"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 to sugarcoat 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 an animal. I hadn't even cried when I'd jumped off that cliff, knowing that I would probably die from the fall.
But the simple sight of my knives and the spider runes glimmering on the hilts made my throat close up, and I had a hard time holding back the hot tears that pooled in my eyes. I went over, sat down in front of the table on the floor, and traced my fingers over the blades, letting the cold, smooth feel of the weapons ground me and help me get my emotions back under control.
"Thank you," I finally managed to whisper, still hunched over the knives and staring at them instead of him. "For keeping them safe for me."
"You're welcome," Owen said, his own voice rough and hoarse. "But don't you ever give them to me like that again."
I nodded, the knot in my throat preventing me from speaking.
"I found this too."
His hand appeared at my elbow, and I realized that he was holding a small rock, one with my spider rune seared into the stone.
The smooth, round rock was light gray, with my rune etched on it in a slightly darker silver, almost like a brand.
I knew that if I compared it with the scar on my palm, it would be a perfect match.
"I found it on the top of the ridge that overlooked Grimes's camp," Owen said. "It was just lying there, along with all of the bodies of his men. From what you told me, I think this is the first rock that you touched, the one you started building all of that elemental Ice with."
I nodded and took it from him. The stone was surprisingly light in my hand and felt slightly chilled, as though it had absorbed some of my Ice magic. Perhaps the rock had a bit of silverstone running through it. After a moment, I set it down on the table, right next to the case of knives. I still didn't speak, though. I couldn't.
"I'll be back soon," he promised.
Owen touched my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Then he opened the door and left. A minute later, an engine rumbled to life in the front of the house before the sound slowly faded away.
I shuddered out a breath, reached into the case, and pulled out one of my knives. The metal felt cool to the touch, given the Ice and Stone magic stored inside the silverstone. I rubbed my thumb over the spider rune stamped into the hilt, that small circle surrounded by eight thin rays.
When I felt calm enough, I grabbed another knife out of the case and got to my feet. Then I started twirling the weapons, spinning the metal blades around and around, tossing them up into the air, and catching them as they plummeted back down to earth.
Faster and faster, higher and higher, I tossed the knives, until the blades seemed to float through the air like slender silver clouds. My gaze was locked on the spinning bits of sharp metal, but my mind was focused on something else entirely: the best way to go about killing Harley Grimes.
It was something that Fletcher had taught me to do.
keep my hands busy while I let my mind wander free. I moved from one side of the den to the other, all the while juggling the knives, thinking about angles, approaches, and when Grimes might show his face in Ashland.
And when I'd gone through it all, when I had a plan that I thought would work, I tossed the knives up into the air one final time, caught them, and twirled them around in my hands. Ta-da.
I tucked one of the knives against the small of my back, comforted by the familiar, solid weight of it there.
Then I slid the other one back into its slot in the foam and headed into the kitchen. I left the case open on the table, though.
I'd use the knives again soon enough.
Despite my juggling act, my emotions were still raw and far too close to the surface for my liking, so I spent the next few hours indulging in my own sort of therapy: cooking.
I raided cooper's fridge and cabinets, pulling out flour, sugar, salt, pepper, and all of the other staples that I would need. Then I went to work. Mixing, stirring, measuring, chopping, mashing, sauteing, frying, baking, roasting. The familiar motions soothed something deep inside me, and I quickly lost myself in the rhythms of cooking. The smells of melted butter, sugar, cheese, and more blasted out of the oven and drifted up from the pots and pans bubbling on the stovetop, and everything else faded away, except for the steady tick-tick- tick of the egg timer on the counter, counting down the seconds until my various dishes were ready to come out of the oven.
I figured that we could all use some comfort food, so I whipped up a succulent supper of country-fried ham, sharp cheddar mac and cheese, a crunchy summer salad of cucumbers and tomatoes, and mashed potatoes made with buttermilk, piled high with sour cream, and sprinkled generously with dill. For dessert, there were light - as-air buttermilk biscuits stuffed with some strawberry preserves that Jo-Jo had made for cooper.
