By Jennifer Estep
There’s not anything worse than a merciless, crafty enemy with time to kill—and my homicide to plan.
With depraved fireplace elemental Mab Monroe long past, you’d imagine i'll eventually seize a holiday. yet someone’s constantly attempting to take me down, both as Gin Blanco or my murderer alter-ago. Now alongside comes the Spider’s new arch-nemesis, the mysteriously named M. M. Monroe, who's gleefully operating time beyond regulation to capture me in a sticky internet of deceit.
The factor is, I’m no longer the single goal. i will be able to see during the tangled threads adequate to grasp that each little bit of undesirable good fortune my pals were having in recent years is not any accident—and that every unlucky “coincidence” is only one extra arrow drawing ever towards hitting the true bulls-eye. notwithstanding new to Ashland, this M. M. Monroe is not any stranger to irony, attempting to get me, an murderer, framed for homicide. but, as my enemy’s grasp plan is slowly printed, i've got a sinking feeling that it'll take greater than my strong Ice and Stone magic to prevent my complete existence from going up in flames.
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Additional resources for Black Widow (Elemental Assassin, Book 12)
The suggestion of a tongue sliding across the roof of a mouth. He almost saw the mouth. A mouth f lecked with blood, the victim of some trauma. An act of violence that made speaking all but impossible. He held his breath and sent out calming, soothing thoughts, hoping to ease the being who owned this injured mouth. Ease its mind and help it speak. At first, he sent this request out as a feeling, just an amorphous suggestion. But his desire to hear more coalesced into words. Not spoken, but as real as if they had been.
Joaquin’s skin prickled as he waited for the first word. The seconds ticked by. Tick . . tick . . tick . . The moment expanded. The cloud of “now” hovered around Joaquin, embracing him with its large maternal hands. Thoughts of destiny and the buried mists of his painful past rose slowly to the surface, as he waited for a word. He closed his eyes willing himself deeper into the communion, deeper into this new world. Images f lashed through his mind: faces contorted in pain, burned f lesh, walls splashed with blood.
He looked battered and bruised. His eyes f lickered open and closed. The boy seemed to be struggling for consciousness. Two paramedics got in and the ambulance took off, sirens wailing. Gabriel stared at the boy. He wondered if he looked as bad. The paramedics were working around him, putting some kind of needle in his arm. But it all seemed far away, as did his pain. He felt like he had a broken leg, but it was information from outside, like a telegram he’d received from a far-off land. The boy next to him began to hum as if his life depended upon it.