Elemental Assassin: The Spider Part 4

Mab paused, almost as if she were posing to let everyone in the room get a good look at her in all her glory. Then she did the worst thing possible.

She walked toward the windows.

Mab moved closer and closer to the gla.s.s, her green gown rippling out like water around her, the fabric swirling away and then settling back against her body, every fold and drape perfectly in place once more. She walked slowly, carefully, deliberately, as though every step were a great debate of some sort-probably about whether Cesar and Sebastian lived or died.

And me too if she spotted me.

I froze, scarcely daring to breathe, but Mab kept coming and coming, heading right toward the windows-and me. Five more feet, and she'd see me hanging on to the shutter. It was no longer a matter of if she noticed me but when. Four feet . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .

Mab stopped.

She clasped her hands behind her back and peered straight out through the gla.s.s, her black eyes scanning the ominous clouds and the lightning that was still crackling in the distance.

I stayed exactly where I was, hanging on to the shutter, my toes perched on the ledge below the windows, not moving so much as a single muscle, not wanting to do anything that might catch her eye. I wouldn't have even breathed if I could have managed it.

Because if Mab noticed me, if she realized that I was eavesdropping, she would raise her hands and incinerate me with her Fire magic. Everyone knew that Mab was the most powerful person in Ashland. Some even said that she was the strongest elemental born in the last five hundred years. I might have scoffed at the rumors before but not now-because I could feel exactly how powerful she really was.

My magic was self-contained, in that another elemental couldn't sense that I had any power at all unless I was actively using it in some way, like making an Ice knife or shattering a bit of rock. But others, like Vaughn, continually emanated magic, like heat s.h.i.+mmering up from the pavement on a summer day, even when they weren't doing anything more strenuous than blinking.

And Mab did too.

The hot, pulsing feel of her power blasted right through the gla.s.s and stone that separated us, as though I had stuck my face into a furnace. Dozens of tiny, invisible needles stabbed into my skin, each one leaving behind a burning pinch of pain, and the sensation only intensified the longer she stared out the windows. My breath came in shallow pants, and sweat dripped down my face, streaming into my eyes. I bit my lip against the hot, phantom pain and focused on maintaining my grip on the shutter and the ledge, which was doubly hard now when all I wanted to do was let go, if only to get away from the horrid feel of her magic was.h.i.+ng over me again and again.

Mab kept gazing out through the gla.s.s, as though she were contemplating all the secrets of the universe. All she had to do was turn her head to the left a few scant inches, and she would see me. I bit my lip again, but I stayed where I was, knowing that even the slightest movement might make her dark gaze s.h.i.+ft to mine-and mean my death.

A minute pa.s.sed, then two, then three, and still, Mab kept staring out the d.a.m.n windows. My fingers twitched, my legs trembled, and my muscles ached from holding the same position for so long, but I stayed put. I didn't have any other choice.

At first, I wondered what Mab could possibly find so fascinating about the approaching storm, but then I realized that it was all just a ploy to make Vaughn and Sebastian sweat. It was working too, judging from the fine sheen of perspiration on Vaughn's forehead. I wondered if he could feel her Fire magic the same way that I could, and realized how easily she could scorch him to death with it.

Finally, Mab turned away from the gla.s.s and walked back toward the two men, taking the hot, stabbing feel of her magic with her. I let out a soft sigh of relief and slowly eased my fingers and toes this way and that, s.h.i.+fting my weight and trying to ease the burning sensation in my muscles. That had been the longest five minutes of my life.

"So the inspectors haven't found anything yet?" she asked.

Vaughn's head whipped back and forth as he hurried to rea.s.sure her. "No, nothing. Nothing to indicate that the accident was anything other than that."

"Nothing that you can be held accountable for as the builder?" Mab asked, her smoky voice dipping even lower.

He kept shaking his head. "No, nothing. Nothing at all. I've told you before, and I'll tell you again, I don't even know what happened. I don't know what went wrong. If I did know, I would tell you. I would tell everyone."

Mab studied him, her black eyes taking in everything from his clenched jaw to his stiff posture to the fact that he was dry-was.h.i.+ng his hands again. Sebastian, Dawson, and Slater stayed where they were, as frozen as I had been a moment ago. They knew as well as I did that Cesar Vaughn's fate was hanging by a thread, one that Mab could char to ash if she wanted to, right here, right now.

"Well, then," Mab said. "I'll ask Jonah to look into things to make sure that you stay blameless in all of this. But if things take a turn for the worse, I may have to go through with my original plan to sever all ties with Vaughn Construction. And you know what that would mean."

Vaughn couldn't hide the shudder that rippled through his body. "Of course. I understand."

Yeah, we all knew exactly what Mab meant-that Vaughn would be the one to suffer if anything else happened that displeased her in the slightest way.

Fletcher didn't need me to kill Vaughn. Neither did whoever had hired us. Mab would probably take care of Vaughn herself in a few more days, maybe weeks, if he was lucky.

"I'm glad we understand each other." Mab smiled at him, but the only warmth in her face was the Fire magic burning in her eyes, making them seem as dark and hot as two black, smoking coals. "For your sake, I hope that the building inspectors continue to find you . . . blameless."

Vaughn paled, his tan skin taking on a sickly, sallow tint, but he slowly squared his shoulders and gave her a respectful nod.

Her warning delivered, Mab swept past Vaughn, unlocked the doors, threw them open, and strolled out of the library, with Dawson and Slater getting to their feet and trailing along behind her.

Vaughn and Sebastian stared at the open doors. Then Vaughn stumbled forward, clutched the back of a nearby chair, and sagged against it. He plucked a white silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and dabbed the sweat off his forehead. But he was made of sterner stuff than I thought, because he tucked the bit of damp silk away and straightened back up.

"Well, that went about as well as could be expected," he grumbled. "I suppose I should be grateful that she didn't use her Fire magic on me to really make her point."

"Well, there is that small favor," Sebastian drawled.

Vaughn eyed his son, as if he was surprised by his snarky tone, but he didn't respond. Instead, he paced back and forth before striding past the desk and walking over to the windows, coming even closer to the gla.s.s than Mab had.

I grimaced and gripped the shutter and ledge more tightly, trying to press myself even closer against the wall so that he wouldn't look to his left and see me hanging right next to him. What was it with everyone coming over to stare moodily out through the gla.s.s tonight? You'd think that they'd never seen the great outdoors before.

Sebastian strode over and put his hand on his father's shoulder.

"It needs to stop, Papa," Sebastian said, his voice kinder than it had been before. "You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened at that restaurant. You did nothing wrong. When the inspectors release their report and say so, everyone else will realize it too. It was just an accident, just a freak occurrence, nothing more. There's no one to blame, nothing you could have done to stop it, and nothing you can do to make it right now."

His impa.s.sioned words showed his loyalty to his father, even if Vaughn didn't deserve it. I wondered if Sebastian knew what his father was doing to Charlotte, how Cesar was hurting her whenever the mood struck him. I wondered what he would think of his beloved papa then.

Vaughn shrugged off his son's hand. "We'll see what the inspectors find. Until then, I'm not discounting any possibility. Perhaps a bad batch of materials got mixed in with what I had ordered, after all. It could still be my fault, whether I know it or not. All of those people, their families . . . their loss, their pain, their suffering . . . it could still be because of me."

The sad, wounded, defeated tone in Vaughn's voice made me frown. He seemed genuinely upset by all the deaths and injuries that had resulted from the terrace collapse. Not how I would have expected him to feel, but maybe the guilt had finally overwhelmed his greed, if he had, in fact, cut corners on the job. But it didn't much matter. My a.s.signment was to kill him, not speculate about who wanted him dead.

Vaughn turned away from the windows. "Anyway, I must return to the dinner. I wouldn't want the others to think that something is wrong."

"Oh, no," Sebastian drawled again. "We wouldn't want that."

Cesar gave his son another odd look, then strode out of the library. Sebastian followed him, although he was walking much more slowly.

Since there was nothing else to do or see here, I let go of the shutter, gripped the stone with my fingers again, and headed back in the direction from which I'd originally come.

The climb back was much quicker, and I made it across the wall and in through the open window without any problems. Dust and dirt from the stone had smeared across my white tuxedo vest and black pants, and I wiped it off the best I could, hoping that no one would notice the faint stains or the tiny tears in the white silk from where bits of rock had sc.r.a.ped against the thin material. I also untucked my s.h.i.+rt and used the ends to wipe the sweat off my face before stuffing the fabric back down into my pants again.

When I was more or less presentable, I headed toward the end of the hallway. I'd gone ten feet before I realized that I'd forgotten the most important thing: the tray of champagne that I was supposed to have been circulating through the dining room twenty minutes ago.

I grumbled, turned around, and grabbed the tray from where I'd set it down on the floor. I hoisted it into position in the crook of my elbow and scurried down the hallway toward the main corridor. I was about to round the corner when someone stepped into view in front of me.

Sebastian Vaughn.

6.

Sebastian stopped, as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He must have dawdled in the library longer than I'd thought.

We stared at each other for several seconds before I finally managed to do the appropriate thing and extend the serving tray out to him.

"Champagne, sir?"

Sebastian blinked, as if my offering him a drink was somehow surprising, but he grabbed a gla.s.s of bubbly. Well, actually, it wasn't quite as bubbly now as when it had been poured in the kitchen, but I was hoping that he wouldn't notice-or wonder what I was doing here.

"Thank you," he murmured.

I nodded and stepped to one side, ready to make my exit.

He spoke again. "Tell me, what are you doing in this part of the mansion? I thought that everyone was supposed to be in the dining room already."

My hands tightened around the tray. No such luck. Of course not.

I couldn't tell him the truth, so I did my best ditzy, embarra.s.sed grimace. "I, ah, got a little turned around going from the kitchen to the dining room. All of these hallways look the same, especially with all of the la.s.sos, guns, and creepy animal heads."

I gestured at the head of a longhorn cattle that hung on the wall and let out an exaggerated mock s.h.i.+ver, as though the sight scared me to death. Actually, I felt sorry for the poor critter. What a sad, sad fate, going from wandering with your herd to being stuffed and mounted in some rich man's house.

Sebastian frowned, as if he didn't believe my story, so I upped the wattage on my smile, nodded again, and started to ease past him. "Anyway, I really need to be getting back. Wouldn't want to get fired just for getting lost. So please excuse me, sir . . ."

A grin flitted across his face. "Don't call me sir. I can't be that much older than you."

I wasn't sure what to say, and I especially wasn't sure what to make of the frank, a.s.sessing way he was staring at me, almost like he was . . . intrigued by me. But that couldn't be right. I'd "worked" dozens of dinners and had run into more guys like Sebastian Vaughn than I cared to remember. The only things most of them were interested in was how much liquor I could serve them, how fast, and if I was willing to let them f.u.c.k me in some dark corner to help pa.s.s the time.

The answer to that last question was always a loud, resounding no. Most of the guys shrugged and moved on to the next waitress, but there were a few who didn't want to take no for an answer. But they soon realized that the shattered edge of a champagne gla.s.s made for an excellent weapon and that maybe they shouldn't f.u.c.k with the help after all-because the help might just f.u.c.k back with them.

But Sebastian kept staring at me, his interest growing instead of waning, so I tried to figure out what sort of game he was playing. I'd thought before that he resembled a younger version of his father, with his black hair, tan skin, and brown eyes. That was true, but the pictures in Fletcher's file didn't do Sebastian justice. No mere photo could adequately capture the absolute perfection of his features, his straight nose, the slight curve of his lips, the square set of his jaw, the faint flecks of amber in his deep, dark mahogany gaze. Not to mention the way his suit draped over his lean figure, hinting at all of the smooth, supple muscles that lay underneath the fabric.

I breathed in, catching a whiff of his cologne, a spicy, heady scent with a soft, sweet note that made me think of roses. Somehow, though, the floral combination only made him seem more masculine. Oh, yes, I'd thought Sebastian Vaughn handsome enough in the photos, and again when I'd spotted him in the library, but in person, face-to-face, he was simply . . . dazzling.

Especially given the way he was looking at me, with such intent interest, as though I were the most important person in all of Ashland. As an a.s.sa.s.sin, I was used to blending into the shadows, disappearing into the darkness, no one ever seeing me until it was far too late-for him. It was a bit disconcerting to be the focus of so much attention, especially when that attention came in such an attractive package. But it was also kind of flattering. Fun, even.

Still, I had a job to do-as a waitress and otherwise-and I couldn't afford to be away from the dining room any longer. I didn't want to get yelled at for slacking off by Meredith, the event planner, but I also didn't want Fletcher to worry about me. And he would worry. He always worried, about everything.

So I gave Sebastian a bright smile and started down the hallway a third time. But he stopped me again, this time going so far as to step directly into my path. I pulled up short, the gla.s.ses on my tray rattling ominously, but I managed to keep from spilling any of the champagne, which would have been a worse offense than disappearing from the dining room.

"What's your name?" Sebastian asked, his tone sounding genuinely curious.

I should have been annoyed with him, but his voice was as perfect as the rest of him, low and strong, with a bit of a deep ba.s.s that rumbled through each and every one of his words. The sort of voice that you could sit and listen to for hours.

I thought about it, but I didn't see the harm in telling him. I'd probably never see him again after tonight. Besides, I doubted that Sebastian lacked for female attention. He wasn't the sort of guy who would remember a waitress, not even a lost one like me. I was a momentary distraction, a faint curiosity, something to alleviate his boredom for a few minutes before he returned to the dinner. Nothing more. Funny, though, how that cold reality made a faint twinge of longing stir in my heart, longing to step out of the shadows, longing to be something more.

"Gin," I finally said. "My name is Gin."

"Jen?"

"No, Gin."

He frowned. "Gen?"

I shook my head. I had this same problem every time I told someone my name. Everyone always thought my name was something other than what it was. Frustrated, I s.h.i.+fted on my feet. The motion made a few bubbles fizz up in the champagne on my tray. A thought struck me.

"Gin," I finally said, nodding my head at the gla.s.ses. "My name is Gin, like the liquor." I hesitated. "Well, not this liquor, exactly, but you get the idea."

His face cleared. "Oh, that makes sense."

Well, if I'd known it was that easy, I would have started introducing myself like this to people years ago.

"So, Gin," Sebastian said, his voice taking on a light, teasing note, "what's a pretty girl like you doing working as a waitress? You should be drinking champagne instead."

He raised his gla.s.s and toasted me, giving me a sly wink before his lips drew back into a small, knowing, devastating smile. Seriously, he practically oozed s.e.x appeal, the way Mab Monroe had Fire magic, although being this close to Sebastian was far more enjoyable. Not even Finn was that charming, cute-or confident.

For a moment, I was dazzled speechless by him, but then I shook away the fairy-tale idea, the appealing mirage that he could somehow be attracted to me.

"Look, you're cute and all, but I don't date guys I meet at work."

His smile widened, the expression causing a bit of heat to simmer in my veins. "Cute? Just cute? Is that all? I was hoping for handsome, at the very least."

Despite my exasperation, I couldn't help but return his smile. "Okay, okay, you're handsome, sophisticated, gorgeous, even. Happy now?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Gorgeous?" He thought about it. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

My smile sharpened. "Egotistical too."

With most guys, that would have ended the flirting right then and there, but not with Sebastian. The suave smile never slipped from his face, despite my pointed insult. Instead, he toasted me with his gla.s.s again. He didn't back down from me, which made me like him more.

"Beautiful and witty," he murmured. "I approve. But my earlier question stands. What are you doing working as a waitress?"

I shrugged. "It's what I do. Here, there, everywhere."

"Oh. You have a day job too?"

"Yeah, at a restaurant downtown."

It was one thing to give him my first name, but that was as much info as I was willing to share. Fletcher always said that the best lies were mostly truth, and being a poor, working-stiff waitress fit in perfectly with the persona I'd developed for tonight. Besides, I could always have the bad luck of running into him at another party. On the off chance that Sebastian did remember me, all he would recall was some vague, slightly flirty conversation we'd had about my being a waitress. Nothing personal and certainly nothing important.

Nothing that would give him any clue to what I was planning to do to his father.

"Maybe I can come by your restaurant sometime," he said. "Take you out after your s.h.i.+ft is over."