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I blinked and blinked, once again wondering if I was hallucinating or if my lemonade had been spiked with something or if my rampant paranoia was making me see things that weren’t really there. But the sword’s eye remained open, and no one else seemed surprised by the words coming out of its—his—mouth.
Brayden sneered down at the weapon. “Don’t worry, little toothpick. We’ll take you too. You’ll fetch a few dollars on the black market, even if we have to muzzle you.”
“A few dollars?” The sword sniffed, and the entire weapon vibrated with righteous indignation. “I’ll have you know that I am worth far more than a few measly dollars. Why, a talking sword is one of the rarest and most valuable artifacts of all! I’m bloody priceless!”
“You’re not helping, Vic!” Gwen hissed, glaring down at the sword.
Vic? So the sword had a name. Okay. I thought I’d seen some weird stuff in Ashland over the years, but talking weapons and sword-toting villains were a whole new experience for me. I’d been right before. Gwen Frost was up to her eyeballs in trouble—and it was up to me to get her out of it.
I studied Brayden, along with the two men and the woman. Besides the swords in their hands, it didn’t seem like they had any other weapons, and I didn’t see anyone else lurking around, waiting to jump into the fight.
Oh, sure, I could have palmed one of the silverstone knives hidden up my sleeves and sidled forward until I got close enough to strike. But sometimes the best approach was the most direct one, especially given the fact that Brayden looked like he was about three seconds away from lunging forward and slashing his sword across Gwen’s chest. So I loudly cleared my throat, then stepped around the archway and strode forward, my boots tap-tap-tap-tapping out an ominous beat on the stone floor.
The two men whirled around, although the woman kept her eyes on Gwen. Brayden turned to the side so that he could see both Gwen and me at the same time.
Brayden frowned. “Who are you?”
“Your worst nightmare, sugar,” I drawled.
His blond eyebrows creased together in obvious confusion. “I didn’t realize that any of the nightmare gods and goddesses had Champions.”
I shook my head, just as confused as he was. “Trust me. I’m nobody’s Champion. I just always wanted to say that to an enemy.”
Brayden glanced over at his friends, and they all shrugged back at him. Even Gwen was staring at me with a bewildered expression, as was Vic, her talking sword, and I got the distinct impression that everyone thought I was a few barbecue sandwiches short of a picnic.
Anger sparked in my chest, joining my own increasing confusion. I was fine. They were the ones spouting gibberish about mythological warriors and artifacts and whatnot.
“Forget about Champions,” I growled. “Here’s the deal. Lower your swords, and move away from my new friend Gwen.”
“Or else what?” Brayden asked the inevitable question.
A cold, thin smile spread across my face. “Or else I’ll kill every single one of you.”
Brayden studied me a little more closely, but he didn’t seem overly concerned about my threat. “I don’t know how you’ll be killing any of us, lady, since you don’t even have a sword.”
He chuckled, as did his three adult friends. Idiots. Just because they couldn’t see my weapons didn’t mean that they weren’t there.
“Trust me, pal,” I said. “You don’t want to mess with the Spider.”
Once again, confusion filled Brayden’s face, along with everyone else’s. “So you’re the Champion for a spider goddess?”
I threw my hands up in consternation. “Will you stop babbling about gods and goddesses?” I jerked my thumb at my chest. “I’m the Spider. Me. Gin Blanco. No one else involved.”
Not so much as a hint of recognition sparked in his or anyone else’s eyes.
“Do you think she tripped and hit her head?” Vic asked, breaking the tense, awkward silence. “Or maybe she’s been drugged. Gwen, did you see anyone slip her anything on the train?”
More frustration filled me. Having to explain exactly who I was and what I did was rather annoying. I much preferred it when my enemies automatically quaked in their boots at the mere whisper of my assassin name.
“I’m the Spider,” I repeated, my voice even sharper than before. “The notorious assassin who runs a barbecue restaurant in her spare time. The queen of the Ashland underworld, feared by crime bosses near and far.”
More blank looks all around. For once, my reputation did not precede me.
“Oh, yeah,” Vic piped up. “She’s definitely been drugged.”
I sighed. “I killed Mab Monroe and Mason Mitchell and a whole bunch of other bad folks. Seriously, none of this is ringing a bell?”
Brayden shrugged, not the least bit impressed with my credentials, such as they were. “Never heard of you.” An evil grin spread across his face. “As for being an assassin, well, we’re Reapers. We know all about killing people.”
