I read the words, and it was almost like I could hear Fletcher’s voice in my mind, patiently explaining things to me.
It started out like any other hit, the old man wrote. I was to kill your mother, Eira Snow, and leave you and your sisters unharmed. I would have done it too. But Mab changed her mind and wanted the three of you dead as well. You know that I don’t do that sort of thing.
“No kids,” I whispered in the utter silence of the office. “Ever.”
Part of the assassin code that the old man had taught me — the same one he’d lived by for so many years. And apparently, the reason Bria and I were still alive today.
I kept reading. There was more — so much more. Fletcher chronicled it all. How he’d used his various contacts to tell Mab that he didn’t murder children. How he told her to hire someone else to do the job. How she’d threatened to find and kill him for turning her down. And finally, how Mab had sent some of her goons after him, while she went to our house to murder my family.
Even as an assassin, I couldn’t stand by and do nothing, not while innocent children were being targeted. So I tried to stop it; the old man’s handwriting spelled out the words.
But I was detained by some of Mab’s men. By the time I got there, it was too late. The mansion was fully engulfed in flames, and Mab was gone. But I found some tracks leading away from the house, and I knew that someone had survived. I found Bria early the next morning, wandering around in the forest, babbling about how she’d run away and how her mother and sisters were dead. So I took her and hid her until I could find a good home for her.
I thought that you were dead, Gin, until you showed up in the alley behind the Pork Pit all those weeks later. You know what happened after that.
I did the best I could for Bria — and for you, Gin. Keeping the two of you apart was the best way I knew to keep you hidden, to keep you safe from Mab, to give you time to grow up, to give me time to train you to be the Spider, the assassin you needed to be to finally defeat her. I hope you know that. I hope you can understand everything I did. I hope you can forgive me someday.
“I know you did your best, Fletcher,” I whispered. “I know you did.”
There was more — so much more. But the tears in my eyes blurred the words too much for me to read them. At least for tonight. So I closed the folder, laid my head down on the desk, and stared at the spider rune — shaped crystal paperweight until the sun rose over the eastern mountains.
The next day — Christmas — we all gathered at Owen’s mansion.
Me, Finn, and the Deveraux sisters, who brought Vinnie and Natasha Volga along with them. All crowding into Owen’s downstairs living room, along with Eva and the two people that she’d invited over for the holiday celebration — her best friend, Violet Fox, and her grandfather, Warren T. Fox. Xavier was there too, with Roslyn Phillips, who’d also brought her sister, Lisa, and young niece, Catherine.
They were all in the living room, drinking my special Christmas punch, shaking the presents that they’d bought for each other, laughing, talking, smiling.
The only person I cared about who wasn’t here was Bria.
I hadn’t heard from my baby sister since our talk at the Pork Pit yesterday. Xavier had pulled me aside earlier and told me that she was working today so that some of the other cops could spend the holiday with their families. I could have told the giant that Bria had a family too, if only she’d realize it, but I held my tongue. No need to ruin Xavier’s day.
I spent the morning in the kitchen, whipping up a Christmas lunch that would have done any Southern hostess proud. A tart but sweet cranberry sauce, roasted vegetables, fluffy mashed potatoes with plenty of real, fattening butter, sour cream, and cheddar cheese in them, and for the centerpiece, there was an enormous, spiral-cut ham with a brown sugar glaze. And then there were the desserts. I’d made a little something for everyone, from yummy fruit pies and warm berry cobblers topped with vanilla bean ice cream, to sweet sugar cookies and rich, chewy fruitcakes. I had a crowd to feed, and I’d outdone myself with all the dishes.
I might not be the most demonstrative person when it came to telling people how I felt about them, how much I cared about them, but I could sure make them a meal that they’d never forget.
We’d already eaten, and now I was back in the kitchen, washing the dishes while the others opened their presents. Of course, the ones most excited by the gifts were Roslyn’s niece, Catherine, and Natasha. The little girls tore into the wrapping paper, barely pausing to admire the pretty packages before destroying them to get to what was waiting inside. The squeak, squawk and squeal of new toys filled the air.
“Here’s the last of the dinner dishes,” Owen said, carrying a final set of plates into the kitchen and dumping them into the sink. “You want me to dry while you wash?”
I wiped my hands off on a dish towel and turned to face him. “Sure, after you open your present.”
Owen raised an eyebrow. “A present? For moi?”
“Yes, for you.”
I reached across the counter, grabbed the present I’d put there earlier this morning, and held it out to him. The gift was wrapped in candy-cane-striped paper and had the small look of a jewelry box.
Owen took the box and carefully shook it, but no noise came from inside it.
“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy for you, did you?” I said in a teasing tone.
He grinned. “I had hopes.”
“Go ahead. Open it.”
Owen shook the box one more time before tearing into it just as Catherine and Natasha had done in the other room. He ripped off the paper, popped open the box, and paused, staring at what was inside the small container.
He fished out the item and held it up for me to see. “A key?”
“I admit that it isn’t nearly as nice or as inspired as the new silverstone knives that you made for me,” I said. “But I have been busy these last few days.”
Owen stared at me with his violet eyes. “And what does this key go to?”
My heart, because you’ve proved yourself worthy of it. That’s what I thought about saying, that’s what part of me wanted to say to him. But I didn’t. I might not have much experience when it came to this relationship business, but I knew it was too soon for that. Especially since I was still processing this new warmth I felt for Owen and how best to handle it — and him.
“It goes to Fletcher’s house,” I said. “My house. It occurred to me that you’ve never been over there while we’ve been together. I thought you might like to see it sometime. Anytime that you’d like.”
“I see.”
I stared at Owen, wondering if it was enough, if maybe I should have gotten him something more substantial — like a holiday tie or a light-up Christmas sweater.
Then he looked up at me, a slow smile spreading across his face, softening his features and warming his violet eyes, and I knew I’d done the right thing. “One question. Are you going to try to kill me the way you probably do all of your uninvited guests? Because I’d hate for my first visit to get off to a bad start.”
“Oh, I think I can make an exception for you,” I replied in a teasing tone.
Owen joined in my soft laughter. He drew me toward him, and our lips met in a hot, long kiss that made me wish the party were already over so we could be alone—
The doorbell rang, the merry chime echoing through the house.
Startled, I drew back from Owen, looking in that direction before my eyes went back to his. He nodded, telling me that I should go get it. We both knew there was only one person it could be. Only one other person knew I was here today, that we were all gathered here today. Only one other person had been invited.