Black Widow (5 page)

I remained as still as death, scarcely daring to breathe, as I waited and listened, trying to determine if I'd been spotted.

“Do you really think there's someone out here?” a giant rumbled, his low, deep voice much closer than before.

“I don't know,” another one muttered back to him. “But Emery thought she saw the sun reflecting off something in the woods. She texted and told me to come check it out.”

Since they hadn't spied me yet, I slowly, carefully, quietly turned off the directional microphone, so the
crackle-crackle
of static wouldn't give me away, and then set it down, along with my binoculars. I dropped down onto my belly, ignoring the splinters that pricked through my T-shirt and into my stomach, and eased over to the edge of my makeshift tree house, peering out through a rip in the camouflage fabric at the forest floor below.

Sure enough, about ten feet ahead, a large clump of rhododendron bushes rustled, and two giants stepped around it.

Sloppy, sloppy, Gin!
I silently cursed myself. I'd been so focused on fiddling with the microphone and trying to hear what Madeline and the others were saying that I'd neglected to keep an eye on the guards patrolling the lawn. Two of them had slipped away from their posts and were now creeping through the woods toward my position, heads swiveling left and right, guns drawn, fingers curled around the triggers, scanning their surroundings for the smallest sign of movement so they could blast the danger into oblivion.

Emery must have seen the sun winking off my binocular lenses as I was watching their little lemonade party. But instead of sounding the alarm and sending a platoon of giants after me, she'd been discreet about things, slyly dispatching her men to my position, and hoping to catch me in the act—and then murder me.

I remained absolutely still and silent as the giants swept the woods below. I could have palmed a knife, leaped down from my perch onto their backs, and killed both of them, but I doubted that I could do it quietly enough to keep all the other guards from running in this direction. And if the giants swarmed on my position all at once, well, I'd have a hard time escaping, especially since Emery would no doubt come and lead the charge. She wouldn't be satisfied until I was trapped—or dead.

But even more than that, I didn't want to tip my hand that I'd been watching the mansion. I might need to come back out here again, and I wanted my hidey-hole
to be intact if I did. So killing the giants was out, unless absolutely necessary to save my skin.

But I also couldn't slip away while they were right below me. All I could do was lie still, wait, and hope that they wouldn't have the bright idea to look up and see if someone was hiding in the branches above their heads.

“This is pointless,” one of the giants finally muttered, holstering his gun and leaning against the very tree that I was perched in. “There's nobody out here. Emery is being paranoid, like always.”

The other giant stopped as well, but he didn't put away his weapon. “Well, you know they're worried about Blanco and what she might do when things start happening. They definitely expect her to retaliate. Or to try to, anyway. Not that she should have much of a chance to, if things go according to Madeline's plan.”

My eyes narrowed. What specific
things
could he be talking about? Madeline could set into motion any number of horrible scenarios that would piss me off enough to break our stalemate and finally come after her.

But this . . . this sounded like something
big
. My worry cranked up another notch.

“And then there's the party,” he continued. “Everyone's on edge about that. If things go the way Madeline expects them to with Blanco, it will be fine. If they don't, well . . .”

He trailed off, and the two men exchanged a tense, knowing look.

My eyes narrowed even more. Madeline was throwing a party? When? And what for? Was she trying to get the Monroe mansion designated as some sort of historic
landmark? That would fit in with all the construction going on, and it was just the sort of bizarre, egocentric thing I would expect, given everything else she'd done over the past few weeks.

“Anyway, you're right,” the second man said, finally holstering his weapon as well. “There's nothing out here but trees and squirrels. Let's go back.”

For once, my luck held, and the giants turned around and returned to the mansion without looking up and spotting me.

As soon as they were out of earshot, I slithered down the tree, landing in a low crouch. I palmed a knife and scanned the surrounding foliage, in case another team was lurking around, but everything was quiet. Those had been the only giants Emery had sent into the woods.

I left my gear where it was, hidden beneath the camouflage tarp up in the tree house, since it was all anonymous and nothing that could be traced back to me. Besides, I might still have use for it.

When I was satisfied that the woods were deserted, I slid my knife up my sleeve, got to my feet, and hiked back to the Vaughn estate to retrieve my car and drive home.

As I walked, I thought about everything the giants had said, but their cryptic words only raised more questions than answers. I'd have to get Finn and Silvio to nose around and see if they could find out who the mysterious Dobson was and if they could pick up any rumors about this party that Madeline was planning, who was invited, and what it was for.

I'd learned an important lesson today, though. No matter how careful and clever I thought I was, Madeline
and Emery were even more so, and I'd have to be at my very best to weather whatever storm they had planned for me.

*  *  *

I made it back to my car and home to Fletcher's house without incident. I checked in with all my friends again, trying to be casual about things, but everyone was still fine. Whatever Madeline was plotting, it wasn't happening tonight.

I went to bed early, trying to put my worries out of my mind, but I tossed and turned for most of the night. Even in the small, fitful bouts I did sleep, I dreamed of Madeline, still looking angelic in her white suit, although the emerald in her crown-and-flame rune necklace flashed brighter and faster than a strobe light in warning. Her crimson lips lifted into a cruel smile, even as her eyes started burning neon green, and two balls of elemental acid formed in the palms of her hands. Then she reared back and threw her magic at me. The acid exploded like twin bombs against my skin, melting, melting every part of me it touched, eating through my muscles and tendons until even my bones began to bubble and dissolve. . . .

I woke up with a scream stuck in my throat, and I didn't even try to go back to sleep after that.

Instead, I sat up, snapped on a light by my bed, and reached for the black velvet box sitting on the nightstand. I cracked open the top of the box, revealing a beautiful necklace. A pendant shaped like my spider rune was the centerpiece of the design, with each delicate link in the chain also shaped like my symbol. A birthday present from Owen, who had crafted the piece in his forge.

Other than its sentimental value, the most important thing about the necklace was that it was made out of silverstone, just like the ring on my right index finger, which was also stamped with my spider rune. Silverstone could absorb and store all forms of magic, and many elementals had jewelry made out of it so they could have an extra reserve of power in case they needed it for something important, like an elemental duel.

More than once, I'd thought about going over to the Monroe mansion, knocking on the front door, and challenging Madeline to a duel. That would be one way to settle our differences and end our family feud once and for all. But I didn't know if I had more raw magic than she did, and it would be suicidal to fight her like that if I didn't even have a chance of winning. Besides, she would never accept such a challenge. Madeline liked her machinations more than anything else.

Still, ever since Owen had given me the necklace, I'd been feeding my Ice and Stone magic into the spider rune pendant and links, along with my ring. Just in case Madeline did the unexpected and decided to attack me head-on.

I might not be able to stop my nightmares, but I could plan for the coming battle. Besides, Fletcher had always said that preparation was one of the keys to victory.

So I reached for my magic, watching the cool silver light flare to life in my palms, centered in my spider rune scars. Then I placed my necklace in one hand and my ring in the other, watching as the metal slowly soaked up all the light, all the power, like a dry sponge absorbing water. When the last of the light vanished, I knew that
the silverstone had stored that first wave of magic, and I summoned up another one, then another.

I stayed in bed, funneling more and more of my power into my jewelry, until it was time to get up, take a shower, and head to the Pork Pit.

I got to my restaurant early, right after nine o'clock. After checking the front door and surrounding windows for rune traps and other explosives, I went inside and flipped on the lights. I stood by the entrance and looked out over the booths clustered by the windows, the chairs and tables beyond that, the long counter with padded stools that ran along the back wall, and the faded, peeling, blue and pink pig tracks that curled through all of it.

Normally, the sight of the restaurant with its simple, well-worn furnishings and cozy atmosphere was enough to lift even my darkest mood. Not today. Not given my nightmares. And especially not when I still had no idea what Madeline was up to.

But there was nothing to be done about my growing unease and dread, so I closed the door behind me and got to work. Turned on the appliances, wiped down the tables and counter, washed the pots and pans, mopped the floor, refilled all the ketchup bottles. I even whipped up a pot of Fletcher's secret barbecue sauce, going a little heavy on the cumin and black pepper to give it an extra-smoky, spicy kick, and put that on one of the stovetops to simmer away.

By the time I finished with my morning chores, I felt much calmer. Madeline might be plotting against me, but I could handle whatever she dished out, just like I'd taken care of Mab all those months ago—by shoving my
knife through her black heart. Like mother, like daughter would be just fine with me in that regard.

Finally, the only thing left to do was to take out the trash, a far more dangerous endeavor than it should have been. I swung the plastic bag over my shoulder and cautiously opened the back door of the restaurant.

More than one person had tried to kill me in the alley that ran behind the Pork Pit. All of the crime bosses wanted me dead because whoever accomplished my murder would have a clear claim on Mab's vacant throne as the head of the Ashland underworld. Hence all the minions they'd sent to jump me these past several months.

But things had been quiet ever since I dispatched Beauregard Benson a few weeks ago on the street right in front of his Southtown mansion. I'd only had to drop two bodies back here since then. The quiet was another thing that worried me. Because if the underworld bosses weren't sending folks to attack me, that meant they were scheming other ways to mess with me. I had enough problems with Madeline already. I didn't need any more.

But no one was clenching his fists and lying in wait for me beyond the back door, clutching a gun and crouching down beside a Dumpster, or cupping a ball of elemental Fire in his hand, eager to rush forward from the far end of the corridor and roast me alive.

I lingered in the alley, looking left and right, but it was deserted, and I didn't even hear the usual rats, cats, and stray dogs scurrying across the pavement, looking for whatever garbage they could eat that had oozed out of the overflowing trash cans.

So I dumped my bag of garbage, went back inside the restaurant, and pushed through the double doors, stepping back out into the storefront—

A cast-iron skillet zoomed toward my head.

I ducked, and the skillet slammed into the wall behind me instead of plowing straight into my skull. I whirled up and around, turning to face my attacker. It was a woman, about my size, five-seven or so, with murder in her eyes and bright red hair that was pulled back into a bun.

I looked past her and realized that the front door was partially open. I'd been so worried about Madeline that I'd forgotten to lock it behind me when I came in to work this morning, giving my would-be killer easy access to the restaurant. I cursed my own sloppiness for a moment before focusing on my attacker again.

Her white, button-up shirt, black pants, and black sneakers were as anonymous as her plain features were. My gaze kept going back to her copper-colored hair, her only distinguishing trait. I'd seen that hair, that sleek, tight bun, somewhere before, sometime very recently, although I couldn't quite remember where. But it didn't much matter who the woman was, whom she worked for, or why they both wanted me dead. She'd come in here intent on killing me, and she was only going out one way—bloody.

“Die, bitch!” the woman screamed.

“You first!” I hissed back.

She'd been rifling through the cookware while I'd been dumping the garbage because she'd dragged out all of the pots and pans and had lined them up on the counter in
a neat row. She grabbed the closest one to her—an old cast-iron skillet of Jo-Jo's that I baked corn bread in—and came at me again.

It was one thing to be attacked in my own restaurant. I expected that these days. But using my favorite skillet against me? That was just plain
rude
.

I sidestepped the woman's second blow, but instead of whirling around for a third one, she kept going all the way over to the end of the counter where a butcher's block full of knives sat. She grabbed the biggest blade out of the block, then whipped back around and waggled the utensil at me.

“I'm going to carve you up with one of your own knives,” she growled.