Deadly Sting (8 page)

I reached the end of the hallway. I eased up the corner and peered around it, expecting to see the two giants heading toward the doors that led outside at the far end of the corridor.

But the hallway was empty, completely empty.

I looked behind me, then up ahead again, but no one else appeared. This particular hallway branched off in two directions. If Clementine and Dixon hadn’t gone for the exit, that left only one other destination: the rotunda.

I frowned. Why would they go back there? Especially since Dixon was dragging Jillian’s body around like a rag doll. What good would that do—

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

The harsh, stinging retort of gunfire exploded in the museum, followed by the even louder, sharper sounds of people screaming. Crashes, bangs, breaking glass—all that and more reverberated through the hallways, echoing back on one another until it sounded like someone had detonated a series of bombs inside the marble walls. Maybe they had.

I cursed. I should have taken care of Clementine and Dixon outside the bathroom, not let them get so far ahead of me that they’d been able to put their plan into action . . . whatever it was. I’d wanted to be quiet and cautious about things, and now it was coming back to bite me in the ass.

Even as I hurried down the hallway toward the rotunda, I realized that I was already too late. An iron gate barred my way, stretching from wall to wall and floor to ceiling, just like a portcullis in a real castle. I reached out and rattled the metal—or at least tried to—but it was no use. There was a lock on the other side of the gate, and even if I’d managed to open it with a couple of elemental Ice picks, I simply wasn’t strong enough to lift the heavy sheet of metal.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

More gunshots and more screams rang out as the violence continued inside the exhibit space—where my friends, my family, were.

I cursed again and backtracked, hurrying down hallway after hallway around the rotunda, but all of the entrances were similarly blocked by gates. That must have been what at least some of Clementine’s teams had been standing by for, her signal to lower the gates and trap all the partygoers like fish in a barrel.

Well, if I couldn’t go through or around the gates, I’d go up instead. I backtracked yet again until I reached a set of stairs to the second-floor balcony overlooking the rotunda. Unlike the ones that led to the museum’s upper levels, the stairs here hadn’t been blocked off for the gala, I supposed so folks could get a bird’s-eye view of the exhibit if they were so inclined.

I crept up the staircase and paused at the top. A gate was hanging up here too, but it hadn’t been lowered like the ones on the first floor. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy of the giants not to have secured
all
the entrances to their little show. Then again, most folks didn’t think about protecting more than the ground floor of any structure, and Clementine hadn’t counted on any stragglers being outside the rotunda when she sprang her trap.

I put my shoes down on the top step, then dropped to my stomach. Knife still in hand, I slithered across the floor and peered over the edge of the balcony at the scene below.

When I’d been in the rotunda earlier, folks had been snacking on hors d’oeuvres, sipping champagne, and admiring Mab’s many treasures beneath the glow of the soft white lights strung up all around them. But now all of that beauty had been destroyed. Glass cases full of miniature carvings had been smashed and overturned, stone sculptures had toppled over and broken into chunks, paintings had fallen off the walls and been trampled. Black scorch marks marred some of the columns where bullets had bounced off them, while bits of marble littered the floor where the flying projectiles had chipped away at the stone.

Then there were the bodies.

Three men and two women sprawled across the floor, their arms and legs bent at impossible angles, their eyes dull and sightless, their expensive clothes red and mottled with blood. The bodies were clustered right in front of the main entrance to the rotunda. It looked like the bad guys had come in with guns blazing, not caring who they mowed down with that first initial blast. The people in front never even knew what hit them.

But everyone else did.

All of the surviving guests had been herded into the center of the room so that they were standing on the enormous mosaic star embedded in the floor. Giants holding guns surrounded them on all sides. Some in the crowd were crying, a few were clutching the wounds they’d gotten from the bullets flying around, but most were staring at the giants, their eyes wide, wondering what was going to happen next.

My gaze went from one face to another, looking for my friends, my family—Finn, Eva, Phillip, Roslyn, and Owen.

Finally, I found them, huddled together near the back of the crowd of hostages. I carefully examined each one of them in turn, but they all looked fine, if a little shaken up. Owen had his arm wrapped around Eva, while Roslyn stood on her other side. Meanwhile, Finn and Phillip were staring at the giants with narrowed eyes, obviously hoping for an opening so they could try to take them out. I would have told them not to bother. Even if they could get past a few of the guards and make a break for one of the exits, there was no way they could raise one of the lowered gates before they were shot to pieces.

The five of them weren’t too far away from where my mother’s and sister’s pendants were, and I caught a glint from the silverstone runes from my position on the balcony, winking at me like mocking eyes. So close yet so far away. Just like my friends. I wondered if Finn or one of the others had spotted the necklaces and realized what they were, but I quickly pushed the thought away. All that mattered right now was that my friends were safe—and figuring out how to keep them that way.

So I looked down again, but this time, I concentrated on the bad guys. About three dozen men and women, all giants and all holding at least one gun, had arranged themselves around the rotunda, their weapons pointed in at the hostages. Waiters, guards, the parking staff. Every single one of the giants was wearing some sort of uniform. I’d thought there had been more security on the scene tonight than usual. Now I knew why.

. . . it seems like more bad guys than usual have come out of the woodwork these past few days. And the really weird thing? There’s no one around to stop them . . . It’s like all the giants who work as bodyguards have suddenly decided to move on up to bigger and better things . . .

Bria had said those words to me a few days ago at the Posh boutique. I wondered if the giants’ presence with Clementine was the reason there had been so many robberies lately. It would make sense. Why spend your time working at some lowly security job when you could be in on a sting like this? Just the jewelry off everyone in the rotunda would be enough to set this crew up for life. Add Mab’s trinkets on top of that—at least, the ones that hadn’t been damaged in the initial attack—and the dollar figure climbed even higher.

Bigger and better things, indeed.

The more I stared down at the giants and the frightened crowd, the more I felt a sinking sense of déjà vu. The scene was eerily similar to what had happened a few weeks ago at the Dubois estate. Salina had hired some giants to hold folks hostage so she could use her water magic and a series of fountains to try to drown all the people she had blamed for her father’s murder. I wondered if Clementine’s plans would involve as much death.

My gaze moved to Clementine, who was standing in the rotunda entrance, talking to Dixon. Opal, the giant who’d taken Finn’s invitation, was also standing with them. The three of them must be running the show.

Well, now I knew why Opal had been so taken aback by my appearance outside. She’d recognized me just like Finn had thought and had realized that I could be a threat to their plans. She’d probably alerted the others as soon as I’d gone into the museum so that Clementine and Dixon could be on the lookout for me and start planning my murder. Still, why not just trap me in the rotunda with everyone else? Why take on the added risk of killing me?

My gaze went from one face to another. Hazel eyes, square jaws, strong cheekbones, long, sharp noses. For the first time, I noticed the familial resemblance among the three of them. Opal had to be Clementine’s daughter, given that she was practically a twenty-something carbon copy of the middle-aged woman. Dixon looked to be roughly the same age as Opal. He didn’t resemble the two women quite as strongly, but it was obvious he was somehow related to them. Maybe a nephew or a cousin.

Dixon nodded at something Clementine said and left the rotunda. A few seconds later, I heard a faint
rattle-
rattle,
along with the
screech-screech-screech
of metal.
Dixon must be lifting one of the gates and creating an opening so the giants could come and go as they pleased, now that they’d cornered everyone else in here.

Clementine smoothed down her black tuxedo vest, then strode to the center of the room to stand directly in front of the hostages. Opal took up a position on her right.

Clutching a gun in her right hand, Clementine put her left hand on her hip, cocking it to one side. She gazed out over the crowd, almost like a circus ringmaster getting a feel for the audience before a big performance. Slowly, the hostages quieted down, realizing that she was the one in charge of everything—including whether they lived or died.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, a broad smile creasing her face. “My name is Clementine Barker, and this here is a holdup.”

7

Clementine looked out over the crowd again, then threw back her head and laughed. Her loud, booming guffaws echoed off the thick walls just like the screams and gunshots had a few minutes earlier. Somehow, though, her dark chuckles seemed far more sinister. Or maybe that was because I’d seen how casually she’d reacted to Dixon shooting Jillian and knew that she’d do the same thing to anyone who got in her way.

“Forgive me,” she said, her laughter finally dying down. “I always wanted to say that.”

Everyone stared at the giant, but no one said anything. No one dared to.

I put her theatrics out of my mind and focused on something else: her name.
Clementine Barker
. Again, it sounded familiar, like someone I’d heard Bria or maybe even Finn talk about. A glimmer of a conversation came back to me, something Finn had said in passing recently about some up-and-coming security firm started by a giant. The woman running it had approached Finn’s bank about taking over the security there, but the higher-ups had turned her down.

She had an unusual name,
Finn’s voice whispered in my mind.
Clementine. It made me want an orange.

I wondered if Clementine had plied her services to other Ashland businesses, if maybe the folks on the Briartop board had hired Clem and her men for tonight’s event, to help out as waiters, to direct traffic in the parking lots, maybe even to beef up the museum’s security staff. That would have been one way to get so many of her men onto the island without raising suspicions. Then all they would have had to do was wait until the moment was right to overpower the regular guards, and the museum—the whole island—would be theirs. Just like it was now.

“But it is true,” Clementine said, continuing her one-sided conversation with the crowd. “This is a robbery. So why don’t we start moving things along? If you will all be so kind as to remove any jewelry, watches, cuff links, and other valuables you have on, some of my boys will go around and collect them. And to save them the effort of patting you down, go ahead and put your phones into the bags too. Now, we’ve already set up a series of cell-phone jammers inside the museum and cut the landlines to the island, so no calls are coming in or out. But let’s just go ahead and remove all temptation to try calling for help anyway. This is a private party, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Three of the giants reached into their pants pockets, drew out black plastic garbage bags, and snapped them open. But before they could step up and repeat their demand that folks take off their jewelry, or else, one of the hostages pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

Jonah McAllister.

The lawyer pinned his cold brown gaze on Clementine. His hands were balled into fists by his sides, while anger stained his unnaturally smooth cheeks a bright beet red.

“You won’t get away with this,” McAllister said in a furious voice, stabbing his finger at the giant. “None of you will get off this island alive. I have no doubt the police will be here any minute to round you up and throw you in prison where you belong—”

Crack!

Clementine didn’t even wait for McAllister to finish sputtering before she stepped forward and backhanded him across the face. The sharp, stinging blow threw the lawyer five feet to his right and slammed him into a pedestal topped by a glass case housing a dainty tea set. The pedestal seesawed back and forth, making the dishes rattle, before McAllister managed to grab it. He hung on to the stand and slowly used it to push himself upright. Then he turned to face the giant again. I had to give McAllister credit. He didn’t cringe—much.

Instead, eyes wide, he blinked like an owl for several seconds before slowly raising a hand to his face, which was bleeding. Clem had opened up a cut low on his left cheek, probably with the sharp edge of her watch. That was no way to treat such an expensive timepiece.

“You were saying?” Clementine asked.

McAllister blanched at the blood on his hand and slowly stepped back. It took him a few seconds, but he didn’t stop backpedaling until he was on the opposite side of the room, as far away from her as he could get and still be standing with the other hostages. Clementine smirked at him for a moment before turning her attention to the crowd again.

“Now, in addition to all those pretty little rings and watches you folks have on, my boys and I are also going to load up Mab’s treasures in the rotunda to take with us. In fact, we plan to clean out the whole museum while we’re here,” she said. “Since this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. So to speak.”

She chuckled at her own bad joke, but I was thinking about her words. Loot the entire Briartop museum? Countless millions in art decorated the hallways, galleries, and other exhibit spaces. I’d counted around twenty giants outside earlier, and there were more than thirty in here right now. No wonder she’d brought so many men. She’d need them all to haul so much loot away with her. Clementine definitely didn’t think small. I wondered how long she’d been planning her heist—and what I could do to stop her.

“So while my boys and I go about our business, you’re all going to be spending some quality time here in this beautiful rotunda,” she continued. “As long as you sit still, be quiet, and behave, you will all come out of this just fine. My boys and I are only interested in what the museum has to offer. We don’t want any more blood dirtying up things. Lowers the resale value.”

She let out another hearty chuckle, but once again, no one joined in her laughter. Couldn’t imagine why. She should have brought a giant with a set of drums along with her. That way, he could
ba-dum-dum
in time to every one of the corny jokes she was cracking.

“But know this,” Clementine said. “We won’t hesitate to fill your guts full of lead if you so much as twitch funny.”

Her smile stayed soft and pleasant, her voice as warm
and welcoming as apple pie, but her eyes took on a
chillingly empty look. She stared at first one hostage, then another, making sure they all realized how serious she was. Everyone got the message loud and clear.

“Now,” Clementine continued, “there’s actually another reason why my boys and I are here tonight, other than the obvious payday we’re getting. And that reason is that we’re tired—tired of all of
you
.”

The hostages glanced at one another, wondering what she getting at. So did I.

“We’re giants,” Clementine said. “We’re tough, we’re strong, and we’re damn near unstoppable, but for years—for
years
—we’ve been relegated to hiring ourselves out to protect you. We’ve put ourselves in the line of fire over and over again, serving you, saving your miserable hides. And for what? Some measly paycheck? Some small hope of advancement? Well, not anymore. No, starting tonight, my boys and I are going to take what we want—take what we’re
due
—and to hell with anybody who tries to stand in our way. This is the dawn of a new era in Ashland, when
we’re
in charge. The way it should have been all along.”

All around the rotunda, the other giants nodded their heads in eager agreement. They were totally buying what Clementine was selling and seemed completely committed to her uprising.

She gestured with her gun at the bodies lying on the floor in front of her. “Now, I think that my boys and I have already proven our mettle, but just in case you need some more convincing, I have one more example to show you. Bring her in!”

Dixon stepped back into the rotunda—with Jillian. He might not have had any problems shooting someone in the face, but it seemed as if the giant didn’t like actually getting his hands dirty, judging by the stiff way he held Jillian out in front of him like she was a piece of smelly trash he needed to rid himself of as soon as possible.

Clementine handed Opal her gun, then moved over and took the faceless Jillian from Dixon with quick, easy movements. I thought she might approach the hostages with the body, but instead, she turned and threw it into the middle of the crowd.

Jillian Delancey had been a fit woman, but her body still weighed more than a hundred thirty pounds, every single ounce now dead, floppy, and awkward. But Clementine hefted the body through the air like it was nothing more than a football. All giants were strong, but this—this was an impressive display of sheer, raw power. The only other giant I’d seen with that kind of muscle had been Elliot Slater, Mab’s henchman. Clementine looked to be just as strong as Slater had been, maybe even stronger.

People screamed and scattered when they realized what Clementine was doing, and Jillian’s body slid to a stop on the mosaic star embedded in the floor. Horrified gasps rippled through the crowd like a tree full of crows all cawing at once. More than a few folks turned away from the body, hands clamped over their mouths to try to smother their screams or choke down the bile rising in their throats. Even in Ashland, where violence was so common, someone missing most of her face wasn’t an everyday sight—and it certainly wasn’t a pretty one.

“I want everyone to gather ’round and take a good, long look,” Clementine said. “My nephew, Dixon, did that a few minutes ago. Put enough bullets in this woman’s face that even her own mama wouldn’t recognize her. And he and the rest of my boys will do the exact same thing to you at the slightest whisper of trouble.”

The giants waved their guns, and everyone shuffled forward, although most of them tried very hard not to actually look at Jillian, or what was left of her. Couldn’t blame them for that. It even turned my stomach a little. Or perhaps that was just the guilt I felt, gnawing away at my insides.

“Now, I know she’s not the nicest thing to stare at, but there’s one more thing that’s important about this woman,” Clementine said. “One more thing that everyone here needs to know: her real identity. Because that’s not just some tarted-up trophy wife or debutante doll lying there getting blood all over the floor. Oh, no.
That
, ladies and gentlemen, is none other than Gin Blanco. The Spider herself. Ashland’s most infamous assassin. Deader than a fencepost.”

More shocked gasps rippled through the crowd. I closed my eyes, the guilt rising in my throat and choking me from the inside out.

“Come one, come all. Don’t be shy. Step right up and get a good long look at her. And think about this: me and my boys took out the Spider tonight. The toughest bitch in all of Ashland. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Now, if we can do that, why, just imagine what we could do to all of
you
.”

While the crowd chattered and whispered at the giant’s revelation, I forced myself to open my eyes and study Jillian. Made myself commit to memory every gruesome detail of her blown-off face and slack figure. The smooth skin of her shoulders compared with the ragged edges of her ruined face. The pretty, shimmering, constant twinkle of crystals on her skirt next to the absolute stillness of her leg. The blood still oozing out of her horrible wounds, the color a perfect match to the glossy polish gleaming on her manicured nails.

I stared at Jillian until the sight of her was burned into my brain, an image I would never, ever forget. And then I shifted the image, the memory, to the heavy load of guilt that was already yoked across my shoulders.

I couldn’t bring Jillian back, but I could avenge her.

I could make Clementine realize what a stupid, sloppy, fatal mistake she’d made.

I was so wrapped up in my dark thoughts of guilt, rage, and revenge that it took me a moment to realize that my friends had forced their way to the front of the crowd.

Eva was the first to react, letting out a weak, strangled gasp and clamping her hands over her mouth. The rest of my friends wore similar stunned expressions as they stared down at the body.

I knew what the horrified looks meant: they all thought I was dead.