Deadly Sting

22

I rounded the bend and was reminded of something else that Briartop was known for: its statues.

A dozen stone statues lined either side of the path, all shaped like Civil War soldiers, all with their rifles held high, as if they were about to pull the triggers and give me a twenty-one-gun salute. Well, twenty-four, in this case. From what I remembered, one row of statues was Union soldiers, while the others represented the Confederacy. Even more soldier statues perched behind the front lines, the figures all forming a sort of stone battlefield in the middle of the lush greenery. Supposedly, back during the war, some battle had been fought for control of Briartop. And here I was, fighting Clementine for it tonight.

I slowed my steps, staring at each one of the figures, wondering if perhaps Clementine, Opal, or Dixon was hiding somewhere among all the stone arms and legs, preparing an ambush like I’d wanted to. But it seemed the giants were nowhere in sight.

I’d started to move past the statues, when the moon slid out from behind a cloud, highlighting the soldier closest to me. Maybe it was the way the light reflected off that particular statue, but it made me think of another place, another time, another enemy . . .

I crept through Peter Delov’s mansion as quiet as the proverbial mouse, searching for the giant.

I’d left Fletcher in a library on the third floor five minutes ago. I’d helped the old man hide underneath a desk, then grabbed a tin of Jo-Jo’s healing from my vest. I’d ripped Fletcher’s shirt open and spread it over his wound. The bullet hole in his chest wasn’t immediately fatal, and Jo-Jo’s salve would help stop the bleeding, but that was all. Fletcher was in no shape to do anything more strenuous than breathe right now. So it was up to me to find and kill Delov as quickly as I could—before he found us.

I tiptoed through the hallways, eased up to the doorways, and looked in every room I passed, repeating the evaluation process Fletcher and I had used to find the giant in the first place. But Delov was nowhere to be seen. Had he somehow gotten past me already? Or was he watching me right now from some dark corner, getting ready to strike? I didn’t know, and every second that passed ratcheted up my tension—

Scrape-scrape. Scrape-scrape.

The sound came from around the corner. I froze, my cold fingers tightening around the knife in my hand.

Scrape-scrape. Scrape-scrape.

The sound came again, moving faster now, heading right toward me. I sucked in a breath and got ready to fight. As soon as Delov stepped into view, I was going to leap forward and plunge Fletcher’s knife into his chest. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would have to do, even if I knew deep down inside that there was no way I could kill the giant face-to-face, not given how big and strong he was. But I had to try, if only to protect Fletcher—

Peaches, the Pomeranian, rounded the corner, looking all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and I sagged against the wall in surprised, sweaty relief. The dog. It was just the dog.

I drew in a breath and pushed away from the wall, determined to keep searching for Delov, even if I didn’t really believe I could take him out like I was supposed to, like Fletcher needed me to.

But Peaches had other ideas. The dog fell into step beside me as I moved down the hallway, his nails click-click-clicking and sounding as loud as trumpets on the polished hardwood floor. I might as well have raised a bullhorn to my lips and shouted my position to Delov. That’s how much noise it seemed like the dog was making.

“Go away!” I hissed, and made a shooing motion with my hand.

But Peaches only gave me a goofy grin and kept right on following me like we were playing the best game ever. Finally, I stopped, leaned down and petted the dog’s head, hoping that might appease him. But the Pomeranian just perked up more and started dancing in circles around my feet, apparently deciding that I was his new best friend.

Click-click-click. Click-click-click.

Again and again, Peaches’ nails scraped against the floor, the sound seeming to intensify with every happy wag of the dog’s bushy tail. I stood there, a wave of frustration washing over me. There was no way I could hope to sneak up on Delov, not with my pesky little shadow skipping along beside me, and I couldn’t kill the dog to make him be quiet—I just couldn’t.

I supposed I could lock Peaches in a room or a closet somewhere, but that would probably just make him start barking and reveal my location before I could scurry away. Delov would hear the noise and come running, ready to beat me to death with his massive fists—

Click-click-click. Click-click-click.

Peaches circled me again, wondering why I’d stopped petting him. I shook my head in frustration. I had to find a way to get the dog to stop making so much noise—

Noise.

My eyes narrowed in thought. Peaches wasn’t going to be quiet—it wasn’t in his nature. But maybe I didn’t need the dog to be quiet. Maybe I needed him to make as much noise as possible.

As fast as I could, I crept back to the kitchen, where Fletcher and Delov had had their earlier fight. I stepped inside, my gaze sweeping over the appliances and other furnishings until I found what I wanted: a glass container of gourmet dog biscuits on one of the counters.

I went over, opened the container, and pulled out several of the biscuits. Peaches’ black nose quivered with anticipation. I had his complete attention now.

“You want one of these, boy?” I whispered to the fluffball.

The Pomeranian pranced around, letting out hopeful, squeaky yips. I winced at the noise and quickly fed the dog one of the biscuits to quiet him down. I might not need him to be dead silent, but I needed to get the critter and myself in place before Peaches started yapping again.

I held out another dog biscuit, waving it over Peaches’ fluffy head. “Come on, boy,” I whispered again. “Follow me for your treat.”

Keeping an eye out for Delov, I hurried back toward the library, where I’d left Fletcher. I stopped outside the entrance and took a moment to crumble the dog biscuits into small, bite-size pieces. I scattered some of the biscuits around the library entrance, then tossed a few more deeper into the room. They didn’t make a sound as they tumbled over the thick Persian rugs.

Peaches hesitated a moment, not sure whether he wanted to stay with me or sniff out the food I’d promised him. After a second, the dog decided on the treats and moved toward the library. I slid back into the shadows and crouched down beside a table on the opposite side of the hall about fifteen feet away from the library entrance.

The Pomeranian quickly gobbled up all the biscuits around the door, then ventured into the library and lapped up those treats too. But instead of coming back to me for more food, the dog caught a new scent and headed even deeper into the library—toward Fletcher.

Just like I’d wanted him to.

Peaches discovered Fletcher’s hiding place underneath the desk and let out a loud, delighted bark, as if he’d just found some secret treasure. I could hear the old man trying to shush the dog, but that only made Peaches bark louder, until it seemed like the high-pitched yip-yip-yips echoed through the entire floor.

Just like I’d wanted them to.

Maybe it was wrong of me to use Fletcher like this, but I couldn’t think of another way that I could kill Delov. Going toe-to-toe with the giant was out of the question. He’d take my knife away and then beat me to death at his leisure—or worse.

I needed something to distract the giant, so that’s why I’d sicced the dog on Fletcher. I was hoping Delov would focus on the two of them instead of wondering where I might be lurking. This way, at least I had a fighting chance of sneaking up on the giant and taking him down.

Of course, if I didn’t kill Delov, not only would I be dead, but so would Fletcher, since I’d just signed the old man’s death warrant by leading the giant straight to him—

A mourning dove coo-coo-cooed out a sad wail somewhere in the gardens, and I shook away the rest of the memory. Maybe I’d taken too many blows to the head tonight, because this was not the time to be lollygagging around, thinking about some old job. No, right now, I needed to focus on Clementine and how I could save Eva and kill the giant. Nothing else.

So I tightened my grip on my knife, gave the soldiers a respectful nod, and hurried on my way.

This part of the island curved to a sharp tip, almost like the end of a hook, and the boathouse perched on this last bit of land, as though it were a fish that had been caught. The boathouse was made out of the same gray marble and built on the same grand scale as the rest of the museum. Instead of a simple shack, it was as big as any Northtown mansion. Tall, slender columns supported the domed roof, giving the structure an elegant, open-air design.

The Aneirin River rippled by on either side of the wide path, the water constantly churning back and forth and sucking at the cattails on the muddy banks. Water lilies bobbed up and down on the surface of the river, the strong currents spinning them around and around in endless circles and ultimately taking them nowhere.

The good thing about meeting Clementine down here was that there was no way she could ambush me, since there weren’t any trees for her to hide behind. No thickets of brambles for her to crouch down in. No high spots for her to snipe at me from. Just the stone path, the boathouse, and water, water everywhere.

The bad thing was that I was out in the open for everyone to see. No cover for Clementine meant there was no place for me to retreat to either when things went to hell, as they most surely would.

By this point, I was fifty feet away from the boathouse. My gaze locked onto the entrance, but I didn’t spot Clementine, Opal, Dixon, or, more important, Eva. All I could see ahead of me were darkness and shadows—a metaphor for my life if ever there was one. But this was the path I’d chosen, in more ways than one, and there was nothing to do now but see it through to the end.

So I stepped forward and went to meet my enemy.