Elemental Assassin 04 - Tangled Threads

chest. “But only if we can talk about that tied-up thing in much greater detail.”
    “Oh,” Owen said, another grin creasing his face. “I think we can arrange that.”

22
     
    Sometime during the night, Finn had gone back to the train yard and retrieved my car from the discreet location where I’d parked it. So I was able to follow Owen back to his house in my own set of wheels.
    An hour after our talk in the kitchen, I was safely ensconced in Owen’s massive bed, with several pillows behind my back and several more blankets piled on top of me, even though I was no longer cold. Owen had also started a fire in the stone fireplace in the corner of the bedroom, and the flames danced merrily, bathing the room in a pleasant, cheery glow. It was late afternoon now, and outside, the long winter shadows had already started to stretch over the landscape, blackening everything they touched. But in here, everything was bright and warm and cozy.
    After seeing how I was doing, Eva Grayson had gone out to do some last-minute Christmas shopping with herbest friend, Violet Fox. So Owen and I were alone in the mansion. After starting the fire, Owen had told me to sit tight and then disappeared into some other part of the house, saying that he had a surprise for me. As a general rule I didn’t like surprises. Not many assassins did. But I was willing to make an exception just this once.
    A few minutes later, Owen stepped back into the bedroom, carrying a large wrapped box that was obviously a Christmas present. Fat, blue snowmen covered the paper, grinning up at me like fools, while a wide red ribbon topped off the whole thing.
    Owen sat down on the bed next to me and put the box in my lap. “Merry Christmas, Gin.”
    “Oh.” There I went again, being a conversational genius.
    I stared at the box, then looked up at Owen. “But I don’t have your present yet. At least, not with me.”
    I winced at the lousy lie. The truth was that so much had been going on these last few days that I hadn’t given any more thought to what I might get Owen. He was a millionaire in his own right with a slew of successful businesses, so it wasn’t like he really
needed
anything. Still, I wanted to get him something—something meaningful, special. But what could it be? Somehow, I didn’t think that a light-up Christmas sweater or a cheesy holiday tie would cut it.
    “That’s all right,” Owen rumbled. “I thought I would give these to you early. You might find a use for them before Christmas.”
    Now I was curious, eagerly so. Fletcher Lane might not have been my blood father, but the old man had passed his rampant sense of curiosity on to me. In fact, itwas the one trait that always seemed to get the best of me, no matter how hard I tried to squash it.
    Still, I hesitated. “Are you sure you want me to open it? Right now?”
    He nodded.
    “Okay.”
    I plucked the fat bow off the box and placed it on top of Owen’s head. He playfully grumbled at me, but left the red ribbon where it was, a streamer trailing down each side of his chiseled face. Then I ripped into the snowman-covered wrapping paper, shredding it with my nails. The box was solid and much heavier than I’d thought it would be, and a moment later I realized why. It was actually a silverstone case—the slick, fancy kind that a banker like Finn might use to carry around a large sum of cash.
    “Go on,” Owen urged. “See what’s inside.”
    I popped the clasps on either side of the case and opened it up. Inside lay a tray of thick black foam—and five silverstone knives. The metal winked at me in the firelight.
    “They’re beautiful,” I said in a low voice.
    And they were. The knives were similar in design to the ones that I always carried, but I could tell that these were exquisitely made, even more so than my usual weapons. I plucked one out of the foam, turning it this way and that, getting a feel for the weapon.
    Light but strong, thin but sharp, beautiful but deadly. The knife felt like a natural extension of my hand even more than my old, familiar weapons did. It was as though Owen had somehow measured my hand from every conceivable angle and then designed a blade just for me.
    The metal winked at me again, and I realized that a symbol had been stamped into the hilt. I peered more closely. I recognized it immediately, of course.
    A small circle surrounded by eight thin rays. A spider rune.
    My rune. My knives.
    “Do you like them?” Owen asked, his