The Spider

28

Finn and I managed to half carry, half drag Fletcher down the porch steps, across the yard, and over to Finn’s Aston Martin. I sat in the backseat with Fletcher while Finn drove.

The bumping and thumping of the car down the rocky driveway roused Fletcher out of his faint. He slumped against the leather seat, his eyes flickering open and shut, almost like the shutter on a camera. I didn’t want him to waste his energy trying to talk, so I held his bloody hand in mine as Finn steered the car out into the suburbs. Every streetlight we passed illuminated the old man’s bruised, battered face, and the coppery stench of his blood filled the car like an overpowering cologne. He was hurt because of Sebastian, because of me.

Once again, I cursed my own stupidity, my own foolishness, my own . . . sloppiness. That was the best word I could think of to describe my colossal fuckup. Sebastian had played me like a fiddle, and I’d been so eager to let him that I hadn’t given a thought to anything else. I’d been so arrogant, so impatient, so certain that I needed to kill Cesar for what I thought he was doing to Charlotte that I’d tuned out Fletcher, Finn, and my own small whispers of doubt. Now Fletcher was paying the price for my mistakes.

I was an assassin. I was the Spider. I should have known better, I should have been more cautious, I should have realized that something wasn’t right the second Sebastian started flirting with me at Dawson’s mansion. But I’d believed in my own burgeoning reputation, and I’d let it go to my head. Fletcher had warned me against such things, but I’d done them all the same.

What a sad, stupid, foolish child I was.

Twenty minutes later, Finn turned into a subdivision, then steered the car up the hill to a grand, old, three-story white plantation house, which gleamed like a ghost in the moonlight. Finn stopped the car, and the two of us hauled Fletcher over to the house, up the steps, and onto the front porch.

Finn opened the screen door and used the cloud-shaped rune knocker to rap on the interior door, while I supported Fletcher’s weight. The old man never made a sound, although I could hear how strained and raspy his breathing was, as though one of his lungs had partially collapsed. Each slow, shuddered breath was like a knife in my own heart. Because I’d done this to Fletcher. Oh, I wasn’t the one who’d broken into his house, beaten him, or put a bullet in his shoulder, but my hands were stained with his blood all the same.

Just like they were stained with Cesar Vaughn’s blood.

Familiar footsteps sounded, the front door creaked open, and Jo-Jo stuck her head outside. Since it was creeping up on three in the morning, she had been in bed, judging from the pale pink housecoat she wore and the pink sponge curlers that ringed her head like a plastic helmet. Jo-Jo looked from Finn to Fletcher to me, her clear eyes sharpening as the last dregs of sleep left her.

She opened the door without a word, then turned and headed to the back of the house. Finn put his arm under Fletcher’s shoulder again, and the three of us followed her.

Instead of the sitting room that one might expect, the back half of the house doubled as a beauty salon. Cherry-red chairs sat in a row close to the back wall, while tubs of makeup, shampoo, conditioner, and other beauty products could be found on a counter that ran along the far left wall. Glossy magazines with smiling models were stacked on the end tables next to each one of the salon chairs and the hair dryers. The air smelled faintly of all the chemicals that Jo-Jo used to curl and dye her customers’ hair, along with the sharp tang of nail polish.

Finn and I helped Fletcher over to one of the salon chairs, and he groaned as he sank down onto the seat. More footsteps sounded, much heavier than Jo-Jo’s light tread, and Sophia appeared in the doorway, wearing a fuzzy black terry-cloth robe covered with bright pink skulls.

“What happened?” Jo-Jo asked, moving over to the sink to wash her hands.

“Sebastian Vaughn played me for a lovesick fool.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “That’s what happened.”

Finn had already heard my sob story, but I quickly filled in Jo-Jo, Sophia, and Fletcher on everything that had happened. When I finished, I turned my attention to Sophia.

“Do you think you can take care of the mess that Finn and I left at his apartment building?” I asked. “We got most of it, but the bodies definitely need to be moved to a more permanent location.”

Sophia nodded and left the salon without another word. I let out a breath. Well, that was one problem solved. Now to see to Fletcher.

Jo-Jo pulled a chair over to him, along with a freestanding light, which she clicked on. The dwarf leaned over him, peeled away the towel bandages, and peered at the hole close to his collarbone, the one that blood was still trickling out of.

“Sorry, darling,” she said. “But the bullet is still in there, and getting it out is going to hurt as much as it did going in.”

Fletcher nodded. “Best get on with it, then.”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, while Jo-Jo held her hand up. The feel of her Air magic gusted through the salon, making me grimace. Even though it wasn’t directed at me, I could feel tiny, invisible needles stabbing into my skin as Jo-Jo gathered up her power. Like Mab’s Fire, Jo-Jo’s Air power was the opposite of my own Ice and Stone magic, and it simply felt wrong to me. Of course, the irony was that Jo-Jo was using her magic to heal instead of to destroy, as Sebastian had destroyed the mausoleum. But the feel of his magic hadn’t bothered me at all, since he was gifted in the same element that I was. Not even when he’d been trying to kill me with it.

Jo-Jo’s eyes burned a milky white in her lined face, while the same bright glow coated her palm. She leaned forward and began to move her hand over Fletcher’s body. Back and forth and up and down. Slowly, the bruises on his skin faded from purple to green, then disappeared completely. The cuts and scrapes that dotted his knuckles closed together, then healed.

Once the minor things were taken care of, Jo-Jo moved on to the bullet still lodged in his shoulder. She reached for more and more of her magic, and the feeling of pins and needles intensified, so much so that I had to dig my fingernails into the spider rune scars in my palms to keep from snarling. But I didn’t say a word. I didn’t want anything to interrupt her concentration. Not when Fletcher was hurting so much.

Jo-Jo reached forward, and a small piece of metal seemed to float to the surface of Fletcher’s skin and then up into her hand. She held it up between her fingers so that Finn and I could see the bullet. It was a large caliber, and I bit back another curse. The giants hadn’t been fooling around when they’d come after Fletcher. If that bullet had hit his heart, he would have been dead before he dropped to the floor. I wondered what Sebastian had told his men about why he wanted Fletcher and Finn dead. But I supposed it didn’t much matter, since we’d killed all the giants.

And I was going after Sebastian next.

Once Jo-Jo got the bullet out, she finished healing Fletcher a few minutes later. He drew in deep breaths, his lungs free of the rasp that had strained them before, but a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. He was worn out from everything that had happened. He wasn’t the only one.

But Fletcher still turned his head to stare at me, his green eyes soft and kind, far kinder than I deserved.

Jo-Jo stood up and touched Finn’s arm. The two of them left the salon and headed into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Fletcher.

“I know what you’re thinking, and it wasn’t your fault,” he said. “I knew that there was something wrong with the job from the get-go. I should have found out exactly what it was before I let you go anywhere near Cesar Vaughn—or Sebastian.”

I shook my head. “There are always doubts about any job. This one just happened to have more than most. Besides, I was the one who pushed and pushed to do the hit. Not only that, I was the one who was sloppy, who let Sebastian see me outside the library in Dawson’s mansion. If not for that, he might have never discovered who we are and what we do. At the very least, he wouldn’t have found out about you and Finn.”

It sickened me that I’d failed both Finn and Fletcher so completely, that I’d failed to protect them from a dangerous enemy, one I’d happily, carelessly invited into our lives. The whole reason I’d become an assassin was to protect the people I cared about, but I hadn’t lived up to my own promise to myself. Not at all. The only thing that hurt worse than that was knowing that I’d taken Charlotte’s father away from her, the same way my mother and sisters had been taken away from me.

Fletcher reached out and took my bloody hand in his. “It’s not your fault, Gin,” he repeated. “Don’t you think for one second that it is. I know the risks as well as you do. Better than you do, because I’ve lived with them longer. Besides, I’m the one who dragged you into this life in the first place.”

I nodded, although I knew that I’d never forgive myself for the hurt I’d caused him tonight or especially the hurt I’d caused Charlotte, for the rest of her life.

Charlotte. My stomach churned. I hoped that she was okay. I hoped that she had stayed in her room like I’d asked her to.

I hoped that Sebastian wouldn’t take his anger at me out on her.

Fletcher cleared his throat, getting my attention. “And now I have to tell you something, Gin. My contact called me earlier tonight, right before the giants attacked. He confirmed a few things for me about the job.”

That must have been why his phone was busy when Finn had tried to call him.

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that Sebastian was the one who paid for it.”

I thought of all the sad, knowing looks he’d given me over the past few days, especially the one right before I’d left the house tonight to go to the Vaughn estate.

“Did you know that Sebastian was behind all of this?” I whispered.

He hesitated. “I suspected.”

“When?”

He cleared his throat again. “The day Sebastian picked you up at the Pork Pit for your first date. He seemed so . . . smug, like he’d just gotten everything he’d ever wanted. It didn’t sit right with me, so I started investigating him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I couldn’t keep the hurt and accusation out of my voice.

“Would you have listened?” Fletcher kept his green gaze steady on mine.

“I . . .”

I wanted to say, Of course I would have, but that was a lie. Because I’d spent the last two weeks pointedly, repeatedly not listening to Fletcher—and Cesar Vaughn had paid the price for it.

“No,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t have listened. I would have thought that you were being paranoid.”

“I was hoping that I was wrong . . .” Fletcher’s voice trailed off for a moment. “But I was going to talk to you tonight about everything. When you got home.”

So he’d been going to let me have one more night of my fantasy romance with Sebastian before he told me the truth. A small kindness and far more generous than I had been to him lately.

Fletcher kept staring at me, expecting me to say something.

“I understand.”

“I hope . . . I hope that you don’t blame me for this.” His voice cracked on the last few words, making my own guilt rise to the surface again.

I reached over and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Never.”

Even though I tried to make myself sound strong and confident, my voice still felt hollow and empty, just like my heart. But I didn’t blame Fletcher.

I blamed myself for everything—and I always would.