Snared
Page 32
I carefully examined the girl, once again trying to look past the beating, bruises, and swelling and see her as she had been in life—her eyes, her nose, her smile. But her features remained as strange to me as before. I didn’t know this girl. I had never seen her before. I was sure of it.
So I moved on to what I did know: my spider runes.
My stomach squeezed, but I ignored the hot, bitter bile rising in my throat, bent down, and peered at the runes. Now that I was looking more closely at them, I could see that they’d been drawn with bright red lipstick, not blood, just like Ryan had said.
And I noticed something else odd. The rest of her was a bruised, battered mess, but her palms were absolutely pristine, with no blood, dirt, grime, or anything else marring the surface of her skin there, except for the two symbols. And it wasn’t just that she had my spider runes drawn on her palms; it was how clear, precise, and neat they were, each one essentially a carbon copy of the other.
Someone had taken his slow, sweet time marking her up.
My own hands snapped into tight fists, my knuckles cracking from the sudden, intense pressure, and the spider rune scars embedded deep in my own palms started itching and burning, almost as if someone was tracing over them with a tube of lipstick. The scars pounded in time with my heart, until I thought that blood was going to come bursting out of the marks, forced out by my own rage, disgust, horror, and shock.
Slowly, I forced myself to relax my fists, unclenching them one finger at a time, and my right hand crept up to the spider rune pendant hanging around my neck. It had been a present from Owen, one that I’d always loved wearing, along with the matching ring on my finger, a gift from Bria.
Until this moment.
Now the pendant felt as heavy as an anchor, dragging me down, down, down, and the ring was a circle of rot around my finger, spreading out to infect and destroy every single part of me. Just feeling the pendant and the ring touching my body, along with my Ice and Stone magic rippling through the surface of the silverstone jewelry, made me sick to my stomach again.
The spider rune pendant slipped through my cold, numb fingers and thumped against my chest, as hard as a sledgehammer beating against my heart, and I had to clench my hands into fists again to keep from ripping off the jewelry and trying to tear the scars out of my own palms.
“Gin?” Bria asked in a soft voice, cutting into my turbulent emotions. “Do you know her?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ve never seen her before. I’m sure of it. But the spider runes . . .” My voice trailed off, and it took me a moment to finish my thought. “They’re exactly like mine.”
Even though it was the very last thing that I wanted to do, I forced myself to uncurl my fists again and held out my hands, palms up, so that Bria and Ryan could see my scars. They both bent down, comparing the marks on the dead girl’s hands to the ones branded into my palms. I made myself keep my hands open, even though I felt completely exposed, as if I had been stripped naked and staked out in a public square for everyone to gawk at.
After about a minute, Ryan straightened up and cleared his throat. “It would seem that whoever drew the runes on the girl is familiar with your actual scars. Or at the very least your pendant. You wear that necklace quite a bit, don’t you?”
“All the time now,” I muttered. “All the damn time now. Out in the open where everyone can see it. What a fucking fool I am.”
Ever since Owen had given it to me, I’d always been so proud of the pendant, since it was something from my childhood that I’d thought was lost forever. Even more than that, ever since I’d become head of the underworld, a small part of me had liked people knowing my symbol—and especially fearing it. I just never thought that someone would take my spider rune and do something so horribly sick and disgusting with it.
And I still couldn’t puzzle out what it really meant. If someone wanted to warn me that I was on their hit list, that they were coming for me, that they wanted me dead, there were far easier ways to do it. Why not spray-paint the symbol on the front door of the Pork Pit? Why not scratch it on the hood of my car while it was parked near the restaurant? Why not just burn it into the front lawn at Fletcher’s house, if they wanted to be truly dramatic?
Any one of those things would have immediately gotten my attention. So why put the symbols on a dead woman instead? Was he just mocking me? Or was something else entirely going on here?
I didn’t know—but I was going to find out.
The killer might think that he was taunting me, using my runes in such a sick, disgusting fashion, but all he had really done was piss me off. He wanted to get my attention? Well, he had it now, in fucking spades. I was going to hunt down this blackhearted son of a bitch, and he was going to pay for what he’d done to this poor, innocent girl.
More than he’d ever imagined.
“Gin,” Bria said in a low, warning voice. “Take it easy.”
I looked at her, and she pointed at the table. Ice crystals flowed out of my fingertips and ran across the metal table, quickly creeping toward the girl’s body like a tidal wave of frost. A sign of my own cold, cold rage.
I yanked my fingers off the table and forced myself to tap down my magic, pulling it back inside my own body where it belonged. “Sorry.” I looked at Ryan. “I didn’t mean to hurt anything or destroy any evidence.”
“You didn’t.” He gave me a sad smile. “Besides, she’s well beyond any sort of physical hurt or pain now.”
He looked down at the woman, his face creasing with more sadness. Like most people in Ashland, Dr. Ryan Colson had had his own share of tragedy. His younger brother had been shot and killed right in front of him when they were both just kids. I wondered if he was thinking about the brothers and sisters who might be missing this girl, whoever she was.
After several seconds, Ryan shook his head, as if chasing away his own bad memories and heartache. He raised his gaze to mine again, his face even more somber than before. “There’s something else you need to see, Gin. Something to do with this girl.”
So I moved on to what I did know: my spider runes.
My stomach squeezed, but I ignored the hot, bitter bile rising in my throat, bent down, and peered at the runes. Now that I was looking more closely at them, I could see that they’d been drawn with bright red lipstick, not blood, just like Ryan had said.
And I noticed something else odd. The rest of her was a bruised, battered mess, but her palms were absolutely pristine, with no blood, dirt, grime, or anything else marring the surface of her skin there, except for the two symbols. And it wasn’t just that she had my spider runes drawn on her palms; it was how clear, precise, and neat they were, each one essentially a carbon copy of the other.
Someone had taken his slow, sweet time marking her up.
My own hands snapped into tight fists, my knuckles cracking from the sudden, intense pressure, and the spider rune scars embedded deep in my own palms started itching and burning, almost as if someone was tracing over them with a tube of lipstick. The scars pounded in time with my heart, until I thought that blood was going to come bursting out of the marks, forced out by my own rage, disgust, horror, and shock.
Slowly, I forced myself to relax my fists, unclenching them one finger at a time, and my right hand crept up to the spider rune pendant hanging around my neck. It had been a present from Owen, one that I’d always loved wearing, along with the matching ring on my finger, a gift from Bria.
Until this moment.
Now the pendant felt as heavy as an anchor, dragging me down, down, down, and the ring was a circle of rot around my finger, spreading out to infect and destroy every single part of me. Just feeling the pendant and the ring touching my body, along with my Ice and Stone magic rippling through the surface of the silverstone jewelry, made me sick to my stomach again.
The spider rune pendant slipped through my cold, numb fingers and thumped against my chest, as hard as a sledgehammer beating against my heart, and I had to clench my hands into fists again to keep from ripping off the jewelry and trying to tear the scars out of my own palms.
“Gin?” Bria asked in a soft voice, cutting into my turbulent emotions. “Do you know her?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ve never seen her before. I’m sure of it. But the spider runes . . .” My voice trailed off, and it took me a moment to finish my thought. “They’re exactly like mine.”
Even though it was the very last thing that I wanted to do, I forced myself to uncurl my fists again and held out my hands, palms up, so that Bria and Ryan could see my scars. They both bent down, comparing the marks on the dead girl’s hands to the ones branded into my palms. I made myself keep my hands open, even though I felt completely exposed, as if I had been stripped naked and staked out in a public square for everyone to gawk at.
After about a minute, Ryan straightened up and cleared his throat. “It would seem that whoever drew the runes on the girl is familiar with your actual scars. Or at the very least your pendant. You wear that necklace quite a bit, don’t you?”
“All the time now,” I muttered. “All the damn time now. Out in the open where everyone can see it. What a fucking fool I am.”
Ever since Owen had given it to me, I’d always been so proud of the pendant, since it was something from my childhood that I’d thought was lost forever. Even more than that, ever since I’d become head of the underworld, a small part of me had liked people knowing my symbol—and especially fearing it. I just never thought that someone would take my spider rune and do something so horribly sick and disgusting with it.
And I still couldn’t puzzle out what it really meant. If someone wanted to warn me that I was on their hit list, that they were coming for me, that they wanted me dead, there were far easier ways to do it. Why not spray-paint the symbol on the front door of the Pork Pit? Why not scratch it on the hood of my car while it was parked near the restaurant? Why not just burn it into the front lawn at Fletcher’s house, if they wanted to be truly dramatic?
Any one of those things would have immediately gotten my attention. So why put the symbols on a dead woman instead? Was he just mocking me? Or was something else entirely going on here?
I didn’t know—but I was going to find out.
The killer might think that he was taunting me, using my runes in such a sick, disgusting fashion, but all he had really done was piss me off. He wanted to get my attention? Well, he had it now, in fucking spades. I was going to hunt down this blackhearted son of a bitch, and he was going to pay for what he’d done to this poor, innocent girl.
More than he’d ever imagined.
“Gin,” Bria said in a low, warning voice. “Take it easy.”
I looked at her, and she pointed at the table. Ice crystals flowed out of my fingertips and ran across the metal table, quickly creeping toward the girl’s body like a tidal wave of frost. A sign of my own cold, cold rage.
I yanked my fingers off the table and forced myself to tap down my magic, pulling it back inside my own body where it belonged. “Sorry.” I looked at Ryan. “I didn’t mean to hurt anything or destroy any evidence.”
“You didn’t.” He gave me a sad smile. “Besides, she’s well beyond any sort of physical hurt or pain now.”
He looked down at the woman, his face creasing with more sadness. Like most people in Ashland, Dr. Ryan Colson had had his own share of tragedy. His younger brother had been shot and killed right in front of him when they were both just kids. I wondered if he was thinking about the brothers and sisters who might be missing this girl, whoever she was.
After several seconds, Ryan shook his head, as if chasing away his own bad memories and heartache. He raised his gaze to mine again, his face even more somber than before. “There’s something else you need to see, Gin. Something to do with this girl.”
