Black Widow (25 page)

When I was satisfied with my grimy disguise, I threw what was left of my dirty clothes into the Dumpster and hefted my duffel bag onto my shoulder. I could have left it behind, but no homeless bum worth his salt went anywhere without what little possessions he'd managed to scrounge up for himself. The bag would add to my cover.

When I was properly attired, the only thing left to do was step out from behind the Dumpster and see if I could escape from the Pork Pit once and for all.

18

The alley might have been deserted, but the streets around the restaurant still hummed with activity.

My supposed murder of Captain Dobson, then fiery death in my own gin joint, had caught the attention of all the various news outlets in Ashland. Lights were strung up on the sidewalks in front of the Pork Pit, and I saw more than one reporter clutching a microphone and talking into a camera, with the burned-out remains of the restaurant creating a dramatic backdrop behind them.

The only part of the storefront that seemed to have escaped the fire was the neon sign above the front door, the one of a pig holding a platter of food. But it was as dark and dead as the rest of the restaurant was, with no electricity and light to fill it tonight.

But the reporters didn't bother me as much as the crowd did. In addition to the news crews, people were gathered two and three deep on the sidewalk across the
street from the restaurant, their phones held out and up as they snapped photos and shot video. And at least a dozen cops were still on the scene, if not more, each one peering into the crowd, as if they were expecting someone to bust through the yellow crime-scene tape and make a break for the front door in an attempt to loot the restaurant. I snorted. There was nothing left inside to steal, unless someone had a hankering for piles of ash, rubble, and ruin.

But a few folks had gotten close to the restaurant, at least long enough to leave something behind—flowers.

Red roses, white lilies, and other flowers had been placed on the sidewalk outside the Pork Pit, along with stuffed animals—pigs mostly—and even some small, lit candles. Tears stung my eyes at the sight of the makeshift shrine. Apparently, some people were going to miss me after all. It was nice to know that a few folks had come to pay their respects, instead of just gawk.

I put my head down, clutched my bag with both hands, and ambled along. I'd hoped to disappear into the first dark alley that I came to, but the cops had the streets blocked off in such a way that I was forced to shuffle along through the crowd, right under the watchful eyes of the po-po.

“Ugh,” someone muttered. “What is that
smell 
?”

The wind picked up, and all eyes turned to me as my foul stench spread. Suddenly, I was the center of attention, something that I very much did not want to be right now.

“What did you do?” a nearby cop muttered, his nose crinkling with disgust as he stared me down. “Roll around in garbage all day long?”

I ground my teeth together. That was precisely what I'd done, not that I could tell him that. So I put my head down and hurried along a little faster, before the cop decided to further investigate me and my miserable stench.

As soon as I drew near, those in the crowd shifted back as far as they could and still see the Pork Pit. I started bobbing my head and mumbling nonsense as I shuffled past them. Let them think me some homeless junkie bum, high on blood, drugs, magic, or a combination of all three. At least it made getting through the crush of people easier when they all shied away from me.

I'd circled my way around most of the crowd and was about to cross to the next block over when I spotted a flash of pure white out of the corner of my eye. I stopped and turned my head.

Madeline was here.

She wore one of her expensive white pantsuits that made her trim, toned figure stand out that much more in the darkness. She stood beside Emery at the very back of the crowd, both of them staring across the street at the Pork Pit. Everyone was giving them a wide berth, obviously knowing who Madeline was, except for a couple of folks who were being truly obnoxious with their phones, trying to get the best angle and shot possible for their own ghoulish amusement. But a cold, measured look from Emery soon sent them scurrying away.

Despite the danger, it was too good an opportunity to pass up, so I sidled a little closer to the acid elemental and the giant and slipped into a doorway a few feet away and downwind from them. I sat on the stoop, sprawled my legs out, and slumped my body against the side of
the wooden frame as though I were sleeping off a drunk. I held my breath for a moment, but neither of them noticed me or my stench.

“Do you think that she's really dead?” Madeline asked.

“Everything seems to point to it,” Emery replied. “The body that the coroner pulled out of the back was definitely female, and Blanco never left the restaurant. The cops made sure of that. Elemental or not, I doubt that even she could have survived a fire like that.”

“Perhaps.” Madeline's face was thoughtful as she stared at the pig sign over the front door. “And yet, I wonder if she found a way to survive and escape after all. I don't want to make the same mistake that my mother and everyone else has by underestimating Blanco. So far, she's had an annoying habit of surviving the impossible.”

“You saw how her family reacted when they rushed over here and saw the fire burning through the restaurant. The only thing that stopped Grayson from going in to try to save her was the gun that cop finally leveled at his head. And you saw her sister this morning after the coroner examined the body. You can't fake grief and anguish like that. Besides, we both know that Blanco would never let her family think that she was dead when she really wasn't.”

“True. She's far too weak and soft-hearted for that. Still, I could have sworn that I felt her using her magic during the fire.”

Emery shrugged her broad shoulders. “She was probably trying to use her Ice magic to put out the fire, but we all know that didn't happen. Every single part of the restaurant was scorched through and through. Even if she could have somehow fought off the fire, the smoke would
have gotten her, thanks to all those sturdy brick walls trapping it inside with her.”

“I
suppose
you're right.” Madeline's voice was still full of doubt. “Perhaps I'm just being paranoid.”

An eerie sense of déjà vu swept over me. Madeline and I were far more alike than I'd realized, if she had spent these last few weeks worrying about me as much as I had about her.

“Regardless,” she continued, “we have preparations to make, now that she's finally out of the way. Have you contacted all the underworld bosses yet?”

“Of course. They've been glued to their phones, Twitter, and TVs, watching this all play out. They know you were here when everything went down, and I ordered McAllister to spread the word about what really happened to Blanco. How you trapped her in her own restaurant and then burned it down around her. The other bosses will fall in line. And if they don't . . .” Emery shrugged again. “I'll make sure that they do—one way or another.”

So Madeline hadn't been torturing me and mine just for the sake of her own twisted delight. At least, not entirely. Instead, all of this, every single problem, accusation, and misfortune that she'd caused for us, had been part of her plan to take control of the underworld, just as I'd suspected. Now, with her crowning achievement of my murder making the gossip rounds, she was finally ready to consolidate her power.

I was
so
going to enjoy fucking things up for her.

But not tonight. No, tonight I needed to get to my family. Then, together, we could plot our counterstrike against Madeline, Emery, Jonah, and all the rest.

Madeline must have had the same thought that I did because she frowned. “What about Blanco's friends and family? Where are they now? What are they planning? Is there any sign that she's still alive and has made any sort of contact with them?”

Emery sighed. “There you go, being paranoid again. Blanco is dead. Good riddance.”

“And her family?” Madeline persisted in a much colder voice. She didn't like having her top lieutenant question her sanity.

Emery grumbled under her breath, pulled out her phone, and started
tap-tap-tapp
ing the screen. “According to my sources, they're all still holed up at Deveraux's so-called beauty salon just like they have been all day long. No sign of Blanco, and no indication that she's alive. See? I told you that you were worrying over nothing. Do you want my men to keep watching the salon?”

Madeline stared at the pig sign for several seconds. “No, they can leave. But I want you to go over to the coroner's office for the autopsy first thing in the morning. I want to be absolutely certain that body is Blanco's before we proceed with anything else.”

Emery sighed again, a little louder and deeper this time. “I don't see the point of that. Your plan worked, and she's
dead
. You should be celebrating your victory, not worrying over a ghost that's never going to come back and haunt you again.”

Madeline slowly turned her head to stare at the giant, her green eyes glittering in the darkness. “Are you questioning my judgment?” Her voice was soft, but the threat
in her words was as hot and caustic as the acid she could so easily create and control.

Despite her giant strength, Emery knew which of them was the more dangerous, and she immediately lowered her head in apology. “Of course not. I'll call my men right now.”

“Good. And have the driver bring the car around. I've seen all that I care to here.”

The two of them strolled down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, turned the corner, and disappeared from sight.

For a mad, mad moment, I thought about palming one of the knives hidden up my many, many sleeves, charging after them, and burying the blade in Madeline's back. But I resisted the temptation. I didn't know what other deadly webs she might have woven, and I wanted to be sure that I knew each and every one of her schemes before I moved against her. Besides, even if I could have killed her, there were still far too many cops around for me to hope to get away with it.

So Madeline would live through this night, but not too many more.

I'd make sure of that.

*  *  *

When I was certain that Madeline and Emery weren't coming back, I got to my feet and shuffled off in the other direction to start my long, cold trek up to Jo-Jo's house.

So many things in my life had changed since Fletcher had taken me in when I was thirteen. It was strange to be right back where I'd started, so to speak, roaming the
streets, looking out for danger, and trying to stay warm for the night. But in many ways, it was all too familiar.

The gang members clustered together at the corners, jeering at everyone who dared to scurry by them. The vampire hookers making their endless rounds up and down the sidewalks before ambling over to the cars that pulled over to the curbs. Their pimps, lounging against the storefront walls or hidden back in the alleys, waiting to take all the cash that their girls and guys earned plying their bodies for the night. The scent of fried food and puffs of warmth that escaped from the restaurants as people moved inside and back out again, greasy sacks of burgers and fries clutched in their hands. The dim glow of lights from the businesses that were still open that couldn't quite banish the darkness on the streets beyond.

Oh, yes. It was all too familiar, and in a way strangely comforting. I almost felt like I'd stepped back in time to a younger version of myself, before Madeline had come to town, before I'd killed Mab, before I'd ever dreamed about becoming the Spider. Back when I was just trying to survive and get through one day at a time without getting murdered in my sleep for my threadbare clothes. Or maybe this was the same-old, same-old version of myself, since I was still just trying to get through one day at a time without getting murdered just for being me.