Paranoid much, Gin? I said.
Of course, no one answered back. The house was empty. All the whispers of the stones told me so, but for once, the soft, familiar sounds didnt soothe me. I lay there and closed my eyes, but it was a long, long time before I was able to sleep once more.
3
Two nights later, Finn pulled his Aston Martin up to the back of a long line of cars.
See? he said. This isnt so bad, is it? Ive got a new car, youve got a new dress, and were going to have a fabulous time lusting after all of Mabs loot. What could be better than that?
Oh, I dont know, I replied. Sitting at home having a nice, quiet evening. Reading a book. Making some sort of sinfully rich and decadent dessert.
Spoilsport, Finn huffed.
I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. Despite the fact that I hadnt really wanted to come, I still found myself peering out the window. Curiosity. It was one emotion that always seemed to get the best of me, even tonight.
The exhibit of Mabs loot, as Finn had so eloquently dubbed it, was being held at Briartop, Ashlands largest, fanciest, and most highfalutin art museum, located in the uppity confines of Northtown. But what really made Briartop unique was its placement on a large island in the middle of the Aneirin River.
The island, also called Briartop, was like a miniature version of one of the Appalachian Mountains that ran around and through the city. The museum itself was perched on a wide plateau at the very top of the island. A series of stone walkways led out from each one of the three wings into the lush gardens and immaculate lawns that flanked the main building. The paths spiraled down the rocky hillsides before the landscape gave way to dense woods choked with briars and brambles. Back before the museum had been built, blackberry and other briars had covered the entire island in a thicket of thorns. Hence the name. Even now, the museum gardeners waged a constant battle to keep the briars from creeping up and overtaking the colorful flowerbeds and intricate copses of trees theyd worked so hard to cultivate over the years.
An old-fashioned, whitewashed, covered wooden bridge spanned the Aneirin River and led over to the island. The bridge was the only way to get to the museum, although it was only wide enough for cars to cross in single file, which is why Finn was waiting in line, along with a dozen limos and several luxury town cars.
Finally, it was our turn to cross. Finns Aston Martin rattled over the heavy boards, then he steered the car up the winding road and pulled into one of the parking lots. We got out of the vehicle. Finn gallantly offered me his arm, and we headed toward the entrance.
Bria had been wondering where all the giant guards in Ashland had gone. Well, tonight they were at Briartop. Giants were stationed at both ends of the covered bridge, communicating by walkie-talkies about when to let the next car cross. Others moved in and out of the parking lots, directing traffic, while several more milled around the museums main entrance, checking invitations and enforcing the guest list.
I counted at least twenty giants before we even got close to the front door. Odd. Perhaps the Briartop board had hired extra security for the gala.
Finn and I waited our turn in the line that had formed by the entrance. I stared up at the museum while he fished his engraved invitation out of his jacket.
Briartop was a veritable castle, southern-style. The structure soared five stories into the air and boasted a series of fat, round, domed towers, each one topped with a gleaming weather vane. The gray marble shimmered like a silver star in the warm rays of the setting sun even as the sloping eaves of the coal-black slate roof melted into the gathering shadows. Four massive columns framed the main entrance, while thick crenellated balconies fronted all of the tall, narrow windows. Stone planters decorated each one of the balconies, the lush pink, purple, and white rhododendrons inside providing vivid splashes of color against the marble, almost like paint streaking across a clean canvas.
As if the structure itself wasnt impressive enough, a large fountain bubbled on the smooth front lawn, its jets of water arching through the air like streams of liquid diamonds. The constant churn of the water shrouded the area in a fine mist and spritzed the honeysuckle curling around and through a series of freestanding, whitewashed trellises that flanked the fountain. The rich, heady aroma of honeysuckle saturated the night air, carried along by a soft summer breeze.
The fountain, vines, and trellises made for a beautiful sight, but I looked away from them. I didnt much care for fountains. Not anymore. Not after Salina had used them and her water magic to murder people at her deadly dinner partyand tried to drown me in one.
Instead, I reached out with my magic and listened to the murmurs of the museum itself.
Actions, emotions, plots and schemes and hopes and dreams. People leave behind bits and pieces of themselves in the spots they frequent, in all of the buildings, offices, and houses where they spend their lives. All of those actions, feelings, and emotionsgood, bad, and indifferentsink especially well into stone. As a Stone elemental, I can sense and interpret all of those hidden vibrations as easily as if one of the museum tour guides were telling me all of the juicy gossip about every scandalous thing that had ever happened in and around the building. Tonight Briartops silvery marble muttered with worry, mixed with sharp notes of tension and sly whispers of unease.
Curiousand troubling.
Id been to Briartop many times before, both as the Spider trailing a target and as regular Gin Blanco. Id even come here once or twice for some of the art classes Id taken at Ashland Community College through the years. Every time Id been here before, the marble had proudly murmured of the artistic beauty and treasures it housed, punctuated by light, trilling notes of vain pretentiousness and smug snobberynothing more.
But tonight the constant, worried mutters told me that someone here was up to somethingprobably more than one person, given all the tense murmurs and sharp, ringing pings of unease.
Oh, the crowd looked innocent enough. Men and women dressed in fitted tuxedos and elegant evening gowns, expensive jewels and heavy watches flashing on their necks and wrists. But the stones never lied. They echoed the actions, emotions, and intentions of the people around themnothing more, nothing less.
Once again, that vague, uneasy feeling Id had ever since my dream a few nights ago crept back up to the surface of my mind. This time, I didnt try to push it away or ignore it. Id stayed alive this long by being paranoid, and something just wasnt right here.
Finn and I stepped up to the giant working the door. She was dressed in a sleek black pantsuit that showed off her strong, toned curves, and I saw more than one person admiring her tall, lithe figure. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a sleek French braid, but the simple style only enhanced her hazel eyes and great cheekbones. A small gold nametag on her jacket read Opal.
Opal seemed to be one of the folks in charge, judging from the way the other giants deferred to her and how they raced up to whisper questions in her ear and draw her attention in this or that direction. Finally, she managed to look at Finns invitation, hand it back to him, and check him off the guest list. She glanced at me, ready to mark me off as his plus-one, and froze.
Opals eyes widened, her breath puffed out of her mouth, and her body completely stilled. While it only took her a second to recover, blink away her surprise, and plaster a bland smile on her face, her reaction ratcheted up my unease.
Please proceed into the main exhibit area, she said in a low, smooth voice. Everythings been set up in there.
Thank you, Opal, Finn replied, and gave her one of his patented charming smiles.
She tipped her head at him and gave me a polite nod, although her sharp gaze lingered on my face a few seconds longer than it should have.
Finn pouted a little when he realized that he didnt have her full attention and that she wasnt going to fawn all over him like most women did, but he tucked his invitation back into his tuxedo jacket. I took his arm again, and we headed toward the entrance. All the while, though, I was aware of the giant at my back. I didnt like having people behind me, and my palms began to burn with the desire to reach for one of my knives, put it up against her throat, and demand to know what she was staring at.
Instead, I turned and smiled at Finn, as though he had said something amusing, allowing my eyes to slide past him to Opal.
Shes watching me, I murmured. Theres a line of people in front of her waiting to get inside, and shes watching me walk away instead of dealing with them.
Finn shrugged. Maybe she likes women instead of men. You do look rather fetching tonight. Or maybe she recognized you as the mighty Spider. Infamy, thy name is Gin Blanco.
I grimaced at his flippant tone, but he had a point. Opal wouldnt be the first person to freeze up upon realizing who I was. So I put her out of my mind and looked ahead once more.
Still, I couldnt quite ignore the itching sensation between my shoulderslike someone was going to bury a knife in my back before the night was through.
* * *
Finn and I walked up the shallow steps and entered the museum. High, vaulted ceilings, crystal vases full of roses, lilies, and other greenery perched here and there, stone planters bristling with bonsai trees tucked into the corners, slick marble floors and walls: Briartop was just as opulent inside as it was on the outside. Everywhere you turned there was another piece of art to look at, whether it was a series of soft, floral watercolors, a silver etching of a waterfall tumbling over a rocky ridge, or a woodcut of a bear ambling through a field of wildflowers.
We reached the main exhibit area and stood to one side of the entrance, scanning the scene. The enormous room was actually a rotunda topped by a high, domed ceiling inlaid with a starlike mosaic pattern made out of bright blue stained glass. The same pattern could be found on the floor directly below in alternating shades of gray, white, and blue marble. Small white lights had been wrapped around the columns ringing the round room, and the glowing strands stretched from the ground floor all the way up to the second-level balcony. Still more spotlights rose from the floor, dropped from the ceiling, or jutted from the walls, angled to highlight certain displays.
Finn had been right when hed said that the exhibit of Mabs loot would be the social event of the summer. I spotted several well-known, legitimate businessmen and businesswomen wading their way through the crowd, along with all of the big movers and shakers in the Ashland underworld. Folks like Beauregard Benson, Ron Donaldson, Lorelei Parker . . .
And Jonah McAllister.
McAllister had been Mab Monroes lawyer for years, and his star hadnt fallen so much as been snuffed out completely since Id killed the Fire elemental. Without Mab, Jonah was just another smarmy lawyer, desperately searching for a new crime boss to serve before he was chewed up and spit out by the rest of the underworld sharks. McAllister and I had plenty of historyand reasons to hate each other. Id killed his son, Jake, last year for trying to rob the Pork Pit and then threatening me. For his part, the lawyer had tried to have me murdered more than once.
I eyed McAllister. Like all the other men, he was dressed in a tuxedo, although his was more impeccable than most, and his wing tips were as shiny as ink. His silvery mane of hair gleamed underneath the lights, and his face was smooth and unlined, despite his sixty-some years. Jonah kept his boyish complexion intact with the help of a strict regimen of Air elemental facials. A plastic doll would show more emotion than his tight, sandblasted features.
Whats he doing here? I asked Finn, jerking my head in the lawyers direction.
McAllister? Hes one of the executors of Mabs estate, along with the museum director, and helped put the exhibit together, he replied. The show was in the works even before Mab died. According to the rumors Ive heard, Mab stipulated that her entire art collection be put on display here for at least one year before the museum can take ownership of it and do whatever they want to with it.
Thats sort of strange, dont you think?
He shrugged. It just sounds like Mab to me. She probably thought that if she put her collection on view, theyd rename the museum after her. Or one of the wings, at the very least. Although I doubt she realized just how soon shed be requesting that honor.
I grinned. I was more than happy to help her with that.
I know you were. Finn returned my evil grin. Either way, I still want to know whats going to happen to the rest of her estate. Mab had to leave all of her stuff to somebody, didnt she?
It was a conversation wed had more than once since Mabs deathwondering what was going to become of all of her earthly possessions. Oh, most of her business interestsespecially the illegal oneshad already been snapped up by the other crime bosses. But her Northtown mansion was just sitting there, with all of her things still inside it. I was mildly surprised that no one had gotten it into his or her head to loot the mansion yet, but I supposed the specter of Mab still loomed too large for that.
Mab didnt have any family that I was aware of, but that didnt mean much. For all I knew, there might be a cousin or two lurking around somewhere, maybe even another, closer relative. But so far, Finn hadnt been able to find out anything about what was going to become of her things.
But we might not have to wait too much longer to learn who Mab left what to, Finn continued. Rumor has it that the museum director is going to read a statement that Mab had written about the exhibitalong with her will.
Thats strange too, isnt it? I asked. Shouldnt McAllister have done whatever he needed to do with Mabs will by now? Why would she arrange it so the contents were announced here?