And then the worst thing of all happened. Delov's fist actually connected with Fletcher's chest.
Fletcher cursed and stumbled back. Delov surged forward, looking to press his advantage, but the old man grabbed a copper pot from a rack above his head and smashed it into Delov's face. The giant growled in pain. He staggered and slipped on some of the broken dishes that littered the floor, going down on one knee.
But instead of regaining his feet, Delov fumbled with one of the cabinet doors below the sink, yanked it open, and reached inside. A second later, the glint of a gun appeared in his hand.
"Run!" Fletcher yelled at me. "Run!"
The old man had taught me to obey his orders no matter what when we were out on a job, so he didn't have to tell me twice. I turned and ran, with him right behind me.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Bullets chased us down the hallway, and the acrid stench of gunpowder burned through the air, overpowering the moldy cheeses. Fletcher and I darted into a sitting room, raced through it and out into another hallway on the far side. We zigzagged through the third floor of the mansion, never taking the obvious, straight route but moving toward our escape point all the while.
Delov must have stopped to reload or maybe grab another gun from somewhere, because we quickly outran him, and I didn't hear any sounds coming from behind us. But just before we got to the balcony and the stairs that would serve as our exit, Fletcher put a hand on my shoulder.
"Stop, Gin," he mumbled behind me. "Or at least slow down."
Slow down? We couldn't afford to slow down, not while we were still in the mansion. Delov having a gun was bad enough, but if the giant caught us, he could always beat us to death with his fists. They were almost as big as the wheels of cheese he'd been cutting into.
Still, it was an order from Fletcher, so I stopped and turned around - and that's when I realized he was bleeding. An ugly bullet hole had ruined his blue work shirt, close to where his left lung would be.
I gasped. "You're hurt!"
Fletcher tried to smile, but his green eyes crinkled with pain. "Looks that way."
For the first time, I heard the hoarse, raspy wheeze in his voice. It sounded like the bullet had done something to his lung, maybe even punctured or collapsed it, which meant I needed to get him to Jo-Jo - right now.
"Come on," I whispered, putting my arm under his shoulder and preparing myself to drag him the rest of the way out of the house, across the grounds, and into the woods. "I'm getting you out of here."
Fletcher shook his head. "No. Not before the job's done. We have to get Delov tonight. This is our best chance - our only chance. All of his guards are gone. It's just him and us. We have to end him now."
"But you're hurt," I pointed out. "And he has a gun. Maybe more than one by now. You always told me that it was okay to walk away from a botched job. And we both know that I messed this one up."
Fletcher shook his head again. "A dog barked. It happens, Gin, even to the best of us."
He bent over and started coughing. He put his hand to his mouth, but I still saw the blood trickle out between his fingers.
"Here, at least sit down," I said, helping him over to a nearby chair. "Rest for a few seconds, and then we'll get out of here."
"No," Fletcher said, his mouth settling into a thin, stubborn line. "I made a promise to the Kilroy family, and I intend to keep it. Besides, I'll be easy pickings for Delov now. We both know how fond he is of taking care of his dirty work himself."
In addition to his love of gourmet food, Delov also fancied himself something of a hunter, and more than one poor animal's head decorated the walls of his mansion. He even had a poaching trip planned for his time in the Keys. So I had no doubt that Delov would relish the challenge of tracking us down.
Fletcher couldn't kill the giant. Not now, not with that injury.
But I could.
"Give me your knife," I whispered.
He stared at me in surprise. "You don't have to do this, Gin. I can finish it. I can - "
Another coughing fit cut off his words, and more blood dribbled down the sides of his fingers, even though he tried to hide it from me.
Fletcher looked at me, his green eyes searching mine. "Can you do it, Gin? Are you ready for this?"
I stared at the knife still clutched in his hand. The silverstone gleamed like a sharp star in the semidarkness. I'd killed people before. Buried men in the falling stones of my childhood home. Stabbed a giant to death inside the Pork Pit. And I'd watched Fletcher kill a dozen more.
But this - this was different. Before, I'd lashed out at the others in the heat of the moment. Because they'd threatened me, hurt me, and I'd just been defending myself. But tonight I'd come here knowing that Delov would die. I just hadn't thought that I'd be the one to do it.
It was one thing to watch - it was another to twist the knife in coldly myself.
Maybe - maybe I wasn't as ready to be an assassin as I thought I was.
But there was nothing to be done about that paralyzing thought. No changing it, no fixing it, no time to think about it. Because it was him or us now, and I'd pick us every single time, no matter what it cost me in the end.
I hesitated a moment longer, then took the weapon from Fletcher. "I can do it."
"I know you can," he whispered back.
"Come on," I said, helping him to his feet. "I'll help you find someplace to hide. Then I'll go look for Delov."
Fletcher nodded, in too much pain to do anything else. I put my arm under his shoulder again and led him deeper into the house, back toward Delov, ready to do what needed to be done . . .
My eyes fluttered open, and it took me a few seconds to remember where I was. That I was safe in bed in Fletcher's house and not being stalked by a giant with a gun and a grudge. I let out a breath, trying to calm my racing heart and banish the rest of the memories. Slowly, far too slowly, they finally faded away.
I didn't know what had triggered this specific memory of Fletcher and Delov. It certainly wasn't the worst one I had. In fact, it was pretty mild compared with some of the other things I'd seen, done, and been through over the years. But something about that night felt particularly important - and ominous, almost like it was a warning of things to come.
I wasn't an Air elemental, so I never got any glimpses of the future, not like Jo-Jo did. But I couldn't help but think that something was stirring all the same. Something dark, something dangerous, something that might finally be the death of me.
But then again, this was just a dream, just one of many terrible memories I'd collected over the years, and no doubt more were on the way.