Again and again, Jo-Jo moved her hand over Violet's face. Every time she did, the girl's nose got a little straighter, her jaw a little squarer. The swelling eased, and the nasty streaks of color faded from Violet's cheeks.
Watching Jo-Jo work always reminded me of a book I'd had as a child. One that featured a cartoon character. If you looked at the pages one at a time, the character didn't move. But if you flipped through the sheets fast enough, he'd walk from one side of the paper to the other.
Ten minutes later, Jo-Jo dropped her hand. Her eyes dimmed and lost their milky, magical glow. So did her palm. "There," the dwarf said in a low voice. "It's done."
"He also kicked her once," I said. "In the stomach."
Jo-Jo nodded. "He bruised her kidneys bad, but I fixed that too."
The dwarf got to her feet, wet a washcloth in the sink, and used it to wipe the blood off Violet's face. The girl didn't stir. She hadn't made a sound the whole time Jo-Jo was working on her. Not surprising. Her body had gone through a serious trauma. She'd probably sleep for at least an hour, maybe longer. Being healed by magic always took a lot out of a person, as the body tried to adjust from being injured to suddenly being well again. And using as much magic as Jo-Jo just had would wipe out all but the strongest elementals.
That was one reason I tried not to rely on my magic too much, tried not to use it for big things. I didn't like being left weak and helpless afterward, even if I had retired from the assassin business.
Jo-Jo finished cleaning up Violet and threw the bloody rag into the trash can. Finn slipped Violet's glued together glasses on her face. Then he leaned back and gave her an appreciative glance.
"She cleaned up good, didn't she?" he said in an admiring tone.
"She's unconscious, Finn. At least have the decency to leer at her when she's awake," I said.
Finn laced his hands behind his head and grinned. "I'll be sure and do just that."
Jo-Jo washed her hands again in the sink. She grabbed another rag to dry them off, then turned to me. "Now," the dwarf drawled. "You want to tell me who this girl is, and why someone was beating her?"
I filled Jo-Jo in on everything that had happened the last twenty-four hours, starting with Sophia and I foiling Jake McAllister's attempted holdup of the Pork Pit, to Violet Fox coming in and asking for the Tin Man, to the shooting, to Finn and I tracking her down and saving her from the dwarven hit man.
"So that's where Sophia went in such a hurry," Jo-Jo murmured. "I thought it was strange she wanted to leave before the end."
I raised an eyebrow.
"We were watching a western. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly with Clint Eastwood. Sophia hardly ever leaves before the big showdown at the end," Jo-Jo explained.
"Her favorite part is when Lee Van Cleef dies."
Sophia Deveraux, the Goth girl dwarf, was also quite the movie buff. Westerns, action flicks, mob movies. She loved them all. The more violent they were, the better.
"Anyway," I said, finishing my story. "We left the dwarf 's body for Sophia to dispose of and brought the girl here. Once she's awake, I plan on asking her some serious questions about Fletcher and where she heard the name Tin Man."
Jo-Jo stared at the girl. A frown made the blue mud mask on her face crack. She hadn't bothered to wipe it off yet. "She looks... familiar. What did you say her name was again?"
"Violet Elizabeth Fox." I plucked the girl's driver's license out of her wallet and passed it to Jo-Jo.
The dwarf scanned the laminated card. Her frown deepened, and bits of blue mud flaked off her cheeks and settled on her pink housecoat. "She lives up on Ridgeline Hollow Road."
"Do you know her?" Finn asked.
Jo-Jo shook her head. "No, but I'm pretty sure I know the crotchety old bastard who's her grandfather."
Chapter Ten
Finn and I looked at each other. "Grandfather?" we asked in unison.
Jo-Jo nodded. "Warren T. Fox, of the Ridgeline Hollow Foxes. The girl looks a fair bit like him in the face. I see it, now that the blood's gone."
"And who is this Warren T. Fox?" I asked.
"He used to be a friend of Fletcher's," the dwarf said.
"But they had a falling out a long time ago. Haven't spoken since, to my knowledge."
Jo-Jo stared at Violet, who was still unconscious in the chair. An emotion flickered in the dwarf 's pale eyes. Regret.
I wondered why. Jo-Jo shook her head. More mud mask flaked off her face.
"C'mon," the dwarf said. "Let's make the poor girl comfortable, and I'll tell you what I know."
Since Jo-Jo was stronger than either Finn or me, she picked up Violet, carried the girl into the downstairs den, and arranged her on an overstuffed sofa. I pulled off Violet's bloody jacket and shoes; then Jo-Jo covered her with a soft, warm quilt. The dwarf trudged into the downstairs bathroom to wash the blue mud off her face. I stepped through the doorway that led into the kitchen.
Most people went straight to Jo-Jo's salon when they came to the house, but my favorite room had always been the kitchen. A skinny room with a rectangular butcher's block table set in the middle surrounded by several tall stools. Appliances done in a variety of pastel shades ringed three walls, while the fourth opened up into the den where Violet Fox snoozed. Runelike clouds could be found everywhere, from the placemats on the table to the dish towels piled next to the sink to the fresco that covered the ceiling. When I was younger, I used to lie on the kitchen floor for hours and stare at the painting on the ceiling, pretending the clouds really were moving. One of the few childish fancies I'd allowed myself after the loss of my mother and older sister.
Finn was already in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of chicory coffee. Jo-Jo always kept a pot on in case Fletcher dropped by. Now that the old man was gone, Finn drank his share - and then some. I breathed in, enjoying the warm, comforting caffeine fumes that always reminded me of Fletcher Lane. Then I went over to the refrigerator, pulled open the door, and peered inside.
"What are you thinking? Sandwiches?" Finn asked in a hopeful voice.
"No. I'm in the mood for something sweet."
I grabbed the butter out of the fridge, then rummaged through the cabinets. Flour, oats, dried apricots, golden raisins, brown sugar, vanilla. I pulled them out, along with some mixing cups, a baking pan, a spatula, and a bowl. Finn settled himself at the kitchen table and drank his coffee while I worked. By the time Jo-Jo walked back into the kitchen, I was sliding the batter into the oven.
"Whatcha making?" the dwarf asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
"Apricot bars," I replied, wiping my hands off on a cloud-covered dish towel. "Which I'm going to turn into a poor man's cobbler. They'll be done in a few minutes, which should give you just enough time to tell us all about Fletcher and Warren T. Fox."
Jo-Jo nodded. She took her coffee to the table and sat down next to Finn. I leaned against the refrigerator so I could keep an eye on the oven. It just wouldn't do to get the apricot bars too brown.
"Fletcher and Warren grew up together in Ridgeline Hollow," Jo-Jo said. "Best friends who were thick as thieves. More like brothers. Always together, from sunup till sundown. Sophia and I knew their parents. Grandparents too."
Finn shook his head. "Dad never mentioned anyone named Warren Fox to me. Never. Especially someone who was his best childhood friend. What happened between them?"
"A girl," Jo-Jo said. "They both fell in love with the same girl. Stella. She was a pretty thing who lived up in the hollow. Stella knew Fletcher and Warren were both in love with her. She'd go out courting with first one, then the other. She liked playing them against each other. Pretty soon, they were fighting over her."
"So who got her in the end?" I asked.
A wry smile curved Jo-Jo's lips. "Neither one of them. She ran off with a boy from the city. But by then, it was too late for Fletcher and Warren to repair their friendship. Fletcher moved into the city to start the Pork Pit. Warren stayed where he was up in the hills and took over his family's general store."
I looked at Finn. With his walnut hair, green eyes, and smooth smile, Finn was the spitting image of Fletcher at his age - and handsome to a fault. I wondered what Warren T. Fox had looked like in his youth, to give Fletcher Lane a run for his money.
"Warren's store, is it called Country Daze?" Finn took another sip of his chicory coffee. "Because that's where Violet Fox gets her paycheck from every two weeks."
Jo-Jo nodded. "Been in the family for four generations now, counting the girl in there."
My gray eyes flicked to Violet Fox, who continued to sleep on the sofa. "If Warren and Fletcher had a falling out all those years ago, why would Warren's granddaughter come looking for Fletcher now?"
Jo-Jo shrugged. "I don't know. But if the girl or Warren are in trouble like you think they are, asking Fletcher Lane for help would be the very last thing the Warren T. Fox that I know would do. Pride's one of the most important things to him. Which is why he never made up with Fletcher. Stella humiliated them both, and Fletcher reminded Warren too much of that."
I grabbed a cloud-shaped oven mitt, opened the oven door, and took out the apricot bars. The smell of warm fruit, sugar, and melted butter filled the kitchen, along with a blast of heat. A combination I never grew tired of, especially on a cold, gray night like this one. I grabbed another oven mitt, set it on the table, then put the pan on top of it. Finn's fingers crept toward the edge of the container, but I smacked his hand away.
"I'm not done with them yet," I said.
"Come on, Gin," he whined. "I just want a taste."
"And you're just going to have to wait, like the rest of us."
Jo-Jo chuckled, amused by our squabbling. I moved over to the cabinets and got out four bowls, some spoons, and a couple of knives. I also grabbed a gallon of vanilla bean ice cream out of the freezer. After the apricot bars had cooled enough so they wouldn't immediately fall apart, I cut out big chunks of the bars, dumped them in the bowls, and topped them all with two scoops of the ice cream. My own version of a quick homemade cobbler.
Jo-Jo swallowed a mouthful of the confection and sighed. "Heaven, pure, sweet heaven."
Finn didn't agree with her. He was too busy stuffing his face to chime in.
I took a bite. The ice cream was a cool, soft, creamy contrast to the warm, heavy richness of the apricot bars, and both melted together in my mouth in a symphony of flavors. Jo-Jo was right. I'd outdone myself again.
We were scraping up the remains of our dessert when the front door to the house banged open. Heavy, familiar footsteps sounded, and a moment later, Sophia Deveraux enter the kitchen. Her black Goth clothes looked out of place among the pastel appliances, like a storm cloud suddenly passing in front of the sun.
"Want some dessert?" I asked, fixing another bowl of apricot bars and ice cream for her.
"Um-mmm." Sophia grunted yes and sat down next to Jo-Jo.
Finn waited until Sophia was halfway through her ice cream before he asked her the inevitable question. "Any trouble picking up the body?"
Sophia's flat, black eyes met his green ones. "Nuh-uh."
The Goth dwarf 's version of no.
I looked at Sophia's clothes, but I couldn't see any blood spatters on her T-shirt, jeans, or boots. Even though the fabric was black, I was good at noticing that sort of thing.
But Sophia's clothes were spotless as always. The truth was I didn't know exactly how Sophia Deveraux disposed of the bodies I sent her way. Didn't know if she buried 'em, burned 'em, crushed 'em, or put 'em in cold storage. Hell, I didn't even know where she took the remains in the first place.
But the grumpy Goth dwarf could get rid of evidence like it had never even existed. DNA, hairs, fibers, blood.
Not a thing remained after she got through cleaning up a murder scene. I'd often wondered if Sophia had the same Air elemental magic Jo-Jo did, if she used it to help her destroy evidence. In addition to smoothing out wrinkles, Air magic was also good for disintegrating things like flesh or sandblasting blood off a floor. But I'd never seen Sophia do any sort of magic, Air or otherwise, never felt any kind of power crackle off her. Another mystery I'd never been able to puzzle out, along with why Sophia's voice was so broken and raspy. She was only a hundred and thirteen, far too young for her body to be failing her already. Dwarves could easily live to be five hundred or older. Sophia Deveraux wasn't forthcoming with any answers, but still I wondered.
Sophia finished her cobbler, pushed her bowl back, and looked at Jo-Jo. "Movie?"
"I paused it," Jo-Jo said. "Still on the TV in the den, if you want to finish it."
Sophia nodded, got to her feet, and walked into the next room. I grabbed her bowl to rinse it out in the sink.
I reached for the faucet to turn on the water -
And someone screamed.
I whirled around, one of my silverstone knives already sliding into my right hand. Another scream rang out, followed by some frantic rustling. Sophia sighed and stepped out of the den. A moment later, Violet Fox lurched into view.
The girl looked no worse for wear, despite her ordeal.
The only hint anything violent had even happened was the crusted blood that coated her sweater. And the fact that her black glasses were just a tiny bit off center on her nose. Finn hadn't fixed them perfectly. Or maybe Jo-Jo had straightened the girl's nose more than it had been before. Occasionally, the dwarf would throw in a little rhinoplasty while she was working her healing Air magic.
