Black Widow (11 page)

I stared right back at her, not showing any emotion, and not saying a word. This was her moment to crow, and I was going to let her have it.

Every condemned person deserved one last meal, and monologue.

Madeline leaned forward. “See? I told you that you wouldn't make it to the library dedication. Next time, you really should listen to me. Now, I'm afraid that you're going to have to spend the afternoon bailing your friend out of jail. Better try to get her out of there before tonight. I'd hate for something . . . unfortunate to happen to her while she was locked up.”

Maybe that had been Madeline's plan for me. Maybe Dobson wouldn't have shot me to death on the way to the station after all. Maybe he would have put me in lockup with the worst of the worst and let nature take its course. Even I could only battle so many enemies at a time, especially in a small, confined space like a jail cell.

Madeline kept staring at me, that smug, satisfied smile on her face stretching her crimson lips higher and wider than ever before. I dropped my gaze to her order ticket and money lying on the counter. Cold rage surged through me, and I reached down and picked them both up, one in either hand.

A sharp, painful, burning sensation scorched my fingers the second they touched the papers, as though my hands were about to burst into flames, even though my skin remained
perfectly smooth. But it wasn't any kind of elemental Fire power at work, and no runes flared to life on either the order ticket or the money. Since Madeline had touched them both, invisible waves of her acid magic had soaked into the papers, since she was one of those elementals who constantly leaked magic, even when she wasn't actively using her power. Although I thought that in this case she had put a small bit of effort into coating the papers with her magic, knowing that I would reach for them, if only to put her money into the cash register. It would have been one more fun little way for her to fuck with me today.

Madeline's smile widened a smidge more, as she fully expected me to start screaming as soon as I touched the papers and felt her power. But I didn't scream. Didn't yell. Didn't holler, curse, and fling the papers away in surprise, pain, and anger. Instead, I ignored the horrid, searing sensation of her acid magic as best I could, and I didn't reach for my own Ice magic to numb my hands to block the agonizing sensation.

I raised my gaze to hers, my gray eyes colder than the coldest winter night. Then I slowly crumpled her order ticket into a tight wad, until my knuckles whitened from the strain. I held on to it for several seconds longer than necessary, just to show her that I could, even though every nerve ending in my hand was screaming at me to let go. Finally, I threw the smushed wad into the trash can, just like I had Dobson's business card. Another point for me.

I was still clenching the hundred-dollar bill in my other fist, and I deliberately held it up in the air, right in front of her smug face, and then tore it in two. The sound of the paper ripping was as loud as a gunshot in the hushed quiet of the restaurant.

But I didn't stop there. I put the two halves of the bill together and then ripped them apart, until I had four pieces.

Rip-rip-rip-rip.

I did that over and over again, until I had reduced the hundred-dollar bill to tiny pieces. Then I dusted them all off my hands, watching the green and white bits float down to the counter like confetti.

By this point, my fingers felt like they were nothing more than brittle bones about to dissolve from the searing strength of Madeline's acid magic, even though my skin remained unblistered and unblemished. But the scorching pain was nothing compared to the cold rage beating in perfect sync with my heart.

For the first time since I'd met her, a bit of uncertainty flickered in Madeline's eyes. She'd deliberately coated the money and order ticket with her acid magic, another of her little traps, but I wasn't reacting the way she had expected. She might play games, but so could I.

“You made a mistake,” I said in a calm tone. “Several, actually.”

Madeline arched a dark, delicate eyebrow. “Really? And what would those be?”

“You dragged my friends and family into this. Roslyn. Finn. Owen. Eva. You shouldn't have done that.”

She shrugged, unconcerned by the ice in my voice. “It's not my fault that your friends are having such . . . difficulties.”

“Of course not. You would never stoop to actually getting your hands dirty yourself unless you absolutely had to. That's why it took you so long to come at me. You had to set all your little cogs and wheels into motion to screw
with me and the people I care about. Like getting Dobson in your pocket, and having him browbeat that poor health inspector into going along with this sham here today.”

“You give me far too much credit, Gin. I might have made some new friends since I've been in town, but what you're talking about sounds like a grand conspiracy. I'm just an employer who was concerned about a worker. That's why I reported my maid missing this morning, nothing more. Emery was nice enough to contact Captain Dobson for me, since he was an old friend of her uncle Elliot's. Dobson promised to look into things, and he drew his own conclusions from the information I gave him.”

“Sure he did.”

But Madeline didn't miss a beat. “I hate to point this out, darling, but you sound a bit . . . paranoid. As if the whole world is arrayed against you. Perhaps you should take some time off while the restaurant is closed. Talk to someone about these feelings of persecution you have.”

“You're right,” I said, disdain dripping from each and every one of my words. “I have given you far too much credit. I thought that you would do something grander, more impressive. But this”—I waved my hand out at the restaurant—“this is
nothing
. Rather disappointing, actually. Mab would have been so much more direct about things. Why, your mama would have burned this place to the ground with her bare hands already. Not spent all her time and energy bribing, wheedling, and batting her eyes to get my restaurant shut down by a crooked cop.”

“I am
nothing
like my mother,” Madeline snapped, her calm façade finally cracking at the mention of Mab. “She was a grand fool.”

“Mab was many things, but she was never,
ever
a fool. Not when it came to me. She once hired a whole squad of bounty hunters to come to Ashland just to hunt me down. And when she finally figured out who I was, well, she called me out herself, face-to-face, elemental to elemental, villain to villain. You could have done the same. You
should
have done the same. Challenged me to a duel and tried to kill me yourself with your acid magic.”

I snorted and gave another dismissive wave of my hand. “But you? With your sly little schemes? You're just a pale, weak imitation of her, sugar.”

Madeline couldn't stop herself from sucking in a ragged breath at my insult, but I wasn't done yet.

I leaned over the counter so that our faces were inches apart. “You should have killed me the second you had the chance. That's the other mistake you made, and that's the one that's going to cost you—
everything
.”

Madeline's green eyes burned with anger, and I could almost see the gears grinding in her mind as she debated whether to reach for her acid magic and try to take me out, right here, right now, all her elaborate schemes be damned. But after a moment, she blinked, then blinked again, and the hot rage in her gaze cooled, congealed, and crystallized into icy, calculating hate. Yeah. Mine too.

I stayed up in her face a few seconds longer to let her know that I'd seen her hesitation, then drew back behind the cash register. “You should have come at me head-on, but you just had to play a little game with me instead.”

“Perhaps I like my
games
,” Madeline replied, her voice and features mild and unruffled again.

“Oh, I know you do. But there's one problem with playing games.”

She arched her eyebrow at me again. “Oh, really? What's that?”

I smiled, showing her my teeth and all the cold, cold venom in my heart. “There's always a chance that you can lose.”

Another flash of uncertainty darkened her eyes before she was able to hide it. “I never lose, Gin. And I don't intend to now.”

“Intentions are for fools. You do, or you don't. Or in your case, you just
die
.”

Her crimson lips pulled back, and she returned my smile with an even wider, toothier one of her own. “Oh, I think that you're talking about yourself in this case, Gin. After all, you're the one in trouble with the law, not me.”

“We'll see.”

“Yes, we will,” she murmured. “Yes, we
will
.”

We stared at each other a few more seconds before Madeline tilted her head at me.

“As much as I enjoy our little chats, I'm afraid I must be going. I've still got that dedication to attend. And you . . .” She stared around the deserted restaurant. “Well, you've got a lot of problems to take care of, don't you?”

I didn't respond.

“But don't let this little bit of unpleasantness get you down. I do hope that you enjoy the rest of your day, Gin. I know I certainly will.”

Madeline gave me one more arrogant smirk before she pivoted on her white stiletto and sashayed out of the Pork Pit.

8

I would have liked nothing more than to palm a knife, run around the counter, and bury the blade up to the hilt in Madeline's back. But I couldn't do that. Not without getting even more stuck in her web than I already was.

Besides, Emery and Dobson were peering in through the windows, waiting for me to attack Madeline. Attempted murder would land me in a jail cell lickety-split, and if that happened, then the acid elemental would get exactly what she wanted.

I wasn't about to fall into that trap, so I let her walk away—for now.

A few seconds later, the front door opened, and Silvio stepped inside.

I untied my apron, pulled it off, and tossed it onto the counter. “Now what?”

He came over to me, grabbed his silverstone briefcase from where he'd left it on the counter, and opened it, sliding
his tablet inside. “They're taking Sophia down to the main police station to book her for assaulting Dobson. Given the situation, I suggest that we follow them and be waiting when they process her so we can bail her out as quickly as possible.”

I nodded, scanning the storefront, but Catalina was nothing if not efficient. In addition to cashing out the customers, she'd also gone ahead and turned off the appliances, put the extra food away, and stacked the dirty dishes into plastic tubs. All I had to do was walk out the front door, lock it behind me, and the restaurant would be closed.

The only loose end was the dead woman in the freezer, but it wasn't like I could move her body to a better location right now. Not with Dobson and the cops milling around outside and peering in through the windows. I didn't even dare to leave the storefront and go stack some boxes on top of the freezer. The cops might notice, come back in, and search the restaurant again.

But instead of leaving, I settled my gaze on the framed, blood-spattered copy of
Where the Red Fern Grows
that hung on the wall close to the cash register. My own little tribute to Fletcher, since that was the book he'd been reading the night he was tortured to death in the Pork Pit.

I hadn't been able to save Fletcher, but I wouldn't lose his restaurant too. I would find a way to beat Madeline at her own game, as dark, dangerous, and twisted as it was. I wasn't going to leave anything to chance, not anymore, so I went over and took the framed book off the wall, along with a photo of Fletcher and his friend Warren T. Fox, taken back when they were young.

“Gin?” Silvio asked, wondering what I was doing.

I came around the end of the counter and handed him the frames. “Here. Keep these safe for me. Please.”