"Don't worry," I said. "She won't get hurt. Not by me. But Randall Dekes is another matter, and we both know it."
"I talked to Donovan in the restaurant," Bria said. "He's been investigating Stu Alexander's death, trying to find some way to connect it to Dekes and put the vampire in jail where he belongs. But he keeps running into problems with his superiors, who are getting heat from their superiors, because the vamp is so chummy with all the muckety-mucks on the island."
I snorted. "Well, that's all well and good, but what's Donovan going to do, exactly? Go out to Dekes's fancy house and threaten to arrest him? Please. Dekes will laugh in his face. Or worse, he'll keep Donovan there long enough for some of his goons to go out and hurt Callie. Is that what you want?"
"Of course not," Bria snapped. "But you can't just go around killing everyone you don't like, Gin. There wouldn't be anyone left in the entire city of Ashland if you did that."
I thought about telling her that I was getting tired of killing people all the time back home, that I'd come down here this weekend to get away from all of that, but I kept my mouth shut. She wouldn't believe me. Not tonight. And I didn't think that she really wanted to anyway. She couldn't do that and hold on to her anger at me at the same time.
"Donovan and I deal with rich sleazeballs like Dekes all the time," Bria continued. "Donovan will handle him."
"Like you handled Elliot Slater when Mab sent him to your house to murder you?"
Bria flinched, and old memories darkened her eyes.
"Because the way I remember it, you were gutshot, and Slater was about a minute away from beating you to death when I showed up and took out his men instead."
It was a low, vicious blow, reminding Bria of how Slater had almost killed her, of how he would have killed her if Finn and I hadn't intervened, but it was a necessary evil. I didn't want Bria to make another tear-filled trip to the cemetery to bury her best friend, but that's what would happen if Dekes was as determined to get his hands on Callie's restaurant as I thought he was.
Bria pushed away from the railing and straightened up. The anger in her gaze glittered as brightly as the stars above.
"I told Callie I would come by the restaurant for brunch in the morning," she said in a low voice. "That I'd help her and Donovan find some way to deal with Dekes."
My eyes narrowed. "You didn't mention that before."
"You didn't ask."
We glared at each other, neither of us willing to compromise or admit that the other might have a valid point. Maybe, just maybe, Bria and Donovan could get Dekes to back off, at least for a little while. But what would happen when Bria went back to Ashland? What would happen when Donovan was called away on a case? Callie would be alone and vulnerable at the restaurant. A moment of opportunity, a locked door, a few matches, a little gasoline, and Bria's friend would be just as crispy and deep-fried as the food she served up. That's how I'd play things, if I were Dekes, along with planning a convenient alibi for myself. Hell, it sounded like the vamp was so connected and so powerful that he wouldn't even have to go to the trouble of doing that.
But I couldn't make Bria understand that, any more than I'd been able to make Donovan realize the same thing back in Ashland. Maybe they didn't want to understand. Hell, maybe they just couldn't understand. Despite everything they'd seen on the job, Donovan and Bria still wanted to believe in the good in people, whereas my faith in the inherent decency of others had been shattered a long time ago. Maybe they were right and I was wrong, but I couldn't let go of my cynicism, any more than they could relinquish their hope.
Stalemate, once again.
"I'm going to bed," Bria muttered. "You coming?"
"In a little while."
Bria stalked back inside the suite without another word. I heard her moving around, switching off lights, turning down the covers, and even brushing her teeth before shutting the bedroom door behind her, but I made no move to follow her. Better to let her cool off.
Instead, I stayed outside for a long time, listening to the endless ebb and flow of the ocean and wishing the soft waves could carry my worries and fears out to sea with them, never to be heard from again.
Chapter 7
Eventually, the lights around the pool dimmed, the band packed up their instruments, and the bar closed down. The swimmers, dancers, and other stragglers went back inside the hotel to finish their nights with a shower, a fresh drink, and perhaps a quick fuck or two in their soft, comfortable beds.
I stepped back inside the suite, closing and locking the glass doors behind me. Before I went to bed, I walked through the suite, familiarizing myself with the locations of everything from the light switches to the coffee tables to the butcher's block full of knives on the kitchen counter.
Given what had happened earlier at the Sea Breeze, there were things I would do now if I were Randall Dekes, things that were best taken care of in the dark of the night, and I wanted to be prepared just in case the vampire or his men decided to act accordingly. Paranoid? Perhaps. But I hadn't lived this long by not being ready for the bad guys when they decided to come calling.
The last thing I did was open the front door and ease my head outside. There was no one in the long, wide hallway, although someone had left a large brass luggage cart next to the elevator. I stepped out and studied the wall that fronted the suite. The Blue Sands was made out of solid white stone, but instead of plastering over the stacks of bricks, the designers had left many of the interior walls rough and exposed, giving the hotel an elegant but sturdy air.
I leaned forward and ran my fingers across the rough stone, listening once again to the sunbaked murmurs and whispers of the waves. Then I reached for my Stone magic. For a moment, I relished the cool flow of magic running through my veins before focusing and pushing the power up into my hand. A silver light flickered on the end of my index finger, hissing like a small blowtorch. I used the magic to trace a series of runes into the stone around the door. Small, tight, spiral curls - the symbol for protection. The curls shimmered with the silver glow of my magic before sinking into the stone wall and disappearing from sight.
In addition to using runes to identify themselves and their interests, elementals could also imbue the symbols with magic, get that power to spark to life, and make the runes perform certain functions. Elemental magic was great for creating everything from bombs to magical trip wires to alarms. Now, if someone tried to force his way inside the suite tonight, my magic would trigger the hidden runes, and the stones would shriek out a warning to me - one that would be loud enough to wake me from the deepest, deadest sleep.
Satisfied, I went back into the suite and shut and locked the door behind me. Then I crawled into bed, closed my eyes, and waited for the dreams to come.
Ever since Fletcher's murder several months ago, I'd been plagued by vivid, vivid dreams - nightmares, really. But the twisted thing was that the images that haunted me weren't really dreams at all, but instead flashes of my past, memories I desperately wanted to forget.
Mostly, the memories had to do with all the horrible things that had happened the night Mab had murdered my mother and older sister. Watching them die, reliving the Fire elemental's torture, hearing Bria scream, lashing out with my Ice and Stone magic, collapsing our mansion, thinking that I'd accidentally killed Bria with my power, that she'd been crushed to death by the falling stones of our house.
But ever since I'd killed Mab, the dreams had changed, offering me other glimpses into my past, letting me remember other horrors I'd endured, other trials I'd faced by design, chance, choice, or something else. Like tonight . . .
"I don't understand," I said. "Why did we come all the way out here?"
Here was deep in the forests high above Ashland, since the city was located in the woodsy corner of the world where Tennessee, Virginia, and North Carolina met in the Appalachian Mountains. Early this morning, Fletcher had roused me out of bed, handed me a backpack of supplies, ushered me out to the car, and started driving north. I'd fallen asleep and had only woken up when Fletcher stopped the car at the base of what he called Bone Mountain, a large, ominous-looking peak whose craggy ridges seemed to stretch all the way up to the gray clouds that darkened the sky. That had been several hours ago, and we'd been hiking up the mountain ever since.
I had no idea where we were or how far we'd come, but I didn't mind the long trek. I enjoyed walking through the forest, listening to the sound of the wind whistling through the trees and watching rabbits and chipmunks dart through the thick underbrush. Most of all, I liked being with Fletcher, just the two of us, without Finn lurking around, glaring at me and making snide comments whenever he thought his dad wouldn't hear him. Finn didn't like me much, and the feeling was definitely mutual. I thought he was a spoiled brat who took his father for granted.
Fletcher looked at me. His green eyes were as bright as the leaves on the spring trees, while his walnut-colored hair blended in with the rest of the landscape, despite the silver threads that glinted here and there in his thick locks. He wore his usual blue work clothes, along with a pair of sturdy boots, and carried a backpack that was even bigger and heavier than mine.
"I told you. We're looking for wild strawberries. Ain't nothing better than wild strawberry preserves on a hot buttermilk biscuit. I'll get Jo-Jo to teach you how to make them both."
He swung the tin pail he'd brought along, as if to confirm his story. "Come on. It's not too much farther now to the strawberry patch."
He set off through the trees, and I fell in step behind him, taking care to watch where I was going so I wouldn't trip on a rock or put my foot in a hole hidden by leaves.
I'd been living with Fletcher for several months now, and he often brought me into the forest to look for herbs, pick berries, or skin the bark off trees. Fletcher had lived in the mountains all his life, and he had a keen interest in natural folk remedies, like putting honey on burns or making natural teas and salves from barks and berries to fight colds and coughs. The last time we'd gone hiking, he'd shown me how to use a spiderweb to pack a wound and slow the bleeding in case I didn't have anything else on hand to use as a bandage.
It was a neat idea, but one I doubted I'd ever use. Even though Fletcher was training me to be an assassin like he was, I didn't think I'd ever be that desperate. Besides, most folks that Fletcher got paid to kill lived in big fancy mansions in Northtown, not out in the woods. Anyway, I was going to be a good assassin, just as good as Fletcher was as the Tin Man. I wasn't ever going to be taken by surprise or put in a situation I couldn't handle. It was a vow I'd made to myself after my family had been murdered. I was always going to be in control from now on, and Fletcher was going to teach me how. That was the whole reason I wanted to be an assassin in the first place - so that no one would ever be able to hurt me again.
We kept walking, winding our way up the mountain. Eventually, we came to a fork in the trail. Fletcher pointed to the path that veered off to the right.
"The strawberry patch is about a mile up that way. You can't miss it. Why don't you go on ahead? This old man has to answer the call of mother nature. Too much coffee this morning." Fletcher gave me a sheepish grin. "I'll catch up to you in a few minutes."
"Okay."
Fletcher moved off into the trees, and I turned and started walking up the trail, enjoying the shades of green, brown, and gray that streaked the landscape. Still, despite the peace and quiet, something about our hike was bothering me, some nagging little thing that I couldn't put my finger on. I kept thinking about the dented tin pail swinging from Fletcher's brown, speckled hand. It took me ten minutes of walking, but eventually I realized what was wrong.
"But it's too early for strawberries," I said to the trees around me. "It's only April. Strawberries aren't really in season until the summer, May at the very earliest, especially the ones out here in the wild."
I frowned, wondering why Fletcher would bring me up here to pick strawberries that weren't even ripe yet. Then I realized something else - I hadn't heard a whisper of movement behind me. No branches cracking, no twigs snapping, no leaves crunching underfoot. I hadn't been walking all that fast, and Fletcher should have caught up to me by now. So where was he? Could he have gotten into some sort of trouble? Maybe stumbled and twisted his ankle? But if he'd done that, then why wasn't he calling out for me? For help. Why did it seem like I was here on the mountain by myself now?
Panic filled me then, and I turned and ran back down the trail the way I'd come.
"Fletcher!" I yelled in between breaths. "Fletcher!"
He didn't answer me.
I made it all the way back down to the fork where we'd split up, but there was no sign of him, his tin pail, or his backpack. It was like he'd never even been here to start with. My head whipped left, then right, then left again - and that's when I saw the note.
A white piece of paper had been tacked to one of the trees right by the trail, with the name GIN written on it in big black block letters. The panic pulsing through my body slowly turned to fear, and a sick, sick feeling filled my stomach. Somehow, I knew what the note was going to say even before I yanked it off the tree and opened it with trembling hands.
"I'm sorry," the note said in Fletcher's distinctive handwriting. "This isn't working out. I can't have you hanging around anymore. You're on your own now. Fletcher."
That was it. There was nothing else. Just a few simple sentences to explain the fact that Fletcher had dumped me out here in the middle of nowhere. I felt like a puppy someone had left in a cardboard box by the side of the road - alone, abandoned, unwanted. But mostly, I didn't understand why. Why bring me all the way out here when just kicking me out of the house and telling me to stay away from the Pork Pit would have been so much simpler?