It didn't surprise me that my son would die in such a sudden, violent manner. Jake never could keep his mouth shut or stay out of trouble, and it was only a matter of time before the spoiled brat pissed off the wrong person. But the location was certainly shocking. I thought Mab was going to kill me right there in the bathtub, along with Jake, for bringing such embarrassment to her. Murdering someone inside Mab's mansion . . . well, only she was allowed to do that. Everyone in Ashland knew that you stayed on your best behavior whenever you were at Mab's. But Blanco didn't seem to care. I never figured out if she'd killed Jake just for spite or if my son had threatened her again in some way that night. Probably both.
I immediately suspected Blanco had had something to do with Jake's death, given his problems with her, although I couldn't figure out how she had gotten past security and into the mansion. She certainly wasn't the sort of person who normally got an invitation to one of Mab's parties. Despite my suspicions that she was somehow involved, no one believed me and no one listened to me - not Mab and not Elliot. But I knew in my heart who had killed my son, and I was determined to get my revenge. I might not have particularly cared for Jake - might have always found him to be a bitter disappointment, a small-minded buffoon with no self-discipline or real ambition - but he was still my son, and nobody messed with the McAllisters.
Ever since then, planning Ms. Blanco's death was an amusing pastime of mine. I was quite happy when Elliot finally beat and questioned her about Jake's death one night at the community college. But Blanco's fake whimpers, crocodile tears, and ragged whispers of fear fooled the others, and Mab didn't let Elliot kill her then the way I wanted him to. Now the giant was dead - blasted to hell with a shotgun, thanks to Blanco - and so was Mab.
I stared at the portrait of the Fire elemental. Even in death, her face was as familiar to me as my own. Sometimes it felt like I'd spent a lifetime intensely staring at Mab's features, trying to interpret what the slightest quirk of her mouth or the faintest lift of her eyebrow really meant. I'd had to, in order to keep her happy without getting burned myself - in more ways than one. Mab had never been shy about showing her anger - and magic - to those who displeased her.
In some ways, I was relieved she was dead. I'd been her father Marcus's lawyer first, and when Mab killed him in an elemental duel and took over his business interests, I quickly swore my allegiance to her in the name of self-preservation. I think it amused her to keep me on, knowing that I would do anything to please her - and anything to save myself from her fiery wrath.
Still, it was never easy working for Mab. More than once, I went into a room with her wondering if I would live to walk out of it again. And more than once, I saw her use her Fire magic to its full and deadliest effect. I never quite got used to the stench and sizzle of burning flesh, but those things might as well have been Mab's perfume and anthem, as often as I smelled and heard them over the years.
The stress of working for her father and then Mab herself took its toll - aging me before my time. I was gray by the time I was thirty and looked sixty when I was forty - at least until I started a strict regimen of diet, exercise, and Air elemental facial treatments. I kept the silver in my hair, though. It gave me a gravitas I enjoyed.
Despite the stress, I was smart and shrewd and most important I was a survivor. More than once, I blamed my mistakes on someone else, even planting the evidence to back up my charges, if necessary. Mab then took out her fiery rage on the other party accordingly, instead of me. If she knew I was really the one who'd screwed up, well, she either didn't care or she liked watching me dance to her tune too much to murder me. Dance, Jonah, dance. At least, that's what I told myself.
But now the reality of the situation, of a life without Mab, was staring at me - hundreds of eyes, in fact, all staring at me.
Everyone who was anyone in the Ashland underworld had turned out for the funeral, as well as those in legitimate business circles in the city and beyond, but I paid attention only to the other crime bosses. Folks like Ron Donaldson with his bad comb-over and bulging belly; the always mysterious Beauregard Benson; and Lorelei Parker, her soft, lush body at odds with her ruthless nature.
I greeted them all in turn as they arrived, shaking hands and exchanging meaningless pleasantries, but I heard the not-so-subtle whispers as soon as I turned my back to them.
"Not so high and mighty these days, is he?"
"Not without Mab."
"Poor Jonah. It must be hard to know how irrelevant he is now."
Yes, all the other bosses were there supposedly to pay their respects to Mab, but really they were all just sizing each other up and plotting how they could take the Fire elemental's place. Now they were all staring at me, sitting alone in the front row, without Mab beside me.
It was still hard for me to believe that she was gone. I kept turning to my right, expecting her to be perched next to me, ready to ask her if she needed anything, ready to peer into her eyes, study her face, and sweat about what I needed to do to keep her happy today. But Mab was dead, thanks to Blanco, and I was all alone. I knew what the other bosses were thinking: that I would be easy to dispose of now that the Fire elemental was gone.
I was determined to show them just how wrong they were.
Oh, I knew that I wasn't a leader. Not really. I didn't have the brawn or the raw magic for that. Not as a human, not in Ashland, with all its dwarves, giants, elementals, and vampires. No, I was much better in a managerial position, taking care of legal matters that inevitably cropped up whenever you got your hands dirty with drugs, gambling, prostitution, extortion, and all the other crimes everyone loved to commit, oversee, and profit from in the city.
I'd put out a few subtle feelers, offering my services and expertise to some of the more established and respected crime bosses, including Phillip Kincaid, but all my advances had been rebuffed thus far. Kincaid had declined my services, as had Benson. At least they knew enough to be polite about things. Donaldson had laughed in my face, while Parker had had her giant bodyguards simply pick me up - chair and all - remove me from her office, take me outside, and dump me in the street like trash. I wasn't going to forget those slights. No, I had plans for Donaldson, Parker, and everyone else who'd mocked me these last few weeks.
I'd had a few offers for work come in, but all from those I considered beneath me, minor thugs who were too stupid to last very long, like Wallace Conroy, a vampire pimp who had on the most garish black crushed-velvet suit I'd ever had the misfortune to see. He looked like he was wearing a love seat for a jacket. Conroy noticed me staring at him and waved at me, as if it were perfectly polite to flap his hand around during a funeral service. Even worse, the motion caused the thick gold bracelet on his wrist to flash in the light. No class, no manners, and absolutely no brains. I turned away in disgust.