Elemental Assassin 02 - Web of Lies (29 page)

“I think I can manage.”

Roslyn ignored my sarcasm. She opened a drawer on one of the vanity tables, drew out an envelope, and handed it to me. A sunburst done in gold foil glittered on the creamy stationery. The rune for fire—Mab Monroe’s personal symbol.

“That’s one of the invitations for tonight,” Roslyn said. “You’ll need this too.”

She reached back into the drawer and pulled out a black velvet choker. A rune dangled from the middle of the wide band—a silver heart with an arrow through it. The symbol for Northern Aggression. The rune that would mark me as one of Roslyn Phillips’s girls and part of the evening’s entertainment.

I took the choker from her and rubbed my thumb over the rune. The metal felt cool under my fingers. “Thank you, Roslyn, for your help.”

She stared at me. “No thanks are needed, remember? I owe you. But when the other girls come in to get ready for tonight, we’re going to report that invitation, necklace, outfit, and wig as being stolen. Xavier will take down the report. Of course, he’ll be busy working the door tonight, so he won’t call to tell me about it or even turn it into the cops for a couple hours. That should give you plenty of time to do whatever you’re planning to do.”

I nodded. I couldn’t blame the vampire for covering herself. If things went badly, and they just might, Tobias Dawson and Mab Monroe would probably come knocking on Roslyn’s door, demanding to know why I’d been wearing one of the vampire’s rune necklaces and how I’d snitched one of the hookers’ invitations to the party. This way, Roslyn had an out.

“And do me another favor,” the vampire said, her dark eyes serious behind her silver glasses.

“What?”

“Whatever you’re going to do to Dawson tonight, don’t get caught,” Roslyn said. “I don’t want to have to deal with the honky-tonk bastard any more than I already have.”

I gave her a cold smile. “Don’t worry. If I get caught, Tobias Dawson will be having too much fun with me to even think about bothering you.”

25

At eight o’clock that evening, my taxi pulled into the long, snaking driveway that led up to Mab Monroe’s mansion.

Given her status as the city’s richest and deadliest citizen, Mab Monroe lived in the biggest, most impressive home in Ashland. The gray stone structure soared fifteen stories into the air, making it taller than some of the downtown skyscrapers. The mansion’s three equalsize wings formed a wide, upside-down W-shape. Tall, skinny windows fronted each floor, along with crenellated balconies. A twelve-foot-tall stone fence ringed the mansion itself, which was set back more than a mile from the main road. From the research Fletcher Lane had done over the years, I knew the expansive, manicured grounds featured several gardens, three greenhouses, an aviary, a golf course, copses of woods, and a small lake. Along with giant patrols, guard dogs, assorted magical trip wires, and some other nasty surprises.

A light spotlighted a red banner draped over one of the balconies in the center wing of the mansion. The enormous piece of heavy fabric featured a rune done in shimmering gold—a round circle surrounded by several dozen curled, wavy rays. A sunburst. The symbol for fire. Mab Monroe’s personal rune. The same one on the invitation in my purse.

The driver fell into the flow of traffic going through the open wrought-iron gates that designated the entrance to Mab Monroe’s estate. The yellow taxi seemed out of place among all the stretch limos crawling up the curving driveway like fat, black beetles. It took twenty minutes for the driver to maneuver all the way up and stop in front of the entrance.

My gray eyes flicked over the security. Five giant guards roamed through the line of limos, opening doors, helping people out of their vehicles, directing traffic, and making sure the waiting drivers weren’t getting into too much trouble drinking or smoking on the sly. Two more giant guards stood by the front double doors that led into the mansion, flanking a smaller human holding a large clipboard.

“That’ll be twenty bucks,” the driver growled.

“Twenty bucks? You only drove me a couple of miles.”

Earlier this evening, I’d taken the precaution of parking a car on the side of the road just beyond Mab Monroe’s estate. An old, battered burner vehicle with fake registration and fake plates. I’d put a white trash bag in the window, left the hood up, and scattered a few tools by the side of the road. All designed to make it look like the car had broken down and someone was coming right back for it. The car was my insurance policy, in case I needed to make a quicker getaway than the one I had in mind. Once I’d put the car where I wanted it, I’d hiked over to the closest anonymous coffee shop and called the cab to bring me here.

“Twenty bucks,” the driver said again.

Since I didn’t want him to remember me, I quit arguing, paid him, got out, and walked toward the stairs that led up to the main entrance of the mansion. I could hear it, of course. With fifteen stories of solid, stacked stone looming above me, I’d have to be deaf not to. The stone whispered of power and money, the way I’d always thought it would. But there were other vibrations in it too.

Fire, heat, death, destruction. But perhaps most disturbing was a touch of madness that trilled like a whippoorwill’s cry through the solid rock, as though the stone itself had somehow been tortured until it broke. The murmurs grew louder, harsher the closer I got to the mansion, until all I could hear was the stones’ wailing cries.

I gritted my teeth and blocked out the noise of the stones’ unending pain. My only concern was Tobias Dawson, getting close enough to kill him, and getting away afterward.

Not the insanity that permeated the foundation of Mab Monroe’s mansion—or why it made me want to seriously hurt the Fire elemental.

I walked up the steps and stopped in front of the double doors.

“Invitation?” the man with the clipboard asked.

I pointed to the black velvet choker around my throat—the one with the heart-and-arrow rune on it. “I believe this is all the invitation I need, sugar. But here’s the hard copy too.” I gave him a winsome smile and handed over the engraved invitation Roslyn Phillips had slipped me.

The man stared at the heart-and-arrow rune a moment; then his eyes swept over the rest of my body. Behind him, the two giants also leered at me. Looked like Tobias Dawson wasn’t the only one here tonight with a thing for busty blondes.

The man with the clipboard pulled his attention away from my boobs and checked the name on the invitation.

“I assume you know the rules for tonight, Candy?”

I nodded. “Yeah, sugar, I know how to behave myself. I’m a pro.”

Before Finn and I had left the nightclub, Roslyn had given me a list of rules Mab Monroe had sent her for the party guys and girls. Basically, Roslyn’s hookers were to make themselves available to anyone at anytime during the course of the evening and do anything—
anything
—

Mab’s guests wanted. Those guys and girls who went home with one of Mab’s guests for the night would be generously compensated after the fact. All outstanding bills, hospital and otherwise, would be paid in full by Mab.

The man with the clipboard jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Go on in.”

One of the giants pinched my ass as I walked past.

Although I wanted nothing more than to palm one of my silverstone knives and slit his throat for putting his hand on me, I deepened my smile.

“Now, now.” I waggled my finger at him. “I’m here for the guests, sugar. Not the hired help.”

His face flushed at my insult. The giant stepped forward, but the other one put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“She’s right,” the second man rumbled. “Mab will be pissed if you touch her. Remember what she did to Stevenson last time? Do you want that to be you?”

The giant paled. Evidently, whatever Mab Monroe had done to Stevenson had made an impression on the rest of her guards. The giant shot me a sour look, but he stepped back. I winked at him and headed inside the mansion.

The insane shriek of the stones washed over me again, so loud the spider rune scars on my hands itched from the sound of it. But I gritted my teeth and pushed the noise away, buried it so deep that it was nothing more than a murmur in my head. I needed to concentrate on my mission, not wonder what Mab Monroe had done in her own house to make it sound like that.

A hallway that was at least a hundred feet wide cut through the center of the massive mansion. Despite the relatively early hour, the party was in full swing. The trill of laughter and the murmur of conversation resonated through the house, low and mellow, like hidden cicadas cooing in the tall grass in the summertime. It helped drown out the stones’ insane shrieking.

During my years as an assassin, I’d gotten close to a lot of wealthy, powerful, influential folks. As a general rule, the richer a person, the stingier he was with his money.

Finnegan Lane agreed with my observation. He often regaled me with tales about his billionaire vampire clients who bought cases of off-brand toothpaste at the nearest Sell-Everything so they could save a measly five cents a tube.

But not Mab Monroe.

The Fire elemental hadn’t skimped on anything in her mansion. Not a thing. White marble coated the floors like glossy varnish, while gold and bronze leaf glittered on the ornate cathedral ceilings a hundred feet above my head.

Genuine Tiffany lamps lined the hallway like soldiers, the hidden bulbs sending out sprays of jewel-tone colors through their stained-glass shades. A few lights glowed in the various rooms that branched off the hallway, illuminating delicate antique furniture from a variety of eras.

Everything in the house was tasteful and expensive, whispering of casual elegance that looked effortless, though it had cost a pretty penny to procure. I might have been momentarily dazzled by it, if the shrieking stone of the mansion hadn’t told me exactly how Mab had gotten the money to pay for all this finery—and all the nasty things she’d done in here since.

I walked on, passing dozens of people. Silk, satin, crushed velvet. Everyone sported their Sunday best evening gown or tuxedo. Nothing less would do for one of Mab Monroe’s parties. In addition to the stone of the mansion, I could also hear the whispers of the gemstones the men and women wore on their necks, wrists, fingers, and even toes. Beauty, elegance, fire. But even the grandest diamond’s vibration paled in comparison to the singing clarity of the one I’d seen in Tobias Dawson’s safe.

Oh yes, the dwarf could make quite the fortune mining and selling the diamonds on Warren Fox’s land to this highfalutin crowd.

I recognized more than a few of the faces I passed.

Some, I’d done jobs for. For others, I’d assassinated parents, brothers, sisters, or business partners for whatever reason. Some were Mab’s sycophants, her loyal subjects.

Others would have been happy to spit on her corpse, dance a jig on her grave, and then set about trying to take the Fire elemental’s place as Ashland’s queen bee.

I didn’t speak to anyone, but men and woman stared at me as I passed. Their eyes caught on the silver rune around my throat, then slid down my body, as thought I were a cut of meat they were thinking about getting from the butcher. According to Finn, I looked like a real, live, fuckable Barbie doll, thanks to Roslyn’s clothes and long blond wig. I’d barely recognized myself when I’d looked in the mirror earlier.

But I didn’t meet anyone’s gaze and walked on as if I hadn’t noticed there was anyone else in the mansion at all. I wasn’t here to attract their attention. Tobias Dawson was my target, and I had no intention of getting sidetracked or propositioned by anyone else.

The main hallway led out into a grand ballroom. Although
grand
really wasn’t the right word for the enormous space, which served as the junction for the three wings of the mansion. It featured a golden parquet floor, tiled here and there with marble, granite, and sheets of hammered bronze. Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling.

Some glowed with rubies and diamonds. Others burned with garnets and topaz. A staircase that was several hundred feet wide lay at the opposite end of the ballroom, its pristine scarlet carpet stretching up to the second floor and beyond.

More than three hundred of Mab Monroe’s closest business associates talked and laughed and drank on the ballroom floor, their clusters and cliques not even coming close to filling the massive space. They reminded me of dolls that might populate a child’s playhouse.

Pretty and polished with fake smiles that stretched their painted, plastic faces to the breaking point. But I looked beyond the elegant veneer of the people and furnishings.

Despite the rich sophistication on display, I noticed other things, things that weren’t as nice as they appeared at first glance.

Like the giants circulating throughout the ballroom.

Given the platters of champagne, caviar, and quail’s eggs they supported on their enormous hands, you might have thought them nothing more than waiters. But I knew what they were really here for—crowd control, in case folks got stupid and drunk enough to start turning on each other. I imagined Mab Monroe wouldn’t cotton to a couple of tipsy elementals deciding to stage a magical duel in her ballroom.

That’s how elementals usually fought, by flinging their raw magic at each other, until one person succumbed to the other’s power. When two elementals clashed, the inevitable loser could suffer everything from catching Fire, to getting encased in Ice, to having her heart turned to Stone, or even being flayed alive by the very Air she breathed. Depending, of course, on the type of elemental she was fighting. And this wasn’t even counting all the other folks who had talents for things like metal, water, and electricity.

Overall, elementals’ duels were a quick, nasty, painful way to die, which is why I never engaged in them. Killing the other person first was what mattered to me. Not old-fashioned, outdated, useless concepts like honor and duels. Codes of conduct were for overconfident fools.

Five, ten, twenty… I count almost thirty giants in all, more than enough to control even the unruliest crowd.