Chapter Twenty-seven
cooper finished healing Owen, and we all moved on to the things that we needed to do next. Finn and Phillip left to go see what they could dig up on Grimes from their various underworld contacts and to find out if anyone had heard a whisper of what had happened on the mountain. Bria headed to the police station to do the same.
Roslyn went with her, so she could fill Xavier in on everything that had happened. Sophia helped Jo-Jo to one of the upstairs bedrooms, so they could both get some rest.
Rosco finally woke up and followed them, his toenails clicking against the floor, and cooper went to his own room to rest himself.
Meanwhile, I took a long, hot shower, slathered some more of Jo-Jo’s healing salve onto my lingering wounds, and changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt that Bria had left at cooper’s for me. I headed back downstairs to find Owen in the den, staring through the glass door into the backyard. He too had showered and changed and looked as handsome as ever in a black T-shirt and khaki shorts.
He turned at the sound of my bare feet softly slapping against the floor. “You look more like your old self.”
“So do you.”
He nodded. “I was waiting for you to finish in the shower so I could tell you that I’m heading over to country Daze with Warren and Eva. They’re waiting in the truck for me. Warren wants to check on Violet and make sure that he’s there in case any of Grimes’s men come into the store for supplies.”
I nodded. “Just be careful.”
“We will.”
He hesitated, then gestured at a case on the coffee table that I hadn’t noticed before. The top of the case was open, revealing a layer of black foam and my five silverstone knives gleaming inside. The ones that Owen had made for me, the ones that contained my magic, the ones that I’d given to him on the ridge.
The ones that I never thought I’d see again.
“I thought you might want these back,” Owen said in a low voice. “Especially if Grimes somehow tracks Sophia and Jo-Jo here.”
I hadn’t cried when Jo-Jo had been shot and Sophia had been kidnapped. When I’d seen Sophia being tortured. When Grimes and Hazel had thrown their Fire magic at me. When their men had chased me through
the woods like an animal. I hadn’t even cried when I’d jumped off that cliff, knowing that I would probably die from the fall.
But the simple sight of my knives and the spider runes glimmering on the hilts made my throat close up, and I had a hard time holding back the hot tears that pooled in my eyes. I went over, sat down in front of the table on the floor, and traced my fingers over the blades, letting the cold, smooth feel of the weapons ground me and help me get my emotions back under control.
“Thank you,” I finally managed to whisper, still hunched over the knives and staring at them instead of him. “For keeping them safe for me.”
“You’re welcome,” Owen said, his own voice rough and hoarse. “But don’t you ever give them to me like that again.”
I nodded, the knot in my throat preventing me from speaking.
“I found this too.”
His hand appeared at my elbow, and I realized that he was holding a small rock, one with my spider rune seared into the stone.
The smooth, round rock was light gray, with my rune etched on it in a slightly darker silver, almost like a brand.
I knew that if I compared it with the scar on my palm, it would be a perfect match.
“I found it on the top of the ridge that overlooked Grimes’s camp,” Owen said. “It was just lying there, along with all of the bodies of his men. From what you told me, I think this is the first rock that you touched, the one you started building all of that elemental Ice with.”
I nodded and took it from him. The stone was surprisingly light in my hand and felt slightly chilled, as though it had absorbed some of my Ice magic. Perhaps the rock had a bit of silverstone running through it. After a moment, I set it down on the table, right next to the case of knives. I still didn’t speak, though. I couldn’t.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promised.
Owen touched my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Then he opened the door and left. A minute later, an engine rumbled to life in the front of the house before the sound slowly faded away.
I shuddered out a breath, reached into the case, and pulled out one of my knives. The metal felt cool to the touch, given the Ice and Stone magic stored inside the silverstone. I rubbed my thumb over the spider rune stamped into the hilt, that small circle surrounded by eight thin rays.
When I felt calm enough, I grabbed another knife out of the case and got to my feet. Then I started twirling the weapons, spinning the metal blades around and around, tossing them up into the air, and catching them as they plummeted back down to earth.
Faster and faster, higher and higher, I tossed the knives, until the blades seemed to float through the air like slender silver clouds. My gaze was locked on the spinning bits of sharp metal, but my mind was focused on something else entirely: the best way to go about killing Harley Grimes.
It was something that Fletcher had taught me to do.
keep my hands busy while I let my mind wander free. I moved from one side of the den to the other, all the while juggling the knives, thinking about angles, approaches, and when Grimes might show his face in Ashland.
And when I’d gone through it all, when I had a plan that I thought would work, I tossed the knives up into the air one final time, caught them, and twirled them around in my hands. Ta-da.
I tucked one of the knives against the small of my back, comforted by the familiar, solid weight of it there.
Then I slid the other one back into its slot in the foam and headed into the kitchen. I left the case open on the table, though.
I’d use the knives again soon enough.
Despite my juggling act, my emotions were still raw and far too close to the surface for my liking, so I spent the next few hours indulging in my own sort of therapy: cooking.
I raided cooper’s fridge and cabinets, pulling out flour, sugar, salt, pepper, and all of the other staples that I would need. Then I went to work. Mixing, stirring, measuring, chopping, mashing, sautéing, frying, baking, roasting. The familiar motions soothed something deep inside me, and I quickly lost myself in the rhythms of cooking. The smells of melted butter, sugar, cheese, and more blasted out of the oven and drifted up from the pots and pans bubbling on the stovetop, and everything else faded away, except for the steady tick-tick-tick of the egg timer on the counter, counting down the seconds until my various dishes were ready to come out of the oven.
I figured that we could all use some comfort food, so I whipped up a succulent supper of country-fried ham, sharp cheddar mac and cheese, a crunchy summer salad of cucumbers and tomatoes, and mashed potatoes made with buttermilk, piled high with sour cream, and sprinkled generously with dill. For dessert, there were light— as-air buttermilk biscuits stuffed with some strawberry preserves that Jo-Jo had made for cooper.
Drawn by the mouthwatering smells, Jo-Jo, Sophia, and cooper came downstairs, and the four of us ate together, with Rosco sitting at our feet and looking on in anticipation of the scraps that were coming his way.
Owen returned too, saying that Warren, Violet, and Eva were all safe at country Daze. Eventually, Jo-Jo and Sophia headed back upstairs to try to get some more rest, taking Rosco with them, while cooper relaxed in one of his recliners and flipped on the television in the den.
Owen fixed himself a plate of food, and I sat with him on the patio outside while he ate, sipping some of the sweet iced tea that I’d made to go along with the rest of the meal. By this point, it was late in the evening, and the sun was slowly descending behind the mountains. The oppressive heat of the day had finally broken, and the woods beyond the edge of the yard were starting to come alive with the scurrying, rustling, and chitter-chatter of various animals.