Deadly Sting
Elemental Assassin - 8
by
Jennifer Estep
To my mom, my grandma, and Andre—
for everything
To my grandma again, for saying,
“Why ask for one million if you can ask for two?”
To my papaw—
you will be missed
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Once again, my heartfelt thanks go out to all the folks who help turn my words into a book.
Thanks go to my agent, Annelise Robey, and editors, Adam Wilson and Lauren McKenna, for all their helpful advice, support, and encouragement. Thanks also to Julia Fincher.
Thanks to Tony Mauro for illustrating another terrific cover, and thanks to Louise Burke, Lisa Litwack, and everyone else at Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster for their work on the cover, the book, and the series.
And finally, a big thanks to all the readers. Knowing that folks read and enjoy my books is truly humbling, and I’m glad that you are all enjoying Gin and her adventures.
I appreciate you all more than you will ever know.
Happy reading!
1
“That would look fabulous on you.”
Finnegan Lane, my foster brother, pointed to a tennis bracelet in the middle of a glass case full of jewelry. The shimmer of the gemstones matched the sparkle of greed in his eyes.
I looked at the price tag beside the diamond-crusted monstrosity. “You do realize that the cost of that bracelet is within spitting distance of my going rate as an assassin, right?”
“You mean your going rate back when you were actually killing people for money,” Finn said. “Or as I like to call them—the good ole days.”
Finn gave the diamond bracelet one more greedy glance before moving over to a display of shoes. He grabbed a purple pump off a shelf and waggled the shoe at me before holding it up and inspecting it himself. He gazed at the shoe with a rapt expression, as though it were a work of art instead of merely overpriced pieces of leather sewn together.
“It’s the latest style,” he said in a dreamy voice. “Hand-stitched lavender suede with custom-made four-inch heels. Isn’t it marvelous?”
I arched an eyebrow. “Have I ever told you how scary it is that you know more about shoes than I do?”
Finn grinned, his green eyes lighting up with amusement. “Frequently. But my impeccable fashion sense is one of the many things you love about me.”
He straightened his gray silk tie and winked at me. I snorted and moved over to look at some dresses hanging on a rack near the wall.
The two of us were out shopping, which was one of Finn’s favorite things to do. Not mine, though. I never paid too much attention to what I was wearing, beyond making sure that my jeans and boots were comfortable enough to fight in and that my T-shirt sleeves were long enough to hide the knives I had tucked up each one. As an assassin, I’d learned a long time ago not to invest too much money in clothes that were only going to end up with bloodstains on them.
But here I was, along for the consumer ride. Finn had shown up at the Pork Pit, my barbecue joint, just after the lunch rush ended and had dragged me all the way up to Northtown, the part of Ashland that housed and catered to the wealthy, social, and magical elite. We’d spent the last hour traipsing from store to store in an upscale shopping development that had just opened up.
Now we were browsing through Posh, the biggest, fanciest, and most expensive boutique on this particular block. Racks of ball gowns and evening dresses filled the store, starting with all-white frocks on the left and darkening to midnight-black ones on the right, like a rainbow of color arcing from one side of the store to the other. There wasn’t a dress in here that was less than five grand, and the shoes arranged along the back wall went for just as much. Not to mention the minuscule handbags that cost ten times as much as a good steak dinner.
“Come on, Gin,” Finn wheedled, holding the pump out to me. “At least try it on.”
I rolled my eyes, took the shoe from him, and hefted it in my hand. “Lightweight, nice enough color. Not the worst thing you’ve shown me today. And that skinny stiletto would make a decent weapon, if you took the time to snap it off the rest of the shoe and sharpen the end of it.”
Finn sighed and took the pump away from me. “Have I ever told you how scary it is that you think of heels in terms of their possible shiv potential?”
I grinned at him. “Frequently. But my impeccable sense of improvised weaponry is one of the many things you love about me.”
This time, Finn rolled his eyes and then started muttering under his breath about how he couldn’t take me anywhere. My grin widened. I loved needling Finn as much as he enjoyed teasing me.
“Tell me again why I have to go to this shindig with you,” I said when he finally wound down.
“It’s not a mere shindig,” he huffed. “It’s the opening gala for an exhibit of art, jewelry, and other valuable objects from the estate of the late, not-so-great, and certainly unlamented Mab Monroe. Everyone who’s anyone will be there, underworld and otherwise, and it’s going to be the social event of the summer. Besides, aren’t you the least bit curious to see what the old girl stashed away over the years? The things she collected? What she thought was beautiful or valuable or at least worth hoarding? She was your nemesis, after all.”
Mab Monroe had been a little more than my nemesis—the Fire elemental had murdered my mother and my older sister when I was thirteen. She’d also tortured me. But I’d finally gotten my revenge when I shoved my knife through the bitch’s black heart back in the winter. Killing Mab had been one of the most satisfying moments of my life. The fact that she was dead and I wasn’t was the only thing that really mattered to me.
“Sorry,” I said. “I have no desire to go gawk at all of Mab’s shinies. They’re not doing her any good now, are they? I’m quite happy simply knowing that she’s rotting in her grave. And I still don’t understand why you insisted on dragging me out to buy a dress. I have plenty of little black numbers in my closet at home, any one of which would be just fine for this event.”
Finn snorted. “Sure, if you don’t mind wearing something that’s ripped, torn, and caked with dried blood.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Funny how killing people inevitably led to ruined clothes.
Finn sighed and shook his head at my lack of interest in Mab’s many treasures. “I can’t believe you won’t go out of simple curiosity and unabashed greed. Those are certainly the reasons I’m going. And probably half the folks on the guest list. We’ve just covered why you need a new dress. As to why you have to go with me, well, naturally, I asked Bria first, but she has to work. I need someone to drink champagne with and make snide comments to about everyone else in attendance. You wouldn’t deny me that pleasure, would you?”
“Perish the thought,” I murmured. “But what about Roslyn? Or Jo-Jo? Why don’t you take one of them instead?”
“Roslyn is already going with someone else, and Jo-Jo has a date with Cooper.” Finn used his fingers to tick off our friends and family. “I even asked Sophia, but there’s some classic Western film festival that she’s planning to catch that night. Besides, she’d probably insist on wearing black lipstick, a silverstone collar, and the rest of her usual Goth clothes instead of an evening dress. Since I don’t want to be responsible for any of the old guard having conniptions or coronary episodes, you’re it.”
“Lucky me.”
“Besides, it’s not like you have plans,” he continued as though I hadn’t said a word. “Other than sitting at home and brooding over lost love.”