The Spider
Page 12

9
A couple of hours later, I found myself sitting in a van outside the entrance to Vaughn Construction.
It was after eight now, and the warm rays of the setting sun made the chain-link fence that surrounded the site gleam like molten silver. Security lights burned at fifty-foot intervals along the fence, casting small pools of weak white light against the encroaching darkness. Two giant guards manned the main entrance, sitting in their flimsy wooden shack and rifling through magazines to try to alleviate their boredom at working the night shift. Deeper in the compound, lights blazed in the windows in Vaughn’s office. He was working late again, just like he had every day that I’d watched him.
“You sure you want to do this?” Fletcher asked for the third time since we’d left the house. “Vaughn has a lot on his mind right now, with the terrace collapse and the impending lawsuits. Not to mention his meeting with Mab at Dawson’s party. He’s bound to be jumpy and on edge.”
I thought of the wariness in Charlotte’s eyes earlier today at the Pork Pit and the way she’d scanned the restaurant again and again, as if she expected someone to hurt her at any second.
“I’m sure.”
“You got everything you need?” Fletcher asked.
After finishing my shift at the restaurant, I’d traded my jeans and blue apron for my other work clothes, the ones that only came in one color: black. Now I wore them from head to toe—a long-sleeved black T-shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. A black vest lined with silverstone covered my chest. In addition to absorbing all forms of elemental magic, silverstone was great at stopping bullets, and the vest would help keep me safe from any blasts of magic or bursts of gunfire that Vaughn might send my way. Despite the sweltering heat, I’d also pulled my hair back and tucked my ponytail underneath a snug black toboggan. As a final measure, I’d smeared a bit of black greasepaint under my eyes to break up the paleness of my face and help me blend in with the gathering shadows.
“Gin?” Fletcher asked again. “It never hurts to do a final check to make sure.”
He was big on being as prepared as possible, especially when it came to being certain that you hadn’t forgotten any important supplies. Sometimes Fletcher would check and re-check his weapons two, or three, or even more times before he was satisfied that he was ready to go, and he’d taught me to do the same thing.
So I shifted in my seat, doing one last mental inventory of my knives. Two up my sleeves, one tucked against the small of my back, and two in the sides of my boots, just like usual. I wasn’t carrying a gun. I didn’t need one. Not tonight.
Not for this job.
“Yeah, I’ve got everything.”
Fletcher nodded and stared through the windshield at the compound again. Vaughn Construction took up its own fenced-in block in the downtown loop, although it was situated closer to Northtown than to Southtown. Several businesses lined the street across from the compound. Fletcher had parked the van in a restaurant lot with a dozen other cars, and no one had given it or us a second look. He was good at picking just the right spot to blend in with his surroundings.
“Sophia told me that boy came into the restaurant today,” Fletcher said. “Sebastian.”
I tensed. I’d been so concerned about Finn ratting me out that I’d never considered that Sophia might do it instead.
“Yeah. So what? It doesn’t matter.”
“Sophia said that the two of you looked awful cozy together.”
“Not that cozy,” I said. “Considering that he brought his baby sister along with him.”
“Don’t be a smartass. That’s Finn’s thing.”
I shrugged.
Fletcher shook his head. “There’s still something that I don’t like about this job. And it’s not just the boy’s interest in you.”
I bristled. He said “interest” like it was the worst thing ever that Sebastian liked me.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said, my voice harsh. “After I kill his father, Sebastian will forget all about me. He’ll have too many other things to deal with. He won’t even remember some random waitress he was supposed to go out with. Even if he does, I doubt that he’ll come knocking on my door anytime soon. So see? You have nothing to worry about. Problem solved.”
The words were as true as they’d been when I’d said them to Finn earlier. And once again, they shot an arrow of hurt straight into my heart. Fletcher stared at me, his green eyes bright and searching.
I returned his gaze with a cold, flat, impassive one of my own. No matter how I felt about Sebastian, this was no time for any sort of soft sentiment.
After several seconds, he nodded. “You’re probably right.”
He drew in a breath, like he was going to say something else. I waited, expecting him to ask me yet again if I really wanted to go through with this, but he didn’t. Instead, his mouth turned down with a hint of sadness, although I had no idea why.
“Just be careful,” Fletcher finally said.
I nodded. “Always.”
I got out of the van. Fletcher stayed where he was behind the wheel, in case things didn’t go as planned and I needed to make a quick getaway. But I didn’t anticipate any problems—I was too motivated to fail.
I lowered my head, tucked my hands into my pockets, and strolled down the street, heading away from the main gate of the compound. I kept my pace slow and easy, as though I were out for a late-night walk, instead of getting ready to murder a man for money. I thought about whistling to add to my cover but decided against it. Finn might have indulged in such theatrics but not me.
I made it to the end of the block and risked a quick glance around. Farther up the street, close to Fletcher’s van, folks laughed, talked, and smoked underneath the red awning of a restaurant that stretched all the way out to the curb. The name Underwood’s flowed across the awning fabric in an elaborate gold script. Some fancy new place that I’d heard Finn talk about, the kind of highfalutin joint where they charged you ten bucks for a glass of tap water. A few cars also drove by on the street, but no one so much as looked in my direction.
Good. That would make this easier.
When I was sure that no one was watching me, I crossed the intersection so that I was on the street that fronted the construction compound. I paused again at the corner, as though I were going to head on over to the next block, my gaze scanning over everything. Satisfied that I was still in the clear, I rounded the corner, stepped off the street, slid behind a tree, and wormed my way through a few patches of weeds until I reached the chain-link fence that surrounded Vaughn Construction.
I crouched down, looking left and right for any foot or vehicle traffic on the sidewalk or street and listening for any sounds in the compound. Any whispers of clothing rubbing together, the scuff of boots on the hard-packed ground, even the soft padding of a guard dog loping this way.
Nothing—I saw and heard nothing.
I unzipped one of the pockets on my vest, pulled out a small pair of wire cutters, and quickly snipped a straight line up the metal links. Despite all of the expensive equipment that lay beyond, Vaughn thought that the fence and all the lights strung around it were enough to keep people out, and he hadn’t bothered to have the metal electrified. Fool. I was mildly surprised that members of some Southtown gang hadn’t made their way over here, climbed the fence, and hot-wired some of Vaughn’s pickup trucks, driving them right back out through the metal links.
I’d decided to make my run at Vaughn here, since there was even less security at the construction compound than there was at his estate. I didn’t feel like ducking wandering giant guards just to get close enough to try to kill him. Besides, I didn’t want Sebastian and especially Charlotte to find their father’s body after the fact. I would spare them that trauma.
I hoped the cops would remove Vaughn’s corpse from the compound before they notified Sebastian of his father’s death, although I wasn’t overly optimistic about it. The po-po were so crooked and lazy it wouldn’t surprise me if they made Sebastian pay to have his father’s body taken away in a timely manner. But that was a problem for tomorrow. I needed to focus on what I was doing here tonight.
When I finished snipping through the metal, I slid the wire cutters back into my vest and zipped that pocket up again. In addition to the rest of my black clothes, I was also wearing thin black leather gloves, so I wasn’t worried about leaving behind any fingerprints or cutting myself on the fence as I carefully pulled the sliced edges away from one another.
I slipped through the opening to the other side and put the links back into place, making sure that I could remember the exact spot that I’d cut, in case I had to leave in a hurry. Then, still crouching low, I started making my way toward the office building in the heart of the compound.
Most of the space behind the fence was taken up with rows and rows of construction equipment. Bulldozers, backhoes, and other machines designed for tearing into the earth and then dump trucks to haul it away. Cement mixers for laying foundations, cranes to hoist beams into place high in the sky, and all the other equipment you would need to fill in all the spaces in between. A few metal outbuildings also squatted here and there, full of smaller tools, wiring, paint, drywall, and other supplies.
As I slid from one piece of equipment and one pool of darkness to the next, I listened to the stone around me.
Bricks, concrete, granite . . . all sorts of stone could be found throughout the compound, some of it out in the open, like the sturdy cinder blocks stacked on top of one another, while other, more expensive and delicate ones were safely behind lock and key, like the marble that I could hear murmuring inside one of the outbuildings.
Most of the whispers told of the shake, rattle, and roll of heavy machinery as the stones were continuously picked up and moved from one place to another before being shipped out to their ultimate destinations. But some of the more polished pieces, like the marble countertops, vainly sang of their own smooth, glossy beauty and how lovely they were going to look in whatever new house they would eventually be installed in. The more sensible, utilitarian stones grumbled in response, having no use for the marble’s frippery. They were bricks, solid, stout, and sturdy, meant to protect, shield, and hold up against all of the rain, wind, sun, and snow they would be exposed to. That was more than enough for them.
Vanity, envy, exasperation . . . in many ways, stones were just like people, with all the pride, insecurities, and emotions to match.
But the longer I listened, the more I realized that there was a . . . darkness in the stones. No, not just darkness—evil, evil intent.
It rippled throughout the entire site, from the bricks and cinder blocks outside to the fine marble and granite slabs housed indoors. A black, ominous, foreboding sense that someone here was capable of doing some very bad things at any moment—and had already committed some gruesome sins at this very spot. One particular stack of bricks practically hummed with harsh, murderous whispers, indicating that one or more of them had been used to bash someone’s head in and that the person hadn’t gotten back up from the brutal attack.
My own mood darkened in response to the stones’ cruel cries. I knew the cause of all the commotion: Cesar Vaughn. It was one more nail in the coffin of his guilt, as far as I was concerned. This was his compound, his business, his gin joint, so it only made sense that the stones would soak up his emotions and intentions, especially since he had the same power over them that I did. Stones tended to react even more to the elementals who could control them, sensing their primal connection to the elementals and reflecting back their actions more intensely.
But I shut the malicious murmurs out of my mind and kept heading toward the main office building, which was made out of lovely gray bricks. A few giants roamed through the site near the structure, shining their flashlights over the rows of equipment and the locks on the outbuildings, but their movements were slow, sloppy, and halfhearted. They weren’t expecting any trouble. Good.
I crouched in the shadows behind a pickup truck and waited until the giants had moved on to the next part of their security sweep. Then I sprinted the last thirty feet over to the headquarters. If I’d been doing the hit during business hours, I would have sauntered up to the front door, pulled it open, and marched right on inside, like I belonged here. But since there was a giant guard posted at the desk inside the entrance and this wasn’t exactly a business call, the direct approach was out.
Instead, I sidled all the way around the building until I reached a loading dock on the east side. The large metal door was shut and locked. Even if I’d had the strength to open it, it would have made far too much noise rattling upward. So I set my sights on a regular door in the wall a few feet away. I peered through the glass, but the hallway on the other side was empty, as I expected it to be. According to my calculations, Vaughn should be the only one still inside the building, besides the guard sitting at the front desk.
I took one more look around, this time reaching out and listening to the bricks’ murmurs for any hints of danger, surprise, or unease. But the same whispers as before echoed back to me, perhaps a touch darker as I got closer to my victim and my own murderous goal.
Satisfied that the coast was clear, I reached out and tried the doorknob. Locked, but I could fix that. I pulled off one of my gloves and held my hand out, palm up.
Then I reached for my Ice magic.
The power flowed through my veins, like a spring of cold crystal buried deep inside me. I could feel it the same way that I could hear the rasps of the gravel under my feet and the murmurs of the bricks that made up the building. But I couldn’t access it as easily. Every time I reached for that frosty power, it slid away, like frozen raindrops falling through my hands. Or maybe it only seemed that way because my Ice magic was so much weaker than my Stone power.