My gaze dropped to the gun the man holding me had shoved into my side, an old-fashioned revolver. The sort of large, sturdy hand cannon that would put a good-size hole in anyone - dwarf, giant, vampire, elemental. They weren't messing around when it came to their weapons.
Good for them.
Bad for them that they'd used the guns to burst into Jo-Jo's salon. It was one thing to attack me at the Pork Pit or even at Fletcher's house. I expected that these days. But my friends, my family, were off limits - period. Perhaps I'd let one of the men live long enough to crawl back to his boss and tell him that. Or maybe I'd deliver the message in person - along with the men's bodies.
One of the guys standing over Sophia turned and yelled over his shoulder. "We've got 'em, boss! It's all clear now!"
So the boss was here too. Good. That would save me the effort of tracking him down later or letting any of his men live.
This time, instead of banging against the wall, the door at the front of the house slowly creaked open. More footsteps sounded - slow, deliberate, and cautious - and another man stepped through the doorway and into the salon.
He was six feet tall, and his body was so dense it looked like it was carved out of granite. His muscles rolled with every breath he took, while his broad chest seemed solid enough to bounce a quarter off. He wasn't tall enough to be considered a giant, and his body had the stocky, sturdy construction that was associated with dwarves. Unless I missed my guess, he had both races' blood in his family tree, giving him the best of both worlds, a giant's size and a dwarf's tough musculature.
Unlike the other men, he was wearing a snazzy gray suit with a pair of red suspenders that peeked out from beneath his jacket. A gray fedora with a fluffy red feather tucked into the brim topped his head, casting his face in a bit of sinister shadow. Smoothly, he swept off his hat, revealing thinning black hair that was slicked back in a vain attempt to hide a burgeoning bald spot. His eyes were dark brown, and his skin was dusky olive. Lines furrowed his forehead and grooved around his mouth, but I couldn't get a real sense of his age. He could have been fifty. He could have been a hundred and fifty, or older, depending on how much dwarven blood he might have.
But the most disturbing thing was the fact that he was giving off magic.
Dozens of small, hot bubbles started bursting against my skin the second the man stepped into the salon, like matches being lit close to and then stabbed out on my bare arms. The annoying, burning sensation told me that he was probably quite strong in his Fire power, given the way the hot bubbles kept on popping and popping against my flesh. I ground my teeth together to keep from snarling at the horrible feel of his magic.
The leader surveyed his men. He nodded, apparently satisfied with how they'd taken control of the situation.
Then he stepped to one side, and I realized that he wasn't alone. A woman had followed him into the salon.
The woman wore an old-fashioned red wrap dress that could have come straight out of some gangster movie, with a pair of black patent-leather kitten heels.
Her black hair was curled into tight waves against her skull, and a couple of thin diamond pins sparkled in her dark locks. She had the same brown eyes and dusky olive skin as the leader, and it was obvious that they were related, although she seemed a bit younger. Her body was also taller and much slimmer than his, as though she'd gotten more of the giant than the dwarven blood from the family tree. Plus, she was giving off the same sort of
Fire magic as the leader, and her power felt even stronger than his.
The woman looked first at Sophia, then at Jo-Jo. She didn't even bother glancing at Bria or me. Her gaze went back to Sophia and stayed there, and she smiled, her teeth as white as paper against her scarlet lips.
Meanwhile, the leader smoothed his black hair back that much more and plastered a pleasant smile on his face, as though he'd dropped by for a polite visit. He stepped forward, and a curious thing happened. Instead of walking over to me and spouting off about how he was finally going to kill the Spider, he too ignored me completely and moved toward Jo-Jo.
He stopped right in front of her and smiled even wider, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. "Ms. Deveraux, what a pleasure to see you again. It's been a long, long time." His voice was cool and cultured, but I could detect a faint twang in it, as though he had some hillbilly accent that he was working hard to hide.
"Not long enough," Jo-Jo snarled. "I know why you're here, and you, your men, and that twisted sister of yours can get the hell out of my house."
He sighed and shook his head, as though her violent reaction saddened him. "I thought that the past fifty years or so might have made you more reasonable, but I can see that's just not the case."
Jo-Jo didn't bother responding. Instead, she spat in his face.Everyone froze, except for Jo-Jo, who spat in the leader's face again. She started to do it a third time, but one of the men holding on to her shoved his gun even deeper into her side and thumbed back the trigger. Jo-Jo stopped spitting, but she did lift her head and give the leader a look that was total, murderous hate.
Jo-Jo prided herself on her manners, and it shocked me to see her do something so crass, so vicious and out of character. Bria raised her eyebrows at me, as surprised as
I was, but I shook my head a tiny bit in response. I didn't know who the man was or why Jo-Jo would look at him that way. But one thing was clear. This wasn't about me, but I was going to end it.
The woman in the red dress moved closer and raised her hand so that it was level with Jo-Jo's face. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, and red-hot embers hissed out from between her fingertips as though she was holding a sparkler. More and more of those invisible bubbles popped against my skin as the woman reached for even more of her Fire magic.
"Let me kill her," the woman snarled in a voice that was even twangier than the leader's. "Or at least put out one of her eyes. She deserves it for insulting you like that."
"No, Hazel," the leader said, pulling a gray silk handkerchief from his pants pocket and using the fabric to wipe the spit off his face. "Leave her be - for now."
Hazel gave him a sour look, but she reluctantly let go of her magic, dropped her hand, and stepped away from Jo-Jo.
The man tucked his handkerchief back into his pants.
He pulled his hand out, and a small piece of paper fluttered out of his pocket and drifted to the ground. He didn't seem to notice it, though. Then again, it was most likely just a bit of trash. Just like he was.
"You'll have to forgive me. I would have been here sooner, but I've been busy these past few months. Business has been booming ever since Ms. Monroe died, as I'm sure you can imagine."