A soft summer breeze fluttered in through the window, ruffling the pretty, delicate lace curtains - and bringing the stench of death along with it. And I finally realized that I wasn't in Jo-Jo's house after all; I was in Harley
Grimes's piss-poor substitute.
But instead of springing to my feet, I lay there on the floor and took stock of the situation, trying to force the rest of the fuzziness to fade from my mind. I still had on the same bloody clothes as before, although I could feel the breeze dancing over bare patches on my arms and legs from where Grimes's and Hazel's elemental Fire had seared through the fabric. The soft kiss of the wind made the burns and blisters that marred my skin start pulsing with pain, and I had to grit my teeth against the sensation. More cuts and bruises dotted my body, adding to my aching exhaustion. I'd put up a good fight, but it had left its mark on me.
Once I realized that I was more or less in one piece, I focused on my magic. My spider-rune ring was still empty and would be until I filled it up again, but being knocked unconscious had given my body a chance to regenerate some of my power, although it was still little more than scraps inside me, not nearly enough to let me go toe-to-toe with Grimes and Hazel with any hope of success - or survival.
I shifted on the floor and put a hand on my chest, patting myself down. I was still wearing my silverstone vest, and the front was largely intact. Then again, Grimes and Hazel had put most of their Fire power into my back. But all of my supplies had been fished out of the vest pockets, including my extra knives. Not surprising. I supposed I should be grateful they'd left my clothes on, burned and bloody as they were, instead of stripping me naked and shoving me into some sort of sundress and heels like they had done with Sophia. Actually, I wondered why they'd let me live in the first place. They should have grabbed one of my knives and cut my throat with it while I was still unconscious -
"Oh, good," a voice purred. "You're finally awake."
I raised my head to see Hazel standing in the doorway, along with three men, all with guns pointed at me.
Hazel gave me an evil smile, then held out her hand.
Elemental Fire sparked to life on her fingertips, swaying back and forth like lanterns dancing in the wind. Even though she wasn't actively roasting me with the flames,
I could still feel the intense heat blasting off them and brushing against my already burned skin, adding to my misery. The sensation made a snarl rise in the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down.
"Harley wants to see you," she purred again. "Now, are you going to come along quietly, or do I have to . . . encourage you?"
The flames on her fingers burned a little brighter and hotter in anticipation. They matched the cruelty flickering in her dark eyes.
I sat up and immediately had to put a hand down on the floor to keep myself from toppling right back over.
After a moment, my head quit spinning, if not aching.
Whoever had punched me had done an excellent job of it, judging from the pain that radiated out from my jaw and throbbed up into my right temple. Slowly, very, very slowly, I got up onto my knees and then onto my feet.
The change in elevation made my head spin that much more, and I swayed from side to side until the white spots cleared from my vision and I found my balance. This was all not to mention how every single movement made my burned skin ache and how every shift of my singed clothes threatened to pop the blisters covering my arms, legs, and back.
So as much as I would have liked to have tackled Hazel, driven her to the floor, and strangled her to death with my bare hands, I didn't have the energy for it right then. Besides, she and Grimes had kept me alive for a reason, and I wanted to know what it was.
"I think I'll go with the first option," I finally said when I could open my mouth without hissing with pain.
Hazel pouted, obviously disappointed by my cooperation, but she curled her hand into a tight fist, snuffing out the flames and causing the resulting bit of smoke to drift toward the ceiling.
"come on, then," she snapped. "Nobody keeps Harley waiting - or me either."
Again, I wondered why they'd bothered to let me live, but I supposed that I'd find out soon enough.
Hazel pivoted on her high heels and stormed out of sight of the doorway. The three guys with guns stepped down the hallway far enough for me to leave the bedroom and fall into step behind her, then followed us with their weapons pointed at my back. I thought about whirling around and going for one of their guns, but in the end, I decided against it. I might have been able to kill the three men, but they'd probably have managed to put a couple of bullets into me for my troubles. Not to mention the fact that Hazel would be quite delighted to roast me with her Fire magic, which I had little to defend against while my own power was still so low. So I decided to go along with them - for now.
We walked downstairs, and I was once again struck by an eerie sense of deja vu. Grimes's house was almost an exact replica of Jo-Jo's, inside and outside. The floor plan, build, and construction were identical, right down to the dark cherry wood that had been used for the stairs and the curlicues carved into the railing that ran alongside them. Even the walls were painted the same soft blues, pinks, and whites as in Jo-Jo's house.
I wondered how Grimes had been able to match everything so exactly. He must have been inside Jo-Jo's house at some point. But when? I thought back. The only time the sisters had been away recently was when they'd come down to Blue Marsh to help me out with a particularly nasty vampire a few months ago. Perhaps Grimes had been in the sisters' house then without them realizing it; that was the only explanation that I could think of.
The only things that were different were the photos on the wall next to the stairs. Instead of shots of Jo-Jo, Sophia, Finn, Fletcher, or even me, pictures of Harley Grimes covered the wall. Most of the photos had the brown, faded, vintage look of old daguerreotypes, and almost all of them showed a grinning Grimes tipping his fedora, holding a glass jar of moonshine, or clutching a pair of revolvers crossed over his chest, as though he really was some romantic bootlegging outlaw mugging for the camera, instead of a sick psychopath who liked to kidnap and torture folks.
Other pictures showed Hazel in the same poses, along with one of her on a high ridge, looking off into the distance, queen of everything she surveyed, a set of diamond pins glinting like some sort of crown in her wavy black hair.
There were even a few family portraits of Grimes and Hazel with a couple of other men who looked like them. Probably Horace and Henry, the brothers Fletcher had killed.
But there was one photo in particular that made me stop with one foot in midair: a picture of Sophia.