Elemental Assassin 03 - Venom

Eva and Violet from getting dead had been two of them.
    Once we got the hugs out of the way, the two girls sat back down on the sofa.
    Eva gave me a critical once-over. “You look smoking hot tonight, Gin. I didn’t know you were Owen’s date for that boring riverboat thing.”
    I looked at Owen. “Oh, it was sort of a last-minute arrangement.”
    His lips twitched. “Very last minute.”
    “Well, it’s about time you went out with my big brother,” Eva said. “Even if he wouldn’t know a good movie from a hole in his head.”
    I laughed. “I’m glad you approve, Eva. How come you’re not out on the town this evening?”
    Violet answered me. “Finals are over, and we decided to veg out.”
    “Totally,” Eva agreed.
    I nodded at the screen. “With
The Princess Bride,
I see. A classic. I approve.”
    I chatted with Violet and Eva a few minutes, asking them about their classes and finals, before Owen finally cleared his throat.
    “Sorry, girls, but Gin and I need to talk.” He mussed Eva’s hair again. “Don’t stay up too late.”
    Eva rolled her eyes at her brother’s instructions. Violet just snickered.
    Owen and I left the living room, and he led me to the back of the house. A heavy wooden door sat closed at the end of a hallway. It bore the same simple hammer rune as the front door. Once again, Owen opened the door and stepped to one side. I entered the room, my gaze sweeping over everything. Big desk, leather chairs and couches, books, maps, crystal lamps, a stone fireplace. Your typical office.
    Except for the weapons.
    They adorned one entire wall of the room, mounted there in a simple display. Swords, axes, hammers, the occasional mace, and knives. Lots of knives. Some of which could have been carbon copies of my own silverstone instruments. As a former assassin, I always admired well-crafted weapons. Even across the room, I could tell that these were all finely made. Hmm. So Owen hadn’t been lying when he’d once told me about his interest in crafting weapons. The businessman became more interesting by the minute.
    I walked over to the wall and gestured at a long sword, one of a matching set. “May I?”
    “Of course.”
    I took the weapon from its perch and examined it. Light, lethal, strong, perfectly balanced. Besides size, the only real difference between the sword and one of my own knives was the small rune stamped onto the hilt—Owen Grayson’s hammer. No doubt every silverstone weapon on the wall bore the same rune, the mark of its maker. Evidently Owen was quite the craftsman. He’d probably made the iron sculptures I’d seen throughout the house as well.
    Owen had much more than a modest elemental talent for metal, if these weapons were any indication of his skill. I knew I could take any weapon off the wall and use it with the utmost confidence that it wouldn’t bend, break, or shatter the first time I shoved it into someone’s chest. To me, that was the real sign of a master craftsman. I’d always been practical that way.
    “Do you like it?” Owen asked, moving to stand beside me. “You should. It’s just a bigger version of the two knives you have hidden up your sleeves, the other two you have strapped to your thighs, the two more hidden in your boots, and the one in your purse.”
    Owen’s violet eyes glowed with a faint light, and I felt the faintest bit of magic trickling off him. A cool caress,not unlike my Stone magic. Not surprising, since metal was an offshoot of Stone. He was using his elemental talent for metal to scope out how many silverstone weapons I currently carried on my person. Couldn’t blame him for that. Not after everything that had happened this evening.
    Owen leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He regarded me with a cool gaze. “So,” he said. “You finally want to tell me what you were doing on that riverboat tonight? With all those knives on you? Because I’m guessing you didn’t go just to play poker.”
    I put the long sword back into its slot on the wall, then turned to face him.
    “No,” I replied. “I wasn’t there to play poker. I was there to kill Elliot Slater.”

19

    Owen Grayson stared at me. He tensed at my blunt words, and emotions flashed in his amethyst eyes. Wariness. Curiosity. Caution. But surprisingly, no fear. And no condemnation.
    Seconds ticked by as he looked at me. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty-five…
    “I could use a drink,” he finally said. “How about you?”
    I nodded.