How could anyone want to hurt us? Why? What had we ever done to her? Sour bile filled my throat. Somehow I choked it down. Throwing up would only make her angrier.

"Now, dear, sweet Genevieve," the Fire elemental purred. "I need you to do something for me."

"Wh-what?" I stammered.

"Tell me where your sister Bria is."

So the Fire elemental and her men hadn't found my baby sister yet. She wouldn't be asking about Bria otherwise, and I wouldn't still be alive. Relief filled my body, along with a small bit of determination. A cold little knot deep in my stomach. I wasn't going to tell the elemental where Bria was, I vowed. No matter what she did to me. I wasn't going to kill my sister. Not now, not ever.

The elemental dug her cruel fingers into my hair and yanked my head back. "Tell me now!"

Just the touch of her hand against my head made it feel like she was scalping me with a red-hot knife. Tears of pain filled my eyes and soaked the blindfold, but that small knot of determination tightened inside me.

"No," I whispered. "I'll never tell you."

Silence.

After a few seconds, the Fire elemental let go of my hair. Footsteps sounded, and I had the sense she was circling me the way a vulture would fly around a carcass. The footsteps stopped. I turned my head this way and that, trying to figure out where she was and what she would do next. No use.

"Fine," she murmured. "We'll do it the hard way. It's always more fun. In case you haven't realized, I took the liberty of removing that quaint little rune you wear around your neck. I had one of my men duct-tape it inside your hands. You're going to tell me where your sister Bria is, or I'm going to use my magic to heat the rune. I trust you know what burning flesh smells like by now. Imagine that being your own. The stench, the excruciating pain, the knowledge that your own skin is melting away into nothing. Tell me, is your sister worth all that?"

I thought of Bria. Sweet little Bria with her chubby fingers and big blues eyes and shy smile. She was worth it. Worth all that pain and more.

"Go-go to hell, bitch," I said in the strongest voice I could muster. "I'm not telling you anything."

"So brave, so young, so very stupid. Have it your way then," the Fire elemental said.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then I felt a hot, pricking sensation gather between my palms. The silverstone spider rune grew warm between my hands, and I started sweating, more out of fear than the heat. She was really going to do it. Really going to torture me. Really going to heat the rune until it burned my palms. I wondered if it would actually catch fire, and if I'd be engulfed in flames along with it.

For a moment, I wavered, ready to tell her where I'd hidden Bria. Then I thought of my mother and Annabella, of their burned, smoking bodies lying on the floor. No, I vowed. I wouldn't do that to Bria. I wouldn't give her to the Fire elemental.

The rune continued to heat up. I felt blisters form on my palms. I tried to move, tried to slip the metal out from between my hands, but they were taped together too tightly. All I could do was sit there and endure it. The blisters popped and turned into a burning sensation. I gritted my teeth, even as more tears streamed out of my eyes, and sweat dripped off my fingers. The burning intensified. What came after burning? Scorching? Scalding? Searing? The acrid smell of my own melting flesh filled my nose, along with sour sweat and fear.

The Fire elemental's low chuckles washed over me. She was enjoying this, enjoying my suffering, this hot, searing, excruciating pain that felt like it would never, ever end.

Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer. I screamed. And again. And again. And again-

I woke up, my mouth open in a silent scream. My eyes flicked around the dark room, and it took me a moment to come back to myself. To remember that I was safe in Fletcher Lane's house. That it was just a dream, just a memory, and nothing more. Nothing that could physically hurt me now. I drew in a ragged breath and flopped back against my damp pillow.

I'd been having these sorts of dreams ever since Fletcher's murder a couple of months ago. The old man had been tortured to death by an Air elemental who'd hired me to do a job, then decided to double-cross and murder me so the hit couldn't be traced back to her. I'd killed the Air elemental, of course, but it hadn't brought Fletcher back to me-or stopped the dreams. If anything, it was like the old man's death had opened a floodgate to my past, and the images kept spilling out no matter how much I wanted them to sink back into the darkness.

Only they weren't really dreams so much as memories of my past. Of that fateful night when my mother and older sister had been murdered-by Mab Monroe. Of when the Fire elemental had tortured me to get me to give up Bria's hiding place.

I opened my hands and stared at my palms. A bit of moonlight slipped in through the bedroom window and highlighted the silverstone scars on my hands. A small circle surrounded by eight thin lines. A spider rune. The symbol for patience. I'd born the marks for seventeen years now, but tonight, it felt like they'd just been made yesterday. Everything had felt fresh and raw and sore since Bria's reappearance in my life.

I thought of that folder of information Finn had compiled on my sister. Of what secrets it might hold. I wondered what Bria remembered of the night our mother and older sister had died. If she knew Mab Monroe was the one who was responsible for it all. Why Bria had come back to Ashland. Why now, after all these long years?

But instead of getting out of bed, going downstairs, turning on a light, and looking at the file like I should have, I pulled the sheet up to my chin, as though the soft, warm flannel could protect me from, well, everything. All the horrible things that had happened, and all the ones that were yet to be.

Tomorrow, I thought. I would look at the information tomorrow.

Tonight, I only wanted to sleep-and forget.

Chapter Seven

At exactly two o'clock the next afternoon, Xavier pulled open the front door of the Pork Pit, making the bell chime. Punctual. I liked that in a man.

The giant held the door out wide so Roslyn Phillips could maneuver around him and step inside. The vampire madam and nightclub owner was dressed down today in a pair of black wool pants and a thick, ivory turtleneck sweater. A black and ivory checked coat covered her slim shoulders, and silver glasses perched on the end of her nose. Roslyn was still a striking woman, even without the party clothes and heavy makeup she wore when working the floor at Northern Aggression.

Catalina Vasquez, one of my best waitresses, heard the bell chime too. Her head snapped up from the chemistry textbook she'd been reading. Like me, Catalina was a student at Ashland Community College who worked part-time at the Pork Pit to make ends meet. With her long black hair, hazel eyes, and full-bodied figure, Catalina was quite popular with my male customers-especially Finnegan Lane, who always stopped to admire her assets whenever he came by the restaurant.

Catalina grabbed a couple of menus off a holder on the back wall and hurried behind the long counter that ran down one side of the barbecue restaurant. She reached the end, where I perched on my usual stool behind the old-fashioned cash register. I put down the copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that I'd been reading and signaled Catalina to stop.

"The lunch crowd has died down," I said. "Why don't you go on break now? I know you've got some errands to do. Take a couple hours if you want. I'll handle them. I was thinking about closing down until four anyway."

Catalina flashed me a wide, grateful smile. "Thanks, Gin. You're the best."

"Hmph."

A grunt sounded from the middle of the counter, where Sophia Deveraux stood slicing a thick wedge of Jarlsberg cheese, one of the key ingredients in the Pork Pit's most excellent grilled cheese sandwich. The dwarf was dressed in her usual black jeans and boots. Her T-shirt was also black today with a large silver heart on the front that was broken in two and dripping crimson blood. A thick silver choker ringed Sophia's throat, and several matching rings flashed on her fingers.

Catalina Vasquez bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at the Goth dwarf. Catalina had only been working at the restaurant a few weeks, and she was still getting used to Sophia-and interpreting what the dwarf's grunts really meant. Of course, I knew that Sophia was mocking Catalina's assertion that I was the best boss ever, but I wasn't about to share that knowledge. I had a hard enough time keeping waitresses, given the dwarf's dour persona. I wasn't about to let a responsible, punctual, hard-working jewel like Catalina slip through my fingers because of Sophia Deveraux and her monosyllabic method of communication.

"Sophia agrees," I said. "You should definitely go on your break now."

"Um, okay. If you're sure."

Catalina handed the menus over to me, grabbed her black wool pea coat off the stand in the corner, and headed out the front door. I waited until she was gone before I stepped over to Xavier and Roslyn.

"This way, please." I led them to a booth in the very back of the restaurant, out of sight of the glass storefront windows.

Finnegan Lane was already seated there against the back wall, wearing another one of his ubiquitous suits. Black, with a faint gray pinstripe today. A cooling cup of chicory coffee perched on the table in front of Finn, along with the remains of his lunch-a half-pound cheeseburger with all the fixings, steak-cut fries, and a triple chocolate milkshake that would go straight to anyone else's ass but his. I always envied Finn his ability to eat whatever he wanted and never gain a pound.

Roslyn slid into the opposite side of the booth across from Finn. Xavier sat next to her. I gave both of them menus and went to check on my only other customers-a couple of construction workers grabbing a late lunch before heading back out into the December cold. The two men were ready to pay up and leave. Once I got their change, I went back over to the others. Behind the counter, Sophia kept slicing cheese, her knife thwack-thwack-thwacking against the countertop.

"So what'll it be?" I asked, pulling a pad and pen out of the back pocket of my blue jeans.

"I'm not hungry," Roslyn murmured, tapping her French manicured nails on top of the laminated menu.

"Me either," Xavier rumbled.

"I don't care whether you're hungry or not," I snapped. "You're in my gin joint now, and you're damn well going to eat something. So tell me what you want, or you'll find yourself at my mercy."

I might be a stone-cold killer, but no one could ever accuse me of lacking in the hostess department. Still, I gave them the hard stare to show them I was serious. Xavier ordered two barbecue pork sandwiches, coleslaw, baked beans, and a blackberry lemonade. Roslyn requested an ice water with lemon, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a fruit tray.

I cocked my hip to one side and looked at her. "Sweetheart, does this look like the kind of place that serves fruit trays?"

Roslyn's dark eyes flicked over the barbecue restaurant. I didn't have to look behind me to know exactly what she was seeing. Clean, but well-worn blue and pink vinyl booths. Matching faded pig tracks on the floor that led to the men's and women's bathrooms, respectively. A long counter lined with stools where people could watch their food being prepared on the opposite side. A framed, blood-covered copy of Where the Red Fern Grows on the wall next to the cash register, along with an old faded picture of two young men holding fishing rods. Cumin, red pepper, and other spices from the afternoon's cooking flavored the air, along with a healthy dose of pure, heart-stopping grease.

The vampire's wide mouth quirked. "No, I suppose not."

"The only fruit I have in here is in the cherry pie. You can have some of that. With vanilla bean ice cream. Be back in a minute."

I scribbled down their orders, tore off the paper, and took it over to Sophia Deveraux. The Goth dwarf had moved on from slicing cheese. Now she cut through a pile of tomatoes with a long, curved, serrated knife, making precise, neat little rounds for the rest of the day's sandwiches.

"Another order," I told her. "I'm going to flip the sign over to Closed for the next hour or so and lock the front door. And I'll be sending Finn and Xavier your way in a few minutes. Keep them busy in the back while I talk to Roslyn."

"Hmph." Sophia gave me her usual noncommittal grunt.

This morning, I'd told Sophia that Roslyn and Xavier were coming by to talk about a problem they were having-a problem I was thinking about helping them with in my own special way. The Goth dwarf's black eyes had actually sparkled a little bit at the thought of disposing of another body for me. Jo-Jo might take care of healing me, but Sophia was the cleanup crew. No matter how bloody a scene was, no matter how much tissue, brain matter, and other nasty bits were lying around, the dwarf could make the area look pristine. No blood, no hairs, no fibers, no DNA or fingerprints of any kind were ever left behind.

I'd often wondered if Sophia had the same sort of Air elemental magic that Jo-Jo had. Air magic was great for sandblasting things-like getting blood off a wall. But I'd never seen or felt Sophia do any magic. I didn't even know what the dwarf did with all the bodies I'd sent her way over the years. Didn't know where she took them or what she did with the remains. I didn't even know why Sophia enjoyed getting rid of the bodies in the first place. I had a feeling it had something to do with her ruined voice, which rasped worse than a chain smoker with a collapsed lung.

I'd never come right out and asked the dwarf. Fletcher Lane had instilled a healthy dose of curiosity in me, but I valued Sophia's and Jo-Jo's services and friendship too much to pry. At least for now.

Sophia put her tomatoes aside and started working on the order. I fixed Roslyn's water and Xavier's lemonade and took the drinks back over to the booth.