The dwarf stared at me, but her eyes had taken on a milky white, faraway look that told me that she wasn’t really seeing me but peering into the future. In addition to using their magic to heal people, most Air elementals had a bit of precognition as well. Folks like Jo-Jo could sense, listen to, and interpret the emotions, feelings, and actions that permeated the air and wind. Just like I could hear the emotions, feelings, and actions that had sunk into any stone that I was near—brick buildings, granite furnishings, even the gravel underfoot. My Stone magic whispered of things that had occurred in the past. In Jo-Jo’s case, her Air elemental magic often gave her flashes of what might happen in the future. At least enough of them to make me listen to her.

I rubbed my head. “I don’t know what to do about Bria right now. I just don’t know.”

Jo-Jo reached over and squeezed my hand. “Whatever you decide, we’ll support you—and welcome Bria with open arms if that’s what you want.”

Sophia nodded. “Welcome her,” the Goth dwarf rasped in her low, broken voice.

“Oh, yeah,” Finn grinned. “In fact, I volunteer to be the very first one to welcome Bria to Ashland.”

I raised an eyebrow. “With what? Your suave good looks? Or perhaps you were going to whip out that smooth charm you claim to possess, along with your dick?”

Finn’s grin widened. “Whatever works, Gin,” he drawled. “Whatever works.”

4

“I can’t believe you dragged me down here tonight,” I muttered. “We have things to do, remember? Long-lost sisters to investigate, Mab Monroe assassination plans to make, her pesky minions to dispatch. Or have you forgotten about all that?”

Finn pulled his bright green gaze away from a busty blond hooker long enough to glance at me. “Did you say something, Gin?”

I rolled my eyes. “Nothing important, apparently.”

“Good.” Finn’s gaze zoomed back over to the hooker, who was gyrating along with several other women on the edge of the dance floor.

I sighed. Two days had passed since I’d been attacked at the community college by Elliot Slater and his giants. Finn had come by the Pork Pit earlier today and announced that he was treating me to a night out. I’d hoped for a nice quiet dinner somewhere, maybe that new Mexican place that served the spicy-hot fajitas over on St. Charles Avenue.

Instead, he’d taken me to Northern Aggression.

Located in Northtown, the rich, highfalutin part of the city, Northern Aggression was Ashland’s most renowned nightclub. Not because it was the epitome of class and sophistication, but because you could get anything you desired here—blood, drugs, sex, smokes, alcohol. The club offered all that and more—for the right price. Not surprising, given the fact the club was managed by Roslyn Phillips, a vampire hooker who’d spent years turning tricks on the rough Southtown streets before she’d put enough cash together to open up her own gin joint.