Eventually, I drifted off to sleep, got up the next morning, and went to the Pork Pit, my barbecue restaurant in downtown Ashland. I parked six blocks away from the restaurant and stepped onto the sidewalk, easing into the crowds of commuters scurrying to work on this cold December morning. The sun was shining for a change, but the weak rays gave off no real warmth, and everyone had their chins tucked down into their coats, their breaths billowing out around them in thick clouds of frost.
I hurried along with everyone else, although I kept glancing around and looking at the reflections in all the glass storefront windows, trying to see if anyone was following me. I didn’t spot anyone, but that didn’t mean anything. Not with a skilled professional like Fedora working for the Circle. I wouldn’t even see someone like her coming until she had put three bullets in the back of my head. Still, I kept as good a watch as I could. Just in case.
I made my way to the Pork Pit and did my usual check of the front door and windows, on the off chance that someone had left a rune trap, bomb, or other nasty little holiday gift for me. But the door and windows hadn’t been tampered with, so I headed inside and repeated the process. The blue and pink vinyl booths were clean as well, along with the tables and chairs, and no one had been inside since I’d locked up last night. So I put a blue work apron on over my clothes and got started on my morning chores, including making a vat of my mentor Fletcher Lane’s secret barbecue sauce.
Getting into my usual routine and breathing in all the cumin, black pepper, and other sweet and spicy fumes from the simmering sauce made me feel a smidge better. So had doing those silly drawings with Lorelei last night. Sure, Fedora might have gotten away, but Phillip and I were okay, and that was the most important thing. Besides, sooner or later the Circle would make a mistake. I just had to be ready to take advantage of it when they did.
At ten o’clock, a soft knock sounded on the front door, and I let Silvio Sanchez inside the restaurant.
“You don’t have to knock, you know. I gave you your own key weeks ago. You can come in anytime you want to.”
“Knocking is the polite thing to do,” the vampire murmured back to me. “And in this case, it’s the prudent thing as well. Especially when your boss is an assassin who doesn’t take too kindly to people sneaking up on her.”
“Point taken.”
Silvio shrugged out of his long gray trench coat, revealing his matching gray suit, shirt, and tie underneath. He hung his coat on the rack by the door, then swept off his gray fedora and placed it there as well.
My gaze locked onto his fedora, and just like that, my mellow mood vanished. Silvio realized what I was staring at.
“It’s just a hat, Gin,” he said in an amused voice. “Not a vessel for the ultimate evil.”
I grunted and stepped behind the counter that ran along the back wall of the restaurant. I pulled out a sharp, serrated knife from a butcher block and started slicing tomatoes, lettuce, and onions for the day’s sandwiches. Cutting things always made me feel better.
Silvio perched on his usual stool at the counter and fired up his phone and tablet for the morning briefing, as he liked to call it. The vampire ran down everything he’d found out about Fedora overnight, which basically was nothing. He’d been in touch with Bria and Xavier and had gotten a license-plate number for the SUV off a security camera in the neighborhood. Silvio had tracked the vehicle to its rightful owner, who had reported it stolen a few hours before the attack at McAllister’s mansion. No doubt Fedora had abandoned the vehicle by now. Another dead end.
So Silvio moved on to other underworld matters, including a couple of bosses who needed me to mediate yet another petty dispute. I sighed. More often than not, I felt like being the head of the Ashland underworld was like serving as the CEO of the most dangerous company ever. Only I didn’t get a cushy payday, a corner office, a private jet, or any other sweet corporate perks. Just more and more people planning, plotting, and biding their time until they decided that they were finally ready to try to kill me.
But I forced myself to listen to Silvio and follow along. Everyone else still thought that I was the big boss, so I had to act like it. At least until I found out more about the Circle, how they fit into the Ashland underworld, and whose strings they were pulling, other than my own. Besides, if the other bosses ever found out about the Circle and realized that I was not the ultimate power in Ashland, that would only make them that much more determined to kill me so they could move up in the underworld food chain.
Silvio suggested that we schedule some meetings with a few of the more important criminals, and I reluctantly agreed.
Then I moved on to the other pressing topic of the day. “What about Jonah McAllister? Is he still holed up in his mansion?”
Silvio nodded. “As of ten minutes ago, according to one of Jade’s people. She has them texting me updates, but so far, everything is quiet.”
“Fedora wouldn’t come back until tonight anyway. That’s what I would do. How did Jade take my request?”
“Jade was more than happy to offer her assistance,” Silvio said. “She already had several folks working in the area, including a security guard who patrols that particular neighborhood. She’s not even going to charge you for it, although she would like to request a small favor in return. Although said favor is unspecified at this point.”
“Of course she would.”
Jade Jamison was a savvy businesswoman, and she knew that having me owe her one would be worth more in the long run than any money I might pay her for her surveillance services.
Silvio mentioned a few other things that needed my attention before a couple more knocks sounded on the front door, and the rest of the workers started showing up, including Catalina Vasquez, Silvio’s niece, and Sophia Deveraux, who was wearing a long black trench coat with a silver sequined skull wearing a red Santa hat stitched across the back. It matched the rest of her Goth clothes, including her black-and-silver, candy-cane-striped sweater. Sophia always showed her holiday spirit in a unique way.
We all started working, and by the time eleven o’clock rolled around, several folks were waiting outside the door, stamping their feet to stay warm, more than ready to come inside and get their barbecue on. It must have been too cold for criminal shenanigans today, because most of my customers were just regular folks, eager to chow down on a hot plate of barbecue, along with baked beans, fries, onion rings, coleslaw, and some mac and cheese that I made special because of the chilly weather.
I had a large dish of the mac and cheese for my own lunch. Al dente pasta, sharp white cheddar melted into an ooey, gooey sauce, crushed, toasted butter crackers sprinkled on top for a bit of crunch. It was perfect, warm, hearty comfort food, and I could use all the comforting I could get right now.
The lunch rush came and went with no problems, and the restaurant slowly emptied after that, with only a couple of folks to wait on. Most everyone was staying inside today, not wanting to venture out into the cold any more than they absolutely had to. I knew the feeling. Ever since I’d found out about the Circle, I’d just wanted to stay holed up at Fletcher’s house, curled in bed, with pillows and blankets tucked in all around me, as if that would somehow change everything that Hugh Tucker had told me—and the threat that he and his mysterious group represented to everyone that I cared about.
I’d just finished off the last of my mac and cheese when my phone beeped with a new text message.
Can you come to the bank? Finally ready to let the genie out of the box. F.
My heart lifted, and new, fresh hope surged through me at the message from Finn. It was about time. I’d been waiting on this for days now, and so had he.
I texted him back. Be there in 30 min. G.
I pushed my empty bowl away, got to my feet, and slid my phone into my jeans pocket. Then I turned around and grabbed a large cardboard box from the back counter, along with several take-out c
ontainers.
“What was that about?” Silvio asked, watching me scoop mac and cheese into a bowl.
“Oh, just Finn. Apparently, he’s trapped in another crisis-management meeting at the bank and wants me to bring him some food.”
“Mmm-hmm. You know, that would almost be a believable lie except for how happy you sound.”
I glanced at the vampire. “I can’t sound happy when I’m talking about my friends?”
Silvio crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a knowing look. “Not that happy.”
I finished with the mac and cheese and moved on to a pot of baked beans, putting them in a separate container. “You know, Silvio, you’re becoming as paranoid as Finn always says that I am.”
He sighed. “I know. And it’s all your fault. You’ve driven me to it.”
“And how have I done that?”
“Not telling me where you are and what you’re doing. Turning your phone off so I can’t track you. Parking your car in odd locations at all hours of the day and night.” He ticked the points off on his fingers. “What exactly were you doing in Southtown at midnight last night?”
“Maybe I was out for a moonlit drive,” I quipped.
“In the ice and cold? I don’t think so. You were up to something, just like you’re always up to something.” He shook his head. “Being your assistant is like trying to wrangle a recalcitrant three-year-old.”
I arched my eyebrows and moved on to a vat of coleslaw. “Wow, I’ve grown up quickly. You said more or less the same thing last week, only I was a stubborn two-year-old then.”
He huffed, not at all amused by my joke, so I decided to tell him the truth. At least, part of it.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I am going to the bank, and I am taking Finn some food.” I held up the container of coleslaw as proof.
“Among other things,” Silvio said, not buying it for a second.
“Among other things,” I agreed.
I finished packing Finn’s food into the cardboard box, then went over to a glass cake stand, grabbed a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie, and placed it on a napkin.
“Here.” I held it out to Silvio as a peace offering. “Cookies make everything better, even grumpy vampire assistants.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Silvio’s gray eyes narrowed, but I smiled in the face of his glare. Finally, he relented, took the cookie from me, and broke off a piece. He popped it in his mouth and sighed again, this time with pleasure.
“Cookies do make everything better,” he muttered, grudgingly agreeing with me. “Even paranoid, secretive assassin bosses.”
I laughed and handed him another cookie.
5
I asked Sophia and Catalina to watch over the restaurant, grabbed the food for Finn, and drove over to First Trust of Ashland.
First Trust was the city’s most exclusive and highfalutin bank, catering to the extremely wealthy, powerful, and dangerous. The seven-story building took up its own block in the heart of downtown, and the gray marble gleamed in the weak winter sun. I left my car in a nearby parking garage, grabbed the box of food, and headed for the main entrance.
A couple of weeks ago, a single giant guard would have been posted outside, casually watching folks hurry by on the sidewalk. But thanks to Deirdre Shaw’s recent and almost successful robbery attempt, security had been dramatically increased, and four guards now flanked the double doors, all keeping a sharp lookout, and all with their hands on the guns holstered to their belts.
I’d brought Finn lunch enough times over the past few weeks that the guards knew who I was, but they still eyed me with suspicion as I approached, and they kept watching as I opened one of the doors and stepped inside. Even then, one of them peered in through the glass, tracking my movements.
The doors opened up into an enormous, elegant lobby that had a light, bright, airy feel. Seams of white swirled through the gray marble floor before snaking up the walls and spreading out onto the ceiling, where they curled around several impressive crystal chandeliers. Dark, heavy antique desks and chairs were clustered together in groups throughout the lobby so that folks could have a bit of privacy as they talked about their finances.
Given that this was a weekday, several folks moved through the area. People coming inside to make deposits, others leaving after having handed over their money, bankers carrying papers from one desk to another. Tellers typed away on their keyboards, and the murmur of half a dozen conversations filled the air, along with an occasional high-pitched beep-beep from a cell phone.
Once again, my gaze was drawn to the giant guards, all eight of them, stationed in teams of two in the four corners of the lobby, all on high alert, with their hands on their guns, just like the four guards outside had been. Normally, I would have gone over to the receptionist—another newly installed giant guard—sitting at a desk close to the entrance and told her whom I was here to see, but a man standing by the tellers’ counter waved at me.
“Gin!” he called out. “Over here!”
His voice wasn’t all that loud, but compared to the other hushed murmurs, it boomed like thunder through the open space, and everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him, then me. I grimaced and tightened my grip on the box of food. Still aware of the guards’ gazes on me, I walked over to the counter, which ran along the back wall.
Finnegan Lane, my foster brother, straightened up at my approach. To the casual observer, he looked the same as always—a handsome investment banker poured into a slick Fiona Fine suit. But his walnut-brown hair was more mussed than styled, his white shirt was rumpled, and his navy-blue suit jacket hung loosely on his shoulders, instead of being impeccably tailored. He’d lost weight these past few weeks, despite all my attempts to coax him to eat.
Finn eyed the cardboard box in my hands and sighed. “More food? I still have leftovers from the barbecue chicken that you brought over for lunch a few days ago.”
I passed the box over to him. “Well, now you have more.”
He nodded his thanks, but his green gaze moved past me and darted around the lobby before focusing on a spot along the left wall—the same spot where he’d first found out that Deirdre Shaw was his mother. Finn’s shoulders sagged, making his suit jacket droop even more, and I could tell that he was reliving her betrayal yet again.
Deirdre had claimed that Fletcher had threatened her, forced her to leave Finn behind, and kept her away from her own son for almost Finn’s entire life. She’d swooped back into Ashland a few weeks ago, saying that with Fletcher dead, she could come home, get to know her son, and finally be a part of Finn’s life.
Damn, dirty lies, all of it.
In reality, all those years ago Deirdre had threatened to freeze a newborn Finn with her Ice magic if Fletcher didn’t let her leave town. She hadn’t cared about Finn at all—until she needed him to help her rob First Trust in a desperate, last-ditch effort to pay back the millions that she owed to Tucker and the rest of the Circle.
Finn stared at that spot along the wall a second longer before turning away and screwing a smile on his face, as though everything were normal, and he were still the carefree, happy-go-lucky guy he’d been before Deirdre had blown into town. Before she’d ripped his heart to shreds and betrayed him in the worst way possible. Before she’d tortured him with her Ice magic. Before he’d killed his own mother to save me.
“Alrighty. Let’s get this show on the road,” Finn chirped.
He left the tellers’ counter behind and walked over to a metal door set into the back left corner of the lobby. The two giants stationed there eyed me, but Finn showed them his access card, and they opened the door. I followed Finn down a long flight of stairs that led to the basement, where the senior bank officials’ offices were located. Finn left me standing in the hallway while he ducked into his office and put the box of food on his desk. Then, together
, the two of us walked over to Big Bertha.
Big Bertha was the bank’s largest and most secure vault, featuring hundreds of safety-deposit boxes that were a literal treasure trove of cash, precious jewels, stocks, bonds, and other valuables. Since this was a normal business day, the vault’s thick outer metal door was wide-open, although the inner door was still shut and locked. That inner door was actually a tight mesh of silverstone, an extremely tough and durable metal that could absorb and store magic. The mesh had three distinct layers now, each separated a few inches from the next, instead of the one layer that Deirdre had so easily blasted through with her Ice magic during the attempted robbery.
To my surprise, a dwarf with wavy silver hair, sharp hazel eyes, and rough, craggy features was standing in front of the vault, waiting for us. Stuart Mosley, the head of First Trust, and Finn’s boss.
I looked at Finn, who shrugged at me. “No one goes into the vault now without Mosley’s approval. I had to tell him what I wanted in there.”
I didn’t like anyone knowing what we were up to, especially not Mosley, since I had no idea if we could trust him. But there was no way to avoid the dwarf, so we walked over to him.
“Ms. Blanco,” Mosley said in a deep, gravelly voice. “So nice to see you again.”
“Mr. Mosley.”
We shook hands, as though this were just an innocent business transaction, then Mosley looked at Finn. “You have the key?”
Finn nodded, reached into his pants pocket, and drew out a safety-deposit box key, which he held up for his boss’s inspection. Mosley stared at the number—1300—that was engraved in the metal. For a moment, a hint of a smile played across the dwarf’s face, deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but it was gone so quickly that I wondered if I’d only imagined the amused emotion. I stared at Mosley, but his face was stone-cold somber again, and I couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking.