Sharpest Sting: An Elemental Assassin Book

by Jennifer Estep

  Liam had followed the dwarven couple over to Lorelei’s mansion so he could get cracking on his security plan for the wedding.

  “Good,” he replied. “They’re having a relatively small wedding, at least according to Ashland society standards. Only about three hundred guests. We worked out most of the logistics last night, and I sent some of my people over to the country club this morning to check out things and inform the staff that we’ll be taking point on security. Don’t worry. The wedding will go off without any problems.”

  I couldn’t tell if he truly believed that or was simply saying what I wanted to hear. Either way, I once again had no choice but to take him at his word. “All right. Have a seat. What do you want for lunch?”

  Instead of heading to the back corner booth he’d sat in yesterday, Liam strolled over and plopped down on the stool next to Silvio. “Oh, I can think of a few things,” he drawled.

  Silvio snorted at the other man’s obvious attempt to flirt, but he never took his eyes off his tablet. Not even Liam Carter held more charm and appeal than the vampire’s electronics. At least, not right now, when Silvio was hot on the trail of the missing ledger.

  At eleven o’clock, I unlocked the front door and flipped the sign over to Open, and hungry customers started streaming inside. I eyed everyone who came through the door, but no one seemed overtly shady, shifty, or suspicious, and no one seemed interested in anything other than getting a good, hearty meal.

  I quickly lost myself in the hustle and bustle of the lunch rush, and I actually started to feel a little bit better. I still didn’t understand why Fletcher had hidden the fact that he’d worked for Mason, but as Jo-Jo had said, the old man hadn’t been perfect. I had certainly made my fair share of mistakes, both as Gin Blanco and as the Spider, and I was going to try not to begrudge Fletcher this whopper of a secret. That was the only way I was going to get through this. I could cry and scream and rant and rave later, after I found the ledger and figured out how to kill Mason.

  So I focused on cooking and chopping, stirring and sautéing, and ringing up order after order on the cash register. The only thing that ruined the illusion that this was just another day was the sweet-and-spicy scent of Fletcher’s barbecue sauce flavoring the air. Every time I breathed in the rich, deep aroma, I would think about the old man, which led my mind back to the missing ledger, Mason, and everything else. I’d shove those thoughts away and distract myself with work…until the next time I got a whiff of the bubbling sauce.

  Still, I put on a calm, happy face for my normal customers and the underworld bosses and minions who came to the restaurant. Maybe if I pretended everything was fine long and hard enough, I could make it a reality.

  Yeah, I didn’t believe that either.

  But the hours passed by pleasantly enough, and my phone chirped with texts from Owen, Finn, Bria, and everyone else. My friends were safe, and no one had seen any sign of Emery Slater or her giants. It seemed as though Mason was keeping his word. He wouldn’t touch me or my friends—unless I failed to deliver the ledger by his midnight Saturday deadline.

  After that, though, it would just be a matter of time before Mason came after us.

  Even if we hid in a safe house, my uncle had enough men, money, and magic to eventually find us. He would most likely kill Bria first, then probably Owen and Finn, and then everyone else. Mason would want to punish me, to make me suffer for as long as possible, so he would probably murder me last.

  Maybe it was morbid thinking about the death of everyone I loved, but Fletcher had trained me to be a realist. He had always said if you knew what was coming, then you could plan for it accordingly. I knew exactly what horrors were heading my way—I just didn’t know how to stop them.

  Even though I was still pissed at him, Fletcher’s advice had gotten me out of more than one jam, and I embraced it again now. While I worked the lunch rush, I turned my many problems over in my mind. Every time I ladled baked beans into a bowl, scooped up mac and cheese, or piled smoked pulled chicken onto a plate, the situation became a little clearer.

  I needed to do three things: Find the missing ledger. Protect my friends. Kill Mason.

  Maybe it was being in the restaurant, in my safe place, or maybe it was Fletcher’s ghostly presence lingering in the air right along with the scent of his barbecue sauce, but by the time the lunch rush slowed down, I felt calmer and more in control than I had since before I killed the two giants in the cemetery.

  I decided my own fate, not Emery Slater, Hugh Tucker, Mason Mitchell, or anyone else. I would figure out how to defeat them. I’d worked too hard on my relationships, and I’d suffered through too much to just give up, lay down my knives, and die.

  “You seem…better,” Silvio remarked.

  It was just after two o’clock. Only a few folks were dining in the restaurant, and the waitstaff was taking their usual break in the back.

  I was taking a break too, sitting on my stool behind the cash register, and eating my own lunch—grilled chicken smothered with a spicy buffalo sauce and sprinkled with blue cheese crumbles, a new pineapple-and-carrot coleslaw I was thinking about adding to the menu, roasted sweet potatoes slathered with cinnamon butter, and some of Sophia’s delicious sourdough rolls. For dessert, I was having a dark chocolate brownie covered with warm homemade cherry sauce and topped with a scoop of vanilla-bean ice cream.

  I took a sip of my sweet blackberry tea. “That’s because I am better.”

  “So you’ve come up with some more places to look for the ledger?”

  “Nope.”

  Silvio frowned. “So then you’ve figured out a way to find Mason?”

  “Nope.”

  His frown deepened. “So you at least know how to kill Mason when you see him again?”

  “Nope.”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “Then why are you better?”

  I gestured at the plates on the counter. “Because I am enjoying a good meal with good company. Everything else will work itself out. Trust me.”

  Silvio eyed me, clearly thinking I had lost my pickles. Maybe I had. But for now, I was going to enjoy my food and his company. My assistant gave me another wary look, but he returned to his tablet.

  On the far side of the restaurant, Liam Carter’s phone chirped. After Silvio had rebuffed his advances, Liam had retreated to the back corner booth. The vampire huffed and shot Liam a dirty look, as though the chiming device annoyed him, even though his own tablet let out far more burps and beeps. Liam saluted Silvio with his phone, and my assistant rolled his eyes.

  I focused on my meal again. I hadn’t finished all my food, but I was getting full, so I pushed my plates aside and dug my spoon into my dessert. The rich chocolate brownie melted on my tongue, combining with the sweet, tart cherry sauce and the cool, refreshing ice cream. So good. I quickly inhaled a second bite. I should have eaten dessert first.

  The bell over the front door chimed. I scooped another bite of brownie, sauce, and ice cream into my mouth, then looked up, a smile on my face, ready to greet my next customer. My smile froze, then cracked and dropped from my lips like icicles snapping off a roof and plunging to the ground, as I realized exactly who was darkening my door.

  Mason Mitchell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I forgot all about my dessert. In an instant, I had dropped my hand down behind the counter, out of sight of everyone in the storefront, and palmed a knife. If Mason was here to make good on his threat to kill me and my friends, then I wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Instead of charging over to the counter, Mason unwrapped the navy scarf from around his neck, shrugged out of his navy overcoat, and hung them both on the rack by the front door. Then he turned and looked at me.

  My uncle’s gray gaze flicked from my face down to the counter, and a smug, knowing smirk lifted his lips. He knew I was clutching a knife, and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. Then again, why would it? He had enough raw magic to reduce the Pork Pit to rubble with a
mere flick of his fingers.

  Even now, when he wasn’t using his power in any active way, elemental magic still poured off him in cold, hard, continuous waves. The sensation made me feel as though I was trapped in a cement room, just waiting for the walls to snap together, crush every bone in my body, and grind my entire being to dust. Mason’s power might be eerily similar to my own Ice and Stone magic, but it was hands down the most horrible thing I had ever felt.

  Mason smirked at me a moment longer, then walked over and sat down in a booth next to the windows.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Emery Slater also strolled into the restaurant, along with two other giants. They left their coats on, but she and her men sat down at a table across from Mason’s booth. Please. As if he needed their protection. He was more than capable of defending himself—and killing everyone in here.

  Hugh Tucker also stepped inside the restaurant, bringing up the rear, slinking in like a copperhead in the grass. The vampire perched at a nearby table by himself, as if he didn’t really belong with either Mason or the three giants.

  Tucker might have been the Circle’s top enforcer for years, but he was very clearly an underling, and Mason seemed to pay as little attention to the vampire as he did to the furniture. Oh, yes. Tucker was just a tool to be used and then forgotten about until the next time Mason needed him.

  “Gin,” Silvio said in a low, urgent voice. “What do you want to do?”

  I focused on my assistant. Silvio’s hands were curled around his tablet, as though he was going to whip up his precious device and bash someone over the head with it.

  I glanced over at Sophia. The Goth dwarf had been chopping onions to add to the latest pot of baked beans, and she was still clutching a knife. She nodded at me, indicating that she was more than ready to charge forward and tangle with our unwanted customers.

  And finally, I looked over at Liam Carter, who was clutching his phone and still sitting in the back corner booth. I thought of the chirp that had erupted from his device a minute ago. That must have been a text from one of his men stationed outside the restaurant saying Mason was on his way. Strange that Liam hadn’t warned me. Perhaps he hadn’t had time. Or maybe it had been a deliberate oversight on his part. No way to know for sure.

  Even if he had given me a heads-up about my uncle’s impending visit, there was nothing I could have done to stop it, especially since I’d told Liam to instruct his men not to engage Mason, Emery, or Tucker should they appear. Liam’s people might be highly skilled bodyguards, but my uncle, the giant, and the vampire were all extremely dangerous, and they would kill whoever got in their way. My friends and I might be in the line of fire, but there was no use in Liam’s people needlessly dying.

  Liam raised his eyebrows, a clear question on his face, also wanting to know what I was going to do. But there was only one thing I could do: see what my dear uncle wanted.

  If I had been alone, I would have considered going on the offensive and trying to end this here and now. But a few folks were still eating their barbecue sandwiches, fries, and onion rings, and I didn’t want any innocent bystanders getting hurt because of my family feud.

  So as much as it pained me, I tucked my knife back up my sleeve. Then I grabbed a menu, an order pad, and a pen off the counter and stalked over to the booth where Mason was relaxing.

  I glanced over at Emery, who sneered at me, as did the two giants sitting with her. Over at his own table, Tucker gave me a blank look, his inscrutable expression neither mocking nor threatening. As usual, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, much less what he might be plotting.

  I turned my back to Emery and the two giants and slapped the menu onto the table in front of Mason, who was studying the restaurant with a curious gaze. I wondered how long it had been since he’d set foot in here. Years, probably. I wished he wasn’t here now, but I had wished for a whole host of things that had never come to pass. If wishes were horses, I’d have a dude ranch full of ponies by this point.

  “What can I get you?” I asked in a bored voice, as though my long-lost uncle showing up at my gin joint didn’t bother me.

  Mason didn’t even glance at the menu. “A barbecue pork sandwich. Baked beans. Onion rings. Sweet iced tea with lemon.”

  I wrote down his order, then jerked my thumb over my shoulder at Emery, the two giants, and Tucker. “And what will your charming entourage have?”

  I half expected Mason to order for them too, since he seemed like such a control freak, but he let Emery and the giants choose their own food. How benevolent of him. Tucker didn’t ask for anything, not even a glass of water.

  I stalked back around behind the counter and handed the ticket off to Sophia. The two of us fixed their food in silence, and I carried the glasses and plates over to Emery and the two giants and then to Mason.

  “Here you go,” I chirped in a bright, sunny tone. “I hope you choke on it.”

  “Now, now, Gin,” Mason replied in a chiding voice. “There’s no need to be so hostile. Sit with me while I eat.”

  I started to tell him exactly where he could stuff his rebuke, along with his food, but magic flared in his eyes, making them gleam like gray moons, and the restaurant’s brick walls quivered, as though they were suddenly cold. I was the only one who saw the brief, faint disturbance in the stones, although Sophia’s head snapped around, and she gripped her chopping knife a little tighter. Sophia was an Air elemental, so she had felt the invisible wave of Mason’s magic.

  The message was clear. Mason was telling me to sit down—or else he would destroy my restaurant.

  Emery and the giants were busy stuffing their faces with barbecue chicken sandwiches, so I glanced over at Tucker, who tilted his head, encouraging me to do as commanded.

  I ground my teeth and plopped down in the booth across from my uncle. Not for the first time, I thought about installing a turnstile or some other barrier by the front door. I was tired of my enemies waltzing inside and eating my food while they threatened and insulted me, and I had no illusions that this little tête-à-tête would be any different. No, this one would be worse than most, given everything I now knew about Fletcher.

  Mason scooted his plates around, arranging them just so, then leaned over and drew in a deep, appreciative breath. “Ahhh. The food looks and smells just like I remember. It’s so nice you kept Fletcher’s recipes, especially the barbecue sauce. I love the way the beans are simmered in it.”

  He dug his spoon into the beans and slid the utensil into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and let out another appreciative sigh. “Oh, yes. These are exactly as I remember. One of my biggest regrets with how things ended with Fletcher was that I couldn’t eat here anymore. He really did make the best barbecue in Ashland.”

  Mason set his spoon down, shrugged out of his navy suit jacket, and laid it on his side of the booth. Next, he tugged up his light blue shirtsleeves as high as they would go so that he wouldn’t get barbecue sauce on the ends. The motions made his silverstone cuff links wink at me. They were both shaped like the Circle’s ring-of-swords rune.

  For the first time, I realized what a gruesome symbol it was. All those swords pointed outward, as though each weapon was a person who would kill anyone who dared to threaten the Circle’s power, money, magic, and status. Then again, from what I knew about Circle machinations, that was exactly what happened. The members eliminated anyone who stood between them and what they wanted. And the carnage wasn’t limited to their enemies. Inside the Circle ranks, the stronger members killed off the weaker ones, then fought among themselves until only a few remained.

  Unfortunately for me, Uncle Mason was the strongest of them all.

  Mason picked up his sandwich and took a big bite, making his cuff links wink at me again. I studied them a little more carefully. One, two, three… The rune featured nine swords. I wondered if the number meant something, if perhaps each sword represented one of the main Circle families, but I’d be damned if I’d ask.

  S
till, the longer I stared at his cuff links, the more something about the two matching runes nagged at me. I’d seen that ring of swords, or something very similar to it, sometime over the last few days. I tried to remember when and where, but Mason let out yet another loud, appreciative sigh, interrupting my musings.

  “Mmm-mmm-mmm! How I’ve missed this.” He smacked his lips and sank his teeth into his sandwich again.

  For the next fifteen minutes, I stewed in silence, watching Mason chew his food and slurp down his iced tea. Finally, when he was finished, my uncle crumpled up a dirty napkin and tossed it onto his empty plate. Then he sighed yet again and leaned back.

  “Wonderful, Gin,” Mason said. “Absolutely wonderful. Fletcher would be so proud of you.”

  My hands curled into tight fists on my lap, my nails digging into the silverstone spider-rune scars branded into my palms. Somehow I resisted the urge to upend what was left of Mason’s iced tea over his head and then grab his empty plates and smash them into his smug face one after another.

  “Yes, I’m sure Fletcher is proud of how I’ve kept the restaurant going since he died.” I gave my uncle a razor-thin smile. “And I imagine he’ll be even prouder when I finally put you in the ground.”

  Mason let out an amused chuckle. “Oh, dear little Genevieve. You are far too homicidal for your own good. Then again, the Tin Man was one of the best assassins around. I suppose it’s only natural that Fletcher instilled all his worst traits in you, including his excessive, inflated ego about his own skills and his misplaced confidence that he could kill anyone, including me.”

  I ground my teeth again, trying not to let my anger show. I despised the sound of my real name on his lips. Mason Mitchell had killed Genevieve Snow years ago, and he had no right to invoke her spirit now. “Enough word games. What do you want?”

  “Why, lunch, of course,” he drawled in his smooth, silky voice. “And to check on my favorite niece.”

  I snorted in disbelief.