"That's strange too, isn't it?" I asked. "Shouldn't McAllister have done whatever he needed to do with Mab's will by now? Why would she arrange it so the contents were announced here?"
He shrugged. "Maybe so she could have one last hurrah, even if she's not around to actually enjoy it."
"Or maybe she didn't fully trust McAllister to see that her wishes were carried out."
"Would you?"
"Good point."
"But enough about all that," Finn said, straightening his bow tie just a bit. "We're at a party, the night is young, and I look fabulous." He paused a moment. "And so do you."
"Good to know where I stand in your list of priorities. Although I don't know if fabulous is the word I would use," I muttered, and crossed my arms over my chest. "I told you that I at least wanted something with sleeves."
"And I told you that sometimes you just have to suffer for fashion."
I gave him a sour look, which he totally ignored.
Still, I had to admit he was right. I had cleaned up pretty well tonight, thanks to the dress Finn had picked out. The scarlet gown had a tight fitted top that emphasized the smooth skin of my arms and shoulders, while the front of the bodice swooped down to show off what assets I had there. Scarlet teardrop-shaped crystals decorated the seams that cinched in around my waist, adding some sparkle to the gown, before the fabric fell away into a long, flowing skirt, also dotted here and there with crystals. As I walked, the skirt swirled out around me, the slits in it showing teasing flashes of my legs. Finn had even insisted on my buying shoes the same color to match, although I'd held my ground and had picked a pair with a relatively low, two-inch heel instead of the sky-high pumps he'd tried to browbeat me into getting.
The gown was beautiful - certainly more beautiful than I was - but I couldn't help but feel exposed it in. The top left my arms bare, which meant that I couldn't carry knives up my sleeves like I usually did. Still, I hadn't come to the museum completely weaponless: two blades were strapped to my thighs underneath the long skirt, just in case. I would have preferred to be carrying my full five-point arsenal, so to speak, but two knives were usually enough to get the job done, especially when I was the one wielding them.
Still, I couldn't help but listen to the tense, worried mutters of the stone around me - mutters that had only gotten louder and sharper since we'd entered the rotunda.
And it wasn't just the stone's whispers that made me wary. There were increasingly more giants inside the museum than there had been outside, until it seemed like they were everywhere I turned in the rotunda. Most of the giants were dressed as waiters, but really, they were just glorified guards in black bow ties. They'd be ready to deal quickly, brutally, and efficiently with any problems that might arise. In fact, there were more giant waiters in the room than there were personal bodyguards. I supposed that some of the movers and shakers thought they'd be safe enough at such a public event and had left their muscle at home for the night.
Even so, the giants didn't bother me as much as the stares, snubs, and whispers. Opal wasn't the only person who recognized me, and more than one person turned in my direction to gawk. Apparently, an assassin attending such a high-society event was something of a shock. Please. I'd snuck into my share of their fancy parties over the years to get close to a target - and more than one person had died before the last bit of bubbly was drunk. Or perhaps they thought it was gauche of me to show my face at an event commemorating the woman I'd killed. As if they all hadn't wanted Mab dead for years.
Most folks limited themselves to whispering about me or turning their backs to me, but a few of the underworld figures had more interesting reactions. Ron Donaldson openly pouted at the fact that I was still breathing. I'd killed three of his men last month when they'd ambushed me outside the Pork Pit. Lorelei Parker was another petulant pouter. She'd sent two of her men after me just last week, and I had Sophia send them back to her in pieces.
Oh, yes. Tension rippled through the crowd with every move I made. But even beyond that, a nervous edge crackled in the air. I couldn't quite put my finger on the source of it, but I felt it all the same, buzzing around like lightning getting ready to streak down from the sky and fry someone to a crisp - me, most likely.
"Well, I think you look fabulous," Finn repeated. "Now, what do you say we get some champagne and have a look at Mab's loot?"
I snorted. "You're just trying to butter me up so you can get your way."
"Is it working?"
I sighed. "Doesn't it always?"
Finn grinned at me.
So I shut the stones' murmurs out of my mind and ignored the folks whispering about me, determined at least to try to have a good time.
We grabbed some champagne and spent the next few minutes wandering around the rotunda. Actually, Finn dragged me from one group of people to the next, cozying up to all of his clients, saying hello to everyone he knew, and introducing himself to the few folks who hadn't yet had the supreme pleasure of his acquaintance.
Finnegan Lane was one of the best investment bankers in Ashland, and he'd made a lot of people in this room a lot of money. We wouldn't take more than three steps before Finn would wave at someone he knew or a woman would sidle up and plant a coy, perfumed kiss on his cheek. Finally, after the fifth time that happened, I motioned at Finn that I was going on without him. He absently waved his hand at me and turned back to his apparently riveting conversation about tax shelters with a wizened dwarf wearing a dozen ropes of black pearls.
While Finn held court, I moved off into the crowd. I wandered from one display to the next, ignoring the awed whispers about my being the Spider and disappointed mutters about why I wasn't dead yet. Instead, I concentrated on all of the things Mab had collected over the years. Most of the items were exactly what I'd expected: pricey paintings, large sculptures, small, detailed carvings, even a few silk wall tapestries. Nothing too exciting or interesting. In fact, I was rather disappointed by the whole thing. Given how cruel and vicious Mab had been, I'd expected there to be something noteworthy on display, maybe a gun she'd used to kneecap someone, a knife she'd chopped off an enemy's fingers with, a bit of rope she'd wrapped around someone's throat and choked them into compliance with.
But I should have known that Mab wouldn't have had anything like that. She'd preferred using her Fire magic to hurt, torture, burn, and kill people. She hadn't needed anything else. No props, no weapons, no help from her giant guards. Just the mention of her name had been enough to inspire abject terror - and rightly so.