Tired and disgusted, I headed toward the door. I reached over to flip the light off to go back to bed when something winked at me from one of the bookcases. I looked over and noticed a crystal paperweight sitting on the shelf-one that I'd never seen before. Of course, I hadn't been in Fletcher's office for quite some time before he'd died. Curious, though, I walked over to the bookcase. It took me only half a second to realize that the paperweight was shaped like a small circle surrounded by eight thin rays.
A spider rune. My rune.
But the real kicker was the slim folder underneath the glinting crystal.
Unlike the other manila folders that littered the rest of the room, this one was the same dark brown as the bookcase, which made it practically invisible, along with the fact that most of it had been shoved back and under the books on that particular shelf. It looked like something Fletcher had just put on the bookcase and forgotten about, but I knew it was more than that. The spider rune-shaped paperweight told me as much. Fletcher had left it here for me to find. It was just my own fault that I hadn't bothered to look for it-until now.
My hands shaking just a bit, I slipped the folder off the bookshelf. For Gin, the old man's handwriting scrawled across the front in silver ink. I stared at the words a moment, then went over, sat down behind the desk, opened the folder, and started to read.
It was all there, written down in black-and-white.
Everything Fletcher Lane had observed about my family, every open door and unlocked window at our mansion, every single plan he'd made to get the job done when Mab had hired him, had hired the Tin Man, to assassinate my family.
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.