Kaj shrugged. “Obvious.”
“And it would certainly not have happened had we been the ones to capture her ourselves. Had he even allowed us to send two men instead of one, she would not have escaped.”
Kaj’s lips twitched. “Great. You called me to discuss the obvious. This is a good use of my time.”
Gauge growled. “The Conduit cannot be so afraid of being discovered that he would send one man to do a job that would have been a certain success with four. It was the same last time, was it not? He says that he will not allow us to operate because of the chance of being seen.” He slunk closer to Kaj, footsteps gliding across the cracked pavement. “Surely you cannot believe that. The Conduit simply does not care. Though we push and press wherever he will allow, he would rather sit in his comfortable, soul-blessed flesh and wait for damned number eleven, even as time grinds us to dust. But if we show him the price of inaction, then he will have no choice but to act.”
Kaj’s two functional eyes lit up with understanding, and he looked down again at the blood. “So you suggest that we leave this little memorial as is?”
Gauge nodded. “Time is against us. If the Coronation is to occur, then we cannot allow him to waste any more time. We must show him that the children of the Fifth are the answer. And should word get out about what happened here, perhaps we can force his hand with the threat of discovery.”
Irritation replaced the understanding in Kaj’s eyes. “And who do you think is going to discover this, exactly? NIDUS controls the only police-humans that matter.”
“Yet those police-humans sit at desks. They are not the ones who trudge through forgotten alleys chasing criminals. Do not underestimate the ability of scared men to make themselves heard.”
A vicious smile came to Kaj’s lips. “Hmm. Interesting. You are playing with fire. Not a word of this to anyone.”
Gauge turned away toward the mouth of the alley. “Of course. Her mother seems to have reported the kidnapping already. And if the rest of the believers do not interfere, it should not take long for someone to stumble upon this. For now, we will watch and see how this plays out. If additional intervention is required, we will discuss it then.”
Kaj nodded, still smiling. “Very well. I take my leave.” A deeper shade crept along his body, thickening into a liquid layer. Then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he was gone.
Gauge marched down the alley. He closed his eyes, again accessing the living network of Simon Dwyre’s thoughtstream. “Evidence disposed of,” he thought. “We eagerly await your next command.”
“That is quite a strange formula,” Mark said.
Sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, Spinneretta jolted from her boredom-induced daze. “Guh?”
Mark gestured at the textbook and paper that lay before her. “Your math.”
She blinked, and then started. She’d been fantasizing about rice pudding again, and completely forgot about her half-finished homework. “Ahh, right.”
“What is it?” He pulled up a stool and sat down opposite her, on the other side of the counter.
“Trigonometry.”
“I have never seen such arcane-looking inscriptions presented as mathematical equations.”
“Arcane?” She chuckled. “God, you’re weird. You never learned any of this?”
He craned his head to get a better look at the worksheet. “I’m afraid the curriculum I was taught was very different. My mathematical knowledge only covers a subset of what you would call algebra.”
A sharp laugh came from the living room, competing with the sound of the TV. “Algebra, huh?” Arthr strode into the kitchen and past the counter. “Maybe you should be doing my homework then. So freaking boring.”
Spinneretta gave him a long glance as he made his way to the refrigerator. “You know, you wouldn’t have to take algebra again if you’d done it right the first time.”
With a shrug, Arthr pulled a can of cola from the fridge and shut the door. “Like I’d spend even more free time doing homework. What do you think I am, an honor student?”
“Don’t worry, nobody’s going to be accusing you of that one.”
He snorted and popped the tab of his drink. “Thanks. When the apocalypse comes and survival’s a free-for-all, we’ll see what’s more valuable: trigonometry, or speed and strength.” He flexed his bicep as his spider legs curled about his shoulders fiercely.
“Oh, please. Just because you’re the track team’s poster child doesn’t mean you’ll be any better off than the tin-foil hat nerds who bought guns to protect their hoards.”
Arthr took a gulp of his soda and dropped onto the stool beside Mark, resting his elbows upon the countertop. “Sure it does. I got something that none of them do.”
Spinneretta rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but you can’t trade ego for supplies.”
“Not ego. Venom, baby.”
Mark leaned slightly closer to him. “Venom?”
Startled, Arthr pulled a few inches away from the man beside him. “Uhh, yeah.”
Spinneretta sighed and began scratching a doodle into the margin of her worksheet as her spider legs stretched behind her. “Didn’t realize it? It’s not just Kara’s digesting enzyme.”
Mark gave her a strange look. “What does this venom do?”
“It’s a paralyzer,” Arthr said, as though it were a point of personal pride. “I remember, it can stop a small animal dead in a few seconds. Should be no problem to dance around some apocalyptic wacko and give him a little love bite to put him to sleep. In theory, anyway.”
“Paralyzer,” Spinneretta echoed flatly. “The word is neurotoxin, stupid. And I somehow doubt it’s going to save you when you have a twelve-gauge pressed between your eyes.” Her sketch began to take shape: a wide V framing a tall oval, with eight crisscrossing lines shining from the center.
Arthr took another swig of his soda. “Well, whatever. Point is, knowing trig isn’t going to leave you any better off, unless you’re raiding the stash of some geometrist or something, and he locked it with some stupid math puzzle.”
“The word is geometer. And why is it that in your stupid fantasies we’re always the unprepared ones left to scavenge and rob to survive?”
“More fun that way.”
“Whatever.” She finished the sketch by crowning the oval with a horned crescent and quartering the design with an upside-down T.
The moment she finished the drawing, Mark stood so abruptly that his stool wobbled and Arthr recoiled beside him. “What is that?” he demanded.
Spinneretta looked up, startled. “W-what?”
Lips shaking, he extended a finger at the design in the margin. “That sign. What . . . why do you . . .?”
“This? It’s nothing.”
His gaze shifted to her, and an icy tingling raced along her spider legs when she saw the severity in his eyes. “Nothing? That cannot be nothing.” He looked like he’d just seen the grim face of Death.
“Relax, will you? It’s just this weird symbol that . . . ” She paused mid-sentence. There was no way to finish that thought without sounding crazy, or worse, pretentious and edgy.
But Mark still stared at her, an intensity in his eyes that bordered on mania. “That what?”
Uncomfortable, Spinneretta just stared back, eyes locked on his. She tried to speak, but couldn’t bring herself to voice the syllables that sat on her tongue. The dreams. Instead, she gave her head a shake and expelled a stale breath. “What the hell’s wrong with you all of a sudden?”
As though struck by the words, Mark’s posture loosened a bit. His features softened, and something glistened in the depths of his pale irises. “I . . . forgive me. I did not intend to startle you. I just . . . ”
The front door swung open with an unusual force, drawing Spinneretta’s attention to it. Her mother, pale-faced and shivering, stood at the threshold. As the door clattered against the wall, Kara slunk from behind her and scuttled into the hallway without so much as an acknowledgment
to any of them. Chitin clacked wood all the way up the stairs. Kara had made it to her room before her mother could drag her feet through the doorframe.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Arthr said.
As May slid inside and pushed the door shut with one heavy arm, she gave them all a chilling look. “Kara was kidnapped.”
Spinneretta’s heart stopped. “What?”
Arthr leapt to his feet, nearly dropping his soda. “Oh my God, what?”
May nodded, still shaking a little as she trudged into the living room. “I was picking her up from soccer practice, and just as I pulled up, this guy in a dirty yellow coat just ran up and grabbed her.”
Every synapse in Spinneretta’s brain froze. Her thoughts fixated upon that singular phrase. Dirty yellow coat. The words struck her in the very core of her memories, in that place that she’d spent nearly six years trying to forget. She listened as her mother explained how Kara had slipped away when her abductor wasn’t looking, but it sounded like the tale came from underwater. Her heart was pounding, vile recollections snaking into her thoughts like venomous serpents.
“Are you both alright?” Arthr asked.
May just nodded.
Mark drew a cautious step toward the woman. “Did you call the police?”
“Of course. Some guy named Bernard took the report. Said he’d search the area, but not to expect much. God, what are these damn tax dollars for if they can’t even catch someone for committing a crime? I just don’t understand it. I don’t want to understand it. It just makes me so sick and I . . . ” She trembled, and then she fell back onto the couch, her disheveled brown hair spilling over her face. “Argh! Where’s your father? I can’t take this.”
Spinneretta turned about and started drifting toward the stairs. Yellow coat. Yellow coat. It was all she could think about. She couldn’t breathe. Her spider legs were shaking, her fingers twitching of their own accord. Sweat began to bead on her forehead. I have to get out of here. Without a word, she rushed upstairs to her room and grabbed her olive jacket from its hanger. She shoved a change of clothes and her overnight satchel into her messenger bag before flying downstairs and heading straight for the door.
“Spins, where are you going?” her mom asked, panic racing through her tone.
Spinneretta stopped, knots twisting her stomach into a noose. “I was going to stay at Chelsea’s tonight.”
Arthr craned his head at her, his brow scrunched in an uncharacteristic display of concern. “Isn’t that pretty fucked? You do realize our sister was just kidnapped, right?”
She huffed. “Yeah, I’ve got it, but she’s fine, alright?”
He shook his head. “I’d think you of all people’d have the decency to stick around. This is obviously something that we need to talk about.”
The noose tightened in her gut. She clenched her jaw. “There’s nothing to talk about. She’s fine, police are on it. And I have to go. I’m late already.”
May moved to stand but fumbled, grabbing the arm of the couch. “You’re not going anywhere by yourself! Not after what just happened. I don’t know what I’d do if something were to happen to you, too.”
“Nothing will happen!” She ignored Arthr and May’s cries of protest as she cast open the front door and exited, her stomach writhing in horror.
She needed space, and no amount of yelling was going to change that. If her mom wanted to punish her for it later then she’d accept that. Better that than suffocating. The cool evening breeze beat against her burning face. Her lungs couldn’t get enough of the chilled air. Her twitching fingers scrambled in her pocket for her phone. She drew it out, and nearly dropped it as she forced it open and located Chelsea’s number. The low ringing sound pressed against her ear, competing with the sound of her own breath.
Come on pick up, she thought. Pick up pick up pick up pick up.
A click. “Hello?”
“Chelsea, it’s me. Please tell me that you’re not at choir or something else dumb.”
“No, I’m free. What’s up?”
“I hate to invite myself over like this, but I really need somewhere else to stay tonight.”
Chelsea gave an excited laugh. “Sleepover? Hell yeah! Wait, is something wrong?”
She hurried along the forested path as the light of home receded behind her. “I just . . . Arthr’s being obnoxious, as usual. Had a fight and I stormed out, so I’d like to keep some distance. That’s not a problem, is it?” Please don’t turn me away now.
“You know you’re always welcome, stupid. Although, then you’ll have to put up with my brother, so it’s your call.”
She sighed in relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Chels. I’m on the way now. See you soon.” She ended the call with a small shudder.
“I see these are quite sudden plans of yours.”
A small yelp came to her lips as fright assaulted her heart. She turned on her heel. But there was no yellow coat to greet her. It was Mark’s silhouette that stood stark against the now distant glow of the Warren homestead. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “What the hell are you following me for?”
He shrugged. “Your mother asked me to go with you to make sure nothing happened.”
Almost any other answer would have been better than that. She turned away and started walking down the tree-lined road again. “I’m not fucking eleven years old anymore.”
Footsteps followed behind her. “I suppose you aren’t.”
She didn’t protest his company. It wasn’t like she could tell him to leave. He didn’t seem to take any great pleasure out of pursuing her, and so she let him follow. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Spinneretta just kept her eyes fixed upon the gentle bend of the road, and kept her mind trained on her breathing. As the last glimpse of the Warren residence vanished behind them, however, Mark hastened his steps until he fell in beside her. Apprehension coiled its icy fingers through her stomach.
“Perhaps you’d like to tell me what’s wrong,” he said in a gentle tone.
The panic returned. She shook her head, trying not to show how much it distressed her. “You mean aside from my little sister getting kidnapped? Think I can just hear something like that and not be affected by it?”
“Somehow I don’t believe that’s what’s on your mind. I doubt you’d be so eager to leave were that the case.”
“I just need space.”
He was quiet for a moment. His footsteps slowed, and Spinneretta felt her own feet dragging, as though magnetically trapped by Mark’s. They both stopped, and she soon found herself turning to face him. His arms were crossed, and though the shade of the surrounding woods blotted out the evening light, she could make out the concern written on his face.
“Spinneretta,” he said. “Do you know something about the man in the yellow coat?”
Her breath grew short. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“If you didn’t know anything, then I doubt you’d have reacted with such shock when the words yellow coat came out of your mother’s mouth.”
Her whole body tensed. How could he have seen that? It couldn’t have been that obvious. Anger flashed through her veins. “I told you, I don’t know anything about it.”
His gaze probed her face, and she could feel each nervous twitch betraying her thoughts. Mark let his arms fall to his sides. “You’re not as adept at lying as you’d like to believe,” he said. “May I ask you again if you’d like to share?”
She ground her teeth and turned away. She hated how vulnerable he was making her feel. “Just drop it and hurry up. That, or go back home and leave me be.”
“Do not change the subject. What is going on?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It is of concern to me,” he said, again stopping her in her tracks. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, with a slow breath, he spoke in a tone so earnest it sounded like he was sharing a secret of his own. “To be honest, I remember some rather suspicious things about the color ye
llow myself. And if you know something that could help verify my suspicions . . . ”
She scoffed, unwilling to meet his gaze again. “Suspicions,” she repeated under her breath, tasting the word and trying to find the implication behind it. About the color yellow? How was he able to read her so easily? She may not have been a master of subtlety, but it shouldn’t have been that obvious what was bothering her.
Whenever she was faced with those memories, she would always bury herself in something trivial to distract her from her lingering grief. It did little to alleviate her guilt, though it would always push those thoughts a little deeper, a toxic band-aid. Denying the connection between the events was sinfully naive. But if the man in the yellow coat had returned for her sister, continuing to bury those thoughts became far more selfish. Though she was loath to recognize the possibility, it seemed it was no longer her problem alone. If Mark knew something—even if he didn’t—wasn’t it better to open the grave?
Mark drew a step closer. “Please,” he said, his voice soft and comforting. “This could be very important. If you know something, please tell me.”
His sincerity cracked her vow of silence; the dam holding back her shame had lasted six years without collapsing. Perhaps it was finally time to tell someone. Reluctantly, she began to nod. She glanced over her shoulder, and then took a few steps toward the forest. She didn’t want to risk a careless driver flattening them by coming around the bend too fast. Mark followed until she was ten feet into the woods. She then turned around and sank into a limp crouch. Her lower spider legs slipped out from beneath her jacket and splayed along the ground to support her weight.
For a few moments she just sat there, staring at the dark suggestions of pine needles piling up on the soil. She took a deep breath. “Six years ago,” she said, “I wasn’t as nervous around people as I am now. Not as jaded, I guess. I used to be like Kara, going around without covering my legs. Anyways, one day our class went on a field trip to the history museum in Widow’s Creek. And I met a boy from a local school that also happened to be on a field trip that day. His name was Will Blackburn.”
She didn’t look up from the ground as she began to dig the toe of her shoe into the soft dirt. “Most people were cautious of our legs in those days. We were still a weird novelty in this town. But he thought they were really cool, you know? It wasn’t like he was morbidly curious or anything, he actually thought they were neat. And he was the first person I’d ever met who seemed to think like that.” She paused and bit her lip. “Well, long story short, we became friends. Since he lived in Widow’s Creek, we only really got to hang out on weekends when I’d get Mom to drive me out there. We used to go hiking in the woods by his house. We’d explore the hidden caves in those hills and . . . ”
The Spider Children (The Warren Brood Book 1) Page 11
