Elemental Assassin 05 - Spider's Revenge

brown and black ears twitched once, but he didn’t wake up at the sound of us entering the salon. Not surprising. If there wasn’t food involved or a chance to be petted in the offing, then Rosco wasn’t much interested in things.
    I peered at the familiar furnishings, but everything seemed like it had a thick fog wrapped over it. Still, the blurry sight of the salon and Rosco comforted me, no matter how much my brain was distorting them right now.
    “Put her in the chair,” Jo-Jo instructed her sister. “Quickly now. You can see how much blood she’s lost.”
    “A little more than usual,” I murmured as Sophia hefted me into position. “Girl got in a lucky shot on me. My own fault, really, for not remembering that she was even there to start with.”
    “Babbling.”
    This time, Sophia Deveraux was the one who spoke, in a raspy, broken voice that sounded like she’d spent her entire life smoking cigars, chasing them down with barrels of mountain moonshine, then chugging antifreeze just for kicks. Of course, I knew that she didn’t actually do any of those things. Sophia didn’t talk much, given her grinding tone, and I’d always wondered what traumatic thing had happened to her to so completely ruin her voice. But I’d never asked. It couldn’t be anything good, not with the quiet, bone-deep sorrow that radiated off the dwarf at times. Still, I made the effort to roll my head to the side to look at her.
    At a hundred and thirteen, Sophia was still in theprime of her life, unlike Jo-Jo, who was firmly entrenched in middle age. And that wasn’t the only difference between the two dwarven sisters. Jo-Jo was a southern lady through and through with her pearls and pink dresses, whereas Sophia had a fondness for Goth gear.
    Tonight, Sophia wore a black terrycloth robe covered with smiling skeletons. Her hair was a short black stain that brushed up against the absolute paleness of her face, which was even more ashen tonight since her lips were free of the crimson or even black lipstick she sometimes wore. At five feet one, Sophia was tall for a dwarf and had a good inch on Jo-Jo. Sophia was also much stronger than her middle-aged sister, and the black fabric of her robe did little to hide her thick, sturdy body.
    Jo-Jo, who’d stepped over to the sink to wash her hands, jerked her chin at her sister. “Get a good grip and hold her down. She’s lost a lot of blood, so this is going to hurt.”
    Sophia nodded, moved forward, and put her hands on my shoulders, securing me to the salon chair. The dwarf’s grip was so strong, so firm, that it felt as if my entire upper body had been clamped down with a silverstone vise.
    “Sorry, Gin,” Sophia rasped.
    I would have shrugged my shoulders, telling her that it was okay, but my body wouldn’t move. Nothing ever did after Sophia got hold of it.
    Jo-Jo finished washing her hands, then dragged a free-standing halogen light over to me, angling it down so that it illuminated my body. The dwarf picked up a pair of scissors from a stack of beauty magazines and cut open my cargo pants and other layers, exposing the ugly gunshotwound in my thigh. Despite the makeshift tourniquet that I’d applied, blood still trickled out of the hole in a steady stream.
    Jo-Jo tilted her head and studied the wound. Then she pulled another chair over to me, sat down in it, and raised her hand. A buttermilk white glow coated the dwarf’s palm, and the same light filled her colorless eyes, as though clouds were drifting through her pale gaze. Her Air magic filled the room, as the dwarf fully embraced her elemental power.
    The sudden influx of magic caused the spider rune scars in my palms to itch and burn, just like they always did whenever I was exposed to so much of another elemental’s power. That’s because the scars were made out of silverstone, a special metal that was highly prized for its ability to absorb all forms of elemental magic.
    Although the silverstone had long since hardened in my flesh, it always seemed to me like the metal in my hands actually
hungered
for magic, as if the silverstone were some sort of parasite inside me just waiting for the chance to soak up all the power it could possibly hold—and then some. Having the metal in my hands was what had made it so difficult for me to use my Ice magic. For years, the silverstone had absorbed my power even as I brought it to bear, since Ice and Fire elementals almost always released their magic through their hands.