Thread of Death (2 page)

I walked over to Owen and wrapped my arms around his neck. He put his hands on my waist and drew me closer, the warmth of his fingers and the heat of his body driving away the faint, nagging chill I’d felt ever since I’d killed Mab.

“I’m sure,” I said in a firm voice. “We both know I need to do this. I need to go there and see her—for all sorts of reasons.”

“I know,” Owen murmured, concern and worry deepening his voice. “But I don’t like it. You’re still not fully recovered. What if someone notices that? What if something happens?”

I grinned at him. “Then it’s a good thing you, Finn, and everyone else will be there watching out for me. Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Not today.

I didn’t say the words, but I could tell Owen was thinking them just like I was. This was new territory we were entering, and neither one of us knew quite what to make of it. I didn’t think anyone in the entire
city knew exactly how things were going to play out, and I imagined that all the other folks in attendance today would be waiting to see what happened and which way the wind was blowing, just like Owen and I would be.

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, flicking my tongue against his lips. Owen opened his mouth, his tongue stroking against my own. More warmth pooled in my stomach, driving away the last of the chill. As we kissed, I ran my hands through his hair, then down over the chiseled planes of his face, enjoying the heat of his skin, his mouth, on mine. No matter how much I touched him, I always marveled at the strength of his body and the desire he was able to ignite in me. It thrummed through my veins like a siren’s seductive song, whispering of all the pleasures that could be had between us.

“You know, we could just forget about going out and spend the rest of the day in bed,” he murmured, and kissed the side of my neck, even as his hands slid down to the buttons on my suit jacket.

“As tempting as that is, you know we have someplace to be,” I replied, running my hands across his broad shoulders. “Unfortunately, this is an appointment that I just can’t miss, no matter how tempting your proposition may be.”

Owen drew back, his eyes shimmering with heat. “Rain check, then? Tonight at my place? If you feel up to it, of course.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Grayson? Because you know how much I love those—and showing you just how
up to it
I am.”

He grinned and lowered his mouth to mine. We kissed again, long, soft, and slow, teasing each other with promises of tonight, before finally breaking apart. Owen held me tight for a moment before finally dropping his hands from my waist.

“Come on,” he said. “If you’re still determined to do this, then we need to go. We wouldn’t want to be late.”

I snorted. “Oh, no. We definitely wouldn’t want to be late for
this
.”

We walked downstairs, where the others were waiting in the den of Fletcher Lane’s house—my house now. Finnegan Lane, my foster brother, had his arm slung around the shoulders of Detective Bria Coolidge, my baby sister, no doubt murmuring sweet nothings into her ear, since Roslyn Phillips was looking at them both with an amused grin. Jolene “Jo-Jo”
Deveraux was sitting on the plaid sofa, flipping through a beauty magazine, while her sister, Sophia, was looking at the rune drawings that were propped up on the mantel: a snowflake, an ivy vine, a primrose, and the neon pig sign outside the Pork Pit. All symbols of people I’d loved and lost over the years.

My friends and family were all dressed in somber, serious black, just like Owen and I were. Finn wore one of his many Fiona Fine designer suits, while Bria sported a jacket and white silk blouse over a skirt. Roslyn also wore a black jacket and skirt, both of which highlighted her gorgeous curves. Jo-Jo had on a dress topped by her usual strand of pearls. A small black hat sporting a white lily perched on the side of the dwarf’s head, pinned to her white-blond curls.

For once, we all matched Sophia’s usual dark clothes. The Goth dwarf wore a pantsuit similar to mine, although she’d accessorized hers with heavy boots and a black leather collar around her neck. Black lipstick covered her lips, and pale gray glitter glistened in her hair.

I cleared my throat, and everyone turned to look at me. “Well,” I said. “I guess this is it.”

“It’s about time,” Finn groused. “We’ve been waiting down here
forever
.”

Bria glanced at the clock on the wall. “Yes, if by ‘forever’ you mean five minutes.”

Finn smiled at her, a sly look in his green eyes. “Time is money, cupcake, especially when it comes to my time, what I do with it, and particularly who I do it with.”

He leaned over and whispered something in her ear, which made Bria stiffen and caused her cheeks to explode in a fiery blush. They were a new couple, having hooked up shortly before Mab’s death, and Finn still had the ability to shock my sister. Still, despite her blush, her features softened into a smile as she looked at him. Finn gave her a slow, shameless, saucy wink. He liked teasing her.

It was nice to see my sister smile, something she hadn’t done much of lately. I wasn’t the only one who’d suffered at Mab’s hands. Despite my efforts to keep her safe, a bounty hunter had kidnapped Bria and delivered her to Mab’s mansion, where the Fire elemental had spent a long, long night using her magic to torture my sister. Burning Bria with her
cruel, cruel Fire.

Finn and the others had rescued Bria while I battled Mab, and Jo-Jo had used her Air magic to heal all of Bria’s wounds, but the damage had still been done. My sister had been quiet and withdrawn these past few weeks. I knew she was still trying to come to terms with that horrible night and all the fresh, painful scars it had left on the inside, just like I was—scars that no amount of magic could ever heal. My guilt over Bria’s capture and torture was like a knife in my stomach, one that twisted in a little deeper every time I saw the dark memories in her eyes. I wanted to make it up to my sister, wanted to ease her pain, but I just didn’t know how.

“It’s time to go,” Owen said again.

Sophia turned and left the room. Finn and Bria followed her, along with Roslyn and Owen. That left just me and Jo-Jo in the den. The middle-aged dwarf got to her feet and walked over to me, her black heels clacking on the floor.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Jo-Jo asked in her slow Southern drawl. “It might be harder than you think it’s going to be.”

I nodded. “I know, but today’s the day, and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Jo-Jo reached out and grabbed my hand, gently squeezing my fingers with hers. I breathed in, and her perfume tickled my nose with its sweet scent.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she said. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

I looked at the dwarf, wondering if she was using her Air elemental magic to peer into the future, but her colorless eyes were clear of the milky white clouds that sometimes wisped through her gaze.

“I know it will be fine,” I said in what I hoped was a strong voice. “Mab is dead. She can’t hurt me anymore. She can’t hurt
anyone
anymore.”

Jo-Jo cocked her head to the side, making the lily nestled in her hair bob up and down with the motion. “The dead can hurt us just as much as the living can. Sometimes even more so. You should know that by now, Gin.”

The dwarf squeezed my hand again and walked out of the den. Somehow, I held back the shiver that threatened to sweep through my
body at her ominous words and followed her.

Thirty minutes later, Owen stopped his car behind a long line of other vehicles that were parked on the side of the narrow, winding road. In the passenger’s-side mirror, I saw Sophia steer her classic convertible into the spot behind us, and there were more cars behind hers that were pulling over as well.

“Are you sure you can’t get any closer?” Finn asked from the backseat.

“No, I can’t get any closer,” Owen said. “Do you not see all the other vehicles here? Besides, it won’t kill you to walk, you know.”

Finn sniffed and pulled down his jacket. “No, but it will kill my new suit. I don’t want to get grass and pollen all over it. That will ruin the fabric, not to mention make me sneeze for
hours
.”

I looked at Owen and rolled my eyes. My lover winked at me. He always found Finn’s grandiose statements and put-upon airs much more amusing than I did.

“Don’t worry, Finn,” Roslyn said. “You’ll look wonderful no matter what. After all, it’s not the suit that makes the man. It’s the man who makes the suit. Isn’t that what they say?”

Finn preened at her words. Roslyn tended to have that effect on men. I turned around to look at the vampire. Roslyn smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Amusement glinted in her toffee-colored eyes.

“Look at the crowd,” Bria murmured from the backseat, peering through the window at the folks streaming past the car. “I didn’t think this many people would show up. Did everybody in Ashland decide to come here today?”

“Probably everyone in the underworld,” I said. “You know the old saying: ‘The queen is dead. Long live the queen.’”

The five of us got out of the car. Sophia and Jo-Jo walked over to us, and then we all fell in step with the hundreds of people who had gathered to pay their respects.

My boots sank into the thick, soft grass and I breathed in, enjoying the rich smell of the earth. Maple, poplar, and sycamore trees stretched toward the cloudless cerulean sky, their brown branches already budding out with new leaves and providing a bit of shade for the crowd below. It
was warm for this early in March, and there would be more cold days to come, but I tilted my face up, welcoming the sunshine and the promise of spring in the air—small things I appreciated more than ever this year, since I’d spent the last few weeks cooped up indoors. Yes, all in all, this was a beautiful day and a pretty spot—for a cemetery.

Ashland Memorial Cemetery spread out over about two square miles, tombstones and grave markers looking like dull silver needles sticking up out of the rolling green landscape before the monuments ended and the rocky ridges of the Appalachian Mountains took over. The cemetery was located in Northtown, the part of the city that the rich and powerful called home, and those were the folks who were buried here, each one with a marker that was bigger and more intricately carved than the last. Competition among the rich just never seemed to end in Ashland, not even in death.

We headed deeper into the cemetery, and I reached out with my Stone magic, listening to the whispers of the tombstones around us. Murmurs of old tears, old hurts and griefs, mixed with newer, rawer emotions echoed back to me. Common enough sounds in a place like this, although I also heard several notes of unease and worry rippling through the tombstones, reflecting the feelings of those who had gathered here today—something else I’d expected. With Mab gone, no one in the underworld knew quite what to do, now that her fiery fist wasn’t poised over their heads, ready to crush, burn, and grind them into ashes at any moment.

The crowd was exactly what I’d expected it to be. I spotted many of the Ashland crime bosses milling around, folks like Phillip Kincaid, who owned the
Delta Queen
riverboat casino. Despite the occasion and the somber suit he wore, Kincaid had a cold, calculating smile on his face. In fact, most everyone was smiling and chatting with their neighbors, even the folks who’d been in business with Mab . . . well, if sharks showing their teeth could be considered smiling. With the Fire elemental gone, it was clear that it was a brand-new day in Ashland. I just wondered how I fit into things now.

However, there was one person who wasn’t smiling—Jonah McAllister. The lawyer was one of those who’d chosen to sit in the red plush chairs that had been set up on the grass. McAllister sat alone in the front
row of chairs, staring straight ahead, his unnaturally smooth face even blanker than usual. Mab didn’t have any living relatives that I knew of, and with Elliot Slater, her other number two man dead, I guessed McAllister was the closest thing she’d had to family—or even just a friend. Hence his position in the first row of chairs.

All of the chairs had already been taken, except for the empty ones around McAllister that were reserved for those closest to the dead; but the rest of the crowd had spread out in a semicircle, so we were able to find a spot in the ring of people and see what was happening. Not much, since everyone was busy staring at the closed ebony coffin that stood in the middle of them all.

Mab Monroe might be dead, but she was once again the center of attention.

As she should be, at her own funeral.