I held the detective's gaze a moment longer, then turned my attention to Warren T. Fox, who'd stopped his rocking. His wrinkled face was blank and free of emotion, as though he couldn't care less about my answer, but his fingers dug into the arms of his chair. Warren needed me, and he knew it - even if Donovan Caine didn't.
"You're right," I said in a quiet voice. "I don't know you and your granddaughter, don't care about you. Why am I here? Because you once told your granddaughter a story about the Tin Man, about how he helped people with problems. You and Fletcher Lane might not have spoken in decades, but you still cared enough, thought enough, about him to tell Violet that story. So I'm here because of Fletcher. Because the two of you were like brothers once upon a time. Because if Fletcher were still alive, he'd be sitting right here, whether you wanted him to or not. "
There was more to it than that, of course. Much more.
Like the fact that I felt this peculiar kinship with the Foxes. That in a weird way, seeing Violet and Warren together was like looking at a sweeter, more innocent version of Fletcher Lane and myself. What we might have been, if circumstances had been different. Maybe it was crazy, but I wanted the Foxes to stay just the way they were. To keep on loving and fighting. To keep what was left of their innocence, especially Violet.
My mouth twisted again. "Besides, my retirement's been pretty boring. Last night was the most excitement I've had in ages. And I find myself interested in why somebody like Tobias Dawson wants to get his hands on your land so badly he'd be willing to kill for it. I don't care much for bullies like that. "
"A curious sort, huh?" Warren asked.
I smiled. "It's a trait I got from Fletcher. So what do you say? Shall I poke around and see what I can come up with? Or should Finn and I get in his car and go back to the Pork Pit? It's your choice, Warren. "
The old man stared at me, that thoughtful look in his eyes once again. As though he knew something about me that I didn't even know myself. But Warren didn't get a chance to answer.
On the highway, a black SUV slowed. Instead of passing by like all the other cars and trucks, it pulled into the gravel lot. For a moment, I thought the Foxes were going to get their first customer of the day. Then I saw the white banner on the car door. The one that read Dawson Mining Company. The two is in Mining had been changed to resemble a rune - a lit stick of dynamite. The same rune the dwarf who'd attacked Violet had had tattooed on his bicep.
Finn noticed the writing and rune as well and glanced at me. "Trouble," he said in a low voice.
"You think?" I asked, already reaching for one of my knives.
Chapter Sixteen
The SUV stopped, the doors opened, and several men poured out. One after another, they kept coming, like they were clowns crammed into a circus car and this was their only chance of escape. Five men total: two giants, two shorter, burly guys, and a dwarf. The giants and other men wore work clothes - grimy coveralls, sturdy boots, thick gloves. The dwarf was dressed a little nicer - clean jeans, boots, a black T-shirt, and a tight black blazer that looked like it would do a Hulk rip down the sleeves if he breathed too hard.
The dwarf headed toward the front porch, and the rest of the men fell in step behind him. Finn and I exchanged a quick glance, and he made a motion with his hand. I nodded and slid left into a shadow that pooled on the porch. Finn moved off to the right. Donovan Caine stayed where he was on the porch steps, although the detective got to his feet. Warren and Violet Fox remained seated in their rocking chairs. Violet's face paled, and she crossed her arms over her stomach, like she was trying not to vomit. A scowl deepened the lines around Warren's mouth.
The dwarf stopped at the base of the stairs that led up to the wooden porch. He hitched his thumbs in the belt loops on his jeans and put a foot up on one of the stairs.
Black snakeskin boots covered his feet. Orange-red flames spread over the tops, while silverstone tipped the pointed ends. A black ten-gallon hat rested on the dwarf 's head, making him seem taller than his five feet, and the lariat tie around his neck featured a piece of turquoise almost as big as my fist. Somebody liked playing cowboy.
The dwarf 's hair was a curly, sandy blond mane that fell to his shoulders. His nose was a bulbous piece of flesh that puckered out from his face like a boil, and a wide, fuzzy mustache drooped over his lips. His eyes were a pale, piercing blue in his tan face.
"Warren," the dwarf rumbled.
"Tobias," the old man replied.
The two men looked each other square in the eye the way old enemies do. Squinting, staring hard, neither one willing to back down, look away, or even fucking blink first.
While Tobias Dawson and Warren T. Fox played eyeball chicken, my gaze flicked to the men standing behind the dwarf. The two shorter guys were human, although they probably had some giant blood mixed in them, from the looks of their powerful muscles and fists. Easy enough to put down with my knives. The giants standing behind them would be a bit more of a challenge - especially considering the fact each of their fists was only a little smaller than my head. I'd have to bob and weave with them, just like I'd done with the dwarven assassin last night. Still, nothing I couldn't handle.
My gray eyes rested on Tobias Dawson once more. He'd be the real problem, the real test. Especially since I felt the faintest bit of power trickling off him, like a piece of sandpaper just brushing against my skin. Magic. The blond, mustached dwarf had some kind of elemental magic.
Being an elemental myself, I could sense when others used their magic, of course. But there were some folks like Dawson who, well, leaked magic, for lack of a better word. Even when those elementals weren't actively using their power, magic still trickled out of them, like water from a leaky faucet. Drip, drip, drip. The magical runoff was easy to sense. Then there were people like me, whose magic was completely self-contained. No leaks, no drips, no runoff. My magic couldn't be felt at all unless I used it in an overt, forceful manner or someone had a particular knack for sniffing out elemental power.
Dawson's magic felt similar to my own, although I couldn't quite tell if the dwarf was a Stone or Ice. If I had to guess, I'd say Stone. The sensation rippling off him would have felt smoother, cooler if he'd been an Ice elemental.
Either way, I felt it. If things went badly, I'd go for the dwarf first, then his goons. With his magic and inherent dwarven strength and toughness, Tobias Dawson was definitely the greater threat.
My thumb rubbed over the hilt of the silverstone knife I'd already palmed. Even though I hadn't gotten in much practice with my knives lately, the weapon felt cold and comforting in my hand, just like always. An old, familiar friend.
Donovan Caine cleared his throat. Tobias tore his gaze away from Warren and stared at the detective. The dwarf gave Donovan the once-over, dismissed him as unimportant, and turned his attention back to Warren.
"Have you thought any more about my latest offer?"
Tobias Dawson asked in a voice that was pure twangy country.
Warren's eyes narrowed. "I'll tell you the same thing I've been saying for two months now. I'm not interested in selling a soda pop to you, much less my store. You coming down here and asking me every other day isn't going to change my mind. No matter how much money you offer me. "