Thread of Death (10 page)

I rolled my eyes. “Geez. Have a little respect. That’s my baby sister you’re talking about.”

Finn’s grin widened. “I know.”

Along with everything else that had gone down when I’d been waging my final battle against Mab, Finn had finally hooked up with my younger sister, Bria. I wasn’t sure how serious the two of them were, but they’d been hot and heavy for weeks now and showed no signs of slowing down. I was happy for them—really, I was—but I could have done without Finn’s giving me the play-by-play of their sex life on a regular basis. Hell, I didn’t even talk about that stuff with Bria, and she was my sister. But that was part of the sordid charm of Finnegan Lane. He loved talking about women and their attributes just as much as he did sleeping with them.

Finn opened his mouth to cajole me some more, but I’d had enough—enough of the stares, enough of the whispers, enough of everyone wondering if I was going to kill them for setting foot inside my restaurant. I just wanted to be left alone by everyone right now, including Finn.

“I don’t need a vacation,” I growled, stomping away from him and the curious customers. “And that’s final.”

I grabbed a couple of trash bags, pushed through the swinging double
doors, and walked through the back of the restaurant. I didn’t stop until I opened another door and stepped outside into the alley that cut between the rows of buildings on the block.

It was after seven, and night had already fallen, wrapping the structures in thick, coal black shadows that stretched all the way up to the sky. Wispy clouds flitted by in front of the not-quite-full moon, rolling over the bright silver orb like waves crashing onto a sandy shore and then retreating back out to sea.

My eyes zoomed in on a crack in the alley wall across the way, a tiny sliver of space barely big enough for a child to fit into. My old hiding spot when I’d been living on the mean streets of Ashland back before Fletcher had taken me in. For a moment, I wished that I were still small enough to fit into the crack and hide from all my worries—at least for a little while.

I’d thought killing Mab would solve all my problems, but instead it had just created a whole host of new ones. Sure, business was better than ever at the Pork Pit, but only because people came to gawk at me. Everyone wondered if I was
really
the notorious assassin known as the Spider and if I’d
really
killed Mab Monroe like some folks claimed.

Then there were the people who actually
knew
I’d taken out the Fire elemental—people like Jonah McAllister. He’d been Mab’s lawyer and one of her top lieutenants before her death, and he had a number of reasons to hate me, especially since I’d killed his son, Jake, last year. McAllister had even gone so far as to offer a price for my head, sending a variety of bounty hunters my way, but no one had been able to collect—yet.

To many, my taking out Mab had made me something of a folk hero, given all the people the Fire elemental had stepped on, hurt, tortured, and killed climbing her way to the top of the Ashland underworld. A few folks had even been bold enough to offer me an
atta girl
and other kind words upon her death. But to others, especially those who walked through the shady side of life, I represented nothing more than a fat payday or the means to make a name for themselves.

Either way, I was the center of attention these days—and I
hated
it.

I breathed in, enjoying the peace and quiet after the tight, nervous tension that permeated the restaurant. It was early April, and the nights were still cold and frosty, although the warm days whispered of spring.
I heaved the trash bags into the closest Dumpster, but instead of going inside, I lingered in the alley outside the back of the restaurant.

I skimmed my fingers over the rough brick and reached out with my magic. As a Stone elemental, I could create, control, and manipulate the element in whatever form it took, from making bricks fly out of the wall in front of me to crumbling cobblestones to shattering the foundation of a house. I could even make my own skin as hard as marble, so that nothing could hurt me. I’d relied on that particular trick a lot these past few weeks.

My power also let me listen to the stone around me and all the emotional vibrations that it contained. People’s actions, thoughts, and feelings sink into their surroundings over time, especially stone, as folks live, love, die, and more. Listening to the bricks that made up the Pork Pit was one of my favorite things to do because the sound was almost always the same—one of low, slow contentment, just like the minds, hearts, and stomachs of all the folks who’d eaten in the restaurant. A good meal was one of the few things that could satisfy even the pickiest soul, and the Pit had served up its fair share of fine food over the years. I breathed in again, letting that soft sound fill me and soothe away all the stress of the day, all the stress, turmoil, and worry of the last few weeks.

Calmer, I dropped my hand and turned to go inside when the crackle of magic filled the air.

In addition to humans, dwarves, giants, and vampires, Ashland also had a substantial elemental population. Magic could take many forms, could manifest in all sorts of unusual ways, which meant that elementals in the city and beyond had everything from the ability to create balls of lightning in the palms of their hands to being able to control bodies of water. But to be considered a true elemental, you had to be gifted in one of the four main areas—Air, Fire, Ice, or Stone. I was the rarest of elementals in that I was able to tap into not one but two areas, Ice and Stone.

I narrowed my eyes and focused on the other person’s magic, which felt like red-hot sparks landing on my skin. A Fire elemental, judging by the way the scars embedded in my palms began to itch and burn. The marks on both my hands were the same. A small circle surrounded by eight thin rays. A spider rune. The symbol for patience. Something that I was getting real short on these days.

I sighed and turned around. Sure enough, two guys stood in the alley behind me. One was a giant, judging by his seven-foot frame, while the other was human and an elemental. A ball of Fire flickered in the palm of his hand, gently bobbing up and down.

Ding, ding, Gin Blanco wins again.

“Let me guess,” I drawled. “You’re here to take out the notorious Spider.”

The giant started to speak, but I held up my hand, cutting him off.

“I really don’t care to listen to your blustering manifesto about what absolute badasses the two of you are and how you’re going to make me beg for mercy by the time you’re through with me,” I said. “I just want to say this—do yourselves a favor. Walk away now, and I won’t kill you.”

“Did you hear that, Billy?” the Fire elemental cackled. “The Spider’s going to go soft on us tonight. Lucky us.”

Billy, the giant, cracked his knuckles together, a grin splitting his face. “She doesn’t look so tough to me, Bobby.”

I rolled my eyes. Most people might not know for sure that I was the Spider, but you’d think by now enough folks had disappeared in and around the Pork Pit for everyone else to realize that it might be a good idea to steer clear of me and my restaurant.

“Let’s get her!” Bobby screamed.

The giant let out a loud whoop of agreement.

Apparently not.

They rushed me at the same time, and Bobby threw his elemental Fire at me. He was strong in his magic but, compared to the blazing inferno that I’d faced when I’d killed Mab, his power felt as weak as a candle flame. Still, I ducked out of the way. I had no desire to have my hair singed off again this week.

I rolled to my left, came up on one knee, and grabbed the lid of one of the metal trash cans in the alley. I held the lid up over my head just in time for Billy to plant his massive fist into it. The sharp, ringing force of the giant’s blow rocked me back for a moment. Billy raised his fist again, and I lashed out with my foot, driving my boot into his knee. Billy grunted and stumbled forward, one hand going to the alley floor, putting him down on my level.

I looked him in the eyes, smiled, and smashed the metal lid into his
face as hard as I could.

It took several hard, sharp, ringing blows, but eventually blood started to pour out of Billy’s broken, bulbous nose and the deep, jagged cuts that I opened up on his face. I hit him again with the trash can lid, driving the metal into his square chin, and the giant toppled over onto his back. His head cracked against the ground, and he let out a low groan. Down for the count already. Amateur.

Bobby looked stunned, just
stunned
, that I’d taken out his friend so easily. But his expression quickly changed to one of concern when I got to my feet and started walking toward him, holding the metal lid out in front of me like a shield. Bobby backpedaled, but he forgot to look behind him. He’d taken only two steps before he was pressed up against the side of one of the Dumpsters. Frantic, he snapped his fingers together over and over again, trying to push past his panic and summon up another ball of elemental Fire.

I didn’t give him the chance.

Two seconds later, I slammed the metal lid into his face. I had to hit him only once before he crumpled to the ground.

When I was sure that neither man was going to get up anytime soon, I put the lid back on the trash can. The bloody dents in it matched the marks on all the other cans. More than one moron had jumped me in the alley this week. I eyed the two men, who were moaning, groaning, and trying to figure out how things had gone so wrong so quickly. I shook my head.

“Idiots,” I muttered, and went back inside the restaurant.

A mirror with a cracked corner was mounted over one of the sinks in the back. I stopped there and washed the blood and grime of the fight off my hands, since I didn’t want to make the customers any more scared of me than they already were. My hair had come loose while I’d been hitting the giant with the trash can lid, so I yanked the elastic band out and shoved my dark, chocolate brown locks back into a higher, tighter ponytail.

The
clink-clink
and
clatter-clatter
of silverware and dishes drifted through the swinging doors, along with the savory smells of grilled burgers and fries. Since it was creeping up on closing time, all of the waitstaff had already gone home for the evening, so I was alone in this part of
the restaurant. Instead of going out into the storefront and getting back to work, I put my hands on the sink and leaned forward, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Cold gray eyes, dark hair, pale skin. I looked the same as always, except for the blood spatters on my cheek from the fight and the purple smudges under my eyes. I wiped the blood off with a wet paper towel easily enough, but there was nothing I could do about the circles and the matching exhaustion that had crept over me these past few weeks.

All the stares, all the whispers, all the knock-down, drag-out fights. They’d all worn me down, until now I was just going through the motions. Hell, I hadn’t even pulled out my silverstone knives tonight and permanently sliced up those bastards in the alley like I should have. Tangling with the Spider once was enough for most folks, but those morons would probably be stupid enough to make another run at me.

I let out a frustrated sigh. Weariness was a dangerous feeling, especially for an assassin. If I didn’t do something about it, eventually I’d slip up and make a careless mistake. Then I’d wind up dead, my head served up on a silver platter to Jonah McAllister or whatever lowlife finally got the drop on me.

Much as I hated to admit it, Finn was right. I needed a vacation—from being the Spider.

I pushed through the double doors, stepping into the restaurant storefront. Once again, everyone froze at my appearance, as if they expected me to whip out a gun from underneath my blue work apron and start shooting. I ignored the curious, fearful, suspicious looks, went back over to the counter, grabbed my knife, and started slicing tomatoes again for the last of the day’s sandwiches.