The sensation vanished, and I tightened my own grip, just to show him I wasn't easily intimidated. A small smile tugged up Grayson's lips, as though he found my show of strength amusing. I gave him a cool stare. The hostility must have flickered in my gray eyes because Owen Grayson let go first.
Eva Grayson watched the exchange with interest. So did her friend Cassidy. Sophia Deveraux had already retreated to the back of the Pork Pit to start closing up the restaurant for the night.
Owen Grayson stared at me a moment more before turning to his sister. "If nothing else, tonight has proven my point about Southtown. From now on, someone will be with you during school hours."
Eva rolled her eyes again. Looked like something she did a lot when her big brother was around. "No. No more bodyguards. I'm nineteen years old, Owen. I'm in college. I can take care of myself."
"Like you did tonight?" he replied.
"Tonight was a freak event, and you know it," she retorted.
"I'm not going to let you use it as an excuse. Besides, I was perfectly safe the whole time."
"That bruise on your cheek tells me otherwise."
Owen glowered at his sister, but the hostile gaze slid off her like water. Looked like something she ignored a lot. Instead, Eva gave him a calm, calculating look.
"You want me to have a bodyguard? Then hire her."
The girl stabbed her finger at me. "Because she took out a Fire elemental like it was nothing. And she cooks."
Owen's pale eyes swept over my body. Probably wondering how I'd had the strength, balls, or dumb luck to do that.
I'd taken a lot of dirty jobs in my time, but be a bodyguard to a know-it-all college girl? I might have retired from being an assassin, but I hadn't gone insane. "Sorry. My dance card's already full."
Owen nodded. "Job offer notwithstanding, you saved my sister's life. I owe you. Name your price."
My turn to roll my eyes. "I don't want your money, and I don't need it."
His violet gaze flicked around the restaurant, taking in the faded pig tracks on the floor and the well-worn booths, chairs, and tables. Disbelief filled his features, but he was enough of a Southern gentleman not to call me a liar to my face. Little did he know I was telling the truth. I'd salted away a lot of money - a lot of money - from my assassin jobs over the years, and Fletcher had left me an exceptionally healthy bequest in his will. I could hemorrhage C-notes for years, decades even, and it wouldn't hurt a bit.
But instead of offering his money to me again, Owen reached into his suit and drew out a small white card. I took it from him. Along with his name and a cell phone number, a hammer was embossed in silver foil on the card. Grayson's rune. A large, heavy hammer, symbolizing strength, power, hard work.
"If you ever need anything, please, don't hesitate to call, day or night," he said.
My finger traced over the hammer rune, and I memorized the number. Might not be a bad thing having someone like Owen Grayson owe me a favor. Besides, Finnegan Lane, my foster brother and general partner in crime, would kill me if I turned him down. "All right."
We locked gazes. Cool, calculating, and shrewd, on both sides. Grayson tipped his head at me. I did the same, and we had an agreement.
Owen turned to the two women. "Come on, girls. Time to go."
He held the door open for them, and they headed outside.
Owen Grayson paused, looking over his shoulder.
The businessman stared at me a moment more before stepping out into the dark night.
I locked the front door behind the three of them and turned the sign over to Closed. It was barely after seven, but we weren't going to have any more customers tonight.
This close to Southtown, people could sniff out violence better than bloodhounds. Besides, I didn't feel like mopping up Jake McAllister's blood just yet.
I went into the back and said my good nights to Sophia.
The Goth dwarf grunted, gathered up her glass Mason jars full of baked beans, and headed out the back door to go home to her sister, Jo-Jo. After I made sure the stoves, french fryer, and lights were off, I followed her out into the alley that ran behind the restaurant.
I stood in the ink-black shadows next to one of the Dumpsters, looking, listening, searching. But nothing moved in the cold, quiet night, not even the rats and alley cats searching for garbage. Still, I brushed my fingers against the hard brick of the restaurant, using my elemental magic to listen to the stone.
The brick's slow murmur was one of muted, clogged contentment - just the way the stomachs and arteries of the Pork Pit's customers felt after eating a hot, thick, juicy barbecue sandwich. Over time, emotions, feelings, and actions sink into the earth and especially stone, where they can linger indefinitely until something else, some other action, comes along to add to, change, or overpower them. My elemental Stone magic let me sense these vibrations, analyze, interpret, and even tap into them if I wanted to. But the brief bit of violence that had happened earlier tonight hadn't lasted long enough or been brutal enough for the brick to permanently pick up its vibrations. Good.
Still, I looked and listened a moment more, searching for the telltale shape of a half giant or some sort of fire flickering in the shadows. But Jake McAllister wasn't waiting for me. Daddy was probably bailing him out of jail right now. McAllister would be here sooner or later, though. I'd gotten the better of him, and he knew it. He wouldn't be satisfied until he'd returned the favor. I hoped he tried. Might alleviate some of the boredom that had settled over me these last two months during my retirement.
For a few minutes, anyway. Guys like Jake McAllister always thought they were tougher than they actually were.
Satisfied the Fire elemental wasn't going to come gunning for me tonight, I dropped my hand from the cold brick and headed home. I walked three blocks in the drizzling rain, cut through twice as many alleys, and doubled back five times before I was positive no one was following me. Sure, I was a retired assassin, but that didn't mean there weren't people out there who didn't want me dead.
As the Spider, I'd killed my share of powerful men and women over the years, and I wasn't taking any chances with my safety - retirement or not.
Twenty minutes later, I retrieved my car - a sturdy, silver Benz that I'd recently purchased - from one of the parking garages near the restaurant and headed for Fletcher's.
Traffic was light on the downtown streets that ringed the Pork Pit. The bankers, businessmen, and other corporate sharks had long since fled the city's spindly skyscrapers for the comfort of their posh homes in Northtown.
Their secretaries and junior staff lived out in the suburbs that clustered around the heart of the city, while the janitors, maids, and other menial workers made their homes on the rough streets of Southtown.