Widow's Web

24

Someone was pounding on my chest. Over and over again, a tight fist smacked into my ribs right over my heart. An uncomfortable sensation, especially when I’d been so peaceful just a moment before, drifting along in that calm, soothing, unending blackness . . .

“Come on, breathe, dammit, breathe!” a harsh voice barked at me.

Something hot and wet pressed against my mouth, forcing air down my throat and into my lungs. Again and again, that hot rush of air invaded my mouth, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. A few seconds later, my chest began heaving and convulsing, and I started coughing, spewing up all the water in my lungs and trying to choke down all the air I could at the same time.

Hands rolled me onto my side to make it easier for me to breathe. I just lay there, cold and half-frozen by my own Ice magic, my fingers curled into the dirt, my face resting on a bed of dried, cracked leaves, sucking down breath after breath. After a few moments, I managed to open my eyes and found a face right there on the dirt next to mine—but it wasn’t the one that I expected. His eyes were blue, not violet, and his hair was as light as the sunshine kissing the forest.

Kincaid gave me a crooked smile. “Don’t think you’re going to weasel out of our deal just by dying, Gin.”

Deal? We didn’t have any deal. I’d never agreed to kill Salina for him. I opened my mouth to tell him that, but the words just wouldn’t come. The blackness rose up in my mind again, and I was helpless to resist it once more.

The girl had finally quit screaming—if not crying.

Even though her father was dead and had been for a while now, the girl was still slumped over his body—or what was left of it—and sobbing like she would never, ever stop. Each one of her loud, wild, soul-wrenching cries was like a knife piercing my own heart. I knew that pain, I knew those screams all too well—they were the same ones that had torn my heart to pieces and spewed out of my mouth after the murder of my family.

I was still a little shocked by what had happened. Mab Monroe had spent the better part of an hour torturing Benedict Dubois, burning him with her elemental Fire, delighting in his tearful pleas and whimpers as he begged her to stop. And she’d made everyone watch—all the dinner guests, all the chefs, all the waiters, even Dubois’s own daughter.

It had been like a nightmare come to life.

At first, Mab had toyed with Dubois, jabbing her red-hot fingers into his arms like they were slender cigarettes she was stubbing out. Then, she’d used her elemental Fire to burn the rest of him—his chest, his legs; she’d even used her power to singe all the hair off his head like she was scalping him.

Still, no matter what Mab did, I made myself watch the whole thing just like Fletcher did beside me. These were the realities of life in Ashland, especially for an assassin-in-training like me. Because if I was ever captured, especially by someone like Mab, I would face the same sort of torture. Fletcher didn’t say the words. He didn’t have to. Not tonight. Not when I was faced with something like this.

Once Dubois was dead, I’d thought the Fire elemental would turn her wrath on the girl to quiet her down, but Mab just let her scream and scream, as though the sound amused her. It probably did, given all the cruel things I’d seen the Fire elemental do tonight. Finally, the girl broke free of the boy holding her, threw herself on top of her father’s body, and started crying, her sobs just as loud as her screams had been.

When it was finally over, Mab dusted the pieces of ash and burned flesh off her hands and turned to face the horrified crowd.

“Am I going to have any more problems from the rest of you?” she asked. “Or has this been an adequate enough display of my position in Ashland? I’m happy to demonstrate further, if you like.”

No one said a word.

Mab let out a pleased, pealing laugh. “I thought not.”

She turned and snapped her finger at one of her giants. “Bring the car around. I’m finished here.”

And then she walked away—just picked up the skirt of her long, forest-green evening gown and calmly walked away like she hadn’t just burned a man to bits and enjoyed every second of it.

Less than a minute later, the Fire elemental slid into the back of a black limo. One of her men shut the door behind her, then scurried around and got in the front. The driver put the vehicle in gear, and the limo coasted down the long driveway. Even when the car had disappeared from sight, everyone stood where they were, afraid to move, afraid that Mab might come back and do the same thing to them that she’d done to Dubois.

All the while, the girl kept crying. The boy who’d been holding her back went over, crouched down beside her, and put his hand on her shoulder. He didn’t know what to do or say anymore than anyone else did. After a few seconds, the girl turned and threw herself into his arms, almost knocking him over onto the grass. He stroked her long blond hair and whispered words to her that I couldn’t hear, although I imagined they were your usual sort of comforting lies about how everything was going to be okay.

I eyed Dubois’s still smoldering body. No, everything was a long, long way from okay.

Eventually, the guests roused themselves out of their stunned state and began murmuring to each other.

“Can’t believe Benedict thought he could really kill Mab . . .”

“He should have known better. . . .”

“If you ask me, he got what he deserved for being so foolish. . . .”

The last voice was a little louder and snider than the others had been—loud enough for the girl to hear. Her sobs stopped, and her head snapped around. She shoved the boy away and got to her feet, her hands curling into fists by her sides.

“Why didn’t you help him?” she yelled at the crowd. “Why did you all just stand there? You were supposed to be his friends! Cowards! You’re nothing but dirty rotten cowards! The whole lot of you!”

No one answered, but the guests edged away from her and dropped their eyes in shame.

Finally, a giant stepped forward, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. I recognized him as one of Dubois’s bodyguards.

“Calm down, Salina,” he said. “You know we couldn’t save your father. Not from Mab. Not without dying ourselves. There was nothing we could do.”

The girl stared up at the giant a moment, then smiled—a bright, sunny smile that was at odds with her red, tear-streaked face. Something about her expression made me uneasy. I started to move forward, but Fletcher grabbed my arm and held me still. The old man shook his head at me.

“You’re right, Carl,” the girl said in a sweet voice. “You couldn’t do anything—but I can.”

She reached into the giant’s jacket, plucked his gun from the holster on his belt, and shot him in the chest with it.

Carl screamed with pain and surprise. He staggered back, but the girl went after him.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

She kept right on shooting him. Giants could take a lot of damage, but getting pumped full of lead at point-blank range will take a toll on anyone. Carl staggered back, his feet slid out from under him, and he landed on his back on the grass. But still, the girl wasn’t done.

She walked over and stood by the giant’s side.

“Salina . . . please . . . stop . . .” he said through a mouthful of blood. “It wasn’t . . . my fault. . . . You have to . . . know that. . . .”

That sunny, eerie smile curved the girl’s lips again, and her hand tightened on the gun.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

She emptied the rest of the magazine into his head.

Blood arced up through the air and spattered onto her, but the girl didn’t care. She kept pulling the trigger until the gun was empty.

Click.

She let out a disgusted snort and threw the weapon down on the giant’s bloody chest. After a moment, she realized that everyone was watching her in horrified silence, just the way they had Mab. Rage flashed in the girl’s eyes, and she started forward to do—something, I didn’t know what exactly. The crowd backed away from her, giving her the same wide berth they would a wild, rabid animal that was about to charge at them.

“Salina! Salina!” the boy said, grabbing her from behind and pinning her arms by her sides. “That’s enough!”

“No, it’s not!” she screamed, struggling to break free of him, struggling to throw herself into the group of people in front of her and claw at them with her bare hands. “He needed to pay! They should all pay for just standing there! For just letting it happen! For letting my father die!”

The girl struggled with the boy a few more seconds before her screams dissolved into sobs once more. The boy put his arms around her and held her again while she cried.

For a minute, everyone just stood there and watched. Then, one by one, the guests began walking across the lawn, careful to skirt around Dubois’s and the giant’s bodies as they headed to their cars.

Fletcher and I were among the last to leave. The old man looked at the still-sobbing girl with a grim expression on his face. “She’s going to be trouble later on,” he said in a dark voice. “For anyone who crosses her in any way.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

To me, she was just a girl—a girl who’d watched her father be horribly tortured and murdered, just like I’d seen happen to my mother and Annabella. My heart ached for her, and I wanted to go over to the girl and put my arms around her, just like the boy was doing. At least she had him to comfort her, to help her. That was something. I hadn’t had anyone.

Instead of answering me, the old man shook his head. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Fletcher put his arm around me, and we hurried across the lawn, going back to the kitchen with the rest of the staff under the pretense of getting our things and getting out of there. Before we went into the mansion, I looked over my shoulder a final time.

The boy had moved over to talk to another one of Dubois’s bodyguards. He had his arm around the girl’s shoulders, but he didn’t seem to realize that she wasn’t listening to what he was saying to the giant. Instead, the girl was staring down at Carl’s body. But the weird thing was that she almost looked . . . happy. Satisfaction filled her face, and she was smiling again, although it seemed like there was something wrong with her expression, that it was somehow twisted into something far more sinister—

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” yelled an angry voice, startling me awake.