Instead, I turned and smiled at Finn, as though he had said something amusing, allowing my eyes to slide past him to Opal.
“She’s watching me,” I murmured. “There’s a line of people in front of her waiting to get inside, and she’s watching me walk away instead of dealing with them.”
Finn shrugged. “Maybe she likes women instead of men. You do look rather fetching tonight. Or maybe she recognized you as the mighty Spider. Infamy, thy name is Gin Blanco.”
I grimaced at his flippant tone, but he had a point. Opal wouldn’t be the first person to freeze up upon realizing who I was. So I put her out of my mind and looked ahead once more.
Still, I couldn’t quite ignore the itching sensation between my shoulders—like someone was going to bury a knife in my back before the night was through.
Finn and I walked up the shallow steps and entered the museum. High, vaulted ceilings, crystal vases full of roses, lilies, and other greenery perched here and there, stone planters bristling with bonsai trees tucked into the corners, slick marble floors and walls: Briartop was just as opulent inside as it was on the outside. Everywhere you turned there was another piece of art to look at, whether it was a series of soft, floral watercolors, a silver etching of a waterfall tumbling over a rocky ridge, or a woodcut of a bear ambling through a field of wildflowers.
We reached the main exhibit area and stood to one side of the entrance, scanning the scene. The enormous room was actually a rotunda topped by a high, domed ceiling inlaid with a starlike mosaic pattern made out of bright blue stained glass. The same pattern could be found on the floor directly below in alternating shades of gray, white, and blue marble. Small white lights had been wrapped around the columns ringing the round room, and the glowing strands stretched from the ground floor all the way up to the second-level balcony. Still more spotlights rose from the floor, dropped from the ceiling, or jutted from the walls, angled to highlight certain displays.
Finn had been right when he’d said that the exhibit of Mab’s loot would be the social event of the summer. I spotted several well-known, legitimate businessmen and businesswomen wading their way through the crowd, along with all of the big movers and shakers in the Ashland underworld. Folks like Beauregard Benson, Ron Donaldson, Lorelei Parker . . .
And Jonah McAllister.
McAllister had been Mab Monroe’s lawyer for years, and his star hadn’t fallen so much as been snuffed out completely since I’d killed the Fire elemental. Without Mab, Jonah was just another smarmy lawyer, desperately searching for a new crime boss to serve before he was chewed up and spit out by the rest of the underworld sharks. McAllister and I had plenty of history—and reasons to hate each other. I’d killed his son, Jake, last year for trying to rob the Pork Pit and then threatening me. For his part, the lawyer had tried to have me murdered more than once.
I eyed McAllister. Like all the other men, he was dressed in a tuxedo, although his was more impeccable than most, and his wing tips were as shiny as ink. His silvery mane of hair gleamed underneath the lights, and his face was smooth and unlined, despite his sixty-some years. Jonah kept his boyish complexion intact with the help of a strict regimen of Air elemental facials. A plastic doll would show more emotion than his tight, sandblasted features.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked Finn, jerking my head in the lawyer’s direction.
“McAllister? He’s one of the executors of Mab’s estate, along with the museum director, and helped put the exhibit together,” he replied. “The show was in the works even before Mab died. According to the rumors I’ve heard, Mab stipulated that her entire art collection be put on display here for at least one year before the museum can take ownership of it and do whatever they want to with it.”
“That’s sort of strange, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “It just sounds like Mab to me. She probably thought that if she put her collection on view, they’d rename the museum after her. Or one of the wings, at the very least. Although I doubt she realized just how soon she’d be requesting that honor.”
I grinned. “I was more than happy to help her with that.”
“I know you were.” Finn returned my evil grin. “Either way, I still want to know what’s going to happen to the rest of her estate. Mab had to leave all of her stuff to
It was a conversation we’d had more than once since Mab’s death—wondering what was going to become of all of her earthly possessions. Oh, most of her business interests—especially the illegal ones—had already been snapped up by the other crime bosses. But her Northtown mansion was just sitting there, with all of her things still inside it. I was mildly surprised that no one had gotten it into his or her head to loot the mansion yet, but I supposed the specter of Mab still loomed too large for that.
Mab didn’t have any family that I was aware of, but that didn’t mean much. For all I knew, there might be a cousin or two lurking around somewhere, maybe even another, closer relative. But so far, Finn hadn’t been able to find out anything about what was going to become of her things.
“But we might not have to wait too much longer to learn who Mab left what to,” Finn continued. “Rumor has it that the museum director is going to read a statement that Mab had written about the exhibit—along with her will.”
“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
“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
