Spider's Bite (Page 43)

I grabbed the tub off the counter. The only marking on the white container was Jo-Jo’s cloud rune painted in a vivid blue on top of the lid. I unscrewed it, and the soothing smell of vanilla wafted up out of the tub. In addition to healing with their hands, Air elementals like Jo-Jo could also infuse their magic into other products, like this ointment, and give them a little extra kick.

I dipped my hand into the ointment. It felt warm and slick against my fingers, and tingles spread up into my hands and arms, just like they did when Jo-Jo worked her magic on me. The spider rune scars on my palms didn’t itch and burn quite as bad as they had in the salon, mainly because the magic in the ointment wasn’t as strong as Jo-Jo’s raw, undiluted power. But it would do the job on Donovan Caine’s bruised face.

I leaned forward and brought my anointed fingers near his face. Caine flinched and jerked back just before I touched him. What did he think I was going to do? Come up with a knife and slash his jugular? As if I would have made such a mess in my own apartment. As if I couldn’t have killed him half a dozen times already tonight.

It was late, and I was tired. So I grabbed Donovan’s chin, yanked his head down when he tried to pull away, and rubbed the ointment into his skin. After a few seconds, the healing, Air elemental magic started working on him. The bruises on his face yellowed and faded, while the cuts closed themselves up. Donovan felt his injuries easing and relaxed-as much as he could with his partner’s killer within arm’s reach.

"You have a very firm grip," Caine said. "Very hard. Very strong." "Is that a compliment?"

He shrugged. "Just an observation."

I massaged ointment into the rest of his face, including his lips. The lower one had been split, and I swiped my thumb across the wound the way a lover might. Donovan stiffened at the intimate contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, the detective studied me as I worked. His flat cop eyes took in everything from my posture to the circular motion of my hands to my breathing. Filing the information away for future use. When our truce was over, and he could come after me like he really wanted to-guns blazing.

"What’s that on your hand?" he asked. "It looks like silver."

The rune. He must have seen one of the silverstone spider runes burned into my palms. The small circle surrounded by eight thin rays. Something else he didn’t need to know about. I curled my fingers into a loose fist.

"It’s nothing," I said. "Just an old scar. I’ve got lots of them." "I bet you do," he murmured.

I finished with the ointment, stood up, and handed the detective a bottle of superstrength aspirin. "You might want to take a few of these too."

He took the bottle from my hands, careful not to touch my skin. His amber eyes caught and held my gray ones. I leaned against the sink, crossed my arms over my chest, and waited for him to say whatever he wanted to say.

"Thanks," Caine muttered. You’d think he was coughing up a lung the way he forced the word out between his clenched teeth. "For everything tonight. As weird and as wrong as it is, I wouldn’t be sitting here now if it weren’t for you."

"You’re welcome."

He nodded, accepting my cool graciousness. "But don’t think tonight changes anything between us. After we find the elemental, I’m bringing you in for Cliff Ingles’s murder-whatever it takes, dead or alive. Don’t forget that." I turned on the hot water and washed my hands. "Don’t worry, detective, I haven’t forgotten about your vendetta. But you should remember what I did to those men in your cabin. Because I won’t hesitate to do the same to you the second you get in my way. Understood?"

Donovan Caine watched smears of his blood drip off my hands and disappear down the sink. "Understood." Caine swallowed a couple of aspirin and returned to the den.

I screwed the top back on Jo-Jo’s healing ointment and followed him. The detective seated himself on the sofa again. He might hate me, but at least he wasn’t shy.

While we were in the bathroom, Finn had made himself a cup of chicory coffee. The rich, caffeine fumes drifted to my nose, and my stomach rumbled.

"Finn? Late-night snack?" I moved into the kitchen.

"Sandwich," he said, not even bothering to look up from the blue glow of his monitor.

"But not turkey this time. Something else. Different bread too. Surprise me."

"Yes, master."

I grabbed a loaf of Sophia Deveraux’s homemade sourdough bread I’d swiped from the Pork Pit, several bananas, and the peanut butter and sourwood honey out of the cabinets, along with some canned pumpkin. First, I mixed the peanut butter and pumpkin together, producing a rich, creamy spread, which I slathered onto the bread.

I topped the mixture with sliced bananas and drizzled honey over the fruit. As a finishing touch, I sprinkled some cinnamon on top of the whole thing, then topped it with another slice of bread.

I tore off a paper towel and handed it and the sandwich to Finn, who sank his teeth into the thick bread with obvious enthusiasm. Donovan Caine didn’t move from the couch. I stared at him, wondering who’d be the first to end this Mexican standoff.

Caine looked at Finn’s disappearing sandwich. "That looks good. Would you fix me one of those? Please?" "Sure."

I made him a sandwich, then one for me, and a couple more for whoever got to them first. Donovan moved over to the table and sat next to Finn, while I got a gallon of milk out of the fridge and plucked some mugs out of the cabinet. I set the mugs on the table, then wrapped my hand around one of them and reached for my magic. Ice crystals frosted the container, guaranteeing that whatever was poured inside would stay cold. I repeated the process on the other two glasses.

Donovan stilled, and his hazel eyes narrowed at the small display of magic. "You’re an elemental. An Ice." I shrugged. "I have a little bit of magic, detective. That’s all. Hardly worth mentioning."

Finn eyed me. He knew I had more than just a little magic, but for once he didn’t contradict me.

I finished with the mugs and slid Caine’s sandwich over to him. He picked it up but hesitated before biting down into it, as though just looking at the food I’d prepared was enough to make him keel over and start foaming at the mouth. He should have known by now that poison really wasn’t my forte. A cheap, theatrical device, just like blackmail.

The detective chewed and swallowed. Surprise spread across his face. "This is really good." "Better than the Cake Walk?" I asked.

He didn’t look at me. "Not better, just different."

Finn elbowed the detective in the side. "I told you Gin makes the best sandwiches around." Donovan didn’t respond, but he took another bite and poured himself some milk.