"There! There she is!"
Someone rustled through the cattails I was lying in, sending clumps of dirt raining down on my face, but I didn't even have the strength to reach up and brush them away. I got the sense that someone was standing over me, though, looking down at my cold body.
"Why-why are her hands glowing like that? With that silver light?" the woman whispered in an awed tone.
"I don't know," the man rumbled. "Go start the car and turn the heat on full blast. Now."
Another pair of footsteps scurried away, hurrying back up the muddy bank. Again I tried to summon up the strength to move, to protect myself, or even to just open up my eyes and see exactly what this new threat was. But I just couldn't do it. I couldn't do anything right now.
Strong arms lifted my body up out of the frozen mud. I breathed in, and a rich, earthy scent filled my nose. His aroma, the one that always made me think of metal, if metal could ever have any real smell to it.
"Owen?" I mumbled.
At least, I thought that I mumbled his name. My lips were so cold and stiff that I didn't actually feel them move. I tried to open my eyes again but found I couldn't. Something had glued my eyelids together. Ice probably, frozen in my lashes, from my foolhardy swim in the Aneirin River.
Silence.
Then a warm hand smoothed down my cold, wet hair. "Hang on, Gin. Just hang on-"
The world went black once more.
I don't really know what happened after that. I was dimly aware of riding in a car, someone's hands yanking at my heavy, wet, ice-crusted clothes. Every once in a while, I woke up long enough to hear people talking. Odd bits of conversation I probably should have understood but that just made no real sense to me.
"I'm driving as fast as I can."
"Use that cloud knocker."
"Put her in the tub."
"She's so cold."
Sometimes I thought that I heard Owen's voice. Other times I could have sworn it was Eva Grayson talking. But what would the brother and sister be doing at the train yard? I'd gone there to meet Finn, not them. I just couldn't make sense of anything.
Slowly, the cold receded from my body, an inch at a time, and warmth enveloped me once more. My fingers and toes and everything in between started to tingle as my circulation was slowly restored. I gritted my teeth as the fiery needles stabbed me one after another in an unrelenting wave.
"It's okay now, darling," a soothing voice whispered. "You can let go of your Ice magic now. You're safe, Gin. Relax. Just relax."
So I did and drowned in the darkness once more.
* * *
The next time I tried to open my eyes, I was actually able to do it, with no problems or struggles of any sort. After a few seconds, the world snapped into focus and I realized I was lying in a bed. Above my head, puffy white clouds drifted across a cerulean blue sky on the fresco on the ceiling. The dreamy clouds comforted me, and I let out a quiet sigh. Safe. I was safe now. Because only one person I knew had her ceilings painted like that-Jo-Jo Deveraux.
Somehow I'd gotten from the muddy bank of the Aneirin River all the way across town to the dwarf's house. I wasn't too concerned right now with exactly how that had happened, just the fact that I was safe and warm and could actually feel my arms and legs again. I wiggled my fingers and toes and was pleased when they all responded to my internal command. Looked like I hadn't lost any digits to frostbite or hypothermia, no doubt thanks to Jo-Jo's healing Air elemental magic. Good. It would be hard to hold on to my silverstone knives with no thumbs.
A faint scuffle sounded, and I lifted up my head.
Over the mound of blankets that covered me, I spotted Natasha standing at the foot of the bed. The little girl had been cleaned up since the last time I'd seen her in the train yard. Her dark brown hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and her face was free of the grime and tears that had covered it. The puffy bruise was gone from her cheek, and I didn't see any other injuries on her. Jo-Jo had probably used her Air magic to get rid of those, as well as heal me.
Now the girl was dressed in what looked like one of Sophia Deveraux's black Goth sweatshirts, given the fact that it was covered with bloody broken hearts. Matching sweatpants and socks completed the ensemble. Sophia might be a dwarf, but the sweatshirt still reached down to the girl's knees, looking like a dress on her thin frame. The legs on the sweatpants had been rolled up several times too.
"Hi," I croaked.
Instead of answering me, Natasha stared at me a second longer, then turned and ran out of the bedroom.
I put my head back down on the pillow and lay there in bed for a few minutes, just letting myself adjust to being alive, awake, and in one piece again. Slowly moving my body, flexing my fingers and toes and making sure that everything was in more or less working order. Jo-Jo had outdone herself again, because I felt almost as good as new, except for the bone-deep weariness that made me want to curl up and sleep for eight more hours. But that was just an aftereffect of being magically healed by the Air elemental, nothing more. Especially since I was pretty sure I'd resembled an ice cube by the time the dwarf had gotten her hands on me last night.
The most important thing was that Elektra LaFleur hadn't killed me yet. And now that I knew that my baby sister, Bria, was on her hit list, I was even more determined to end the other assassin's existence.
Which I wouldn't accomplish by staying in bed all day. So I sat up and threw off the blankets. I really must have been frozen when I'd gotten here because I had on not one, not two, but three sets of flannel pajamas-along with five pairs of wool socks. I looked like a marshmallow with so many heavy, dense layers covering my body. I shook my head and got to my feet.
I took a step, stumbled, and almost did a header into the cherry dresser next to the bed. My feet might still be attached to the rest of me, but apparently they weren't accepting orders just yet because more needles of pain flared to life deep in my muscles. I gritted my teeth and planted my hands on the wooden dresser, waiting for the sensation to pass. I was damned if I'd collapse back onto the bed. Not while LaFleur was still breathing. Not while the assassin had her sights set on killing Bria.
"You shouldn't be up yet," a low voice drawled.
I looked up to find Owen Grayson standing in the doorway, a steaming mug of something clutched in his hand.
Owen looked just as tired as I felt. His blue-black hair was rumpled, stubble covered his face, and shadows darkened his violet eyes, as though he hadn't gotten much sleep last night. He was dressed casually in a thick, black turtleneck sweater that highlighted his broad shoulders, but mud covered his boots and stained the knees of his jeans.