Spider's Trap

  I ran my fingers over the glass and his smiling face before digging into the files. I went through all the ones I had organized first, looking for the name Pike and the mace rune, but I didn’t find either one. I sighed. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. My life never, ever was.

  So I started in on the files that I hadn’t organized yet, the ones that were still in Fletcher’s old system. An angry growl rumbled out of my throat with every folder I opened, closed, and set aside because it wasn’t the right one. Soon I had flipped through them all and had nothing to show for it. I growled again, longer and louder. Once—just once—I would like to come in here, grab the file I needed, and start reading it without all the rigmarole of searching high and low for it.

  But Fletcher had stuffed files in odd locations before, hiding the really important ones for me to find in case I ever needed them. In fact, it seemed like a game that he’d arranged to play with me, even from beyond the grave. So I ransacked the rest of the office, opening all the desk drawers, peering in, under, and around all the furniture, looking for secret compartments everywhere I searched.

  And I found some.

  Several, as a matter of fact. False bottoms in the filing cabinet drawers, hollow panels in the bookcases, even an empty space under a loose floorboard. And all the hidey-holes had at least one folder tucked away inside them—if not more.

  I sat with my back to Fletcher’s desk and eagerly flipped through them, eyeing the runes the old man had drawn on the tabs, which included everything from knives dripping blood to lightning bolts shooting through skulls to a heart made out of jagged icicles that had been arranged together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. That last file was hidden by itself in a secret compartment in the very bottom of the lowest drawer in Fletcher’s desk, as if it were particularly special.

  But there was no mace rune and no Pike.

  Nothing. Once again, I had nothing.

  I punched the side of Fletcher’s desk in frustration. Of course, my hand had a lot more give to it than the thick, solid wood did, and I hissed in pain and glared down at my bruised knuckles.

  After a moment, I shook the pain away and forced myself to think things through.

  Fletcher had kept files on everyone who was anyone in the Ashland underworld, along with all the folks we’d gone after as the Tin Man and the Spider, just in case someone came looking for payback. But there was nothing in any of the folders about anyone named Pike. As far as I could tell, no Pikes had ever been part of the Ashland underworld.

  It could be that Fletcher simply hadn’t known about Pike. Maybe the metal elemental wasn’t from Ashland and thus had never pinged the old man’s radar. But I still felt like I knew Pike, or had at least heard of him, even if I couldn’t remember when or where. And I was firmly convinced that the memory, as vague and hazy as it was, was the key to figuring out exactly who Pike was and what he wanted.

  Or maybe Finn was right, and my crazy paranoia was showing again.

  Either way, my failure in Fletcher’s office was just another in a string of missed opportunities. If only I’d taken Pike out in the hotel, I wouldn’t be sitting in the floor with busted knuckles and a bad attitude. Yep, Gin Blanco was batting exactly .000 tonight.

  Out in the hallway, one of the grandfather clocks chimed out the late hour. I sighed and got to my feet, throwing the stack of hidden files on top of Fletcher’s desk. Then I slapped off the lights, left the office, and headed upstairs to try to get some sleep.

  All I wanted to do was forget about all the mistakes I’d already made regarding the mysterious Mr. Pike—and what they might cost me.

  12

  Feeling more frustrated than ever before, I trudged upstairs, took a long, hot shower, and went to bed. For the longest time, I laid in the dark, glaring at the ceiling, thinking about all of Fletcher’s files that I’d looked through and how useless they had all been.

  But the thing that made me the angriest was that I knew there was something in his files that would tell me all about Pike. Just like I knew I’d seen Pike somewhere before, along with his mace rune. I just couldn’t quite arrange all the puzzle pieces and vague wisps of memories together into one clear, solid picture. So I laid in bed and tried again, but the answers were as elusive as ever.

  Eventually I drifted off to sleep, although I wasn’t quite sure when the dreams began, the memories that so often plagued me about all the things I’d seen, done, and survived over the years . . .

  “What are we doing here?” I asked.

  Fletcher looked at me, his green eyes dark and serious. “I’ve got a job to do, Gin. A very dangerous one. So you’re going to stay here until I finish it.”

  Here was a cabin out in the woods in the middle of nowhere. Fletcher had woken me up early this Friday morning, told me to pack whatever I needed for a couple of days, and driven us out here in his old white van. Finn was at some outdoor adventure camp in Cypress Mountain, so he wouldn’t be back until late Sunday.

  The cabin was nothing special, just thick logs that had been stacked together, the sort of quaint, rustic structure that leaf-lookers, bird-watchers, and other folks would pay an obscene amount of money to vacation in. I was surprised that someone wasn’t staying in it already, since it was late October and the height of the autumn tourist season in Ashland.

  As I looked over the cabin, I realized that someone was here already. The back fins of Sophia’s classic convertible peeked around the far side of the structure.

  “What’s Sophia doing here? Is Jo-Jo here too?”

  Fletcher shook his head, not really answering me. “Let’s get you squared away inside.”

  We got out of the van and headed toward the cabin. Fletcher climbed the stairs, then scuffed his feet on the porch, making plenty of noise. I wondered what he was doing, but he kept right on scuffing his feet, even though his boots weren’t dirty.

  The front door cracked open, revealing a black eye.

  A welcoming grunt sounded, and Sophia Deveraux opened the door the rest of the way. Sophia might be Jo-Jo’s younger sister, but she had a completely different style—Goth. She sported black boots, black jeans, and a black T-shirt with a cute Dalmatian puppy that was grinning and showing off its bloody vampire fangs. Her lips were painted a dark crimson, the color matching the glittery streaks in her black hair. A white collar studded with red hearts ringed her throat, completing the look. Black and white and red all over.

  But the thing that interested me the most was the shotgun in Sophia’s hand.

  She leaned the weapon up against the wall before stepping aside so that Fletcher and I could enter the cabin. I’d been staying with the old man for several months now, and in all that time, I’d never seen Sophia handle a gun. Not even once. If there was a problem, she used her fists and massive strength to take care of it. But today, for this job, Sophia had a gun.

  That told me everything I needed to know about how dangerous Fletcher’s assignment really was.

  I clutched my backpack a little more tightly to my chest, wishing that I’d thought to bring a weapon, even if it was just a kitchen knife. After all, the old man was teaching me how to be an assassin like him. It was time I started acting like one, which meant having a weapon handy at all times. I vowed to find a knife as soon as possible.

  “Where are they?” Fletcher asked.

  Sophia stuck her thumb over her shoulder. Fletcher headed toward the back of the cabin, stopping when he came to a bathroom. That’s where Jo-Jo was.

  Along with the girl.

  She was sitting on the closed toilet lid, with Jo-Jo kneeling on the floor beside her. The girl was dressed like me, in sneakers, jeans, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, although her black hair was pulled back into a pretty French braid and studded with sparkly red rose-and-thorn pins, instead of being in a boring old ponytail like mine was. I even thought that she was the same age as me—
fourteen or so—although it was hard to tell since her face was such a mess.

  Someone had brutally beaten the girl.

  Both of her eyes were blackened, her nose was broken, and deep scratches crisscrossed her forehead, cheeks, and chin, as though a wild animal had clawed her over and over again, digging deeper and deeper into her skin every single time. Blood oozed out of the scratches and dripped out of her pulpy nose, spattering onto her pale blue T-shirt and turning it an ugly brown. Tears also streamed down her bruised, swollen face, and every once in a while, the girl would let out a choked sob, her fingers digging into the bloody towel she was clutching in her lap.

  “It’s okay, darling,” Jo-Jo crooned. “I’m going to fix you right up. I’ll be done in a few minutes, and then you’ll feel a whole lot better. Okay?”

  The girl sniffled, but she finally nodded.

  “All right, then. Here we go.”

  Jo-Jo held up her hand. A milky-white glow coated her palm, and the familiar sensation of her Air magic gusted through the bathroom.

  “Gin,” Fletcher said. “Can you help Jo-Jo, please?”

  I slipped into the bathroom, knowing what he really wanted me to do. I skirted around Jo-Jo and went over to the girl. She tensed at my approach, but I sat down on the edge of the bathtub and gently took one of her hands in both of mine. Her skin was hot and clammy, and the rapid throbbing of her pulse in her wrist beat like a drum against my fingers.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Jo-Jo heals me all the time. It hurts a little in the beginning, but she’ll make you all better.”

  The girl stared at me, and I realized that her eyes were a very pale, very pretty blue. She sniffled again, curled her fingers into mine, and tightened her grip. With her other hand, she reached up and took hold of her braid, tugging on the end of it in a nervous habit.

  Jo-Jo reached for even more of her Air magic and leaned forward. The girl whimpered, and a fresh wave of tears slid down her cheeks, but she sat still while Jo-Jo used her power to stitch her skin together, straighten her nose, and fade out all the bruises and swelling.

  About halfway through, I noticed that the girl’s hand had gone cold against mine and that a faint trace of magic rippled through her fingers where they pressed against my own. The girl kept her head down, gritting her teeth. She didn’t like the pins-and-needles feel of Jo-Jo’s Air magic any more than I did, so she must have Ice or Stone power, like me, or perhaps water or metal. It made me even more curious about who she was and who had hurt her.

  It didn’t take Jo-Jo long to heal the girl. The dwarf released her hold on her Air magic and patted the girl on the shoulder.

  “There you go, darling,” Jo-Jo crooned in a soft voice, as though she were soothing a wounded animal. “You’re all better now. Why don’t you take a shower? I put some fresh clothes on the sink. If you need anything else, just holler. Come on, Gin.”

  The girl dropped the end of her braid and slipped her other hand out of both of mine. I smiled, trying to reassure her, but she gave me a dull, flat stare in return. Jo-Jo and I left the bathroom, and the dwarf shut the door behind us. A few seconds later, I heard the water in the shower hiss on—and the girl’s choked sobs as she started crying in earnest.

  “What happened to her?” I whispered.

  Jo-Jo shook her head, and a bit of annoyance spurted through me. I was getting tired of people not answering me.

  I followed her back out into the front of the cabin, where Fletcher and Sophia were talking in low voices.

  “Now what?” Jo-Jo asked.

  “I’m going after him,” Fletcher said. “Right now. Before he finds her and kills her too.”

  Too? Who had this mystery man already killed?

  Jo-Jo nodded, knowing exactly what he was talking about. Well, that made one of us.

  “Sophia’s going with me,” Fletcher said. “To deal with his guards while I go after Renaldo.”

  Well, at least the mystery man had a name now.

  Jo-Jo lifted her chin. “I’m coming too.”

  “No,” Fletcher said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Her clear eyes glowed with determination, and her mouth flattened out into a harsh line. “Which is all the more reason for me to come. In case you and Sophia need healing.”

  Fletcher stared at her, then sighed. “All right. I know there’s no changing your mind once it’s made up about something.”

  Jo-Jo tipped her head. “Smart man.”

  “Girls?” Sophia rasped, pointing at me.

  “He can’t find them here, can he?” Jo-Jo asked, her face creasing with worry.

  “He shouldn’t,” Fletcher said. “Especially if we leave now and hit him first. We get in, I kill Renaldo, then we get out. Are we all agreed?”

  “Agreed,” the Deveraux sisters replied in unison.

  The three of them moved around the cabin, Sophia grabbing her shotgun while Jo-Jo went into one of the back rooms and returned carrying a large pink satchel. From the way the contents clanked together, the satchel must be full of tins of her healing ointment. Fletcher checked and rechecked the weapons he’d brought along in his black duffel bag. Some of the items surprised me. Oh, there were the usual guns, knives, and boxes of ammo, but he also had several wooden stakes and a long sword that was made out of hard gray stone instead of metal.

  “What’s that for?” I asked, pointing to the stone sword.

  “In case I can’t take him by surprise,” Fletcher said, sliding the weapon back into the bag and zipping up the whole thing.

  “Renaldo, right? That’s the guy you’re going after?”

  He tried to skirt around me, but I crossed my arms over my chest and stepped in front of him. Fletcher stopped, knowing that I could be as stubborn as all get-out when I really wanted to. I was a teenager, after all. He grabbed my arm and drew me off to one side of the cabin, away from the couch were Jo-Jo and Sophia were sorting through their own supplies.

  “The girl in the bathroom? She’s in some serious trouble,” he said. “Her mom contacted me a few days ago. Her husband, the girl’s father, is a man named Renaldo Pike. He was hitting them—both of them—and has been for a long time. The mom wanted to leave him, but she couldn’t get away by herself, so she got in touch with me through Jo-Jo.”

  “So where’s the mom? Why isn’t she here?”

  Fletcher’s lips pinched together, and his shoulders slumped.

  My stomach twisted. “Oh. She didn’t make it.”

  “Renaldo found out what she was planning, and he decided to teach them both a lesson. I didn’t get there in time. The woman . . . what he did to her . . .” Fletcher’s voice trailed off, and tears gleamed in his green eyes before he was able to blink them away. “I’ll be hearing her screams in my nightmares for a long time to come.”

  I stared at him, my own eyes wide, my mouth hanging open, my heart aching for the woman—and for the girl who’d lost her mom in such a horrific way.

  Fletcher cleared his throat. “Now I’m going to go make sure that Renaldo never hurts his daughter again.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  He reached over, hugged me tight, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “That’s my Gin. Stay with the girl, okay? The two of you should be safe here, and we won’t be gone long, if everything goes according to plan.”

  “Be careful.”

  He flashed me a grin. “Always.”

  Fletcher grabbed his bag. Sophia and Jo-Jo met him at the front door, and the three of them headed outside. I watched through the windows as Fletcher went over to a small shed, opened it, and rummaged through the items inside, gathering up a few more supplies.

  Deeper in the cabin, a door clicked open, and I heard the squeaking of sneakers on the floor. The girl came up to stand beside me. Sophia had clearly lent her some clothes, since her black jeans and long-sl
eeved T-shirt were a couple of sizes too big and covered with white skulls. The sides of her wet hair were pinned back with those red rose pins I’d noticed earlier, while the rest of her black locks hung loose around her shoulders.

  Panic sparked in the girl’s gaze as she realized that Fletcher, Jo-Jo, and Sophia were getting ready to leave. “Where are they going?”

  “Don’t worry. They’ll be back soon. You’re safe here. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  She looked me up and down, disbelief clouding her pretty face.

  We stood there, staring at each other, the silence between us growing and growing. I didn’t know what to say to her. What could you say to someone whose dad had killed her mom and almost beaten her to death? It wasn’t like I could suggest that we watch TV or something.

  A low rumble sounded, and I realized that the girl’s stomach was growling.

  “Why don’t we get something to eat? You must be hungry after everything . . . that’s happened.” I winced at my own stupid words.

  The girl gave me a flat stare, her features dull, drawn, and tired. She swayed on her feet, and she glanced at the floor like she wanted to curl into a ball, lie down there, and die. I knew that look, that feeling. It was the same one I’d had after my family had been murdered. The deep, bone-weary, heart-crushing ache that never truly left me. The one that made me even more determined to ease her pain in whatever small way I could.

  “Come on,” I coaxed. “You might feel better if you eat something.”

  She kept staring at me, that dull, distant look still on her face, so I grabbed her hand and tugged her through the cabin until I found the kitchen in the back. I led the girl over to the table, and she dropped down into a chair, slumping one shoulder against the wall, as if it and the chair were the only things holding her up. Maybe they were.

  “My name is Gin. What’s yours?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Okay . . . well, maybe you’ll feel like telling me later.”

  I opened the refrigerator and cabinets. Fletcher always kept his hidey-holes well stocked with food, so there was plenty to choose from. Peanut butter, boxes of mac and cheese, frozen pizzas. I didn’t know what the girl would like, but I spotted a bottle of Jo-Jo’s homemade chocolate syrup on one of the shelves, and I figured that I couldn’t go wrong with a chocolate milkshake. So I pulled out the ice cream and milk from the fridge, plugged in a blender on the counter, and whipped everything together.