Deadly Sting

11

I slid the card through the reader. A light on the top flashed a bright green, and the door snicked open. I stuffed the card into a pouch on the utility belt and tightened my grip on my knife.

I rushed through the opening, my knife up and ready to slice into whoever was standing inside. But instead of cutting down another giant or two, I found myself in an empty hallway.

Actually, it was more like an antechamber, a wide stub of a room. A wooden coat rack stood in the corner, its empty arms making it look like a scalped tree. A series of metal lockers lined the left wall, fronted by a long metal bench.

My gaze snapped to the second, interior door ahead of me, and I waited, just waited, for someone to open it.

But no one did.

No one came to investigate. No one poked a head out of the interior room to ask a question of a fellow robber. No one ambled over to the snack machine that hummed against the right wall, its fluorescent bulbs flickering like a bug zapper.

Well, if they weren’t going to come out to me, I had no problems going in to them.

Still moving as quietly as possible, I pulled the exterior door shut behind me and headed for the one at the far end of the chamber. This door was made of wood instead of metal, and I could hear music playing, some twangy country song about a woman getting revenge on a man who done her wrong. Even worse, whoever was on the other side was singing along in a very loud, very screechy, very off-key voice. I winced. Somebody needed some singing lessons. A chorus of dogs howling and cats hissing would have sounded better. But the caterwauling told me that there was only one person inside. No one else would have put up with the country-western karaoke act.

I shut the awful screeching out of my mind, reached forward, and tried the knob. It turned easily, and I opened the door just a crack. The actual security center wasn’t much bigger than the antechamber, and a series of monitors took up the back wall, along with several keyboards, joysticks, and a control panel, all arranged on a long table. Another table stood at a right angle to the first one. It too was covered with monitors, although all of those screens were fuzzy with snow.

No wonder, since they were peppered with bullet holes. I eyed the monitors and the blue and white sparks flickering inside them. Judging from the blood spatters on the broken glass, someone had been shot in front of the monitors. Maybe even more than one person, given the amount of blood.

A couple of chairs squatted in front of the screens that were still working, but only one was occupied. The offending singer was another giant, one who was tossing her long black hair from side to side as she rocked back and forth in her chair to the music like she was some kind of country diva. An iPod blared on the table. I eyed the device. That was going to be the second thing in here that I killed.

I held my position, waiting to see if the giant would sense me watching her, but she was too engrossed in her song, so my gaze moved past her to the bank of monitors. A few of the screens were dark, but almost all of the cameras that were on were focused on the rotunda, showing the hostages from several different angles. One screen on the top row of monitors was fuzzy, as though there was a thick film covering the lens. That must be the camera in the hallway that I’d Iced over. I also spotted Clementine and Owen on one of the monitors in the far bottom left corner, although I couldn’t tell what they were doing from this distance.

The song on the iPod finally came to an end, and, mercifully, so did the giant’s singing. She leaned forward and grabbed the device, as though she was going to cue up another song. While she was distracted, I tucked my knife back into its slot and grabbed the gun out of the holster on my belt. I used the nozzle of the gun to push the door open slowly the rest of the way. Three in the head, dead, dead, dead, just like Dixon had said—

The door creaked.

The giant’s eyes immediately flicked to one of the blank monitors, and I knew she could see my reflection there. I raised the gun, but it was already too late.

More quickly than I would have imagined, she whirled around and chucked her iPod at me. I ducked the sailing bit of plastic, stepped forward, and raised the gun again, but the giant kicked out with her foot, causing me to jump to the side. My hip slammed into the corner of the second table off to the right, causing a hiss of pain to escape my lips. The table rocked back and forth, causing more sparks to shoot out from the broken monitors.

Before I could raise the gun a third time, the giant barreled out of her chair and chopped her hand down, smacking the weapon out of my fingers. She charged at me again, spreading her arms out wide and trying to catch me in a bear hug and squeeze the life out of me. She probably expected me to retreat, but instead I stepped forward and leaped up, head-butting her in the chin. She growled and staggered back, but she didn’t quit. Once more, she surged at me.

This time, I let her come.

Just before the giant put her hands on me, I sidestepped her and hooked my right foot around hers, making her stumble. Grabbing her utility belt, I played off of her own momentum and shoved her into the still-sparking monitors. Her head slammed through one of the glass screens, and a shower of white and blue sparks erupted. Hisses, cracks, and pops sounded, and the giant screamed as her body started convulsing. I took a few steps back, making sure that I was clear of the electricity surge. She screamed a second time, the sound as high, sharp, and whiny as a power saw. I winced again, as if that would somehow protect my eardrums. At this point, I’d kill her just to get her to stop making that awful noise.

But I didn’t have to. After a few moments, the giant quit screaming, her body quit convulsing, and she slumped down onto the table, her head still stuck inside the monitor. The sizzle and stench of charred flesh told me that she was dead.

“Hurrah for the sound of silence,” I murmured.

With the giant dead, I grabbed the gun from where it had fallen on the floor and slid it back into its holster on my belt. I also took a moment to pull out one of my knives and set it down on the table within easy reach, just in case one of her pals came into the security center before I was ready to leave.

Careful to keep away from the giant, I turned my attention to the bank of monitors on the back wall, the ones that hadn’t been shot up and were still working. I did a quick scan of the cameras showing the scene in the rotunda, but things were the same as before. Hostages sitting on the floor, giants surrounding them, Opal transferring the jewelry from the garbage bags to two more silverstone briefcases.

Once again, I wondered what Clementine thought was so important about the jewelry when she had so much art to loot, but I didn’t have time to puzzle it out.

I scanned the monitors until I found an angle that showed my friends. Eva, Finn, and Roslyn were still clustered around Phillip. His eyes were open, and he was gazing up at Eva. He didn’t look to be any worse, but I couldn’t really tell without seeing him in person. One thing was for sure, he wasn’t going to get any better just lying there.

That mental clock in my head started ticking a little louder and a whole lot faster. Because every minute, every second, that passed was one that might mean the difference between Phillip living or dying. As the Spider, I’d done jobs on specific timetables, but a friend’s life hung in the balance tonight. There was nothing I could do about the time that had already passed, but I could control how I took down Clementine and her crew—the sooner, the better.

So I turned my attention to the last monitor, the one in the bottom left corner that showed Clementine and Owen. I squinted at the screen. The two of them seemed to be standing in front of a very large door, with three of her men waiting behind them. The angle sucked, and I couldn’t hear what they were saying, so I started pushing buttons, sliding controls, and toggling the joysticks back and forth. It took me a few seconds, but I was finally able to zoom in on the two of them. I hit another button, and the sound of the giant’s country drawl flooded the security center.

“Isn’t it a beauty?” Clementine said. “Why, it’s almost a work of art itself.”

She paced back and forth, walking in and out of the view of the camera. For the first time, I noticed a lock on the door, along with a large round wheel, and I realized exactly where Clementine had taken Owen: the museum’s vault.

“The vault walls are marble, just like the rest of the museum, but the door itself is reinforced silverstone, more than six inches thick,” Clementine said. “That’s the tricky part, and that’s where you come in, Mr. Grayson.”

Reinforced silverstone? Well, the Briartop directors had certainly gone all out. Silverstone was one of the strongest metals around, with an insanely high melting point. It wasn’t something you could just blast through with a couple of sticks of dynamite or a brick of C-4. No, you needed real power to get through any kind of door with silverstone in it—elemental power. Even then, you’d need to find someone with a whole lot of juice, since the metal could absorb all forms of magic. Or you could do what Clementine had done and find someone with an elemental talent for metal to help you.

Someone like Owen.

“Really?” he asked. “Why is that?”

She looked at him and smiled. “Because you’re going to open it for me.”

For a moment, everything was silent, except for the soft hum of the camera feed and the faint, tinny flicker of the black-and-white monitor in front of me. On the screen, Owen stared at Clementine a moment, then threw back his head and laughed.

“You think I can crack that vault?” He let out another series of chuckles. “Lady, you are out of your mind.”

Instead of being insulted, her smile widened. “Not at all.”

Owen realized that she was serious, and his laughter abruptly cut off, the last notes dying on his lips. He looked at the vault door again, really studying it.

“What’s in there that you want so badly?”

“Funny you should ask. You see, art isn’t the only thing that Mab Monroe left behind,” Clementine said. “In addition to all those baubles on display in the rotunda, the Fire elemental also had a vast personal fortune. But the most interesting thing is that she didn’t keep it stashed away in some bank or even just lying around as cash. No, it seems that Ms. Monroe preferred a more tangible, old-fashioned currency: gold.”

Owen frowned, his black eyebrows drawing together in thought. “You’re telling me that Mab Monroe kept her personal fortune all in gold, and all of it . . . here?”

“Almost like a dragon out of some fairy tale, if you think about it,” Clementine said. “Except, of course, that Mab was much more dangerous than any old dragon out of any old story. But now that she’s gone, well, we don’t have to worry about someone breathing elemental Fire on us, now, do we?”

She slapped a hand to her side and guffawed. It was good that she amused herself, because I didn’t find one thing about this funny, and neither did Owen, judging from his grim, worried expression.

When she was done congratulating herself on being so clever, Clementine started pacing again. “But to answer your questions, yes. I have it on good authority that a big chunk of Mab’s gold is stashed right here in this very vault. Apparently, Mab had a thing about not trusting banks, and she thought it would be less obvious storing her gold here rather than at one of the downtown banks. Plus, I believe the museum director was into her for a substantial gambling debt, so she took it out in trade for this.”

Owen shook his head. “Well, that’s a nice story, but it still doesn’t explain how you think I can help you get into the vault.”

“I’ve done my research, Mr. Grayson. I’ve learned quite a bit about silverstone these last few months. How tough it is, how durable, and how you need elemental magic to get around or even through it. And I think that you’re just the man for the job.”

“Why?” Owen shot back at her. “Just because I have an elemental talent for metal?”

Clementine waved a hand at him, dismissing his concerns. “Oh, I know all about your power, Mr. Grayson, especially the sculptures and weapons you make in your spare time. In fact, I bought one of your knives at a charity auction just last month. Exquisite craftsmanship.”

My gaze dropped from the screen to the knife I’d set down on the table. The blood from the giant I’d killed in the hallway outside outlined the spider rune stamped into the hilt. Owen had made this knife and four others for me as Christmas presents, and they were indeed exquisite weapons, just as Clementine had said about her own blade. Light, strong, durable, razor-sharp. I’d used the knives more than once on my enemies, and they’d never failed me.

Owen shook his head. “You’ve got it all wrong. Yes, I have an elemental talent for metal. Yes, I can craft all sorts of things out of it. But that vault door? Six inches of reinforced silverstone? That is well beyond my magic.”

“I thought you might say that, and you just might be right. But believe me when I tell you that I’ve planned ahead. I don’t expect you to do it all by yourself.”

Clementine snapped her fingers. One of the giants stepped forward, a duffel bag swinging from his hand. He put the bag on the floor, unzipped it, and reached inside it. A moment later, he came out with a welder’s torch. Another giant with another bag stepped forward and pulled out a similar torch.

The third giant stepped forward, but instead of reaching into yet another bag, like I expected, he simply held out his hand. A moment later, elemental Fire crackled to life in his palm, the flames flowing from one of his fingers to the next and back again.

Owen eyed the torches and the Fire, but he didn’t say anything.

“Now, taken as one piece, the vault door is pretty much impregnable, just like you said,” Clementine said. “There’s no way to blast through it. But I don’t need to get through the door, just around it. So you and my boys are going to use the torches to superheat the silverstone locking mechanism, along with the help of Oscar’s elemental Fire. When it gets hot enough, you’ll use your magic to gut the lock so that it’s useless. Once that’s done, you’ll go to work on the hinges, popping those off, and then I’ll just move that big slab of a door right out of the way.”

It was a good plan—a smart plan. I’d thought that Clementine was all about brute strength, raw force, sheer power, given what had happened in the rotunda earlier, but she was also clever. The more I learned about her, the more I admired her, sort of like appreciating a copperhead’s coiled beauty on the green forest floor, knowing that it would bite you the second you were in range of its curved, venomous fangs.

Owen shook his head again. “I’m telling you that I can’t do it. I don’t have enough magic for that sort of thing.”

“This isn’t about strength, Mr. Grayson, it’s about finesse. A small, controlled, precise manipulation of metal and magic. Something you do exceptionally well, judging from what I’ve seen of your work. You can shape, mold, and work with silverstone like nobody else I’ve ever seen.”

Owen didn’t respond.

“Believe me, I know that you’re not the strongest elemental out there,” Clementine said. “Now that Mab’s dead, I imagine that title would go to your girlfriend. If Ms. Blanco were still alive, that is.”

Owen stared at her—just stared and stared at her. His face pinched, his body stiff and straight, his hands clenched into fists. The giant noticed his shock, distress, and anger. She smirked at him, her pretty features twisting into an arrogant sneer. All at once, Owen let out a wild, angry roar, put his head down, and charged at Clementine.

He barreled into the giant, throwing her back against the vault door. Clementine snapped her fist forward, but Owen caught her hand in his. Owen didn’t have her giant strength, but he was no lightweight. Working all those long hours and years in his forge had made him strong. More than that, though, he was a smart fighter. While their hands seesawed back and forth, Owen brought his other fist up and punched her in the face with it.

The solid, heavy smack of his hand cracking against her skin made me smile.

Clementine grunted with surprise and annoyance, but Owen wasn’t done. He managed to hit her in the face three more times before two of her men stepped forward, grabbed his arms, and dragged him away from her. Even then, Owen fought back, kicking, bucking, and trying to break loose. But the giants tightened their holds until he realized he couldn’t get free. Slowly, his struggles ceased, although I could hear his quick, ragged breathing through the camera feed.

Clementine straightened up and pushed away from the vault door. She pressed a hand to her face, pulled it away, and stared at the smear of blood on her fingers. Owen had split her lower lip open with his last punch.

“I’ll give you that one,” she said. “Although the next time you lay a hand on me, you’ll wish that you hadn’t.”

One of the giants holding Owen shivered at her words, but he raised his chin in defiance.

“Now, enough talk,” Clementine said. “It’s time for you to get to work.”

“And if I can’t do it?” he asked in a low, angry voice. “Or refuse to?”

She shrugged. “Then I’ll let Dixon and the rest of my men take turns with your pretty little sister out there. She’ll die screaming, along with the rest of your friends. So I’d figure it out if I were you, Mr. Grayson.”

Owen sucked in another angry breath, but he forced himself to let it out and slowly unclench his fists. “Fine,” he muttered. “You win.”

He would do anything to protect Eva, even help the giants break into the vault.

Clementine let out a delighted laugh. “Of course I win. I always win. Now, get started. Time’s a-wasting.”

Once again, Owen didn’t respond.

Clementine went over to one of her men. “I’m going to go check in with the others,” she said. “You three get started. And don’t stop until the door is ready to be moved. You understand me?”

The giant nodded.

Clementine moved to the back of the room, out of sight of the camera, and a few seconds later, I heard a door shut, telling me that she’d left the vault.

One of the giants drew several pairs of safety goggles out of his duffel bag. He handed a pair to Owen, which he reluctantly slipped on, along with some heavy work gloves. He stood by while all three of the giants put on their own goggles. Then one of the men handed Owen a torch and carefully fired it up. Another giant fired up the second torch and turned toward the vault door while the last one reached for his Fire magic, making flames dance across his fingertips once more.

Owen hesitated, staring first at the lit torch in his hand, then at the giants. I knew he was thinking about using the torch to toast the three men. I would have been.

But I wasn’t surprised when he finally faced the vault door, stepped forward, and used the torch to start heating up the silverstone lock. Because I would have done the same thing then too. I would have played along nicely until I was sure the others were safe, then I would have laid into Clementine and her crew for all I was worth, even if I knew that I wouldn’t survive the fight. But the giant had her hand clutched around Eva’s and the others’ throats, and she and Owen both knew it. He had no choice but to go along with her scheme—for now.

I studied the monitor for a few more seconds. I didn’t have Owen’s elemental talent for metal, so I didn’t know how long it would take him to get through the silverstone. Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour, given what I’d heard Clementine tell Opal and Dixon earlier. It depended on how slowly he decided to work, and he would probably drag things out as long as possible, in hopes of figuring out some way to turn the tables on Clementine and her men.

But Owen didn’t have to worry about that—because I was going to do it for him.

Clementine might claim that Mab’s gold was stored inside the Briartop vault, but I didn’t necessarily believe her. Maybe it was gold, maybe it was diamonds, maybe it was something else entirely. But whatever it was, Clementine wanted it.

And I was going to take it from her.

Clementine would just as soon kill me as look at me. She’d proven that already tonight. She wouldn’t be threatened, scared, or intimidated in the slightest by me. And if she realized that I was still alive—that the Spider was still alive—sneaking through the museum and killing her men, she’d grab Finn or one of my other friends and hold a gun to their heads until I agreed to surrender. Once I did that, she’d put a couple of bullets in my skull, and that would be the end things for me and everyone else in the rotunda.

No, whatever was in that vault was the only bit of leverage I would be able to get here. If I swiped it first, Clementine would have no choice but to deal with me to get what she wanted, and I’d force her to trade my friends and the rest of the hostages for the treasure in the vault. Of course, Clementine would no doubt try to double-cross and murder me, but that was nothing new.

Still, to steal whatever was in the vault and rescue Owen, I needed supplies, and I needed help—and I knew exactly where I could get them both.