Sharpest Sting

by Jennifer Estep

  My mother had claimed that my father died in a car accident, although I doubted that was true. No, I had a sneaking suspicion the Circle was behind Tristan’s death, just as the group had been behind my mother’s and Annabella’s murders.

  Perhaps Tristan hadn’t liked being under his brother’s thumb and the two of them had some falling-out that led to Mason eliminating my father. Then, later on, Mason had ordered my mother to be killed when he learned that she was planning to expose the Circle. At least, that was what I thought Eira had been planning. So much of this was still just hunches and guesswork on my part.

  I’d come here hoping to get some answers, but the information on Tristan’s tombstone didn’t tell me anything new. Frustration flooded my stomach, curdling the fine dinner I’d eaten earlier. Owen was wrong. My motto as the Spider should be More Questions, because that was all I ever seemed to get regarding my parents and Mason.

  Owen slung the shovels off his shoulder and crouched down beside me. “I never realized it until right now, but you’ve never told me your father’s last name.”

  “That’s because I don’t know what it is.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “My father died when I was five, so I barely remember him. Ever since we discovered that Mason is the head of the Circle, I’ve been thinking back, trying to remember every little thing I can about my father. But Tristan is just this vague, hazy image in my mind—a nice smile, a warm laugh, a pair of gray eyes like mine.” I shook my head. “I don’t know if that image is real or simply what I want him to be.”

  “And Mason?”

  I shook my head again. “Nothing. I draw a total blank when it comes to him. I don’t remember anything about my father’s family. I always assumed Tristan didn’t have any family, but of course, now I know that’s not the case. But no matter how hard I try, I haven’t been able to remember anything helpful about Tristan, not even his last name.”

  Owen pointed to my mother’s marker. “But Snow is your mother’s last name, and yours too. Not your father’s.”

  “I was hoping Tristan’s last name would be on his tombstone, but it’s not.”

  “Maybe your father decided to use your mother’s last name,” Owen said. “Maybe he didn’t want anything to do with Mason, not even something as simple as sharing the same surname.”

  “That’s what I think too. That Tristan was so disgusted with Mason and the Circle that he disowned himself from their family.”

  At least, that was what I hoped. I didn’t want to contemplate the idea that my father might have been just as evil and horrible as Mason was.

  “Well, Silvio is working on it now, and if anyone can figure out my father’s last name and where Mason is hiding, then it’s him. But we have another mission.”

  Owen lifted the shovels and tapped them point-first against the ground. “Are you sure you want to do this? We don’t have to. I know how hard this is.”

  “I appreciate that, but we need more information about the Circle, and this is the only place I can think of where Fletcher might have hidden it. Even Silvio hasn’t been able to crack all the codes in that Circle ledger, and we’re running out of time to decrypt the info before Mason and Tucker target us again.”

  A few weeks ago, during an auction of items from Mab Monroe’s estate, I had stumbled across what seemed to be a blue book of Circle secrets. Hugh Tucker had been after the ledger, as had Alanna Eaton, a vampire cannibal. That book had turned out to be a decoy, but I had still ended up with the genuine item. Fletcher Lane, Finn’s dad and my assassin mentor, had given the real ledger to Stuart Mosley for safekeeping years ago, but Fletcher had never gotten a chance to tell Mosley what to do with the tome.

  But perhaps the most surprising thing was the fact that my mother had written the book.

  I had recognized her handwriting immediately, and Silvio and I had been working to decode the contents ever since. My mother had been some sort of accountant or bookkeeper for the Circle, and the blue ledger chronicled assassinations, kidnappings, and other crimes the group had committed, orchestrated, and profited from, as well as bribes and payments they had doled out to various people.

  Silvio was still trying to crack the last few bits of code, but the ledger hadn’t been quite the smoking gun I was hoping for. Sure, it cataloged some of the Circle’s dirty deeds, but most of the crimes were more than twenty years old, and many of the people associated with them were long dead. I wanted—needed—more information about the Circle’s past plots, as well as what its members had been up to in recent years, so I’d come to the cemetery to try to get it.

  “Do you really think Fletcher knew how Tristan was connected to the Circle?” Owen asked. “And that Fletcher left something here for you to find? Buried in your father’s grave?”

  I shrugged. “If anyone knew about Tristan and Mason, then it was Fletcher. Besides, the old man seemed to know everything else about the Circle.”

  Owen tapped the shovels against the ground again, still unsure. I didn’t blame him. I didn’t want to dig up my father’s grave, but Fletcher had left me information in this cemetery before, and it was the only place I hadn’t checked yet.

  Owen shifted his stance, and a bit of moonlight slid past his body and hit the tombstone, illuminating a small dark spot in the lower right-hand corner. I scooted forward and leaned down to get a better look at it.

  “Find something?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  The spot was right above the grass, and I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t cleared away the dead vines. I yanked up a tuft of grass and tossed it aside, then leaned down lower so that I could get an even better look. It wasn’t a spot at all but rather a rune that had been carved into the tombstone.

  And not just any rune—a small circle surrounded by thin rays. My spider rune.

  “Fletcher,” I whispered.

  I traced my fingers over the rune. Unlike the name and dates on the tombstone, which were neat and smooth and had obviously been done by a carver with professional equipment, this symbol looked thin and jagged, as though it had been crudely scratched into the stone with a blade meant for something else—like an assassin’s knife.

  I stared at the knife in my hand, then dug the point into the stone and drew a short line with the blade. My gaze snapped back and forth between my mark and the rune already on the tombstone. They matched exactly.

  “Fletcher,” I whispered again. “You sly fox.”

  The old man had once again left me a clue from beyond the grave. My heart lifted, excitement zipped through me, and I surged to my feet and turned to grab one of the shovels from Owen. To my surprise, he was also on his feet, frowning and looking off into the distance.

  “Something wrong?”

  He stabbed his finger toward the bottom of the hill. “There’s a freshly dug grave down there.”

  “So what? This is a cemetery.”

  Owen shook his head. “So there are no flowers on it. And look where that grave is. I know that spot, Gin, and so do you.”

  I peered in that direction. A grave had been recently dug at the bottom of the hill not too far away from where we were. No flowers were strewn across the turned earth, and no funeral wreaths were propped up on metal stands. But what made my heart sink was the grave’s location. Owen was right. I knew that spot all too well.

  “That’s Fletcher’s grave.” Shock blasted through me, but it was quickly drowned out by sick understanding. “Someone dug up Fletcher’s grave.”

  “Who would do that?” Owen asked. “And why?”

  It took me a moment to force the words out past the hard knot of emotion clogging my throat. “Because they were looking for clues, just like we were. They must have thought there was something in Fletcher’s grave—or his casket—worth stealing.”

  Owen’s eyes narrowed in understanding. “Like a blue ledger full of Circle secrets?”

  “Yeah.”

  I kept staring at the grave, not
wanting to believe that someone had been so cruel as to disturb Fletcher’s final resting place, even though I was here to do the same thing to my father.

  Then my assassin training kicked in, and I realized how much danger we were in. Not only had the grave been freshly dug, but a couple of shovels were propped up against Fletcher’s tombstone.

  “We need to get out of here,” I told Owen. “Right now. Before whoever dug up that grave comes back—”

  It was as if my whispered words made the very worst possible thing happen. Footsteps crunched on the frosty grass, and two giants rounded a tree and stepped into view at the bottom of the hill, heading straight for Fletcher’s grave.

  Chapter Two

  Owen and I both froze like two deer caught in the harsh glare of unexpected headlights on a dark, deserted country road.

  Then I grabbed his arm and yanked him back, tugging him behind the large snowflake statue that marked my family’s graves. The sharp motion pulled Owen off-balance, and he lost his grip on the two shovels, which thump-thumped to the ground.

  I grimaced at the unwanted noise, but I hunkered down behind the statue with Owen beside me. The seconds ticked by, and I strained to listen, but I couldn’t hear anything above the pounding roar of my heart and Owen’s quick breaths rasping in my ear. Maybe, just maybe, the giants hadn’t heard the shovels hit the ground, and they would go on about their business without realizing that we were here—

  “Hey, Wynn. Did you hear that?” one of the giants called out.

  “Yeah. I think it came from the top of the hill,” the second man responded. “C’mon, Vance. Let’s check it out.”

  So not only had the giants and I picked the exact same time to dig up graves, but now they were coming to investigate the noise Owen had made. I bit back a curse. Lady Luck was really screwing me over tonight. But I couldn’t track what I couldn’t see, so I scooted forward and peered around the side of the statue.

  The two giants were climbing the hill. Both were around seven feet tall, with thick, wide, strong bodies and guns clutched in their hands. Each man had brown hair and tan skin, but what really caught my attention was their clothes. The giants were wearing long black coats over black suits, and their black wing tips were as shiny as glass, despite the fact that they’d been digging up a grave. They looked like they’d showered and shaved just a few minutes ago, and I got a whiff of spicy sandalwood cologne wafting off one of them.

  The giants weren’t mere grave robbers—they were Circle enforcers.

  Once again, I bit back the curse dangling on the tip of my tongue. I had been so worried about someone following Owen and me from the rehearsal dinner to the cemetery that it hadn’t occurred to me that Mason might dispatch his own men here.

  It seemed Uncle Mason and I were on the same wavelength, at least when it came to where Fletcher might have hidden Circle secrets. The fact that I might have anything in common with Mason made my skin crawl, but I shoved the disgusting thought aside and focused on the two problems at hand.

  “Stay still and quiet,” I whispered to Owen. “Maybe the giants will think it was the wind and leave. I don’t want to fight them unless we absolutely have to.”

  Owen nodded, and the two of us held our position behind the snowflake statue. I peered around the side of the stone again and watched the giants climb the hill.

  They took their time, not hurrying but not dawdling either, and their heads swiveled back and forth as they scanned the grounds. Both men had their guns up, ready to shoot anything that crossed their path. They seemed well organized and well trained, which made them even more dangerous.

  I looked past the giants, examining the rest of the cemetery, but the area was empty, and the two men appeared to be alone. Well, at least there wasn’t a whole squad of them. Maybe Lady Luck hadn’t screwed me over as badly as I’d thought.

  The giants stopped about twenty feet away from Owen and me and turned around in a circle, once again scanning their surroundings. They must have seen the same emptiness that I did, because they relaxed and lowered their guns.

  My heart lifted. Maybe the giants would return to Fletcher’s grave. The second their backs were turned, Owen and I could grab the fallen shovels, creep down the opposite side of the hill, and disappear into the woods beyond. Normally, retreating was a last resort for me, as was leaving bad guys alive to fight another day, but I didn’t want Mason to realize that I’d been here searching for clues.

  The giants shrugged at each other, as if they didn’t know what had made the mysterious noise.

  Go on, I thought. Leave. You don’t want to stand around with the cold wind whipping in your faces. Go down the hill, down the hill, down the hill…

  I kept chanting the words over and over again in my mind. Maybe if I thought them long and hard enough, I could actually make them happen.

  One of the giants moved as if to head down the hill, but then he stopped, and his gaze locked onto the two shovels Owen had dropped.

  I let out a soft, resigned sigh. Nope, not going to happen. I should have known better than to hope for something as capricious as luck to fall in my favor. This would only play out one way now. Of course. This was how my late-night trips to the cemetery almost always ended.

  “Hey, Wynn,” one of the giants said. “Did you bring some extra shovels up here?”

  “Nope, Vance. Those aren’t mine. I thought you brought them?”

  Wynn shook his head. The two giants exchanged a look and raised their guns.

  I let out another soft, resigned sigh and tucked my knife back up my sleeve.

  “What are you doing?” Owen whispered.

  “I don’t want to kill them with my knives or my Ice magic unless I have no other choice,” I whispered back. “Stay hidden while I distract them, then follow my lead. Try to grab one of their guns and shoot them, if you can.”

  Owen frowned in confusion, but he nodded. He always had my back, which was one of the many things I loved about him.

  I loudly cleared my throat, got to my feet, and lifted my arms.

  “Hey, fellas.” I stepped out from behind the snowflake statue where they could see me. “Funny running into you guys here. I didn’t realize the cemetery was such a popular late-night hangout.”

  The two giants whirled around and aimed their guns at my chest.

  “Shit!” Wynn muttered. “That’s Gin Blanco. That’s the Spider.”

  He shuffled back a few feet, as if he didn’t want to be within arm’s reach of me. Smart man. It was good to know my reputation preceded me, even among Mason’s minions.

  Vance gave his friend a short, sharp nod, although he never took his gaze off me. “Yep. She’ll want to know about this. You call her. I’ll keep an eye on Blanco.”

  I took a step forward. “She? Who are you going to call?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Vance said. “But trust me, you won’t like the surprise.”

  So the giants were reporting to someone other than Mason. Interesting. Maybe I could get them to scream out exactly who it was before the end.

  I took another step forward, my arms still raised. “You’re right. I hate surprises. So why don’t you go ahead and tell me? It’s so much easier to talk when you’re not choking on your own blood.”

  Vance’s dark brown eyes narrowed, and he aimed his gun a little more carefully at my chest. “You take one more step, and I will shoot you where you stand, orders or not.”

  Orders? What kind of orders? And who had given them? Mason? Hugh Tucker? The mysterious she?

  Wynn stared at me, his pale blue eyes wide in surprise and fear, but Vance jerked his head at the other man.

  “Quit gaping like an idiot, and make the call,” Vance growled. “Tell her that we’ve captured Blanco.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.

  Wynn yanked his phone out of his coat pocket, but instead of calling for reinforcements, he kept staring at me. “What’s so funny?”

  I let my chuckles tr
ail off and spread my arms out even wider. “You think this is me being captured? Really? Oh, fellas. You are in for a very rude awakening.”

  Wynn wet his lips and shifted on his feet. He was clutching his gun in one hand and his phone in the other, not sure what to do. Vance didn’t have that problem. He kept his gun trained on my chest and his gaze locked on my face.

  “Wynn,” he snapped. “Make the call. Right now.”

  “Yes, Wynn,” I drawled. “Make the call. Let’s invite some more people to our graveyard soiree. I’ll kill them just like I’m going to kill the two of you.”

  Wynn’s eyes bulged even wider, and he sucked in a ragged breath and shuffled back another couple of feet. He looked at Vance again and opened his mouth to say something, but Vance turned his head and stared down the other man.

  “I told you. Make the call—”

  The second Vance focused on Wynn, I charged at the giant. But Vance was expecting the attack, and he immediately snapped back to me. A second before I would have tackled him, Vance pulled the trigger and shot me.

  * * *

  The bullet punched against my chest with brutal force, but it didn’t actually slam into my body and blast my heart to pieces the way Vance had intended. My coveralls were just heavy-duty fabric, but the vest I was wearing underneath was lined with silverstone, and the magical metal stopped and kept the bullet from killing me. Still, I let out a loud scream and toppled to the ground, as though Vance had murdered me on the spot.

  And then I waited, just waited, for the giant to come close enough for me to strike. I knew he would. They always did.

  But Vance was smarter and more careful than most. Five seconds passed, then ten, then twenty. Finally, after about thirty long, silent seconds, I heard his wing tips scuff through the grass, and his shadow fell over me, blotting out the moonlight. I reached for my Stone magic and flexed my fingers.