Spider’s Revenge (36 page)

Oh, I remembered, probably better than Fletcher did, because Douglas was the first person I’d killed inside the Pork Pit. I’d taunted the giant, lured him over to me, and then I’d stabbed him to death with the knife I’d been using to chop onions. The first time I’d ever used a blade that way—the first of many
.

“When you killed Douglas, I realized how I could make things up to you, for your family being gone. I realized that I could train you to be an assassin, to survive. Even back then, you had that same cold, iron will you do now,” Fletcher said. “I’d heard about Magda’s prophecy, so I knew why Mab had wanted you and your sisters dead, because supposedly one of you would grow up to kill her. And I thought that maybe—that maybe this was what the prophecy was all about in the first place. That maybe you were meant to be with me, instead of with Bria. At first, anyway. Until you grew up. Until I could train you. Besides, by that point, I just loved you too damn much to let you go.”

We fell silent. I thought back to what I’d said to Mab
,
when I’d asked her if she thought that she’d brought all this on herself
.

“It’s all very Greek, isn’t it?” I quipped. “Prophecies, tragedies, destinies. Just like in all those old mythology books we read over the years.”

Fletcher shrugged. “Hard to beat the classics.”

I nodded. “And what about all that talk of my retirement right before you… died?”

Fletcher shrugged again. “Being an assassin is all well and good, but I wanted you to start thinking about other things, to realize that there was more to life than killing people, no matter how good you are at it. I’d taught you how to survive. I guess I wanted to put you on a happier path before I died.”

“The one that led me to Bria,” I finished
.

He nodded. We didn’t speak. Outside the snow continued to fall, coating everything in its cold, wet embrace
.

“So what now?” I finally asked. “Because Mab’s dead. I made sure of that. And if I’m not already, then I’m probably on my way to join her—and you.”

The old man snorted. “What now? That’s up to you, Gin. Just like it always has been.”

“So I can go back then? Back to being… alive? Or whatever?”

The old man stared at me with his bright green eyes. “You’re Gin Blanco, Genevieve Snow, and the Spider all rolled into one. You can do whatever you want to, sweetheart.”

I bit my lip and looked away. “I don’t want to lose you again, Fletcher. I don’t want to leave you behind. Especially since it’s my fault that you died in the first place. My fault that Alexis James tortured you to death.”

A hundred agonizing emotions tightened my throat, but for once, I forced out the words. “I—I failed you that night.”

“And I failed you when I didn’t stop Mab from killing your mother and older sister,” the old man snapped right back at me. “We all make mistakes, Gin, even the best of us. I like to think that it all evens out in the end. Remember that, and you’ll be fine.”

“But what should I do?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Fletcher said. “But it seems to me like there are a lot of people out there who care about you. It would be a shame to up and die on them, especially when they’re working so hard to try to save your life.”

I thought about everything that I’d gone through in the last few months. Grieving over Fletcher’s death, my messy affair with Donovan Caine, taking on bad guy after bad guy, finding Bria, connecting with her, and now with Owen too, and all the things I felt for him. Fletcher was right. I’d worked too damn hard to get through all of that, to build a real life for myself, to give it up now
.

Still, I got to my feet with a heavy heart. I should have headed for the door, but I lingered at the counter. I breathed in, and the old man’s scent filled my nose—sugar, spice, and vinegar all mixed together, with just a hint of chicory coffee. The caffeine fumes comforted me the way they always did
.

“Well, then, I guess this is good-bye.”

Fletcher gave me a sly smile. “For now.”

I nodded, turned, and walked over to the front door. For a moment, my hand hovered over the doorknob, and I wondered once more if this was the right thing to do. It would be easy to stay here with Fletcher—so easy. But like the old man
had said before, I was Gin Blanco, Genevieve Snow, and the Spider
. Easy
wasn’t in my vocabulary. It never had been
.

I twisted the knob, opened the door, and stepped out into the cold. But I wasn’t ready to go—not yet. I turned and stared back through the storefront windows, looking at the old man
.

Our gazes met and held through the glass. Green on gray. Our love and respect for each other glowing as bright as the neon pig sign above the door
.

Fletcher raised his hand to me in a silent wave, which I returned. Then the snow swirled between us once more, and he was gone
.

I shuddered in a breath and found myself staring into a pair of bright green eyes—eyes that were pinched tight with worry and fear.

“Fletcher?” I mumbled, my voice hoarse and raspy and broken. “Fletcher?”

I wheezed in another breath and wished that I hadn’t. Pain flooded my body, snapping me out of whatever dream or limbo I’d been in. I was dimly aware of the agony coursing through my veins, of the sheer misery surging through me with every slow, erratic beat of my singed heart. But at the same time, I felt completely disconnected from myself, as though I were standing over my own body, watching my limbs twitch and writhe with pain with a dispassionate eye. I imagined the sensation probably had something to do with the fact that all of my nerve endings, hell, all my skin, had been seared off by Mab’s elemental Fire.

But I’d gotten the bitch. I’d finally gotten
her
. I thought that I smiled then. I certainly wanted to, even as the blackness crept up on me again.

“No, it’s Finn,” my foster brother’s familiar voice said. “Gin? Stay with me, Gin!”

Some indistinct murmurs sounded, and footsteps scuffled in the snow. But I didn’t see anyone because my eyes were sliding shut again.

“She’s alive!” Finn screamed. “Get Jo-Jo over here! Now!”

The world went black once more.

The next time I woke up, I felt like I was being stabbed with a hundred thousand red-hot needles—all at once. I cried out from the pain, screaming and thrashing. At least, I thought that I did. I certainly wanted to. Even Mab’s elemental Fire hadn’t felt as bad as all this, as painful, as agonizing, as brutal. It was like every last molecule of my skin was being ripped off and then stitched back on, one cell at a time. And there was no stopping it, no escaping it. Just pain, pain, and more pain.

“Hold her steady,” someone muttered. “I can’t have her thrashing around and tearing up what I’ve already healed.”

It might have been my imagination, but I thought that the pressure on my arms and legs increased that much more.

“You’re exhausted,” someone else rasped in a broken voice that sounded vaguely familiar. “Help you.”

“Me too,” a higher, lighter, lilting voice chimed in. “I don’t have Air magic, not like you do, but you can
use my Ice power. I’ll feed it to you however I can. Maybe it’ll help. I have to do—something to help her. I can’t—I can’t stand to see her like this. So broken and melted—”

The voice cut off in a choked sob. After that, silence.

“All right,” the first voice said, sounding more tired and weary than any person had a right to be. “Let’s just hope that mashing all our magic together doesn’t kill her outright. Because I’m running on empty at this point.”

For a moment, the needles faded away. I sighed with relief. But I’d barely drawn in a breath when they returned, even sharper and hotter than before. More and more of them, stabbing me over and over again in an unrelenting wave of agony.

I threw my head back and screamed and screamed and screamed into the blackness.

A soft, cool hand stroked my forehead, and I felt the faintest trickle of Ice magic glide over my body, enveloping me in its cold, sweet caress. I sighed with relief and tried to lean into the touch, but something stopped me. My whole body felt like it was immobilized, wrapped, bandaged, and strapped down like I was one of the poor souls languishing away in Ashland Asylum. Maybe the powers that be had fitted me for my straitjacket already, as crazy and jumbled as my mind was right now. I didn’t have the strength to fight against whatever was weighing me down. I didn’t have the strength to do anything.

“Rest, Gin,” that high, lilting voice murmured in my
ear, the same exhaustion that I felt coloring her words as well. “Just rest.”

So I did.

The next time that I woke up, it was for good. I opened my eyes and found myself staring up at a cloud-covered fresco on the ceiling. I sighed with relief, and more than a few tears slipped out of my eyes. I was safe at Jo-Jo’s house once more. Somehow, I’d done the impossible—killed Mab Monroe and lived to tell the tale. Wow. Sometimes, I surprised myself. I grinned. But in a good way.

Dark cloaked the room, although it was slowly giving way to dawn. A soft snore rumbled close to my left ear, and my eyes flicked over to find Owen asleep in the rocking chair next to the bed, a blanket covering him.

I wondered how long Owen had been sitting there, watching over me, waiting for me to wake up. He looked as exhausted as I felt. Deep lines grooved into his face, purple circles ringed his closed eyes, and a thick growth of black stubble covered his face, as though he hadn’t shaved in a week. I couldn’t see his clothes, but I imagined that they’d be just as rumpled as the rest of him.

Still, the sight of him sitting there, watching over me even when he was so obviously exhausted himself, made me happier than anything had in a long, long time.

But instead of waking him up, I carefully turned over onto my side. Blankets had been piled on top of me too, so I couldn’t see what kind of shape I was in. Curious and a little afraid of what I might find, I lifted the covers.

White gauze covered me from head to toe, wrapped around my legs, arms, torso, toes, and everything in between.
I’d never considered myself to be a particularly vain person, but my fingers trembled just a bit as I put my hand up to my face.

More gauze there too, although at least it wasn’t an inch thick like it was on the rest of me. I felt like a mummy. Give me a pyramid and some dusty treasure to guard, and I’d be right at home in a horror movie. I looked like a monster too, given all the gauze and the ointment that I could feel underneath it soaking into my skin—or what was left of it.

But I wasn’t too worried. I was still alive, still breathing when I shouldn’t be. That was a victory in and of itself. Jo-Jo could fix the rest, no matter how long it took.

The small, slow movements took every bit of nonexistent energy that I had, but I struggled against the blackness that threatened to swallow me. I wasn’t going back down the rabbit hole—not until I told Owen how I felt about him. So I lay there and watched my love sleep. Seeing him here, knowing how much he cared, was the best medicine for me. Just his presence alone soothed me.

Time went by. Eventually, I heard others moving in the house. Doors opened and closed softly, and footsteps tread lightly, as my friends and family crept around so as not to wake whoever else was still sleeping. But I didn’t call out to whoever was already up. Instead, I just lay there in bed and looked at Owen, grateful that I’d survived Mab’s Fire—and more than grateful that Owen was here when I’d woken up.

I didn’t know how long he slept or how long I watched him, but eventually his snores slurred, softened, and
faded away. His head listed to one side, and I could sense that he was rising up out of the black void of exhaustion.

Owen’s eyes fluttered open—his beautiful, beautiful violet eyes. The ones that never held anything but warmth and understanding and love and respect whenever he looked at me.

Owen rubbed his eyes, then ran his hands through his black hair, making it stand straight up. He let out a soft, tired sigh and looked over at me. Apparently he still expected me to be asleep because he frowned and blinked a few times, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether I was really awake.

“Gin?” he asked, tremulous hope making his voice crack.

“Back from the dead, again.”

I meant for my tone to be light, playful even, but my voice came out as a harsh rasp. I sounded—I sounded exactly like Sophia. Like I’d spent my life smoking, snorting, and drinking everything I could get my hands on. For a moment, I wondered why; why my voice would be this way, and then I remembered what Jo-Jo had told me. How the younger Goth dwarf had been forced to breathe in elemental Fire—just like I had.

My voice didn’t bother Owen, though. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. All the tension that had been coiled around him fell away, like chains being lifted off his arms and legs. Owen shuddered out another breath, and a tear tracked down one of his cheeks.