Spider Web: A Vampire Thriller (The Spider Trilogy Book 2)

by J. R. Rain

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go up there.

  I looked again at Steve. The guy was bone white, and I saw him unconsciously reach for something inside his coat pocket. I thanked the security guards again for their professional handling of the shooting, suspecting I hadn’t seen the last of them, and grabbed Steve under the arm and steered him away from the open space. No telling where another shooter might be.

  Parker followed, jogging slightly to keep up with us. I half-dragged, half-steered her new friend into a quiet hallway and tossed him not-too-gently against the wall. He oofed nicely, air exploding from his lungs as I reached inside his jacket.

  “Hey, whaddya think you’re doing?” His breath was bad burritos and cheap rum punch.

  “Shut up.”

  He fought me until he realized he couldn’t fight me. My hand searched despite his best effort. I found the inside pocket. Should have known. A jacket in this humidity, he had to be hiding something.

  “Hey, I’m not into this kinky shit, man.”

  “This is the only action you’ve had all year,” I said again, and tossed him back against the wall, where more air burst out and he struggled for breath.

  I found the pocket, tore through the zipper with my longish fingernails, and wrapped my fingers around a smooth shape, wooden and box-like. I extracted it even as he continued to struggle.

  “Is this necessary, Spider?” said Parker, but even she was curious enough to step forward and see what I had found.

  With Steve still struggling for air and glaring me, I moved back and held out my hand.

  An intricately carved wooden box. Mahogany, highly polished and lacquered. It was beautiful and fit squarely in the palm of my hand. The designs were some kind of cuneiform, I was certain, but I was hardly an expert.

  I was about to open it but paused. There was something about the writing. About the box itself. It seemed to emit a sort of frequency or energy, something that was registering with me. Indeed, it veritably pulsed in my hand.

  If there is such a thing as “bad vibes,” this is it.

  “I wouldn’t open that if I were you,” said Steve.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s cursed.”

  Parker snorted. I didn’t snort. I said, “What kind of curse?”

  Steve grinned, enjoying this. “They say whoever opens it will die.”

  “I see,” I said, and opened it.

  Despite herself, Parker gasped. Steve actually stepped back, clutching his chest.

  I think we all waited for something to happen. Myself, I wasn’t too worried. Unless a silver stake sprung from the box, I was good to go.

  The box did, however, pulse a little more. No, not pulsing, I suddenly realized. The box had...shifted. As if something within had moved.

  What the hell?

  “Nothing happened,” said Steve, looking dumbfounded.

  “You seem disappointed,” I said.

  “Hey, better you than me. I’ve been dying to look inside. Let’s have a look.”

  He moved forward to peek but I stopped him with my other hand, shoving him back against the wall.

  “Geez,” he said. “Will you quit doing that?”

  “Stay,” I said.

  He stayed, but Parker leaned in even as I brought the box closer. We both looked down together.

  “Eew,” said Parker.

  Inside the box, resting from corner to corner and undulating slowly, was a human finger. The finger was black. The skin at the base was tattered, as if the finger hadn’t been so much cut as torn off. Some darkish bone protruded from the shreds of skin. No blood. Long dead, except for the part about it undulating and shifting in the box.

  Now Steve was peering in, having worked his way past my outstretched arm. Admittedly, the moving finger in the box had highly distracted me.

  “Holy shit!” he shouted louder than I would have preferred. “Please tell me that thing isn’t moving.”

  Other than pointing out the obvious, Steve was stating what my mind was having trouble processing. The finger was moving. I had seen some strange occurrences in my time; hell, I’d even been one. But never, ever had I seen something like this.

  “What is it?” asked Parker. She looked green. In fact, she looked like she was about to lose her shrimp cocktail.

  I was searching for words but found none. Truth was, what I was seeing was beyond explanation. And just as I was about to admit to not knowing, a voice spoke from behind us.

  “It’s the finger of a nzambi, don’t you know?” said a deep voice from behind, peppered with a heavy Jamaican accent.

  I must have been too distracted, too wrapped up in the moving finger in the box, to hear whoever was now standing behind us, although I had a fairly good idea who it was.

  I turned. Demande Jemarcus blocked the hallway, along with four other goons, all pointing pistols of varying shapes and sizes. Steve made a strangled cry. Parker pressed closer to me.

  Parker must not have been able to contain herself. After all, it’s not every day that one sees a moving, severed finger. “What’s a nzambi?” she asked.

  Except I now knew the answer. “Zombie,” I said.

  Demande grinned mightily and stretched out his big, dark hand. “Very good. Now, you will give me the box.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Finders keepers,” I said to the tall, ebony-skinned man with the feathers woven into his dreds.

  His eyes studied me as if I were a beetle under a water glass. They were a startling shade of green, glittering like the sunlit surface of the ocean, but I sensed sharks lurking in them.

  “You don’t know what you’ve found. Not truly.”

  “I know it must be pretty awesome, or you wouldn’t need your goon squad here.” I nodded at Demande’s sidekicks, whose cool obsidian expressions didn’t budge.

  “It’s mine,” Steve said, although his voice was small.

  Demande looked past me to Steve, giving him the evil eye. Steve slammed back against the wall again as if I had pushed him. I couldn’t tell if Demande had used some sort of power of suggestion, or if old Stevie Boy was just doing what he did best, but it shut him up.

  Parker was a little braver than Steve, shoving her way in front of me as if to shield me. Silly Parker.

  Demande glared at her a moment and then threw back his head, a rich laugh rolling from deep in his belly. “Do you know what I do to white women in my land?”

  “Refuse to buy them diamonds?”

  I had to hand it to Parker, she was a spunky one. And spunk just might get her head shrunk down to the size of a walnut and dangled around somebody’s neck by a leather string. It actually looked like Demande was wearing three or four of those.

  “Leave her out of this,” I said. “It’s my box and I handle my own negotiations.”

  Demande cocked an eyebrow. “Who said there was room for negotiation?”

  We were interrupted by a group of cruisers decked out in garish polyester. There were about half a dozen of them, their cologne and cigarette stench pushing before them like a wave. They were chattering about the all-you-could-eat buffet on Deck 12. A morbidly obese man on a scooter brought up the rear, sporting saddlebags as if he was going to sneak a few extra slices of pineapple turnover back to his cabin.

  Demande’s men discreetly lowered their weapons and concealed them. The fragrant group of retirees passed without ever suspecting how close they had come to a hideously violent death.

  I could have used the diversion to make my escape, but I didn’t want to risk the death of innocents. I also didn’t want Demande to think I was afraid. I wasn’t really that afraid, because his bullets meant nothing, unless he was wise enough to pack silver. But I also suspected he was tapped into some of the same mystical powers that coursed through my veins, that maybe he had secrets older than vampires.

  Plus, dang it, that wooden box was pretty nice.

  After the crowd passed, Demande stretched out his hand again. “The b
ox,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t be the first guy I’ve given the finger,” I said, thinking about that dickhead in the back row of night school.

  “You would not want to ruin the cruise for all these passengers, now, would you?” He smiled, revealing yellowed teeth that looked like they could chew through an iguana’s hide. “I truly prefer to settle this like gentlemen.”

  Somehow, I didn’t believe that. Despite all his so-called powers, he wanted to recover his magical finger and get off the ship without attracting attention. So maybe he wasn’t as powerful as he let on.

  Or maybe the finger had some kind of effect on his power. Yeah, I went with that.

  I gently eased Parker to one side as I flipped open the box. Parker resisted for a moment, but I whispered, “Trust me,” and like far too many other women in my long past, she foolishly did.

  When she was safely out of the way, I plucked the finger from the box. The texture was about like what you’d expect a grungy old dead finger to feel like—a little rubbery and coated with a weird mixture of oil and greenish flakes. Demande sucked in his breath when I lifted the finger out of the box. Apparently, this was something that didn’t happen very often.

  If at all.

  He took an involuntary step forward as I held it up, examining it. “Doesn’t look all that special to me,” I said. “Seen one rotten old finger, you’ve seen them all.”

  Demande lifted a trembling hand. I don’t know whether his shakes were from anxiety or anger, but it felt kind of good to be messing with his voodoo-addled brain. Seemed like knocking his all-powerful ego down a peg or two might do him some good.

  Plus I had to put on a good show for Parker. Trying to impress her with what a big, brave hero I was.

  “You don’t know the powers you’re messing with,” Demande said. His goons were all tensed up, but they kept their weapons concealed.

  “He’s right,” Parker said. “Give the creep his finger back.”

  “Finders keepers,” I said.

  “Wait,” Stevie said from behind me. “I’m the one who found it.”

  Demande shot him a glare. “Stole it. And you shall pay for your insolence.”

  Stevie whimpered and went silent. Parker started to say something but I gently stepped on her foot. Well, maybe not too gently.

  “You’re not the only one with powers,” I said.

  Demande’s eyes narrowed, studying me like I was some bug pinned to a corkboard. His lips pursed, causing a hundred wrinkles in his leathery jowls, and he sniffed the air a little. “I smell old magicks on you; old, old secrets,” he said, his hand still reaching toward the finger like a kid after candy. “We are alike in some ways.”

  “Nah,” I said. “I’m evil because I have to be; you’re evil because you want to be.”

  I think that line impressed Parker a little. I don’t know why the girls always fall for the bad-boy stuff. But Demande wasn’t impressed. He loomed closer, his goons right behind him, and now the hallway was empty.

  I raised the finger to my mouth and parted my lips. “Take another step and your finger is meat,” I said. “Tasty, chewy, bacony meat.”

  The look of shock on his face was worth the price of admission. “You would not dare.”

  “Try me,” I said, giving him a dizzying vampire stare that didn’t seem to faze him at all. He must have seen the tips of my fangs when my lips parted, even though they had only extended a little.

  I couldn’t be sure of his experience with vampires, but he seemed like the kind of badass that made it his business to know all the creatures of folklore. And he realized I was serious, even though I hoped he didn’t call my bluff. I can’t really digest anything but blood, and if that finger really did house some sort of magic power, I wasn’t sure I wanted it infecting me from the inside out.

  Fortunately, Demande stepped back and waved his henchmen down the hall. “Another time, then,” he said. “This isn’t over.”

  “Looking forward to it,” I said. “In the meantime, keep it real.”

  After he and his band of merry men went to whatever part of the ship they holed up in—my bet was on the cargo hold down there with the rats—I turned to Parker and said, “So, should we retire to our cabin?”

  She grinned, apparently aroused that I’d stared down a voodoo priest. “Sure thing, ‘Vlad.’”

  I tossed the finger up and caught it like a guy who’d won a good-luck charm, although now it vibrated a little, oozing off some weird kind of energy. I tucked it back in the box and felt better. I followed Parker, figuring she could figure out the maze of the ship’s decks better than I could.

  Steve jogged up behind us, and said in a squeaky, brittle voice, “Hey, wait, guys, you can’t just leave me alone when that Demande guy wants to turn me into chum and feed the sharks.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Cabin only has room for two.”

  Parker hid her smile. I wasn’t real happy that she’d dragged me into this mess, but what the heck. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do besides suck blood.

  Chapter Eight

  I underestimated the punk.

  First off, I have no business being in the sunlight. I do so often out of necessity. But I’m always happiest—and strongest—when the sun goes down. So, after the night’s festivities, and securing what might be the creepiest gift box ever, I found myself in my cabin at dawn, stretched out on my cot, one arm behind my head.

  As my eyes grew heavier, as the dark bliss that is my sanctuary rose up within me, I was aware of Parker slipping under the covers next to me. Next, I was aware of her fingers in my hair, caressing my cheek. Aware of her lips hungrily on mine-and of my own struggling to keep up—but failing miserably...

  And then I was aware of nothing more.

  My sleep is not really sleep. It is a state of nothingness. Temporary death, perhaps. I scarcely dream, and if I do, the dreams are often prophetic. I suspect sleep is the rare time that my “soul”—whatever misty energy I own—escapes the confines of my mostly-dead body. Its chance to be free, so to speak, and perhaps explore the heavens.

  Or not. I don’t really know.

  Like I said, I’d underestimated the punk. Stevie might come off as a doofus—and in fact, I’m still convinced that he’s mostly a doofus—but there was a little more to him than I’d bargained for. After all, he made his living as a thief. And, I suspect, he was probably pretty damn good at it.

  Good enough to slip into the cabin over the next few hours, picking the door lock in the process, securing the box which had been by my bedside, and doing so without awaking Parker or me. Not waking me is no mean feat. Sure, I may sleep like the dead, but I awaken quickly—especially if I sense a threat nearby.

  I must not have sensed a threat.

  Because when I awoke with the sun setting, as I naturally did every evening, and with Parker napping next to me, the fancy box with the finger was quite gone.

  * * *

  “What’s his room number?” I asked Parker again.

  She was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes. Looking damn cute in the process. Her hair was slightly mussed. She wore no make-up. She was just now grasping that her new friend had broken into our cabin during our little cat nap.

  “I don’t know, Spider.”

  “Think back. Did he tell—”

  “I told you, no.”

  “I can’t believe a weasel like him didn’t try to get you back to his cabin.”

  “What kind of woman do you take me for?”

  I wisely avoided her question and hoped she couldn’t read my mind just then. I found myself in a rare state of panic. The nzambi finger was nothing to mess with it. It was real and it was some of the darkest magicks I’d ever come across. The last person it should be with was a doofus, even if that doofus was a damn good thief. “Did you hear anything?”

  “Nothing,” said Parker. “Not even your heartbeat as you slept. What’s the deal with that, anyway?”

  “We’ll talk a
bout my heartbeat, or lack thereof, later. We need to find that box and finger.”

  Parker shivered. “I, for one, am glad it’s gone. Talk about creepy. Why do they want it anyway?”

  I was still pacing. A good question, certainly. Except I didn’t know the answer, other than I had a bad feeling about all of this. Stevie had stolen the finger from Demande. Anything stolen from Demande was certainly a bad idea, especially for a mortal. Why had Stevie risked life and limb to steal the box and return it to a witch doctor in Belize?

  My guess was that there was a lot of money in it for him, or he’d crossed the witch doctor somehow and was now making amends. Yeah, that seemed about right. Find the box for the witch doctor, and live to steal another day.

  How Stevie had gotten himself into this mess, I didn’t know or care. One thing was certain, he’d been spotted by Demande and his gang. Which is why he’d come to us for help.

  Normally, I wouldn’t bother with such scum. Leave Stevie to suffer the consequences of a life poorly lived. Except there was something else going on here.

  Stevie had said he was to return the finger to the witch doctor, or the whole ship would turn into zombies.

  Maybe the witch doctor wasn’t threatening him. Maybe the witch doctor was warning him.

  “Jesus,” I said lightly.

  “‘Jesus’ is right,” said Parker next to me.

  I glanced at her sharply, but she spoke up before I could say anything. “Yes, I followed that whole crazy train of thought, Spider. You think that filthy finger could somehow turn this whole ship into zombies.”

  “I didn’t say that—”

  “But you thought that!”

  “You shouldn’t read other people’s minds. It’s not polite.”

  She ignored me. “But I don’t understand. It’s just a finger.”

  “A living finger.”

  She must have read my next thought, too, because she voiced it for me. “A contaminated finger.”