“Oh,” I said. “Right. I forgot about that little trick.”
Still, this was the first time I’d ever gotten the upper hand during sparring, and I was fucking well going to take it. Unfortunately, my opponents’ use of magic was something I’d have to worry about in a real fight—both demons and Fae had methods of moving instantaneously from place to place that I, as a hybrid, didn’t. But at least I felt a hell of a lot better about my chances against humans now, Fae-controlled or otherwise.
Eventually, I’d managed to work off enough of my animus overload to get some rest—although Rans did enforce his ‘no shagging’ declaration, much to my chagrin. When I woke up hours later, I jogged five miles, did some yoga, and no longer felt like I had a live electrical wire running through my spinal column.
I just felt really, really good. Healthy. Full of vitality. It was kind of weird, frankly.
Rans had headed off to feed from some unsuspecting souls in nearby Vallecito. Rather than go with him, I stayed behind to focus on my project. I hadn’t wanted to go into detail with him about it until I had a better idea if what I was trying to do was practical or not. After a few false starts with the salt mixture, though, I had a good feeling about my latest attempt.
First, I’d borrowed one of his iron daggers and rolled out a layer of clay a bit longer and wider than the weapon, and perhaps an inch thick. I’d pressed the dagger into it and poked a few holes into the clay around it with a pencil tip, to use as markers for the two halves of the mold I was making.
When that was done, I formed a four-sided box with no top or bottom out of strips of foam-board taped together, and cut away the irregular edges of the clay so it fit snugly inside the bottom of the rectangular foam-board barrier. Then I glued pieces of a plastic drinking straw in place around the dagger to act as air holes and a spout where I would eventually pour the epoxy mixture into the mold.
I carefully poured a liquid silicone mold mixture into the box, covering the exposed top of the dagger with the bits of drinking straw sticking out. When it dried, I removed the straws, flipped the box over, and pried the clay out, leaving the dagger and the first half of the silicone mold behind. After painting the exposed silicone with a couple of coats of slippery mold release compound, I poured more silicone mold material into the box, so the dagger was completely encased.
When the second half of the mold was dry, I removed the foam board edges and separated the two halves of the mold so I could get the dagger out. This left me with a perfect negative impression of the weapon, with small tubes from the drinking straws in one side where I could pour my epoxy resin mixture into the empty space.
With rubber bands holding the two halves of the mold snugly together, I’d dribbled the marine-rated epoxy mixed with salt crystals into the mold in a thin stream, tapping it a few times during the process to loosen any air bubbles that might have formed. Now, it was cured and ready for the moment of truth.
Unsure what to expect, I removed the rubber bands holding the mold together and carefully pried the two halves apart. The epoxy dagger inside was marred in several places by imperfections where the air holes had been, or where the resin had seeped between the two parts of the mold.
But it was undeniably a dagger.
I lifted it, feeling the rather odd texture of the exposed salt crystals. It was much lighter than the metal daggers I was used to, and I wasn’t entirely sure how it would hold up under hard use during a battle. However, the way I saw it, if we got in a fight with a demon, stabbing them with a salt-encrusted dagger would either be enough to distract them so we could get away to safety, or it wouldn’t.
If nothing else, the demon probably wouldn’t be expecting it any more than Myrial had expected me to throw table salt in her eyes. I reached for an X-ACTO knife and started paring away the odd bits of resin left over from the molding process. When I’d removed everything I could with that method, I grabbed a Dremel tool with a grinding tip and polished the edges of the handle to smoothness. I was working on sharpening the edges of the blade when footsteps on the stairs alerted me to Rans’ return.
He approached the workbench, his gaze taking in the detritus from the molding process before settling on the weapon in my hand. A moment later, he looked up at me and raised an eyebrow.
“Dear lord, woman,” he said, a glow of something heated and dangerous kindling behind his eyes. “Is this what you’ve been up to for the last few days? Because I feel I should warn you—watching you hone a handmade dagger blade like this is making me want to tie you up until you can barely wriggle, and ravish you until you beg me for mercy.”
SEVEN
MY GRIP ON THE hilt slipped, and the salt dagger clattered to the floor. I carefully turned off the Dremel tool I’d been using to grind the edge of the blade and set it aside on the bench, blindsided by the sudden bolt of lust that slammed into me. My throat clicked as I swallowed.
“Um.... okay?” I replied, the words emerging in a hoarse rasp. I cleared my throat. “I think your fourteenth-century roots might be starting to show, lover. But, that being said—what’s stopping you from making good on your threat, exactly?”
Rans stooped to pick up
