Kara bounced to her feet from the bed, nearly stepping on Arthr. Her spider legs writhed in a rhythmic dance. “Meat! Meat!”
Annika gave the girl a curious look. “Meat? Just meat?”
“Yep! Raw, please!”
She clicked her fingers in thought. “This girl playing a joke on me, Arthr?”
He pushed himself into a sitting position. The room spun. His head felt no better than the previous night, but now his eyes were exhausted. “She only eats raw meat and candy.”
“Wonderful. What about you? You like it bloody, too?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask if you were hungry. I’m supposed to be looking after you two, and I don’t think anybody will be thanking me if I let you starve to death.”
He leaned back against the bed and hugged his legs against his chest without answering. His entire body shook as he stared off into space. After a moment, Annika reached down and grabbed him by his hair. A tight pain covered his scalp. “Hey!” he shouted. “What are you—”
“Listen to me, Hamlet,” she said right into his ear. “If you’re going to act like an emo brat about this whole thing then I’m going to have to do something a lot worse than pulling on your precious hair. Yeah, I’m supposed to be taking care of the two of you, and yeah, I know you’re going through a lot right now, but acting like a comatose breakup victim isn’t helping the situation one bit. We all need to act like adults to get through this, alright?”
His eyes filled with tears from the hair-pain. “Yeah, but, you don’t—”
She glared at him, a sharp intensity in her eyes. “Notice that you’re the only one here acting like a turtle that’s been flipped on its back? Kara’s as happy as a lark, and she got far worse treatment than you did last night. My arm is broken, and I can’t even go to the hospital about it. So suck it up, little boy, because I’m not putting up with a melodramatic baby on top of all our other problems.” At once, her expression softened into a smile and her brown eyes lit up. “You got that, sweetie?”
The drastic shift in her tone disarmed him, and he found himself stuttering for an answer that his mind could not summon. After a moment, Annika released her grip on his hair and gave him a gentle push, sending him flopping back onto the bed. She turned away, stretching her good arm toward the ceiling. “I’m going to ask you again, Arthr: what do you want for breakfast?”
“I . . . I don’t know. Donuts?”
She smiled. “Now that’s better. I’m trusting you to look after Kara while I’m out.”
“You’re going by yourself?” Kara said, a whine hidden in her voice.
“Afraid so. We can’t take any chances. There’s probably people out looking for you. And anybody looking for you would recognize you with or without the legs. Just to be safe, you’ll be staying here.”
Kara crossed her arms and two sets of appendages. She sank back onto her bed, pouting.
Annika made her way to the door, cranked the knob, and slid the deadbolt open. “Be a good girl and maybe we can go out for a while once it gets dark, okay?”
Kara’s face remained sour. “Fine.” She grabbed the remote to the old television set and turned it on as Annika opened the door. The vibrant blue graphics of a newsroom studio splashed across the screen.
“—are currently investigating the murder of Golmont Corporation CEO, Simon Dwyre.”
Annika froze in the doorway. “Wait, what?”
Arthr gave her a confused look, and then his gaze was drawn back to the TV.
“The full contents of the anonymous tip that led police to the discovery of the crime scene have not yet been disclosed, although police have gone so far as to call the incident a violent stabbing. No other details have yet been released, and law enforcement officials are taking every precaution in their investigation.”
Annika settled the door closed again, and then walked back over to the bed Arthr was on. Her eyes were glued to the screen. “Dwyre. That’s the guy. The leader of NIDUS. But they said it was a stabbing. That’s not Mark’s style. And I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to leave a crime scene behind even if it was.”
“Dianna, I can say this is certainly a shocker to me. The Golmont Corporation has been the largest economic boon in this town’s history. What does the death of Simon Dwyre mean for the corporation—and for Grantwood?”
“Well, Tom, my understanding is that the board of directors will be holding an emergency meeting to appoint a new chief executive officer to take over for Dwyre in the very near future. What that means for the future of the company, however, is uncertain. Rest assured, we will be keeping abreast of this story as it develops.”
“Quite devastating to think about, the senselessness of it. It almost calls to mind the high-profile murders of the Norwegian Killer back in the seventies, doesn’t it? I’d hate to become nothing more than an early morning rumor-monger, Dianna, but do you think it’s a coincidence that whenever a crime of this magnitude occurs it is always, in some way, connected to that old crime spree?”
“Connected in what way?”
“Well, the Parson estate has been one of the biggest investors in the Golmont Corporation since its foundation. That should be connection enough.”
“If you’re going to play six degrees of separation, you can’t use the Parson estate. That’s like saying I breathe air, Lee Harvey Oswald breathed air, ergo I killed Kennedy. It doesn’t work that way.”
“What I’m getting at is, do you think that there really is a Norwegian Killer curse?”
“I’d tell you, Tom, but they say he’ll appear if you mention his name three times. I’d be careful on your way home from the station if I were you.”
Annika snarled, glaring at the cardboard cutout anchors. “Stop babbling and give me more details, you morons.”
Uncertain what to do, Arthr gazed at the TV, hearing but not understanding. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he thought that perhaps he really was hungry.
Dense groves of oak and gray pine lined the road, and the scent of mulch and soil hung in the air. The morning light, scattered from the treetops, almost made the forest glow gold. Amanda had always felt a little envious of Spinneretta; the woods surrounding their home on Alice Street were gorgeous. Had she lived there herself, she’d have woken up early every morning just to admire the painterly wilderness. Walking beside her, Chelsea had her phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. It had to have been the fifteenth call of the morning, but she kept muttering those vague and angry incoherencies.
“Still no answer?” Amanda asked.
Chelsea shook her head and hung up, fuming. “Just her freaking voicemail again. I swear to God, I’m not letting her get away with this.”
“That’s the sixth time you’ve said that since last night.”
“And I’ll say it again if I have to.”
Amanda said nothing and tried to enjoy the cool of the morning. While she didn’t share Chelsea’s rage over being stood up by Spinneretta at prom, she was still irritated at her sudden decision to just ignore them. Normally, it was something that would pass on its own, but Chelsea had a way of getting what she wanted; in this case, she wanted to give their favorite spider-girl a piece of her mind—even if it meant waking up early on a Saturday.
“First that stupid rumor and now this,” Chelsea muttered, still fuming. “Waste of freaking money, you insufferable little . . . ”
Amanda stretched her arms over her head. “Just relax already. We had fun, didn’t we? And it’s not in her character to be so passive-aggressive. I’m sure something just came up.”
“Yeah, something did come up: being a bitch.” She dialed a few numbers before pausing. “I’m stupid, why don’t I just call Arthr?”
“You have his number?”
“Of course?”
“Why?”
“Because?” Chelsea pressed the call button and lifted the phone to her ear.
“Well, there isn’t much point now,” Amanda s
aid as they rounded the last wooded bend before the Warren residence. But when the two-story home came into view, she realized something was amiss. The front door was wide open. The tall living room window had been shattered, and shards of glass glistened upon the sill and the ground. Amanda gasped and grabbed Chelsea’s sleeve. “Shit, look!”
Chelsea froze, her phone falling halfway out of her grip. “What the hell?”
Without thinking, Amanda broke into a run, ignoring Chelsea’s cry to wait. And as she neared the home, the damage became even more apparent. She stopped just in front of the door and peered into the dark within. The trees allowed only thin blades of illumination to pierce the shadows. Glowing slats revealed splinters in the door, as though it had been bashed open.
“Shit,” Chelsea whispered. “What the hell happened?”
Amanda shook her head, fear cramping her stomach. “This is wrong.” She approached the broken window, examining the damage. There was a single muddy footprint on the sill, surrounded by crushed glass. “Robbery?” No, it couldn’t be. She was certain it had to be something worse, something darker. This kind of thing didn’t just happen in Grantwood, and especially not to their resident cryptids.
“What about the back?” Chelsea said, her voice fluttering in panic. “Maybe they’re back there.”
“Chels, hold up.” She pulled her own phone from her pocket and prodded the touch screen. “We need to call the police, this is—”
But Chelsea was already rushing toward the side of the house, past the ruined window. “Come on, come on!” As she went around the corner, she halted, a scream coming to her lips.
Thoughts interrupted again, Amanda rushed to her. And then she saw it, too. There, in the mud, lay an unconscious man in a dirty yellow coat. His head was shaven, and a light goatee framed his parted lips.
“What the fuck,” Chelsea gasped.
And just then, perhaps at the sound of her voice, the man started to stir. An inarticulate sound rattled in his throat, and he shot upright. A gloved hand found his forehead. His chest heaved, and his breath came in loud, wheezing sputters. “Anansi,” he said to himself in a panic.
Chelsea squealed in fear and retreated a step. But the noise drew the man’s attention right toward them. His eyes lit up in shock. Amanda’s jaw tensed. No time to think. She grabbed Chelsea’s wrist and turned to run, but she was too slow. The man scrambled to his feet, and there came a sharp, metallic clack. Amanda froze. When she looked back, she saw he was aiming a muddy assault rifle right at them. “Hands up,” the man said, his voice slurring around the edges of the words. “Stay where you fucking are.”
With another yelp, Chelsea threw her hands into the air. Amanda followed her lead, trying to keep her hands from shaking.
The man took a few shallow breaths and teetered a little. “Don’t make a sound, got it?” For a moment he just glanced around them, as though his surroundings were alien to him. Then, he gave the girls his full attention and jerked his head toward the house. “Get inside. Now.”
Chapter 5
Wrong Place, Wrong Time
Chelsea’s heart felt like it was going to explode. Her arms were raised in surrender but shook with terrible shivers. Her mind was blank; each thought died beneath the shadow of the assault rifle at her back. Under its sight, she and Amanda walked in the direction the mud-covered gunman dictated. “Alright, keep it moving,” he said as he shepherded them through the door of the Warren home.
And beyond the threshold awaited the sight of a war zone. Broken shards of glass crunched beneath their shoes as they entered. Chelsea’s eyes began to adjust to the dark of the interior, and soon the wreckage of the living room unfolded in a ghastly frame. A gasp choked her. Two dead bodies, wearing the same dark yellow coats of the gunman, were slumped against the kitchen’s partitioning wall. One of them had a great beard and a hideous slash that carved through his brow ridge. At his side was a young, blond-haired man who couldn’t have been much older than twenty. They each had two bullet holes in their chests, arranged in narrow spreads.
The man behind them drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, fuck.”
Chelsea’s whole body trembled. “Wh-what happened? What the hell is . . . ” Only the fear of the rifle pointed at her kept her from running screaming from the house.
But the gunman now seemed distracted. “Shit. Okay, okay, this is fine, just relax.”
“Roy?” a voice called from the depths of the hall, nearly giving Chelsea a heart attack. “Was hopin’ you wouldn’t pull through, cocksucker.”
The man behind them jumped in fright. “Edgar? Shit, Edgar, is that you?”
There came a groan from the hall, and one of the shadows shifted. The shape of another man leaned against the wall. With an unsteady gait, the man hobbled into the living room. He was tall, dark, and hideous. Deep bruises sat beneath his eyes, and the nostrils of his bent nose were caked with blood. As he entered the room, he passed his gaze over Amanda and then Chelsea. She shivered when his pupils lingered for a moment too long upon her body.
The man behind them, Roy, snorted a nervous laugh. “Jesus, man, is that you? What the fuck happened?”
A look of contempt came upon Edgar. “Won Miss America, what does it look like? That little shithead jumped me from behind and kicked my fucking nose in.”
“Think I give a shit about your ugly ass? I mean what happened here? Don’t tell me that . . . ”
Edgar groaned and slumped against the living room wall, putting his hand to his head. “Some bitch shot in the window and took out Babyface and Beardy here. A beautiful series of shots. Beautiful woman, too. She’d probably’ve found and finished me off if ol’ yellow and terrible didn’t show up.”
Roy breathed a shaky sigh. “So . . . He got ’em, right? Why didn’t anyone fucking help me then? And why are you still here?” A weighty pause. “Where’s Gauge?”
Edgar put his back to the wall and slid to the floor. He sniffed and wiped at his blood-encrusted face, without effect. “I think they killed him.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“That woman. Crane, she called herself. I think she fucking killed him. They came back a while later, Crane, Nexara, and Anansi. I watched them leave with a bunch of packed bags. Don’t think they’d have had that luxury if Gauge was drawing breath.”
Roy scoffed. “That’s impossible. Those things are motherfucking monsters. If you shot one in the heart with a shotgun it’d find a way to pull through. It pro’lly just ran back to base. Aborted, for some reason.”
Edgar made another coarse sniffing sound in his bloodied nose, and then looked up at Chelsea again. “Whatever. What were you planning on doing with those two?”
“They’re witnesses.”
Chelsea’s blood froze. The air in her lungs turned to icy mist.
“Witnesses?” Edgar asked.
“They saw me. They saw us. And now they know about what happened.”
The man on the ground waved his hands about in a patronizing manner. “Ahh, got it. Now you want to kill some innocent kids, too.”
“Don’t give me that high and mighty bullshit. We don’t have a choice in the matter.”
Another sniff from Edgar. His eyes fluttered in irritation. “For God’s sakes, jus’ let ’em go, Roy. They didn’t do anything.”
“Y-yeah!” Chelsea sputtered in a panic. “That sounds like a good idea. Let us go, we didn’t do anything.”
“Shut up!” Roy took a few quick breaths. “I mean, shit, I don’t wanna kill ’em, but we can’t just let ’em go, man. We let ’em go, they’re gonna go blabbin’ all over Twitter and Facebook about what happened here and who did it.”
Amanda chuckled. “What kind of logic is there to that?” Her voice was measured, forceful. “Which do you think is worse: a vague description of some gunmen, or leaving behind a truckload of forensic evidence? Whether you kill us or not, the next car that takes a spin down Alice is going to see what happened here. The question is: w
hat do you want the police to discover when they come through that door?”
“Shutthefuckup,” Chelsea spat. “Shut up, shut up.”
“Better listen to your friend,” Roy said. “I’d hate to splatter the inside of that pretty face all over—”
Edgar coughed. “You know, the girl’s got a point. It’s a miracle the police haven’t stumbled in yet.” He closed his eyes and cringed as he pushed the bridge of his broken nose in the other direction. “Look around. There’s more than enough blood and fingerprints to link to us anyway. If we’re not killed for failing, Clearwater could easily sell us up the river if it means throwing the police off of NIDUS’s tracks. We at least haven’t killed anyone yet.” He gestured at the two corpses against the other wall. “Our hands are clean of those two.”
Roy was quiet for a moment. “I’ll call Clearwater. He’ll know what to do about this.”
“Great. Some real saintly advice incoming.”
Cold metal struck Chelsea in the small of her back. She yelped.
“Get on the ground,” Roy said.
With a whimper, she sank to her knees. Amanda stood for a moment longer before getting down with a slow, meticulous grace.
Roy walked around them toward Edgar. He kept his gun trained on them with one hand as he dug his phone from his muddy jacket with the other. He lifted the phone to his ear, and his lips started to twitch. A few moments passed. The room was dead silent, except for the distant and ignorant chirping of songbirds. Roy glanced at the screen of his phone, then lifted it again to his ear. “He’s not picking up.”
“Try again for all I care,” Edgar grumbled, his head in his hands.
“At least fucking watch them for me, you piece of shit.”
Edgar waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
Tears welled in Chelsea’s eyes, blurring the carpet. How the hell had this happened? It had to be a bad dream, it just had to be. Her chest grew tight, and her jaw began to shake uncontrollably. She was going to die, she was certain.
Roy paced back and forth in front of them. After a few moments, the arm holding his gun went limp. “Shit, he isn’t there. What do we do?”
Helixweaver (The Warren Brood Book 2) Page 5
