Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(4)

crooned. “Remember robbing that cemetery up in Cloudburst Falls, hon?”

The two of them smiled at each other for a moment before coming at me again.

Well, at least they still did things together.

Instead of trying to saw through their winter clothes and their tough muscles

underneath, I reached for my magic, raised my hand, and sent a spray of Ice

daggers shooting out at them. Ethel threw herself down onto the ground,

ducking out of the way of my chilly blast, but Don wasn’t as quick, and

several long, sharp bits of Ice punch-punch-punched into his chest. But

dwarves were strong, and he only grunted, more surprised than seriously

injured. He did lose his grip on his shovel, which tumbled to the ground.

I dropped my knife, darted forward, and snatched up his shovel, since it was

the better weapon in this instance. Then I drew back my arms and slammed the

shovel into his head, as though his skull were a baseball that I was trying to

hit out past center field.

Thwack.

Don stared at me, wobbling on his feet, his eyes spinning in their sockets.

His dwarven musculature might be exceptionally tough and thick, but a cold

metal shovel upside the head was more than enough to put a dent in his bowling

ball of a skull. Still, it was just a dent, and he didn’t go down, so I hit

him again.

Thwack.

And again and again, until the bones in his skull and face cracked, and blood

started gushing down his head, face, and neck. A glassy sheen coated Don’s

eyes, and he toppled over, more and more of his blood soaking into the frozen

ground.

“Don!” Ethel wailed, realizing that he wasn’t ever going to get back up. “

Don!” She tightened her grip on her shovel, scrambled back up onto her feet,

and charged at me again. “You bitch!” she screamed. “I’ll kill you for

this!”

Ethel stopped right in front of me and raised her shovel over her head, trying

to build up enough momentum to smash through my Stone magic with one

deathblow. But in doing so, she left herself completely open; it was easy

enough for me to palm another knife, step forward, and bury the blade in her

throat.

Ethel’s eyes bulged, and blood bubbled up out of her lips. She coughed, the

warm drops of her blood stinging my cheeks like the snowflakes had earlier. I

yanked my knife out of her throat, doing even more damage, but Ethel wasn’t

ready to give up just yet. She staggered forward and raised her shovel even

higher, still trying to gather herself for that one deadly strike.

Too late.

The shovel slipped from her hands, and her body sagged and pitched forward.

She landed facedown in the mound of loose earth that I’d dug up, as though it

were a giant pillow she was plopping down on. Well, I supposed that was one

way to take a dirt nap.

While I caught my breath, I watched and waited. More and more blood poured out

from the dwarves’ wounds, but Don and Ethel didn’t move or stir. They were

as dead as the rest of the folks here.

So I retrieved my first knife from the ground, wiped Ethel’s blood off the

second one, and tucked both of my weapons back up my sleeves. I looked and

listened, but the night was still and quiet again. No one was coming to

investigate. The cemetery was located off by itself on one of the many

mountain ridges that cut through Ashland, and I doubted that the sounds of our

fight had been loud enough to attract any attention. Still, I needed to do

something with the bodies. I didn’t want anyone to know that I had been here,

much less whose grave I had been digging up.

I looked at the dwarves’ bodies, then down at the open casket.

Don was right. I’d gone to all the trouble to unearth Deirdre Shaw’s grave.

She wasn’t in her casket, so somebody might as well get some use out of it.

I grinned.

And it might as well be me.





2

I rolled the dwarves’ bodies into the casket, shut the lids, and filled in

all the dirt back on top of it. Then I arranged the blocks of sod that I’d

first cut out of the ground back into place on the top of the grave, so that

it had a layer of winter grass that matched the surrounding ground.

While I worked, the snow intensified, morphing into a steady shower cascading

down. Good. The thickening layer of flakes on the ground would help hide the

uneven spots and loose bits of dirt and rocks around the grave. Not that I

expected anyone else to come looking for Deirdre Shaw, but if there was one

thing Fletcher had taught me, it was that you couldn’t be too careful when

dealing with a new and largely unknown enemy.

By the time I’d finished making the grave look as untouched as possible, it

was almost midnight. I grabbed the box that had been hidden in Deirdre’s

casket and left the cemetery.

I walked to my car, which I’d parked half a mile from the cemetery entrance.

When I first arrived, I’d stuffed a white plastic bag into the driver’s-side