The White Widow's Revenge

by Jacob Grey

  The crows looked at him, their black eyes impossible to read.

  Caw took the sword and sheathed it, before turning to the cat feral. “Did you know you’d survive the fall?” he asked.

  “I … hoped,” said Quaker. “To be honest, I haven’t tried it for a fair few years.” He patted his stomach. “Not really been in training.”

  “Thank you,” said Caw. “You saved my life.”

  Quaker nodded briskly. “I’d say you look terrible, my boy, but it’s all relative.”

  They looked at Johnny Fivetails’ body. He was still breathing in shallow pants and his fingers twitched. Caw guessed that his back was broken, along with his leg and many other bones. It was a horrible sight.

  The Midnight Stone rested a short distance away. Caw picked it up then walked back to Johnny Fivetails. A pair of desperate eyes latched on to Caw’s.

  “Don’t try to move. We’ll call you an ambulance,” Caw said.

  Johnny Fivetails coughed then spat blood across the gravel, his lips curling into a vicious smile. “It’s not me who’ll need it,” he snarled.

  “Caw!” said Quaker sharply. “We’ve got a problem.”

  Caw stood up and saw the three coyotes stalking towards them from beneath an archway.

  Johnny Fivetails chuckled.

  Caw looked around for an escape route. There was another door, but they’d never reach it before the coyotes. The beasts wrinkled their snouts and Caw saw their master’s cruelty reflected in their glares.

  “I’ll enjoy this,” said Johnny Fivetails. “I’ve kept them hungry for days.”

  “Call your crows and get us out of here!” said Quaker, pressing closer to Caw.

  “I can’t,” said Caw. “I … I don’t control them any more.”

  “What?” said Quaker. “But …”

  Caw wondered if he could use the Midnight Stone as a distraction again. But even if it worked for one coyote, the other two were more than enough to kill them. The three beasts were less than twenty feet away and closing in. Glum and Shimmer squawked and fluttered to his side.

  Caw could only think of one thing to do.

  He knelt down and slipped the Midnight Stone out of its pouch right into Johnny’s open palm.

  “What are you …” mumbled the coyote feral, then his eyes rolled in panic as Caw squeezed his fingers tight over the Stone. “No! You can’t …”

  Johnny’s body convulsed and the coyotes lay down, ears pressed back, as though they were suddenly afraid. Caw held on, keeping the coyote feral’s hand clamped round the Midnight Stone. Swirls of light glowed within its black surface. The lights throbbed in time with Johnny’s trembling breaths. At last he let out a moan of despair and they faded suddenly, like a light-bulb filament shorting out.

  “What did you do?” asked Quaker.

  Johnny moaned again, a ragged sound that seemed torn from deep within his stomach. “You took them!” he said. “You took my creatures from me!”

  Caw peeled Johnny’s fingers from the Midnight Stone and stowed it safely in its pouch. “You gave me no choice,” he said quietly.

  The coyotes were yawning and licking their teeth nervously.

  Johnny stared at Caw with pure hatred. “It’s not over,” he croaked. “He’ll still win.”

  Caw shook his head. “Not without an army, he won’t. Lydia is fetching our allies now. They’re heading to the park to round up the convicts.”

  He waited for the defeat to register in Johnny’s eyes, but instead he began to laugh – choking, pain-racked, unsettling laughter. “You fool,” he gasped. “Don’t you … see? I … was going to bring … them to the park anyway. It’s an ambush, kid! A spider’s web …” He choked on a mouthful of blood. “A web … to catch you all!”

  Caw swallowed, coldness prickling across his skin.

  “We need to go, my boy,” said Quaker urgently as he gripped Caw’s shoulder.

  The two crows took off, circling above their heads.

  “What about him?” asked Caw, nodding to Fivetails.

  “Leave him,” said Quaker, as a sudden burst of animal and human cries cut through the night.

  Caw hesitated. The noises were coming from the park. A moment later, they heard the crack of gunfire too.

  “Caw! Come on!” said Quaker as he tugged on Caw’s arm.

  Johnny’s breath was coming faster and faster in ragged pants, then suddenly he went still and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

  “There’s nothing we can do for him now,” said Quaker.

  And then the cat feral dragged Caw away through the arch and out of the prison yard. Neither the coyotes nor Johnny made another sound.

  Caw was still shaking as they exited a side gate into the street and heard another cacophony of screams.

  “Hurry, Caw!” said Quaker.

  But Caw was already running, with Glum and Shimmer soaring overhead.

  ait for me!” shouted Quaker.

  Caw cast a quick glance back and saw that several dozen cats had already fallen in behind the cat feral.

  He ran on, towards the front of the park. The gates were open, the central chain broken, and Caw sprinted inside. The first thing he saw was a fox lying on its side on the grass, panting quickly. Blood matted its muzzle. Then a huge guttural roar from the darkness beyond it sent a shiver down Caw’s spine.

  “Look out!” gasped Quaker.

  Caw ducked as a shape swooped down through the shadowy trees on his left. In the glare of a street lamp he caught a flash of white feathers and the yellow gleam of a jagged beak. The bald eagle narrowly missed him, sailing in between the branches of another tree. Caw quickly followed the sounds of battle into the darkness at the heart of the park. Leaves rustled overhead, and he saw squirrels scurrying among the branches, under attack. Madeleine’s here too.

  A flock of pigeons whipped past, carrying a screaming monkey. Through the trees, Caw saw Crumb partially hidden by a bench. The pigeon feral moved his arms frantically, as if conducting several orchestras at once. Behind him something was stalking through the grass. As it entered a pool of moonlight, Caw realised it was a huge monitor lizard, snapping its fearsome jaws.

  “Crumb, look out!” yelled Caw.

  The pigeon feral spun round then jumped back as the lizard lunged at his leg. Pigeons fell across its back at once, while others soared down and snatched Crumb away from danger. He flew towards Caw.

  “Thank God you’re all right,” Crumb said, hovering above. “We came as soon as we heard.” He shook his head, scanning the trees with wide, anxious eyes until his gaze fell on Shimmer and Glum, perched on a branch nearby. “Is it true, Caw … about your crows?”

  Caw was about to answer when the grass on his right started to move. Rats – hundreds of them, heading straight for him. They swarmed over the path.

  “Help!” cried a young voice.

  “Pip!” said Crumb, and his pigeons swept him off over the trees.

  A wave of Quaker’s felines met the rats in a screeching, hissing chaos, but many of the rodents broke through. Caw ran from the swarm, still heading towards the centre of the park. He was panting hard, his limbs burning with adrenaline.

  He saw the bison feral and her huge beast standing on the smashed remains of a picnic table. They looked frightened, surrounded by snarling, snapping wolves. Racklen was leaning against a tree nearby and clutching a bleeding arm. A man with torn clothes pulled out a gun and advanced on the wolf feral, but a second before he could pull the trigger, his face was coated in bees. The shot ricocheted off into the night as he stumbled, his screams muffled by buzzing.

  Caw moved on, desperately searching for Mrs Strickham, Lydia and Pip, but he could only see more dim shadowy shapes. From above came the sound of snapping branches and Crumb tumbled out of a tree, landing heavily. Pigeons flocked around him, many with feathers hanging loose.

  “Go!” he croaked. “Help Pip!”

  Caw spotted his friend in the children’s playground, runn
ing past the old carousel. Pip vaulted the fence and dived through a gap under the bandstand steps. Monkeys scrambled after him, pummelling him with their fists and ripping at his clothes. Mice covered their backs, but the monkeys ignored them. Caw ran for the bandstand. He grabbed a monkey by the nape of its neck and tossed it away. Another bit his hand, but he shook that one free as well. He tried to kick another, but it ran up his body, clawing for his throat. Caw managed to seize its tail and hurled it away across the grass. At last the monkeys retreated, and Caw helped Pip to his feet as the mice disappeared inside the young boy’s coat.

  A ball of snarling feathers and fur streaked past. Two foxes fighting with an eagle fetched up against a tree trunk. Caw saw the eagle slice a fox’s flank open with a razor-sharp talon then lift the other into the sky, squirming in its grip. The eagle only reached tree level before raccoons leapt from the branches. One missed, but the second landed on the eagle’s back and they fell to the ground.

  Mrs Strickham appeared from behind the tree, her long coat flapping as she ran to the injured fox, while the eagle broke free and took off with heavy wingbeats.

  Caw ran to her.

  “Johnny Fivetails—” he began.

  “Caw!” said Mrs Strickham, looking up at him in shock. “Lydia told us everything. I’m so, so sorry for everything, Caw. I can’t believe we—”

  “He’s dead,” said Caw.

  Mrs Strickham’s expression froze. Then she said quietly, “How?”

  “He tried to kill me, but Quaker saved my life.”

  “Quaker?” said Mrs Strickham. “Felix Quaker?”

  Caw nodded.

  The battle was still raging all around them. Caw saw the flock of parakeets swoop past then dive towards something out of sight. A moment later, there was a shout of alarm.

  “Lydia told us about your crows, Caw,” said Mrs Strickham. “We’ll find a way to get them back.”

  Caw wished he could believe her. He looked around, but he couldn’t see Glum or Shimmer anywhere. He hoped they were staying out of danger.

  A fox hobbled towards them, limping on a broken leg.

  “Poor Tia,” murmured Mrs Strickham.

  The creature cocked its head and made a mewling sound.

  Mrs Strickham looked up quickly. “Where?” she said. The fox made another sound and Mrs Strickham began to run.

  “Wait!” said Caw.

  “It’s Lydia!” Mrs Strickham called back. “I told her not to come …”

  She had only made it as far as the next tree when the dreadlocked convict stepped into her path. Suddenly the ground seethed with hundreds of centipedes, flooding around her ankles. More dropped from the branches above her and squirmed under Mrs Strickham’s clothes, and she doubled over. Caw ran towards her.

  “Caw, leave me!” yelled Mrs Strickham. “Find Lydia!”

  The convict leered at Caw as he darted past. But then a pack of foxes launched themselves at him.

  Up ahead, Caw saw pigeons pinning down the monkey feral and Racklen charging forwards. A fierce-looking German Shepherd was surrounded by cats, growling. Huge hares were locked in battle with rats by the fountain, and a wolf dragged a convict by his arm, with moths covering its body like a second layer of fur.

  Glancing upwards, Caw saw that Glum and Shimmer had returned. And with them were several dozen crows! With a rush of hope, he tried to summon them, but he couldn’t feel a thing. The crows were watching without emotion.

  Then he spotted Lydia. She was in the shadow of a thick grove of trees, waving a branch back and forth as two panthers stalked in front of her. One leapt and gripped the branch in its mouth, breaking it in two. Lugmann strolled behind his beasts, slowly and confidently.

  Lydia swung her stub of branch again, but it was nowhere near long enough to keep them at bay. She tripped over a tree root, landing with a thud on her back. Caw put on a burst of speed and leapt in front of her, slashing with the Crow’s Beak at the two big cats. The panthers hesitated, but didn’t turn tail. Caw hauled Lydia up and they backed away from the snarling creatures. Lydia was bleeding – one of the panthers must have got hold of her arm before Caw reached her. She grasped the wound, pressing it tightly as she gritted her teeth.

  Lugmann placed a hand on each of his panther’s necks. “Your little blade isn’t going to help you now,” he said, eyes glinting in the dark.

  Caw collided with a tree trunk behind him. Nowhere else to run. The panthers wrinkled their muzzles and snarled.

  In a tree nearby, the crows still watched.

  “Please,” said Caw. But they didn’t move.

  “Any last words?” said Lugmann. “I can’t promise it will be quick.”

  “Go to hell,” said Lydia.

  Lugmann smiled. “One day, perhaps.” His glare turned cold and pitiless, and he lifted his hands. “Kill them,” he said.

  The panthers froze.

  The convict frowned, and gave one of his beasts a vicious kick in the flank. “Tear them to pieces!” he snapped.

  The big cat pawed the ground and the other lay down, purring.

  Caw exchanged a glance with Lydia. Why aren’t they attacking?

  Lugmann’s eyes widened as he gazed upwards and he stepped back. “Come on,” he commanded, turning and walking away quickly.

  Caw tilted his head and saw that the tree trunk above them was moving.

  The bark was rippling and bristling.

  All the leaves were black and heavy, drooping with the weight of small creatures.

  On lengths of silken thread some began to drop to the ground, while others surged along the branches towards the trunk.

  Spiders.

  Caw grabbed Lydia’s hand and tugged her away, crunching spiders beneath his feet. As he looked back, he saw the White Widow crouched among the foliage, white hair hanging over her face, eyes glistening black.

  In a rush of dizzy recognition, Caw realised it was his tree.

  Where his nest had once been.

  His home for nearly ten years.

  She must have known.

  The White Widow’s head twitched sideways and she dropped to the ground, landing on all fours in the grass. She didn’t stand, and Caw’s heart lurched with a mixture of fear and pity. Selina’s face was skeletal, her cheekbones blade-like, with dark patches of what looked like rotting skin. Her nails were at least two inches long, black and pointed as they dug into the earth. Her hair, still white, had thinned so much he could see her scalp under the matted strands.

  “Hello, Jack,” she hissed, her tongue flickering between discoloured teeth. “I thought I’d find you here.”

  Her head twitched again. Whether through starvation or simply the corruption of the Spinning Man’s spirit, her skeleton seemed to have changed. Her legs, tucked up beneath her, looked stiff, and her elbows were oddly disjointed, splaying out the wrong way. Her spine curved unnaturally and her head sat low between her shoulders. She looked like some hideous hybrid of human and spider.

  “Selina …” said Lydia.

  The White Widow laughed. “Not any more,” she said. “Your friend is dead, but this body has proved useful. I’m ready, Jack – ready to live again.”

  Caw’s chest felt hollow. Johnny Fivetails had been telling the truth about one thing.

  It really was over. His friend was gone.

  Lydia snatched the Crow’s Beak from Caw’s hand and lunged forwards. With incredible speed, the White Widow scurried backwards up the tree trunk and kicked out with a leg. It caught Lydia on the chin with a sickening thud. Her knees buckled and she collapsed.

  “No!” shouted Caw.

  He ran to Lydia, but spiders swarmed towards him. By the time he reached her, they had covered his legs and were crawling up his waist. He scooped Lydia up in his arms and staggered away, but the spiders kept coming. He felt bites piercing his trousers and stinging his legs, then his stomach and his neck. He felt their legs scurrying under his hair and clothes. If he could just get Lydia back to her mother �
��

  With every step, she felt heavier, and now Caw’s legs wouldn’t do what he told them. The spiders were still biting, and a strange feeling of weightlessness coursed through his blood. Each beat of his heart seemed to drive the poison further into his veins, separating him from himself, splitting mind from body. He stumbled and fell, dropping Lydia on to the grass. And when he tried to move, Caw couldn’t stand.

  Spiders rummaged beneath him and the ground began to move. They were carrying him – he was drifting on a sea of spiders. He could hear squawks and roars, grunts and angry cries, as the other ferals fought. But slowly those sounds were drowned out by the rustling of the spiders’ legs.

  Then the rustling sounds vanished too and blackness closed in, swallowing him whole.

  His first thought was of Lydia.

  Where is she?

  Caw was suspended in a white world. He tried to move, but his limbs felt too heavy. No, not heavy. Stuck.

  He was upright and swathes of silk lay in drapes in every direction. He made out dim shapes around him and through the skeins of webbing he recognised his surroundings. Somehow he was in his old house, in his parents’ bedroom.

  He tore his wrist free and wriggled his body furiously. The cobwebs gave up their grip and he tumbled to the floor. Layers of silk still clung to him, smothering his face, and he tore them off, staggering to his feet. He methodically pulled away at the strands until he stood in a heap of broken webs, panting heavily. The air was warm and humid, suffused with a smell like rotting vegetation. Webs stretched from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, but he saw no spiders.

  How long had he been unconscious? Was the battle at the park still going on? He remembered Selina – what she had become – and a bolt of grief hit him afresh.

  Something moved behind the curtains of silk, quickly scurrying through the door.

  “Who’s there?” he called.

  “Come and find me,” taunted the voice of the White Widow.

  Caw shuddered. He looked around and was astonished to see the Crow’s Beak lying on the floor. He wondered why she’d let him keep it.

  Hacking with his sword, Caw cut a path through the webs. They clung to the blade in sticky strands as he forged his way to the door. On the landing outside, the webs were less dense, hanging between the rails of the banister and clustered into corners.