year,
Grimes didn’t strike me as the kind to change a lot about his home or his operations.
Still, as I read through all the information, it almost seemed like there was something missing. Some gap in his narrative, some small piece of information that Fletcher had decided not to include, for whatever reason. In certain places, it almost seemed as though someone else had to have been with Fletcher and Sophia on the mountain,
helping them, for him to be able to do what he did. For
the life of me, though, I couldn’t imagine who it would
have been or why the old man would have left that person’s involvement out of the file. I couldn’t puzzle it out, so I moved on.
Finally, I came to the last thing in the file, a letter addressed to me. With shaking hands, I unfolded the single sheet of paper.
Those were the last words in the file, and I traced my fingers over them. The paper was smooth, but touching it calmed some of my anger and worry and made me feel like Fletcher was watching over me.
“consider it done,” I murmured.
The old man didn’t respond, of course, and the quiet of the house soaked up my whispered words, and I knew that he would have approved of what I was going to do.
Like I had told Finn, my plan was simple.
Save Sophia. kill Grimes. Stab to death anyone who got in my way.
I showered just long enough to wash the blood off me.
Then I geared up for my rescue mission.
Black hiking boots with reinforced steel toes, dark blue jeans, a tight fitted red tank top under a long-sleeved dark green T-shirt. In a few minutes, I’d transformed myself from spending a summer day at the salon into tackling a dangerous job in the forest as the Spider. Despite the fact that it was ninety degrees outside, I also put on a gray vest lined with silverstone. I’d seen how well-armed and trigger-happy Grimes and his men were, and the magical metal in the vest would stop any bullets that came whistling in my direction, along with absorbing some of Grimes’s and Hazel’s Fire magic, should they get the chance to use it on me.
I also made sure that I had plenty of knives. One up each sleeve, one at the small of my back, one tucked into each boot. My usual five-point arsenal, which I supple— mented by sticking a couple more knives into the various pockets on the front of my vest. I had a feeling that I’d need every single one of the weapons before this was all said and done.
When I was properly outfitted, I went downstairs to the den. It was a comfortable room and one that I spent a lot of time in, but I moved past the worn furniture and over to the fireplace. I reached up inside the chimney and pulled down a black backpack that I kept there in case of emergencies—like this one.
I unzipped the bag, which contained more knives, a couple of guns, silencers, and plenty of ammunition.
Making sure that the weapons were in working order, I inventoried the other items inside. climbing rope, some packets of dried food, a bottle of water, a few small tools, a hand-cranked flashlight, a pair of binoculars, waterproof matches, a couple of tins of Jo-Jo’s healing ointment. Everything I should need to get up the mountain to Grimes’s camp, rescue Sophia, and get back down again.
I threw Fletcher’s folder of information into the top of the bag, then zipped it shut. I hefted the backpack onto my shoulder and started to leave the den, but a couple of sly wink-winks of silverstone caught my eye. I stopped and stared at the mantel above the fireplace.
A series of framed drawings were propped up there, the runes of my family, dead and alive. A snowflake and an ivy vine for my mom, Eira, and my older sister, Annabella. Bria’s primrose rune. The neon pig sign outside the Pork Pit that I’d drawn in honor of Fletcher. A hammer, Owen’s rune, representing strength, perseverance, and hard work.
The drawings were the same as always, but there were new additions on the mantel: two silverstone pendants, one snowflake and one ivy vine. My mother’s and Annabella’s runes. I’d draped the necklaces over their matching drawings, so that the two snowflakes and the two ivy vines were resting next to each other.
For years, I’d thought that the pendants had been lost forever, buried in the rubble of our mansion the night
Mab had murdered my mother and Annabella. But Mab had had the runes the whole time, and they’d been on display at Briartop, along with all of the Fire elemental’s other treasured possessions. At least, until Owen swiped them from the museum and gave them to me, something that had touched me more than he knew. Probably more than anyone knew.
I reached out and touched first one rune necklace, then the other, my fingers trailing over the smooth, hard, cold metal. I’d already lost too many people I cared about.
I wasn’t losing Sophia too. No matter what I had to do, what I had to suffer through, or what I had to sacrifice to get her back.
I looked at all the drawings and the necklaces in turn, fixing the runes in my mind, letting them remind me of exactly who and what I was fighting—and killing—for.
Then I left the den and the symbols of my family behind.
I’d almost reached the front door of the house when the phone in the hallway started to ring. I thought about answering it but decided not to. It was probably Finn again, trying to talk me into waiting for him.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. More than two hours had passed since the men had stormed into the salon, and Grimes and Hazel were probably back up on their mountain by now, thinking that no one was coming after Sophia. I’d already spent enough time going to the salon and then coming home. Necessary trips, but every minute that ticked by was another one that Sophia spent with Grimes, another one that he could be torturing her.
So I walked right on by the ringing phone. It wasn’t until I was outside and had stepped off the front porch that I realized that I wasn’t alone. Another car sat in the driveway, with a man leaning against it: Owen Grayson.
Owen had on the same sort of clothes as mine—brown boots, brown pants, black T-shirt. His arms were crossed over his muscled chest, while the bright sun brought out the blue highlights in his thick black hair. He was as ruggedly handsome as ever. Or maybe I just thought so because I knew that he wasn’t mine, not anymore. Not for weeks now. And he probably never would be again.
“Owen?” I asked, stopping short at the sight of him.
“What are you doing here?”
Instead of answering me, he reached into his car and grabbed a black backpack that was eerily similar to mine.
He shut the car door and walked toward me. A series of
Chapter Eleven
Words just . . . failed me.
For a moment, I was completely speechless. Of all the people who would offer to help me with something
