Finally, her eyes met mine. When she saw that I was merely curious and not completely enraptured by her, the woman's gaze went past me. But that same small, satisfied smile curved her lips again. Instead of taking the chair McAllister had pulled out for her, she headed in my direction.
I grabbed my purse from where I'd put it on the table. It only took a second for me to flip open the top and palm the silverstone blade nestled inside the black satin fabric, just in case. She was here with McAllister, after all. That didn't necessarily make her my enemy, but it certainly didn't make her my friend either.
Owen was engrossed in eating the last bite of his cheesecake, so he didn't see her approach us and stop on the opposite side of the table from where we were sitting. I'd thought the woman would say something to me, perhaps even make some snide, cliched comment about my being the Spider, but I was surprised once again when she ignored me and fixed her gaze on my lover instead.
Owen pushed his plate away and sighed with contentment. "I know we're here on Finn's dime, but that cheesecake was worth every penny - "
For the first time, he realized someone was staring at him. Owen looked up at the stranger, and his face went white with shock - as pale and stunned and bloodless as I'd ever seen it. His eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and the napkin he'd been about to put on the table slipped from his suddenly slack fingers and fluttered to the floor.
All the while, the mystery woman just stared at him, that small, satisfied smile still on her lips, stretching a bit wider and looking far more smug now.
"Hello, Owen, darling," she said.
Owen just sort of - sagged. His hands thudded down on the table, and his whole body pitched forward, as if the mere sight of her had turned his bones to jelly. He continued to sit there, a stunned expression on his face, as though he couldn't quite believe there was a woman standing in front of him - that this particular woman was standing in front of him. Whoever she was, he obviously knew her and was floored by her appearance - as floored as I'd been when I'd seen Donovan Caine, an old lover of mine, a few weeks ago. Hmm.
"Don't you have anything to say?" she asked. "Or perhaps a hug for an old friend?"
Her voice was soft, sweet, and utterly feminine, with the kind of faint dulcet chiming that made me think of water rushing down a mountainside. A hypnotizing voice - one that could persuade a man to do all sorts of things. Up close, I could see that her eyes were somewhere between blue and green - aquamarine, some folks might say. Their color seemed to constantly shift from one to the other and back again, churning like the sea.
"Owen?" she asked again.
"Of course," he said in a faint voice. He pushed his chair back and got to his feet.
Owen hesitated, then held out his hand, but the woman ignored his gesture and stepped into his arms, molding herself to his body and pressing her br**sts against his chest. He hesitated again, then awkwardly patted her on the back before stepping out of her embrace as fast as he could. Amused by his attempts to disentangle himself from her, she did everything she could to slow his getaway.
Her antics did not amuse me - not one little bit. Especially since the woman was staring at my lover like she'd very much like to have him for dessert. Like it was almost a forgone conclusion that she would, despite my presence at the table.
Finally, she tore her gaze away from Owen long enough to glance at me. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"
"Of course," he echoed again. "Salina Dubois, this is Gin Blanco. Gin, Salina."
I discreetly tucked my knife back into my purse, closed the top, and put it down on the table. Then I got to my feet. Salina held out her hand to me, the same remote expression on her face that she'd shown McAllister - the one that told me just how very far beneath her and unimportant she thought I was.
Still, I took her hand. Even assassins could be polite on occasion. Her grip was firm, and her fingers felt cool against my own. I felt the tiniest trace of magic emanating from her, so faint I wondered if it was just my imagination.
Some elementals constantly gave off invisible waves of magic even when they weren't actively using their power, like embers throwing off heat. I concentrated, and once again I felt a faint flicker of magic. So Salina was an elemental, then. For a moment I thought that perhaps she had Ice magic, but her power didn't seem quite cold enough for that. No, her magic felt . . . softer and more fluid, like a raindrop sluicing across my skin. Perhaps she was just a weak Ice elemental, or maybe she was gifted in an offshoot power, like water.
We shook, but I didn't immediately let go of her hand afterward. Instead, I held on and turned it to the side, staring at the silverstone bracelet on her right wrist. The cuff was more than two inches wide and had a vaguely Egyptian design to it, like something an ancient queen might have worn. Delicate loops and whorls had been etched into the center of the cuff, along with a rune - a mermaid with long, flowing hair, a curled-up tail, and a serene smile.
Elementals, dwarves, giants, vampires - practically all of the magically inclined in Ashland and beyond used runes to identify themselves, their power, their families, and their businesses. So it didn't surprise me that Salina had her own personal rune. In fact, it seemed especially suited for her, since a mermaid was the symbol for deadly beauty. I could easily imagine Salina perched on a rock somewhere, wearing nothing but a seashell bra and a smile, luring sailors to their watery deaths with a mere crook of her finger.
What bothered me was that it seemed like she'd done the same thing to Owen once upon a time, judging from the way he couldn't stop staring at her.
But more than that, something about Salina's mermaid rune seemed familiar to me, like I'd seen the shape somewhere before - and her too. I could almost feel a memory wiggling around, trying to break through to the surface of my mind. Strange, because I should have remembered meeting someone like Salina. She was the sort of person who was hard to forget, if the reaction of all the men, and some of the women, in the room was any indication.
"What a beautiful bracelet," I murmured.
I traced my left index finger over the mermaid rune and realized that I was getting the same sensation from the bracelet I was off Salina's hand - one of cool, constant motion. So she used the cuff to store her magic then, like so many elementals did their silverstone rings, watches, and necklaces.
Salina pulled her hand out of mine and made a pointed show of rubbing my fingerprints off the cuff's glossy surface. "A family heirloom."
"Charming."
We smiled at each other, being painstakingly polite the way Southern women so often were, even though our eyes were flat and emotionless. Instant dislike on both sides.