Spider's Trap
Page 28
Owen and I both shushed him.
Smith pointed the gun at Pike. “Now what are you going to do, tough guy?” Smith crowed. “Because I have a gun, and you don’t.”
Pike gave him a bored look, then reached over and picked up the spoon from the saucer. “A gun? I don’t need a gun. All I need is this one simple spoon.”
Smith’s finger curled back on the trigger, and his sneer widened. “I always thought that you were an arrogant, hoity-toity son of a bitch—”
A pale blue light flashed around Pike’s fingers, and another, stronger surge of his metal magic pulsed through the wall. Given the intense glow, I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but he almost seemed to be . . . twisting the spoon in his hands, as though it were a dishrag he was wringing out, instead of solid metal. For some reason, he also pressed his signet ring up against the spoon.
A second later, the light winked out, and he raised his hand, still holding the dirty piece of silverware.
But it wasn’t a simple spoon anymore.
Instead, Pike was now holding a long, thin piece of metal with a sharp point that looked remarkably similar to one of my silverstone knives.
“Did he just . . .” My voice trailed off.
“Use his metal magic to reshape that spoon into a dagger?” Owen finished my thought. “Yeah. That’s exactly what he did.”
“Cool,” Finn chimed in.
Owen and I both turned around in our chairs and gave him a look.
“What?” Finn protested. “It is cool in a completely sneaky, underhanded, deadly sort of way. I admire such things.”
Owen and I both turned back around and stared at the TV screen again.
Smith looked at the thin bit of metal and barked out a laugh. “And what do you think you’re going to do with that? I still have a gun, in case you haven’t noticed—”
Pike flicked his hand in a short, quick throwing motion. The spoon-turned-dagger zipped through the air—and sank right into the middle of Smith’s throat.
Smith dropped his gun and clutched his hands to his neck. He stupidly yanked the dagger out, causing even more damage and hastening his own death. Dark arterial blood spattered down the front of his white robe, but Smith still tried to fight the inevitable—or at least take Pike with him.
Wheezing all the while, Smith staggered forward and raised the dagger, as though he were going to stab the other man with it. But his feet got tangled in the clothes he’d stripped off earlier, and he tripped and toppled to the floor, landing at Pike’s feet. Still sitting in the desk chair, Pike swiveled around so that he wouldn’t get any blood on his glossy black wing tips. Then he pulled out his phone and started checking his messages while he waited for Smith to bleed out.
It didn’t take long.
After sending a few texts, Pike tucked his phone away and stared at Smith for several seconds, making sure that he was dead.
Then he got to his feet, buttoned his blue suit jacket, stepped over Smith’s body, and left the hotel room.
* * *
Smith’s blood continued to ooze across the floor, the growing puddle soaking into the white sheets lying at the foot of the bed.
Owen and Finn sat there staring at the monitor, but I surged to my feet and hurried over to the door of our room, not wanting to lose this opportunity to take care of Pike. The door to Smith’s room slammed shut, and I cracked open the one to our room.
Pike was striding down the hall, and there was already about thirty feet of space between us. He would hear me coming up behind him, but it was a risk I was going to have to take—
A small beep-beep sounded, and Pike stopped and pulled his phone out of his jacket. I wasn’t about to ignore this lucky break, so I stepped through the door, making sure that it didn’t bang shut behind me, palmed one of my knives, and headed in his direction.
Pike started walking again, but he was still looking at his phone, so I managed to close the gap between us to twenty-five feet . . . twenty feet . . . fifteen . . . ten . . .
I tightened my grip on my knife, ready to jam the blade into his back and keep right on stabbing until he was down and bleeding out.
Pike stopped.
I hesitated, and he turned his head, as though he were going to look over his shoulder. Too late, I realized that he could probably sense my knife, since it was made out of metal, but I started forward again, hoping that I could get to him before he realized what was happening—
Click.
A handle turned, a door opened, and an elderly couple stepped out of a room and into the hallway, right in front of me.
I had to pull up short to keep from mowing them down. I tried to skirt around them, but of course, they moved right in front of me again, completely oblivious to the fact that I was standing behind them and, worst of all, cutting me off from Pike. A frustrated snarl rose in my throat, but I clamped my lips together. Maybe there was still a chance I could get to him.
“Are you sure you have the key card, Peggy?” the old man asked.
Maybe not.
“I’ve got it right here, Fred,” the woman replied, holding the plastic up where he could see it.
Once again, I tried to maneuver past the couple, but they blocked me without even realizing it. All I could do was glare over their shoulders and watch while Pike pocketed his phone and continued down the hallway. He didn’t look back, but he was moving fast, almost as if he’d sensed the danger he was in. A second later, he pushed through the door to the same fire stairs that Finn, Owen, and I had used earlier and vanished. From there, he could go down to the lobby or disappear into a room on an upper floor, and I had no way of guessing which one it might be.
Smith pointed the gun at Pike. “Now what are you going to do, tough guy?” Smith crowed. “Because I have a gun, and you don’t.”
Pike gave him a bored look, then reached over and picked up the spoon from the saucer. “A gun? I don’t need a gun. All I need is this one simple spoon.”
Smith’s finger curled back on the trigger, and his sneer widened. “I always thought that you were an arrogant, hoity-toity son of a bitch—”
A pale blue light flashed around Pike’s fingers, and another, stronger surge of his metal magic pulsed through the wall. Given the intense glow, I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but he almost seemed to be . . . twisting the spoon in his hands, as though it were a dishrag he was wringing out, instead of solid metal. For some reason, he also pressed his signet ring up against the spoon.
A second later, the light winked out, and he raised his hand, still holding the dirty piece of silverware.
But it wasn’t a simple spoon anymore.
Instead, Pike was now holding a long, thin piece of metal with a sharp point that looked remarkably similar to one of my silverstone knives.
“Did he just . . .” My voice trailed off.
“Use his metal magic to reshape that spoon into a dagger?” Owen finished my thought. “Yeah. That’s exactly what he did.”
“Cool,” Finn chimed in.
Owen and I both turned around in our chairs and gave him a look.
“What?” Finn protested. “It is cool in a completely sneaky, underhanded, deadly sort of way. I admire such things.”
Owen and I both turned back around and stared at the TV screen again.
Smith looked at the thin bit of metal and barked out a laugh. “And what do you think you’re going to do with that? I still have a gun, in case you haven’t noticed—”
Pike flicked his hand in a short, quick throwing motion. The spoon-turned-dagger zipped through the air—and sank right into the middle of Smith’s throat.
Smith dropped his gun and clutched his hands to his neck. He stupidly yanked the dagger out, causing even more damage and hastening his own death. Dark arterial blood spattered down the front of his white robe, but Smith still tried to fight the inevitable—or at least take Pike with him.
Wheezing all the while, Smith staggered forward and raised the dagger, as though he were going to stab the other man with it. But his feet got tangled in the clothes he’d stripped off earlier, and he tripped and toppled to the floor, landing at Pike’s feet. Still sitting in the desk chair, Pike swiveled around so that he wouldn’t get any blood on his glossy black wing tips. Then he pulled out his phone and started checking his messages while he waited for Smith to bleed out.
It didn’t take long.
After sending a few texts, Pike tucked his phone away and stared at Smith for several seconds, making sure that he was dead.
Then he got to his feet, buttoned his blue suit jacket, stepped over Smith’s body, and left the hotel room.
* * *
Smith’s blood continued to ooze across the floor, the growing puddle soaking into the white sheets lying at the foot of the bed.
Owen and Finn sat there staring at the monitor, but I surged to my feet and hurried over to the door of our room, not wanting to lose this opportunity to take care of Pike. The door to Smith’s room slammed shut, and I cracked open the one to our room.
Pike was striding down the hall, and there was already about thirty feet of space between us. He would hear me coming up behind him, but it was a risk I was going to have to take—
A small beep-beep sounded, and Pike stopped and pulled his phone out of his jacket. I wasn’t about to ignore this lucky break, so I stepped through the door, making sure that it didn’t bang shut behind me, palmed one of my knives, and headed in his direction.
Pike started walking again, but he was still looking at his phone, so I managed to close the gap between us to twenty-five feet . . . twenty feet . . . fifteen . . . ten . . .
I tightened my grip on my knife, ready to jam the blade into his back and keep right on stabbing until he was down and bleeding out.
Pike stopped.
I hesitated, and he turned his head, as though he were going to look over his shoulder. Too late, I realized that he could probably sense my knife, since it was made out of metal, but I started forward again, hoping that I could get to him before he realized what was happening—
Click.
A handle turned, a door opened, and an elderly couple stepped out of a room and into the hallway, right in front of me.
I had to pull up short to keep from mowing them down. I tried to skirt around them, but of course, they moved right in front of me again, completely oblivious to the fact that I was standing behind them and, worst of all, cutting me off from Pike. A frustrated snarl rose in my throat, but I clamped my lips together. Maybe there was still a chance I could get to him.
“Are you sure you have the key card, Peggy?” the old man asked.
Maybe not.
“I’ve got it right here, Fred,” the woman replied, holding the plastic up where he could see it.
Once again, I tried to maneuver past the couple, but they blocked me without even realizing it. All I could do was glare over their shoulders and watch while Pike pocketed his phone and continued down the hallway. He didn’t look back, but he was moving fast, almost as if he’d sensed the danger he was in. A second later, he pushed through the door to the same fire stairs that Finn, Owen, and I had used earlier and vanished. From there, he could go down to the lobby or disappear into a room on an upper floor, and I had no way of guessing which one it might be.
