The Spider Children (The Warren Brood Book 1)

by Bartholomew Lander

  For a moment Mark just stood there, lost in thought. Then, he began to nod. “It is quite rare that one of the branches returns to Golgotha,” he said. “I suppose I never considered the possibility. I now understand your anger.”

  Ralph’s clenched jaw muscles quivered. “Good. Then get out.”

  “If you want me to leave, then give me what I came for.”

  A couple deep breaths chilled Ralph’s lungs as he tried to temper the panic frothing in his veins. “What do you want?” His shaking lips struggled to make out the words.

  “As I mentioned, I’m looking for someone. Truth be told, there is one more true Warren who survived the end six years ago. And I need to find her.”

  Ralph laughed a cynical chortle to hide the dread those words evoked. “So there’s another witch running around? Unbelievable. I bet you want me to help you find her so you can restart the cult and become the next fucking Golgotha.”

  Mark cringed, and for the first time Ralph saw anger flash in his pale eyes. “She’s twelve years old, Ralph. I don’t care if you hate me, but she’s done nothing to deserve your ire. She was only six when the family fell apart, and as far as I know she’s been homeless since then.”

  Ralph said nothing and dropped his eyes. Was it possible that Mark’s intentions were really so innocent? He didn’t find it likely, and before he knew it the breath hissed between his teeth in uneven gasps. “And why does any of this involve me? If you’re looking for your own blood, then why not use your own damn Sight?”

  “I assure you, were that possible I’d have no need for you.”

  No matter how many breaths Ralph took, he couldn’t calm his racing heart. Ever-patient, Mark watched him. Ralph was helpless. He hadn’t used the Sight since he’d gone in search of Golgotha, and it was now certainly weaker than it had been at the time. He’d nursed the odd perception since childhood, never understanding it, until that fateful night. That was when he’d sworn off all the relics that came with his cursed blood. How ironic that Mark now wanted him to use that power again. Or if it wasn’t ironic, then it was at least poetically fucked up.

  With a deep sigh, Ralph slid to the hard wooden chair behind his desk and lowered himself into it. He planted his elbows on the desk’s glossy surface and rested his chin in his intertwined fingers. He let out another breath, and his eyes rose to meet Mark’s again. “Fine. I’ll give it a try.” Taking in a chestful of air, he closed his eyes and dipped his jaw downward. He exhaled, breathing out the black void behind his eyelids.

  In the darkness, he was alone. The silence of the study was a loaded chamber. Another breath pushed against the faded, flickering starbursts that lit the internal night as he tried to force the vacancy outwards. For two minutes, Ralph repeated this shapeless dance in his own mind, first expanding and then contracting that inner field as far as he was able. At last, with a discontent grunt, he opened his eyes again.

  “It’s no use,” Ralph said. “It’s too damn rusty. Just been too long, I guess. To be honest, I could barely even feel you, close as you are.” He lowered his head in defeat. “Sorry. I tried.”

  Mark maintained his silence a moment longer. “If your Sight really is that rusty, then it can’t be helped.” He turned from Ralph and made his way to the door.

  Ralph snapped his head upward, hope welling in his heart. “That’s it? You’re going to leave? Just like that?”

  “No. I’m going to wait. Until you can scrape that rust off.” Mark then let himself out, leaving Ralph alone to brood.

  Spinneretta returned from the mall with a new teal tank top just before dinner. When she saw the rest of the family—including Arthr—gathered around the table, she hurried upstairs and threw the garment onto her bed, resigned to modifying it for her extra appendages later.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Spinneretta said, sliding into her seat at the table between Arthr and her dad.

  Her mom smiled at her. “No sorries! You’re just in time.”

  At once, Spinneretta could taste the tension in the air. Directly across from her sat Mark, right between Kara and her mother. He still wore that peculiar disarmed expression. His hands fidgeted, as though he didn’t know what to do with himself at a meal. She wondered if anybody had ever invited him into their home before. On either side of her, her father and brother were likewise acting aloof—Ralph with fear, and Arthr with false penance. She imagined that a fiesta of cursing from their mom had greeted him upon his return home.

  “So, how many can you eat, Mark?” May asked as she began to carve up the meatloaf. She didn’t seem to notice the silence from Spinneretta’s half of the table.

  He started a little, again clearly uncomfortable. “I thank you, but I am not hungry.”

  May feigned indignation. “What? After all this work?”

  “Forgive me,” he said with genuine-sounding remorse. “I ate before I arrived.”

  She smiled back and shook her head. “Alright, but if you change your mind we have plenty of food to go around.” She then proceeded to divide the greatest chunk of loaf between the four plates unoccupied by raw beef.

  The meal that followed was unusually quiet for the Warren brood. A conservative silence hung over the dining room like a thick fog. Immune to the tension, Kara leapt into dinner, puncturing her raw steak with her concealed fangs and filling it with her digestive enzymes. Mark observed with a mystified expression as the meat liquefied. Spinneretta saw that it was again curiosity—not revulsion—that was etched in every line of his face.

  Spinneretta ate her tasteless loaf silently, stealing a glimpse at the face of their visitor now and then. A couple times, she was startled to find his pale brown eyes looking back at her. Each time she responded by dropping her gaze to her plate. Now that she was not as rattled by embarrassment, she noticed something else peculiar about him aside from his eyes. He had what appeared to be a long, pale scar that ran along the underside of his left forearm. While it was hard to tell from so far away, she thought it resembled an old burn scar.

  “So, Mark,” May said after a long silence, “what brings you out here, if you don’t mind me asking?” She glanced in Ralph’s direction as she spoke.

  Mark’s mouth fell open a little, and his eyes seemed to follow May’s. “I came looking for someone. I was hoping Ralph would be able to help me find her.”

  May nodded. “Hmm. But, you’re a long way from home, aren’t you? Where did you say you’re from again?”

  Spinneretta’s heart skipped a beat. The family seat back East. She stared at her food and hoped Mark wasn’t looking in her direction.

  “New York,” he answered. “From a town called Arbordale.”

  “A New Yorker! Wouldn’t have guessed it. I’d have expected a heavier accent.”

  “Forgive me. I have done my best to remedy it since I left.” He paused. “Though the accent spoken in Arbordale was rather different than what you may expect of the state.”

  “Where is Arbordale?” May asked.

  “In the Catskill Mountains,” he replied. “A rather small town.”

  “I see, I see. So how long have you been away from home?”

  “About six years.”

  She started. “Six years?” An awkward moment followed, and the only noise was the erratic scraping of forks on plates. “Where have you been staying all this time?”

  That’s what I’d like to know, Spinneretta thought. Is he a drifter after all? Drifter or not, it was certainly suspicious.

  Mark just shrugged. “I’ve been all over the place.” He showed no signs of wanting to explain further.

  “So,” May said, “where are you staying while you’re in town?”

  Spinneretta noticed her father look up sharply, panic on his face. He was staring at May, his eyes pleading, color draining from his cheeks.

  Looking down at the table, Mark shrugged his shoulders once more. “I plan to find a motel somewhere.”

  “Well, you’re of course welcome to stay here.”

&
nbsp; A desperate coughing sound from her father startled Spinneretta. Her mom then flashed a killing look across the table.

  “Family is family,” May said. And so ended Ralph’s coughing fit.

  The young man gave her a weak smile, again seeming uncomfortable. “That is quite alright. I shall get a room somewhere.”

  May rested her hand on her chin. “You know, you’re going to make me a bad hostess if you don’t stay the night, at least. I’m not going to let our first visitor in forever stay at a hotel when there’s plenty of space here.”

  Now that you mention it, Spinneretta thought, when was the last time we had a visitor? Have we ever?

  Mark seemed as though he was going to fight the proposal again, but after a quiet moment of thought he gave her a cautious nod. “Very well. If it means that you won’t be a bad hostess, then I shall permit myself to stay one night with your blessing.”

  Her mother beamed. “Great! And if you’re not in a hurry to head home, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like.” Another glare silenced Ralph’s rising objection.

  “I appreciate the offer,” Mark said. “Truly. But I believe that will be unnecessary.”

  What the hell was going on? Why was her dad so jumpy, and why was her mom so eager to welcome this stranger? For being so distantly related, it seemed unusual that anything would bring him here. The only thing she could think of was that the death of an equally distant relative for one reason or another now demanded her father’s attention. Then again, that did nothing to explain his earlier remark about searching for someone. Ninth cousins, she thought, picking at her vegetables. I guess that makes us twice removed, doesn’t it?

  As the meal concluded in a heavy silence, Ralph was the first to leave the table. He gave not so much as a goodbye to any of them, and Spinneretta took her own leave shortly after Arthr retired to his room. Had there been more conversation at the table, she’d have liked to stay and see what she could glean about this Mark Warren. However, what conversation there’d been had died. Besides, she still had homework to finish.

  With dinner over, Mark offered to help May with the dishes. After she rebuffed him, he went in search of Ralph. It did not take long to find him smoking alone on the back porch. Though he hadn’t expected a warm welcome, the restrained fury in the man’s face was still upsetting. “I’d like to ask you something, Ralph,” Mark said, easing the back door shut behind him.

  A scowl answered him. “What now?” Ralph’s lips trembled, and his fear seemed to have given way to a quiet loathing.

  Mark took a deep breath. “I was speaking with your wife earlier. She told me about your children.” At the mention of his offspring, Ralph drew a hissing breath between his teeth. “And I was wondering if perhaps you could tell me a little more about them.”

  A glint of the same terror from before returned. “Why?”

  “I find them . . . well, curious.”

  Ralph shook his head, embers kissing the filter of his cigarette. “Do you think you’re the first to find them curious? I don’t know what you expect to hear. I’m sure May told you about my little genetic disorder, and if she did then you know as much as I do. Happy?”

  Mark took a step closer. “What genetic disorder is this, exactly?”

  Ralph huffed and turned away, trembling. “Can’t say I know.”

  Stunned by the claim, Mark could only blink at him. “You don’t know.”

  “The most specific I ever heard was when the doctor said I had spider DNA.”

  For a long moment, Mark was unable to speak. “That’s what I thought your wife said. But I didn’t give it a second thought because I couldn’t fathom anyone actually believing something like that.”

  Ralph grimaced, his teeth flashing out from between his lips. “I didn’t believe it, you jackass!” His sudden anger made Mark jump. “Not until I saw the papers for myself.”

  “What papers?”

  “The results of the genetic tests, you moron. You know, those things you take when people have birth defects and abnormalities.”

  Mark considered the development. “Would you mind showing these results to me?”

  Ralph dropped what remained of his cigarette to the deck and crushed it under his heel. “Yes, I would mind. You think I’m going to let you of all people sift through my life? My family has nothing what-so-fucking-ever to do with you, you got that? My life isn’t a sideshow, so you can take whatever curiosity you’ve got about my kids and shove it up your fucking ass.” Even as he said it, he failed to hide the fear that shook his shoulders. Even his anger couldn’t broach the wall of residual horror. “Are we clear?”

  Mark stood unflinching. “Clear,” he said in a cold tone, before turning back inside and leaving Ralph to his mote of solitude.

  There was indeed something very strange going on in this family. The old stories he’d read as a child, those tales from the Repton Scriptures that spoke of the Yellow King and his ambitions . . . it was too much of a coincidence. Whether it was all an accident or something far more sinister, he could not yet say. But as sure as the moon rose, the birth of those miraculous children could not have been the result of some obscure genetic disorder. In a thousand cycles of cosmic birth and entropy, nothing so implausible could have occurred without the presence of some divine hand moving in the background. It all reeked of the death cults who, like the Lunar Vigil, sought the release of powers they could never understand—powers that, if released, could mean the end of everything.

  The conflict in Mark’s mind was short-lived. Right now, Ralph was his best shot of finding Lily, and that meant he was sticking around one way or another. But if his hunch was right, then whatever force was acting here in the town of Grantwood was too dangerous to ignore. An unchecked death cult, he knew too well, left only tragedy in its wake. And Mark was in a uniquely blessed position, having witnessed and wielded that horror first-hand. He had a responsibility to act. It was thus with an invincible resolve that Mark walked down the hall and found May washing dishes in the kitchen.

  “Excuse me, May,” he said, determination straining every muscle in his body. “I really don’t wish to impose upon you and your family. But if it’s truly alright with you, I think I’d like to take you up on your offer to stay for a while.”

  Chapter 4

  Secrets

  “This is over the line, May,” Ralph said. The back of his wife’s head stared back at him as she folded laundry atop the dryer. “Seriously, let me into your brain here and help me understand why you’d invite him to stay with us. I just can’t fathom it.” He took a deep breath, heart pounding. May didn’t seem to have heard him. “Well? Do you have anything to say to me? Huh?”

  The sloshing hum of the washing machine filled his stomach. He could feel it vibrating through the floor and into his chest, deepening the dread. May just kept folding the shirts. Ralph’s fists started to shake. Why was she acting like this? Was he really being that unreasonable? “Goddammit May, will you answer me!?”

  She sighed. Slowly, she turned to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were dark and distant, her brows scrunched, lips drawn into a hard line. “Doesn’t feel so good, does it? To not get the answers you want.”

  He hadn’t heard her speak in that tone since they’d attended Chamberlain. Is she actually mad at me? “The hell are you talking about?” he said, breath catching in his throat. “I’m not the one who—”

  “I never,” she said in a low tone. “I haven’t.”

  Ralph paused, trying to make sense of the fragments. “What?”

  “I never,” she repeated, voice growing in volume. “I haven’t.”

  He shrugged at her. “You haven’t what!?”

  “That’s what you said when I asked if you’d ever met him before.”

  His heart thudded to a dead stop. Fear began to flow where blood once ran. “Ahh . . . I, uh . . . ”

  “So,” she said, her voice falling to a calm but bladed tone, “if you’ve never and if you ha
ven’t, then why are you so opposed to him staying?”

  “I just . . . ” He tried to stop himself from shaking as terror circled through him. Oh my fucking God, does she know? The look in her eyes said she suspected, but that was impossible. How could she? “I didn’t say I never . . . ”

  “Oh? So you have met him?”

  He raised his hands and then dropped them again, determined to hide their nervous shivers. “I, well, okay, listen. A long time ago, I went to a family reunion. I met him there, and he was a complete shithead.” He was desperate; he’d concede a half-truth if it meant getting Mark out of his house.

  “Family reunion, huh? Tell me, Ralph, when did you go to a family reunion?”

  His breath grew shallow. Think up a number. Think up a fucking number, jackass! “I, uh . . . I think it was about fifteen years ago.”

  “Fifteen,” she repeated. “So you met when he was, what, five, and decided you hated him.”

  Why would you pick a number that high? Are you even trying to get her on your side? “Well, maybe it wasn’t that long ago.” He looked away and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “But, May, listen, I promise you that—”

  Her voice fell again into an icy strain. “You went to a reunion without telling me?”

  It was impossible to hold back the panic now. How had he let her flip this on him? “Uhh, look, I don’t remember things so well, you know—”