I closed my eyes, and my heart twisted into cold, hard, guilty, shameful knots. I didn’t want to put my friends through the torture of thinking that I was dead, but I couldn’t leave my hiding place either. Otherwise, everything that I’d been through inside the Pork Pit would have been for nothing. So as much as it pained me to do so, I held my position and forced myself to open my eyes and keep watching through my peephole.
But even as Bria’s screams died down into gut-wrenching sobs, the speculative whispers started, the way I knew they would, and soon everyone in the alley was chattering about the burned body.
“Is it Blanco? Is she really dead?”
“Looks that way.”
“Didn’t think the Spider would go out like that. . . .”
And on and on it went.
Every muttered comment, every soft word, and every harsh, mocking laugh made me grind my teeth together. Even though I knew that it was crazy, part of me wanted to leap up in the Dumpster and scream Boo! as loud as I could. It would serve the gawking, jabbering ghouls right to get the shit scared out of them.
But I swallowed down my anger and held my position, even though the growing heat of the day baked me like a potato inside the Dumpster, as well as intensifying the reek of the garbage. Soon, the sour, putrid stench became so foul that even a thick layer of Jo-Jo’s ointment all around my nose couldn’t block it out.
While I waited, I planned my revenge.
Madeline had spent weeks setting her grand scheme into motion. Framing Bria and Eva. Causing business problems for Roslyn, Owen, Finn, and Jo-Jo. Coercing her maid into trying to kill me. Getting the Pork Pit shut down with that ridiculous health inspection. Bribing Dobson to put me in the bull pen. That had all taken time, energy, and money to pull off, and I wanted the same time to think and plan and plot.
But most of all, with my supposed death, I wanted to see what Madeline would do next.
Now that I was out of her way, there was nothing to stop her from assuming Mab’s position as head of the Ashland underworld, and she would make sure that all of the crime bosses knew that she was the one who’d so thoughtfully, elegantly orchestrated my death. They might grumble about it under their breath, but the other bosses would have no choice but to bow down to their new queen, or she would kill them the same way that she’d supposedly killed me.
So I huddled in the Dumpster and thought through all the implications, wondering how I could stop Madeline’s reign of terror once and for all. The acid elemental was smart, clever, and cunning. So far, she’d been three steps ahead of me in our little game, and as soon as she realized that I was still alive, she’d start scheming more than ever before.
But what would she do if I stayed dead?
She would gloat and preen and then turn her attention to other matters, like solidifying her hold on the underworld. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that my death was the key to taking her down. I needed to hit Madeline the same way that she had me—completely blindside and bulldoze her until she was buried six feet under.
I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to go about doing that yet, but one thing was for certain.
I was sure as hell looking forward to it.
* * *
People streamed in and out of the alley the rest of the day as my supposed body was loaded up and carted away, and the Pork Pit was officially condemned as a safety hazard. To help keep my strength up, I guzzled down a bottle of water and ate some of the granola bars that were in the zippered pockets of my duffel bag. Then I made myself as comfortable as possible and dozed on and off through all the noise. That was the only thing I could do.
Finally, night fell, and the clamor and commotion around the restaurant faded away. About an hour after the sun set, I felt safe enough to get to my feet and peer over the side of the Dumpster.
The alley was deserted.
I looked left and right, scanning the shadows, but all of the cops, firefighters, and other officials had vanished, along with all of the curious passersby. Of course they had. Everyone thought that I was dead. There was no reason to stick around and gawk anymore.
So I climbed out of the Dumpster, rotten bits of food and other disgusting garbage dripping off my cold, sweaty, soot-streaked clothes. As soon as my feet touched the cracked pavement, I slid behind the container, out of sight of anyone who might glance down or even enter the alley.
The night was cool, and I was stiff and sore from staying in the same cramped position for so long. So I spent a few minutes bending and stretching to get the blood flowing back to every part of my body. Then I had to take care of the pressing matter of my lady business.
Once that was done, I dug a couple of tins of Jo-Jo’s healing ointment out of my duffel bag and smeared the soothing concoction all over the injuries I hadn’t been able to reach before now. I sighed as the soft pins-and-needles of her healing magic traveled up and down my body. I’d never liked the feel of Jo-Jo’s power, as her Air magic was the opposite of my Ice and Stone power, but those small stabs reminded me that I was still alive and that this wasn’t all some crazy dream.
When I felt like I could actually move without groaning in pain, I dropped to a knee, opened up my bag even wider, and surveyed the items inside. I’d used up all of Jo-Jo’s healing ointment, and I only had a bottle of water and one granola bar left. Several of my extra knives glinted in the bag, nestled inside the piles of clothes and money.
I stared at my supplies, thinking about my next move. I didn’t have a phone, and it wasn’t like I could walk into one of the nearby businesses and ask to use one. Not when I’d been sitting in a Dumpster all day. The owners would think that I was a homeless bum, trying to scrounge around for some free airtime. They wouldn’t be too far from the truth. Besides, someone might recognize me, and I couldn’t afford to let that happen. Madeline thought that I was dead, and I had to take advantage of her ignorance for as long as and as best I could. If I squandered this opportunity, I’d be right back where I started—waiting for Madeline to strike out at me and mine.
But I desperately needed to let Owen, Bria, Finn, and the others know that I was okay. Since I didn’t have a phone and couldn’t risk trying to find one, that meant a hike up into Northtown to locate my friends. But where would they be? Jo-Jo’s salon, most likely, or maybe Owen’s mansion. Someplace where they could all gather and plan what to do next.
Owen would be coldly furious, Bria would want to try to arrest Madeline, and Finn would be demanding that they all load up and let him put a bullet in the acid elemental’s head. As tempting as that last thought was, it still wouldn’t solve my problems with the underworld bosses, although I thought there was something that would get them and Madeline off my back at the same time. Either way, I had to get to my friends before they went off the rails and declared war on Madeline.
But how to get from here to there without being seen? Oh, I had enough money to take a cab, and I could always steal a car, but I wanted to keep my exposure to a minimum. That meant no cabs, no breaking and entering, no stealing, and no drawing any attention to myself whatsoever. But I couldn’t exactly stroll down the streets covered in garbage . . .
Or could I?
I looked at the Dumpster in front of me, then down at my clothes, which were soaked, soiled, and slathered with all sorts of things better left to the imagination. Burning would be too good for the filthy garments, but maybe I could get one more use out of them.
I stripped off all of my dirty clothes, shivering in the cool dark of the alley as I shimmied into clean underwear, jeans, socks, and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. But I didn’t stop there. I kept pulling and pulling on clothes, until I was wearing every single item in the bag—all the socks, all the T-shirts, even a silverstone vest—and resembled some sort of marshmallow person. Then, as a final touch, I put my soiled T-shirt back on top of all the clean layers that I was wearing. I hated to do it, and it almost made me vomit up the granola bars I’d eaten earlier, but no one was going t
o look too closely at me when I was reeking of so much garbage.
I didn’t bother wiping any of the soot and grime off my face, since I wanted my features to be as dirty and hard to recognize as possible. I also had a black knit toboggan in my bag. As a final touch, I stuffed my nasty brown hair up under the toboggan, then pulled the edge down low over my forehead, hiding even more of my face from sight.
When I was satisfied with my grimy disguise, I threw what was left of my dirty clothes into the Dumpster and hefted my duffel bag onto my shoulder. I could have left it behind, but no homeless bum worth his salt went anywhere without what little possessions he’d managed to scrounge up for himself. The bag would add to my cover.
When I was properly attired, the only thing left to do was step out from behind the Dumpster and see if I could escape from the Pork Pit once and for all.
18
The alley might have been deserted, but the streets around the restaurant still hummed with activity.
My supposed murder of Captain Dobson, then fiery death in my own gin joint, had caught the attention of all the various news outlets in Ashland. Lights were strung up on the sidewalks in front of the Pork Pit, and I saw more than one reporter clutching a microphone and talking into a camera, with the burned-out remains of the restaurant creating a dramatic backdrop behind them.
The only part of the storefront that seemed to have escaped the fire was the neon sign above the front door, the one of a pig holding a platter of food. But it was as dark and dead as the rest of the restaurant was, with no electricity and light to fill it tonight.
But the reporters didn’t bother me as much as the crowd did. In addition to the news crews, people were gathered two and three deep on the sidewalk across the street from the restaurant, their phones held out and up as they snapped photos and shot video. And at least a dozen cops were still on the scene, if not more, each one peering into the crowd, as if they were expecting someone to bust through the yellow crime-scene tape and make a break for the front door in an attempt to loot the restaurant. I snorted. There was nothing left inside to steal, unless someone had a hankering for piles of ash, rubble, and ruin.
But a few folks had gotten close to the restaurant, at least long enough to leave something behind—flowers.
Red roses, white lilies, and other flowers had been placed on the sidewalk outside the Pork Pit, along with stuffed animals—pigs mostly—and even some small, lit candles. Tears stung my eyes at the sight of the makeshift shrine. Apparently, some people were going to miss me after all. It was nice to know that a few folks had come to pay their respects, instead of just gawk.
I put my head down, clutched my bag with both hands, and ambled along. I’d hoped to disappear into the first dark alley that I came to, but the cops had the streets blocked off in such a way that I was forced to shuffle along through the crowd, right under the watchful eyes of the po-po.
“Ugh,” someone muttered. “What is that smell ?”
The wind picked up, and all eyes turned to me as my foul stench spread. Suddenly, I was the center of attention, something that I very much did not want to be right now.
“What did you do?” a nearby cop muttered, his nose crinkling with disgust as he stared me down. “Roll around in garbage all day long?”
I ground my teeth together. That was precisely what I’d done, not that I could tell him that. So I put my head down and hurried along a little faster, before the cop decided to further investigate me and my miserable stench.
As soon as I drew near, those in the crowd shifted back as far as they could and still see the Pork Pit. I started bobbing my head and mumbling nonsense as I shuffled past them. Let them think me some homeless junkie bum, high on blood, drugs, magic, or a combination of all three. At least it made getting through the crush of people easier when they all shied away from me.
I’d circled my way around most of the crowd and was about to cross to the next block over when I spotted a flash of pure white out of the corner of my eye. I stopped and turned my head.
Madeline was here.
She wore one of her expensive white pantsuits that made her trim, toned figure stand out that much more in the darkness. She stood beside Emery at the very back of the crowd, both of them staring across the street at the Pork Pit. Everyone was giving them a wide berth, obviously knowing who Madeline was, except for a couple of folks who were being truly obnoxious with their phones, trying to get the best angle and shot possible for their own ghoulish amusement. But a cold, measured look from Emery soon sent them scurrying away.
Despite the danger, it was too good an opportunity to pass up, so I sidled a little closer to the acid elemental and the giant and slipped into a doorway a few feet away and downwind from them. I sat on the stoop, sprawled my legs out, and slumped my body against the side of the wooden frame as though I were sleeping off a drunk. I held my breath for a moment, but neither of them noticed me or my stench.
“Do you think that she’s really dead?” Madeline asked.
“Everything seems to point to it,” Emery replied. “The body that the coroner pulled out of the back was definitely female, and Blanco never left the restaurant. The cops made sure of that. Elemental or not, I doubt that even she could have survived a fire like that.”
“Perhaps.” Madeline’s face was thoughtful as she stared at the pig sign over the front door. “And yet, I wonder if she found a way to survive and escape after all. I don’t want to make the same mistake that my mother and everyone else has by underestimating Blanco. So far, she’s had an annoying habit of surviving the impossible.”
“You saw how her family reacted when they rushed over here and saw the fire burning through the restaurant. The only thing that stopped Grayson from going in to try to save her was the gun that cop finally leveled at his head. And you saw her sister this morning after the coroner examined the body. You can’t fake grief and anguish like that. Besides, we both know that Blanco would never let her family think that she was dead when she really wasn’t.”
“True. She’s far too weak and soft-hearted for that. Still, I could have sworn that I felt her using her magic during the fire.”
Emery shrugged her broad shoulders. “She was probably trying to use her Ice magic to put out the fire, but we all know that didn’t happen. Every single part of the restaurant was scorched through and through. Even if she could have somehow fought off the fire, the smoke would have gotten her, thanks to all those sturdy brick walls trapping it inside with her.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Madeline’s voice was still full of doubt. “Perhaps I’m just being paranoid.”
An eerie sense of déjà vu swept over me. Madeline and I were far more alike than I’d realized, if she had spent these last few weeks worrying about me as much as I had about her.
“Regardless,” she continued, “we have preparations to make, now that she’s finally out of the way. Have you contacted all the underworld bosses yet?”
“Of course. They’ve been glued to their phones, Twitter, and TVs, watching this all play out. They know you were here when everything went down, and I ordered McAllister to spread the word about what really happened to Blanco. How you trapped her in her own restaurant and then burned it down around her. The other bosses will fall in line. And if they don’t . . .” Emery shrugged again. “I’ll make sure that they do—one way or another.”
So Madeline hadn’t been torturing me and mine just for the sake of her own twisted delight. At least, not entirely. Instead, all of this, every single problem, accusation, and misfortune that she’d caused for us, had been part of her plan to take control of the underworld, just as I’d suspected. Now, with her crowning achievement of my murder making the gossip rounds, she was finally ready to consolidate her power.
I was so going to enjoy fucking things up for her.
But not tonight. No, tonight I needed to get to my family. Then, together, we could plot our counterstrike against Madeline, Emery, Jonah, and all the rest.
Madeline must have had the same thought that I did because she frowned. “What about Blanco’s friends and family? Where are they now? What are they planning? Is there any sign that she’s still alive and has made any sort of contact with them?”
Emery sighed. “There you go, being paranoid again. Blanco is dead. Good riddance.”
“And her family?” Madeline persisted in a much colder voice. She didn’t like having her top lieutenant question her sanity.
Emery grumbled under her breath, pulled out her phone, and started tap-tap-tapping the screen. “According to my sources, they’re all still holed up at Deveraux’s so-called beauty salon just like they have been all day long. No sign of Blanco, and no indication that she’s alive. See? I told you that you were worrying over nothing. Do you want my men to keep watching the salon?”
Madeline stared at the pig sign for several seconds. “No, they can leave. But I want you to go over to the coroner’s office for the autopsy first thing in the morning. I want to be absolutely certain that body is Blanco’s before we proceed with anything else.”
Emery sighed again, a little louder and deeper this time. “I don’t see the point of that. Your plan worked, and she’s dead. You should be celebrating your victory, not worrying over a ghost that’s never going to come back and haunt you again.”
Madeline slowly turned her head to stare at the giant, her green eyes glittering in the darkness. “Are you questioning my judgment?” Her voice was soft, but the threat in her words was as hot and caustic as the acid she could so easily create and control.
Despite her giant strength, Emery knew which of them was the more dangerous, and she immediately lowered her head in apology. “Of course not. I’ll call my men right now.”
Black Widow Page 17