Spider's Kiss: Book One of the Drambish Chronicles

by Jesse Sprague

  Pale yellowy skin, a sharp intelligent slant to his eyes, a fitted net-suit—the picture of success and wise breeding.

  She was nothing special and Ymel, not for the first time, imagined slitting her pasty throat. But he needed her. Marim. Since his team had failed so abysmally in bringing in the two who actually mattered, Marim was more valuable than he’d intended.

  He set one hand over her mouth. The contrast between his warm lively skin and her death white struck him as charming. She might already be dead for all the pigment in her disappointing face. In herself, she was useless. Lacking Sylvia’s looks, she would never make it as one of The Brothel’s girls. Even if she did regain consciousness, which his knowledge of the Drambish gene told him was unlikely, she was just a useless girl.

  Some humans just weren’t suitable for the gene. Their minds, unable to bend to the center hive mind, would cave in. The reports were clear on the fate of people like Marim. The hive mind would consume her from within until she was nothing but a puppet or a corpse.

  Her worth rested in her meaning to Darith. She was meant to be a safeguard to keep the boy in line. And he… damn that boy. Darith was the one whom Halis and Sylvia would come for. He’d grown powerful from the exposure and that made Darith one of the Drambish clan.

  Logic told him that all Halis had wanted since getting free was to recreate the Drambish population. The benefit of this was it slowed the couple down. Where location spells failed, live trackers succeeded. The couple had gone so far as to buy a house, settled in like ducks waiting on a pond to be shot.

  Now, he just had to hope Darith wanted Marim enough to come for her. Then, as long as everything else fell into place, he could kill both of the sniveling kids. Maybe have a little fun with Darith first.

  Ymel licked his lips. Darith was a lovely young man, far too handsome for the skinny freckled thing on the table. Ymel’s own taste in men was far too clean for The Brothel, which specialized in deviations. But Darith fit perfectly.

  “Is the visitor gone?” Ymel asked at the sound of footsteps. But even before he got a response, the reflection in the mirrors revealed that it was not his bodyguard entering the room. No, a blond man with a perfectly trimmed beard strode inside. His suit was impeccable. All of him was. Nothing exciting about him, just an average man except that his suit must have cost a small fortune.

  “No. I did not come all this way to depart, and I find your reception inordinately rude.”

  “And you are?” Ymel said.

  The blond man ambled across the room. Ymel restrained himself from releasing invectives against the interruption. There was something about this man that was vaguely familiar and until he knew whom he was dealing with, it was best to retain a semblance of respect.

  “A forceful attempt to evict me is not the welcome I expect from someone who has hired one of my girls.”

  Ah! “Mr. Red, I presume.”

  That was stupid. Ymel cursed himself. There was no hint on the other man’s impassive face that he’d noted the slip up. But from what Ymel understood of Mr. Red, nothing escaped Red’s notice. And now, Red knew that Ymel and the other owners of The Agency had discussed him in his absence. If Red wasn’t already suspicious, he would be now.

  “Do you often keep women tied to tables?” Red asked.

  “Only the good ones.” Ymel winked as he forced a grin. There had to be a way to get the upper hand. From appearances, there was nothing special about this man. He’d expected a man with looks worthy of brothel work from the way The Agency referred to him.

  “The Brothel hired one of my agents.” No judgment tinged Red’s voice. There wasn’t a hint of anything in the flat words.

  Ymel’s heart raced, and he took a step back bumping into the table. “Yes. A simple kill job.”

  “That’s what my partners said.”

  How much did he know? This wasn’t what he’d envisioned when he’d hired The Agency. He’d been thrilled at the discount The Brothel got. No one hired an Agency girl for that price. But he liked the plan as much as the discount. The Agency’s asset would go out there, make a good showing, and end up dead. Her death being what they wanted, or he would have had to pay far more for their help. If all went well, his spiders would decide the moon colony was too hot to remain stationed on. Silvia and Halis would flee the planet and this time, several professionals were waiting to catch them in transit and bring them back to Ymel.

  Capturing Silvia and Halis on the Veesp colony posed too many risks of exposure. The Brothel couldn’t afford to have them using their abilities publicly or to be tied to the dead body of a Drambish. The Drambish mustn’t make the news or everything was over. A space train was an environment he could control. Ymel had faced angry senators before. He had no wish to face a Council of Five representative out for his blood. The Agency offered him the perfect plan and all because some little chit had fallen in love with her trainer.

  Him? This was the trainer? Again, Ymel wondered at the slim man. He preferred his men either younger or broader in the shoulders. Certainly, Red wasn’t unattractive, but there was nothing about him that should drive a sensible girl to throw her life away.

  “Do my words bore you, Mr. Ymel? Shall I repeat myself? Perhaps I’ll lower the conversational bar for you and resort to direct questions,” Red said. His thin mouth showed a slight snarl. “Where did you send my girl?”

  Ymel took a deep breath. Well, there went any hope that Mr. Red suspected nothing.

  “Your girl?” If you didn’t refer to her that way, she wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “They’re all my girls. Where did you send Allison? I have limited patience, Mr. Ymel.”

  “Why not ask your partners? They arranged the whole thing.”

  Mr. Red was flush now. His eyes were the color of honey. “Because you’re the one I find with a child strapped to a table. Even for a man with your reputation… This might not go over well. A noble girl, no less. Imagine if her name and location were to creep out to the media. I’ll ask one more time, try and pay attention. Where’s Allison?”

  Red rocked back on his heels, completely relaxed. He inspected the perfect crescents of his nails. Ymel’s cheeks grew hot; if he could have, he would have called security and had this arrogant, pompous, preening punk dragged out. But that would be suicide. His options were limited with one of the owners of The Agency.

  “Veesp moon colony.”

  Mr. Red strolled over to Marim and wiped a tendril of red hair from her cheek. It was a tender gesture, but only clinical detachment showed on his face. Ymel judged that Marim meant no more than a bargaining chip to Red. That played in his favor. He didn’t want to face off against The Agency to keep her. Though The Brothel might win the struggle, they’d lose more than they could afford in the battle. They had to keep the existence of the Drambish from The High Council.

  He’d stretched the budget already buying off a chunk of the police force on the first asteroid colony the spiders had visited and paying for The Agency girl. Keeping the spider’s adventures quiet was paramount.

  Red circled Marim’s bed. When he finished his round, he strode to the door. Before passing through, he paused.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Red said in the same flat, emotionless voice he’d employed the entire encounter. “My agents are my sole priority at the moment, Ymel, but I harbor no love for men who harm little girls for kicks. That girl will stay in a gleaming state of health from here on. If I hear otherwise, I’ll squash you like the bug you are, and understand, I don’t have time for threats.”

  Ymel swore under his breath, and then louder once the door clicked shut on Red’s exit. He barreled across the room to Marim. Red clouded his vision, and his fist slammed into the girl’s pale cheek. Her head rotated to the side, making a thunk as it struck the hard slab.

  Marim’s eyes opened, revealing a deep black that seemed to sink down inside her. The once-white cheek turned a vivid red and began to swell.

  Marim laughed. The voices c
oming from her throat made a crackling cacophony and smoke curled from between her lips. Mr. Ymel stumbled back a few steps.

  Chapter 12

  The Wizard

  The old wizard’s home was in the last place one would expect a follower of the hidden arts to dwell. He resided in one of the stations that hovered around Yahal. Places of refuge for the technologically inclined tethered to Yahal for one reason or another. Most inhabitants were college professors, scientists, or politicians.

  The commute to Yahal mainland was under an hour, to and from the sky-train station. Darith tucked himself and Annabelle in an out-of-the-way seat toward the middle. He knew a few kids he’d gone to school with who lived out at the sky-station and as the train filled, he watched fearfully for them.

  He’d kept his name off the books, but if he was recognized despite the current dark hue of his skin, it would leave a trail linking him and the old wizard, Parl. That wouldn’t do. Could I kill them, childhood friends, just on the off chance their deaths would help protect Annabelle?

  “Yes,” a voice whispered.

  “No,” he said, gazing into Annabelle’s eyes.

  He gave a sigh of relief when a man he didn’t know sat down next to him and settled a pair of net-glasses over his face. The train jostled into movement, a brief moment without gravity causing Darith’s stomach to lurch up to his throat. Then gravity reasserted itself.

  Darith tugged at the ratty sweatshirt he’d found in one of the servants’ rooms. It was too big, and the hood did a passable job of obscuring some of his face. He leaned back into the shadow for the remainder of the journey, tugging the web tightly around him. The thrum of energy obscured his face.

  The whispering voice of the web wound around him. Its words encouraged him on. Darith would have broken free of the cocoon except that the shadows hid him from passing eyes.

  Would Parl even remember him? It had been years since they’d had any contact. The last time they’d spoken, Parl had accused him of having an attitude worthy of a spoiled noble brat—had insinuated that soon he would be just like his father. Looking back, Darith regretted taking offense. He should have taken the words to heart.

  Now, Parl was the only one he dared to trust. The only person he knew who could keep a secret and the only possible person who wouldn’t try to harm Annabelle if he knew what she was. What Darith was.

  He glanced again at the smoky gray of his skin. Using the web had been a necessary part of this journey. He was too conspicuous in a wheelchair, but the link seemed to grow roots every time he used it. How long until he couldn’t disconnect?

  The train pulled into the station, and the three vacuum doors opened onto the eclectic metal suburb. Darith stepped out onto the self-propelling ground. For a block he let the walkway carry him along, but the ground propelling him reminded him too much of a wheelchair. He strode along the walkway, achieving a pace akin to a run with the added movement of the ground.

  Above him a screen stretched over the sky, displaying a view of a perpetually sunshine. It would display that image until the clocks indicated sleeping hours and then it would clear, showing the vast expanse of stars and on occasion Yahal below.

  Each segment of the station glowed a different color, illumination seeping from the cracks in the walkway. These colors defined the districts. He followed the walkways until he reached the green section. As he approached the clusters of fantastical houses, the revulsion bred in Darith rose.

  The displays of tech were excessive and vulgar. He half-expected drug addicts to start tumbling into the street and murdering each other. That was what happened in all the “documentaries” they showed at school. All that actually happened was a continuation of the mechanized bird chirping.

  Parl’s house, at the very least, didn’t float. The small shack stood on long bird legs. He’d mentioned it once, called it an ode to a witch of legend. From all appearances, the house over his head was a wreck of old wooden boards with shutters loose on their hinges, but that was a façade.

  Darith clutched Annabelle close to him and resisted the urge to simply fly them up to the door. Connected to the web his access to energy to bend seemed endless. Instead, he searched out the alert panel along the street and buzzed up into the house. Only moments later, the giant bird legs bent, and the house lowered so its stoop touched the ground. The door creaked open and Parl’s weathered face appeared.

  He hadn’t changed in the years. On his head, scraggly gray hairs grew long and sparse over a shiny scalp. Only the beard that covered two-thirds of his face was thick, his long, pencil-thin nose sticking out over the mass of hair.

  “Darith Cortanis?” The old man wheezed.

  “Invite us in, old man.”

  “I’ve heard your name, even up here. Didn’t expect you to walk to my doorstep.”

  Darith shoved past Parl into the temperate interior. The décor inside was diametrically opposed to the outside. Everything shone with factory freshness. Lights flashed and a small hunk of plastic shot out to clean any dirt Darith might have tracked inside. Darith strode over to a sofa and seated himself. Once off his feet he cut himself off from the web and watched the darkness drain from his hands.

  Parl furrowed his brow; this caused a few long hairs to drag across his eye. But he didn’t mention the change in Darith’s looks, or how he’d come to be smoke colored to start with.

  “Parl, you once schooled me in lost magics, unspoken laws.” Darith waved for the old man to sit. “My wife has been taken and I have every reason to believe those who’ve done this will return for me and my daughter.”

  With a groan, Parl settled into the chair opposite Darith. “How’re your parents?”

  Darith shivered at an unbidden image of the blood-soaked parlor and high-heeled feet sticking out from behind a typically white lounge chair. Beneath the countess’ glazed eyes was a blue-lipped smirk, the same smile she’d worn when anything bad happened. Her “I told you so” to the world, the perfect knowledge she’d held at her core that nothing would ever go right. I never proved her wrong.

  “Don’t waste my time,” said Darith, avoiding the question. “I’m here because you are the only person who might be able to protect her.”

  “There’s more to this tale. The air around you hums and you walk to my door, though everyone knows you are crippled. If you want my aid, do me the honor of being honest and respectful.”

  Darith lifted a hand to massage his forehead. If anyone deserved respect, it was Parl. He formulated his words before speaking to avoid the harsh edge he otherwise couldn’t seem to avoid.

  “My life’s a mess, Parl. I don’t expect you to wade through the sludge with me. I’m stronger now, stronger than I ever was or ever should have been. I found a way to heal myself. The process will take time to perfect and time is something I have little of, so I need help. First, I must find a safe harbor for Annabelle. The things I need to do won’t be safe for her. Please, I have no right to ask anything of you, but I am asking.”

  “I’ll protect the baby.”

  “Touch her.”

  “Why, young Cortanis?”

  “Because she isn’t what you think she is and you need to understand that. I need to see your face when you learn if I am to trust you with her.”

  Parl reached out and set his hand on Annabelle’s chubby cheek. He recoiled and wiped his hand against his leg. His voice shook when he next spoke. “Do you know what she is?”

  “My daughter.”

  “She is not yours, Darith.”

  Darith glared. “She is no one else’s. Trust me when I say she’s more than that thing you feel. I intend to see to it. But she needs her mother. Marim is the one who will teach Annabelle love and kindness… Hell, Marim will teach me.”

  “Are you spouting love conquers all? You? That thing in the child… is like thousands of claws trying to pierce my flesh.”

  “Not claws and not thousands. Legs and—”

  “Eight.”

  “My love won
’t change her, but with love, protection, and guidance, she’ll be more than the creature that poisoned my wife. I’ll arm myself, find and heal Marim, but first I’ll figure out why The Brothel wants us, and I need Annabelle safe. She cannot come where I’m going or see those I go to see.”

  “The Brothel? And if they come looking for her here?”

  “They won’t. I shielded myself coming here. No one saw me and there is no trail. As far as the world knows, I spent one month failing to learn magic from you, so there’s no reason to believe I would come to you.”

  “How?”

  “The people who attacked us left bits behind like an infection. The other day I moved the contamination. I’m certain that, given time, I could remove it. But I need to understand it first. I’ll be the test subject and then I’ll find Marim and I’ll cure her. But I’m missing pieces, and it’s imperative to find those that infected us to connect the scattered bits.”

  “You cannot hope to cure the child. If you removed the beast… there is nothing else inside her.”

  “I know.” Darith grinned. Annabelle’s excitement made his heart pound. “When I find the black widow, I’ll rip the beast from her and see how she fares.”

  He didn’t allow himself to think of Silvia often. Halis was safer, thoughts of Halis brought only hate and anger. Silvia shouldn’t have been more complex, but she was. Along with the anger was the memory of her warm, smooth flesh, as if the memory of slipping between her thighs somehow remained separate from the rest. Kill her, yes. That remained the primary urge, but there were others and he didn’t appreciate that those desires lingered.

  Not when he’d never been able to hold Marim as a husband should. Not when Marim suffered. He shouldn’t listen to the words Silvia sent him or pity her for the wrongs she’d suffered as a child.

  “Revenge, Cortanis, is the wrong thing to show that child… I can feel it rolling off of her. If you hold to those thoughts, you will lose any chance of making this ‘cure her nature’ bit work.”