Deadly Sting

scarfing down baked phyllo cups stuffed with creamy gourmet chicken-apple salad, pineapple boats piled high with a light, airy mixture of cream cheese and toasted slivered almonds, and mini fruit tarts topped with fresh blackberries, raspberries, and strawberries.

“You should make these mac-and-cheese things at the restaurant,” Finn said, popping another one into his mouth. “Because they are absolutely divine.”

I grabbed one off the tray and bit into it. The crust was crispy, buttery, and golden brown, while the inside was the perfect temperature—not too hot to burn your tongue but warm enough that the sharp cheddar cheese still melted in your mouth.

“Not bad,” I said after I’d finished it. “But they could use some more cheese and a bit of spicy kick in the filling. A dash or two of cayenne pepper or maybe even a sprinkle of cumin to give it some smoky heat.”

Finn huffed. “Well, I think they’re pretty good just the way they are. If you’re going to criticize, then I’m eating the rest of them.”

“Knock yourself out.”

One by one, Finn devoured every single thing on the tray. When it was empty, he looked mournfully at the crumbs on the smooth silver surface, his mouth turning down into a pout. Then a waiter passed by with another tray of champagne, and Finn perked right back up. He bowed and gallantly handed the empty tray to the waiter in exchange for a glass of bubbly.

“Now, on to more important matters,” Finn said, after his thirst had been quenched. He stabbed his finger in Owen’s direction. “Sandy and Samantha are going to hear all about this little fashion faux pas.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? Who are you talking about?”

“The two saleswomen at the Posh boutique. Sandy was the blonde, Samantha was the redhead,” Finn said. “Don’t you remember?”

I shook my head. I hadn’t bothered to get their names. I figured saving them from the robber was good enough.

“Well, they assured me that your dress was an original, an absolute one-of-a- kind. In fact, they swore up one side and down the other that you were the only person to ever even try it on, so I happily let you pay their outrageous price for it.”

“How noble of you.”

Finn pretended not to hear my snide words and went right on with his rant. “But now here’s some other sweet young thing wearing your dress at the biggest event of the summer. And not just any other woman but the one who came waltzing in on Owen’s arm.” He fumed for a moment. “Oh, yes, Sandy and Samantha are going to be getting a very harsh phone call from me Monday morning.”

“It’s just a dress. So another woman has on the same one. So what?”

His mouth dropped open, and he looked at me in horror. “Please tell me that those words did not just come out of your mouth. It is not just a dress—it is your dress. At least, I thought it was. Sandy and Samantha assured me that it was. They are going to be very, very sorry they misled me.”

Finn went on a tear then, pacing back and forth, gesturing wildly with his champagne glass, and talking all about how he was going to take his fashion wrath out on the two saleswomen for daring to sell my dress to another woman.

I just sighed and listened to him rant. No matter how long I knew him, I didn’t think that I would ever fully figure out or understand the inner workings of the mercurial mind of Finnegan Lane.

* * *

Finn eventually wound down, and the two of us strolled around the rotunda, but I couldn’t concentrate on the showcase of Mab’s loot. Two things were on my mind: how I could come back later and steal my family’s runes, and Owen and Jillian.

The first one wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Other than the plethora of giant guards working tonight, security at the museum didn’t seem all that tight. Oh, I was sure there were some lasers, alarms, and other hidden measures that would snap on when the lights went out, but there weren’t nearly as many cameras as there should have been in the museum, and it would be easy enough for me to stroll through their blind spots. Nothing I couldn’t handle.

As for Owen and Jillian, I kept watching the two of them out of the corners of my eyes. Laughing, talking, drinking champagne. They seemed to be having a good time together. But more than once, my eyes met Owen’s, and it was all I could do to look away. But then, two minutes later, my gaze would find his again.

If I stayed in the rotunda, I’d just keep staring at Owen, so I decided to leave. Besides, several of the underworld bosses were still eyeing me with hostile intent, and I was tired of their murderous glances.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I told Finn. “I need some air.”

He was now talking to a petite vampire wearing an emerald choker and a matching tiara. He waved a distracted hand at me, telling me that he’d be fine on his own. Of course he would. Finn had never met a stranger.

I shook my head and left the exhibit room. I hadn’t noticed before, but the crush of people inside the rotunda had raised the temperature in there by several degrees, and the cool, drafty air outside felt good against my flushed cheeks. I wandered from one hallway to the next, looking at all the objects on display. I hadn’t taken an art class in a while, but I began to think that maybe I should mix it up and try painting or some sort of sculpture course next semester, instead of another literature class.

All of the art was housed on the first, main floor of the museum, and I roamed from one wing to the next and back again. The upper levels had all been closed off for the gala, but there wasn’t much to see in them, anyway, just staff offices, spaces for artists to work, and rooms where paintings and more were being slowly, lovingly restored and authenticated.

The rotunda was in the front of the main wing of the museum, and it took me a while to make a full circuit through all of the hallways that curved around it. I passed a few more giants in my wanderings, but there weren’t nearly as many guards out here as there had been in the rotunda. Eventually, I wound up back where I started, standing in the entrance that led to the exhibit of Mab’s things. Since I wasn’t ready to go in and look for Finn just yet, I headed for the bathroom.

Like everything else at Briartop, the bathroom was done on a grand, impressive scale. Several white crushed-velvet settees and matching overstuffed chairs had been arranged in the outer powder room, while the bathroom itself featured more gray marble, along with silver faucets and oval-shaped, silver gilded mirrors. A tangle of briars and brambles curving around a fancy letter B—the museum’s rune—had been etched into the edges of the glass, adding to the mirrors’ slick, glossy elegance.

I went into a stall, did my lady business, and came back out. A couple of women finished washing their hands and left, leaving me alone. I washed my hands, then leaned forward and peered at my reflection.

On the outside, I looked as calm as ever—distant, remote, cold even. I wondered if I was the only one who could see the purple smudges under my eyes, the ones the makeup couldn’t quite hide. I wondered if I was the only one who noticed the faint slump in my shoulders or the way my mouth always seemed to turn down with a hint of sadness these days.

Because the truth was that Owen wasn’t the only one haunted by Salina’s death—I was too.

More than once, I’d dreamed of the night I’d killed her. The sharp, curved thorns of her water magic ripping into my skin, trying to tear me apart. My desperate struggle to release enough magic to overcome hers. My elemental Ice glittering all around us like a field of cold crystal. The way Salina’s blood had spilled down her neck in a cascade of crimson teardrops.

Killing Salina had been a necessity. She’d told me herself that she’d never quit, not until she’d taken her revenge on everyone she thought had wronged her. And that she’d never stop loving Owen or trying to win him back by any means necessary—including murdering me.

Yes, killing her was something that just had to be done, but it didn’t make the memories any easier to bear.

Because there was a second twisted truth to this situation, one that kept me up late brooding into the dark of the night: the fact that I was more like Salina than I cared to admit. Cold, brutal, ruthless. And I’d done some of the same things she had over the years, like killing people for revenge, or money, or because letting them live just