Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)

by Jennifer Estep

“Where are you off to?” Finn asked.

  “Just taking a break and meeting Owen for coffee,” I lied.

  “Why, honey, you should just ask him to come over here instead.” Deirdre winked at me. “A good-looking man like that would spiff this place right up.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get to see plenty of Owen tomorrow night at the museum.” I started creeping back toward the door.

  Finn and Deirdre watched me walk away. So did Bria, although her expression was far more desperate than theirs. “Don’t leave me!” she mouthed.

  For once, I ignored my sister’s suffering, cranked up the wattage on my fake smile, and gave the three of them a cheery wave. “Y’all have a nice lunch, now, ya hear?”

  Then I whipped around and scurried out the front door of the Pork Pit as fast as I could.

  17

  It took me four blocks to unscrew the smile from my face. Once I’d made sure that no one had left any bombs, rune traps, or other surprises in, on, or around my car, I cranked the engine, left downtown, and drove to Lorelei Parker’s mansion in Northtown.

  The sprawling structure was set back by itself in the middle of the woods and would have been quite lovely if not for the boards that covered the broken windows, the chunks of stone missing from the walls, and a large burned patch in the yard. Raymond Pike, Lorelei’s half brother, had laid waste to much of her mansion when he tried to kill her here a few weeks ago.

  Three trucks with the words Vaughn Construction painted on the sides were parked next to the garage, with men moving all around the damaged windows and walls, taking measurements, making notes, and shouting to one another.

  Lorelei was standing outside watching the men, her hands tucked into the pockets of her royal-blue leather jacket and a matching toboggan pulled down low over her forehead. Her black braid trailed out from underneath the winter hat, and her breath steamed in the chilly November air. She turned at the sound of my shuffling footsteps through the grass.

  “Gin.”

  “Lorelei.”

  I stood beside her, and we watched the men work for a minute.

  “Thanks for recommending Vaughn Construction,” she said. “They’ve done an excellent job so far.”

  “You’re welcome. Although it helps when you personally know the owner.”

  Lorelei nodded, then jerked her head to the right. “Grandma is waiting for you.”

  I fell in step beside her, and we walked the length of the house before rounding the corner and stepping onto a stone patio that overlooked a large garden. All the trees had already shed their leaves, while most of the rosebushes were just bare, brown clumps. But blue, white, and purple pansies poked their heads up, standing tall despite the cold, along with pink mums and other hardy fall flowers. Bird feeders had been set up here and there, tempting cardinals, finches, and sparrows to sail over and snag a beak full of seeds before flitting back into the woods.

  Mallory Parker was sitting in a white wicker chair at the edge of the patio, a blue fleece blanket draped over her lap and a couple of space heaters going strong at her feet, driving back the chill. She was once again decked out in a dazzling array of diamonds, the gemstones glittering like rings of ice around her neck, wrists, and fingers. Her elbow was propped up on a glass-topped table, which held a large jug and three mason jars, along with a thick, black leather-bound book. Not exactly the afternoon tea I’d been expecting.

  “Finally!” Mallory exclaimed. “I thought you were never going to get here.”

  The dwarf grabbed the jug and poured a couple of inches of clear liquid into each of the mason jars. Caustic fumes rose from the liquid, bringing tears to my eyes. Mallory didn’t even wait for Lorelei and me to sit down before she grabbed her jar, chugged down the contents, and smacked her lips in satisfaction.

  I arched my eyebrows. “I thought we were having tea, not moonshine.”

  “You can have whatever you like,” Mallory chirped, pouring herself another drink. “But I am definitely having more moonshine. There’s nothing like a little home brew to warm you up and loosen your bones on a cold day.”

  “Home brew?”

  Lorelei pointed to the left. Through the trees, the sun winked off a small silver still. “One of Grandma’s more interesting hobbies.” She clinked her glass against mine. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.”

  I downed the moonshine and immediately wished that I hadn’t. I’d inhaled elemental Fire more than once during various battles. This wasn’t much different from that. In some ways, it was worse, since the moonshine scorched my mouth and burned all the way down my throat, before smoldering in the pit of my stomach like I’d swallowed a burning ember.

  “Smooth,” I rasped, my voice sounding worse than Sophia’s broken one.

  Mallory beamed at me. “Isn’t it?”

  She grabbed the jug like she was going to pour me another, but I shook my head and held my hand out over the top of my jar.

  “Can’t handle your liquor, Gin?” Lorelei quipped.

  “I can handle liquor just fine,” I wheezed. “But that is not liquor. That is liquid torture.”

  Lorelei laughed. “Amateur.”

  I glared at her through the tears in my eyes, but she just laughed again and took another sip.

  While I tried to catch my breath, Mallory and Lorelei chatted about the mansion renovations, the cocktail party at the bank, and the subsequent robbery. I chimed in when appropriate, all the while trying to think how I could steer the conversation around to what I really wanted to talk about: Deirdre.

  But Mallory did it for me. After she had poured herself a third serving of moonshine, she sat back in her chair and gave me a sly look over the top of her mason jar. “So tell me, Gin, how are you liking Deirdre Shaw invading the Pork Pit every day?”

  I blinked, and this time it wasn’t because my eyes were still watering. “How do you know about that?”

  Mallory grinned, then took another hit of shine. “I have my sources, just like you do. So how is Deirdre? Still the same spoiled, selfish brat I remember?”

  A jolt zinged through me. “You actually knew her?” I’d hoped as much, but after so many frustrating dead ends, it was a pleasant shock to hear it confirmed.

  “Oh, yes,” Mallory said. “I knew several generations of Shaws. Stuck-up snobs for the most part, who thought that their family fortune made them better than everyone else, especially folks like me who had to do more . . . unsavory things to make a living.”

  “So that’s why you were telling me that I should go talk to Finn during the cocktail party. You saw him with Deirdre.” Another thought occurred to me. “And you’ve heard Finn talk about her these past few weeks, haven’t you? You’ve known who she really is all along. Why didn’t you tell me about her? Why didn’t you tell Finn?”

  Mallory shrugged. “For one thing, I was a bit preoccupied when Raymond came back to Ashland. For another, it wasn’t my place to spill that sort of secret. Besides, I figured that Deirdre would tell him herself sooner or later, probably in some grand, overly dramatic fashion. Am I right?”

  I winced, thinking back to that first lunch at the Pork Pit. “Oh, it was certainly dramatic.”

  “So we heard,” Lorelei chimed in. “You probably shouldn’t threaten to kill long-lost relatives in your own restaurant. Could make the customers think twice about what you might be putting in their food.”

  I winced again. So news of our initial confrontation had made the rounds through the underworld just like I’d feared. Terrific. But I couldn’t do anything about that now, and this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  I looked at Lorelei. “Deirdre’s icicle-heart rune is the one that was stamped on that letter you found in Raymond’s things. She’s his business associate, the one he mentioned in the botanical gardens the night he died. She’s the one who told him about your real identity and that you were here in Ashland. Do you remember smuggling anything for her?”

  Lorelei tapped her fingers against h
er jar. “I noticed her rune necklace at the bank, and I’ve been thinking about that myself. But I never met or even saw Deirdre before the party. If I ever did any business with her, it wasn’t face-to-face, and she used an alias.”

  I stared at Mallory. “And you? What do you know about Deirdre?”

  The dwarf shrugged again. “Not much, I’m afraid. She and Lily Rose were a year apart in school, but they were involved in the same activities, went to the same parties, that sort of thing. So I saw her the way a parent would see someone else’s child. Deirdre always struck me as being totally self-absorbed, but then again, most teenage girls are.”

  Lily Rose had been Lorelei’s mother and Mallory’s beloved granddaughter. I hadn’t realized that she’d gone to school here in Ashland, though, much less that she had known Deirdre back then. Sometimes it truly was a small world.

  Mallory opened the black leather-bound book sitting on the table, revealing a stack of old loose photos. I groaned.

  “Something wrong?” Lorelei asked, still sipping her moonshine.

  I shook my head. “I’ve had just about enough of old photos lately.”

  “I think you’ll be interested in these,” Mallory said. “I came across them in an old dresser a few days ago, while we were cleaning it out before putting it in storage during the renovations. I set them aside just for you, Gin.”

  Mallory pulled a photo off the top of the stack, her blue eyes misting over with tears. She cleared her throat, then slid the photo across the table to me. The picture featured a row of teenage girls in white dresses, with white lace gloves crawling up their arms and blue ribbons braided through their hair. It looked as though it had been taken at an old-fashioned cotillion. Debutante parties like those were still quite popular in Ashland, especially among the moneyed folks in Northtown. There was a whole season of them, each event designed to introduce rich young women and rich young men who would make suitable couples to further their families’ wealth, power, and prestige.

  Mallory tapped her finger next to one of the girls. “That’s Lily Rose.”

  A pretty girl with Lorelei’s black hair and blue eyes smiled shyly at the camera.

  She tapped her finger next to another girl. “And that’s Deirdre.”

  Blond hair, blue eyes, big smile, icicle-heart necklace. I recognized Deirdre immediately. Unlike Lily Rose, who was standing behind two other girls as if she wanted to blend into the background, Deirdre was front and center in the photo, her hands planted on her hips, obviously enjoying having her picture taken.

  Mallory tapped her finger next to a third girl, who was standing next to Deirdre. “And I’m sure you know who that is.”

  Blond hair, blue eyes, snowflake pendant.

  My breath caught in my throat, and I leaned forward, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. “That looks like . . . my mama.” More shock zipped through me. My mother had known Deirdre? Or had at least been at the same party with her?

  “That is your mama,” Mallory said. “From what I remember, Eira Snow was a lovely girl. Quiet thing, though. I don’t think I ever heard her say more than a few words at a time.”

  I frowned, my mind spinning as I studied the photo. The Snows had been another old-money Ashland family, so it made sense that Eira had gone to the cotillion balls. Now that I’d seen the photo, I dimly remembered my mother telling Bria bedtime stories about how lavish and fancy some of the high-society parties had been. Bria had loved those stories and spent hours playing dress-up in our mother’s old gowns and jewelry, pretending that she was a Southern princess.

  “Could I borrow this photo? Bria would love to see it.”

  Mallory nodded, closed the book, and pushed it over to me. “Take the whole thing. There are more party photos in there, and you might find some more shots of your mama. Feel free to have some copies made, if you like.”

  I nodded my thanks, my chest tight with emotion. I didn’t have any photos of my mother—not a single one—and neither did Bria. They’d all been destroyed the night Mab Monroe murdered her and Annabella and burned our mansion to the ground.

  This . . . this must have been what Finn had felt like the first day he met with Deirdre at the Pork Pit. The shock, the surprise, the unexpected delight. Although more than a little melancholy was mixed in with my emotions. Because, unlike Deirdre, my mama was dead. I had watched a ball of elemental Fire reduce her beautiful face to ash in an instant. I breathed in, and the fumes from the moonshine took on a smoky, charred scent, the same way my mama’s body had smelled after Mab killed her—

  I shook my head to chase away memories that were better left buried. Focus. I needed to focus right now. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Deirdre? Anything at all?”

  Mallory fingered one of her diamond bracelets. “Well, there is one other thing you might be interested in. Some lackey of hers came ’round here last week, asking if I would donate some of my jewelry to that charity exhibit she’s putting together.”

  “Was it a vampire?” I asked. “A guy named Hugh Tucker?”

  Lorelei shook her head. “It was some woman who said she worked for Deirdre’s charity foundation. Apparently, Deirdre and her minions have been making the society rounds, asking everyone to show off their Sunday jewels.” She paused. “For the children, of course.”

  “Moonshine makes you catty.” I grinned. “I like it.”

  Lorelei toasted me with her glass and took another sip.

  “Well, I didn’t like her attitude,” Mallory said. “She swaggered in here, acting like she was doing me some big favor by asking for my jewels. And she had the nerve to talk down to me. I’m three hundred and thirty-three years old. I’m not senile. Hmph.”

  I grinned again. I could imagine Mallory dressing down the charity worker. “So what did you tell her?”

  “I told her no, that I liked my diamonds right where I could see ’em—namely, on me—and not behind some flimsy sheets of glass.”

  Hmm. Now, that was a possibility I hadn’t considered. Clementine Barker and her cadre of giants had almost pulled off the crime of the century at the Briartop museum back during the summer. Perhaps Deirdre was planning to do the same. All that jewelry would make for a nice score.

  It made sense . . . but then again, it didn’t. Why bother cozying up to Finn if she was going to rob the museum? Deirdre had already put her exhibit in motion before she’d first contacted him. What was I missing? What angle was I not seeing?

  Maybe Deirdre’s scheme and her interest in Finn were two different things. Maybe she really did want to be part of his life but without giving up her criminal enterprises, whatever they might be. Or maybe Deirdre wasn’t planning to rob the museum at all. Maybe I just thought that was her plan because of the previous robbery attempt. Surely she wouldn’t be so obvious and so dumb as to repeat Clementine Barker’s mistakes.

  “What did the charity worker say when you told her no?” I asked.

  Mallory shrugged. “She thanked me and went on her way.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” She shook her head, making her diamond choker sparkle. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it’s not much, and I wish that I could tell you more. I wish that I could give you some of the answers you want, and Finn too. He’s a sweet, lovely boy, and I consider you both dear friends. But I’m afraid that all I have are old photos and memories.”

  She gave me a sympathetic look. So did Lorelei. But it wasn’t their fault that I hadn’t found anything on Deirdre yet. I was going to keep right on searching and spying on Mama Dee, no matter how long it took. No matter how many lunches I had to cook for her and no matter how many times I had to sit and smile when all I really wanted to do was punch her in the face.

  “Are you okay, Gin?” Lorelei asked. “You look like you want to hit someone.”

  I gave them a bright smile and pushed my mason jar back over to Mallory. “You know what? Pour me some more of your liquid torture. After the week I’ve had, I coul
d use it.”

  18

  The next night was the grand opening of the jewelry exhibit. Even if I hadn’t been invited by Mama Dee herself, a whole passel of assassins couldn’t have kept me from seeing what was supposed to be her crowning achievement.

  The event was being held at Briartop, Ashland’s largest, fanciest, and most self-important art museum. And, lately, the most maligned, given all the deaths and injuries that had resulted from Clementine Barker’s almost-successful heist back during the summer.

  Briartop perched on top of a rocky ridge of an island in the middle of the Aneirin River and was accessible only by crossing an old-fashioned whitewashed covered wooden bridge. Given the previous robbery attempt, the police had come out in full force for tonight’s event, and groups of officers were stationed at both ends of the bridge, shining their flashlights into every car and examining invitations before they let anyone cross over to the island itself.

  Owen showed our invitation to the cops, who waved us on through, then steered his car across the bridge and into the receiving line of vehicles crawling up the hill. He handed his keys off to a valet, and we walked arm in arm toward the museum.

  Even by Ashland standards, Briartop was impressive: five stories of gleaming gray marble, with a coal-black slate roof and fat, pointed turrets that made it look like the Southern version of a fairy-tale castle. Crenellated balconies clung to the front of the building like square, narrow spiderwebs, adding to the castle illusion, while four massive columns flanked the main entrance.

  More cops were stationed outside the entrance, along with the museum’s own guards, all of them checking invitations a second time just to make sure that no one slipped past them who wasn’t supposed to be here. If Deirdre was planning to steal the exhibit jewelry, she would have a hard time getting through all the security. But if that wasn’t her plan, then what was? Worry wiggled like a worm on a hook in the bottom of my stomach. Try as I might, I still couldn’t see what her endgame was, much less how or even if it involved Finn.

  Owen and I got in line to have our invitations checked again. Tonight’s event was black-tie to the max, and the folks milling around the museum entrance had risen to the occasion, with the men in classic tuxedoes and the women in glittering gowns. Even among the highfalutin crowd, Owen attracted more than his share of attention. His blue-black hair gleamed under the lights, and his black tuxedo jacket stretched perfectly over his broad, muscled shoulders, making him even more ruggedly handsome than usual.