Spider’s Revenge (35 page)

Now that we were dueling, I could sense the full extent of her power, and I knew that it was greater than my own. Not by much, but just enough to end me. Another minute, two tops, and I’d run out of juice. Then Mab’s Fire would cut through my Ice, and she’d burn me to death, just like she had my mother and older sister. The fact that I was going to die the way they had wasn’t lost on me. Hell, I would have laughed at the bitter, bitter irony, if I hadn’t needed every bit of my strength right now just to keep standing.

Once again, I thought of Fletcher and what the old man might do in this situation. The truth was that he wouldn’t have put himself in such a spot to start with. He would have found another way to kill Mab, something that didn’t involve a face-to-face confrontation and an elemental duel. It was far too late for that now, of course, but what really irked me was that I was so close to finally beating her. All I needed was another burst of power, just another sliver, hell, another
fingernail
of magic—

And then I remembered.

My ring—the one Bria had given to me. A thin silver-stone band with my spider rune stamped into the middle of it. She had poured her Ice magic into the silverstone last night before I’d gone to the country club to confront
Mab. With everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, I’d forgotten about the ring and the power that it contained—and that I was still wearing it on my right index finger. I concentrated, focusing on that sliver of power. Somehow, despite the magic that numbed my body, I could feel the silverstone resting against my skin, a cold, solid band of Ice wrapped around my finger.

And I knew what I had to do.

I gritted my teeth and forced my feet to move forward. The motion made my concentration waver, just for a second, but the lapse was enough to let Mab’s Fire blast through my Ice magic. The flames licked at my skin like a sloppy lover, burning me down to the bone. I screamed again, in agony once more.

Mab laughed, thinking that I was weakening, thinking she’d finally won. Her delighted cackle only made me that much more determined to end this thing—forever.

Despite the searing pain and the stench of my own burning flesh, I kept moving forward, inching closer and closer to the endless Fire streaming out of Mab’s fingertips. I wasn’t able to push back as much with my Ice magic, wasn’t able to completely block her attack, and I felt my skin begin to bubble, blister, and burn from the incredible heat. But I didn’t care. All that mattered now was killing Mab.

Maybe it was all that had ever really mattered.

Five feet, four, three… I inched closer and closer to the other elemental. Through the flames, Mab’s black eyes narrowed, as if she couldn’t figure out what I was up to. She’d know soon enough.

I crept closer still, my silverstone knife still in my right
hand. Despite Mab’s magic slamming into me, I’d managed to keep my death grip on the metal. It felt soft and hot in my fingers, but maybe I could do something about that. Carefully, I reached for the Ice magic that Bria had stored in my spider rune ring. There was only a trickle of it, compared to what Mab and I were throwing at each other, but it was enough—more than enough for what I had in mind.

“Oh, do come closer, little Genevieve,” Mab mocked in her silky voice. “It’ll make your death that much quicker.”

Only two small feet separated us now, and I felt my skin melting, melting, melting, dripping from my bones like candle wax under the fiery roar of her magic. Somehow, I managed to draw in one final breath, even though flames coated my mouth and throat like acid.

“You want close?” I rasped. “How’s this for close, bitch?”

With my left hand, I reached through the wall of Mab’s elemental Fire, grabbed her sunburst necklace, and used it to yank her toward me. With my right hand, I drove my silverstone knife all the way through her heart.

The Fire elemental’s black eyes bulged in shock and surprise, and she screamed with pain and fury—all the elemental pain and fury that I had felt minutes ago. Flames exploded from the wound, along with blood, and spattered against my cheek, adding to my agony. But I didn’t care anymore. My world had narrowed to one final thing—killing my enemy.

Mab jerked back, trying to get away from me, but I didn’t let her go. Hell, I didn’t even try to defend myself. Instead, I redirected all of my magic, pouring everything
that I had into keeping my silverstone knife cold, solid, and sharp in her chest. I twisted and twisted and twisted it, driving it in deeper every single time, even as her Fire washed over me, consuming me.

Mab screamed again, or maybe it was me. Hell, maybe it was both of us shrieking with pain like a couple of harpies come to life out of one of my mythology books. Whoever was screaming, I knew I’d done my part. Mab wouldn’t be coming back from the sucking wound in her chest. It was just too bad that I wouldn’t be coming back either, not from the elemental Fire that had burned me to the core.

Then the silver and red flames engulfed us both, and I knew no more.

I hurried down the snowy street, my steps quick, sure, and purposeful. I was late, and I knew that he’d be waiting for me. He always waited for me after a job, no matter how long it took me to get here
.

No one moved on the deserted downtown Ashland street except for me, and no cars crawled through the foot-deep snow. The flakes were coming down harder now, as heavy and wet as teardrops on my face, but I trudged on, eager to get to my destination. I turned the corner, and the familiar multicolored sign of the Pork Pit came into view, burning like a beacon through the dark night
.

Home—I was finally home
.

Light spilled out from the storefront windows, looking like pure liquid silver streaming down the snowbanks outside. I paused a moment and trailed my fingers over the cold, battered brick. The muted murmurs of clogged contentment sounded back to me the way they always did. I smiled and
opened the door. The bell chimed a single cheery note, announcing my presence
.

Inside, an old man with a wispy thatch of white hair leaned over the counter next to the cash register, reading a blood-stained book
. Where the Red Fern Grows.
One of his all-time favorites—and mine too
.

Joy filled my heart at the sight of him, a burst of happiness so intense it was like I hadn’t seen him in months, instead of just a few hours. After a moment, the feeling faded away, replaced by a darker, more ominous sensation
.

And then I remembered
.

He wasn’t here anymore. Not really. No, he was dead, killed months ago in this very spot. Murdered in his own restaurant. I remembered crouching over his body, my tears dripping down and mixing with the blood on his ruined face. I remembered the pain of losing him, the pain that I still felt every time I woke up in his house and realized he was gone
.

But here the old man was, and so was I—back together again. Or so it seemed
.

He looked up at the sound of the bell chiming and used one of the day’s credit card receipts to mark his spot in the blood-stained book. Then his bright green eyes met mine, and a grin creased his wrinkled face
.

“About time you got here, Gin,” Fletcher Lane said
.

I stood there just inside the door, staring at the old man and struggling to make sense of this, of where I was and what was happening to me
.

I remembered—I remembered—
Fire.
Mab’s elemental Fire, washing over me, burning me to the core. My own Ice
magic reaching out to hers, holding it at bay, and then finally, my driving my silverstone knife into Mab’s chest as the flames consumed both of us
.

I sighed. “So I’m dead then, right? This is heaven or hell or limbo or whatever?”

Fletcher didn’t answer me. Instead, the old man moved over to the stove and came back with a plate of food. He set it on the counter, then picked up his book by the cash register once more, going back to his reading
.

“Better start eating before it gets cold,” he said
.

I wasn’t sure what was going on—if this was real or a dream or something else entirely—but I wasn’t about to pass up a chance to be with Fletcher. Not now. Not after I’d spent the last few months missing him so terribly and feeling so guilty over his death—and that I hadn’t been able to save him. Not from being tortured, not from being murdered
.

So I took a seat at the counter and started eating the food. A half-pound hamburger dripping with mayonnaise and piled high with smoked Swiss cheese, sweet butter-leaf lettuce, a juicy tomato slice, and a thick slab of red onion. A bowl of spicy baked beans followed, along with a saucer of carrot-laced coleslaw. I remembered the last time that I’d had this meal—the night before Fletcher had died
.

I dug into the food, a little hesitant at first, but soon I was relishing the play of sweet and spice, salt and vinegar, on my tongue. It was a simple, savory meal that I’d had hundreds of times before, one I’d cooked a thousand times more, but somehow it had never tasted as good as it did right now. It seemed like I’d barely started eating before my plate was clean. I pushed it back and sighed
.

“That was the best meal I’ve ever eaten,” I said in a wistful tone
.

“I know,” Fletcher said. “Everything tastes better here.”

I wasn’t sure where
here
was, and I sensed that he wouldn’t tell me even if I asked. So I just sat there and looked at him, staring at the wrinkled face that I’d loved so much, that I’d missed so much. And I realized I had questions for Fletcher—all these burning questions I’d wanted to ask him for so many months now
.

“Why did you give me that folder of information on Bria? Why didn’t you just tell me that she was alive? Why wait until after you died? Why buy the land where my childhood house was? And did Mab really hire you to kill my family? Is that why you wanted her dead all these years? Because she tried to have you killed when you turned her down?” One after another, the questions tumbled from my lips
.

Fletcher marked his place in his book again, then looked up at me. His green eyes were sharper, clearer, brighter than I remembered and free of the rheumy film that had started to cloud them as he’d aged
.

“That’s what you want to know?” he asked in an amused voice. “The murky, mysterious actions of an old man? Not the big stuff? You know, about life and death and if there’s really a heaven or not?”

I shook my head. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want to know about you, Fletcher. I want to know all about you.”

The old man grinned. “That’s my girl, Gin, always focusing on the important things.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and snorted. “Only because you turned me into the same curious sort that you are. Or were. Or whatever.”

His grin just widened
.

Fletcher didn’t ask me about killing Mab. He didn’t have to. We both knew that I wouldn’t be here if the job hadn’t been done. Finally, finally done
.

“Well,” he rumbled. “I thought I explained it well enough in that letter I left for you in my office. But to answer your questions, yes, Mab did hire me to kill your family. At first, it was just your mother, but then Mab got greedy and wanted me to throw in you and your two sisters for free. And you know that I didn’t kill kids—ever.”

I nodded
.

Fletcher shrugged. “Mab was a bit upset when I turned down her offer. She knew me only as the Tin Man, not as Fletcher Lane, but that didn’t stop her from ordering some of her men to track me down and kill me. When I took the initiative and killed them instead, she sent a few more, but I took care of them too. As for why I bought the land, it was yours—yours and Bria’s. Mab had already taken so much from the two of you. I didn’t want her to take that too. You know everything else that happened. The rough outlines anyway. My trying to save your family that night but realizing I was already too late. My finding Bria roaming in the woods around your burning, crumbled house, giving her to her foster family, and then you, showing up at my back door…”

His voice trailed off, and his green eyes clouded over, lost in his memories, just like I was
.

“But why keep me in the dark about Bria for all these years?” I asked. “Why even take me in? Why train me to be an assassin? You could have just shipped me off to Savannah to live with Bria and her foster family. That would have been the easiest thing for you to do. The simplest thing, for everyone.”

“Maybe I could have, maybe I should have,” Fletcher murmured. “I thought about it when you first came here.”

“So what changed your mind?”

He looked down at the pages of his book, and for a moment, I thought that he wouldn’t answer me. But he finally raised his gaze to mine once more
.

“Do you remember the night that Douglas, that giant, came to the Pork Pit? He was one of Mab’s men, one of those searching for me. He spotted me while I was out scouting another job, and he followed me back here to kill me. Do you remember that, Gin?”