“Wounds? The bastard didn’t have any wounds, as far as I could tell,” I muttered and rubbed my side. After she’d finished with Bria, Jo-Jo had used her Air magic to restore my ribs to their previously unbroken state.
Finn jerked his head at Bria. “Seems your sister winged him in the shoulder with her gun. Either way, he’s not coming back here tonight, according to my source.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And which source would this be?”
Finn grinned. “This would be Leslie, the lovely young lady who happens to be the daughter of one of the maids who works at Slater’s mansion. Evidently, Slater came home a while ago, went straight to his bedroom, and rang for an Air elemental healer to come force the bullet out of his shoulder.”
“Is this Leslie reliable?” I asked.
Finn’s grin widened. “In all sorts of ways.”
I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to hear about more of Finn’s sexual conquests. Not tonight. So I focused on more important matters. “So Slater’s tucked himself in bed for the rest of the evening. Good. Did Leslie or any of your other sources say anything about why Mab sent the giant out here to kill Bria?”
Finn’s smile slid off his face. “No, but they didn’t have to. I already know.”
“How—” I started.
Finn crooked his finger at me. “Follow me. There’s something you need to see, Gin.”
Curious, I followed Finn down the hallway. Jo-Jo and Sophia stayed in the living room to keep an eye on Bria. Finn walked back to the kitchen, then climbed a set of stairs to the second floor of the house. More cardboard boxes lined the hallways up here, stacked so high that they formed another set of walls in some places. Looked like Bria had only gotten the downstairs part of her things unpacked.
“While you were busy cleaning up, I took the liberty of exploring the rest of the house,” Finn said.
“You mean you rifled through Bria’s stuff to satisfy your own rampant curiosity,” I corrected.
Finn looked over his shoulder at me, his green eyes as bright as Christmas lights in his ruddy face. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get around to it first.”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Anyway, your sister has some interesting quirks,” Finn replied.
I still couldn’t even bring myself to read the file of information that Finn had compiled on Bria. I certainly didn’t want to paw through her personal, private things like the cheapest kind of thief, especially when she was downstairs, unconscious on her own sofa, recovering from a gunshot wound.
Finnegan Lane had no such qualms. He loved finding out information about other people, ferreting out all their secret hobbies, habits, and vices—and using them to his own advantage if the situation called for it. To him, it was a grand game, one in which he always came out the winner. Groundhogs couldn’t dig as well as Finn could.
So I knew there was nothing I could do but sigh and go along with him. “What kind of quirks?”
He stopped in front of a box with open flaps, reached inside, and pulled out a frilly white negligee. “For starters, she likes girly underwear. Lace, ribbons, soft, feminine colors. The whole shebang. Expensive brands too.” Finn rubbed the silk between his fingers. “Makes me look forward to the future.”
“For what? When you try to seduce her?” I pulled the negligee out of his hand and put it back in the appropriate box.
“Of course,” he replied in a smug tone. “And it won’t be a matter of merely trying. No one can resist the charms of Finnegan Lane for long.”
Finn definitely wasn’t lacking in the self-confidence department. But as annoying as he was, he was also pretty good at figuring out what made people tick. Just like his father, Fletcher, had been.
“What else?” I asked.
Finn reached into another box and pulled out a small, round sphere. “For whatever reason, she collects snow globes. I’ve found three boxes of them so far.”
My breath caught in my throat, and I took the globe from his outstretched hand. A charming winter scene lay underneath the smooth, domed glass—a couple of tiny brown horses pulling two laughing young girls in a silver sleigh. Evergreen trees lined the back of the snowy sphere, surrounding a miniature house. But another image flashed in my mind—more globes just like this one, their glass shining like stars underneath a fading sunset.
“My mother used to collect snow globes too.” I shook the glass and watched the fake flakes of snow drift down and settle on top of the horses and two girls. “She had dozens of them all lined up on top of the fireplace mantel. Bria and I used to go down and shake them, trying to have the snow flying in all of them before the first one settled back down. A silly game we played. I’d almost forgotten about it.”
My voice dropped to a whisper, and my fingers tightened around the globe, threatening to punch through the thick glass.
“Are you okay, Gin?” Finn asked.
I shook my head, loosened my grip, and passed the globe back to him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He just looked at me. I dropped my sad, gray gaze from his searching green one and gestured at the boxes.
“And what does all that tell you about her?”
A thoughtful light flared in Finn’s eyes. “That Bria Coolidge’s icy shell is merely a mask to hide the soft, warm, sentimental woman that she really is deep down.” He paused. “Kind of like you. Black and crunchy on the outside, marshmallow-soft on the inside.”
I gave him a hard stare. “I am not a fucking marshmallow. And I am especially not sentimental.”
“Of course not. That’s why you just hacked and slashed your way through several giants to save a long-lost sister you haven’t seen since you were thirteen.” Amusement colored his placating tone.
My eyes narrowed to slits, but Finn just grinned at me. My angry face had long ago lost its effect on him. Finn knew that I’d rather hurt myself before I did him.
“But come here, I’ve saved the best for last,” he said, gesturing for me to follow him once more. “What’s most interesting about Bria is this.”
Finn opened a door at the end of the hallway, and we stepped into Bria’s home office. Wooden desk, computer, stapler, sticky pads, lots of books and papers stacked everywhere. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary—until Finn snapped on the light. And there it was, pushed against the back wall.
An eight-by-ten picture of one of the spider rune scars on my palms.
The photo was stuck in the middle of the biggest dry-erase board I’d ever seen. And it wasn’t alone. There were more pictures, ones that I recognized from the file of information that Fletcher Lane had left me—autopsy photos of my mother and my older sister. The burned husks of their bodies. Mounted right next to the photo of my scar.
My stomach clenched, and that icy fist started squeezing my heart again.
“What the hell is this?” I whispered.
Still shocked, I moved closer to the dry-erase board. In addition to the photos, notes had been scribbled all over the surface in a variety of colors. Murdered, burned, bodies reduced to ash in red. Physical evidence in black. Possible suspects in navy blue. Motive? in a bright green.
“What the hell is this?” I repeated.
My eyes went up and down and all around the dry-erase board. Everywhere I looked there was another piece of information about the night my family had been killed, about the night that Mab Monroe had burned our house to the ground.
“I believe some folks call it a murder board. It’s a visual representation of all the evidence found in relation to a crime. Some cops use them to help connect the dots or keep track of leads.” Finn leaned against the doorjamb. “From the looks of it, I’d say Bria is investigating the murder of your family. Just like you started to, after Dad left you that file.”
“All right. I can understand her doing that, wanting to know the truth, who was behind the murders and why. But where did she get all this information?” I asked. “Especially that photo of the spider rune scar on m
y palm?”
I peered at the photo, wondering how I’d been so sloppy as to let someone take a picture of my hands. Oh, every once in a while, someone eating at the Pork Pit caught a glimpse of my scarred palms. But I was always able to pass the marks off as burns I’d gotten working in the restaurant. It wasn’t like I ever stopped, held them up for everyone to see, and posed for pictures—
And then I remembered. Fletcher Lane had bought a digital camera a few months before he died. He’d brought it to the Pork Pit one day to show it off to me. A fancy newfangled device, he’d called it in his gruff voice. The old man had started taking my photo, and I’d finally put my hand out in mock surrender to get him to stop. He’d snapped a final picture and smiled before putting the camera away.
“Fletcher,” I murmured. “He’s the one who took the photo.”
I told Finn about the camera incident and how I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.
Finn’s green eyes drifted over the murder board. “That’s not all Dad did, is it? He sent Bria the same folder of information that he left you, Gin. He sent her the exact same file about Mab Monroe murdering your mother and older sister.”
“With a twist. Fletcher sent Bria a photo of my scar instead of the lovely headshot of her that he provided for me. Very thoughtful of him not to send her a glossy of my face.” I shook my head. “I can understand Fletcher leaving me the information. I’ve made my peace with that. But why would he send it to Bria too? What did he hope to accomplish?”
“I don’t know,” Finn murmured. “Maybe he wanted to see how she’d react to the knowledge that you were still alive. Maybe he wanted to bring Bria to Ashland on her own terms.”
I dropped my eyes from the board. “Doesn’t much matter now, does it? Fletcher’s gone, Bria’s in town, and Mab wants her dead. Whatever the old man started with Bria, she’s come to Ashland to finish it. If Mab doesn’t get to her first.”
“Speaking of finishing things, there’s one more thing you should see,” Finn said.
He moved to the right side of the board, put his hand on the top edge, and slowly turned it over. The board was constructed in such a way that it could be flipped over without moving the entire structure around. The back of the board was filled with just as many photos and scribblings as the front side. Only there was one distinct difference.
The back of the board dealt entirely with Mab Monroe and her organization. It was organized like a classic Mob pyramid. Mab’s picture sat alone on top of the board. Underneath her photo were shots of Elliot Slater and Jonah McAllister. Below them were even more pictures of the various goons that made up Mab’s organization. Bria had written notes beside each photo, with words like Indicted, Arrested, or Dead. There were more Dead notations than anything else. Not surprising, given Mab’s dislike for failure.
“I think we know why Mab sent Slater to kill your sister,” Finn said. “One of the reasons anyway. Looks like Bria’s set her sights on the Fire elemental.”
“Why?” I asked. “Because she wants to clean up Ashland? Or because she knows Mab murdered our mother and sister?”
Finn shrugged. “Does it really matter at this point?”
I rubbed the spider rune scar on first one palm, then the other one. Damn things were itching and burning again the way they always did when I thought about things that upset me, like my murdered family and crusading sister. “No, it doesn’t matter why Bria’s here or what she knows. All that matters now is keeping her safe—and away from Mab Monroe and her minions.”
Finn snorted. “Are you kidding? Based on all this, I’d say that Bria’s eager to get down and dirty with Mab. Maybe even more so than you are, Gin. Remember that scene in Northern Aggression last night? Bria looked like she’d be happy to put some bullets in Elliot Slater’s head.”
I stepped forward and turned the board back over to its original position. “Well, then, I guess I’m just going to have to get to Mab before Bria goes and does something stupid—like get herself killed.”
Finn sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
I gave him a hard smile. “Come on, Finn. We both know going after Mab will be fun.”
“Oh, sure,” Finn replied in a dry tone. “It’ll be a barrel of laughs, right up until she kills us.”
Finn wasn’t entirely joking. He knew as well as I did that going after Mab would be tricky at best and most likely lethal. Even Fletcher Lane had never dared to take on the Fire elemental. For years the old man had compiled information on Mab, looking for any weaknesses, any sliver of opportunity he could take advantage of to kill her. But Mab always had too many people, too many guards around her. Even if I’d been able to get her alone, she could always kill me herself with her elemental power. Mab’s own strength was the real reason she’d survived all these years.
Still, I couldn’t help but stare at the photos on the board—the ones that showed the blackened husks that had been my mother and older sister before Mab had used her elemental Fire magic to burn them to ashes. And somehow, I knew that I was going to try to do the impossible—no matter what.
“Not if I kill her first,” I murmured. “Not if I kill the bitch first.”
Finn and I went back downstairs. Jo-Jo and Sophia had finished the last of the cleanup and stood by the front door ready to go. Bria was still asleep on the sofa. Once again, I was struck by how angelic she looked lying there, how calm and peaceful. You’d never guess that she spent her free time digging up dirt on the most dangerous woman in town.
“How long will she be out of it?” I asked Jo-Jo.
The dwarf stared at my sister. “That shot to the kidney took a lot out of her, but she should wake up within the hour. Two, at most.”
I eyed a clock on the wall. Just after two in the morning. Finn said Elliot Slater was busy getting patched up himself, which meant the giant wouldn’t be back for Bria. Not tonight, anyway.
“All right, we need to be gone before she wakes up,” I said. “So grab whatever supplies you brought in and leave. Finn, you help them, please. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Finn opened the front door, and Jo-Jo and Sophia gathered up their gear and went outside. Finn followed and shut the door behind the three of them.
I moved over to the sofa and stared down at Bria. Sleep eased out the sharp planes of her face, and a dewy pink color freshened up her cheeks, thanks to Jo-Jo’s healing elemental Air magic. At this moment, Bria didn’t look anything like the icy professional I’d seen that night at the community college or the calm cop holding a gun on Elliot Slater at Northern Aggression. She seemed younger, softer, like this. More like a grown-up version of the sweet little girl that I’d once known.
And she was going to stay this way, I vowed. I was going to lullaby Elliot Slater very, very soon. Once the giant was removed, I’d go after Mab Monroe. The time for keeping to the shadows like a tiny spider had passed. It was time to show Mab and her minions that I had some bite—and that they were next on my fucking to-do list.
I looked at Bria a moment longer, then turned away.
“Sweet dreams, baby sister,” I murmured before walking out the front door.
13
The next day it was business as usual at the Pork Pit. Crowds of customers. Harried waitresses. The hiss, spit, and sizzle of the grill. The spicy smells of baked beans and barbecue sauce flavoring the air. Sophia Deveraux cooking up a storm.
And me plotting someone’s demise.
“I just don’t see how you’re going to do it,” Finn said, wiping a bit of barbecue sauce off his mouth. “Elliot Slater’s sure to be on his guard now. Not only against you, but Bria too. You could try to snipe him from a distance, but as big and strong and tough as he is, you’d probably have to put several bullets or arrows in him in just the right places. Which you probably wouldn’t have time to do before he started ducking for cover.”
I nodded my head, agreeing with him. I’d killed people with rifles and crossbows before, but I preferred using my
silverstone knives. It was just easier to make sure someone got good and dead that way.
“As for something more personal, which we both know you prefer anyway, he’ll be looking suspiciously at any woman who’s trying to get close to him in a dark alley, in a dark room, in a dark car. Anywhere dark, basically,” Finn continued. “Which is where you do your best work, Gin.”
It was after three the next afternoon. The lunch crowd had already come and gone, and it wasn’t quite time for the dinner rush yet. Which is why Finnegan Lane sat on a stool beside the cash register shooting the breeze with me. In between scarfing down two hot dogs loaded with spicy chili, onions, shredded Cheddar cheese, and sweet honey mustard, along with baked beans and a big slice of my still-warm chocolate-chip pound cake.
I looked up from my copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and stared at my partner in crime. “Don’t worry. You’ll find an opening for me. You’re my handler now. It’s what you do, remember?”
“I am the best,” Finn said in a not-so-modest voice. He chewed another bite of his hot dog. “But even I can’t make you invisible, Gin. And that’s what it’s going to take to get close to Elliot Slater right now.”
“I’m good at being invisible, remember?”
“True,” Finn agreed. “But people tend to notice pesky little things like screams and bloodstains. Especially when there’s a body to go along with them.”
I rolled my eyes and went back to my book. Finn had come over for an early dinner and to help me brainstorm how I could get close enough to Elliot Slater to bury my silverstone knives in his broad back. So far, all Finn had done was eat my food and muse about how difficult it was going to be making sure the giant got dead before he killed Roslyn Phillips—or Bria. Finn’s defeatist attitude wasn’t helping, and since I hadn’t come up with any bright ideas of my own, I’d turned to Huck in hopes that something would spring to mind while I was reading about someone else’s adventures. But nothing had so far—
The front door opened, causing the bell to chime. I looked up from my book, ready to greet my potential customer. To my surprise, Roslyn Phillips stepped inside the restaurant. Today the vamp wore a short, plum-colored coat over a pair of winter white pants, which looked both elegant and sexy on her at the same time. A silverstone pin gleamed on the lapel of Roslyn’s jacket—a heart with an arrow through it. The symbol for her nightclub, Northern Aggression. Like most magic types, Roslyn wore her rune with pride.
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