A large knee flattened the grass beside me, and a shadow fell over my face, blocking the bright lights. I stared up into Xavier’s dark eyes. The giant’s gaze flicked over my features, trying to see through the blood, bruises, and swelling. Finally, comprehension filled his face.

“Gin?” he asked.

“In the flesh,” I mumbled.

“Do you know her?” the woman asked again.

Xavier nodded his massive head. “Yeah, I know her. Name’s Gin Blanco. She owns the Pork Pit. It’s a barbecue restaurant a few blocks away. Geez, Gin, they really did a number on you, didn’t they?”

“You’re talking to her like she can actually understand you,” the woman said somewhere above my head.

“That’s because she can, detective,” Xavier replied. “Gin’s the toughest gal I know. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking, just like a Timex. Isn’t that right, Gin?”

“Right,” I croaked. “Now, do me a favor.”

“Name it.”

“Call Finn.”

Xavier nodded, pulled his cell phone off the holder on his belt, and flipped open the device. “What’s his number?”

I forced out the numbers, which Xavier punched into his phone.

A few seconds later, the giant smiled. “My man, Finn. It’s Xavier. Listen, I need to talk to you about Gin…”

I let myself drift as Xavier explained the situation to Finnegan Lane. After a brief conversation, Xavier snapped his phone shut.

“The man’s on his way. Should be here in about five minutes. He said to tell you that he’s calling Jo-Jo right now, whatever that means.”

I nodded. Jo-Jo was Jo-Jo Deveraux, the dwarven Air elemental who always healed me whenever I got into a rough scrape. Like the one tonight.

“Good,” I croaked. “Now, help me sit up. Please.”

“You really shouldn’t move her—” the female detective started.

Too late. I wrapped my hand around Xavier’s massive forearm, and the giant eased me up into a sitting position. It took me several moments to get my breath back and blink the white spots out of my vision. Once I did, I realized I was the center of attention. While I’d been unconscious, someone had strung yellow crime scene tape around the spot where I’d been lying. A small crowd of late-night students had gathered around the tape like vultures flocking to a fresh corpse. Several of them had their cell phones out, snapping pictures of my battered face to post on the local campus gossip websites.

I squinted against the glare, trying to see if I recognized anyone. I spotted a couple of other coeds from my classic literature class, but that was it. Hardly worth the effort of sitting up. The pain washed over me again, and I would have toppled over from the force of it if Xavier hadn’t been propping me up. Right now, all I wanted to do was lie on a soft mattress somewhere, whimper, and plot my revenge against Mab Monroe, Elliot Slater, and most especially Jonah McAllister. Because the three of them were going to die. By my hand. Sooner, rather than later.