“Of course I’m mad at you. Don’t you realize you could have been killed?”
Kara looked up at her with a blank expression. “No, I couldn’t’ve.”
Before Spinneretta could explain the complex mechanics of mortality to her younger sister, a grunt from Mark usurped her attention. “So, this would be that cellular phone, then?”
She followed his gaze to the wreckage. “Don’t know what else it would be, so . . . ”
He crouched down and took the largest fragment into his hand. The faceplate hung from the biggest chunk of the device by a thread. “Would you do me a favor, Spinny?”
Spinneretta again found herself disarmed by the nickname. “Huh?”
“Would you help me find the thing?”
She blinked at him. “The thing? You want me to help you find the thing?”
He opened and closed his hand rapidly, searching for the word. “You know. The piece that enables incoming and outgoing communication, without which a cellular device cannot function.”
“Oh. Right. The thing. How could I be so thoughtless?”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’d really enjoy some cooperation instead of sarcasm, if you would be so kind.”
She crossed her arms. “Well forgive me, but your description leaves something to be desired. What are we looking for, exactly?”
“Are you talking about a SIM card?” Kara asked, looking down at the wreckage with wide eyes.
Mark gave a short nod. “Perhaps. That may be the proper term.”
A SIM card. Spinneretta groaned internally. That would probably fit his description of communication enabling thingy. She tried not to give any thought as to how obvious it should have been, and instead crouched down beside him and began scanning the debris.
After a few minutes of sifting through all the pieces of twisted metal and plastic, no thingy presented itself. When it was clear that the search was fruitless, Mark stood back up and began to tap his foot against the pavement. “No SIM device. What does that mean?”
Spinneretta’s lower appendages slipped out from beneath her olive jacket and supported her weight as she leaned back from her crouch. “Well, maybe it was destroyed when Kara broke the phone?”
Mark was quiet a moment longer. “Then we should have found the pieces of it. As you are more technologically adept than I, can you confirm that it is the case that a card is required for operation?”
She parsed the densely worded question with a grimace. “I mean, if there are any phones that don’t need them, I’ve never heard of them. And if they do exist, I doubt this is one of them.” The remnants of the phone didn’t look especially modern; the pieces of the chassis belonged to an old flip model that had been popular some seven years before.
Mark craned his head skyward. “If there was a SIM card, and it’s not here now, then that must mean someone took it.”
Spinneretta shuddered. “That’s logical. I don’t think he’d want anything traceable left behind.”
Mark shook his head in negation. “That’s the only thing I can think of that makes any sense. But if he wanted to cover his tracks, then why only take the card? Why would he just leave the phone wreckage, blood, and shell casings?”
She let her gaze fall back to the dull, glinting bits on the ground. “I don’t know. That doesn’t make much sense when you put it that way.” Then again, if Kara’s attack was as savage as the bloodstains made it look, then the man probably wouldn’t have been in any condition to cover tracks. And yet, that just led to other, darker questions. If he didn’t take it, then who did? And if there really were more men—a wild shiver attacked her spine at the thought—why wouldn’t they have cleaned everything else?
“Well, in either case,” Mark said, crouching down again, “we should take these ourselves while we have the chance.” Reaching into his pocket, he produced a series of small plastic bags. He opened the first and carefully slipped the largest fragments of the cellphone into it. He scooped the two bullet casings into his hand and dropped them into the second bag. Finally, he reached into his pocket and wrestled out a thin pocket knife. A flick of his wrist opened the blade, and he began to scrape at the nearest congealed streak of blood.
Spinneretta watched him in fascination. “What are you doing? Don’t tell me you have your own forensics lab, too.”
“Alas, no.” When he had scraped an asphalt-rich sample of the dried blood from the ground, he inserted the blade into the final bag and wiped it clean. He sealed the three bags and filed them away in his pocket before standing back up, dusting off his legs as he did. “However, I have a friend coming out who may just as well work in such a lab.”
An odd chemical reaction occurred in Spinneretta’s chest. “You’re having someone come out here?”
He nodded. “I fear whatever’s going on in this town is going to require expertise I do not possess.” A weak smile crept across his lips. “Luckily, I believe that she has that expertise.”
She? Spinneretta frowned, an inexplicable unease coming over her. “And who is she, exactly?”
“Just an old friend.”
Unsatisfied by the answer, Spinneretta was about to press the line of questioning when Kara jumped onto her back and grabbed her around the shoulders with her arachnid legs.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Kara yelled. “Let’s go get ice cream!”
Spinneretta groaned and shook her head. “Get off of me. You don’t get ice cream for keeping stuff from us, Kara.”
Kara slipped down off Spinneretta’s shoulders and frowned. “Are you still mad about the gun?”
“Of course I am! How could you . . . I just . . . ” Tongue twisting into an inarticulate knot, she stepped forward and wrapped Kara in a tight hug. “You can’t be so reckless, Kara. You’re not allowed, okay? If anything like this ever happens again . . . ” She paused, remembering the harsh tone of Arthr’s words. “If anything like this happens again, Kara, remember that safety comes first, alright? Nothing else matters, okay?”
“Spins?” Kara mumbled against her chest. “Are you crying?”
“N-no, I’m not. I’m just. I’m just really upset at all this, okay?” She stifled a sniffle and wiped her eyes with the back of one of her spider legs. Holding Kara tight against her, she tried to erase the mental image those shell casings had conjured. Her nerves had been wound tight as piano wire since this whole cult-nonsense had entered her mind, and this revelation wasn’t helping.
Spinneretta released Kara and stepped away, toward the wall of the alley. She pulled a stray lock of hair out of her face, and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Hey, Mark?”
“Yes?”
“I changed my mind. Let’s go ahead and stop for ice cream on the way back, alright?”
A sharp giggle answered her. Once again, Kara leapt onto her back and wrapped her spider legs around her shoulders. “Yay! You’re the best, Spins! You’re the best sister in the world!”
“H-hey, get off of me.” She turned around, trying to shake her sister off, but the laughing girl was fixed to her. “Just don’t tell Mom, alright? Either of you.”
“Now who’s spoiling her?” Mark said.
Despite her intention to hide her red eyes from him, she met his gaze with a glare. “I’m allowed to spoil her. She’s my sister.” She paused when she saw the comfortable smile on Mark’s face, and her mouth fell open. “Wait. Oh my God. Did you just make a joke?”
He quirked his head to the side with a small chuckle. “Well, perhaps I would not use that word. Now, if you want to get ice cream, we should go.”
The next evening, Arthr apologized for taking a swing at Spinneretta. Rather, he apologized to himself and promptly accepted his own apology. He realized now that it was wrong to throw that punch, but his fighter’s instinct had taken over. He was thankful the blow hadn’t connected. If it had, it would’ve been much more difficult to reconnect with his sister. With those ends squared away, water under the bridge, he knocked on the door
to her room.
“Who is it?” came her bored-sounding voice.
“It’s me.”
“Oh God, go away.”
“Nah, I’m coming in.” He opened the door to an exasperated sigh. Spinneretta sat at her desk, poised in a typing position, some document open on her computer monitor. She was holding a math textbook open between two pairs of spider legs, a pencil tucked between her thumb and forefinger. He had often seen her in such states of multitasking; in secret, it was something he admired about her.
After a moment, she glared in his vague direction without making eye contact. “What the hell do you want?”
He grinned and puffed out his chest. “Just wanted to give you the big news. You know that Rhodes kid from school, right?”
“No.”
“You know, the pig-faced kid who’s always trying to start shit with me? The one who moved here from Montana with his brother some years ago?”
“No, now go away.”
He crossed his arms and showed her a proud smirk. “The challenge is official: we’re fighting tomorrow. Location: the clearing behind the basketball courts. Time: after school. You’ll be there to support me, right?”
Spinneretta was silent for a moment, and then laughed a hollow, mocking sound. “You have to be joking. After that tyrannical lecture you dumped on poor Kara’s head about fitting in and not hurting people, the very first thing you do is go and pick a fight for the sake of your own piggish pride. And not only that,” she said, raising her hands in an incredulous gesture, “but you have the nerve to ask me to go and support you after you tried to punch me in the goddamn head? You’re literally unbelievable.” She turned her attention once more to the math book hanging between her spider legs. “Get out.”
Arthr sighed. “Look, that was just my fighter’s instinct. Besides, I’m not mad at Kara for fighting, okay? I’m—”
“I’m not going to have this discussion with you again.” Her tone was cold and distant, her punctuation final.
He ground his teeth, and his good humor began to fade. “For the love of God, can’t you see the difference between a fight and sadistic torture for its own sake?”
She didn’t look up from the worksheet she’d begun scrawling on. “I’m not going to watch you get into another fight just to boost your own monolithic ego, Arthr. Although as a compromise, I won’t tell the faculty about it, either. Telling them would reduce the chances of you getting a much-deserved fist to the eye socket. Now get out of my room before I throw you out.”
Arthr was going to protest again, but the chilling waves of anger rolling off his sister discouraged him. It was futile. Perhaps it was too soon to try being civil with her. She was the type to hold a grudge even after he’d forgiven himself, after all. He sighed, frustrated, and turned to leave. On his way out, he paused at the threshold and took a reflexive stab at the first thing his mind hit upon. “You know, you’d probably have more friends if you weren’t such a bitch all the fucking time.”
“Ouch. My one weakness. I can tell my refusal has wounded you. Maybe making Kara cry some more would make you feel better.”
Arthr’s mind fumbled, and he was unable to find a witty reply. The nail of resentment plunged just a little too deep, and his breath fell short as her words echoed in his head. He had nothing to be sorry for. Stupid Spins was just being stubborn. Unable to leave without getting the last word, no matter how vulgar, Arthr glared over his shoulder at Spinneretta and uttered his well-articulated retort: “Fuck off, bitch.”
With that, he stormed away, Spinneretta’s animosity stinging more than he wanted to admit.
Chapter 10
NIDUS
The low lights of Sector Six’s upper meeting room flickered, and Simon Dwyre felt a headache starting behind his eyes. At the end of the steel table, a pair of suited men sat aflank a third, who had an imposing aura and impressive acne. The air tasted of electricity, and Simon breathed a slow chestful through his mouth as he lowered himself to sit opposite the man.
“Anything you’d like to report, Dwyre?”
“Only what you have already heard.” Simon bit off the end, teeth tight. Of all the members of NIDUS, Michael Tanner was the one he despised the most. A man-child who slathered himself in the residue of his father’s wealth, he thought himself the sun about which all matter revolved. Just the sight of him turned Simon’s stomach.
“Allow me to make sure I’ve got this straight, then.” Michael leaned forward, his baby face catching the flickering light like a mirror. “You allowed one of our men to act without my permission, in broad daylight, and you did not even manage to obtain the child?”
Simon’s fists coiled. The taste of raw, fulminating hatred filled his lungs. He’d long dreamed of killing the Tanner boy. But if he could not safely do that, then he could at least remind him of his place without consequence, and it looked like the time had at last come. “Now you listen to me, you little brat. I do not need your permission for anything. Whatever authority being the mayor’s son gives you is null within these halls. Second, they are not our men. They’re mine. Just as the Vant’therax and the extant results of the Directive are mine. You and your silver-spoon-sucking cohort may sign their checks, but as long as I speak for the King they take their orders from me.”
Michael shook his head indignantly. “After all we have done for the Golmont Corporation, you’d dare to speak like that to me?”
Simon bore his teeth in a wide scowl. “Be silent, boy!”
The young man fell quiet between his bodyguards, who looked more embarrassed than he did.
Simon breathed a slow, menacing sigh. He could not help but imagine how it would feel to let that breath out upon Michael’s ruptured throat. “Now. When next you meet with the others in your little country clubhouse, tell them the rumors are true: the reclamation of Nexara failed. Furthermore, there will be no further attempts on the children of the Fifth. The Eleventh Project nears completion, and that is more than enough for our ends.”
“The Fifth should be more than enough for our ends, old man!” Michael rose to his feet and slammed a fist on the table like a baby who’d just had his lolly stolen. “We would all be kings of Zigmhen now had you not allowed those children to run rampant instead of securing them immediately after their births!”
“Perhaps you’d like to discuss your opinions with the Websworn. I am certain they would find your arrogance both savory and filling.”
Tanner went pale. His eyes widened, and he looked like he’d reverted to schoolboy age. “Don’t tell me . . . that Dad’s stories are true.”
Simon sneered, finding an almost sexual pleasure in the boy’s bloodless complexion. “Pompous child. You come here with the air of a king and now grow sickly when confronted with whispers of such tales. If you do not even know truth from fantasy, then with what pretense of authority do you demand answers from me? You are but a babe in the woods, and I have no need of you. It is only out of respect for your father that you are not now strewn about the caverns where the Websworn lurk. Never, for even a single moment, forget that I own you. Now get back to your crib and tell the others that we shall wait for the Eleventh.”
Still shuddering, sickened by the mention of the downcast Websworn, Michael sank back into his seat. “How long?” He cleared his throat. “How long until the Eleventh is . . . ?”
“Science takes time,” Simon said. “Now be gone with you.” He rose and kicked his folding metal chair. The sudden sound made Michael jump, and Simon caught sight of one of his bodyguards snickering. With a final glare over his shoulder, he threw the door to the meeting room open. The metal tunnel of Sector Six spread before him.
Damn you newcomers, he seethed. Surely he was not so old, he thought as he began to storm down the sterile hallway, that these young freaks disgusted him out of pure infantile selfishness. Then again, Dwyre had been there when the Websworn were exiled and all those who remained swore allegiance to NIDUS. The damned mayor’s son knew nothing of th
e path they’d forged; like the rest of the new generation, he was merely enthralled by the promises held in the Repton Scriptures, and in the products of their black science. Damn you newcomers. You could never understand the price we’ve paid.
As his footsteps clacked against the grated floor, the sound of his phone ringing startled him. Not the normal phone he kept for business, but the one hidden in his breast pocket and reserved for his clandestine affairs. Dammit Tanner, do you need me to show you how to get out? He withdrew the crying phone, ready to scream some more at the idiot in the conference room. But when he saw the number shining on the phone’s small screen, his heart stopped. The name Isaac Piedman blinked up at him.
At once, his hands began to sweat. How was that possible? Piedman was dead, taken out to pasture by the Marauders after he failed to take Nexara of the Fifth. Gauge had destroyed the cellphone; how was it possible that he was receiving a call from it? Apprehension clawed at his entrails; it urged him to ignore the call. Curiosity and fear won out. He flipped the device open and allowed his thumb to depress the call button. The line clicked.
“Yes?” Simon said with a shaky breath.
There was a weighty silence on the other end that soon faded into the sound of staccato laughter from an unfamiliar, velvety voice. “Hello, Mr. Clearwater. Or would you prefer I call you Dwyre instead?”
Ice punctured Simon’s intestines at the sound of his real name. “Who is this?”
“Oh, what is that I hear crackling in your throat?” came the reply of the man on the other end. “Is it fear? The sound of creeping dread spreading like frost through your vocal cords. I can see it in your eyes as we speak, Mr. Dwyre.”
Simon’s hands were shaking. Was someone trying to blackmail him? No, it was far worse than that. The panic flowing in his veins reached his heart, and his fingers moved to close the phone and end the call.
“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Simon.”
He stopped dead. Phone pressed fast to his ear, he slipped a few steps further down the hallway, throwing a mechanical glance behind him toward the meeting room. “H-how did you get this number? How did you get Piedman’s phone?”
The Spider Children (The Warren Brood Book 1) Page 15