"I always wondered if you remembered me," Bria whispered. "If you remembered mother and Annabella. If you ever thought about them or me or what happened that night. If you ever missed them as much as I did. If you ever missed me as much as I missed you."
She turned to look at me, the memories and sadness blackening her pretty face like ugly bruises. Only these were wounds that would never fade, because I carried the scars with me just like she did-right on my torn, tattered heart.
"You remembered and thought about them just as much as I did."
I tried to smile, but my face felt stiff and frozen. "How could I forget?"
How could anyone forget what had happened that night? Watching my mother and Annabella disappear into balls of elemental Fire, realizing they were dead, then staring down at their ashy remains and trying not to vomit from the charred stench. It wasn't something I'd ever forget, but I didn't tell Bria that. She had her own horrible memories of that night.
I let out a long sigh. As terrible as that night had been, as much as it had scarred me on the inside and out, as much as it had shaped me into who and what I was, into the Spider, there was nothing that I could do about it. Memories never did anyone any good, and weepy sentiment was for fools too weak to suck it up and do what needed to be done.
What mattered now was keeping Bria safe and finding some way for me to get close enough to Mab to turn the Fire elemental into a pincushion with my silverstone knives. Protecting the people that I loved. That's what I had to focus on right now.
"Come on," I said, getting to my feet. "It's been a long day. Let's get you cleaned up, and then I'll show you where your bedroom is."
Once Bria was tucked away for the night in a room down the hall, I took a hot shower to wash Jenkins's blood off me, then crawled into my own bed. I stared at the ceiling and let out another sigh, resigned to what was going to happen now.
Ever since Fletcher's murder, I'd been having dreams. Horrible, horrible dreams. No, that wasn't quite right. The images weren't so much dreams as they were memories of my past. Try as I might, I couldn't stop the dreams from coming, couldn't keep the memories from bubbling up to the surface of my subconscious. Tonight was no exception. Even as I felt myself slipping under into slumber, the colors, sounds, and smells began to flash in front of my eyes...
The sound woke me. A murmur of unease that pressed against my temple like a cold washcloth. I concentrated on the sound, staring into the blackness that cloaked my bed. After a moment, I realized that it was the stone of our mansion. Something had upset it. The stones whispered all around me, the mutters growing louder, sharper, and more frantic with every second. Warning of danger... danger... danger...
I frowned. Danger? Here?
I slid out of my soft, warm bed, threw on a fleece robe, and stuffed my bare feet into my favorite blue slippers. Then I eased open the door and peeked outside. Small spotlights illuminated the hallway. Everything seemed normal. Maybe the stones were wrong. But I couldn't shake the dread that the element had stirred in me.
My nose twitched, and I realized that the faintest scent of smoke hung in the air. I drew in another breath, and the scent intensified, taking on a harsher, bitter stench. Was the house on fire? That would certainly be enough to upset the stones.
A bit of white fluttered at the end of the hallway, and I stuck my head farther outside my door. Annabella, my older sister, crouched in front of the curling, iron banister that overlooked the main living room on the first floor. Icicles thicker than my chubby fingers hung off the railing like jagged, misshapen teeth, and my sister's cold breath frosted in the air, then fluttered to the floor in a shower of snowflakes. Even at eighteen, Annabella's magic was still wild and uncontrollable, manifesting whenever she was angry or emotional. I wondered what had bothered her so much now-and why she was up at two in the morning.
"Annabella?" I whispered.
Her head snapped around to me. "Get back in your room, Genevieve!"
Her sharp, hissed tone made the dread in my stomach swell up, as though I'd somehow swallowed one of the muttering stones. But instead of doing as she asked, I hurried toward her. A sudden crack made my heart slam up into my throat. Was that a gunshot?
My legs wobbled, and I fell to my knees beside Annabella. She had the same beautiful blond hair and blue eyes as our mother, Eira, and resembled an icy angel in her long, white nightgown.
"What's wrong?" I whispered.
"Men. Inside the mansion," Annabella said. "They've already killed some of the servants."
My eyes widened. "Men? Why? What do they want? Money?"
Annabella shook her head. Either she didn't know or she just didn't want to tell me. But the worry pinching her face was more than enough to scare me. Whoever the men were, whatever they wanted, it couldn't be anything good. Not now, not this late at night.
"Mom heard them breaking in," Annabella said. "She told me to wait here until she came back. She's going to try to stop them."
I nodded, feeling better. Our mother was strong-the strongest elemental that I knew. Her Ice magic would be enough to protect her. Still, I reached for the spider rune that dangled from the chain around my throat. Toying with the small circle was a nervous habit of mine, one that I was trying to break. The silverstone medallion felt cold, smooth, and hard in my hand. I don't know why touching it always comforted me, but it did.
Until the body flew through the air.
The giant slammed into the stone fireplace before rolling off and landing on the floor. The force of his body hitting the fireplace caused the snow globes on the mantel above to wobble and fall. One by one, they slipped off their high, lofty perch and shattered on the stone below, a horrible symphony of sound.
The giant might have cared about all the shards of glass shredding his skin-if he'd still been alive. I didn't need Annabella to tell me that he was dead-and that our mother had killed him with her magic. Elemental Ice coated the man's face, an inch thick in some places, giving his features a strange, bluish tinge. Even his teeth were blue, his mouth open in a silent scream.
Our mother had used her Ice magic to flash-freeze him. That was bad enough, but I couldn't help but wonder why there were giants in the house in the first place. What was going on? What could they possibly want from us?
A second later, my mother ran into the downstairs room, stopping just inside the far doorway. My mother whirled around, and I realized that there was another figure behind her. The person was standing in the next room over, so all I could see of her were her hands.
Her bright, burning, flaming hands.