Jennifer Estep - By a Thread

“A Panama hat? Really?” Owen asked, raising an eyebrow.

Finn grinned. “When in Rome.”

In contrast to Finn, Owen wore a simple navy suit with a sky blue shirt and tie and a pair of black wingtips. He looked every inch the strong, shrewd, powerful businessman that he was. To me, there was nothing sexier than a man in a well-tailored suit, and I found myself wanting to slip off Owen’s jacket and slide my fingers down his chest before undressing the rest of him. Mmm.

“Well, I don’t know about you three, but I feel ridiculous in this dress,” Bria muttered.

A long, slinky gown clung to my sister’s body, showing off her killer curves. Black and white orchids covered the dress, creating an interesting geometric pattern, and small black sequins gleamed on the garment’s spaghetti straps, bringing out the exquisite paleness of Bria’s skin. Her blond hair just brushed her shoulders, the ends curling around the primrose rune that rested in the hollow of her throat. Smoky black shadow and liner rimmed her blue eyes, adding to her beauty, while strappy black stiletto heels gave her an extra three inches of height.

“I can’t believe that I let you talk me into wearing this,” she said, glaring at Finn. “Much less buy it in the first place.”

Heat sparked in his bright green eyes. “Don’t worry, cupcake. You won’t be wearing it long, if I have my way.”

Bria’s eyes narrowed, but her red lips curved up into a knowing, satisfied smile.

“It’s just too bad that Gin doesn’t look as smashing as you do,” Finn lamented. “Really, Gin, could you have put on something any more boring?”

Since I was going in as a journalist, I’d opted for a more serious, professional look—a body-hugging black camisole over matching black pants. My dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and I’d gone dark and smoky on the makeup, just like Bria. Unlike her open-toed stilettos, I had on a pair of ankle-high boots, with two of my silverstone knives already tucked inside them. Some pens, a notepad, and a small digital voice recorder were nestled inside the purse I was carrying, adding to the journalist facade.

For the final touch, I’d slipped on a fitted black jacket. But it wasn’t just any jacket—this one was lined with silverstone. The magical metal commanded a high price due to its ability to absorb and store all forms of magic. No matter what power they possessed—Air, Fire, Ice, or Stone—many elementals had rings, necklaces, watches, and other pieces of jewelry made out of the metal. The bits and pieces of silverstone looked innocent enough glinting on fingers, necks, and wrists, but really, they gave folks a bonus boost of magic in case they needed it—like for a duel.

That’s how elementals fought, by dueling each other, by testing their magic against another person’s. Only the strong survived an elemental duel, and the result for the loser was never a good one. Suffocated by a lack of Air, fried to a crisp by Fire, an Ice knife slammed into your throat, your heart turned to Stone in your own chest. Not exactly peaceful or painless ways to die, given how cruelly creative elementals could be with their powers.

I had my own piece of silverstone jewelry, thanks to Bria—the spider rune ring that I wore on my right index finger. The metal hummed with my stored Ice magic and felt like a cold thread wrapped around my skin. The ring and the extra bit of power it contained was what had helped me kill Mab.

In addition to absorbing and storing magic, silverstone also had the added benefit of being tougher than Kevlar. Whenever I was out working as the Spider, I usually wore a vest made out of the metal, since silverstone was great for stopping bullets, knives, and other weapons. But since I couldn’t go into Dekes’s press conference looking like an assassin, I’d opted for the suit jacket instead. It wasn’t as thick and heavy as one of my normal vests would have been, but there was enough silverstone sewn into the lining to give me a fighting chance against any bullets or blasts of magic that might come my way. Plus, the jacket let me stuff two more knives up my sleeves, while another one rested against the small of my back as usual.

That last knife felt as cold as the spider rune ring on my finger, since the blade contained my Ice magic—something else that had come out of my final fight with Mab. My body had burst into icy silver flames when I’d been dueling the Fire elemental, and the silverstone knife, along with the others I’d been carrying, had absorbed quite a bit of my magic. I’d never before used the power in this particular knife, the one that I’d killed Mab with, but it comforted me to know that it was there, just in case I needed it.

As for the icy flames, it was a trick that I hadn’t done since then, although I’d tried a time or two to get my fists to ignite just to see if I could. So far, I hadn’t had any luck. Then again, I hadn’t been as desperate as I had been fighting Mab. I imagined that had quite a bit to do with my cold spontaneous combustion that night.

“Are you sure that you want to do this, Gin? Take on Dekes?” Bria asked, staring at me. “I know that you came to Blue Marsh to get away from all the thugs in Ashland who are after you right now. And Callie’s my friend, not yours. I should be the one to help her, not you.”

“I know,” I said. “But you’re my sister.”

Bria stood there, like she was expecting me to say something else. But in my mind, I’d given her reason enough for putting myself in danger again. Yeah, maybe I was a coldhearted assassin, but I’d do anything for the people that I loved. Cheat, lie, steal, even kill for them. I’d done it before when I was battling Mab, and I would gladly do it again. I might be in a different city, but the rules of the game were still the same—and it was a game that I was determined to win.

“If we’re all ready,” I said, “let’s go pay Randall Dekes a visit that he won’t soon forget.”

An hour later, a taxi dropped me off at the entrance to Dekes’s island estate. It was just before five now, and the press conference was ramping up, judging by the people I saw streaming into the house.

“Right here is fine,” I told the driver, slipping him a nice tip and climbing out of the backseat.

The taxi drove off, but I stayed where I was, looking at everything from the spikes on the open iron gate to the thick stone wall topped with razor wire to the armed giants that I could see walking along the manicured grounds in a specific, timed pattern. Dekes might be throwing open his doors for his press conference, but he was still being careful about things.

Just not careful enough, since the Spider was here.

I walked up the smooth cobblestone driveway, moving faster than the line of limos and news vans that crept up toward the front door. I’d been in and around many mansions, but Dekes’s sprawling villa was impressive, even by Ashland standards. With its white stone, wrought-iron railings, and red slate roof, the multistory building looked like a slightly smaller but more elegant version of the Blue Sands hotel. According to the information that Finn had dug up, Dekes had built his home back in 1889, ten years before he’d started construction on the hotel.

I reached the top of the driveway and paused a moment, reaching out with my magic and listening to the stone of the mansion above me. Low, pain-filled mutters drifted down to me, along with a faint ripping sensation that made it seem like something was biting into the stone again and again and slowly tearing it apart from the inside out. It was a dark, ugly sound, one filled with sly menace and deadly intent. Despite its pristine appearance, Randall Dekes had done some violent things in his mansion over the years—some very violent, very bloody things. No surprise there.