Deadly Sting

by Jennifer Estep

  The only person who’d gotten away clean was Clementine’s boss, whoever that was.

  Oh, she had certainly acted like she was in charge, and she’d had all of her crew fooled into thinking that this was just the beginning of the giant uprising she had planned for Ashland. But too many things about tonight didn’t quite add up. Namely, the fact was that there was no reason for Clementine to break into the museum vault just to steal Mab’s will—unless someone else had hired her to do the job in the first place.

  My eyes roamed over the crowd of folks still in the rotunda. Unless I missed my guess, Clementine’s boss was here tonight, hidden among the rest of what passed for high society in Ashland. I wondered if he was studying me right now, wondering how much Clementine had told me before she’d died. He would have been pleased to know that she hadn’t said a word about him, but that didn’t mean he’d never be discovered. In fact, I had some ideas about exactly who had orchestrated the heist and why. I just needed to get Finn to check into a few things for me.

  But that could wait until tomorrow. Best to let Clementine’s employer think that he’d gotten away with it, at least for a few days. Let him relax his guard and go about his business. Let him think that he was in the free and clear and that no one was coming after him.

  Let him think that no one would ever figure out what he’d done—because that’s when I’d finally strike.

  I stood off to the left side of the rotunda. The familiar creak-creak-creak of wheels sounded, and a few seconds later, the coroner pushed a metal cart inside the round room, followed by some assistants with several other carts. All the evidence had been gathered, and now it was time for the cleanup to start.

  The coroner and his assistants all gave me solemn, respectful nods when they passed. Well, that was something new and different. Although I suppose they had a vested interest in my activities. The more people I killed, the more overtime they clocked.

  Gin Blanco, the Spider, Ashland’s newest cottage industry. Yeah, that was me, all right.

  Finn wandered over to me. He stood beside me, and we watched the coroner work, although Finn’s gaze kept sliding over to Bria. I’d told my sister about Clementine’s getaway boat, and she and Xavier had retrieved the three silverstone cases full of jewelry from the vessel. The two of them were busy trying to give everyone back their belongings. Not surprisingly, it was a slow process, especially since some folks saw this as an opportunity to leave with someone else’s jewels.

  “Well, I promised that you’d have a good time,” Finn finally said in a cheery tone. “I totally delivered on that one.”

  I gave him a flat look.

  “What?” he asked. “Don’t tell me that you’re blaming me for this fiasco?”

  I kept staring at him.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “I know that you didn’t want to come here tonight in the first place. But how was I supposed to know that Clementine and her crew would try to rob the museum?”

  “Because you’re Finnegan Lane,” I said. “And you’re supposed to know everything that goes on in this town.”

  Finn straightened up and adjusted his black silk bow tie. “True,” he said. “But I hadn’t heard a whiff about tonight. And none of my sources has either. While you were getting patched up by Jo-Jo, I was getting patched in. Clementine kept her entire scheme under wraps, which is surprising, given how many giants were involved.”

  “Not Clementine,” I said. “Her boss.”

  Finn blinked. “Boss? What boss? Did Clementine say that she had a boss before you dispatched her into the great beyond?”

  I thought of how she had immediately known how to open the tube that held Mab’s will and all the other things she’d said and done tonight, all the information she’d had about me and my loved ones.

  “Not in so many words.”

  This time, Finn arched his eyebrow. “Well, what did she say, exactly? Or have you branched out into voodoo and decided to start reading blood spatters and weird stuff like that? Because she’s certainly not going to tell you anything now.”

  “Interesting idea,” I said. “And one that I should probably look into, given all the people I’ve killed tonight. I wouldn’t mind some peeks into the future and getting a heads-up on all the trouble that’s headed my way. But no, I didn’t deduce anything from Clementine’s blood—only that she was dead and I wasn’t.”

  “So how are you going to figure out who orchestrated this?” Finn asked. “Because as skilled as you are, even you can’t make the dead speak.”

  “Oh, the dead tell us plenty of things,” I said. “And so do people when they’re alive. Clementine gave me more than enough information to track down her boss, even if she didn’t realize it.”

  Finn eyed me. “Have I mentioned how much I hate it when you’re cryptic?”

  I just laughed.

  * * *

  Finn went over to Bria to see if he could swipe a necklace or two for himself, but I stayed where I was and watched the coroner work. He’d finally gotten around to Jillian. In the chaos and confusion, her body had been rolled over to one side of the rotunda like it was a wad of dirt that needed to be swept up, instead of a beautiful, vibrant woman who’d been alive only a few short hours ago.

  My heart ached with sadness, and I couldn’t take my eyes off Jillian’s dress—our dress. The scarlet fabric wrapped around her body like a bloody shroud. That’s what it was now. She’d been killed because of it, because she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and wearing the wrong damn dress.

  And it was all my fault.

  Oh, I knew that it was just bad timing, just bad, dumb, stupid luck that Jillian had stepped out of the bathroom before I had. Maybe if it had been me instead, I would have been able to avoid Dixon and the bullets he’d wanted to put in my skull. Maybe I would have been able to use my Stone magic to harden my skin before he pulled the trigger. Maybe I would have been able to kill Dixon and Clementine before they hurt anyone else.

  Or maybe I would have been just as dead as Jillian was.

  Either way, I’d never know, and an innocent woman had paid the price instead of me.

  Owen walked over to me. We stood there and watched while the coroner and one of his assistants carefully loaded Jillian into a body bag.

  After a moment, he sighed. “A couple of hours ago, I was talking to her, laughing with her. And now she’s gone. It doesn’t seem possible. It doesn’t seem real.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. We talked a little in the bathroom before . . . it happened. She seemed . . . nice.”

  “She was nice,” Owen said. “But I never should have brought her here tonight. And not just because of Clementine and everything that happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He turned to face me. “I mean that Jillian was just a friend. She was in town so we could work out the details of a new business arrangement, and I mentioned the gala in passing to her. She asked if she could come along with me and Eva, and I said yes. She made it clear tonight that she wanted to be more than just friends and business associates, but I didn’t. It didn’t . . . feel right.”

  I nodded, accepting his explanation about why he’d been here with Jillian. “And that kiss you gave me in the vault? Have you thought any more about that? Because that definitely wasn’t just a friendly kiss.”

  He hesitated, and pain seeped into his rugged features once more. “That doesn’t feel right either. Or maybe it feels too right. I don’t know anymore, Gin. I just don’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, my heart breaking once again. “I understand.”

  And I did understand. I had plenty of things in my life that haunted me—memories of the people I’d killed, the torture I’d endured, the horrible things I’d done just to survive. It was hard to be happy when I always had so much weighing me down, hard to think that I deserved any kind of peace, light, or love in my life. Now Owen was struggling with the same feelings, the same emotions, when it came to Salina
. He didn’t feel like he had a right to move on yet.

  Just like I couldn’t move on from Jillian’s death.

  Sure, I’d killed Dixon, Opal, and Clementine, the masterminds behind her murder, but it wasn’t going to bring her back. I’d avenged Jillian the only way I knew how, and it still wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, and it was one more thing that I was just going to have to live with.

  Owen stayed right beside me until the coroner zipped up the black body bag, hiding Jillian’s ruined face from sight, and started pushing the cart out of the rotunda.

  “I should go,” he finally said. “See how Phillip and Eva are doing. And try to find out if Jillian has any family that I need to contact.”

  I nodded, not sure what to say.

  Owen reached out and touched my hand. Once again, that treacherous hope flared to life in my chest, even as he let go.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “I should have come over and asked you before, but I was . . . thinking about things.”

  I smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “You know me, Owen. I always find a way to survive.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice catching on that one word. “You do.”

  He stared at me, and I looked back at him. All the care, concern, worry, and pain of the night had left its mark, etching deep, harsh lines into his face, but I thought he was more handsome than ever. On impulse, I reached up and cupped his cheek with my hand. Owen turned his head, caught my hand in his, and pressed a kiss to my palm, right in the center of my spider rune scar, despite the blood, sweat, and grime that still covered us both.

  His violet eyes flared as bright as a star, and he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Then his face shuttered, the light dimmed, and he dropped my hand.

  “Owen?”

  He tried to smile, but he couldn’t quite make himself do it. “Take care of yourself, Gin. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

  All I could do was nod and watch as he turned and walked away from me.

  30

  The Briartop heist dominated the airwaves and newspapers for the next few days. Story after story was written and broadcast about what had happened, about Clementine Barker and her plans, and how a few brave folks had banded together to eventually take down the robbers.

  I let Bria and Xavier take all the credit for thwarting the giant and her crew. It was more or less the truth. After all, they were the ones who had saved the hostages. Besides, I had enough enemies already without getting my name splashed all over the newspaper or having some nosy reporter come barging into the Pork Pit trying to get an interview with me. Still, the rumors got out the way they always did, and I heard more than a few whispers about how deadly the Spider’s sting had been to Clementine.

  Finn also told me about all the reports he’d heard from his sources, each one more outlandish and ridiculous than the last. So far, my favorite story was the one that claimed I had chopped the giant into little pieces, had stuffed her into a cooler, and was using her remains as bait for fishing in the Aneirin River. Heh. If that didn’t increase the pot in the betting pool on my mortal demise, nothing would.

  I didn’t care what people thought or said about me as long as they left me alone, but I knew that I’d just created even more trouble for myself by taking matters into my own hands at the museum. Because in addition to killing Clementine, rumors abounded that I’d also gotten away with a chunk of the art and jewels she’d been trying to steal. It wasn’t true, of course, but that wouldn’t stop some folks from thinking it was. It wouldn’t be long before some idiot decided to try to steal stolen art that I didn’t even have.

  The truth was that I had only two things left from that night: my memories and the ebony tube that contained Mab Monroe’s last will and testament.

  In fact, the tube was standing on the porch railing in front of me right now. The evening sun hit the sunburst rune on the side, making the gold gleam and the ruby burn with an inner fire.

  “Disgusting,” Finn said, snapping down the newspaper he was reading. “Absolutely disgusting. The reporter didn’t even mention me at all. Not one word about me, the giant that I killed, the hostage that I saved.”

  It was a week after the heist, and we were sitting on the front porch of Fletcher’s house. Dishes clustered around our feet, covered with the sticky remains of the blackberry cobbler and heaping scoops of vanilla bean ice cream we’d just devoured. I’d made the dessert in honor of all those blackberry briars I’d crawled through at Briartop. I could still taste the scoops of ice cream, which had provided a soft, cool contrast to the cobbler’s warm, sugary berries and golden, buttery crust. I took a swig of my milk, reached for my magic, and added a few more Ice crystals to the glass to chill the liquid some more.

  The sticky, humid heat of the day had finally broken, and the critters in the woods were out and about, skittering through the leaves, climbing up the trees, and generally getting a little livelier and more active as the sun set over the ridge. Just like me. I always did my best work in the dark, and tonight was going to be no exception.

  “Why are you so upset the reporter didn’t mention you?” I asked. “Fletcher always told us that it was better to blend in with the shadows than to stand out in the crowd.”

  “Did you not see how smashing I looked in my tuxedo? I was hoping the museum photographer gave at least one good picture of me to the press. But no.”

  He sniffed, but his snit was far from over. “The newspaper has run a photo of practically every single person who was there that night except me. They even had a photo of Jo-Jo sitting on the steps with Eva and Phillip, and she wasn’t even at the gala. Not really. And what do they put on the front page today? Yet another story all about the stolen art and how long it’s going to take to get everything sorted out, cleaned up, repaired, and put back on display. Please. As if people actually care about that sort of thing.”

  Finnegan Lane, art lover extraordinaire—or not.

  Finn put down his newspaper and rocked back and forth in his chair for a few moments. Brooding. Then he turned his green gaze to the railing.

  “And then there is that.” He stabbed his finger at the ebony tube sitting there. “I still can’t believe that you plan to turn Mab’s will over to Bria so she can get it into the right hands and make sure that it’s properly executed. It’s crazy, I tell you. Just flat-out insane. Like you’re doing Mab a fucking favor.”

  “Yes,” I murmured. “You’ve made it quite clear what you think about my plan for Mab’s will.”

  Finn had ranted up one side and down the other when I told him that I wanted Bria to make the will public. Shouting. Cajoling. Pleading. But he didn’t change my mind. And in the end, he had to agree with me that it was the only way we could make sure that Clementine’s boss got what he so richly deserved.

  Finn shook his head. “I’m telling you again, you should just burn that piece of paper inside and pretend like you never read it. No good can come from it.”

  I shrugged. “But that wouldn’t stop anything. Not really. It would only delay the inevitable. Mab had to have left behind more than one copy of her will. Sooner or later, somebody’s going to come forward with it. Or a fake version they try to pass off as the real thing.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. You’d be surprised how many folks put stuff like that off, especially people as powerful as Mab. People with magic always think that they’re going to live forever. Either way, do you really want some long-lost relative of Mab’s coming to Ashland? We don’t even know who this person is, much less what he or she might be like.”

  Despite all of his many connections, Finn had been unable to track down the mysterious M. M. Monroe whom Mab had left all of her earthly possessions to. He’d spent the past week scouring land deeds, bank accounts, birth certificates, family histories, and more, but whoever M. M. Monroe was, he or she didn’t have much of a paper trail in Ashland or beyond. And given how many Monroes there were out there in the world, it wasn�
�t like Finn had a narrow pool of suspects to start with. He was still working on it, but it would take weeks, if not months, before he might happen upon the right Monroe—if that person was even still alive.

  “If this person is anything like Mab, well, it’s going to mean nothing but trouble for all of us, especially you,” Finn said. “You killed Mab. You shouldn’t have to take out the rest of her family too.”

  I grinned. “Ah, but you know us Southerners. We love us some family feuds. Mab had one with my mom that carried over into my generation. You might say that I’m keeping the tradition alive by inviting Mab’s relative to come to town and visit for a spell.”

  “Well, I still think it’s a mistake,” he grumbled.

  I didn’t say anything. Maybe I was making a mistake by not destroying the will, but it had roused my curiosity more than anything else. I wanted to know who Mab had left everything to. I wanted to lay eyes on this mysterious M. M. Monroe and see if he or she was anything like the Fire elemental had been—and if he or she was a threat to me and mine.

  Ah, my insatiable curiosity. Probably going to get me into trouble again—real soon.

  Finn opened his mouth to argue with me some more, but I cut him off.

  “Let’s talk about something else. Did you get that information I requested?”

  “I did, and you were right about Clementine’s boss,” he said. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it myself that night at the museum.”

  Finn leaned down, popped open the silverstone briefcase at his feet, grabbed some papers, and passed them over to me. “It took some doing, getting my hands on all the account information. The smarmy bastard’s almost as well connected as I am. You wouldn’t believe how many favors I had to call in, but I managed to dig up all of his dirt. There might be a few accounts I overlooked, but these are the most important ones, including the one he used to pay Clementine for her services. Looks like he gave her two million up front for the job, probably with another, similar payment to come once it was done. He also paid for that watch you noted, probably to sweeten the deal even more.”