Burned alive by Fire, like my mother and older sister.
I shook my head, banishing the ugly memories. "No thanks. All I need to get the job done is my silverstone knives. Nothing else. Magic is too easy. Makes you take stupid chances, makes you think you're invincible, makes you sloppy. I'll use it when I have to, but I'm not going to depend on it."
I didn't mention the fact I'd already done enough horrid things with my magic to last a lifetime. That I'd killed with it long before Fletcher had taken me in off the streets.
That I'd lashed out with it without thinking, and used my power to crumble the stones of my own house so I could escape from my torturers. That the combination of fires the elemental had started and my magic made the whole structure come tumbling down. That Bria, my younger sister, had died because of what I'd done, been buried alive just like everyone else.
Some of the many reasons I didn't use my power like that now, unless there was no other option. It only reminded me of that darker time, when everything I'd known had been lost in one fiery night.
Jo-Jo finished her work and dropped her hand, but her pale eyes stayed on my face.
"We'll see."
The front door banged open, and heavy footsteps smacked against the hallway floor.
A few seconds later, Sophia Deveraux stepped into the salon.
Sophia was an inch taller than her older sister, and her body was thicker, with an extra layer of hard muscle. Where Jo-Jo was light, Sophia was dark-as in Goth.
Short, straight black hair clung to her head, matching her eye shadow, eyeliner, and lipstick. Her eyes were also a flat black. Instead of a dress, Sophia wore black jeans, black boots, and a black T-shirt embossed with hot-pink skulls. The skulls matched the plastic ones hanging off the spiked, black leather collar that ringed her thick throat. Even though she was a hundred and thirteen, Sophia had the moody adolescent look down pat.
Sophia flopped into one of the salon chairs and examined the pink glitter polish on her nails. Jo-Jo leaned over and patted her sister's hand. Despite their obvious differences, the sisters were close. Living together for more than a hundred years would do that to you. Sophia gave Jo-Jo a half smile, her most animated and pleasant expression.
"Any problems getting rid of the bodies?" I asked.
Sophia's black eyes met my gray ones. "Nuh-uh." The Goth dwarf's version of no.
Like Jo-Jo's healing, I'd also inherited Sophia's expertise when Fletcher retired from the assassin business. I didn't know exactly how Sophia disposed of the bodies I sent her way. What she did with them, where she put them, why she even liked doing that sort of dirty work in the first place. But the Goth dwarf could clean up like nobody's business. Sophia left every site pristine. No blood, no fibers, no hairs, no DNA, or evidence of any sort. The fact she baked the best sourdough bread in Ashland was an added bonus.
"Good. I'm going to need you to run the Pork Pit the next few days." I swallowed the acid that once again coated my throat. "And call the cops in the morning." I told Sophia about everything that had happened tonight. The dwarf didn't say anything. But for a moment, something dark and soulful sparked in her gaze. It might have been sorrow. Hard to tell with Sophia. She was even colder than I was.
Once I made the arrangements with Sophia, I thanked Jo-Jo for her hospitality and skills, and promised to have Finn wire her the usual amount. Then I stood up, put the hooker's bloody shirt back on, and roused Finn, who was taking a catnap in the salon chair.
"Come on," I said. "We've still got things to do tonight." "Like what?" Jo-Jo asked.
I ran a hand through my hair. My fingers caught on a clump of blood. "We took some things off the guys at Finn's apartment. I want to go through them. I also want to see what's on the news and what's been leaked to the press. Gordon Giles's attempted murder is going to be a big story, and we need to stay on top of it." Jo-Jo nodded, her blond curls bobbing. "Well, y'all be careful. Fletcher Lane was one of my oldest, dearest friends. If you need anything, anything at all, just give me or Sophia a holler."
A grim smile tightened my face. "Thanks. But I don't think we'll need you again, especially not Sophia. Because once I get my hands on the person responsible for all this, there won't be enough left of her to put under a microscope, much less dispose of."
Across the room, Sophia Deveraux grunted her disappointment.
Chapter Ten
Before we left, Jo-Jo promised to take care of Fletcher's funeral arrangements. I was happy to cede that task to her. I needed to focus on finding his killer, not the raw emotions the old man's death had infected me with. Jo-Jo also gave me some tubs of her magically infused healing ointment in case Finn and I had any lingering issues in the morning.
Thirty minutes later, after stashing his Benz in an anonymous parking garage a few blocks away, Finn and I were in my apartment. I'd checked the building and the stone around the door before we'd entered, but the vibrations had been low and steady as usual. Whoever had hired Brutus didn't know where I lived. Otherwise, she would have been camped outside by now. Despite Jo-Jo's ministrations, I was glad for the respite. I really didn't want to deal with any more blood or bodies tonight.
Even I had limits.
But I still took the precaution of using my magic to trace runes into the stone outside the door. Small, tight, spiral curls-the symbol for protection. The runes shimmered with a silver color before sinking into the stone. If someone tried to get into the apartment tonight, my magic would trigger the runes and echo through the stone-rising to a shrill shriek that would wake me from the deepest, deadest sleep.
Finn and I sat at the kitchen table rifling through the wallets and other items we'd taken from the men at his apartment. I flipped open Shortie's wallet and stared at the driver's license inside.
"Fake," Finn pronounced.
I stared at the laminated card. "How can you tell?"
"The Ashland city seal's on the wrong side. It should be on the right, away from the photo, not on the left on top of it."
In addition to handling other people's money, Finn was also rather good with documents. He'd done all my fake
IDs and could lay out a paper trail so thick and elaborate it would fool the most studious forensic accountant.
Something gold glinted underneath the pile of wallets. I snagged my fingers on the metal and pulled out the chain Finn had torn off Shortie's neck. A small medallion hung off the end-a triangular-shaped tooth with sharp, jagged, sawlike edges done in polished jet.
"What does this look like to you?" I asked. "A tacky piece of man jewelry."