"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," she said, a broad smile creasing her face. "My name is Clementine Barker, and this here is a holdup."
Chapter 7
Clementine looked out over the crowd again, then threw back her head and laughed. Her loud, booming guffaws echoed off the thick walls just like the screams and gunshots had a few minutes earlier. Somehow, though, her dark chuckles seemed far more sinister. Or maybe that was because I'd seen how casually she'd reacted to Dixon shooting Jillian and knew that she'd do the same thing to anyone who got in her way.
"Forgive me," she said, her laughter finally dying down. "I always wanted to say that."
Everyone stared at the giant, but no one said anything. No one dared to.
I put her theatrics out of my mind and focused on something else: her name. Clementine Barker. Again, it sounded familiar, like someone I'd heard Bria or maybe even Finn talk about. A glimmer of a conversation came back to me, something Finn had said in passing recently about some up-and-coming security firm started by a giant. The woman running it had approached Finn's bank about taking over the security there, but the higher-ups had turned her down.
She had an unusual name, Finn's voice whispered in my mind. Clementine. It made me want an orange.
I wondered if Clementine had plied her services to other Ashland businesses, if maybe the folks on the Briartop board had hired Clem and her men for tonight's event, to help out as waiters, to direct traffic in the parking lots, maybe even to beef up the museum's security staff. That would have been one way to get so many of her men onto the island without raising suspicions. Then all they would have had to do was wait until the moment was right to overpower the regular guards, and the museum - the whole island - would be theirs. Just like it was now.
"But it is true," Clementine said, continuing her one-sided conversation with the crowd. "This is a robbery. So why don't we start moving things along? If you will all be so kind as to remove any jewelry, watches, cuff links, and other valuables you have on, some of my boys will go around and collect them. And to save them the effort of patting you down, go ahead and put your phones into the bags too. Now, we've already set up a series of cell-phone jammers inside the museum and cut the landlines to the island, so no calls are coming in or out. But let's just go ahead and remove all temptation to try calling for help anyway. This is a private party, and I'd like to keep it that way."
Three of the giants reached into their pants pockets, drew out black plastic garbage bags, and snapped them open. But before they could step up and repeat their demand that folks take off their jewelry, or else, one of the hostages pushed his way to the front of the crowd.
Jonah McAllister.
The lawyer pinned his cold brown gaze on Clementine. His hands were balled into fists by his sides, while anger stained his unnaturally smooth cheeks a bright beet red.
"You won't get away with this," McAllister said in a furious voice, stabbing his finger at the giant. "None of you will get off this island alive. I have no doubt the police will be here any minute to round you up and throw you in prison where you belong - "
Crack!
Clementine didn't even wait for McAllister to finish sputtering before she stepped forward and backhanded him across the face. The sharp, stinging blow threw the lawyer five feet to his right and slammed him into a pedestal topped by a glass case housing a dainty tea set. The pedestal seesawed back and forth, making the dishes rattle, before McAllister managed to grab it. He hung on to the stand and slowly used it to push himself upright. Then he turned to face the giant again. I had to give McAllister credit. He didn't cringe - much.
Instead, eyes wide, he blinked like an owl for several seconds before slowly raising a hand to his face, which was bleeding. Clem had opened up a cut low on his left cheek, probably with the sharp edge of her watch. That was no way to treat such an expensive timepiece.
"You were saying?" Clementine asked.
McAllister blanched at the blood on his hand and slowly stepped back. It took him a few seconds, but he didn't stop backpedaling until he was on the opposite side of the room, as far away from her as he could get and still be standing with the other hostages. Clementine smirked at him for a moment before turning her attention to the crowd again.
"Now, in addition to all those pretty little rings and watches you folks have on, my boys and I are also going to load up Mab's treasures in the rotunda to take with us. In fact, we plan to clean out the whole museum while we're here," she said. "Since this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. So to speak."
She chuckled at her own bad joke, but I was thinking about her words. Loot the entire Briartop museum? Countless millions in art decorated the hallways, galleries, and other exhibit spaces. I'd counted around twenty giants outside earlier, and there were more than thirty in here right now. No wonder she'd brought so many men. She'd need them all to haul so much loot away with her. Clementine definitely didn't think small. I wondered how long she'd been planning her heist - and what I could do to stop her.
"So while my boys and I go about our business, you're all going to be spending some quality time here in this beautiful rotunda," she continued. "As long as you sit still, be quiet, and behave, you will all come out of this just fine. My boys and I are only interested in what the museum has to offer. We don't want any more blood dirtying up things. Lowers the resale value."
She let out another hearty chuckle, but once again, no one joined in her laughter. Couldn't imagine why. She should have brought a giant with a set of drums along with her. That way, he could ba-dum-dum in time to every one of the corny jokes she was cracking.
"But know this," Clementine said. "We won't hesitate to fill your guts full of lead if you so much as twitch funny."
Her smile stayed soft and pleasant, her voice as warm and welcoming as apple pie, but her eyes took on a chillingly empty look. She stared at first one hostage, then another, making sure they all realized how serious she was. Everyone got the message loud and clear.
"Now," Clementine continued, "there's actually another reason why my boys and I are here tonight, other than the obvious payday we're getting. And that reason is that we're tired - tired of all of you."
The hostages glanced at one another, wondering what she getting at. So did I.
"We're giants," Clementine said. "We're tough, we're strong, and we're damn near unstoppable, but for years - for years - we've been relegated to hiring ourselves out to protect you. We've put ourselves in the line of fire over and over again, serving you, saving your miserable hides. And for what? Some measly paycheck? Some small hope of advancement? Well, not anymore. No, starting tonight, my boys and I are going to take what we want - take what we're due - and to hell with anybody who tries to stand in our way. This is the dawn of a new era in Ashland, when we're in charge. The way it should have been all along."
All around the rotunda, the other giants nodded their heads in eager agreement. They were totally buying what Clementine was selling and seemed completely committed to her uprising.
She gestured with her gun at the bodies lying on the floor in front of her. "Now, I think that my boys and I have already proven our mettle, but just in case you need some more convincing, I have one more example to show you. Bring her in!"
Dixon stepped back into the rotunda - with Jillian. He might not have had any problems shooting someone in the face, but it seemed as if the giant didn't like actually getting his hands dirty, judging by the stiff way he held Jillian out in front of him like she was a piece of smelly trash he needed to rid himself of as soon as possible.
Clementine handed Opal her gun, then moved over and took the faceless Jillian from Dixon with quick, easy movements. I thought she might approach the hostages with the body, but instead, she turned and threw it into the middle of the crowd.
Jillian Delancey had been a fit woman, but her body still weighed more than a hundred thirty pounds, every single ounce now dead, floppy, and awkward. But Clementine hefted the body through the air like it was nothing more than a football. All giants were strong, but this - this was an impressive display of sheer, raw power. The only other giant I'd seen with that kind of muscle had been Elliot Slater, Mab's henchman. Clementine looked to be just as strong as Slater had been, maybe even stronger.
People screamed and scattered when they realized what Clementine was doing, and Jillian's body slid to a stop on the mosaic star embedded in the floor. Horrified gasps rippled through the crowd like a tree full of crows all cawing at once. More than a few folks turned away from the body, hands clamped over their mouths to try to smother their screams or choke down the bile rising in their throats. Even in Ashland, where violence was so common, someone missing most of her face wasn't an everyday sight - and it certainly wasn't a pretty one.
"I want everyone to gather 'round and take a good, long look," Clementine said. "My nephew, Dixon, did that a few minutes ago. Put enough bullets in this woman's face that even her own mama wouldn't recognize her. And he and the rest of my boys will do the exact same thing to you at the slightest whisper of trouble."
The giants waved their guns, and everyone shuffled forward, although most of them tried very hard not to actually look at Jillian, or what was left of her. Couldn't blame them for that. It even turned my stomach a little. Or perhaps that was just the guilt I felt, gnawing away at my insides.
"Now, I know she's not the nicest thing to stare at, but there's one more thing that's important about this woman," Clementine said. "One more thing that everyone here needs to know: her real identity. Because that's not just some tarted-up trophy wife or debutante doll lying there getting blood all over the floor. Oh, no. That, ladies and gentlemen, is none other than Gin Blanco. The Spider herself. Ashland's most infamous assassin. Deader than a fencepost."
More shocked gasps rippled through the crowd. I closed my eyes, the guilt rising in my throat and choking me from the inside out.
"Come one, come all. Don't be shy. Step right up and get a good long look at her. And think about this: me and my boys took out the Spider tonight. The toughest bitch in all of Ashland. Just like that." She snapped her fingers. "Now, if we can do that, why, just imagine what we could do to all of you."
While the crowd chattered and whispered at the giant's revelation, I forced myself to open my eyes and study Jillian. Made myself commit to memory every gruesome detail of her blown-off face and slack figure. The smooth skin of her shoulders compared with the ragged edges of her ruined face. The pretty, shimmering, constant twinkle of crystals on her skirt next to the absolute stillness of her leg. The blood still oozing out of her horrible wounds, the color a perfect match to the glossy polish gleaming on her manicured nails.
I stared at Jillian until the sight of her was burned into my brain, an image I would never, ever forget. And then I shifted the image, the memory, to the heavy load of guilt that was already yoked across my shoulders.
I couldn't bring Jillian back, but I could avenge her.
I could make Clementine realize what a stupid, sloppy, fatal mistake she'd made.
I was so wrapped up in my dark thoughts of guilt, rage, and revenge that it took me a moment to realize that my friends had forced their way to the front of the crowd.
Eva was the first to react, letting out a weak, strangled gasp and clamping her hands over her mouth. The rest of my friends wore similar stunned expressions as they stared down at the body.
I knew what the horrified looks meant: they all thought I was dead.
Chapter 8
Eva. Finn. Phillip. Roslyn. Owen. The realization hit all of them at about the same time. One second, they were trying not to look at the body like everyone else. The next, they couldn't stop staring at it, mouths open, eyes wide, features tight with shock and sorrow.
Roslyn immediately put her arms around Eva and turned the younger woman away from the horrible sight. Eva's shoulders shook, and a loud sob broke free from her lips before she could swallow it. Phillip turned away too, his lips curled in anger and disgust.
Owen kept staring at the body, his face blank and completely closed off. His eyes were empty, his gaze dull and far away, as if he was so shocked, so stunned, that he wasn't even really seeing what was in front of him. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I couldn't tell what he was feeling. If he was absolutely horrified or just relieved that I was gone. I hoped - I hoped - that he at least cared, that he at least felt something, but I just couldn't tell what it might be, one way or the other.
And then there was Finn.
He had an entirely different reaction. Instead of shying away from the body, he moved even closer to it, stepping in front of Owen. Finn's green eyes narrowed, and he slowly, carefully, quietly examined the body from head to toe. His gaze lingered on Jillian's shoes, which peeked out from beneath the edge of her skirt, before going up to her hands. Finn leaned down, staring at one of Jillian's palms as though it held all the secrets of the universe.
I knew exactly what he was looking for: my spider rune scar.
When I was younger, the scars had been red, raw, and puckered, but over the years, they had slowly smoothed out and faded to a pale silver, given that they were really silverstone that had been melted into my palms. Everyone in the underworld might think that I was the Spider. They might recognize my rune and the fact that I took my assassin name from it, but none of them knew that the symbol was actually branded into my palms. Only my closest friends and family knew that story, and only they had ever seen the scars. Oh, I didn't try to hide the marks, not even when I was working at the Pork Pit, but unless you knew they were there, you wouldn't notice them. Besides, who ever bothered to look at the palms of someone else's hands?
