"Oh no?" I said. "You just had more than a decade on the girls you were hitting on."
But Finn wasn't bothered by my quip, because his grin widened. "Decade or not, it was a good thing that they had daddy issues, wasn't it? Because I still went home with both of them."
I rolled my eyes and punched him lightly in the shoulder. Finn just laughed.
"Seriously, though," he said after his chuckles faded away. "What do you want to do about Vinnie and the info he leaked to me?"
"We'll pay Vinnie a visit-tomorrow," I said. "After we talk to Roslyn and tell her what's going on. See what dirt you can dig up on him in the meantime. I want to know everything there is to know about Vinnie Volga before we go and brace him and see why he's spreading rumors for Mab."
And before I decided whether Vinnie was any kind of threat to me-and whether the bartender needed to get dead for being stupid enough to try and sell out the Spider.
Finn and I made plans to meet tomorrow and said our good nights. Then he zoomed his Escalade down the driveway to go back to his apartment in the city, leaving me alone in front of the house.
Instead of immediately going inside the mansion, I stood in the driveway. Listening, but not to the wind as it gusted through the trees that flanked the house, making them creak and crack and shudder. Instead, I tilted my head to one side and concentrated on the whispers of the gray cobblestones under my feet and the larger rocks of the mansion above my head.
People's emotions and actions sink into their surroundings over time, especially stone. As a Stone elemental, I could hear, listen to, and interpret emotional vibrations in the element, no matter what form it took, from loose gravel underfoot to a brick house to a granite gravestone. I could tell if a home was a happy one, if blood had been spilled in a driveway, or if someone was lurking around the side of a building with dark intentions in her heart.
Tonight the stones gave off nothing but their usual, low murmurs, telling me of the winter wind that had whipped around the mansion all day and the chipmunks that had scurried from one side of the cobblestones to the other looking for shelter from the cold.
But there was more to being a Stone elemental than just listening to rocks. My magic also let me manipulate the stone. Let me tap into the element and exert my will on it any way I wanted to, from crumbling bricks to cracking concrete. I could even make my own skin as hard as marble so that nothing could penetrate it, not even another elemental's power-a trick that had saved me more than once. And I was strong in my magic too. So strong that I could easily lash out with it and tear Owen Grayson's mansion apart one stone at a time. It wouldn't have been any harder for me than breathing. I knew from past experience that my elemental power would let me bring down all those lovely gray stones and grind them to dust.
After all, I'd done that very thing to my own home, the night that Mab had murdered my mother and older sister.
On that horrible night, I'd reached out with my Stone magic and leveled our whole house with it to try to get to my baby sister, Bria, in time. To try and save her before Mab found, tortured, and killed her. I'd thought that Bria had died as a result of my actions, that she'd been crushed to death by the falling stones. It was a cold, ugly, secret guilt I'd carried with me for the last seventeen years, until I'd discovered that Bria was still alive and back in Ashland.
I'd only been thirteen when I'd destroyed my own house. Now, at thirty, my magic was stronger than it had ever been before. And, according to Jo-Jo Deveraux, the dwarven Air elemental who healed me whenever I needed it, my power would only keep growing.
The thought always made me uncomfortable. Even now I shivered at the idea. My mother, Eira, had been the strongest Ice elemental that I'd known, but her magic hadn't been enough to save her from Mab's Fire power. Mab's flames had washed over her-hot, hungry, and unstoppable-consuming my mother until she was nothing more than a pile of smoldering ash. So I had more than a gut feeling that my own Ice and Stone power wasn't going to do me much good when I finally went up against the Fire elemental.
Sometimes, even assassins had qualms about dying.
I pushed my melancholy memories aside and stepped up to the front door. A knocker was mounted there-a large hammer done in hard, black iron. The symbol could also be found on the enormous gate that ringed the house and grounds.
The hammer was a rune, just like the scars on my palms. But whereas the spider runes branded into my hands symbolized patience, Owen's hammer represented strength, power, and hard work-all things that he knew a great deal about. Owen Grayson used the hammer as his personal and business rune. A common thing in Ashland. Elementals, vampires, giants, dwarves-most of the city's magic types used some sort of rune to identify themselves, their family, their business, or even their power.
A light burned above the front door, but I didn't see any others on inside the house, so I decided not to use the hammer rune knocker. No need to wake everyone else up. Besides, I was used to slipping into buildings in the middle of the night. It just felt more natural to me.
I held my hand out, palm up, and reached for the Ice magic flowing through my veins. A cold, silver light flickered there, centered on the spider rune scar embedded in my palm, and a second later, I held two slender Ice picks in my hand, tools of my trade that I'd created a thousand times before.
I was the rarest of elementals-someone who could use not one but two elements. Ice and Stone, in my case. For years, my Stone magic had been the stronger of the two, due to the spider rune scars on my hands. That's because the scars were made out of silverstone, a special metal that absorbed all forms of magic, including elemental power. Like most Ice elementals, I released my power through my hands, using it to create Ice cubes, crystals, and whatnot. But the silverstone metal in my palms had blocked the easy release of my Ice power, absorbing the magic as fast as I could bring it to bear.
Several weeks ago, I'd finally overcome the block during a fight for my life against another Stone elemental. It always surprised me how easy it was to use my Ice magic now-and how it felt stronger every time I reached for it. Jo-Jo Deveraux claimed that soon my Ice power would be just as strong as my Stone magic. Another thought that made me uneasy.
Especially since my elemental magic, my dual powers, was the reason that Mab had murdered my family in the first place.
It took me less than a minute to pick the lock. Of course, I didn't really need to use the Ice picks at all, much less skulk around outside in the cold dark. Owen had given me a key to the door a few days ago, telling me to feel free to drop by anytime, day or night.
I wasn't sure how I felt about having a key to a man's home. None of my previous relationships had ever lasted long enough to get to this point. Owen and I had been together for only a few weeks, and things were moving faster than I'd thought they would between us. Then again, I wasn't sure about a lot of things when it came to Owen Grayson.
Especially the way he made me feel.
For a moment, I stood there in front of the open door, wondering whether I really wanted to go inside. Whether I really wanted to see Owen tonight. Whether I really wanted to deal with the developing relationship and deepening emotions between us.
Me, Gin Blanco, the assassin known as the Spider, hovering outside her lover's door like a nervous teenager trying to scrounge up enough courage to finally call that cute boy in her class. Finn would have laughed his ass off at me and my indecision. But I'd much rather face a dozen assassins like LaFleur any night than deal with something as tricky, convoluted, and fragile as my feelings.
Still, Owen had asked me to come by, and I'd told him that I would, if things didn't get too violent and bloody on my latest hit. Emotions or not, I liked to keep my promises whenever I could, especially to Owen, who had been so good to me so far, so accepting of who I was and all the ugly things I had done-that I would do again without hesitation to protect the people I loved.
So I drew in a breath, slipped inside the house, and closed the door behind me.
Chapter 3
I stood in the foyer a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the shadows. The front of the house was dark, although I spotted a couple of lights burning farther back. They must have been in the downstairs living room. Faint music drifted down the hallway toward me, someone crooning the old classic "Winter Wonderland."
The polite thing to do would have been to announce my presence, to call out and see whether Owen or Eva was still up. Instead, I crept down the hallway, sliding from one shadow to the next. Being cautious, just as I had when I'd lingered outside and listened to the murmurs of the stones, checking to see if there was anyone around who shouldn't be. I couldn't afford to be careless these days. Not even here.
As I walked deeper into the house, my gaze scanned what I could see of the furnishings. Looking for anything out of the ordinary, anything out of place, anything or anyone who might be a threat to me. But all I saw was the same simple, familiar furniture. Lots of pieces done in dark, heavy woods, thick rugs on the floor, iron sculptures standing in the corners. Everything in its place for the night.
Except for me, who felt decidedly out of place.
I reached the doorway to the downstairs living room. The music was louder here, though not unpleasantly so. Still staying well back in the shadows, I peered into the room.
It looked like a Christmas fairyland. An enormous Fraser fir reached almost to the ceiling in the corner next to the gray stone fireplace. Its crisp, clean, woodsy scent tickled my nose, even out here in the hallway. Twinkling white lights had been wrapped around the tree, and a variety of jewel-colored ornaments glittered on its thick emerald branches. More decorations spread out through the rest of the room-holly leaves clustered on the mantel, candy cane-striped candles on the end tables, a fat ball of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling.
Eva Grayson stood in front of the tree, a large box of silver tinfoil icicles in her hands. Given the late hour, she wore a pair of pink flannel pajamas, cute and sexy at the same time. The fabric showed off Eva's tall, lithe figure to its full advantage. The bright color also brought out the exquisite contrast of her features-blue-black hair, blue eyes, and flawless pale skin.
Eva plucked a single icicle out of her box and tossed it at the tree. She cocked her head to one side, making sure the placement was just so, before grabbing another piece of foil and throwing it onto the tree as well.
"Are you going to put those on one at a time? Because we'll be here all night," a man's voice rumbled.
Owen Grayson moved out from where he'd been standing behind the tree, another box of silver icicles in his hand. Like Eva, Owen was dressed down for the evening in a black T-shirt and pair of gray pajama pants. The cotton stretched over his broad chest, highlighting his compact, sturdy frame, one that always reminded me of a dwarf's stocky physique. But at six foot one, Owen had more than a foot on most dwarves. He had the same blue-black hair and pale skin that Eva did, although his eyes were a light, piercing violet. His face was also blunter and rougher than hers, with a thin, white scar that slashed down his chin and a slightly crooked nose. Somehow, the small imperfections gave his face a hard, dangerous edge that only made him that much more appealing.
At first glance, most people wouldn't consider Owen to be a handsome man. Not like Finn, with his classic good looks, easy charm, and slick smile. But the more I looked at Owen, the more attractive he became to me. He was impressive in his own way, doing everything with a strong, authoritative air. I'd always been drawn to confident men, especially those like Owen who actually had something to be confident about. Even wearing pajama pants, Owen seemed ready for anything the world could possibly throw at him, from decorating a Christmas tree with his kid sister, to an unexpected business meeting, to a dangerous assassin lurking in his house. There was a quietness to Owen, a calm inner strength that I recognized and admired. He knew his power and his place in the world, and he didn't try to hide it.
And the rest of him was pretty easy on the eyes too. My gaze drifted over his broad chest once more, then down to the flannel pants that hung loosely on his hips. Warmth bubbled up in my stomach, and it had nothing to do with the orange flames crackling in the stone fireplace. Mmm. Maybe Finn would be right about the booty call after all.
"You want the tree to look good for Gin, don't you?" Eva replied, picking out another icicle to place on the green branches. "Where is she, by the way? I thought she was supposed to be here by now."
"She'll get here when she gets here," Owen replied in his deep voice. "She had another assignment tonight."
"Assignment. Right," Eva drawled. "You don't have to sugarcoat things for me, you know. You can just come out and say it. Gin's off killing someone. Another one of Mab Monroe's men?"
A faint wince crinkled Owen's face at his sister's blunt tone. At thirty-three, Owen was several years older than his sister and was the consummate, overprotective big brother. Even though she was nineteen, he still wanted to shield Eva from everything-including what I did late at night.
"I believe that was the plan, yes," he replied.
Owen knew that I was the assassin the Spider. He'd had his suspicions for weeks, ever since I'd gone toe-to-toe with a greedy dwarven mine owner-and had been the only one left standing at the end. A couple of weeks ago, I'd told Owen my deep, dark secret when I'd gone after Elliot Slater.
Owen had been more accepting of my past then I'd ever dreamed he could be. He knew what a dark, twisted, violent place Ashland was, and he'd done his fair share of nasty things over the years too. Just to survive, just to keep himself and Eva safe. Owen didn't begrudge me my strength, skills, or murky past, unlike another man that I'd once been involved with. His easy acceptance of me was one of the many things I liked about Owen.
