The hammer wasn't a traditional weapon, but it was mine. After spending so many hours, so many years, in my forge, it felt far more comfortable in my hand than a gun or a knife ever would. Besides, with so many giants and dwarves in Ashland, it was good to have something that would really pack a punch and level the playing field. Drive the hammer into someone's knees, and he would go down screaming, no matter how tall or tough he was. Slam it into someone's head, and his skull would crack like an eggshell, no matter how thick and strong his bones were.
I twirled the hammer around and around, moving it from one hand to the other and limbering up my shoulders. After being hunched over in the booth, it felt good to move, to stretch - and to be doing something to help Gin, rather than hurt her again.
The hammer was made of solid silverstone, although you couldn't really tell, given how much soot and ash had blackened it over the years. And there was something else that made the hammer special: my magic.
Over the years, I'd imbued the hammer with my own elemental talent for metal, so that whenever I was working in the forge, the hammer was an extension of my arm, my magic, my will. All of that flowed from me, through the hammer, and into whatever piece of metal I was working with, until the sheets of iron, copper, and silverstone took on the exact shape that I wanted them to.
Phillip eyed the hammer. "I thought you just wanted to talk to these guys, tell them to back off."
"We can try that," I said. "But I doubt it will work. They'll want their money too badly to walk away from this chance to kill Gin. Does that bother you?"
He grinned. "Not at all. In fact, that's exactly the sort of party that I like. Although I hate to go empty-handed. What other junk have you got in your trunk?" Phillip snickered, then leaned down and peered into the mess. "Hey, what's in here?"
"Nothing - "
Before I could stop him, he reached down and popped open the lid on a silverstone case that lay on the right side of the trunk. Five knives were nestled in black foam inside the case. They glinted dully in the flashing neon still streaming out from the club's sign.
"Knives?" Phillip's eyes narrowed. "Do I even have to guess who these are for?"
He plucked one of the knives out of the foam and held it up to the light. He turned it around and saw the symbol stamped into the hilt. A small circle surrounded by eight thin rays. A spider rune - Gin's rune - the symbol for patience.
"You made her some more knives?" Phillip scoffed. "Really? The five you made her for Christmas weren't enough?"
"Have you met Gin?"
He shrugged, conceding my point. "Still, Owen, knives? Again? Really? Were you not listening before when I mentioned flowers, candy, and jewelry?"
"Gin isn't exactly a flowers-candy-and-jewelry sort of woman," I said. "And I didn't make the knives for her."
Phillip snorted. "Right. Because someone else wants a set of knives with her rune stamped into the hilts. If these knives are part of some half-assed plan you have to get back into Gin's good graces, then I gotta say, it's a little lame."
I ground my teeth. That was exactly what I'd been thinking about doing with the knives, giving them to Gin as an apology for everything that I'd done. I knew that it wouldn't make up for everything - not for anything, really - but it was all I could think of.
In fact, every time I was in my forge these days, all I thought about was what I could make for Gin. What weapons she might need. What sort of sculpture she might like. What single thing I could make to get her to forgive me.
So far, I'd made five sets of knives, three sculptures shaped like various flower bouquets, and a complete set of silverware for the Pork Pit. None of which was good enough for her, not by a long shot. But still, I kept forging things, hoping that some sort of inspiration would strike and I'd finally know what to make, what to do to escape my past mistakes, and move forward.
Phillip started slashing the knife through the air, as though he was thinking about keeping it for himself.
"Give me that," I growled.
I grabbed the knife, put it back into the case, and closed the top.
"Did I ever tell you that you're no fun?" Phillip pouted.
"Frequently." I dug through the trunk until I came up with another, slightly smaller hammer. "Here. Use this. If you still remember how."
He twirled the hammer in his hands, with the same sort of familiar ease that I had. "Oh, I remember. I could never forget all the blisters, burns, and sore muscles I got from Cooper's forge."
Back when we were younger and living on the streets, Cooper had taken us both in, along with Eva. Phillip had spent almost as many hours working in Cooper's forge as I had, even though he'd been a scrawny kid back then. But now he was even stronger than I was. He'd have no problems using that hammer to pound his way through whoever got in his way.
"Now what?" he asked.
"Now we find Gin's car. If they tracked her here, then they probably know what her car looks like and where she parked it. Since Stuart struck out in the club, they'll probably try to take her out in the parking lot."
"So that's why you asked Xavier to throw them out of the club," Phillip murmured. "And here I thought you were just another ugly face."
"Come on," I said, slamming the lid down on the trunk. "Before I show you just how ugly I can be."
* * *
We walked through the rows of cars, looking for Gin's vehicle, but I didn't see it. Then again, there were so many cars crammed into the lot that I could have searched for an hour and not come across it.
"Maybe they came in Bria's car," Phillip said when we reached the end of another row. "Or one of Finnegan Lane's. I hear that he has quite the collection of vehicles."
"He does," I replied in an absent voice, growing more and more frustrated.
Phillip poked me in the shoulder. "Hey, is that your guy?"
Sure enough, Stuart stepped out of the club. Rather, he was hustled out by Xavier, who had one of Stuart's arms pinned behind his back.
"C'mon, man," Stuart whined. "I was just having a little fun."
"Well, go have your fun somewhere else. Remember what I told you, Stuart," Xavier growled, his voice carrying all the way over to us. "You're banned from the club for a month. And a month means a whole month, not a lousy couple of days. Now, get lost before I give you the beating that you so richly deserve."
Xavier gave him a sharp push, and Stuart stumbled forward five feet before catching his balance. He clenched his hands into fists and whirled around as though he was thinking about charging Xavier. But Xavier crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared the other giant down, daring Stuart to come at him. Stuart must have thought better of things, because he brushed a bit of imaginary dirt off one of the sleeves of his blue T-shirt.