Helixweaver (The Warren Brood Book 2)

by Bartholomew Lander

  “Whatever.” She crossed her arms and sank back into the seat. An odd crackling answered her from where Kara sat, but she just looked off at the asphalt and the sun-kissed trees beyond. The hell is a spindle-shay, anyway?

  “Spinzie,” Annika said, her tone abruptly cool and non-confrontational. “Are you hungry?”

  She bit her lip. Every muscle wanted to strike the detective in the back of the head. “I could eat.”

  “How about Kara’s extra helping of meat? Or do you want something more palatable?”

  Kara hugged her bag and meat closer. “No, it’s mine. I’m just . . . going to eat it later.”

  “I thought you said you were super hungry,” Annika said. “In any case, what do you want, Spinzie? We have a few muffins left in the bag. If you want something special I’ll be cross with you.”

  The woman’s sickly sweet tone ground away at Spinneretta’s nerves. Memories of the last time they’d met were still clear and acidic in her mind. “Just give me some damn muffins then.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  A hot bag that smelled of spiced sausage landed in Spinneretta’s lap, startling her from her anger. She grunted, not quite able to force herself to thank the detective. “Where are we, anyway?”

  “El Dorado County. Not far out of Placerville.”

  Spinneretta nodded sleepily as she opened the bag and considered the three breakfast sandwiches within. Her stomach slithered with hunger, enervated muscles aching. “We know where we’re going yet?”

  “Not just yet.” With a click, Annika pulled out a cellphone and began to dial. “Here’s hoping your mother is awake and ready to guide us.” She lifted the phone to her ear, and a long silence unfolded. “Hey, sweetie,” she said at last. “It’s Annika. Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time. Just calling to let you know that we found your other daughter. . . . Well, safe-ish. The girl managed to get a pretty gnarly cut on her arm. And if you were particularly attached to her shoulder having skin, I’ve got some bad news. . . . Definitely. She gave us a heart attack or three when she got here. . . . Sure, hold on.” She offered the phone to Spinneretta. “Mommy wants to talk to you. Ask her for the address of somewhere out of town we can stay.”

  Spinneretta’s heart leapt. She swallowed hard and took the phone. “H-hello? Mom?”

  A brief gasp on the other side. “Oh my God, Spins! I’m so happy to hear your voice! Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

  Hearing her mother’s voice was like getting splashed by cool water. It made her feel like everything really was okay after all. “I . . . I’m alright. Everything’s a little weird right now, though. How’s Dad?”

  “He’s fine. He’s with the doctors right now. Wasn’t supposed to take so long, but he really wants to solve his genetically-spider thing for good, I think. We’ll be out of here once he has his results, and then we can finally . . . Ugh, that’s not important. What’s happening with you kids? Is everyone alright?”

  Spinneretta looked at her siblings. Bruises on their faces, scabs on Arthr’s neck. “Yeah, no problems here. But, umm, look, Annika’s giving me the eye of death right now because I’m supposed to ask for somewhere we can stay out of town.”

  May’s tone grew distant, and her joy vanished. “That again.”

  She gulped. “Yeah. Sorry?”

  “I’m afraid I only found one name I can give you guys. That’s the problem with burning bridges, I guess. So here it is. Thirty-nine Arroyo Azul Lane, Marlin.”

  Spinneretta caught Annika’s eye. “Thirty-nine,” she repeated, “Arroyo Azul Lane, Marlin.”

  Annika gave a slight nod. “Gotcha.”

  “You’re not going to write that down or anything?”

  Annika tapped her forehead with the edge of her finger. “Photographic memory, min spindeltjej.”

  Spinneretta bit her tongue. “Okay, got it,” she said into the phone. “Who lives there? I didn’t know we had family in Marlin.”

  “We don’t,” May said. “And to be honest, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to go there. I haven’t talked with him in quite a while, and I’m not sure he’d be too happy to have us come knocking after how we left things. Burning bridges, and what have you.”

  “Who is it?” Spinneretta asked.

  A pregnant pause. “A man named Kyle Rogers.”

  Chapter 14

  The Wolf in the Warren

  Spinneretta awoke again some hours later, just as the car was approaching the town of Marlin, California. Her whole body ached, a delayed effect of their struggle through the Web. She hadn’t expected to fall asleep again. After Annika had explained to her what happened on prom night, and about their battle with the horrible creature known as a Vant’therax, she’d thought the horror would keep sleep at bay. But it seemed exhaustion had won over malaise. She was about to ask how far from Marlin they were but her breath halted when she looked out the window. They were descending on a road nestled between gentle, rolling hills. Verdant farmland thinned to sparser, brown-green hillocks in the distance. Where the hills grew too lazy to continue on, the land ended abruptly in jagged cliffs that overlooked the sparkling blue sheen of the ocean.

  “Something wrong, Spinny?” Mark asked from the passenger seat. He sounded groggy, as if he’d been sleeping as well.

  “No,” she said. “It’s just . . . the ocean.”

  “Mm. What about it?”

  “I’ve just never seen it before, is all.” The way the light sparkled off the distant waves like diamonds, the way the sea filled her vision and stretched to the flat horizon and beyond—she’d seen pictures and videos of it, but she’d never imagined actually seeing it would be so impressive. Even when she dreamed about the sea, it was never so real nor breathtaking.

  Annika chuckled. “Really? You’ve lived five hours from the coast your whole life and you’ve never seen it?”

  “Nope,” Kara yawned, still hugging her duffel bag. “Always wanted to.”

  From the other side of Kara, Arthr groaned a little. “Dad wanted to take us. But it was hard for him to ever get vacation time.”

  “Always wanted to go swimming at the beach,” Kara said into her bag.

  Spinneretta couldn’t help but stare into the glittering surface of the Pacific, even as they descended the final hill to Marlin and the sea vanished beyond the facades of buildings. They drove through dense streets, toward the outskirts nearest the rocky beaches tracing the ocean’s curve. Lining the town’s main artery were numerous shopping outlets and malt shops, their paint stripped by the salt spray. There were so many things to see. A pair of surf shops, one boarded up and another adorned with sun-bleached advertisements from the sixties. A sandy plaza outside a mall just as small as Grantwood’s. An In-N-Out Burger and a Fosters Freeze competing over a shared parking lot. Countless bearded palm trees that bent at random angles, having given up to the inevitability of the end. The town looked like it had been all but forgotten for decades.

  After making their way through a few residential neighborhoods, they approached one of the grass-sandy hills that bordered the town. An old, rusty wire fence surrounded the hill, and a two story farm house sat at the top, dominating the barren property. The paved road turned to gravel as they began to ascend the slope.

  “This is the place?” Spinneretta found herself asking.

  “GPS seems to think so,” Annika said. “Don’t see any horses or cows, so I wonder what’s up with owning this whole hillside.”

  As they neared the home, the ocean again appeared to the side, separated only by a few hundred feet and a sheer drop over a cliff. Patches of ice plant peppered the front of the hill, and the invasive flora grew thicker and wilder beyond the home. A few eucalyptus trees stood on the far side of the slope, and a pair of old sheds hid in the shade.

  Annika pulled up beside another old fence. She killed the engine. Before dying, the digital clock told them that it was 5:04 p.m. “Well, this is it. Sink or swim time. Let’s hope Mommy’s friends
are trustworthy.” She cranked the door handle and climbed out with a mechanical haste.

  How can you be so awake still? Spinneretta wondered. She stretched her arms above her head, let her spider legs get one final reach under her jacket, and then slipped out her own door. Kara followed, her bag hefted upon her shoulder, while Arthr climbed out the opposite way. At once, the smell of salt filled Spinneretta’s lungs and spiracles. It was a peaceful scent, almost nostalgic. In the distance, the waves churned and spawned white crests of foam that unfolded in slow motion. The sea breeze ruffled her jacket and blew her hair in the wrong direction. She pulled her olive jacket tight around herself and began to fight a losing battle against her hair. “Let me do the talking,” she said.

  Annika smirked at her. “You? Why? Don’t trust me to represent your best interests?”

  “This is a weird issue,” she said. “I feel like it’d be best if he heard the situation from us instead of you. At least we’re related to Mom, anyway.”

  “Have it your way.”

  With that, they began to approach the lone house.

  Kyle was halfway through the sports section, a half-eaten pile of spaghetti growing cold on his plate, when a knock came to the door. The intrusion struck him as suspicious; he hadn’t gotten any solicitors since he lost his shit and cursed out those Jehovah’s Witnesses back in August. He took a quick swig of his beer and got to his feet, his knees creaking as he moved. When he opened the front door, he found a small group awaiting him: a man and a woman who looked to be in their early twenties, a short teenage girl, a tall teenage boy, and a young blond girl with piercing blue eyes. He stood a moment, considering the small crowd. “Can I help you?” he asked, at once apprehensive. They didn’t look like they were spreading the good news, but then again neither had those Witnesses.

  The woman cracked a smile. “Hate to come barging in on you, sir, but would you be Mr. Kyle Rogers?”

  “That’s me.” He looked at the teenage girl who seemed somehow out of place. Her deep brown eyes were familiar. “And you are?”

  The woman nudged the short girl, prompting her to speak. The girl cleared her throat. “Umm, we’re, uhh . . . Well, I know this is weird and all, but we were given your name by an old friend of yours. Do you remember May Warren?”

  A dagger ripped through Kyle’s chest. He felt his blood run cold. “You’re shitting me.”

  The girl seemed disarmed by the response. “Uhh, okay. So . . . We’re her kids. And, well, these two are with us, too. And . . . It’s a long story but . . . Umm, is it alright if we come in? There’s kind of a lot to explain.”

  Half-rotten memories of the woman burst from their shallow grave. Anger scorched away the fog covering his mind. He showed them the most antisocial scowl he could. “Get out of here. May has caused me nothing but trouble, and I’m done doing favors for that bitch.”

  The whole group stared at him, expressions varying from confusion to ambivalence. The girl cleared her throat. “I, uhh . . . I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but if we could just come in and explain, I think—”

  “No. Get out of here. I’m finished with that woman and everything to do with her. Just leave me alone and get off my property.” Before anyone could protest, Kyle slammed the door. He sucked unsatisfying breaths into his seething lungs. For a long moment he just stood there, staring into the oak finish of the door, before leaning his forehead against its surface. He clenched his jaw and eyes shut. Every fucking time, he thought to himself. Just leave me alone.

  From the other side of the door, he heard the muffled sound of the woman sigh. “Well, good job. You blew it.”

  “What should I have done, then?” the younger girl asked.

  “Convinced him.”

  “I did my best.”

  “Yeah, you sure did. All hail Spinneretta Warren, the Duchess of Failed Negotiation.”

  Kyle’s eyes shot open, taking in nothing but the grain of the door. His breath stopped. Spinneretta? No, he thought, trying to dismiss those words. That can’t be. That just can’t be. Though he tried to shake the invasive speculation away, it had lodged itself in the gap between his self-hatred and his memories like a crowbar. He’d just misheard her. Maybe. Maybe his subconscious was playing tricks on him. Either way, he was overcome by something stronger than his residual hatred for May. Even if it was only a chance . . .

  He reached for the knob with a trembling hand and pulled the door open again. At once, the bickering outside ceased and the group’s eyes were drawn again to him. He looked out at them, disbelief mounting. Three children. He looked back and forth between their faces. The oldest, accounting for her height, could have been born around that time May called him from the hospital. The boy, the only boy, looked like he was only a year or so off from his sister. The youngest—the second girl—was about the right age to fit into the timeline. Two girls, one boy. Girl, boy, girl—in that order. His mouth tasted like sand. “You . . . You said you were May’s kids?”

  The teenage girl nodded and looked over her shoulder to the older woman. “Look, just let me show him, alright? He’s going to find out anyway, and it’s not like anyone will see us all the way up here.” The older woman shrugged, and the girl pulled her dark green jacket off of her shoulders. And when Kyle saw the dark appendages unfurling from the girl’s back, he could only gasp. Though he saw them for only a moment before the shock set in, he knew what they were. May herself had told him, hadn’t she? Spider legs.

  He lost his footing and ducked back a step, holding himself up with the door. His mouth fell open as the girl’s legs extended. “You . . . You’re . . . ” The realization dawned with the splendor and horror of an atomic bomb. More than the obscenity of the wonder before him, more than the doubt, it was the premonition of guilt that voiced itself through demon-possessed lips. “Your name,” he said, almost choking on his own tongue. “Please, please don’t tell me your name is actually Spinneretta.”

  The girl’s expression turned puzzled. “Yeah, that’s right. Why?”

  At those words, Kyle’s world collapsed. A cry poured from his mouth, startling the small group, and before he knew what had happened it had morphed into spasmodic laughter. He fell to his knees, shaking his head in abject disbelief. “No. Please, God, why? Why do you do this to me, God?” He put his face into his hands and kept shaking his head. “Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with him?” one of their voices said, but Kyle was too far away to acknowledge it.

  “Forgive me,” he kept repeating. “Forgive me, child, please. I’m so sorry. Forgive me, God. I had no idea what I was doing. Please. Forgive me.”

  After Kyle had partially recovered from his fit of hysteria, he beckoned them all inside his home. They sat about in the spacious living room, waiting for him to finish calming down. For a time, he just paced around, muttering, and at odd intervals rubbing his eyes or tugging on his graying hair.

  “Is this how people normally react to your legs?” Mark asked Spinneretta on the couch.

  She shook her head, watching the subtle changes in Kyle’s expression. “Usually they freak out a little bit, but I think this is the first time somebody has actually broken.”

  Mark nodded in reply, dipped his chin, and winced. The recovery from his magical exertion seemed to be taking just as long the second time around.

  After another ten minutes, and several shots of whiskey, Kyle had recovered enough to speak. He sat down in a cushioned chair on the other side of the room. “So, I just . . . Just let me get this whole thing straight, alright? You are, uhh . . . What, what are you?”

  Spinneretta could tell that he asked less out of malice than curiosity, but the question still made her cringe. “That’s something we’re not too clear on either.”

  “You, uhh. All of you are . . . Uhh . . . Like this?” He gestured at the legs peeking out from beneath Spinneretta’s jacket.

  “You don’t have to beat around the eggshells,
sweetie,” Annika said. “Half-spider, spider-people, Homo arachnida, you can take your pick of phrases to use here. Nobody is asking for political correctness.”

  Spinneretta glared at Annika over her shoulder and then turned her attention back to Kyle.

  He blinked a little and shook his head, making a choked laughing sound. “Alright, so then . . . You three, you’re all . . . You all have spider legs, then?”

  “Yup!” Kara said. Her own extremities sprang from beneath her jacket in excitement. The duffel bag on her lap bounced a little from the exuberance of the motion.

  He nodded, and his eyes grew even more distant. “I see.” The room fell silent, and he hung his head. He took a few even breaths to steady himself and then began to laugh. “Well, what the hell am I supposed to say about this?”

  “Say nothing and listen,” Mark said from his end of the couch. “Based on your reaction, I have a feeling you’re not going to believe a word we tell you, but we need you to listen. As much as I hate getting you involved in what’s been going on, our options have become steadily fewer.”

  “And no matter how ridiculous anything sounds,” Annika said, “keep in mind there are spider-people ten feet away from you. Compared to that, anything should be sane, right?”

  Annika then explained an abridged version of the situation to Kyle. In this version, all references to the spider cult and to the creatures known as the Vant’therax were omitted to maintain brevity and, presumably, credibility. Instead, she focused on the sins of the organization NIDUS, highlighting their two attempted kidnappings and use of armed men.

  From the beginning until the end, Kyle’s expression remained a steady, unfeeling mask. From time to time he would nod; at others, that mask would falter and a sign of disbelief would slip through. Spinneretta watched his face the entire time. There was something wrong, she decided. Nobody should have reacted so outrageously to them and their legs. Based on what he’d first said to them, she thought it may have had something to do with her mother.