In many ways, she was exactly like Mab—wealthy, powerful, ruthless—but apparently without the Fire elemental’s driving need to make everyone aware of exactly how deadly she was.

This woman . . . she was like me.

Or, at least, how I used to be before I’d inadvertently outed myself as the Spider by killing Mab. Someone who spent her time in the shadows and struck out at her enemies before they even realized what was happening. That was enough to make a cold ball of worry form in the pit of my stomach.

Then I came to the final thing in the file, a picture.

She looked to be in her fifties, a timeless beauty with blond hair and blue eyes that were so pale they bordered on gray. Fletcher must have been doing surveillance on her, because the photograph looked to have been taken from quite a distance, as though he hadn’t wanted to risk getting any closer to her. But she wasn’t happy with the person she was staring at. Her mouth was set in a firm frown, and her eyes almost seemed to be glowing, as though she were getting ready to reach for her Ice magic and use it to freeze the person she was sitting with.

I stared at the photo, then slowly turned it over, knowing—or at least hoping—that something would be written on the back.

Oh, there was something written on the back, all right. Just a few sentences that only took me a few seconds to read, but they were more shocking than anything I’d found in Fletcher’s office—ever.

Once again, I sucked in a breath. Because once again, I’d been completely wrong. I’d thought that Raymond Pike had been after me when Lorelei had been his real target all along. And once again, I’d thought that whoever had sent him to Ashland had been targeting me.

But this wasn’t about me at all.

It was about Finn.

With shaking hands, I read the note again. And then again, just to be sure that I wasn’t dreaming the words. But I wasn’t, even though I really wished that I was.

Her name is Deirdre Shaw, Fletcher’s handwriting spelled out. She is a very powerful Ice elemental who will do whatever it takes to get what she wants. She is not to be trusted, under any circumstances.

And she is Finn’s mother.

That was it—that was all the note said—but it was more than enough to rock my world to its foundation.

I sat back in my seat, my eyes wide, staring at the photo. Fletcher had always told me that he was a widower, that his wife had died when Finn was just a baby. Jo-Jo, Sophia, Finn—none of them had ever mentioned Fletcher’s supposed wife, Finn’s mother, except in passing, and I’d always assumed that it was because she’d died many years ago.

But according to Fletcher’s file, she was very much alive. And, from what Raymond Pike had said, she was extremely interested in the goings-on in Ashland. Deirdre Shaw . . . she must have been the person Lorelei had done business with. She must have somehow recognized Lorelei during their dealings together and then sicced Pike on her. But why? How would Pike killing Lorelei benefit her? What was she up to?

And how much was it going to affect Finn?

The questions swirled around and around in my mind, but there were no answers, and certainly nothing that would help me figure out how to tell Finn about this. Or even if I should tell him about this.

I would always be haunted—and somewhat trapped—by my past, both as Genevieve Snow and as the Spider. The people I’d killed, the ones who’d tried to kill me, and all the hurt, damage, and fallout from that. I didn’t want that for Finn. Any of it. And I especially didn’t want him to be dragged down some dark, ugly road involving his own mother. It would only end in heartache for him.

But once again, Fletcher had left me with a mystery to solve and a dangerous enemy to deal with. The old man wasn’t around anymore to look out for Finn, but I was. And I would protect my foster brother from this as long and as best as I could.

I sat back in my chair, considering my options. Then I reached out, poured myself a glass of gin, and downed the whole thing in one gulp. The liquor slid down my throat, then flared to life, burning in the pit of my stomach. But it was nothing compared with the determination roaring through me to get to the bottom of this.

I pulled the file on Deirdre Shaw closer, and I read through the information again.

The Spider had work to do—and secrets to dig up.