I told Finn what Owen had said about living on the streets and how Fletcher Lane had gotten him his first job as a blacksmith.
"Dad helped Owen and Eva?" Finn asked. "I never knew about that."
"Me neither," I muttered. "It would have been nice for Fletcher to mention his altruistic streak before he died."
Memories of Fletcher Lane flooded my mind. The knowing look in the old man's green eyes. The way he so thoughtfully and carefully studied everyone and everything around him. My heart ached, the way it always did when I thought of all the things I wanted to say to him, all the things I wanted to ask him-and would never get to.
Finn and I didn't speak for a few minutes, but I could tell he was still thinking about Owen and the possible risk the businessman represented to us.
"Don't worry about Owen, Finn," I finally said. "Besides our past history, he wants to f**k me now, remember? Spilling news of my secret identity is only going to get him a knife to the chest. He knows that. And I seriously doubt he wants Eva to finish growing up without big brother around to keep her safe and in line."
"And what happens if you're wrong?" Finn asked.
My stomach tightened, and I stared out into the darkness. "Then I'll f**k him once, and when we're done, I'll stab him where he lies."
"That's hard core, Gin," Finn replied. "Very hard core. Kind of kinky too."
A grim smile tightened my lips. "That's me. Gin Blanco. Hard core and kinky to the bitter end."
Chapter Twenty-One
Finn and I arrived at Jo-Jo's about twenty minutes later.
Jo-Jo Deveraux lived in one of the less pretentious parts of Northtown, as befitting someone of her Air elemental power, wealth, and social connections. Finn made the turn into a subdivision named Tara Heights, then coasted down Magnolia Lane and pulled into a long, sloping driveway. Jo-Jo's three-story plantation house perched on top of a large hill, giving a clear, sweeping view of the other houses located on the street.
It was after midnight now and normally, at this hour, only one or two lights would be on inside the dwarf's house. Jo-Jo might be an Air elemental, but she needed her beauty sleep just like the rest of us. But not tonight. The whole first floor of the antebellum structure glowed, indicating that everyone inside was still wide awake. I doubted any of us would get much rest tonight.
Finn parked his car in the driveway, and I scanned the shadows around the house and its long, wraparound porch. Elliot Slater shouldn't have been able to track Roslyn Phillips to Jo-Jo's, but the giant had gotten away from me twice now, and I wanted to be prepared for anything. But nothing moved or stirred in the darkness, not even a lone bullfrog bellowing despite the December cold.
Finn headed for the front door, but I stood where I was and took a moment to listen to the murmurs of the white cobblestones that paved the driveway. Searching for even the slightest hint of trouble, the smallest note of worry or alarm. But the stones only whispered of the wind and frost and cold. Slater and his goons hadn't found Roslyn-yet.
We stepped up onto the porch, and Finn banged the cloud-shaped knocker against the front door. Heavy footsteps sounded, and Sophia Deveraux opened the door. The Goth dwarf wore a pair of black sweatpants, topped with a sweatshirt that had bloody, broken hearts all over it. For once, Sophia wasn't wearing one of her leather collars, and her black hair was mussed, like she'd been asleep at some point during the evening. She carried a long length of metal pipe, perfect for dealing with any unwanted visitors who might darken the doorstep this late at night.
I eyed the sturdy weapon. "Nice to see you too, Sophia."
"Hmph." Her usual noncommittal grunt.
Sophia stepped back, letting Finn and me inside the house. "Kitchen," she rasped and closed and locked the door behind us.
I walked down the hallway in that direction, with Finn behind me, and Sophia bringing up the rear. I reached the doorway to the long, skinny room and stopped. Roslyn Phillips sat tall and upright on a stool at the rectangular, butcher's block table that took up the middle of the kitchen. Her back couldn't have been any straighter than if she'd had a board attached to it. The vamp still wore her crimson party dress, although the fabric now seemed drab, crumpled, lifeless. Even the sequins that dotted the dress were muted, as though the events of the evening had robbed them of all their sparkle. Roslyn had been crying again since I'd seen her last, her eyes almost as red as her dress, her usually flawless face a mess of smeared makeup and dried tears.
Xavier perched on a stool next to her, not quite touching her, but clearly aching to do so. The giant kept his dark eyes on the vampire, who stared at the tabletop in front of her. Neither one spoke or moved. They looked frozen, like they were figures in a painting that had somehow been propped up among the pastel-colored appliances.
"About time you got here," Jo-Jo Deveraux drawled.
The dwarf stood at the stove on the other side of the table, waiting for a teakettle to whistle its piping note. Old-fashioned sponge rollers ringed Jo-Jo's head like rows of plastic pink soldiers. The dwarf wore one of her flowered pink housecoats, and her usual string of pearls gleamed around her neck, despite the late hour.
"I had things to do," I replied, sitting down on a stool across from Roslyn.
"More like people," Finn said in a low voice.
I shot him a dirty look, but Roslyn and Xavier didn't seem to notice. The vamp kept staring at the table, and the giant kept looking at her.
"Did they tell you what happened tonight?" I asked Jo-Jo.
The dwarf nodded and opened her mouth to respond. But before she could say anything, the teakettle shrieked that it was ready. Jo-Jo rushed to pick it up to cut off the noise, but the pot chirped out another high-pitched whistle. The harsh, unexpected sound made Roslyn flinch, as though someone had slapped her. Xavier reached over and put his massive hand on top of hers. That made the vamp flinch too. Xavier froze and slowly drew his hand away.
Jo-Jo poured hot water into several cups and added some tea bags. The cups went onto an antique sterling silver serving tray, along with milk, sugar, cream, and a plate of blackberry muffins that I'd baked yesterday at the Pork Pit. When everything was arranged to her satisfaction, Jo-Jo set the tray on the table in front of Roslyn.
"Have some tea, darling," the dwarf said in her light, warm voice. "It will make you feel better."
Roslyn automatically reached for a cup and took a polite sip, going through the motions. But after a moment, the vamp's shoulders eased down, and her face relaxed. Roslyn let out a long breath. My nose twitched. I knew alcohol when I smelled it. I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, a half-empty Mason jar of what looked like home-grown moonshine sat on the counter next to the cloud-covered cloth that hid the toaster. I looked at Jo-Jo, who winked, gave me a small smile, and handed me my own cup of tea. I shrugged and took it from her.