An eerie sense of déjà vu swept over me. Madeline and I were far more alike than I’d realized, if she had spent these last few weeks worrying about me as much as I had about her.
“Regardless,” she continued, “we have preparations to make, now that she’s finally out of the way. Have you contacted all the underworld bosses yet?”
“Of course. They’ve been glued to their phones, Twitter, and TVs, watching this all play out. They know you were here when everything went down, and I ordered McAllister to spread the word about what really happened to Blanco. How you trapped her in her own restaurant and then burned it down around her. The other bosses will fall in line. And if they don’t . . .” Emery shrugged again. “I’ll make sure that they do—one way or another.”
So Madeline hadn’t been torturing me and mine just for the sake of her own twisted delight. At least, not entirely. Instead, all of this, every single problem, accusation, and misfortune that she’d caused for us, had been part of her plan to take control of the underworld, just as I’d suspected. Now, with her crowning achievement of my murder making the gossip rounds, she was finally ready to consolidate her power.
I was so going to enjoy fucking things up for her.
But not tonight. No, tonight I needed to get to my family. Then, together, we could plot our counterstrike against Madeline, Emery, Jonah, and all the rest.
Madeline must have had the same thought that I did because she frowned. “What about Blanco’s friends and family? Where are they now? What are they planning? Is there any sign that she’s still alive and has made any sort of contact with them?”
Emery sighed. “There you go, being paranoid again. Blanco is dead. Good riddance.”
“And her family?” Madeline persisted in a much colder voice. She didn’t like having her top lieutenant question her sanity.
Emery grumbled under her breath, pulled out her phone, and started tap-tap-tapping the screen. “According to my sources, they’re all still holed up at Deveraux’s so-called beauty salon just like they have been all day long. No sign of Blanco, and no indication that she’s alive. See? I told you that you were worrying over nothing. Do you want my men to keep watching the salon?”
Madeline stared at the pig sign for several seconds. “No, they can leave. But I want you to go over to the coroner’s office for the autopsy first thing in the morning. I want to be absolutely certain that body is Blanco’s before we proceed with anything else.”
Emery sighed again, a little louder and deeper this time. “I don’t see the point of that. Your plan worked, and she’s dead. You should be celebrating your victory, not worrying over a ghost that’s never going to come back and haunt you again.”
Madeline slowly turned her head to stare at the giant, her green eyes glittering in the darkness. “Are you questioning my judgment?” Her voice was soft, but the threat in her words was as hot and caustic as the acid she could so easily create and control.
Despite her giant strength, Emery knew which of them was the more dangerous, and she immediately lowered her head in apology. “Of course not. I’ll call my men right now.”
“Good. And have the driver bring the car around. I’ve seen all that I care to here.”
The two of them strolled down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, turned the corner, and disappeared from sight.
For a mad, mad moment, I thought about palming one of the knives hidden up my many, many sleeves, charging after them, and burying the blade in Madeline’s back. But I resisted the temptation. I didn’t know what other deadly webs she might have woven, and I wanted to be sure that I knew each and every one of her schemes before I moved against her. Besides, even if I could have killed her, there were still far too many cops around for me to hope to get away with it.
So Madeline would live through this night, but not too many more.
I’d make sure of that.
* * *
When I was certain that Madeline and Emery weren’t coming back, I got to my feet and shuffled off in the other direction to start my long, cold trek up to Jo-Jo’s house.
So many things in my life had changed since Fletcher had taken me in when I was thirteen. It was strange to be right back where I’d started, so to speak, roaming the streets, looking out for danger, and trying to stay warm for the night. But in many ways, it was all too familiar.
The gang members clustered together at the corners, jeering at everyone who dared to scurry by them. The vampire hookers making their endless rounds up and down the sidewalks before ambling over to the cars that pulled over to the curbs. Their pimps, lounging against the storefront walls or hidden back in the alleys, waiting to take all the cash that their girls and guys earned plying their bodies for the night. The scent of fried food and puffs of warmth that escaped from the restaurants as people moved inside and back out again, greasy sacks of burgers and fries clutched in their hands. The dim glow of lights from the businesses that were still open that couldn’t quite banish the darkness on the streets beyond.
Oh, yes. It was all too familiar, and in a way strangely comforting. I almost felt like I’d stepped back in time to a younger version of myself, before Madeline had come to town, before I’d killed Mab, before I’d ever dreamed about becoming the Spider. Back when I was just trying to survive and get through one day at a time without getting murdered in my sleep for my threadbare clothes. Or maybe this was the same-old, same-old version of myself, since I was still just trying to get through one day at a time without getting murdered just for being me.
A few of the gangbangers thought about hassling me, but the stench of the garbage wafting off my body had them wrinkling their noses, cursing, and yelling at me to take a bath already. Normally, I might have flashed a knife at them, telling them exactly what they could do with their suggestions, but I kept my head down and shuffled on. Because Madeline had probably put the word out that she wanted to know about anyone and anything unusual or suspicious happening around the Pork Pit, and a homeless bum brandishing a silverstone weapon would be more than enough to ping her radar.
After I made it out of the downtown loop, the people, businesses, and lights got fewer and farther in between, replaced by cars that whiz-whiz-whizzed by me on the highway. I stayed well away from the edge of the road and kept my pace slow and steady. I hated wasting a second in letting everyone know that I was okay, but it couldn’t be helped, not without attracting unwanted attention to myself. They would understand. I hoped so, anyway.