Thread of Death (7 page)

I knew it was probably foolish of me, talking to the closed coffin
of my mortal enemy, and if anyone else had heard me, they would have thought that Mab had fried my brain along with the rest of me. But I did it anyway, just like I always talked to Fletcher whenever I went to put fresh flowers on his grave. I needed to say the words, if only for myself.

“I know this is when I’m supposed to say that part of me is sorry that you’re gone,” I said. “But I’m not sorry—not one damn bit. And you wouldn’t be, either, if it was you standing here instead of me. Hell, you probably would have used your magic to burn my coffin to ashes during the funeral and roasted some marshmallows over the flames while you were at it. At least I’m sparing you that final indignity.”

I drew in a breath. “But it’s not really about you and me. Not anymore. I’m glad you’re dead because that means Bria and the rest of my friends and family are finally safe from you. At least, as safe as they can be in Ashland. Still, I have to admit that I’ve felt a little bit at loose ends lately. I guess I’m wondering what happens now that you’re gone, just like everyone else in Ashland. They’re all scrambling, you know, and killing each other off as fast as they can. I’m mildly surprised they all played nice long enough to get through your funeral. I think you would at least enjoy that, knowing what a tizzy your death has left everyone else in.”

I didn’t know what else to say, and now came the hardest part: trying to decide whether or not I wanted to open the coffin.

It had been closed throughout the service, and no one had approached it, much less opened it, after the sniper attack. Maybe I was being morbid again, but I was curious about what was inside—if anything. I knew Mab had been just as badly burned by our magic as I’d been, and I wondered if the funeral home had just gone ahead and incinerated the rest of her or if someone had carefully arranged what was left of her skin and bones on top of the silk lining.

The curiosity was killing me.

I reached for the coffin lid, determined to open it and see for myself, but I stopped the second my fingers touched the smooth wood. After a moment I dropped my hand to my side. No, I didn’t want to see what was inside. I didn’t need to. I’d never forget the memory of shoving my silverstone knife into Mab’s heart, hearing her scream of rage and pain, and realizing that I’d finally killed her. The image had been burned into my brain, just like her magic had melted my bones. Even though the Fire
elemental had been my most bitter enemy, I wasn’t going to insult her by peering at her remains like a vulture looking for one last bit of flesh to peck at.

Even Mab deserved to rest in peace now, here, at the end.

So, instead of opening the coffin, I bowed my head in respect, my hands clasped together in front of me, the two spider rune scars on my palms pressing together, just like they had the night the Fire elemental had put the marks there. Despite everything she’d done to me, I had to admit that Mab had been a worthy opponent, a nemesis who had kept me on my toes and made me work and work just to stay alive. Part of me knew I wouldn’t be me without her. Maybe it was wrong, but being the Spider was who and what I was. In a way, I had Mab to thank for that and everything I had today.

I was still standing there, head bowed, when something whispered off to my right, like clothes rubbing together, and I noticed someone creeping up behind me in the reflection in the wooden coffin.

I jerked to my left just in time to keep from being hit over the head by a dwarf with a shovel.

The shovel slammed into the coffin, and the
clanggg
reverberated through the air, making my ears ring from the sharp sound. I whirled around and had to duck back the other way to avoid getting hit by a second dwarf with a second shovel, and there was yet a third dwarf armed the same way standing behind him, ready to get in on the action.

Looked like the sniper in the tree hadn’t been the only one lying in wait for me here today. I should have known it was too easy: that the dwarf falling out of the tree and then getting shot by all the bodyguards had been too simple to be anything other than a diversion—or an opening salvo. Looked like whoever was after me was a little more clever than I’d realized. Use one assassin to fool me into thinking the plan had completely failed, and then wait until I was alone to blindside me with three more.

It was just the sort of thing I’d expect from Jonah McAllister.

“Time for you to die, bitch!” one of the dwarves hissed at me.

The three dwarves raised their shovels once more and crept closer to me, penning me in against Mab’s coffin. I looked left and right, but there was nowhere to go. I couldn’t break through the group of dwarves
in front of me, and I couldn’t exactly turn my back to them and use my knives to hack my way through Mab’s coffin—and whatever remained of the Fire elemental inside.

So I put my hands down on the polished gold handrails on the side of the casket and waited—just waited for the right moment.

The dwarves glanced at one another, then all rushed forward at once, ready to bash my head in and beat me to death with their shovels. I squatted down, then kicked up with my feet, managing to hop up so that I was sitting on top of the coffin—and I didn’t stop moving. I used my momentum to swing my legs up as well and rolled over, slipping off the casket and landing on the grass on the far side. I landed awkwardly, my left knee twisting into the ground at an angle. I hissed as pain shot through my entire leg, but I pushed the throbbing sensation to the back of my mind.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the most graceful move I’d ever made as the Spider, but it was enough to get me out of immediate danger.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The dwarves’ shovels banged into the side of the coffin where I’d been standing, their blows hard enough to chip the polished wood. They’d easily put enough force into those swings to crack my skull wide open. My eyes narrowed, and a cold, familiar anger began to burn in my heart. Now it was time to show them that I knew how to play dirty, too—dirty and very, very bloody.

“Come on! Come on! Come on!” one of the dwarves shouted. “Get her!”

I reached for my Stone magic for the second time that day, using it to harden my skin. Then I got to my feet and palmed one of my silver-stone knives. One dwarf hurried around the left end of the coffin while the other two scurried around the right side. I waited until the first one on the right was in range, then I kicked out with my left boot, catching him in the stomach and sending him lurching back into his friend. I hissed again as more pain pulsed through my knee and leg, but the two dwarves both fell down, which gave me a chance to focus on the third one coming at me from the left.

He raised his shovel high once more, ready to bring it down and bash my brains out of my skull, but I didn’t give him the chance. I staggered
forward, grabbed the shovel with my free hand, and then shoved my knife into his chest with the other. The dwarf yelped with pain and jerked back, trying to rip the shovel out of my hands and get away from my knife at the same time. But I tightened my grip, using my Stone magic to harden my fist around the wooden handle so he couldn’t tear it away from me. At the same time I also blasted the shovel with my Ice magic, driving the cold crystals deep into the cracks in the wood. I twisted my wrist, sending out another burst of Ice power, and the handle snapped like a matchstick.

The dwarf froze, eyes wide, gaping at me. I used the opportunity to pull my knife out of his chest and slam it into his throat. Dwarves have thick muscles, but even a dwarf can’t breathe with a blade in his wind-pipe—especially one I was twisting in deeper and deeper. Blood spurted out of the wound, spattering onto my face, chest, and hand, but I didn’t care. The other end of the shovel slipped through the dwarf’s fingers, and he went down on one knee. I dropped the part of the shovel that was still in my left hand, dug my fingers into his hair, pulled my knife out of his throat, and then drew the blade all the way across his neck.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

But I wasn’t done yet.

I turned around—not as quickly as I would have liked, thanks to my bad knee, but fast enough to avoid getting hit from behind. The two dwarves I’d knocked down had gotten back up and were approaching me with their shovels once more, although they were doing so a little more cautiously than before.

I wondered if McAllister, or whoever had hired them, had told them that I’d be easy pickings. I might not be fully recovered physically, but I still had plenty of willpower—and an increasing desire to see these fools dead. All I’d wanted was a few moments alone with Mab to settle my thoughts and say good-bye, and they’d come along and ruined it. They were going to pay for that—more than they’d ever dreamed of.

The two dwarves paused and looked at each other as if they were considering running, but then they sucked up their courage and both charged at me once more.

They really should have run.

I limped forward to meet the dwarves, my anger overcoming everything,
including the increasing pain in my knee. I managed to duck the first swing but not the second, and one of the dwarves hit me in the shoulder with his shovel. I grunted at the impact, but since I was still using my Stone magic to harden my skin, it didn’t do any great damage to me. I immediately slashed out with my knife, slicing across his chest so deeply that I could feel the blade scrape against his ribs. More blood arced through the air and spattered onto both of us.

The dwarf screamed with pain, and the vicious wound surprised him so much that he dropped his shovel. After that, it was just a matter of me lunging forward once more, grabbing hold of his coveralls, and making several other deep cuts across his chest and stomach. When I was done, the dwarf was too busy trying to hold his guts in where they belonged to come after me again. I drew my knife out of his chest, then slammed my left foot into one of his knees, wanting him to experience the same pain I was enduring. The dwarf stumbled into the side of the coffin, smearing blood all over the sunburst rune there, and slid to the ground, screaming all the while, although his voice was already fading, right along with the rest of him. He’d be dead in another minute, two tops, which let me turn my attention to the third and final dwarf.

He was a little smarter than his friends, because instead of hoisting his shovel over his shoulder again, he whipped it down and in front of him, holding the point out like it was a spear he wanted to skewer me with. Shovels weren’t exactly ideal for that sort of stabbing attack, but the dwarf had more than enough strength to bury the point in my chest. Part of me admired his ability to change tactics, but not enough to spare him. Mercy had never been my strong suit.

He lunged at me with the shovel again and again, but I managed to sidestep him every time, despite the throbbing pain in my knee.

“Stand still, you bitch!” he growled at me.

“You first!” I snarled back.

Around and around the coffin we went, each of us trying to stab the other with our respective weapons. Our boots kicked up dirt and grass, and we knocked over the flower arrangements and waded right through them, grinding the delicate petals into the ground. The sudden explosion of floral scents made my nose twitch, but I held back a sneeze and kept fighting.

The dwarf came at me again with the shovel. I stumbled out of the way, and the tip of the spade ripped into the portrait of Mab, right where her necklace was, making it look like her throat had been cut. Despite the fact I was fighting for my life, I still smiled at that.

But the situation was all too serious. This was the first real fight I’d been in since I’d battled Mab, and it was taking its toll. I just couldn’t seem to get enough air into my lungs, and the cloying scent of the flowers only made it worse, like I was breathing in petals instead of air. My legs and arms ached from the strain I’d put on them, and I felt like they were made of wet rubber flopping this way and that instead of actual muscle and bone. And, of course, my bad knee throbbed and threatened to go out from under me with every step I took.

But I gritted my teeth and kept on swinging, slashing, and stabbing right through the pain—and that’s when the dwarf finally made a mistake.

He came at me with the shovel again. I managed to hobble out of the way at the last second, and he rammed the point of it deep into the side of Mab’s coffin instead of into my stomach. The dwarf cursed, then paused for one precious second, trying to decide whether or not to yank the shovel out of the wood or just leave it where it was and come after me with his fists. He went for the shovel and I went for his throat, knocking us both down.

This time he didn’t get back up.

The dwarf’s head had snapped against the ground, momentarily stunning him, and that was all the time I needed to slice my silverstone knife across his throat and follow it up with a couple of quick stabs to his heart. He died without another sound.

I lay there sprawled over the dwarf, my hand curled around the bloody knife still in his chest, breathing hard, sweat pouring down my face, my whole body shaking from the exertion of the fight and the adrenaline running through my veins. I wanted nothing more than to lie there until the tremors and exhaustion passed, but I made myself roll off the dwarf, pull the knife out of his chest, and sit up.

The cemetery was completely quiet.

I peered out over the still, silent landscape, my eyes going from one gravestone to the next. But no one else could be seen lurking among
the monuments, and there weren’t any more snipers perched in the trees, hidden among the leafy branches, waiting to take another shot at me.

When I realized I was alone and that the danger had passed, I let go of my Stone magic. Then, knife still in hand, I lay down on my side in the bloody grass and curled into a loose ball. I stayed that way until the air was back in my lungs and my arms and legs quit trembling.

I could have stayed there longer, in the quiet of the cemetery, recovering from the fight, but I just didn’t have the time—not with three dead bodies dotting the grass around me. So, after a minute or two had passed, I roused myself into a sitting position, then managed to stagger to my feet even though my twisted knee still throbbed with pain.