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"Funny, because Fletcher felt the exact same way about you," I drawled. "He didn't kill you way back then, but believe me when I tell you that I plan to rectify that now. "
Grimes gave me an amused look. "Do you know how many people have tried - and failed - to kill me over the years? You're not the first person to come up to my mountain with a couple of guns and knives and try to take me out. I assume you saw the pit. That's not the first one that's ever been dug around my family's cemetery, and it won't be the last. "
"Perhaps your other attackers weren't motivated enough," I quipped. "Believe me when I tell you that won't be a problem for me. I'm in it to win it, and all that. "
Behind me, the three men with the guns shifted on their feet, making the floorboards creak and groan under their weight. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two men on my right exchange a nervous glance. They seemed much more concerned by my threat than Grimes did.
Then again, I'd already killed a passel of their buddies, and the day was still young.
But Grimes had a different reaction from his flunkies.
He ignored me completely. Instead, he swiveled around in his chair and reached for a decanter of clear liquid on a table behind his desk. Grimes unstoppered the bottle, and caustic fumes from whatever was inside assaulted my nose. Some of his mountain moonshine, I guessed, gussied up in fancy crystal. Mountain strychnine, from the harsh scent of it. That wouldn't just put hair on your chest; it would burn it clean off. And probably take a good portion of your esophagus along with it.
Grimes poured himself a couple of fingers' worth of moonshine into a crystal tumbler, then swiveled back around to face me again. Once he'd had a few sips of the foul brew, he set the tumbler aside and picked up a silver picture frame perched on the right side of his desk. He studied the photo for a moment, then set the frame down at an angle. The same sullen photo of Sophia that I'd seen earlier on the wall by the stairs peeked at out me.
"I knew that Sophia was mine from the first moment that I saw her," Grimes said. "Hazel and I were out getting supplies at this little country store down the mountain a ways. Sophia was there with her sister. "
A jolt went through me. country Daze - he had to be talking about country Daze, Warren's store. No wonder the old coot had been so insistent on coming with Owen and me. Warren probably felt guilty that Grimes had first laid eyes on Sophia in his store, as guilty as I felt for Jo-Jo's picture being in the newspaper and leading Grimes back to her and Sophia all these years later. And especially for letting Sophia dispose of so many bodies for me over the years.
"Of course, I tried to do the right thing and court her proper," Grimes continued, still staring at the picture of Sophia, his eyes distant and dreamy with memories. "But Ms. Deveraux wouldn't have any of that. She thought that I was a bad influence on Sophia. She should have kept out of things that didn't concern her. But that won't be a problem now, will it?"
I thought of how casually Grimes had shot Jo-Jo in the salon and how cold, pale, and lifeless she had looked lying on cooper's kitchen table. She could have taken a turn for the worse. She could have needed more healing magic than cooper had to give.
She could have died in the time that I'd been up here on the mountain.
My heart squeezed at the thought, aching worse than any of my injuries, but I kept my face calm, as though we were talking about the weather, instead of a brutal attack on someone I loved.
"Oh, I don't know," I replied. "Jo-Jo is stronger than you think. She's a tough old bird. She might just surprise you - again. "
"What do you mean by again ?" Hazel asked.
My gaze cut to her. "Who do you think hired Fletcher in the first place? Jo-Jo wanted her sister back, and she decided to do whatever was necessary to make it happen. "
"Yes, let's get back to Mr. Lane," Grimes said, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers again. "I'm interested in why you said that he sent you, since I know that he's been dead for months now. "
His voice and words were casual, but once again, a bit of unease pinched his face. Whatever Fletcher had done to Grimes all those years ago, however badly the old man had hurt him, however close the old man had come to killing him, it had left a lasting impression. Good. I wanted Grimes to be afraid. I wanted him to sweat and worry and wonder. But most of all, I wanted him to suffer for as long as possible before I ended him.
Even if I had no idea how I was going to accomplish that right now.
"Oh, you're right," I agreed. "Fletcher was killed last fall. "
My gaze dropped to the floor, but I wasn't seeing the gleaming, pristine wood. Instead, blue and pink pig tracks spattered with blood filled my vision, along with a crumpled, ruined figure that had had the flesh peeled from his bones with Air magic. Fletcher. More memories rose in my mind of that horrible, horrible night when
I'd realized that the job that I'd been sent out on was a trap and that I was too late to save Fletcher from being tortured to death inside the Pork Pit.
But I pushed the memories and the emotions back down into the bottom of my black heart and smothered them with a cold, icy layer of rage, just like I had done with the pain of my injuries. Because now was not the time to show any sort of weakness.
"If Lane is dead, then why are you here?" Hazel asked.
"Because he trained me," I answered in a voice that was even snider than hers.
"And who are you?" Grimes asked.
"My name is Gin, like the liquor. "
They both gave me blank looks, apparently not getting the joke. Nobody appreciated irony these days.
I sighed. "My name is Gin Blanco," I replied. "But y'all probably know me by another one: the Spider. "
