Finn nodded, already pulling his cell phone out of his suit jacket to start making calls. Jo-Jo reached over and took my hand, her fingers warm against my palm.
“It’s going to be okay, Gin,” the dwarf murmured. “You’ll see.”
I thought about how close I’d come to losing Bria tonight. How close Mab, her giants, and her bounty hunters had come to nabbing me at her mansion. How many times in the last few months that the Fire elemental or one of her minions had just missed killing me. I didn’t say anything, but I squeezed the dwarf’s fingers with my own, trying to reassure myself as much as her.
Finn promised to contact every single one of his sources to see what they had to say about the bounty hunters, Mab, and anything else that might be relevant or helpful. Then Bria came back into the kitchen, and I drove the two of us over to Fletcher’s house. Sophia had already gotten rid of the old clunker that I’d used to escape from Mab’s mansion last night, hauling it off to some junkyard where it belonged. Bria and I had met Finn at Jo-Jo’s earlier, and since he’d driven the three of us over to Northern Aggression, I’d left my regular car at the dwarf’s house.
Bria and I didn’t speak on the ride over, although she grimaced and grabbed the door handle as my silver Benz churned up the driveway. Couldn’t blame her for that. The steep, twisting path still rattled my bones every time I drove up it.
My Benz crested the top of the ridge, and Fletcher’s house came into view. A lone light burned like a firefly over the front door, dimly outlining the sprawling structure. White clapboard, brown brick, and gray stone joined together to make up the building, along with a tin roof, black shutters, and blue eaves. You couldn’t see much of the odd mishmash of styles and materials in the darkness, but I knew the lines and texture of the ramshackle house as well as I knew my own face.
“Home, sweet home,” I murmured, stopping the car.
Bria stared out the window, peering into the shadows that covered the yard like puddles of gray ink oozing over the snow. Despite the fact that we’d been getting reacquainted with each other, my sister had never been up to Fletcher’s house before. We always met in public places, like the Pork Pit or Northern Aggression, usually with Finn, Xavier, Roslyn, or one of the Deveraux sisters in attendance. Self-imposed chaperones to keep the long, awkward pauses to a minimum.
There were no chaperones, no safety nets tonight, and this place was as personal as it got for me. I’d loved Fletcher like a father, and his house was a natural extension of the old man himself, as much a part of him and his legacy to me as the Pork Pit was.
We got out of the car. It was after three now, but thanks to the snow, a sort of pearl gray twilight softened the cold edges of everything and made it seem lighter than it really was. In front of the house, snow crusted the flat lawn before the ridge fell away into a series of frozen, jagged cliffs. Snow and ice covered the gravel in the driveway as well, but I could still hear the stone’s murmurs. Low, steady, and as quiet as the icy landscape around us.
No footprints marred the smoothness of the snow, and no sense of excitement, urgency, or dark desires rippled through the stones under my boots. No one had been near the house tonight. Good. That meant that Mab and her city full of bounty hunters hadn’t unearthed my true identity, hadn’t discovered that Gin Blanco was really the Spider—yet.
I led Bria over to the front door, which was made out of solid black granite. Thick veins of silverstone also swirled through the hard stone here and in other strategic places around the house, while bars made out of the magical metal covered the windows.
Bria let out a low, appreciative whistle. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much silverstone in a single door before. You’d have to have a hell of a lot of magic to bust through that much of it.”
“Remember what I said about easily defendable? Well, this is it,” I said, unlocking the door and stepping inside.
I flipped on some lights, illuminating the hallway, and toed off my boots. Bria stepped inside and did the same.
“So this is where you live,” Bria murmured, staring out at what she could see of the house. “Looks like you’ve got a lot of rooms in here, a lot of passageways, a lot of places to hide.”
She had no idea. So many additions in so many different styles had been tacked on to the house over the years that the whole structure was something of a labyrinth. Rooms joined together, branching off into hallways that doubled back on themselves, led to different parts of the house entirely, or in some cases just dead-ended. Not the kind of place where you wanted to have to search for the bathroom in the dark, much less an assassin like the Spider. Still, the odd, overlapping designs gave me a clear advantage, since I knew the ins and outs of the whole house—and the best way to sneak up and stab someone in the back when she thought that she was creeping up on me instead.
Bria followed me through the house. I gave her a tour of the first floor and told her to make herself at home. My sister didn’t say much, but she didn’t miss anything either. She examined everything carefully, slowly, lingering on the well-worn, comfortable furniture and all the odd knickknacks that Fletcher had collected. Her face was blank, closed off, and I couldn’t tell what conclusions, if any, that she’d drawn.
We wound up in the back of the house in the den, the room that I always migrated to late at night whenever I couldn’t sleep and there was something on my mind. Like tonight and the bounty on my sister’s head.
I plopped down on the old, plaid sofa and laid my head back, rolling it from side to side to loosen the stiff, tension-filled muscles in my neck. Bria didn’t sit down next to me. Instead, she walked to the mantel over the fireplace and the four framed drawings that rested there. Three of the drawings were for an art class that I’d taken at Ashland Community College. My final assignment had been to sketch a series of runes, all with a connected theme.
I’d drawn the runes of my dead family.
The first drawing on the mantel was a snowflake, our mother, Eira’s, rune, the symbol for icy calm. The second was a curling ivy vine representing elegance, and our older sister, Annabella. Bria’s rune, the primrose, the symbol for beauty, was the third drawing, although my rendering of it wasn’t nearly as elegant as the silverstone medallion that she wore around her neck.
The fourth picture was a bit unusual. It wasn’t a true rune, not like the others. Instead, the drawing was of the multicolored neon sign that hung outside the entrance to the Pork Pit. An exact rendering of it, right down to the full, heavy platter of food the pig was holding. The barbecue restaurant and Fletcher were one and the same to me. After the old man’s murder, I’d decided to honor him the same way I had the rest of my dead family. Hence the drawing.
Bria moved down the mantel, going from one frame to the next, stopping to stare at them all. I couldn’t see her face, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I didn’t know that I wanted to see the emotions flashing in her eyes right now. All the anger, longing, and aching regret. The feelings already tightened my chest, tangled threads slowly strangling me from the inside out.
“I always wondered if you remembered me,” Bria whispered. “If you remembered mother and Annabella. If you ever thought about them or me or what happened that night. If you ever missed them as much as I did. If you ever missed me as much as I missed you.”
She turned to look at me, the memories and sadness blackening her pretty face like ugly bruises. Only these were wounds that would never fade, because I carried the scars with me just like she did—right on my torn, tattered heart.
“You remembered and thought about them just as much as I did.”
I tried to smile, but my face felt stiff and frozen. “How could I forget?”
How could anyone forget what had happened that night? Watching my mother and Annabella disappear into balls of elemental Fire, realizing they were dead, then staring down at their ashy remains and trying not to vomit from the charred stench. It wasn’t something I’d ever forget, but I didn’t tell Bria that. She had her
own horrible memories of that night.
I let out a long sigh. As terrible as that night had been, as much as it had scarred me on the inside and out, as much as it had shaped me into who and what I was, into the Spider, there was nothing that I could do about it. Memories never did anyone any good, and weepy sentiment was for fools too weak to suck it up and do what needed to be done.
What mattered now was keeping Bria safe and finding some way for me to get close enough to Mab to turn the Fire elemental into a pincushion with my silverstone knives. Protecting the people that I loved. That’s what I had to focus on right now.
“Come on,” I said, getting to my feet. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then I’ll show you where your bedroom is.”
Once Bria was tucked away for the night in a room down the hall, I took a hot shower to wash Jenkins’s blood off me, then crawled into my own bed. I stared at the ceiling and let out another sigh, resigned to what was going to happen now.
Ever since Fletcher’s murder, I’d been having dreams. Horrible, horrible dreams. No, that wasn’t quite right. The images weren’t so much dreams as they were memories of my past. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop the dreams from coming, couldn’t keep the memories from bubbling up to the surface of my subconscious. Tonight was no exception. Even as I felt myself slipping under into slumber, the colors, sounds, and smells began to flash in front of my eyes…
The sound woke me. A murmur of unease that pressed against my temple like a cold washcloth. I concentrated on the sound, staring into the blackness that cloaked my bed. After a moment, I realized that it was the stone of our mansion. Something had upset it. The stones whispered all around me, the mutters growing louder, sharper, and more frantic with every second. Warning of danger… danger… danger…
I frowned. Danger? Here?
I slid out of my soft, warm bed, threw on a fleece robe, and stuffed my bare feet into my favorite blue slippers. Then I eased open the door and peeked outside. Small spotlights illuminated the hallway. Everything seemed normal. Maybe the stones were wrong. But I couldn’t shake the dread that the element had stirred in me.
My nose twitched, and I realized that the faintest scent of smoke hung in the air. I drew in another breath, and the scent intensified, taking on a harsher, bitter stench. Was the house on fire? That would certainly be enough to upset the stones.
A bit of white fluttered at the end of the hallway, and I stuck my head farther outside my door. Annabella, my older sister, crouched in front of the curling, iron banister that overlooked the main living room on the first floor. Icicles thicker than my chubby fingers hung off the railing like jagged, misshapen teeth, and my sister’s cold breath frosted in the air, then fluttered to the floor in a shower of snowflakes. Even at eighteen, Annabella’s magic was still wild and uncontrollable, manifesting whenever she was angry or emotional. I wondered what had bothered her so much now—and why she was up at two in the morning.
“Annabella?” I whispered.
Her head snapped around to me. “Get back in your room, Genevieve!”
Her sharp, hissed tone made the dread in my stomach swell up, as though I’d somehow swallowed one of the muttering stones. But instead of doing as she asked, I hurried toward her. A sudden crack made my heart slam up into my throat. Was that a gunshot?
My legs wobbled, and I fell to my knees beside Annabella. She had the same beautiful blond hair and blue eyes as our mother, Eira, and resembled an icy angel in her long, white nightgown.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
“Men. Inside the mansion,” Annabella said. “They’ve already killed some of the servants.”
My eyes widened. “Men? Why? What do they want? Money?”
Annabella shook her head. Either she didn’t know or she just didn’t want to tell me. But the worry pinching her face was more than enough to scare me. Whoever the men were, whatever they wanted, it couldn’t be anything good. Not now, not this late at night.
“Mom heard them breaking in,” Annabella said. “She told me to wait here until she came back. She’s going to try to stop them.”
I nodded, feeling better. Our mother was strong—the strongest elemental that I knew. Her Ice magic would be enough to protect her. Still, I reached for the spider rune that dangled from the chain around my throat. Toying with the small circle was a nervous habit of mine, one that I was trying to break. The silverstone medallion felt cold, smooth, and hard in my hand. I don’t know why touching it always comforted me, but it did.
Until the body flew through the air.
The giant slammed into the stone fireplace before rolling off and landing on the floor. The force of his body hitting the fireplace caused the snow globes on the mantel above to wobble and fall. One by one, they slipped off their high, lofty perch and shattered on the stone below, a horrible symphony of sound.
The giant might have cared about all the shards of glass shredding his skin—if he’d still been alive. I didn’t need Annabella to tell me that he was dead—and that our mother had killed him with her magic. Elemental Ice coated the man’s face, an inch thick in some places, giving his features a strange, bluish tinge. Even his teeth were blue, his mouth open in a silent scream.
Our mother had used her Ice magic to flash-freeze him. That was bad enough, but I couldn’t help but wonder why there were giants in the house in the first place. What was going on? What could they possibly want from us?
A second later, my mother ran into the downstairs room, stopping just inside the far doorway. My mother whirled around, and I realized that there was another figure behind her. The person was standing in the next room over, so all I could see of her were her hands.
Her bright, burning, flaming hands.
Orange-red flames twitched and danced like merry puppets on the mystery woman’s fingertips. I hissed in a breath and shrank back against Annabella, pressing my body into hers. A Fire elemental. Of all the magic users, of all the elementals, they were the ones who scared me the most. Their magic was hot, hungry, and cruel, and nothing at all like the soft, soothing murmurs of the stones as they sang me to sleep.
My mother’s hands began to glow blue-white with her Ice magic. Eira gathered her strength, her power, her elemental magic, until it formed a shimmering ball so cold that it made my teeth chatter, even here, thirty feet above her.
The Fire elemental countered by increasing the flames on her hands, shooting out her own intense heat. I could feel it up here too—the hot, pulsing power. And that scared me more than anything else had so far. The Fire elemental was strong—just as strong as my mother was—and now they were going to duel.
To the death.
They faced each other, my mother and this abstract pair of burning hands. Then, with one thought, they threw their magic at each other.
The elemental Fire and Ice crashed together. Steam, smoke, and colorful sparks filled the room, the whole house even, making it hard to breathe. Their magic flickered against my skin, each one cracking across my flesh like hot and cold whips. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming at the sensation. I don’t know how long they stood there, locked in this deadly battle, their magic warring against each other’s.
But the Fire elemental was stronger.
She overcame my mother’s magic one slow, agonizing inch at a time. The Fire burning on the ends of her fingertips expanded, getting closer and closer to Eira, evaporating all of the elemental Ice that she managed to form. Sweat and soot covered my mother’s beautiful face, and strain tightened her slender neck. Eira wavered just for a second, just for an instant, and her blue eyes flicked up to the banister, first to Annabella, then to me.
“I’m sorry,” I thought I saw her mouth to us.
Then her strength, her Ice, her magic, left her, and the elemental Fire swept over her.
One moment, my mother was there. The next, the blackened shell that had been her body crumpled to the floor. Bits of ash flaked off her charred remains at the impact and drif
ted up to me. Horrid, macabre confetti that settled on my face, my hands, my hair.
I started to scream—and scream—and scream, but Annabella clamped her cold hand over my mouth and shook me. The sharp motion penetrated my shrieking panic.
“Don’t scream,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare scream. Don’t make any noise at all. Go get Bria and slip out of the house. Run as fast as you can. I’ll slow down the Fire elemental.”
“No, Annabella! She’ll kill you too!”
I tried to grab my sister’s arm, but she evaded me and pounded down the stairs. She made it all the way to our mother’s body. Annabella crouched down and started to touch her but thought better of it. Then her head snapped up, and she raised her hands, forming her own ball of Ice.
Once more, I saw a pair of burning hands. Annabella wasn’t as strong as our mother had been. She never had a chance. My big sister tried to defend herself, tried to form a shield of solid Ice, but the searing flames roared through her magic like it wasn’t even there, slammed into her chest, and ignited her white gown. For a moment, she looked like a candle, pretty, light, blond. And then she was gone. As dead and charred as my mother.
I swallowed my screams and turned away from the horrific sight. Bria. I had to get Bria. We had to get out of the house. We had to hide—hide or die…
“Gin! Gin! Wake up!”
I gasped in a breath and sat straight up in bed, like I was Frankenstein’s monster that had just been electrified back to life. It took me a moment to realize that someone was holding me. My eyes slowly focused on Bria, who was standing over me, her hands on my shoulders like she’d been trying to shake me awake. I shuddered out an exhalation and came the rest of the way back to myself.
“I’m okay now,” I rasped, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead. “Really. You can let go now.”
She did as I asked, and I flopped down onto the bed, every part of me weak, limp, shaking, and exhausted. Bria didn’t say anything, but I could feel her eyes on me in the darkness.
Spider’s Revenge Page 12
