Deadly Sting

6

The first thing I did was toe off my shoes so the heels wouldn’t clack against the marble floor. At the same time, I reached through a slit in my skirt. I’d just stepped out of my second shoe when my hand closed around one of the two knives I had strapped to my thighs. I slid the weapon free and pulled open the interior door just wide enough for me to slip into the powder room. Then I tiptoed over to the exterior door. I stood there, head cocked toward the heavy wood, but I didn’t hear anything else.

But there was a pane of glass that served as a vent in the top of the door, so I picked up one of the white velvet chairs, carried it over to the door, and climbed up onto the seat so I could see through the glass.

Jillian Delancey lay on the floor right outside the bathroom door—dead.

At least, I assumed it was Jillian. It was kind of hard to tell, since most of her face had been blown off.

But she wasn’t alone. A giant stood over her body. He was on the small side, a few inches short of seven feet tall, but he made up for it by having a ripped, chiseled figure that would have put any bodybuilder to shame. His biceps bulged so big I doubted that he could rest his arms down against his sides. His skin was exceptionally tan, bordering on orange, the sort of fake, unnatural color you got out of a bottle. Everything else about him was pale, though: his hazel eyes, his curly blond hair, even the wispy soul patch that clung to his chin like puffed-up peach fuzz.

But the most interesting thing about him was the fact that he was wearing the dark blue uniform of one of the museum’s security guards—one that didn’t quite fit. The pants legs stopped an inch short of his black socks, and the chest and sleeves of the shirt threatened to split open with every breath he took. It almost looked like he was playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes.

He clutched a silenced gun in his right hand, the weapon trained on Jillian as if he thought she was suddenly going to come back to life with that much of her face missing. Not even Mab could have survived something like that.

For a moment, sorrow washed over me. I hadn’t known a thing about Jillian Delancey, other than that she’d come here with Owen and had been interested in him, but she hadn’t deserved to die like that.

But the real question was, why had the giant killed her? Why here? Why now? All around me, the marble whispered as Jillian’s blood oozed across it and the giant’s ugly, violent actions soaked into it. I’d thought the stones had sounded upset before, but now they practically hummed with tension and whined with worry. Whatever was going down, it was happening now.

Lucky for me, there was a guy standing right outside the door who could tell me exactly what that was—and how I could stop it before anyone else got hurt.

I started to get down from the chair so I could yank open the door and confront the giant when another sound caught my ear—clack-clack-clack-clack. Footsteps, hurrying this way. The giant’s head snapped up, and he moved away from Jillian’s body so the new arrival could see his gruesome handiwork.

The giant waiter who’d entered the bathroom earlier stepped into view. Dropping to one knee beside Jillian, she was careful not to get too close to the blood spreading across the floor. She looked at Jillian—or what was left of her—and shook her head, making her tight curls bounce every which way before they settled back into place.

“What a fucking mess,” she said. “Why the hell did you shoot her in the face so many times?”

“Are you kidding me?” the second giant asked. His high, whiny voice reminded me of a mosquito buzzing around. “With her reputation? I wasn’t taking any chances. Not with this bitch. And see? It worked.”

Her reputation? My stomach clenched, and I started to get a bad, bad feeling.

“Yeah, it worked because you blew half her skull off.” The female giant shook her head again. “I told you to kill her, Dixon. Not splatter her brains everywhere.”

“Well, who cares as long as she’s dead?” Dixon, the male giant, said. “Come on, Clementine. You know I’m right about this.”

Clementine? That wasn’t a very common name, and it rang a bell in the back of my mind. I studied the giant, but once again, I couldn’t quite place who she was or where I might have seen her before tonight. I was going to find out, though—real soon.

“We’re the ones taking all the risks,” Dixon said, his voice taking on a pleading, petulant note. “I say we do whatever we want, as long as we get the job done in the end. This is the score of a lifetime. I don’t want anything to screw it up. Do you? So three in the head, and the Spider’s dead.”

The Spider. That sick, sick feeling ballooned up in my stomach, choking me from the inside out, burning as cruelly as the hottest elemental Fire. They thought that they’d killed the Spider; they thought that they’d murdered me. But it was Jillian lying there on the cold marble—or what was left of her.

Finn had been so upset when he’d realized that Jillian had on the same dress as I did. He’d never dreamed it would get her killed, and neither had I. Scarlet dress, dark brown hair, strong, slender build. Owen had mistaken me for Jillian earlier, and Dixon had made the same error in reverse.

The cold, cruel irony twisted into my gut, adding to my agonizing guilt, and my own scarlet gown seemed to cinch tightly around my waist, like a corset compressing my lungs and slowly suffocating me. I could feel each and every one of the delicate crystals around the waist digging into my stomach like tiny daggers. For a moment, I was seized by the unbearable urge to tear off the gown and rip it to shreds with my knife. I wanted to scream and shout and beat my fists against the marble walls about how fucking unfair it was that an innocent woman had died because of me.

But that wouldn’t calm my raging emotions.

Nothing would—except killing the giants.

Clementine studied Jillian’s body. After a moment, she nodded. “You’re right. Dead is dead, and dead is good in her case. Besides, it’s not like you can put her face back where it used to be.”

Dixon let out the breath he’d been holding. He smiled at the other giant, but it was a nervous expression, punctuated by a faint twitching of his left eye, and it took him a moment to relax the tight, white-knuckled grip he’d had on his gun. He’d known that Clementine wouldn’t be happy with what he’d done, and he’d been afraid of what she might do to him.

Whoever Clementine was, she was definitely in charge, and Dixon was scared of her. He had shot an unarmed woman in the face, but he was still taking pains to tiptoe around the other giant. That told me a few things about Clementine, namely that she was even more dangerous and ruthless than Dixon was.

Clementine got to her feet and glanced at her watch. I didn’t get a good look at it, but I could still see the flash of diamonds and the gleam of silverstone around her wrist. An expensive piece, one far too pricey for a simple waiter. Then again, Clementine wasn’t what she seemed to be, any more than I was.

Didn’t much matter. She was getting dead in another minute, two tops.

I’d wait until they left Jillian’s body behind, creep through the shadows after them, then ram my knife into Clementine’s back. Once she was dead, I’d find a quiet, secluded corner in the museum where I could question Dixon—a place where no one would hear him scream out the answers. Depending on what he told me, I’d either wipe his blood off my knives and go back to the exhibit, or I’d find Finn and tell him that we had a situation to deal with—

“Is everyone else in position?” Clementine asked.

Dixon reached down and grabbed a walkie-talkie that was clipped to the black leather belt around his waist. “Team one?”

A staticky crackle sounded, along with a male voice. “In position.”

“Team two?” he asked.

Another crackle, another voice, this one female. “In position.”

He repeated the procedure, checking in with three other teams. I didn’t know how many folks were on each team, but I was willing to bet that it was several. This was what the stones had been murmuring about all evening. Whatever was happening, I was going to stop it—and the giants.

Clementine nodded, satisfied. “All right. Grab her, and let’s get out of here.”

“Aw, do I have to?” Dixon whined again. “Why don’t you do it?”

“Because you’re the idiot who shot her in the face. You made the mess, so you can carry her. Do you have a problem with that?” Her voice was calm, polite even, but her hazel eyes were cold, flat, and empty.

“No, no, no, that’s okay,” Dixon said. “I can get her. No problem, boss.”

This time, Clementine smiled. The expression reminded me of a fox baring its teeth at a fat hen. “Good. Then let’s get the show started. We wouldn’t want to keep our guests waiting.”

Turning her back on her underling, Clementine set off down the hallway.

Dixon stared at Jillian’s body for a moment, his lips curled with disgust. Finally, sighing, he holstered his gun and attached the walkie-talkie to his belt again. He reached down, grabbed Jillian’s leg, and hurried after his boss. His inherent giant strength and the smooth marble floor made it easy for him to drag the body, like a kid pulling a wagon behind him. In seconds, the two of them had rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

I got out of the chair, went back into the bathroom, and grabbed my shoes. Then, knife still in my hand, I opened the exterior door and eased out into the hallway, looking left and right. Not seeing anyone else or hearing any footsteps clattering in my direction, I hurried down the hallway after them, my shoes clutched in one hand and my knife in the other. The marble floor felt as cold and slick as an ice rink against my bare feet, but I didn’t dare take the time to stop and put my heels back on. They’d make too much noise cracking against the floor, anyway.

Guilt surged through me once more. I should have realized something was wrong the second Clementine had sidled up to me in the rotunda, and especially when she’d done the same thing again in the bathroom. Clementine had been making sure I was inside so Dixon could shoot me. But somehow, while they’d been off plotting my demise, the two of them had missed Jillian entering the bathroom. And since he’d shot Jillian so many times in the face, destroying her features, they both assumed he’d killed the right woman in the red dress.

I didn’t know anything about Jillian Delancey. Didn’t know if she was good or bad, kind or indifferent, sweet or cynical. If she had a family, if she was a loner, if she had a couple of cats at home. If she gave money to charity, if she saved every penny, if she was a ruthless businesswoman who crushed everyone who stood in her way. All I did know was that Jillian had been in the wrong place at the wrong time—and wearing the wrong damn dress.

The giants were going to pay for that—in blood.

The determination to end Clementine and Dixon burned through me, but I made myself rein in my anger and focus on the pertinent questions.

As for why the giants might want me dead, it could be any number of reasons. But I kept wondering. Why would the giants consider me such a threat? There were lots of bad people here tonight. So why target me and not someone else?

This had the feel of a hasty hit, something arranged and executed on the spur of the moment. If all they’d wanted to do was murder me, then Clementine and Dixon had already succeeded—or at least thought they had. With their mission accomplished, they should be hightailing it out of Briartop and off the island, not dragging Jillian’s body off to parts unknown. Even more telling was the fact that they hadn’t bothered to hide or clean up the mess they’d left behind. Jillian’s blood was sprayed all over the bathroom door and the floor in front of it for all the world to see. Then there were the other teams they’d checked in with—and why they needed so many other people in the first place. No, something else was going on here besides killing me. That alone made me curious enough to figure out what Clementine and her pals were up to and do whatever it took to derail their scheme.

I reached the end of the hallway. I eased up the corner and peered around it, expecting to see the two giants heading toward the doors that led outside at the far end of the corridor.

But the hallway was empty, completely empty.

I looked behind me, then up ahead again, but no one else appeared. This particular hallway branched off in two directions. If Clementine and Dixon hadn’t gone for the exit, that left only one other destination: the rotunda.

I frowned. Why would they go back there? Especially since Dixon was dragging Jillian’s body around like a rag doll. What good would that do—

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

The harsh, stinging retort of gunfire exploded in the museum, followed by the even louder, sharper sounds of people screaming. Crashes, bangs, breaking glass—all that and more reverberated through the hallways, echoing back on one another until it sounded like someone had detonated a series of bombs inside the marble walls. Maybe they had.

I cursed. I should have taken care of Clementine and Dixon outside the bathroom, not let them get so far ahead of me that they’d been able to put their plan into action . . . whatever it was. I’d wanted to be quiet and cautious about things, and now it was coming back to bite me in the ass.

Even as I hurried down the hallway toward the rotunda, I realized that I was already too late. An iron gate barred my way, stretching from wall to wall and floor to ceiling, just like a portcullis in a real castle. I reached out and rattled the metal—or at least tried to—but it was no use. There was a lock on the other side of the gate, and even if I’d managed to open it with a couple of elemental Ice picks, I simply wasn’t strong enough to lift the heavy sheet of metal.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

More gunshots and more screams rang out as the violence continued inside the exhibit space—where my friends, my family, were.

I cursed again and backtracked, hurrying down hallway after hallway around the rotunda, but all of the entrances were similarly blocked by gates. That must have been what at least some of Clementine’s teams had been standing by for, her signal to lower the gates and trap all the partygoers like fish in a barrel.

Well, if I couldn’t go through or around the gates, I’d go up instead. I backtracked yet again until I reached a set of stairs to the second-floor balcony overlooking the rotunda. Unlike the ones that led to the museum’s upper levels, the stairs here hadn’t been blocked off for the gala, I supposed so folks could get a bird’s-eye view of the exhibit if they were so inclined.

I crept up the staircase and paused at the top. A gate was hanging up here too, but it hadn’t been lowered like the ones on the first floor. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy of the giants not to have secured all the entrances to their little show. Then again, most folks didn’t think about protecting more than the ground floor of any structure, and Clementine hadn’t counted on any stragglers being outside the rotunda when she sprang her trap.

I put my shoes down on the top step, then dropped to my stomach. Knife still in hand, I slithered across the floor and peered over the edge of the balcony at the scene below.

When I’d been in the rotunda earlier, folks had been snacking on hors d’oeuvres, sipping champagne, and admiring Mab’s many treasures beneath the glow of the soft white lights strung up all around them. But now all of that beauty had been destroyed. Glass cases full of miniature carvings had been smashed and overturned, stone sculptures had toppled over and broken into chunks, paintings had fallen off the walls and been trampled. Black scorch marks marred some of the columns where bullets had bounced off them, while bits of marble littered the floor where the flying projectiles had chipped away at the stone.

Then there were the bodies.

Three men and two women sprawled across the floor, their arms and legs bent at impossible angles, their eyes dull and sightless, their expensive clothes red and mottled with blood. The bodies were clustered right in front of the main entrance to the rotunda. It looked like the bad guys had come in with guns blazing, not caring who they mowed down with that first initial blast. The people in front never even knew what hit them.

But everyone else did.

All of the surviving guests had been herded into the center of the room so that they were standing on the enormous mosaic star embedded in the floor. Giants holding guns surrounded them on all sides. Some in the crowd were crying, a few were clutching the wounds they’d gotten from the bullets flying around, but most were staring at the giants, their eyes wide, wondering what was going to happen next.

My gaze went from one face to another, looking for my friends, my family—Finn, Eva, Phillip, Roslyn, and Owen.

Finally, I found them, huddled together near the back of the crowd of hostages. I carefully examined each one of them in turn, but they all looked fine, if a little shaken up. Owen had his arm wrapped around Eva, while Roslyn stood on her other side. Meanwhile, Finn and Phillip were staring at the giants with narrowed eyes, obviously hoping for an opening so they could try to take them out. I would have told them not to bother. Even if they could get past a few of the guards and make a break for one of the exits, there was no way they could raise one of the lowered gates before they were shot to pieces.

The five of them weren’t too far away from where my mother’s and sister’s pendants were, and I caught a glint from the silverstone runes from my position on the balcony, winking at me like mocking eyes. So close yet so far away. Just like my friends. I wondered if Finn or one of the others had spotted the necklaces and realized what they were, but I quickly pushed the thought away. All that mattered right now was that my friends were safe—and figuring out how to keep them that way.

So I looked down again, but this time, I concentrated on the bad guys. About three dozen men and women, all giants and all holding at least one gun, had arranged themselves around the rotunda, their weapons pointed in at the hostages. Waiters, guards, the parking staff. Every single one of the giants was wearing some sort of uniform. I’d thought there had been more security on the scene tonight than usual. Now I knew why.

. . . it seems like more bad guys than usual have come out of the woodwork these past few days. And the really weird thing? There’s no one around to stop them . . . It’s like all the giants who work as bodyguards have suddenly decided to move on up to bigger and better things . . .

Bria had said those words to me a few days ago at the Posh boutique. I wondered if the giants’ presence with Clementine was the reason there had been so many robberies lately. It would make sense. Why spend your time working at some lowly security job when you could be in on a sting like this? Just the jewelry off everyone in the rotunda would be enough to set this crew up for life. Add Mab’s trinkets on top of that—at least, the ones that hadn’t been damaged in the initial attack—and the dollar figure climbed even higher.

Bigger and better things, indeed.

The more I stared down at the giants and the frightened crowd, the more I felt a sinking sense of déjà vu. The scene was eerily similar to what had happened a few weeks ago at the Dubois estate. Salina had hired some giants to hold folks hostage so she could use her water magic and a series of fountains to try to drown all the people she had blamed for her father’s murder. I wondered if Clementine’s plans would involve as much death.

My gaze moved to Clementine, who was standing in the rotunda entrance, talking to Dixon. Opal, the giant who’d taken Finn’s invitation, was also standing with them. The three of them must be running the show.

Well, now I knew why Opal had been so taken aback by my appearance outside. She’d recognized me just like Finn had thought and had realized that I could be a threat to their plans. She’d probably alerted the others as soon as I’d gone into the museum so that Clementine and Dixon could be on the lookout for me and start planning my murder. Still, why not just trap me in the rotunda with everyone else? Why take on the added risk of killing me?

My gaze went from one face to another. Hazel eyes, square jaws, strong cheekbones, long, sharp noses. For the first time, I noticed the familial resemblance among the three of them. Opal had to be Clementine’s daughter, given that she was practically a twenty-something carbon copy of the middle-aged woman. Dixon looked to be roughly the same age as Opal. He didn’t resemble the two women quite as strongly, but it was obvious he was somehow related to them. Maybe a nephew or a cousin.

Dixon nodded at something Clementine said and left the rotunda. A few seconds later, I heard a faint rattle-rattle, along with the screech-screech-screech of metal. Dixon must be lifting one of the gates and creating an opening so the giants could come and go as they pleased, now that they’d cornered everyone else in here.

Clementine smoothed down her black tuxedo vest, then strode to the center of the room to stand directly in front of the hostages. Opal took up a position on her right.

Clutching a gun in her right hand, Clementine put her left hand on her hip, cocking it to one side. She gazed out over the crowd, almost like a circus ringmaster getting a feel for the audience before a big performance. Slowly, the hostages quieted down, realizing that she was the one in charge of everything—including whether they lived or died.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, a broad smile creasing her face. “My name is Clementine Barker, and this here is a holdup.”