Read Elemental Assassin 01 - Spider's Bite for Free Online

drink to that.” 

3
    I finished my lemonade, took the folder, said good night to Fletcher, and went home.
    My apartment was located in the building across the street, five stories up on the top floor, but I never went straight home from the restaurant—or anywhere else. I circled around three blocks and cut through two alleys, making sure I wasn’t being followed, before coming back and slipping into the building. Everything was quiet, given the late hour, except the squeak of my shoes on the granite floor in the lobby.
    I rode the elevator up to my floor. Before I slid my key in the lock, I pressed my hand against the stone around the door frame. Nothing of note. Just the stone’s usual low, muted voice. I wasn’t home enough for my presence to sink into the gray-colored brick. Or perhaps I just didn’t care to listen to my own innate vibrations.
    I’d chosen this particular apartment because it was the one closest to the stairwell, with access to the roof and a sturdy drainpipe that ran down the outside of the building. My escape routes, along with a few others. I tested them at least once a month, played possible scenarios of capture and evasion in my mind. My own mantra for survival. You could never be too careful, especially in my line of work, when even a small fuckup could mean death. My death.
    I flipped on the lights. The front room was an oversize kitchen and den, with the master bedroom and bathroom off to the left, and a spare set of matching rooms off to the right. A couch, a love seat, a couple of recliners, appliances. A plasma-screen TV, with DVDs and CDs piled around it. Piles and piles of well-worn books stacked three feet high in some places. A nice set of copper pots and pans hanging from a rack in the kitchen. A butcher block full of high-end, silverstone knives sitting on the counter.
    There was nothing in here I couldn’t walk away from on a moment’s notice. Always a possibility in my profession. I was careful on my jobs, and Fletcher was extremely selective when choosing clients. But there was always a chance of discovery, exposure, torture, death. More reasons Fletcher wanted me to give up the business.
    Still, to placate the old man, I tried to lead a somewhat normal life, except for my nighttime activities. My main cover ID was as Gin Blanco, a part-time cook and waitress at the Pork Pit and perpetual student at Ashland Community College. Architecture, sculpture, the role of women in fantasy fiction. I took any class that appealed to me, no matter how eclectic.
    But the literature and cooking classes were my favorites, and I signed up for at least one every semester. Cooking was a passion of mine—the only real one I had besides reading. I enjoyed the smell of sugar and spices. The endless combinations of sweet and salty. The simple and complex formulas that let you turn separate ingredients into cohesive, edible works of art. Plus, cooking gave me an excuse to have plenty of knives lying around. Another necessity in my line of work.
    Seeing everything was in order, I moved farther into the apartment. I should have gone on into the bathroom, taken a shower, then curled up in bed, studying the Gordon Giles file. Planning the hit. Writing down the supplies I’d need. Visualizing my escape. And dreaming about the oily cabana boys Fletcher had promised were waiting for me in Key West.
    But I lingered in the den, staring at a series of framed drawings on the mantel over the television. An art class I’d just finished. For our final project, the instructor had asked us to do a series. Three drawings in all, each one different, but with a connected theme.
    I’d drawn the runes of my dead family.
    Instead of a crest or coat of arms, magic users identified themselves through runes. Vampires, giants, dwarves, elementals. Runes were everywhere you looked. Tattoos, necklaces, rings, T-shirts. Even some humans used them, especially for business logos.
    Some of the magic users sniffed at that,