Spider’s Revenge (21 page)

Normally, round tables covered with pale peach linens would have filled the ballroom, each one with the country club’s rune—an acorn—stitched in gold thread in the center of the tablecloths and napkins. Since this was a masquerade ball, the decorations had been swapped out accordingly. Long, low settees done in red and black velvet ringed a black-and-white, checkerboard dance floor. Abstract elemental Ice sculptures squatted here
and there throughout the ballroom, while more icicles dripped down the walls and clustered together in lieu of actual flowers. Black and crimson pillar candles thicker and taller than my arms burned in the middle of some of the icy arrangements, the flickering flames making the frosted shards glitter like diamonds.

I had to give Finn his props, because he’d been right about our costumes. Owen and I looked practically tame and toothless in our leather, compared to how much skin some of the trophy wives were showing. One woman walked by wearing nothing but a diamond choker and strategically placed bits of elemental Ice—shaped like sharp, curving thorns no less. Another vamp wore several long, fluttering layers of gauzy red silk, although the fabric was far too transparent for the woman to be the chaste angel that her ruby halo proclaimed her to be. I even saw one woman dressed completely in silver spandex. She was supposed to be a superhero, I think. Karma Girl or somebody like that.

We grabbed a couple of drinks at the bar and circulated through the room. To keep up appearances, Owen chatted with all the business types that he knew. I made the appropriate polite noises when called upon, but I scanned the crowd the entire time, looking for my prey for the evening—Mab Monroe.

She appeared about twenty minutes after we did, a little trilling trumpet of fanfare heralding her arrival. Conversation dulled to a low hush at the sound, and all eyes turned to the entrance. A moment later, Mab stepped inside, dressed just as Finn had said she would be.

Dressed as the Spider.

Crimson leather covered the Fire elemental from head to toe, every inch of it molded to her lush, curvy figure, making it seem as though she’d bathed in blood. Maybe she had, given all the other horrible things she’d done.

The leather made Mab’s hair look even redder than it really was. Tonight the soft, curling waves reminded me of ribbons of fire swirling around her head. As always, Mab wore her trademark necklace—a large, circular ruby surrounded by several dozen flat, gold, wavy rays. A sunburst. The symbol for fire. Mab’s rune.

The Fire elemental turned her head to speak to someone just inside the door. The candlelight glinted off the diamond cutting on the gold, making the rays spark and flash, while the ruby glowed with its own inner fire. But the sunburst wasn’t the only symbol that Mab was wearing tonight.

The bitch also had on a spider rune—my rune.

A small circle surrounded by eight thin rays. The symbol was stitched in glossy black thread on the left side of Mab’s crimson catsuit—right where her heart would be, if she even had one and not just a gaping maw in her chest.

Mab had taken the costume one step further. A pair of knives glinted in the black leather belt that circled her waist. Truth be told, they were fairly accurate versions of my own weapons—the ones that I wanted to reach for right now.

Anger burned in my heart at her blatant mockery of me, and my vision went red with rage. Once again, just for a second, I let myself feel the emotion, let the anger pump through my veins, let the thumping roar of it drown out everything else.

And then I put it aside—pushed it down into the pit of my stomach where it would continue to smolder but not consume me. This was a trap, after all, and the costume was just another piece of it, something else to lure me in, to make me lose control. To make me careless, something that I would not allow to happen. Not tonight.

So I stared at my enemy again, this time with narrowed eyes and a cold, calm heart.

“Are those real silverstone knives she’s wearing?” I murmured to Owen.

He cocked his head to one side, and his violet eyes began to glow ever so slightly. Owen was using his magic, reaching out with his elemental talent for metal.

“They are,” he murmured back. “High-end ones too. Made of almost pure silverstone.”

We watched as Mab shook hands with a dwarf dressed like a miniature version of Jack Frost.

“What do you want to do, Gin?” Owen asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “She’s got too many people around her right now, and she’s probably expecting me to strike immediately. Let’s give her a chance to settle in and get good and bored waiting for me to make my move.”

Owen nodded, and we moved off into the crowd.

But Mab wasn’t the only enemy that I had here tonight, because she’d brought someone with her—Jonah McAllister.

McAllister was Mab’s lawyer, the number-two man in her organization who was responsible for burying the Fire elemental’s foes in so much legal red tape that they choked on it. Usually, McAllister wore a suit that was as slick and sharp as he was, but tonight the lawyer had forgone
the ball’s Fire and Ice theme in favor of dressing up like a pirate.
Yargh
.

A black patch covered one of his cold brown eyes, although he hadn’t bothered putting a bandana over his styled coif of thick silver hair. A loose white shirt stretched across his chest, topped off by a red sash that was patterned with Mab’s sunburst rune. The shirt and sash tucked into a pair of black breeches, which themselves tucked into a pair of matching boots. McAllister also had a curved scimitar strapped to his waist, made out of the same kind of silverstone as Mab’s faux Spider knives, from the looks of it.

Despite his sixty-something years, McAllister’s face was as smooth as glass underneath his eye patch. The lawyer was one of those who used Air elemental facials to fight the ravages of time. In fact, he was more vain about keeping his face wrinkle-free than most women.

Jonah McAllister had an active desire to see me dead, ever since I’d killed his son, Jake, a few months ago. Jake had come into the Pork Pit one night and tried to rob my gin joint. When I’d put Jake in his place, he and his father had gotten a little upset about it, threatening to run me out of business, among other, more unpleasant things.

A few days later, Jake had confronted me at a party at Mab’s mansion with the intention of raping and murdering me. After he got done spouting his threats, I’d stabbed him to death with one of my knives and left his body in the Fire elemental’s bathtub.

As I’d been in disguise at the party, Jonah McAllister had no real proof that I’d killed his son. But since I, as Gin Blanco, was one of the few people who’d ever dared
to stand up to his kid, McAllister had rightly assumed that I’d had something to do with Jake’s death. He just couldn’t prove it. Still, he’d been keeping an eye on me ever since, waiting for his chance to strike.

Maybe if things went well with Mab tonight, I’d take out Jonah too. A little reward to myself for a job well done.

McAllister saw me staring at him. His nostrils flared with anger, and his mouth puckered into a cold frown that didn’t register at all on the rest of his tight, ageless face. Since I was on Owen’s arm tonight, there was nothing that McAllister could do about my being here, and we both knew it. So I waggled my fingers at him and blew the bastard a kiss. McAllister’s mouth pursed that much more, but I didn’t care.

Because I was ready to end this—all of this—tonight.

The minutes slipped by and turned into one hour, then two. I kept my attention on Mab as much as I could, waiting for her to separate herself from the crowd and her giant bodyguards who roamed through the room. I counted five of them on the ballroom floor, never moving more than a few feet away from the Fire elemental, looking for anyone suspicious or out of place. Even more giants strolled along the balconies above my head, continually circling the area. Their diligence would have made it impossible for me to station myself on a higher floor and snipe Mab from above, even if I’d managed to somehow sneak a crossbow into the club.

For her part, Mab seemed content to stay in the middle of the crowd and not wander off by herself where I could kill her. Still, I was the Spider, and I was good at
being patient. I’d waited seventeen years for this moment. A few more minutes or even a few more hours was nothing in comparison to that.

Just before midnight, though, I finally got my chance.

Jonah turned to speak to someone and then swiveled back toward Mab—hitting her arm and spilling his bourbon all over the front of her crimson catsuit in the process. The liquor soaked into the spider rune on Mab’s chest, making the symbol look like an inky stain bleeding over her heart.

The conversation around them froze, as Mab glared at her attorney, her black eyes as cold as the Ice sculptures that decorated the ballroom. Jonah murmured a hasty apology, but Mab was having none of it. The Fire elemental brushed him off with a wave of her hand.

Then she left the ballroom.

Mab stalked through the open double doors and vanished from sight, probably headed toward one of the bathrooms to try to wipe the bourbon off her expensive leather. I waited several seconds, expecting at least one or two of her giant bodyguards to fall in behind her. But none of them did.

“That looked a little too deliberate to me,” Owen murmured.

“Oh, yeah,” I replied. “It was about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the head. But it means that her men have no clue who I am and that she’s tired of waiting for me to show myself. So she’s putting herself out there instead, the final bit of bait in the trap, which means that I have to follow. So wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Owen said.

He didn’t kiss me, not this time, but our eyes locked together. No words were spoken—we didn’t need them. I could see the emotions flashing and sparking in Owen’s gaze. Worry. Concern. Determination.

Love.

I stared back at him, trying to tell Owen all the things I wanted to say to him, all of the things that I just couldn’t find the words for. He nodded once and squeezed my hand, his fingers warming my icy ones.

I squeezed back, then slipped out of the ballroom, heading after Mab.

At last.

I stepped through the double doors of the ballroom and turned to my right, just as Mab had done. The Fire elemental strolled down the hallway about a hundred feet ahead of me, before coming to a junction and turning right again.

I followed her, although I dawdled, staring at the oil paintings on the walls, the crystal vases with their elaborate arrangements of roses, and anything else that caught my eye. Going straight after the Fire elemental would have tipped my hand, but now I was just another bored costumed character escaping the cloying confines of the ballroom in search of some fresh air. At least, that’s the persona that I affected. Whether it would work well enough to get me close to Mab remained to be seen.

Just as I’d suspected, the Fire elemental headed for one of the women’s bathrooms, opening the door and disappearing inside. I examined the pattern etched onto a Tiffany lamp before following her.

As befitting the grandiose nature of Five Oaks, the bathroom was just as monstrous and ostentatious as everything else. It was the size of a small house, with a large, formal sitting area that was all velvet couches and gilded mirrors, for ladies of a more delicate nature, should they need a place to rest and refresh their makeup. A few women clustered together in groups on the couches, already gossiping and exchanging catty comments about the night’s ball, who had worn what, and who was fucking whom. A swinging door led into the bathroom itself, so that’s where I headed.

An expanse of creamy white marble flecked with gold greeted me, along with real gold faucets and all the other nonsensical features that one finds in upscale bathrooms, where people have more money than sense to spend on the finest toilets that their trust funds can buy.

Mab was keeping up her charade rather well, standing at one of the sinks and dabbing at the bourbon stains on her crimson leather with a damp cloth. But there was a watchfulness in her black eyes, a tightness in her face, a stiffness in her whole body that told me she was ready to fry whoever came through the door after her.

So I ignored her.

A woman washed her hands at the sink in between me and Mab, and I didn’t have a clear shot at the Fire elemental anyway. I went into one of the stalls, closed the door, and did my lady business, keeping up my charade that I was just another bored bimbo coming in here to use the facilities and get a break from the booze and bullshit that permeated the ballroom. I flushed the toilet, left the stall, and moved over to one of the sinks to wash my hands.

Mab stood in the same spot as before at the long counter, still dabbing at her red leather, still watching everyone who entered the bathroom. Women came and went in groups of ones and twos, a steady stream as befitting the crowd that had turned out for the ball. Mab’s black eyes finally turned in my direction, but I opened the tap and soaped up my hands like that was the only thing in the world I was here for. I made my movements small, casual, ordinary, as if I were no more a threat to Mab than a fly on the wall.