"Of course I've heard of the Spider," Evelyn said, attempting to be patient.
"Everybody's heard of the Spider.
But you are certainly not him."
"Her," I corrected.
The orderly snickered again. I raised an eyebrow in displeasure. The joke was on him because that laugh had just cost him his life. I didn't care to be mocked, even if I'd spent the last few days masquerading as a loon.
In order to kill people, you have to get close to them. Put yourself in their world.
Make their likes your likes. Their habits your habits. Their thoughts your thoughts.
For this job, putting myself in Evelyn Edwards's world had meant getting tossed into Ashland Asylum. To Evelyn and her orderly underlings, I was just another schizo dragged off the streets, driven crazy by elemental magic, drugs, or a combination of the two. Another poor, lost ward of the state who wasn't worth their time, attention, consideration, or sympathy.
I'd spent the last few days locked up in the asylum convincing Evelyn and the others I was just as June-bug crazy as the rest of the babbling psychos. Spouting nonsense about being an assassin. Drooling. Finger-painting with the moldy peas they served for lunch. I'd even hacked off gobs of my long, bleached blond hair during craft time to keep up the pretense. The orderlies on call had taken the scissors away from me, but not before I'd used them to pry a screw loose from the rec room table.
The same screw I'd sharpened to a two-inch-long, dartlike point. The same screw I had palmed in my hand. The same screw I was going to shove into Evelyn's throat.
The weapon rested on my palm, and the steel felt rough against my scarred skin.
Hard. Substantial. Cold. Comforting.
Of course, I didn't really need a weapon to kill the shrink. I could have offed Evelyn with my Stone magic. Could have reached for the elemental power flowing through my veins. Could have tapped into the acres of granite the asylum was constructed out of and made the whole building come crashing down on her head. Using my Stone magic was easier than breathing.
Call it professional pride, but I didn't use my elemental power to kill unless I absolutely had to, unless there was no other way to get the job done. Just too easy otherwise. But even more important, magic got you noticed in these parts. Especially elemental magic. If I started collapsing buildings on people or braining them with bricks, the police and other, more unsavory characters would be sure to take note-
and an unhealthy interest in me. I'd made more than my share of enemies over the years, and the only reason I'd stayed alive this long was by keeping to the shadows.
By creeping in and out of places completely unnoticed, just the way my namesake did.
Besides, there were plenty of ways to make someone quit breathing. I didn't need my magic to help me with that. "The Spider." Evelyn's scarlet lips twitched, and she allowed herself a small titter. "As if someone like you could
be someone like that. The most feared assassin in the South."
"East of the Mississippi," I corrected her again. "And I most certainly am the Spider.
In fact, I'm going to kill you, Evelyn. T-minus three minutes and counting." Maybe it was the calm way I stared at her, my gray eyes steady and level. Or perhaps it was the complete lack of emotion in my tone. But the laughter caught and died in Evelyn's throat like an animal in a trap. She wouldn't be too far behind.
I got to my feet and stretched my arms over my head, moving the screw into a better position in my hand. The long-sleeved, white T-shirt I wore rode up over my matching pajama pants, exposing my flat stomach. The tall orderly licked his lips, his eyes locked on my crotch. Dead man walking.
"But enough about me," I said, dropping into my chair once more. "Let's talk about you, Evelyn."
She shook her head. "Now, Gin, you know that's against the rules. Therapists aren't allowed to talk to patients about themselves."
"Why not? You've been asking me questions for days now. Trying to get me to open up about my past. To talk about my feelings. To come to grips with the fact I'm cold and emotionally unavailable. Turnabout, you know. Besides, you did plenty of talking to Ricky Jordan."
Her eyes widened behind her glasses. "Where-where did you hear that name?" I ignored her question. "Ricky Robert Jordan. Age seventeen. An Air