Thread of Death Read Free Page A

but those things couldn’t last forever, and I wanted to know what came next.
    The others had told me that Mab was dead, and I’d seen the news reports myself. In fact, the Fire elemental’s demise was all that the media in Ashland had talked about for the last few weeks, given how suddenand violently she had died. The fact that it had taken the coroner’s office so long to positively identify her body had only added to the speculation and media frenzy.
    But part of me had needed to come here today and see it for myself: I had to see for myself that Mab was truly, finally dead.
    The ebony coffin was closed—not surprising, given the fact that my Ice and Stone magic had wreaked just as much havoc on her body as her elemental Fire had on mine. Finn had told me that Mab had pretty much been reduced to charred bones during our duel as the cold and hot flames of our respective magics washed over her.
    However, a portrait of Mab stood on an easel next to the coffin, showing the Fire elemental in all her glory: hair as bright as copper, black eyes, creamy skin, a necklace ringing her throat. My gaze fixed on the necklace, which was shaped like a sunburst, the symbol for fire, the rune that had been Mab’s personal symbol. The necklace had actually survived our duel, but I’d used my Ice magic to smash it into a hundred pieces.
    I’d hoped I would never see that rune again, but I couldn’t escape it, because the symbol was on the coffin as well.
    Several dozen wavy golden rays glimmered on the side of the ebony casket, clustered around a large red gem. A real ruby, and not just expensive glass. My Stone magic let me hear the gemstone’s proud whispers of its own elegance. The sound mixed in with the similar, boastful murmurs of the jewels the other mourners wore. I could just make out a matching gem sticking up from the top of the coffin and another one down from the bottom, and I was willing to bet there was a rune on the far side, too, although I couldn’t see it from where I was standing.
    The sight of the sunburst, along with Mab’s smiling portrait, made my hands start to itch and burn. Mab had melted my own silverstone rune necklace into my hands when I was a kid, branding my palms with a small circle surrounded by eight thin rays. A spider rune, the symbol for patience.
    “Are you okay?” Owen whispered, noticing me rubbing first one hand, then the other.
    “Yeah. I’m fine,” I said in a low voice. “I should have realized they’d have a picture of her set up. It’s just a little . . . eerie, seeing her face again. And all those runes on her coffin aren’t helping.”
    He reached over and squeezed my hand, the warmth of his touch banishing the phantom pains in my palms. I flashed him a grateful smile and threaded my fingers through his.
    A minister holding a Bible separated himself from the chattering crowd and walked over to a wooden podium that had been set up on one side of the coffin. He opened his Bible, took out some white index cards, and cleared his throat a few times, telling everyone that it was time to begin the service.
    The crowd shuffled a little closer together, closing ranks so that everyone could see and hear the minister. My family and I stood to the left of the minister and coffin, at the nine o’clock position in the group of mourners who’d gathered here today.
    Slowly, the crowd quieted down and gave the minister their full attention. Everyone might be relieved that Mab was gone, but this was still a funeral, an occasion deserving of respect. All the underworld figures might be here mixing with their mortal enemies, plotting against them with a passion, and gleeful Mab was dead, but we’d all behave ourselves at her funeral. More or less. We Southerners were a little funny that way.
    As the minister began the service, I looked around, my eyes going from one face to another. I knew more than a few folks. Some I’d done jobs for as the Spider, taking out their enemies, their