - blood.

By this point, I'd managed to get back up onto my knees, although I had the knife speared into the floor as I used it to help hold myself up. Sophia noticed me watching her, grimaced, and dropped her hand, as if that would hide the fact that she'd just ****d in a man's skull with her bare hands.

Against Fletcher's favorite stove, no less. Then her black eyes flicked over me, and she noticed the knife that I was still clutching and the blood that covered me too.

Sophia turned her head, looking for the other giant. Her eyes widened, then narrowed when he didn't appear, and she realized that I'd killed him.

"Not soft," I said, my voice coming out in a hoarse wheeze that didn't sound all that different from hers.

Sophia looked at me, her dark eyes almost sad. "No," she rasped. "Not soft anymore."

A low moan sounded in front of the counter. It took me a second to realize that it was the kid. Sounded like he was waking up.

Sophia got to her feet. It took her a moment to find her balance, but once she did, she leaned down and held her hand out to me. I took it, and she gently pulled me up. I wrapped an arm around my bruised, aching ribs. Sophia gently put her arm around my thin shoulder. Together, leaning on each other, we staggered around the counter and over to the kid- The rest of the memory abruptly faded away. At first, I wondered why, but then I realized what had woken me out of my dream.

Someone was dragging me through the mud.

Chapter Twenty-four

Apparently, I'd managed to pull myself far enough up onto the bank to keep from drowning. And now someone had put his hands under my shoulders and was pulling me the rest of the way up and out of the water.

I lashed out with my fists and legs, trying to get him to let go of me. But instead of being dropped, I felt a body slide down next to mine in the mud, and a pair of arms wrapped around me, holding me close. I kept fighting, kept struggling, but I was weak, and he was stronger than

I was.

After a moment, I realized that I wasn't being hurt, that whoever this was held me close and let me beat at him with my hands. I breathed in, and a rich, familiar scent filled my nose, penetrating the last fragments of the dream and my disjointed ride through the rapids.

I let out a breath. "Owen?" I asked in a low, tentative voice.

He drew me even closer, and I felt his hand gently slide through my tangled hair. "It's me," he whispered.

"It's me, Gin."

I finally managed to open my eyes, and I found myself staring into his bright, beautiful, violet eyes. I reached out and traced my fingers over his face, once again trying to smooth out the worry lines that marred his rugged features. He didn't wince, and he didn't pull away, despite the fact that my fingers were as cold as bony icicles, and

I left smears of blood and mud all over him. Instead, he caught my hand in his and pressed a soft kiss to my palm, right in the middle of my spider-rune scar.

"I've got you, Gin," Owen said. "Just rest, baby. I've got you now. Nothing's going to happen to you. I swear."

I nodded and relaxed that much more. I knew that Owen would keep his promise, just as I'd managed to keep mine to him, despite all the odds. But before I could speak, before I could thank him for coming after me, the blackness rose again in my mind, swallowing up everything else.

Things were disjointed after that.

Every time I opened my eyes, I got a flash of something different. Owen picking me up and carrying me through the woods. Taking me to some sort of sheltered, rocky outcropping. Laying me down on a sleeping bag.

Making me drink some water. Taking off my vest. carefully pulling my clothes away from where they'd stuck to my arms and legs.

He cursed. At first, I wondered why, but then I realized that he must have seen the gunshot wound in my shoulder, the burns on my body, and all the other injuries that

I'd gotten. I wanted to tell him that it was okay, that they didn't hurt too much, that I'd been through worse, but I drifted off once again.

The only things I remembered after that were the soft, soothing scent of vanilla and a few needles pricking here and there at my shoulder, arms, back, and legs. Owen must have brought some of Jo-Jo's healing ointment with him. That was the only reason I could think of why the pain of my injuries slowly lessened . . .

I don't know how much time passed before I woke up again. For a long while, I was drifting along in that peaceful blackness. Then I was snapped awake.

I was lying on my side on top of a sleeping bag. A small fire crackled in front of me, the smoke drifting above the shelf of rocks and then disappearing into the night sky. Owen sat in front of the fire, idling poking a stick into the flames. I lay there and watched the play of light and shadow on his face. He'd actually done it. He'd actually come back for me just like he said that he would.

I couldn't quite believe it, but it meant the world to me.

If it had been Finn or even Bria, I wouldn't have been so surprised. But Owen and I had been on such shaky ground lately. Still, despite everything that had happened between us, he'd come back for me. Even though it had been dangerous. Even though it would have been easier not to. Even though he could have been captured, tortured, and killed by Grimes and his men.

Despite all that, he'd still come back for me.

Owen must have sensed me staring...

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"So you used your elemental talent for metal to see if you could sense any of it in the area."

He nodded. "And I finally did. I saw you half-submerged in the water in the canyon and fished you out. After that, well, here we are." He spread his hands out to both sides, gesturing at the fire and the dark woods beyond.

His story touched me. "You went to all that trouble for me?"

"I'd do all that and more for you," he said. "I'd do anything for you, Gin."

I looked at him, wondering at the sudden fervor in his voice. "Owen?"

He hesitated. At first, I thought that he wasn't going to say anything else, but then he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and looked me square in the eyes. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

"For what?"

"For everything," Owen replied. "But especially for the way that I treated you after you killed Salina. It was stupid and inexcusable of me."

I thought back to everything he'd said at Fletcher's house when he'd told me that he was going to help me rescue Sophia. "Is this one of those things that you've been an idiot about?"

He gave me a rueful grin. "One of many. Isn't it obvious?"

"What changed?"

"I did," he replied. "I finally grew up. I finally wised

up. And I finally realized just how much I love you."

I blinked, taken aback by his words - words that I never thought I'd hear him say again. Hope blossomed in my heart that he really meant them, that we were finally dealing with our issues and making some real progress, but I tempered that warm, soft hope with cold, logical reason.

"But you loved Salina too," I said in a soft voice. "You were . . . upset when I killed her."

Owen grimaced. "That's putting it mildly, don't you think? I turned my back on you. I did the exact same thing to you that Donovan caine did, even though I'd made myself a promise that I would never hurt you like he did, that I would never take you for granted, and that I would especially never judge you for being the Spider. But I did it all anyway, just like he did. Like I said, I'm an idiot."

I shrugged. Owen's reaction had hurt, but it hadn't been unexpected. It was always hard to watch someone you loved die, even when she wasn't the person you thought she was, even when she'd hurt the other people you cared about.

"You were just trying to protect me from Salina,"

Owen said. "From having to deal with her myself, from having to kill her myself. Because that's the kind of person you are, Gin. You take care of the people you love, no matter what. I think that's the thing that I love the most about you."

The words hung in the air between us, seeming as in - substantial as the smoke curling up from the fire. For a moment, the only sound was the cheery crackling of the flames. I didn't say anything, but I let him see the doubt in my eyes - doubt that he really meant what he said.

Owen threw his stick down close to the fire, came over, crouched down in front of me, and took my hands in his.

"I love you," he said. "I will always

love you. Sometimes it scares me just how much I love you. I will never love anyone the way that I love you."

I couldn't help but ask the question. "Not even Salina?"

"Especially not Salina," Owen said. "I was a kid when

I met her, when I loved her. I was young, and I was blind to the kind of person that she really was. I loved who I thought she was, who I wanted her to be, not who she actually turned out to be."

"But you still didn't like me killing her. So what changed?"

His lips curved up into a humorless expression. "I did. It was a small thing, really. I'd gone out to have drinks one night with Phillip at Northern Aggression. We got into . . . some trouble, but we managed to get ourselves out of it."

"Then what happened?"

"I took Phillip home to the Delta Queen, and he said something about how the fight that we'd gotten into was just like the good old days. He grinned at me, and I saw the scrawny kid he'd been back then. And I finally realized how much time Salina had cost me with him and with cooper too. Time that I can never get back. How she'd ruined Eva's trust in me. How she'd hurt the people I'd cared about over and over again. I knew it all before, of course, but when he said that, it made me realize that I didn't want to waste any more time, especially not with you. That I needed to quit feeling sorry for myself and guilty that I hadn't been able to protect Eva, Phillip, cooper, and you from Salina. That what I really needed to do was fix things between me and everyone else."

He stared at me. "I came up here today to help you rescue Sophia because it was the right thing to do. But I also came because I plan to spend the rest of my life making up for how much I hurt you . . . if you'll let me."

"And how long have you felt this way?" I whispered, my heart tightening painfully in my chest.

"I've always known it," Owen said. "I knew how much I loved you the night that you killed Salina so I wouldn't have to. I knew it at the Briartop museum when you burst into that vault to rescue me. And I knew it again today when you sacrificed yourself so that I could get Sophia and Warren to safety. The people you care about . . . you love them completely, no matter what. And that's the way that I feel about you too. I was just too much of a coward to admit it to anyone before. Not even to myself - and especially not to you."

I sat there, digesting his words. For a long time, Owen held my hands and waited - just waited. Finally, though, he spoke again.

"I know that I don't deserve it," he said. "Not after everything that I've put you through, but I want to try again. I want a second chance, Gin. Please."

These were the words that I'd longed to hear, that I'd longed for him to say to me for weeks now. And if he'd said them to me when I'd been facing down all those men on the ridge or Grimes and Hazel on the cliff, I would have said yes with no hesitation.

But words meant one thing in the middle of a life-or - death battle and sometimes quite another after the fighting was done.

He'd wounded me so badly, undermined all the trust that I had in him, in us - and especially in him not to hurt me the way that Donovan had. I loved Owen, had opened myself up to him, and he'd still hurt me. I'd had a lot of time to think these past few weeks that we'd been apart. Maybe too much time to think, to worry and wonder and obsess. Because when everything was said and done, I didn't know if I wanted to go through that again, not even for him. Owen wasn't the first person who'd broken my heart, but he was the one who'd done the most damage to it.

Maybe he wasn't the only one here who was a coward.

"Gin?"

"I don't know," I finally said in a soft voice. "You . . . you broke my heart, Owen."

"I know," he said, his face tight with guilt. "I know how much I hurt you. But I promise you this, Gin, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. And if it takes you some time to trust me again, to love me again, then that's okay. Days, weeks, months, years. I don't care.

Because I'll wait for you. I would wait forever for you."

All the love that I had for him welled up inside me, blotting out everything else - except for a tiny, stubborn whisper of doubt in the deepest, darkest, blackest part of my heart. I almost said yes then, but I held back at the last possible moment.

Because I couldn't ignore that tiny whisper and all the dread and fear that it brought along with it. Because I still remembered how it had felt to lose Owen. Because I didn't want to go through that kind of heartbreak again.

And it could happen - easily. Because I was the Spider, for better or worse, and I would always be the Spider.

There would always be some sort of trouble headed in my direction, someone targeting me, someone wanting to murder me, and it would be all too easy for Owen and me to end up right back where we'd been after I'd killed Salina.

"I don't know," I whispered. "I just . . . I just don't know."

Owen gave me a small, understanding smile, although I could see the disappointment in his face. "And that's okay too."

We didn't speak for a moment.

"come on," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"Lie back down. It's been a long day, and we still have to hike out in the morning. You need your rest."

He wrapped his arms around me, and together, we lay down on the sleeping bag and faced the fire. His rich, metallic scent once again filled my nose, mixing pleasantly with the woodsmoke, and the warmth of his body enveloped mine, driving away the last of my lingering chill.

I thought about everything that Owen had said and all the emotions that I'd seen flashing in his eyes - heat, desire, need, want, love, and hope. So much hope. A few hours ago, I'd thought that I'd never see him again, and

I would have done anything to have had one more moment with him. Now here Owen was, proclaiming his love for me, and I suddenly couldn't let him back...

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I would have liked, but I'd made do with worse before.

I also picked up one of the rocks from the fire ring itself and hefted it in my hands. Smooth, round, and heavy.

Perfect. crude weapons in my hands, I got to my feet and headed toward the sounds of Owen and his attackers.

I found them about two minutes later. They were definitely Grimes's men - three guys with guns, all dressed in brown boots, old-fashioned suits, and fedoras. Two of them held Owen up against a tree, while the third used his fists on him. They must have surprised Owen as he was coming back from the river, because I saw a couple of full water bottles that had been kicked to one side of the tree.

If they'd walked fifty feet more to the west, they would have easily discovered our campsite. They might have even come upon us while we were sleeping this morning and put a couple of bullets in our skulls where we lay. Too bad for them that they hadn't, because they weren't going to walk away from this spot.

The guy drove his fist into Owen's face, then hit him with a brutal one-two combo to his ribs. Owen hissed with pain, but he didn't give the guy the satisfaction of screaming.

"I'll ask you again, where is the woman?" the leader demanded. "Tell us where she is, and we might let you live."

By this point, Owen's face was bruised and bloody, but he gave the guy hitting him a haughty smirk. "Is that all you've got? My sister can hit harder than that."

"A wise guy, huh?" the leader snarled. "Have it your way. She can't have gotten far. Not after taking a plunge like that. We'll just find her ourselves. Who knows?

Maybe we'll have a little fun with her before we drag her back to Grimes. Maybe we'll even let you watch."

The men laughed. Owen surged forward, but together the two men were stronger than he was, and they held him tight.

The leader chuckled at Owen's struggles, then drew back his fist for another blow. I hefted the rock in one of my hands and the stick of wood in the other, positioning them just so, then strolled out where they could see me.

"Are you boys looking for me?" I drawled. "Well, here I am."

Before they could react, I threw the rock from the fire ring at the leader. The stone zipped through the air and beaned him in the head like a baseball, leaving a bloody welt behind. Even as he stumbled away from Owen, I was already racing forward.

One of the men holding Owen turned to face me and yanked his gun out of the holster on his belt. I stabbed my stick into his hand, knocking the weapon away. The guy growled and lunged at me, but I stepped up and head-butted him in the face, crunching his nose with my forehead. The second his head snapped back, I raised my stick and drove it into his throat. It didn't sink all the way in, not like one of my knives would have, but it did enough damage, especially when I yanked it back out.

The guy fell to the ground, gasping for air, and I fell on top of his back. I ground his face into the dirt and leaves until he quit fighting, and I knew that he was dead.

Owen had turned on the final man, pulled the guy's gun from his holster, and shot him in the chest three times with it, dropping him.

That left the leader, who had finally quit staggering around like a drunk. He gaped at Owen and me and backed up, as if to turn and run. I grabbed the second man's gun from the ground, and a couple of bullets solved that problem.

I got to my feet and scanned the forest, in case there were any more of Grimes's men lurking around who might come running at the cracks of gunfire. But a minute passed, then another one, with no signs or sounds of anyone heading our way. Those three must have been all that were in the area. So I shuffled over to Owen, who had his hands on his knees, trying to get his breath back.

"Are you okay?"

He wiped a bit of blood off his face, winced, and straightened up. "Yeah. Although now I think I know how you felt getting tossed around in the river yesterday."

I grinned at his black humor, but I still kept looking and listening at the woods around us. Just because no one had immediately appeared didn't mean that they weren't headed in our direction.

"c'mon," I said. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get off this damn mountain."

"I couldn't agree more," Owen quipped.

Chapter Twenty-six

We packed up our things and headed out. Owen insisted on carrying his backpack and all of the supplies that he'd brought. He offered to carry me too, but I refused. I might be injured, but we'd make better time with both of us on our feet. So instead, he found a tall, sturdy branch that I could use as a walking stick to help me hobble along faster.

To my surprise, we made it back down to the parking lot at the foot of Bone Mountain without any problems.

We hunkered down in the trees and watched Roslyn's car for several minutes, but no one was waiting to ambush us. Still, I made Owen check under the hood to see if one

of Grimes's men had planted a bomb there, just in case.

But the car was clean, and thirty minutes later, Owen had stopped the vehicle outside cooper's house.

Quite a few cars were clustered together in the driveway now, facing out and forming a solid metal barricade in front of the house. I recognized Finn's Aston Martin, Bria's sedan, and Phillip's Audi. The battered gray pickup truck had to belong to Warren, given the rifle in the gun rack attached to the back window.

Owen and I got out of the car and shuffled up to the house. At this point, he was dragging his backpack along the ground with one hand, while I had both of my hands wrapped around my walking stick, despite the splinters digging into my palms. Neither one of us was in the best shape of our lives, but we'd made it back alive.

A few soft murmurs of conversation sounded as we headed around the side of the house and stepped into the backyard. The others were sitting around the table outside on the patio, almost as if they were waiting for us to show up. Finn in a perfect suit and tie, Phillip wearing the same thing, the two of them looking as cool as icebox pies, despite the sweltering afternoon heat.

Bria in her usual jeans and button-up shirt, her badge and her gun both clipped to her black leather belt. Eva wearing shorts and a tank top. Roslyn in an elegant sleeveless sundress.

They were all leaning in toward the table and talking quietly, with Finn leading the conversation, judging by the wild way that he was gesturing. He was the first to spot Owen and me, and he stopped in mid-sentence to stare at us.

I grinned. "Honey, we're home."

The others scrambled to their feet. Eva raced over and gave Owen a long, tight hug, while Phillip clapped him on the back and almost sent him and Eva tumbling over.

Bria came over and hugged me, along with Roslyn, and then the two of them stepped to the side so Finn could get in on the action.

He stopped in front of me, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave me a critical once-over, his green eyes as sharp and bright as emeralds in his handsome face. "You look like hell," he finally said.

My grin widened. "You should see the other guys."

Finn sighed and opened his arms. "come on, come on, you know you want to hug me and get blood, mud, dirt, and who knows what else all over my brand-new suit."

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

I stepped into his arms, and Finn carefully hugged me, mindful of my injuries.

After a moment, he pulled back and sniffed in that haughty, superior way of his. "I told you to wait for me. You wouldn't be beat up nearly as badly if you'd done that." His tone was rough and grumbly, but I could still hear the worry in his voice.

"I know," I said, patting his shoulder and trying to soothe his ego and his concern. "Next time, I'll definitely wait for you."

"I'll hold you to that," he warned.

"I know you will."

Finn hugged me again, and then everyone changed places. Eva gently wrapped her arms around my neck, while Phillip stood by. Bria and Roslyn hugged Owen, while Finn went over to him and gave him a cuff on the shoulder.

"I thought that I told you to take care of Gin," Finn said. "Not bring her back half-dead."

His words and his face might have been stone-cold serious, but his tone was light with relief that I'd come back at all.

After a moment, Owen smiled. "Well, I tried, but you know Gin," he said. "She just had to kill a couple more guys before we finally left."

Finn returned his grin. "That I do."

Owen stayed outside on the patio to fill the others in on everything that had happened on the mountain, but I opened the door and stepped inside the house. I didn't have far to go, because they were all sitting in the den - cooper, Warren, Sophia, and Jo-Jo. cooper and Warren were sprawled over two matching recliners, rocking back and forth and making the springs creak-creak-creak. I gave them both respectful nods, then turned my attention to Sophia and Jo-Jo.

The sisters sat side-by-side on the brown-striped couch, their fingers intertwined, and Rosco was sprawled across their feet, taking a nap. It looked like all of their injuries had been healed. I didn't see any blood on either one of them, no bruises, no burns, nothing that would indicate all of...

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"Yeah, I'm ready."

Warren got up, and I sat down in his chair. cooper scooted his recliner close to mine, then reached out and took my hand. His fingers felt rough and callused, although his skin was pleasantly warm, as though the heat from all the fires in his forge had soaked into his body over the years. A moment later, his eyes began to glow a bright, familiar copper, and the prickly feel of his Air magic gusted through the den.

cooper wasn't nearly as skilled in his magic as Jo-Jo was, not in this way, at least, so it took him far longer to heal me than it would have taken her, and it hurt a whole lot worse. Jo-Jo's magic had always felt like needles poking into my skin, uncomfortable but bearable. But cooper's Air magic was much rougher and far more intense, as though my own knives were stabbing into my body, sawing through my muscles, and then haphazardly pinning everything back together again.

Still, I clamped my jaw down, ground my teeth together, and hoped that he wouldn't notice how I kept wiping my free, sweaty hand on my ruined jeans and digging my fingernails into the spider-rune scar in my palm to try to take my mind off the fresh, clumsy pain raging through my body. cooper was doing me a favor, so I couldn't complain. And I wouldn't, because that would hurt his feelings. Besides, I'd been through worse - much worse.

Ten minutes later, cooper let go of his Air magic and dropped my hand. The copper glow was snuffed out of his eyes, and he sagged back against his recliner, causing the chair to creak weakly once more.

"There," he said, sounding as tired as I felt. "I reckon that's the best that I can do for right now."

I slumped down in my chair too and took stock of my body. The gunshot wound in my shoulder was completely healed, along with the burns on my arms, back, and legs, since those were the areas where cooper had focused most of his magic. cuts and scrapes still dotted my body, along with the rainbow clusters of bruises, but all of the open wounds had closed up, and the worst of the midnight blues and putrid purples had faded out to healing greens and not-so-sickly yellows. I wasn't in the best shape of my life, but cooper had managed to put me back together again.

He looked at me with anxious eyes, so I pushed away my exhaustion, got up, and stretched this way and that, like a cat waking up from a long, satisfying nap. My muscles ached in protest, but I ignored the twinges of discomfort. It was worth it to see cooper's face crinkle up and beam with pride.

"Well, thanks, cooper," I drawled. "I feel just fine and dandy now. If you've got any magic left, you might want to go outside and check on Owen. Some of Grimes's men got hold of him and beat him up pretty good."

cooper nodded, got to his feet, and hurried outside, his exhaustion seemingly gone.

Warren looked at Jo-Jo, then Sophia, then me. Without a word, he got up and followed cooper, shutting the door behind the two of them. A minute later, another gust of cooper's Air magic rippled through the room, although it felt much fainter, given the distance and the door between us.

I sank back into my chair, trying once again not to let my exhaustion show, and faced the Deveraux sisters. They both looked at me with somber eyes. Rosco continued to nap on their feet.

"Tell us what happened," Jo-Jo finally said in a soft voice.

I drew in a breath and started my story with the fight in the salon. I quickly moved on to my trip with Owen and Warren up the mountain, our rescue of Sophia from the pit, and my stand at the top of the ridge against Grimes, Hazel, and their men. After that, all that was left to tell was my run through the woods, my swan dive off the cliff, my ride through the rapids, and finally, Owen finding me and fishing me out of the river.

I tried to spare them the worst of it, glossing over a lot of the details, keeping my voice upbeat, and trying to make it seem more like a grand adventure than a brutal fight for my life. I didn't mention all of the sick, twisted things that Grimes had said to me about Sophia, the photos that he had of her, or how his house had been an eerie replica of Jo-Jo's inside and out. Of course, Sophia knew some of it, since she'd been in the house too, but I figured that those were her secrets to tell, not mine.

"I'm sorry, darling," Jo-Jo said, tears streaking down her cheeks like tiny rivers of crystal when I finally finished my story. "So very sorry that you had to go through all of that because of us."

I shrugged. Fighting for my life against evil psychopaths with personal vendettas wasn't anything new.

In fact, it had become rather routine over the past few months. Mundane, even. Grimes's attack had just cut a little closer to home than some of the other ones.

"I wish that Fletcher had killed that bastard all those years ago," Jo-Jo said in a grim voice. "I wish that I had killed him all those years ago."

Sophia squeezed her hand, but the motion didn't comfort Jo-Jo. If anything, it made even more tears well up in her eyes, spill down her face, and drip onto her dress. She let out a small, squeaky hiccup and pressed her fist against her mouth, as though that would hold back her grief.

In all the years I'd known her, I could count on one hand the number of times that I'd seen Jo-Jo cry, and most of those had been before, during, and after Fletcher's funeral. My heart ached for her, but I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say or how to comfort her in the face of her tears, her trembling body, and the worry swimming in her clear eyes.

"Don't think about it right now," I said. "Sophia and I both made it back, and we're all safe now. Once cooper gets the hang of his magic, he can finish healing you, and then we'll all be back to - "

I bit down on my lip, choking on my own words. I had started to say normal , but that wasn't the right thing to say, because we wouldn't be back to that for a long time, if ever. I'd never been one *****garcoat things, but right now, I wanted to ease Jo-Jo's mind more than anything else. If I could have reached inside her, scooped out her hurt, and shoveled it into my own heart, I would have - and Sophia's too.

"It's not over," Jo-Jo said, finally wiping away her tears.

"Not by a long shot."

"No," I replied. "It's not."

"He's never going to stop," Jo-Jo said. "Not now. Not after you got Sophia away from him again. Not after you've embarrassed him. He'll have to come after you to save face with his men and Hazel too. But more than that, he'll want to come after you. He'll want to teach you a lesson."

"I know," I said. "I know that he'll come after me, that he'll come after all of us."

"Now what?" Sophia asked, her voice even harsher than before and full of worry.

I leaned forward and looked at Sophia, then Jo-Jo, letting them see the determination in my wintry gray eyes - and the cold, cold promise of death.

"We let him come to us," I said. "And then we kill him."

Chapter Twenty-seven

cooper finished healing Owen, and we all moved on to the things that we needed to do next. Finn and Phillip left to go see what they could dig up on Grimes from their various underworld contacts and to find out if anyone had heard a whisper of what had happened on the mountain. Bria headed to the police station to do the same.

Roslyn went with her, so she could fill Xavier in on everything that had happened. Sophia helped Jo-Jo to one of the upstairs bedrooms, so they could both get some rest.

Rosco finally woke up and followed them, his toenails clicking against the floor, and cooper went to his own room to rest himself.

Meanwhile, I took a long, hot shower, slathered some more of Jo-Jo's healing salve onto my lingering wounds, and changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt that Bria had left at cooper's for me. I headed back downstairs to find Owen in the den, staring through the glass door into the backyard. He too had showered and changed and looked as handsome as ever in a black T-shirt and khaki shorts.

He turned at the sound of my bare feet softly slapping against the floor. "You look more like your old self."

"So do you."

He nodded. "I was waiting for you to finish in the shower so I could tell you that I'm heading over to country Daze with Warren and Eva. They're waiting in the truck for me. Warren wants to check on Violet and make sure that he's there in case any of Grimes's men come into the store for supplies."

I nodded. "Just be careful."

"We will."

He hesitated, then gestured at a case on the coffee table that I hadn't noticed before. The top of the case was open, revealing a layer of black foam and my five silverstone knives gleaming inside. The ones that Owen had made for me, the ones that contained my magic, the ones that I'd given to him on the ridge.

The ones that I never thought I'd see again.

"I thought you might want these back," Owen said in a low voice. "Especially if Grimes somehow tracks Sophia and Jo-Jo here."

I hadn't cried when Jo-Jo had been shot and Sophia had been kidnapped. When I'd seen Sophia being tortured. When Grimes and Hazel had thrown their Fire magic at me. When their men had chased me through

the woods like...