Winter’s Web: An Elemental Assassin Novella

by Jennifer Estep

  That vague, uneasy dread I’d been feeling all day solidified into cold certainty. The giants hadn’t been interested in their food. Not at all. It had just been an excuse so they could sit by the Pork Pit truck and keep an eye on me.

  Why? What did they want? Had Hugh Tucker sent them? Maybe Uncle Mason had finally realized that I was on to him and had dispatched some goons to eliminate me. Or maybe they were working for another one of my many enemies, like Jonah McAllister. It could be any one of those things or another possibility that I hadn’t even considered yet.

  I glanced around, wondering if my friends had clocked the giants. Sophia was busy helping some customers, while Owen was still over at the forge, showing a little girl the four-leaf clover he’d made. I didn’t see Bria or Finn anywhere, but they were probably still at their princess and jester stations deeper in the park.

  I didn’t want to bother my friends, so I decided to go it alone. There were only three giants. That was hardly a workout after Alanna Eaton, Bruce Porter, and some of the other vicious folks I’d battled recently.

  Besides, I was the only one who should have to get blood on her costume today.

  So I slid my phone back into my pocket, then strolled away from the Pork Pit truck. Instead of going into the crowded park, I veered in the opposite direction, heading toward one of the dirt hiking trails that led into the woods. I smiled and nodded at the people I passed, but I quickly left the noise, crowd, and commotion of the faire behind and stepped into the trees.

  Time to see if the giants would follow the Spider into her own Winter’s Web.

  I ambled along the trail as though I didn’t have a care in the world. No clouds marred the clear blue canvas of the sky, although the weak winter sun did little to drive away the perpetual chill in the air. Trees rose all around me, their bare brown branches making them look like skeleton sentinels silently studying me. A few hardy evergreen bushes also dotted the landscape, along with small patches of ice and snow that were tucked back in the dappled shadows. The rich, dark scents of the earth and dried leaves filled the air, and I drew in a breath, letting the aromas wash away the fried-food stench of the faire.

  It would have been a lovely, quiet walk—if I wasn’t being followed.

  I didn’t hear footsteps behind me, but that didn’t really mean anything, so I waited until I reached a bend in the trail, then discreetly glanced back over my shoulder.

  Through the trees, I spotted the three giants on the trail a couple hundred feet behind me. They were definitely following me.

  Worst mistake they’d ever made.

  I kept going at my slow, steady pace, looking for a good spot to confront my enemies. Once I found it, I could slip off the trail, come up behind the men, and make them tell me who had sent them. And if it was Hugh Tucker or dear Uncle Mason, then I would use the giants—and their bodies—to send a bloody message right back to the Circle.

  So I headed deeper into the woods, as though I didn’t even notice the three giants creeping along behind me. A couple of minutes later, the trail turned again and led to a stone bridge that arched over a small, gurgling creek that trickled off from the nearby Aneirin River. I quickly scanned the area, then grinned. Perfect.

  I held up my hand and waved. “Owen!” I called out in a loud voice. “Hey, Owen! Wait for me!”

  And then I picked up my pace, jogging away from the giants. I discreetly glanced back over my shoulder again.

  The giants hadn’t been expecting my outburst or my sudden surge of speed, and they stopped, not sure if they should keep pretending they weren’t following me or give up the ghost and chase after me. I increased my speed, rounding another bend in the trail and leaving them completely behind. The moment the giants were out of sight, I sprinted toward the bridge. I only had a few seconds to get into place.

  I ran all the way across the bridge and darted around one side of the railing. I quickly jogged down the cold, frozen creek bank, then plastered myself up against one of the gray stone supports so that I was standing underneath the far right corner of the bridge.

  I glanced up through the railing. I didn’t have the best angle, but the view was good enough to let me see the giants racing toward the bridge. Their shouts drifted down to me.

  “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t see her!”

  “We can’t lose her!”

  All three giants ran onto the bridge, each one now clutching a sword in his hand. Whoever the giants were, they didn’t want me to leave the woods alive.

  They just didn’t realize that I felt the exact same way about them.

  I palmed one of my silverstone knives, curling my fingers around the hilt so that the spider rune stamped into the metal pressed into the larger matching scar embedded in my palm. The sensation comforted and steadied me the way it always did.

  I studied the giants, plotting the best way to take them down. Normally, I would have just dived into the pack and hacked and slashed my way through them until they were all dead. But we were still fairly close to the ren faire, and I didn’t want anyone to hear the men’s screams and come to investigate—or worse, call the police. No, this needed to be done as quietly as possible.

  Good thing quietly was one of my specialties.

  “Let’s split up,” the golden-haired giant suggested. “She can’t have gotten far. Arthur, you come with me. We’ll check the trail and the woods up ahead. Galahad, you stay here in case she comes back this way.”

  Galahad nodded. “Got it, Lancelot.”

  Lancelot? Arthur? Galahad? And here I thought the Knights of the Round Table were supposed to be the good guys. Seemed like the giants were determined to stay in character right up until they killed me.

  The three giants split up. Lancelot and Arthur jogged off the bridge and back out onto the trail, disappearing deeper into the woods. Galahad stayed behind, his head snapping back and forth in time to his quick, worried pacing.

  “Where are you?” Galahad muttered. “Where are you?”

  He kept pacing back and forth, his boots snap-snap-snap-snapping against the flagstones. But he quickly grew tired of that and headed toward the opposite side of the bridge, as though he was going to check the trail we’d all used to get here.

  I waited until his back was to me, then eased around the support, climbed up the creek bank, and crouched down beside the bridge.

  I paused a moment, but Galahad was still turned away from me, so I tightened my grip on my knife, got to my feet, and sidled forward, determined to bury my blade in his back before he realized what was happening.

  But I wasn’t quite quick enough.

  Galahad must have heard the soft thud-thud-thud-thud of my footsteps, or perhaps he spotted my shadow slinking up on the bridge beside him. Either way, he turned around before I could strike.

  Galahad sucked in a breath, probably to scream for his friends. Not very brave or knightly of him. I surged forward, closed the distance between us, and sliced my knife across his neck. The giant let out a choked, bloody gurgle, then pitched forward and landed in the middle of the bridge with a loud, heavy thump.

  “Hey! There she is!”

  “Get her!”

  I whirled around.

  Lancelot and Arthur must have realized that I hadn’t gone deeper into the woods, because they’d doubled back. They raised their swords and rushed onto the bridge. I growled, palmed another knife, and stepped up to meet them.

  Clash!

  Clash-clash!

  Clash!

  Lancelot and Arthur swung their swords at me over and over again. I spun, whirled, and twirled between the two men, using my knives to keep their blades from cutting into me. But the giants were much bigger and stronger, and their arms and swords gave them a much longer reach than I had with my knives. Despite all my years as an assassin, I barely managed to keep the giants from skewering me.

  I blocked an attack from Arthur, but Lancelot came up beside me and lashed out with his sword. I twisted my body t
o the side, avoiding most of the blow, but the edge of his blade still sliced across my left forearm, opening up a deep gash.

  I hissed and staggered back, moving away from the giants and their swords.

  “Not so tough now, are you, Spider?” Lancelot sneered, twirling his sword around in his hand.

  Arthur grinned and did the same thing. Then the two of them advanced on me again. I was really starting to hate these so-called knights.

  My gaze snapped back and forth, flicking from one giant to the other and back again. Despite their heavy swords, the two men were barely winded thanks to their great strength, but I was sucking down air, trying to get my breath back after using so much energy to block their hard, furious attacks. My knives weren’t going to get the job done, not in this situation, so I tucked them back up my sleeves.

  “Aw, are you giving up already, little Spider?” Lancelot sneered at me again. “If you raise your hands and surrender, we might just do you a favor and kill you quickly. Give you an honorable death, at least.”

  An honorable death? There was no such fucking thing. These guys had been hanging around the ren faire too long. All those pretty proclamations and flowery words about honor, codes, and duty had addled their minds—and were going to get them killed in another minute, two tops.

  I smiled at him. “You want me to raise my hands? You got it, Sir Knight.”

  I reached for my magic, snapped up my hands, and flung a spray of Ice daggers out at them. Given their big, strong bodies and thick, heavy leather outfits, the daggers didn’t have much chance of hurting the giants, but Lancelot and Arthur didn’t realize that, and they both yelped in surprise, lifted their arms, and turned away from my frosty blast of magic.

  The sharp shards of elemental Ice splintered against their massive biceps and shoulders and dropped harmlessly to the ground, but the giants’ distraction let me close the distance between us. I went left, targeting Lancelot first, since he was the better fighter and far more dangerous than Arthur. I leaped up, grabbed hold of the bridge railing, and kicked out, slamming my boot into his sword hand.

  Lancelot yelped, staggered back, and dropped his weapon.

  Arthur snarled, stepped up, and swung his blade at me, but I avoided his vicious blow, darted forward, and scooped Lancelot’s sword up off the bridge.

  The weapon was far, far heavier than I’d expected it to be. I had to wrap both hands around the hilt, but I managed to hoist it up. Arthur raised his sword high overhead, giving me an easy opening, and I stepped up, whirled around, and sliced the stolen blade across his stomach.

  The giant screamed and staggered back against the railing. Arthur’s feet flew out from under him, and he collapsed to the ground. His sword dropped from his hand and skittered across the flagstones, shooting off a few hot silver sparks.

  Arthur’s panicked gaze dropped to his stomach, and he clamped his hands over the deep, gruesome wound, trying to keep his blood and guts from leaking out. I could have told him that it was a losing battle and not to bother, but I went for the more direct approach of lashing out with my sword again. This time, I buried the blade in the side of the giant’s neck, cutting off his screams.

  I tried to yank the sword free so that I could turn my attention back to Lancelot, but I couldn’t quite manage it. I grunted and tried again, but the blade was firmly stuck in Arthur, like, well, a sword in a stone.

  “You bitch!” Lancelot screamed. “You killed him!”

  The giant charged at me, his arms outstretched like he wanted to wrap me up in a bear hug and crush me to death. I couldn’t let that happen, so I let go of the sword and lurched away from Arthur. But once again, I wasn’t quite quick enough, and Lancelot plowed into me. I barely had time to grab hold of my Stone magic to harden my skin into an impenetrable shell before the giant body-slammed me down onto the bridge.

  Despite my Stone magic, the bruising blow still hurt, and I let out a low groan of pain.

  “You bitch!” he screamed again, wrapping his hands around my throat. “You killed them!”

  Lancelot started squeezing my neck, trying to choke me to death. At the same time, he lifted my shoulders and chest up off the bridge, getting ready to slam my head back against the stone, probably over and over again until he cracked my skull open like an egg.

  I couldn’t let that happen either, so I reached for even more of my Stone magic. There was no time to be subtle, so I focused on the closest part of the bridge railing. Then I lashed out with my magic, hammering my Stone power into the supports the way Owen and the other blacksmiths had been hammering their weapons and other metal creations in the forge earlier.

  CRACK!

  Several pieces of stone exploded out of the railing. I put a lot of magic into the blast, and one of the chunks zipped across the open space and hit Lancelot in the side of his neck. The giant let out a choked cry. He toppled off me and flopped over onto his back, wheezing and clutching his throat.

  I sucked down some much-needed air, then forced myself to roll over and get back up onto my knees. I palmed a knife and loomed over Lancelot, ready to drive the blade into his ribs if he came at me again, but I didn’t have to.

  I’d already killed him with my Stone magic.

  That chunk of railing hadn’t just made Lancelot choke and gasp for air. Part of the stone had shattered and driven itself deep into his neck, wounding him just as badly as my knife would have. A steady stream of blood was pouring down his throat, and it had already started pooling around his head like he was lying on a scarlet cloak.

  I leaned over the giant and fisted my hand in the front of his leather shirt, shaking him and trying to get him to focus on me before he bled out.

  “Who sent you?” I hissed. “Was it Tucker? Mason? Are they here? Are they watching us right now?”

  But I’d done too good a job with my Stone magic, and it was too late to get any answers from Lancelot. The giant gurgled and stretched up an arm like he was going to shove me away, but his strength gave out, and his hand flopped back down onto the bridge. A moment later, his body sagged, and his blue eyes became fixed and frozen.

  A knight no more, Lancelot was dead.

  Chapter Five

  I slumped down on the bridge beside the dead giant, still trying to get my breath back, even as I scanned the surrounding woods.

  The fight hadn’t been nearly as quiet as I’d wanted it to be, but I didn’t see anyone running through the trees, and I didn’t hear any shouts that would indicate that someone had heard the giants’ yells and screams and was coming to investigate.

  Since I was relatively safe, at least for the moment, I glanced at the three giants, but they all lay where they had fallen, as dead as dead could be. They couldn’t give me any answers about who had sent them and why.

  But maybe their phones could.

  I got up on my knees again, tucked my knife back up my sleeve, and started patting down Lancelot. Despite the fact that he was gussied up in black leather for the faire, he still had his phone in his pants pocket, and it was still on. The honorable knight had done the not-so-honorable thing of ignoring Darrell’s request to turn it off. Luckily, the device hadn’t been damaged during our fight, and I hit the button on the side. The phone was locked, but maybe I could fix that.

  I grabbed Lancelot’s right hand, which was covered in blood and bruises, much like the rest of him was. The left sleeve of my dead-bird blouse was already torn from where I’d been cut during the fight, so I ripped off some of the loose fabric and used it to wipe the blood off Lancelot’s index finger. Then I pressed his slightly cleaner finger onto the screen. A moment later, the device unlocked, and I let the giant’s hand flop back down to the bridge.

  The first thing I did was change the settings so that the phone would stay unlocked. Then I scrolled through Lancelot’s contacts, but I didn’t recognize any of the names. No Tucker, no Mason, no mysterious initials, although there were several odd monikers like the Mesmerizing Magician, the Red Queen, the Bloody Bar
barian, and so on.

  Lancelot had really been into the whole ren-faire scene. No wonder he’d been so good with that sword. He’d actually learned how to use the long, heavy blade. I made a mental note to add medieval weapons to my assassin training regimen.

  Since I didn’t recognize any of the contact names, I moved on to the call log. But none of the phone numbers jumped out at me, so I pulled up his texts. And I finally found something interesting.

  Someone called the Black Rook had sent Lancelot several messages over the past few months. In fact, it looked like the giant had been texting with this person more than anyone else. Most of the texts were about the renaissance faire and focused on costumes, weapons, and the like. I was just about to give up and search the other two giants for their phones when I spotted a final text that was part of a new chain. So I opened it.

  Target will be at Winter’s Web as planned, along with friends. We need to separate and isolate the target. You know what to do.

  Well, that was some pretty ominous bad-guy talk. This text also had a photo attachment, so I clicked on the file and waited for it to download and then pop up on the screen. I fully expected to see some shot of myself walking down the sidewalk or maybe even cooking inside the Pork Pit. But my smiling face wasn’t the one that appeared on the screen.

  It was Owen’s.

  I blinked and blinked, but the image didn’t change. The picture looked like it had been taken at some recent charity event, given the red and green holiday lights glowing in the background. Owen was wearing a black tuxedo and grinning at someone I couldn’t see, but he was most definitely the focus of the photo.

  Owen? Why would the giant have a picture of Owen instead of me—

  Horrible understanding slammed into my brain, while sick certainty curdled in my stomach. The giants might have been watching me, but only to make sure that I didn’t interfere with their plans. This wasn’t about me. For once, I didn’t seem to be the main target.