Deadly Sting (12 page)

My gaze dropped from the screen to the knife I’d set down on the table. The blood from the giant I’d killed in the hallway outside outlined the spider rune stamped into the hilt. Owen had made this knife and four others for me as Christmas presents, and they were indeed exquisite weapons, just as Clementine had said about her own blade. Light, strong, durable, razor-sharp. I’d used the knives more than once on my enemies, and they’d never failed me.

Owen shook his head. “You’ve got it all wrong. Yes, I have an elemental talent for metal. Yes, I can craft all sorts of things out of it. But that vault door? Six inches of reinforced silverstone? That is well beyond my magic.”

“I thought you might say that, and you just might be right. But believe me when I tell you that I’ve planned ahead. I don’t expect you to do it all by yourself.”

Clementine snapped her fingers. One of the giants stepped forward, a duffel bag swinging from his hand. He put the bag on the floor, unzipped it, and reached inside it. A moment later, he came out with a welder’s torch. Another giant with another bag stepped forward and pulled out a similar torch.

The third giant stepped forward, but instead of reaching into yet another bag, like I expected, he simply held out his hand. A moment later, elemental Fire crackled to life in his palm, the flames flowing from one of his fingers to the next and back again.

Owen eyed the torches and the Fire, but he didn’t say anything.

“Now, taken as one piece, the vault door is pretty much impregnable, just like you said,” Clementine said. “There’s no way to blast through it. But I don’t need to get through the door, just around it. So you and my boys are going to use the torches to superheat the silverstone locking mechanism, along with the help of Oscar’s elemental Fire. When it gets hot enough, you’ll use your magic to gut the lock so that it’s useless. Once that’s done, you’ll go to work on the hinges, popping those off, and then I’ll just move that big slab of a door right out of the way.”

It was a good plan—a smart plan. I’d thought that Clementine was all about brute strength, raw force, sheer power, given what had happened in the rotunda earlier, but she was also clever. The more I learned about her, the more I admired her, sort of like appreciating a copperhead’s coiled beauty on the green forest floor, knowing that it would bite you the second you were in range of its curved, venomous fangs.

Owen shook his head again. “I’m telling you that I can’t do it. I don’t have enough magic for that sort of thing.”

“This isn’t about strength, Mr. Grayson, it’s about finesse. A small, controlled, precise manipulation of metal and magic. Something you do exceptionally well, judging from what I’ve seen of your work. You can shape, mold, and work with silverstone like nobody else I’ve ever seen.”

Owen didn’t respond.

“Believe me, I know that you’re not the strongest elemental out there,” Clementine said. “Now that Mab’s dead, I imagine that title would go to your girlfriend. If Ms. Blanco were still alive, that is.”

Owen stared at her—just stared and stared at her. His face pinched, his body stiff and straight, his hands clenched into fists. The giant noticed his shock, distress, and anger. She smirked at him, her pretty features twist
ing into an arrogant sneer. All at once, Owen let out a
wild, angry roar, put his head down, and charged at Clem
entine.

He barreled into the giant, throwing her back against the vault door. Clementine snapped her fist forward, but Owen caught her hand in his. Owen didn’t have her giant strength, but he was no lightweight. Working all those long hours and years in his forge had made him strong. More than that, though, he was a smart fighter. While their hands seesawed back and forth, Owen brought his other fist up and punched her in the face with it.

The solid, heavy
smack
of his hand cracking against her skin made me smile.

Clementine grunted with surprise and annoyance, but Owen wasn’t done. He managed to hit her in the face three more times before two of her men stepped forward, grabbed his arms, and dragged him away from her. Even then, Owen fought back, kicking, bucking, and trying to break loose. But the giants tightened their holds until he realized he couldn’t get free. Slowly, his struggles ceased, although I could hear his quick, ragged breathing through the camera feed.

Clementine straightened up and pushed away from the vault door. She pressed a hand to her face, pulled it away, and stared at the smear of blood on her fingers. Owen had split her lower lip open with his last punch.

“I’ll give you that one,” she said. “Although the next time you lay a hand on me, you’ll wish that you hadn’t.”

One of the giants holding Owen shivered at her words, but he raised his chin in defiance.

“Now, enough talk,” Clementine said. “It’s time for you to get to work.”

“And if I can’t do it?” he asked in a low, angry voice. “Or refuse to?”

She shrugged. “Then I’ll let Dixon and the rest of my men take turns with your pretty little sister out there. She’ll die screaming, along with the rest of your friends. So I’d figure it out if I were you, Mr. Grayson.”

Owen sucked in another angry breath, but he forced himself to let it out and slowly unclench his fists. “Fine,” he muttered. “You win.”

He would do anything to protect Eva, even help the giants break into the vault.

Clementine let out a delighted laugh. “Of course I win. I
always
win. Now, get started. Time’s a-wasting.”

Once again, Owen didn’t respond.

Clementine went over to one of her men. “I’m going to go check in with the others,” she said. “You three get started. And don’t stop until the door is ready to be moved. You understand me?”

The giant nodded.

Clementine moved to the back of the room, out of sight of the camera, and a few seconds later, I heard a door shut, telling me that she’d left the vault.

One of the giants drew several pairs of safety goggles out of his duffel bag. He handed a pair to Owen, which he reluctantly slipped on, along with some heavy work gloves. He stood by while all three of the giants put on their own goggles. Then one of the men handed Owen a torch and carefully fired it up. Another giant fired up the second torch and turned toward the vault door while the last one reached for his Fire magic, making flames dance across his fingertips once more.

Owen hesitated, staring first at the lit torch in his hand, then at the giants. I knew he was thinking about using the torch to toast the three men. I would have been.

But I wasn’t surprised when he finally faced the vault door, stepped forward, and used the torch to start heating up the silverstone lock. Because I would have done the same thing then too. I would have played along nicely until I was sure the others were safe, then I would have laid into Clementine and her crew for all I was worth, even if I knew that I wouldn’t survive the fight. But the giant had her hand clutched around Eva’s and the others’ throats, and she and Owen both knew it. He had no choice but to go along with her scheme—for now.

I studied the monitor for a few more seconds. I didn’t have Owen’s elemental talent for metal, so I didn’t know how long it would take him to get through the silverstone. Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour, given what I’d heard Clementine tell Opal and Dixon earlier. It depended on how slowly he decided to work, and he would probably drag things out as long as possible, in hopes of figuring out some way to turn the tables on Clementine and her men.

But Owen didn’t have to worry about that—because I was going to do it for him.

Clementine might claim that Mab’s gold was stored inside the Briartop vault, but I didn’t necessarily believe her. Maybe it was gold, maybe it was diamonds, maybe it was something else entirely. But whatever it was, Clementine wanted it.

And I was going to take it from her.

Clementine would just as soon kill me as look at me. She’d proven that already tonight. She wouldn’t be threatened, scared, or intimidated in the slightest by me. And if she realized that I was still alive—that the Spider was still alive—sneaking through the museum and killing her men, she’d grab Finn or one of my other friends and hold a gun to their heads until I agreed to surrender. Once I did that, she’d put a couple of bullets in my skull, and that would be the end things for me and everyone else in the rotunda.

No, whatever was in that vault was the only bit of leverage I would be able to get here. If I swiped it first, Clementine would have no choice but to deal with me to get what she wanted, and I’d force her to trade my friends and the rest of the hostages for the treasure in the vault. Of course, Clementine would no doubt try to double-cross and murder me, but that was nothing new.

Still, to steal whatever was in the vault and rescue Owen, I needed supplies, and I needed help—and I knew exactly where I could get them both.

12

I turned away from the monitors and went over and looked at the giant I’d killed earlier, still careful not to touch her. She seemed to have the same gear that the first guard had: leather belt, gun, ammo, baton, pepper spray. I wouldn’t have minded another gun and some more ammo, but I didn’t want to electrocute myself to get them.

So I pulled out the metal baton I already had and used it to smash the rest of the security camera monitors. I’d seen what I’d needed to, and I didn’t want Clementine and her crew using them to try to find me when I finally made my presence known.

When that was done, I went out into the antechamber where the lockers were. It was easy enough for me to use my Ice magic to freeze and then shatter their flimsy metal locks. I sorted through the items inside, but I didn’t find anything useful or interesting, except for the fact that one of the guards kept a stash of porn in the bottom of his locker. Of course he did. Why stare at priceless works of art for hours on end when you could look at fake, inflated boobies?

I also came across a small red cooler, which I opened. Someone had brought his lunch along tonight. A tuna fish sandwich, from the rancid smell of it. I wrinkled my nose. Ugh. I shut the lid and put the cooler back where I found it.

I had turned away from the lockers and started to go over to the exit when I noticed a door next to the vending machine, one I hadn’t spotted before. A sign on the front read
Broom Closet
, but I was more interested in the blood smears on and around the handle. Senses alert and knife in hand, I carefully opened the door—and immediately stepped back as bodies tumbled out of the dark space.

Five poor souls had been killed and stood up and crammed into the closet, and they pitched forward and thumped to the floor like dominoes. Three men and two women, all giants, all with multiple bullet holes in them. Well, now I knew what had happened to the museum’s real guards. They’d been shot, probably while they’d been looking at the monitors in the other room. There was nothing I could do for them, so I left them on the floor, although I did take a moment to close their eyes.

My search complete, I headed over to the exterior door. I listened a moment, but I couldn’t hear any more through it than I had before, so I cracked it open and gazed out into the hallway.

The dead giant lay in the same position as before, although more blood had pooled under and around his body. Sharp, shocked whispers reverberated through the gray marble, but I shut those sounds out of my mind and listened for any other notes of warning, danger, or unease that might be rippling through the stone. But there was nothing. Now that Clementine and her crew had taken control of the museum, the stones had settled down a bit, their tension lessened—at least, until I killed someone else within the marble walls.

I considered moving the giant’s body inside the antechamber but discarded the idea. He was far too heavy for me to carry. Sure, I could drag him, but it would take some effort on my part, and I needed my energy for more important things. I couldn’t have cleaned up all that blood, anyway, not without Sophia and her Air elemental magic to help me. Sooner or later, one of Clementine’s men was sure to stumble across the dead giant, but I just had to hope that luck, that capricious bitch, would let it be later. I doubted my chances on that, but there was nothing else I could do.

I shut the security-center door, stepped over the giant’s body, and went on my merry, murderous way.

* * *

I moved through the museum halls as quickly and quietly as possible. Since the evening’s festivities had been centered in the rotunda area, most of the other lights had been turned down low, casting many of the hallways in darkness. Fine by me. The lack of light gave me more shadows to skulk through.

Three times I passed rooms that Clementine’s men were busy looting, the exhibit halls I’d heard her mention before on her walkie-talkie. The giants had switched the lights on in those areas, the better with which to see the art they were stealing. I repeatedly thought about storming inside and taking out the giants, but there were six men in each room, which was about four too many for me to kill with anything resembling quiet. Besides, I needed to get out of the museum before the bodies were discovered, so I tiptoed across the open doorways when the robbers’ backs were turned and hurried on.

Finally, I reached a door that led outside. It was locked, but my stolen key card changed that. In the hushed quiet of the museum, the metallic
snick
the door made seemed to reverberate from one hallway to the next, like a locator beacon
pin
g
ing and giving away my position. The giants were probably too busy rolling up paintings and hefting sculptures around to notice the noise, but I still needed to move. So, knife in hand, I slipped outside and pulled the door shut behind me, wincing once more at the unwanted sound it made.

A series of rhododendron bushes had been planted on either side of the entrance, and I wormed my way in between them and the marble wall of the museum, ignoring the tickles and faint scratches of leaves and stems along my bare arms and the soft, loose soil working its way between my toes. Crouching down, I stared out into the night.

I was on the left side of the museum, facing west toward the river. A series of lush gardens rolled across the landscape in front of me. A gray stone path zoomed from the door straight to the gardens before splitting into three separate branches that plunged even deeper into the dark foliage, like a pitchfork stabbing into the shadows. Whitewashed benches and gazebos stood here and there among the manicured beds of roses and pansies, while weeping willows towered over them all, their tendrils kissing the soft petals below. Magnolia and mimosa trees had also been planted in the gardens, right next to sunflowers that drooped under the heavy weight of their own seed-laden heads. Old-fashioned iron streetlights placed along the paths provided a soft golden glow, filtered by the wash of bugs dancing around the globes. Once again, the aroma of honeysuckle saturated the air, although now the scent seemed sickly sweet, as though it were the funeral-home stench of perfumed, floral death.

I didn’t see or hear anyone, but I stayed low, hugged the marble wall, and followed the path of the rhododendrons all the way around to the front corner of the building. It was just as quiet here as it had been in the back, and only the annoying hum of the mosquitoes broke the silence. I started to ease across one of the side lawns so I could slip into the parking lot when a small beep sounded, and a door hissed open to my left. I hunkered back down into the bushes.

Two giants carrying a couple of cardboard boxes each stepped out into the night air, along with Dixon, who was speaking into his walkie-talkie. I’d turned the volume down on the one I’d swiped from the first giant I’d killed so it wouldn’t crackle and give me away at the wrong time, but Dixon wasn’t even trying to be quiet, so I was able to hear his words loud and clear.

“We’re outside. I’m going with Leroy and Keith to load up one of the trucks, then checking on Hannah and Anton down by the bridge.”

“Good.” Clementine’s voice sounded through his walkie-talkie. “Tell Hannah and Anton to make sure the job is done right. I don’t want any mistakes. If the bridge goes too soon, we’re screwed.”

The bridge? What were they doing at the bridge?

“Understood.” Dixon clipped the walkie-talkie back onto his belt, then gestured at the giants. “Well, you heard her. Let’s get going.”

Dixon led the two giants toward the museum’s main entrance. I stayed behind the bushes and followed them. Four large moving trucks were now parked in front of the building. The back of one truck was open, revealing long, skinny tubes and odd shapes covered with thick sheets of bubble wrap—all the art the giants had grabbed so far.

“All right, let’s get what’s in these boxes loaded up,” Dixon said.

The other two giants climbed up into the back of the truck and started unloading the contents of the boxes they’d been carrying, carefully stacking up more tubes and rearranging the padded sculptures so they could have as much room as possible inside for their stolen loot.

Dixon stayed on the ground and watched the other men work. While they were distracted, he casually bent down as though he was going to tie his boot. Instead, he slipped a small cell phone out of his pants pocket and hit a button on it. A faint beep sounded. Dixon nodded to himself and slid the phone into his pocket again before smoothly getting back to his feet.

My eyes narrowed. What was Dixon up to? And why didn’t he want his comrades to know about it?

The giants finished unloading their latest haul and hopped out of the back of the truck with their now-empty boxes. Dixon waved them toward the museum.

“You two go back inside and get the next load,” he said. “I’m going down to the bridge to check on the others.”

The giants nodded, walked up the main steps, and disappeared into the museum. Dixon set off in the other direction, heading away from the truck and the museum. Curious, I crept after him.

Dixon followed the main road down the sloping hill to the covered bridge. Luckily, the gardens ran alongside
the pavement, so I was able to slide from tree to tree and bush to bush and move parallel to him. My bare feet
didn’t make a sound on the soft, dew-covered grass, but Dixon didn’t even think to look around and see if some
one might be following him. He thought everyone was
secure inside the museum.

He’d realize how wrong he was soon enough—when I killed him.

Finally, Dixon reached the bridge. I stopped in the gardens and hunkered down behind a holly bush, about twenty feet from him. Two of the old-fashioned iron streetlights were planted in the pavement on either side of the bridge, although their golden glow did little to dissipate the shadows spilling out from the mouth of the structure.

Two other giants—a man and a woman—were
crouched right inside the bridge entrance. The woman was shining a flashlight at the wooden boards while the man rummaged through a duffel bag on the ground next to him. I thought he might have another welder’s torch stuffed inside, like the men in the vault had, but instead, the giant drew out a crowbar and a roll of duct tape.

Along with a bomb.

I squinted and leaned forward, wondering if I was imagining things, but the giant held the device up in the flashlight’s beam, and I got an even better look at it. A flowery blossom of colored wires and a cell phone taped and plugged into a small, foil-wrapped brick. Yep, that was a bomb all right. My eyebrows shot up in my face. What the hell were they going to do with that?

“How’s it going, Anton?” Dixon asked.

“Good,” the male giant replied. “We’re just getting ready to put everything into place.”

Anton set the bomb and the duct tape aside, picked up the crowbar, and used it to pry up one of the bridge boards. The old, weathered wood groaned in protest, but it was no match for his strength. When the board was free, Anton taped the bomb to the underside of the wood before slowly, carefully fitting the board back into its original position.

“You’re up, Hannah,” Dixon said, looking at the female giant, the one with the flashlight.

Hannah got down on her knees and held out her hand. A moment later, a bit of elemental Fire sparked to life on her index finger, and her eyes began to glow a dull orange from her power, like two matches burning in her face. Her magic pricked at my skin like tiny, invisible needles, making me grind my teeth together. Hannah didn’t have nearly as much juice as Mab had. In fact, she was quite weak in her magic, but she still had enough power to lean down and trace something into the top of the board: a rune.

In addition to using them as their personal, familial, and business symbols, elementals could also imbue runes with magic and get them to perform specific functions. No doubt Hannah was scorching some sort of Fire symbol into the wood.

Hannah finished creating the symbol and leaned back on her heels. She let go of her power, and the elemental Fire was snuffed out on her fingers, causing a bit of smoke to waft up into the night sky. The uncomfortable feel of her magic vanished a moment later.