"Anything?" a harsh voice rasped.
I walked back out into the storefront and looked at the source of the voice: Sophia Deveraux, the dwarf who was the head cook at the Pit and chief Spider-related body dumper. Sophia had sat in one of the booths, calm and cool as could be, while I checked for traps, but she was causing quite a stir on the street outside, as people saw her through the windows and stopped to stare at her.
That's because Sophia was Goth. Today, the dwarf wore her usual black boots and jeans, topped off by a white T-shirt that had a bright red cherry bomb in the center of it - one with a lit fuse. The bomb's scarlet color matched the spiked silverstone collar ringing her neck and the cuffs on her wrists. Her lipstick was as black as her hair, and smoky shadow arched over her dark eyes as well, making her face seem as pale as the moon in comparison.
I eyed the cherry bomb T-shirt, wondering if Sophia had worn it as some sort of joke, given the volatile nature of the Ashland underworld these days. It was hard to tell with her sometimes. The dwarf didn't talk much due to her voice, which had been ruined years ago when she'd been forced to breathe in elemental Fire.
"Anything?" Sophia asked again, sounding like there was a cheese grater scraping against her vocal cords.
"Nope," I replied. "Nobody left us any nasty surprises. So you can go into the alley out back and tell the waitstaff to come on in."
Sophia nodded, got up, and walked the length of the restaurant before pushing through the swinging double doors that led into the back.
I looked over the storefront a final time, double-checking to make sure I hadn't missed anything. Checking out the Pit was something I did every morning now, given all the folks who would love to see me dead. In addition to using them as their personal or business symbols, elementals could also imbue runes with their magic and get those symbols to flare to life and perform specific functions - like firebombing my restaurant and hopefully killing me in the process. It would be far too easy for a Fire elemental to casually stroll by the restaurant late one night, pause a moment, and trace an incendiary rune into the wooden doorframe that would erupt in flames as soon as I opened the front door the next morning.
So far, no one had tried that particular trick, but it was only a matter of time before someone thought of it - and I planned to be ready when they did. That was why I checked the restaurant, and it was why I kept an eye on all the diners who scarfed down the thick, hearty, barbecue sandwiches and other greasy Southern treats Sophia and I served up at the Pit.
Satisfied that no one had laid any traps for me, I flipped the sign on the door over to Open and moved back behind the counter to start cooking for the day.
Given the warm, bright, inviting May sunshine, it didn't take long for folks to leave their offices, head outside, and flock to the restaurant in search of an early lunch. Catalina Vasquez and the rest of the waitstaff seated everyone and took their orders, before bustling back over with their drinks a few minutes later. Meanwhile, Sophia and I manned the ovens, the stoves, and the french fryers. I also mixed up a batch of Fletcher's secret barbecue sauce and set that pot on one of the back burners to simmer away. I breathed in, enjoying how the sauce's spicy cumin kick mixed with all the other rich, dense flavors in the air.
In between cooking and dishing up food, my gaze went from one diner to the next, but they were all focused on their meals and companions. Oh, they still watched me, of course, giving me quick glances out of the corners of their eyes when they thought I wasn't looking. After all, I was rumored to be the Spider, the assassin who'd killed the supposedly unkillable Mab Monroe. The whispers were more widespread among the underworld denizens, but they were slowly starting to circulate among regular folks as well. Hell, I was something of a tourist attraction in Ashland these days, and people came from near and far just to get a glimpse of me, sit in my restaurant, and eat my food. I'd even heard rumors that some particularly enterprising soul was selling T-shirts with the slogan I ate at the Pork Pit . . . and lived! emblazoned on them, but so far no one had been bold enough to wear one inside the restaurant.
I gazed around the storefront once more, but none of the current crop of customers looked like the type who'd come here to cause trouble or try to murder me, so I went back to my cooking. Maybe today would be a calm day. I hoped so. I needed some time to think about Owen, Salina, and what her reappearance might really mean to my lover - and how I could keep her from messing up what I had with Owen.
But it wasn't to be - because Phillip Kincaid strolled into the restaurant around two o'clock.
Kincaid had sandy blond hair that was slicked back into a low ponytail and strong, pronounced cheekbones a model would have been envious of. He wore a dark blue suit that showed off the strength of his tall, thick body, and he looked almost as good in the expensive threads as Finn did in one of his designer duds. Kincaid wasn't movie star handsome - not like Finn - but there was something about him that caught your eye and made you take a second look. Something in the easy, confident way he carried himself, and the coldness in his vivid blue eyes.
Despite his striking looks, Kincaid was on my radar for another, less pleasant reason: he happened to be one of Ashland's top underworld sharks, with a network of giant enforcers and other rough types who worked for him. Kincaid had been one of the few heavy hitters who'd dared to go toe-to-toe with Mab when she'd been alive. Now that the Fire elemental was dead, Kincaid had even more power, as he'd spent the last few months picking up some of the pieces of her old empire and consolidating them into his own operations.
The last time I'd seen Kincaid had been on his luxe riverboat casino, the Delta Queen, back in the fall. I'd gone to one of his parties to kill Elliot Slater, a giant who was stalking and terrorizing a friend of mine. I'd never spoken to or had any real interaction with Kincaid, other than watching him smile at me at Mab's funeral, but we both knew who the other was.
I expected to see a giant bodyguard or two step into the restaurant behind Kincaid, but the door swung shut behind him. Phillip Kincaid, walking into my gin joint all by his lonesome. Interesting. Somehow, though, I didn't think he was here for the food, no matter how good it was.
Sophia heard the bell over the front door chime when Kincaid opened it, and she looked up from the warm sourdough buns she was slicing. She recognized him too, her black lips flattening out into a thin, hard line.
"Trouble?" the dwarf asked, her fingers tightening around the bread knife in her hand.
"We'll see," I murmured. "Stand by for now."