The Spider

7

The rest of the night passed by in a blur—except for the heated looks that Sebastian kept giving me.

His gaze stayed on me most of the evening, long enough that his father noticed and started frowning, as though he didn’t like the thought of his son making googly eyes at a lowly waitress. I wondered if Vaughn would have changed his mind if he knew exactly who and what I was.

Probably not.

But I kept my head down and blended in with the other waiters, serving soup, salad, and the main course, which was some sort of seared bear steak that Dawson had flown in special from Alaska. Naturally. I wondered if he’d gone out there and killed the bears himself so he could add their heads to his collection.

Finally, three hours later, I cleared away the remains of the dessert course, the chocolate soufflés that Fletcher had made earlier, along with fresh summer berries topped with a light, airy vanilla bean pudding and garnished with thin, crispy shortbread cookies. The party was over, and Dawson stood by the open doors, shaking hands with his guests as they headed out to their limos, which were waiting in the front drive to whisk them back to their own mansions.

Sebastian hesitated, like he wanted to come over and flirt with me one final time, but his father clapped his hand on his son’s shoulder and led him out of the room. Good. That was good, despite the strange sense of disappointment that filled me. I didn’t know why I felt that way. Sebastian Vaughn wasn’t the first pretty boy ever to chat me up, but he’d definitely made more of an impression than most.

Fletcher and I helped the rest of the staff clean up, and it was after one in the morning when we got into his van and left Dawson’s estate. We drove in silence for about ten minutes before the old man spoke.

“I shouldn’t have to say this,” Fletcher began, a small note of reproach in his voice. “But you need to stay away from Sebastian Vaughn.”

I sighed. “Like I told you before, we talked outside the library. That’s all.”

“That didn’t look like all it was in the dining room. The two of you were staring at each other all through dinner.”

I sank a little lower in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. “It’s nothing,” I repeated. “He was having a little fun. Amusing himself with the help. You know how it goes.”

“And what were you doing?”

I rolled my eyes. “So maybe I was having a little fun too. A cute guy wanted to talk to me. Sue me for enjoying the attention. But that’s all it was. He won’t even remember what I look like tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” Fletcher murmured. “Maybe not. Either way, things are starting to get complicated. I don’t like how exposed you were tonight. Vaughn noticed you too, or at least he noticed his son staring at you. I think it’s time to pull the plug on the job, return the up-front money, and tell the client to find someone else.”

I straightened up. “No! You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Charlotte’s sorrowful face filled my mind.

“Because . . . because . . . it would be unprofessional,” I finished in a weak voice. “You told the client that you would do the job—that I would do the job. You can’t back out now. Besides, we’re trying to build up my reputation as an assassin, remember? I’m finally starting to make a quiet name for myself, and my asking price is slowly rising. Passing on this job will set us back months.”

“Is this about protecting your burgeoning reputation as the Spider or something else?”

“What else would it be about?”

“Charlotte Vaughn.”

Damn. No, that one word wasn’t enough to adequately express my surprise and frustration. Damn . . . and . . . and . . . double damn. I should have known that I couldn’t hide anything from Fletcher, especially not my own murky motivations. Still, that didn’t keep me from trying.

“Of course not,” I insisted. “I don’t make jobs be about people, and I don’t let anyone’s situation influence me in any way, shape, or form. Book the assignment, do the research, complete the hit, take the money, and walk away. That’s what assassins do. That’s what you’ve taught me to do as the Spider. Nothing else matters.”

“Not even a girl being abused?” Fletcher asked again in a soft, knowing voice. “Being hurt like you were hurt, Gin?”

Every muscle in my body tightened with tension, until I felt like a taut bow string about to snap from the strain. The memories roared up in my mind, trying to crack my calm façade from the inside out. Memories of heat and smoke and fire and death and, most of all, the unending, unrelenting, unbearable agony in my hands. The spider rune scars embedded in my palms itched and burned with the phantom pain, the way they so often did when I thought about that horrible night and the torture that I’d endured. But I didn’t give in to the searing sensation and start rubbing the marks. Instead, I made myself slowly flatten my palms against my legs and kept my features schooled into a perfect mask of blank indifference.

Fletcher had never really asked what had happened to my family or how I’d ended up living on the streets with silverstone branded into my hands, although I suspected that he’d found out on his own. The violent, gruesome deaths of the Snow family had been big news at the time, and it wouldn’t have been too hard for him to connect the thin, ragged homeless girl digging through the Dumpsters behind the Pork Pit with Genevieve Snow, the middle daughter who’d supposedly perished in the fiery collapse of the family mansion, along with her mother and two sisters.

But he’d never asked, and I’d never told him. Fletcher respected my privacy that way, just as I respected his. The old man had his secrets, and I had mine, and we both had enough care, concern, and love for each other not to try to uncover them. Or at least to pretend that we weren’t secretly prying and to keep all the facts that we did discover to ourselves.

“Gin?” Fletcher asked. “Is this about Cesar Vaughn? Or you and Charlotte?”

I turned so he could see how cold and hard my gray eyes were. “It’s about doing the job, getting paid, and walking away. Nothing else. Now, are we going to talk about how I can best get close to Vaughn, or do you want to discuss my feelings some more?”

Fletcher stared at me, watching the play of light and shadow on my face. Given the late hour, there was darkness more than anything else. There always was.

“All right,” he said, the earlier reproach in his voice melting into tired resignation. “Tell me everything you learned from watching Vaughn tonight.”

Fletcher quizzed me about Vaughn the rest of the ride home, but he seemed satisfied with my answers. Yeah, maybe I’d been a bit more charmed by Sebastian than I should have, but I’d been there to do recon on my target, and I’d followed through with that.

I always did what was needed.

He pulled into the driveway, and we stepped into the house and went our separate ways. Fletcher ambled back to the den to watch some TV and unwind before going to bed, while I headed upstairs and took a long, hot shower.

As I brushed out my wet hair, I couldn’t help but lean closer to the bathroom mirror and peer at my own reflection, trying to see myself through Sebastian’s eyes. Oh, I was pretty enough, with my dark brown hair, pale skin, and gray eyes, but I was certainly no great beauty. Not like my mother, Eira, and Annabella had been, with their golden hair, rosy skin, and cornflower-blue eyes. And Bria would have been even more beautiful than both of them, if she’d gotten the chance to grow up.

My body was lean, fit, and strong, thanks to all the years training with Fletcher and then my time on the job as the Spider. My breasts weren’t large, but they were decent enough, and I had a few soft curves here and there. All put together, it was a nice package, but I didn’t know that it was enough to hook someone like Sebastian Vaughn and get him to look past my seeming lack of money, magic, and social standing—at least, not for very long.

But the way he’d smiled, laughed, and flirted with me . . . no man had looked at me like that . . . well, ever, really. Oh, I got enough attention from the guys at Ashland Community College, where I took some classes, but all they were interested in was banging me in between beers and ballgames. And the professors, well, they just wanted to feel young again by sleeping with a coed. Neither option exactly screamed romance. But more important, no one had really seemed interested in me, and absolutely none of them had sparked my own interest like Sebastian had.

But Fletcher was right. It was stupid to daydream about having any sort of relationship with Sebastian. Someone had hired me to kill his father. Not exactly the sort of thing that you looked for in a potential girlfriend.

Girlfriend? I snorted. What was I thinking? I’d never had that sort of relationship with any guy. I’d accused Sebastian of being a love-’em-and-leave-’em type, but the truth was that I was that way too. I had to be, as the Spider. And not just because I didn’t want to end up dead or in jail for my many crimes. Because what kind of guy would ever really be okay with his girlfriend being a coldhearted assassin?

Still, as I left the bathroom, put on my pajamas, and slid into bed, I couldn’t help but think back to the warm interest in Sebastian’s eyes, his teasing grins, and all the sly, saucy winks he’d given me during dinner. For once, I let myself remember. Not only that, but I reveled in the memories, replaying them over and over again in my mind.

Even though nothing would ever come of it, even though nothing could ever come of it, it was still nice to be noticed, to be admired, to be wanted, if only for an evening.

I went to sleep with a smile on my lips.