“Fuck is right,” he replied. “Because no hooker in her right mind would try to get in the middle of that sandwich.”

My eyes slipped past Dawson and studied the three people he was standing with. Of course, I’d met Jonah McAllister in person yesterday, when he’d come to the Pork Pit to threaten me into dropping the charges against his son, Jake. The slick-talking lawyer looked distinguished and handsome in his tuxedo, and his thick mane of hair resembled silver that had somehow been swirled around his head.

I hadn’t had any dealings with Elliot Slater, the giant enforcer who ran Mab’s security detail and took care of any problems the Fire elemental didn’t feel like dealing with herself. Slater was one of the tallest giants in attendance, if not the tallest. His seven-foot figure loomed over the crowd. He wasn’t quite as wide as he was tall, but his frame was all solid, compact muscle. A cut with one of my knives would have felt like a bee sting to him.

Slater’s complexion was pale, almost albino, and his tousled thatch of blond hair disappeared into his large skull. His eyes were a light hazel, and the only real color on his chalky face. A large diamond ring flashed on his pinkie. Another inch or two, and I could have worn it as a bracelet.

And then there was Mab Monroe herself. The Fire elemental was a few inches shorter than me, but she radiated raw power, even more so than Elliot Slater did. Her hair was as red as polished copper and curled softly to her shoulders. In contrast, her eyes were a deep, liquid black. Ink would look dull and diluted next to her gaze.

Fire and brimstone. That’s what Mab Monroe always reminded me of.

The Fire elemental wore a floor-length evening gown done in an emerald green that made her hair seem even redder than it actually was. She wore no jewelry except for a flat gold necklace that ringed her throat. My eyes focused on the centerpiece of the design. A circular orange ruby a little smaller than my fist surrounded by several dozen wavy rays. The intricate diamond cutting on the gold caught the light and made it seem as though the rays were actually flickering. A sunburst. The symbol for fire.

Mab’s personal rune, used by her alone. For a moment, I sensed the ruby’s vibrations. The gemstone whispered of raw, fiery power. The sound meshed perfectly with the shrieking stone of the mansion. Both made my stomach clench.

As I looked at Mab, I couldn’t help but think about the file Fletcher Lane had left me on the murder of my family—and the piece of paper he’d tucked inside with Mab Monroe’s name on it. Again, I wondered why Fletcher had written down the Fire elemental’s name.