I gave him a flat look.
"What?" he asked. "Don't tell me that you're blaming me for this fiasco?"
I kept staring at him.
"Okay, okay," he said. "I know that you didn't want to come here tonight in the first place. But how was I supposed to know that Clementine and her crew would try to rob the museum?"
"Because you're Finnegan Lane," I said. "And you're supposed to know everything that goes on in this town."
Finn straightened up and adjusted his black silk bow tie. "True," he said. "But I hadn't heard a whiff about tonight. And none of my sources has either. While you were getting patched up by Jo-Jo, I was getting patched in. Clementine kept her entire scheme under wraps, which is surprising, given how many giants were involved."
"Not Clementine," I said. "Her boss."
Finn blinked. "Boss? What boss? Did Clementine say that she had a boss before you dispatched her into the great beyond?"
I thought of how she had immediately known how to open the tube that held Mab's will and all the other things she'd said and done tonight, all the information she'd had about me and my loved ones.
"Not in so many words."
This time, Finn arched his eyebrow. "Well, what did she say, exactly? Or have you branched out into voodoo and decided to start reading blood spatters and weird stuff like that? Because she's certainly not going to tell you anything now."
"Interesting idea," I said. "And one that I should probably look into, given all the people I've killed tonight. I wouldn't mind some peeks into the future and getting a heads-up on all the trouble that's headed my way. But no, I didn't deduce anything from Clementine's blood - only that she was dead and I wasn't."
"So how are you going to figure out who orchestrated this?" Finn asked. "Because as skilled as you are, even you can't make the dead speak."
"Oh, the dead tell us plenty of things," I said. "And so do people when they're alive. Clementine gave me more than enough information to track down her boss, even if she didn't realize it."
Finn eyed me. "Have I mentioned how much I hate it when you're cryptic?"
I just laughed.
* * *
Finn went over to Bria to see if he could swipe a necklace or two for himself, but I stayed where I was and watched the coroner work. He'd finally gotten around to Jillian. In the chaos and confusion, her body had been rolled over to one side of the rotunda like it was a wad of dirt that needed to be swept up, instead of a beautiful, vibrant woman who'd been alive only a few short hours ago.
My heart ached with sadness, and I couldn't take my eyes off Jillian's dress - our dress. The scarlet fabric wrapped around her body like a bloody shroud. That's what it was now. She'd been killed because of it, because she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time and wearing the wrong damn dress.
And it was all my fault.
Oh, I knew that it was just bad timing, just bad, dumb, stupid luck that Jillian had stepped out of the bathroom before I had. Maybe if it had been me instead, I would have been able to avoid Dixon and the bullets he'd wanted to put in my skull. Maybe I would have been able to use my Stone magic to harden my skin before he pulled the trigger. Maybe I would have been able to kill Dixon and Clementine before they hurt anyone else.
Or maybe I would have been just as dead as Jillian was.
Either way, I'd never know, and an innocent woman had paid the price instead of me.
Owen walked over to me. We stood there and watched while the coroner and one of his assistants carefully loaded Jillian into a body bag.
After a moment, he sighed. "A couple of hours ago, I was talking to her, laughing with her. And now she's gone. It doesn't seem possible. It doesn't seem real."
"I know," I said. "I'm sorry. We talked a little in the bathroom before . . . it happened. She seemed . . . nice."
"She was nice," Owen said. "But I never should have brought her here tonight. And not just because of Clementine and everything that happened."
"What do you mean?"
He turned to face me. "I mean that Jillian was just a friend. She was in town so we could work out the details of a new business arrangement, and I mentioned the gala in passing to her. She asked if she could come along with me and Eva, and I said yes. She made it clear tonight that she wanted to be more than just friends and business associates, but I didn't. It didn't . . . feel right."
I nodded, accepting his explanation about why he'd been here with Jillian. "And that kiss you gave me in the vault? Have you thought any more about that? Because that definitely wasn't just a friendly kiss."
He hesitated, and pain seeped into his rugged features once more. "That doesn't feel right either. Or maybe it feels too right. I don't know anymore, Gin. I just don't know."
"It's okay," I said, my heart breaking once again. "I understand."
And I did understand. I had plenty of things in my life that haunted me - memories of the people I'd killed, the torture I'd endured, the horrible things I'd done just to survive. It was hard to be happy when I always had so much weighing me down, hard to think that I deserved any kind of peace, light, or love in my life. Now Owen was struggling with the same feelings, the same emotions, when it came to Salina. He didn't feel like he had a right to move on yet.
Just like I couldn't move on from Jillian's death.
Sure, I'd killed Dixon, Opal, and Clementine, the masterminds behind her murder, but it wasn't going to bring her back. I'd avenged Jillian the only way I knew how, and it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough, and it was one more thing that I was just going to have to live with.
Owen stayed right beside me until the coroner zipped up the black body bag, hiding Jillian's ruined face from sight, and started pushing the cart out of the rotunda.
"I should go," he finally said. "See how Phillip and Eva are doing. And try to find out if Jillian has any family that I need to contact."
I nodded, not sure what to say.
Owen reached out and touched my hand. Once again, that treacherous hope flared to life in my chest, even as he let go.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "I should have come over and asked you before, but I was . . . thinking about things."
I smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant expression. "You know me, Owen. I always find a way to survive."
"Yes," he said, his voice catching on that one word. "You do."
He stared at me, and I looked back at him. All the care, concern, worry, and pain of the night had left its mark, etching deep, harsh lines into his face, but I thought he was more handsome than ever. On impulse, I reached up and cupped his cheek with my hand. Owen turned his head, caught my hand in his, and pressed a kiss to my palm, right in the center of my spider rune scar, despite the blood, sweat, and grime that still covered us both.