Heart of Venom

Owen frowned. “The name sounds familiar. Why do you think Grimes came after Sophia again after all these years?”

That newspaper clipping of Jo-Jo flashed through my mind. Guilt twisted my stomach, but I made myself shrug. “Probably for pure meanness. Fletcher took her away from him, and Grimes didn’t like that. So he finally decided to do something about it. The coward just waited until after Fletcher was dead to make his move.”

“Do you think that he knows about you?” Owen asked. “That Fletcher trained you?”

I thought of the way Grimes had so casually thrown his Fire magic at me, then walked away, so sure in the knowledge that the flames would roast me where I stood.

“I don’t think so. Otherwise, he would have brought more men, at the very least, and he wouldn’t have left me alone with the ones he did bring.”

Owen nodded his agreement, then hesitated. “I haven’t said this yet, but I should have. I’m glad that you’re all right, Gin.”

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road and my face blank, not letting him see how much his words meant to me, how much they would always mean to me.

I left the suburbs behind and wound my way up through Northtown, the rich, fancy, highfalutin part of Ashland, where the wealthy, social, and magical elite lived. We passed mansion after mansion, all with tasteful yards that were as lush and green as they could be, despite the scorching summer sun beating down on them. I drove fast, and we soon left the immaculate estates behind and started winding our way up through the mountains above Ashland.

Our route took us by country Daze, an old-timey store owned by a friend of Fletcher’s. Several cars were parked in the gravel lot that fronted the store. But that wasn’t what caught my attention—the man standing by the stop sign did.

He was an older man, with a bit of wispy white hair that stood straight up as if in defiance of the wilting humidity of the day. Despite the heat, he wore brown boots, along with blue pants and a long-sleeved blue cotton work shirt, and his dark, burnished skin hinted at his cherokee heritage. An old, weathered brown satchel sat at his feet.

But the most interesting thing about Warren T. Fox was the rifle that he had casually propped up on his shoulder, as though it was perfectly normal for him to be standing by the side of the road holding a gun. Well, this was Ashland. I would have been more surprised if he didn’t have a weapon.

Warren peered at our car as it approached him. He must have spotted Owen and me, because he grabbed his bag, straightened up, and started walking in our direction, rifle and all.

“What is he doing?” I asked. “Has Finn made some pass at Violet that I don’t know about, and Warren is finally going to shoot him for it?”

Violet was Warren’s college-age granddaughter and Eva Grayson’s best friend. Finn liked to flirt with Violet as much as he did with every other woman who crossed his path, despite his involvement with Bria.

Owen shifted in his seat. “After Finn called me, I made a few calls myself.”

“To Warren? Why?”

“Because nobody knows these mountains better than he does,” Owen said. “Warren’s told me more than one story about his hiking and hunting adventures, and I thought that we could use his help finding Grimes’s camp.”

It was a smart idea, something that I should have thought of myself. Sure, I had Fletcher’s maps of Grimes’s camp, but there was nothing like firsthand knowledge. As much as I would have liked to tell Owen that we didn’t need Warren, I couldn’t. I didn’t like putting Warren in danger, but Owen was right. If Warren knew the area around Grimes’s mountain hideout, then that gave us an even better chance of finding and rescuing Sophia as quickly as possible. Besides, even I had no desire to tangle with an irate old coot like Warren T. Fox.

So I rolled down my window, slowed, and stopped in the middle of the road. Warren ambled over to my side of the car and leaned down so he could peer inside at us.

“I’m looking for a guide,” I drawled. “Or maybe a hunting buddy, depending on your point of view. know where I might find somebody like that?”

A grin creased his face, adding more layers of wrinkles to his features. “I think that I know just the fella for you, Gin.” His smile vanished. “I only wish the circumstances were different.”

“Me too, Warren. Me too.”

I unlocked the car, and Warren opened the back door.

He paused a moment, staring at all the blood staining the backseat, just like Owen had. Warren harrumphed, as if the sight offended him, or maybe it was because he knew that it was Jo-Jo’s blood. But he got in anyway and shut the door behind him.

“How is Jo-Jo?” he asked in his high, thin, reedy voice.

“Hanging on—for now. I figure that having Sophia there when she wakes up will make all the difference.”

He nodded. “That it will. So why don’t you stop lolly— gagging in the middle of the road, and let’s get on with it.”

“Why, Warren,” I drawled again. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I put the car back into gear, eased forward, and made a turn at the stop sign, going even deeper into the mountains and drawing that much closer to Grimes’s camp— and Sophia.

Chapter Twelve

Once again, I recapped the morning’s events at the salon.

Warren listened to my story, nodding his head here and there.

When I’d finished, I added, “Owen says that you like to go hiking and hunting up in the mountains and that you might know the area around Grimes’s camp.”

Warren’s lips puckered, as though he’d bitten into a lemon. “It’s more than just a might know. I’ve been there before.”

My eyes shot up to the rearview mirror. Warren stared back at me, his mouth still twisted into that sour expression.

“When?” I asked.

“The last time Grimes took Sophia.”

Suddenly, I realized what had been missing from Fletcher’s writings on his battle with Grimes: that mysterious third person he’d tried so hard not to mention.

“You . . .you helped Fletcher rescue Sophia all those years ago? I thought that you and Fletcher had a falling out over a woman when you were young and that the two of you didn’t speak after that.”

Warren looked at me in the mirror another moment before he turned his head and stared out the window.

“Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. Fletcher and I used to go hunting in the mountains together all the time when we were young. After he left and moved down into the city, I kept on going without him.”

“So when Jo-Jo approached him about getting Sophia back, Fletcher needed you to guide him.”

“Actually, Jo-Jo came into my store one day, covered in mud and crying up a storm. I’d never seen her before, so I asked her what was wrong, and we got to talking.

She told me how Grimes had kidnapped Sophia and how she’d been out in the woods trying to find her sister with no luck.” Warren cleared his throat. “So I told her about Fletcher being the Tin Man.”

I could picture it all in my mind. Jo-Jo stumbling into country Daze, Warren sitting down with her, Jo- Jo sobbing out her story, Warren realizing that she had a problem that only his former friend could solve— The right tires hit a rumble strip on the side of the road, jolting me out of my musings. I turned the wheel, edging the car away from the dangerous curve. The road straightened out for several hundred feet, so I looked at Warren in the rearview mirror again.