Venom

by Jennifer Estep

  “I always keep my promises,” Finn replied in a mild tone.

  Bria raised an eyebrow but didn’t rise to his baiting. “Your foster brother seems to care quite a bit about you, Ms. Blanco.”

  “Foster brother?” I asked, already knowing the answer to my question.

  “He is your foster brother, isn’t he?” Bria asked. “The son of Fletcher Lane, the man who adopted you as a child? The man who left you his barbecue restaurant to run?”

  “You’ve been checking up on me, detective.”

  Bria stared at me. “Just doing my job, Ms. Blanco. Just doing my job. Which is why I want to ask you some questions about your attack at the community college the other night.”

  I gritted my teeth, my admiration for Bria’s tenacity warring with my own frustration. Now was not the time for her to be darkening my doorstep asking questions that I wasn’t going to answer—ever.

  “There’s nothing to report. I fell down. End of story. Can I offer you a piece of cake before you go, detective?”

  Since I wasn’t giving up any information, Bria decided to switch tactics.

  “Are you afraid of someone?” she asked in a softer tone. “Would it help if we spoke privately, Ms. Blanco?”

  I looked at her. “The only person I’m afraid of is my cook, Detective Coolidge. And that’s only because she puts too much salt in her macaroni salad. I told you before, and I’m telling you again. I fell down that night at the community college—repeatedly. Now, why don’t you go out there on the mean streets of Ashland and help someone who really needs it? Because I’m doing just fine.”

  My tone was harsher than I would have liked it to be for my first real face-to-face meeting with the sister I hadn’t seen in seventeen years. But she wasn’t going to take no for an answer, any more than I would have in her situation. This was the way it had to be right now. I hated to be rude to my own sister, but I had things I needed to do if I had any chance of taking care of Elliot Slater tonight. The sooner I killed the giant, the sooner I could move on to other things—like figuring out how Bria fit into my life and if I could ever really be a part of hers.

  “Is it your foster brother?” Bria asked, turning her cold gaze to Finn. “Is he the one who beat you? The one you’re afraid of?”

  I laughed. “Finn? Beat me? Hardly. He’d stab himself in the eye before he ever laid a hand on me.”

  Finn gave Bria another charming smile. “I’m thoughtful that way, detective.”

  She stared at him another moment. Her eyes flicked to me, then to Roslyn Phillips. The vamp huddled in a booth in the back of the restaurant, pretending to be interested in her cake. Roslyn was a better actress than I’d thought. I might have believed my chocolate-chip pound cake was the best she’d ever had, if I hadn’t known she was merely picking at it while listening to our every word.

  “You know, a lot of people in Ashland don’t seem to remember things that happened to them,” Bria said. “Beatings, assaults, intimidations.”

  “Must be something in the water,” I said in a dry tone. “Some chemical that promotes memory loss.”

  Bria looked at me, and I gave her a level gaze. She returned the stare. Blue eyes on gray. Both as cold and unyielding as they could be.

  “Fine. If that’s the way you want to play it, I’ll take your kind suggestion and go help someone who might actually appreciate it.” Bria reached into her jacket and drew out a small business card. “But if you fall down again and jog your memory about what really happened that night, give me a call. Day or night. I’ll take care of everything. I promise. No one will know you talked to me.”

  Maybe it was the sincerity in her voice. Or the fact that she seemed so serious about helping people and making a difference. But instead of another dry remark, I merely nodded and took the card from her, trying to end our meeting at least on a neutral note, trying to salvage something good from this.

  Our fingers brushed. For a second, the cold caress of Bria’s Ice magic touched my skin. Baby sister’s magic radiated off her body the same way that Mab Monroe’s Fire power did, although the sensation was much weaker. Bria’s power felt soothing to me, like a cool washcloth on a feverish forehead. It was nothing like the hot, pricking sensation of Mab’s magic.

  Bria frowned at the contact, as though it bothered her in some way, but she didn’t say anything. I wondered if she’d felt my own Ice magic or even my Stone power. Some elementals literally leaked magic, which meant that other elementals like me could sense their power even when they weren’t embracing or using it. Some magic escaped in drips and drabs, while others like Mab Monroe’s was a slow, constant burn. My elemental magic was self-contained, unless I did something with it, used it in some way. Still, I wondered if Bria had felt something, sensed something about my magic that was so similar to her own power. After all, we’d both gotten our Ice magic from the same source—our mother.

  Bria nodded to me and Finn. She stared at Roslyn a moment, then turned on her boot heel and headed for the front door. The bell chimed once more, signaling her exit.

  “That went rather well, don’t you think?” Finn asked after the door had closed behind her.

  “What part? You hitting on her? Or me telling her to stay out of my business?”

  Finn considered my question. “Well, the two of you didn’t come to actual blows. And nobody got arrested. That’s always a bonus.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, watching Bria stick her hands in her jacket pockets and walk down the street. “But she knows we’re hiding something, and I don’t think she’ll let it go until she finds out exactly what it is.”

  Once it was apparent that Bria wasn’t coming back, Roslyn Phillips took her previous seat at the counter next to Finn.

  “What was that all about?” the vamp asked.

  I snorted. “Please. Like you didn’t hear every word. I know you have enhanced hearing, Roslyn. Most vamps do.”

  She shrugged. “One of the benefits of drinking blood. Makes some of your senses really come alive.”

  Vampires were just like elementals in that some were stronger than others, and the blood they drank often had different effects on them, depending on their own power level and whose vein they were chugging from in the first place. A regular pint of O-positive from a normal human would give any vamp a little buzz, enough to sharpen their hearing and improve their eyesight. Give a strong vamp access to a Fire elemental’s blood, and, well, that’s when you got vampires who were as tough as giants and dwarves—with flames dripping from their fangs to boot. And of course, vampires could be elementals themselves, if they had the inherent magic flowing through their veins, instead of siphoning the ability out of whomever’s blood they were drinking.

  There weren’t many things that turned my stomach, but the thought of sucking down someone else’s blood—hot and fresh from his neck or cold and frosty in a glass—was more than enough to do it. Despite whatever extra juice it might give me. But I had other things to think about. Like the fact it was closing in on four o’clock, and I had a giant to stalk and kill this evening.

  “Back to our previous conversation,” I said. “Roslyn, I want you to do exactly what Elliot Slater wants you to tonight. Go out with him to the event on the Delta Queen. I know it’s going to be hard, but do you think you can do that?”

  Another shudder rippled through the vamp’s body, and she didn’t say anything.

  “I know I’m asking a lot, after everything you’ve been through. If you can’t, I understand,” I said in a soft voice. “There’s still time for you to leave town. We can find another way—”

  “No,” Roslyn said in a grim voice so low I had to strain to hear her. “This is how it has to be. I want him dead. Tonight. I can… do it. I can… handle it one more night, one more time.”

  She bit her lip and nodded her head, as if trying to convince herself that she really could calmly go out with the man who’d been stalking her and using her as his own little toy. But Roslyn knew that playing her
part was the only way this was going to work—no matter how distasteful it was going to be.

  “And what will you be doing, Gin?” Roslyn asked.

  I stared at her, my gray eyes as cold as ice. “Hopefully, stabbing the bastard to death before you down your first glass of bubbly.”

  14

  Just after eight that night, I opened the door, climbed out of the Aston Martin, and smoothed down my dress. I walked around the front of the silver sports car and waited for Finn to lock his precious baby up tight.

  Then, when Finn joined me, I put my hand on my hip and struck a pose. “How do I look?”

  Finn gave me the once-over. “Nice. Not at all like you plan to commit murder before the night is through.”

  Since I was going to spend the evening hobnobbing with Ashland’s wealthiest citizens, I’d decided to dress up for the occasion. I’d traded in my usual jeans and T-shirt for a simple cocktail dress with a loose, flowing skirt. The garment was made of a heavy, shiny satin that was such a deep blue that it looked black. All the better to hide bloodstains.

  Even more important, the dress also featured long sleeves to hide the two silverstone knives I’d tucked up them, and the poofy skirt fell to my knees, hiding the other two knives that I’d strapped to my thighs. Still two more knives rested in the sides of my stiletto boots, and I had another one tucked into my purse. Seven knives was probably overkill, but I wanted to be prepared when I went after Elliot Slater. It just wouldn’t do to have the giant in my sights and be unable to finish him off for a lack of adequate weaponry. I might officially be retired from being the assassin the Spider, but that didn’t mean I still wasn’t a pro.

  In an effort to blend in with all the pretty young things and trophy wives sure to be in attendance, I’d gone heavy on the makeup—smoky eyes, deep plum lips, lots of mascara. I’d even freed my shoulder-length hair from its typical ponytail for the evening’s festivities. Jo-Jo Deveraux had been all too happy to curl my dark chocolate locks into wavy ringlets. The dwarf always liked it when I played dress-up.

  Jo-Jo had also been kind enough to slip me some tubs of her magic-infused healing ointment, just in case Elliot Slater got a couple of licks in before his swan song tonight.

  “And me?” Finn asked. “How do I look?”

  Finn wore what he always wore to a society function—a classic tuxedo, small diamond cufflinks, and polished wingtips that had a higher luster than some of the jewels the debutantes would be wearing tonight. The black fabric accentuated the bright green of his eyes, while his walnut-colored locks curled around his collar in an artful arrangement that looked both deliberate and effortless. Finn had spent more time on his hair than Jo-Jo had on mine.

  “Ever the gentleman,” I replied. “Not at all like you plan to assist me in committing said murder tonight.”

  Finn grinned and held his arm out to me. “Ready for an evening of murder and mayhem?”

  I grinned back. “Always.”

  Arm in arm, Finn and I left the parking lot and strolled toward the Delta Queen.

  The riverboat was docked in the middle of the downtown district, where the Aneirin River curled like a ribbon past the city’s skyscrapers and cultural buildings like the Ashland Opera House. Several years ago when the riverboat casino had first come to town, the city planners had constructed a wooden boardwalk lit with old-fashioned iron street lamps. Despite its proximity to the mean streets of Southtown, the gentrification had stuck, mainly because the casino had its own ever-vigilant security staff who kept an eye out for the riffraff who might mug their customers before they could get on board and blow their money in high style.

  No gang runes or graffiti could be seen on the boardwalk itself, and several artsy shops and restaurants had sprung up opposite the river on the far side of the weathered wooden planks—overpriced antiques stores and cafés determined to suck as much money as they could out of passersby before they boarded the casino and lost that week’s paycheck. Ah, progress.

  The Delta Queen featured six decks, each one more lavish and opulent than the last. Even from this distance, I could see the gleam of polished wood, heavy brass, and delicate crystal through the wide windows that lined the upper levels. Tasteful bits of red and blue trim glistened in various spots on the riverboat’s white exterior finish, marking it as an all-American place to lose your life savings. Globe-shaped lights wrapped around the mahogany and brass railings and dipped from one deck to the next like the strings of an electrified cobweb. The third story formed an open U shape that jutted out past the other decks and formed the bow of the boat. Meanwhile, a giant paddlewheel that rose all the way up to the sixth deck anchored the back of the vessel.

  I stared at the paddlewheel. Hmm. That had possibilities. Like me shoving Elliot Slater through it. But the riverboat wasn’t scheduled to leave the dock tonight. Even if a cruise had been planned, the boards were too wide to do the necessary amount of damage to the giant, and I doubted the fall alone would kill him. He’d probably scream a lot on the way down, though.

  Too bad. I’d never killed anyone with a paddlewheel before. I might not officially be the Spider anymore, but I was always on the lookout for new experiences—and new skills to add to my deadly repertoire. Elliot Slater was going to die tonight, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a bit of fun helping him quit breathing.

  Thanks to his position at his bank and the fact that so many of his wealthy clients would be in attendance tonight, Finn had been invited to the party. I was tagging along as his plus-one. Finn handed his engraved invitation to the man checking names on the shoreline, who ushered us on board with little fanfare.

  “Hmph,” Finn sniffed, sounding exactly like Sophia Deveraux. “He didn’t even tell me to enjoy myself this evening.”

  I patted Finn’s arm. “That’s because you’re not one of the important people who are coming tonight. He’s saving his fawning for them.”

  Finn sniffed his displeasure again.

  As the two of us walked up the gangplank to the riverboat itself, I glanced over the railing. Below, the murky waters of the Aneirin River washed by, heading toward the far-away Mississippi River and ultimately the Gulf of Mexico. Oil slicks shimmered royal blue, purple, and green on the water’s surface, and all the soft, artful lights on the riverboat couldn’t hide the odd bits of wood, soggy fast-food wrappers, and other flotsam that clogged the shoreline. Or the stench.

  I wrinkled my nose. The air reeked of rotten catfish. Ugh. The scent reminded me of the last time I’d been this close to the river—when I’d taken a nosedive off the top of the Ashland Opera House to escape the cops after a botched hit. It had taken me several hot showers to get the stench of rotting fish out of my hair.

  Finn and I reached the top of the gangplank and found ourselves on the third, open deck, the epicenter of the event. The deck itself was larger than two ballrooms put together. Blackjack, baccarat, poker, and other gaming tables had been set up out in the open. The slap-slap-slap of cards being shuffled could be heard, along with the clink-clink of chips hitting each other on the felt tables and the whirring clack-clack-clack of the slot machines. Heaters tucked against the railing and under some of the tables kept the December chill at bay, helped immensely by the inflated egos of those already on board.

  People dressed in tuxedoes, gowns, and flashing jewels were already waiting their turn to lose their money—all of which was supposedly going to charity tonight. I rather doubted that, since Phillip Kincaid was one of the riverboat casino’s primary owners.

  Kincaid was another of Ashland’s underworld sharks, just like Mab Monroe was, with his own network of enforcers and heavy hitters. He was already on deck, a six-foot-tall man with a chest that looked as dense as concrete beneath his white tuxedo. His sandy blond hair was slicked back into a low ponytail, all the better to show off his chiseled cheekbones and striking blue eyes. I’d never had any dealings with Kincaid, but rumor had it that his father had been a dwarf, his mother a giant. Hence his solid
physique. I didn’t know where he’d gotten the pretty face from, though. Didn’t much matter. I put Kincaid out of my mind, since he wasn’t my target tonight.

  According to Finn’s sources, a formal sit-down dinner would be held later in the evening. Through the open doors that led inside the riverboat, I spotted waiters hurrying to and fro with glasses, silverware, floral centerpieces, and more in the dining room. The inside of the ship was hollow and ringed with balconies, so the folks on the fourth, fifth, and sixth decks could look all the way down to the third floor, where a stage had been erected for dinner shows. The lower two decks were enclosed. That’s where the kitchen was housed, along with the money cages. I knew because Finn and I had spent the past few hours going over the riverboat’s schematics, among other things.

  Finn grabbed two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handed one to me. “How do you want to play this?”

  I took a sip of champagne. “Let’s split up. I want to take a stroll around the deck, see what the security is like in person, and find a cozy spot where Elliot Slater and I can chat privately later on tonight. You keep an eye out for Roslyn and the giant. Call me when you spot them.”

  “Okay,” Finn said. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

  We broke apart. I sipped champagne and meandered through the gaming tables and small cliques of self-important people clustered together on the deck. The trophy wives, debutantes, and rich divorcees stood tall and resplendent in their jewel-colored designer dresses, peacocks preening for the penguin-suited men in attendance. And practically everyone—male and female—wore some small bauble that weighed in at several carats, whether it was a diamond choker or a ruby cufflink slyly winking from the end of a tuxedo sleeve. My Stone magic let me hear the gemstones’ proud whispers of their beauty, elegance, and fire, as vain and boastful as the people wearing them.