Black Widow (30 page)

“What are you going to do about Coolidge?” Emery asked. “She's not going to give up. Now that Dobson's dead, she's already challenging his supposed investigation into her. She has enough friends in the department to get her job back. If that happens, she could make trouble.”

“She can try, but she's not nearly as dangerous as Blanco was,” Madeline replied. “None of them are. So they get to live—for now. Besides, I'm not done with them yet. Just because their beloved Gin is dead is no reason for them not to suffer even more before they join her. Don't you agree?”

Emery's low, evil laughter matched Madeline's.

“Besides, without Gin around to protect them, it will be all the more amusing to see how they deal with the problems we send their way.”

Jonah cleared his throat, finally getting into the conversation. “Needling Blanco's loved ones is all well and good, but we need to focus on the matter at hand—the party tomorrow night.”

Madeline and Emery both gave him a flat look. They didn't care to be interrupted when they were plotting someone else's pain and suffering. Jonah took a step back and smoothed down his tie. I wondered if he could see how clearly numbered his days in Madeline's employ were. It wouldn't surprise me if she killed him anytime now, since I was apparently dead and out of the picture. Perhaps Emery would string him up like a piñata, and she and Madeline would take turns whacking him. Now,
tha
t
would be a party.

“Well, Jonah,” Madeline drawled, “you are actually right about something—for a change. We do need to focus on the party. I assume that you've handled things on your end?”

Jonah's head snapped up and down as he hurried to reassure her. “Of course. I started sending out the invitations this morning. All the underworld bosses have gotten theirs by now. They will all be too curious and afraid not to come.”

“Oh, I'm counting on it,” Madeline murmured. “Let's go. I'm done here.”

She and Emery both turned their backs to Jonah and strolled away. The lawyer swallowed and followed them, although his steps were much slower than theirs. His obvious misery at his new, tenuous status in life filled me with dark satisfaction.

But I was going to get even more satisfaction when I crashed Madeline's party.

*  *  *

The rest of the stragglers left, and a couple of guys in blue coveralls appeared, along with another one driving a small tractor with a crane attached to it. I held my position by the tombstone and eyed the men since I'd been attacked by gravediggers at Mab's funeral as part of one of Jonah's many plots to kill me. But the men ignored me, took a couple of swigs from the thermoses full of coffee they'd brought along, grabbed their shovels, and got to work.

An hour later, a car cruised through the cemetery, following the winding path. By that point, the gravediggers and the guy on the tractor had gone, having finished their work. What was left of the casket spray of pink and white roses rested atop the disturbed, black earth. Behind the roses, my tombstone rose up, with my spider rune carved into the center of it. The mark was the same size as the scars on my palms.

I was crouching down in front of the tombstone, staring at the words on the glossy, gray granite surface—
Gin Blanco, beloved daughter, sister, and friend. Gone too soon.

That last line had been Jo-Jo's idea. Heh. Not everyone would think that, not after what I had planned.

The car stopped, the door opened, and Owen got out. He walked over to my side and stared down at the tombstone, his violet eyes dark and unreadable. Owen hadn't said much these past few days. Pretending that I was dead had been harder on him than anyone else. At night, when we were in bed together, he loved me with furious feeling, as if I might disappear if he didn't hold on to me tightly enough. And I returned the favor.

Because we both knew that I could still die before this was all said and done.

But neither of us mentioned that uncomfortable fact, as if by not talking about it, that wouldn't make it the very real possibility that it was.

“What are you thinking about?” Owen finally asked.

I stared at the tombstone that featured the day of my supposed death for a few more seconds, then rose to my feet. “I'm thinking that this is the second time that I've supposedly been buried in this cemetery, thanks to a Monroe.”

I looked up the ridge where the Snow family was buried. A tombstone with my real name—Genevieve Snow—squatted up there, along with one that bore Bria's name as well. Our mother, Eira, and older sister, Annabella, were actually entombed up there, along with our father, Tristan.

“It must be strange,” Owen said. “Seeing how the world, how people, just . . . go on without you.”

I shrugged. It wasn't strange so much as it was sad, but I wasn't about to confess that to him. Not now, anyway.

“I don't know if I could do that,” he said, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. “Go on without you. I wouldn't know
how
to do that.”

“You would find a way, and I would want you to.” I stepped into his arms and cradled his face in my hands. “But you don't have to worry about that because I'm not going anywhere. You should know by now that I'm very, very good at surviving. Even when I'm up against someone as dangerous as Madeline.”

I pressed my lips to his. Owen returned my kiss, then
shuddered and hugged me tight. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in his rich, metallic scent. We stood like that, wrapped in each other's arms, in front of my grave for a long, long time.

Finally, though, I drew back. Because Madeline was making her plans, and I needed to weave my web as well.

So I kissed Owen one more time, then held out my hand. He threaded his fingers through mine. The warmth of his skin chased away the chill that I hadn't even realized had sunk into my bones until right now. It was a beautiful, crisp fall day, so perhaps the cold had more to do with our standing over my supposed grave than anything else. Then again, I always felt a bit of a chill when I realized that I was still alive when I shouldn't be. The trap that Madeline had set for me had been one of the most dangerous that I'd ever faced. Part of me still couldn't believe that I was standing here in the sunshine, instead of being cold, dead, and buried in the ground.

Owen led me away from the gravesite, but I couldn't help but glance back over my shoulder. The sun was glinting off my tombstone, the bright rays filling in the lines of my spider rune and making it glimmer.

I didn't particularly believe in good omens, but I was going to take the shining silver light as a sign that I wouldn't be back here anytime soon, to be buried for real after my final confrontation with Madeline.

22

Owen and I drove our respective cars back over to Jo-Jo's, with him going all the way up the driveway, while I parked my rental two streets over, just like before.

By the time I did a sweep of the subdivision to make sure that no one was watching the house, everyone had gathered in the salon, which had been converted into a makeshift war room. Several tables had been crammed in between the cherry-red salon chairs, and papers, blueprints, photos, and more covered all the available surfaces, overtaking the usual stacks of glossy beauty and fashion magazines. Pens, markers, and printouts were piled high in plastic tubs, mixed in with the lipstick, nail polish, and hair curlers that Jo-Jo used on her clients, and Silvio had even stacked some old copies of the
Ashland Municipal Codex
around Rosco's wicker basket in the corner. But the basset hound seemed to be enjoying the makeshift fort, since he'd put his brown-and-black head on top of one of
the thick books, snoring and drooling all over the faded yellow pages.

Finn and Silvio were leading the charge, poring over papers and photos while they worked the phones, gathering the final scraps of information I needed to put my plan into action. Bria and Xavier stood in front of a dry-erase board that my sister had brought over from her house, ticking off the names that Owen, Phillip, and Roslyn called out to them off the printouts in their hands. Jo-Jo moved from one side of the room to the other, passing out bottles of water, while Sophia relaxed in one of the salon chairs, bobbing her head and snapping her fingers in time to the golden oldies streaming through her skull-shaped earbuds.

While I'd been hiding out at Jo-Jo's, Finn and Silvio had been looking into things for me, and they'd quickly learned that Madeline's party tomorrow night wasn't just about
ding-dong-the-bitch-Gin-Blanco-is-dead
. Oh, I'm sure there would be some crowing about that, but more important was that the acid elemental had invited every crime lord and lady in Ashland to her exclusive underworld shindig. I could imagine what she was going to do—proclaim herself to be the queen of them all, since she'd finally managed to do what none of them had been able to. Kill me. Or so she thought.

I was
so
going to enjoy ruining her coming-out party.

Since everyone was busy, and I had nothing to add, I slipped away from the noise of the salon and headed into the quiet of the kitchen. Given all the free time I'd had while playing dead, I'd been cooking a lot while I'd been staying with the Deveraux sisters. So it was easy enough
for me to pile several platters high with the chocolate chip cookies, dark chocolate-cherry brownies, and a chocolate-mousse pie that I'd made.

But I figured that we might want something a little more substantial to nibble on as the evening wore on, so I started making stacks of grilled-cheese sandwiches. Some plain, some stuffed with sweet, juicy slices of apples and pears, some filled with honey ham and bread-and-butter pickles, and some bulging with thick slices of tomato sprinkled with salt, pepper, and a touch of dill weed. I cut the hot sandwiches into triangles, grabbed some napkins, cups, and pitchers of lemonade and sweet iced tea, and carried everything into the salon.

I slipped inside, and everyone kept right on working, except for Finn. He immediately perked up and sniffed the air a couple of times, just like Rosco did, then turned in my direction, his eyes even bigger and more eager than the basset hound's.

“Do I smell grilled-cheese sandwiches? With cookies?
And
lemonade?”

I laughed, and we all gathered around to nosh on my postfuneral feast, as it were. While we ate, Finn and Silvio updated the rest of us on everything they'd been able to find out so far about Madeline's party.

“Looks like Madeline has invited everyone who's anyone in the underworld,” Finn said, stuffing two triangles of the apple-and-pear grilled cheese into his mouth at once.

“No, really?” Phillip snarked. “And here I thought that we were calling out and writing down the names of Ashland's most dangerous criminals just for kicks.”

“I agree with Finn,” Silvio added, nibbling on one of the chocolate chip cookies. “And we all know why Madeline went with this specific guest list. It's not so much a party as it is a coronation, just like McAllister said.”

“At least until someone shows up to assassinate the queen,” I chimed in. “A role that I am more than happy to play.”

We all chuckled, but our laughter quickly died down. We all knew how dangerous my plan was, but it was the only way to protect my loved ones from Madeline, as well as hopefully get the one other thing I wanted—a little peace and quiet.

So we spent the rest of the afternoon working, dividing up the parts of my master plan into small, manageable sections and tasks, just like Madeline had done when she was targeting us.

Once Bria, Xavier, Roslyn, Owen, and Phillip had finished with the guest list, Finn took over, standing in front of the dry-erase board like a professor, telling us about all the rumors he'd heard about who was moving up in the underworld, who was getting pushed aside, and how many bodyguards they might bring with them to Madeline's party. He even produced a laser pointer from somewhere to help with his lecture. Show-off.