The Spider Children (The Warren Brood Book 1)

by Bartholomew Lander

“Oh. That explains this accursed pulse.” Spinneretta shut her eyes and tried not to give her sister’s ramblings too much thought.

  “But why? Did something happen?”

  “Jesus, Kara, bother me tomorrow. I’m exhausted. Go to bed.”

  “I can’t,” she said, her voice becoming meek. “I dreamed about the Muffin Queen again. Can I sleep with you tonight?”

  Spinneretta groaned. “I guess. But this time I’m kicking you out the instant you start biting me.”

  The next morning, Arthr was grounded by an irate May. When he had shown up looking like a walking corpse the night before, May had treated the most glaring of his injuries and sent him to bed. Having completed her motherly obligation of caring for her wounded child, she was now free to tear into him about his reckless obsession with fighting. From her half-awake state, Spinneretta was able to catch a few select phrases of his verbal beating. It made her apprehensive about what would be awaiting her downstairs. Arthr was expected to get into fights, but she was older and was thus supposed to know better than to participate in such delinquency.

  She was surprised, then, when she found her mother thankful and jubilant when she got downstairs. She was rendered dumb when May expressed how proud she was of her for stepping in to protect her brother. Finding her voice, Spinneretta had little choice but to point out the blatant double-standard, to which May smiled and replied, “Arthr created a problem; you fixed it. No double-standard there.” Spinneretta then shut up and accepted that for her there appeared to be no chastisement.

  And so began Saturday. The rest of the weekend would pass without incident.

  Chapter 23

  Ruiner of Reputations

  The following Monday, Spinneretta departed for school for the first official day of the bet. She shouldn’t have been as nervous as she was, and she kept trying to remind herself of that fact. Nothing had really changed, she kept telling herself. It wasn’t like anybody was seriously going to ask her out, much less to ye olde promenade ball, unprovoked. But still, she couldn’t shake the specter of anxiety that followed her throughout the day.

  She’d hoped the day would pass in a blur of normality. But that hope shattered when she walked into first period English and the room erupted into applause. All throughout the period, there was no end to the murmurs about the fight and Spinneretta’s triumphant display of courage and skill. She felt sick before class even ended.

  History was more tolerable, if only because Amanda was there to grumble to. The look on Amanda’s face when Spinneretta sat down was close to shock. Spinneretta took that as proof that the rumors had already spread like brush fire. She was thus forced to concede to her friend that she’d had little choice after her pep talk. “If I didn’t step in, I knew you’d never forgive me,” Spinneretta said. Amanda smiled a knowing look that said you’re damn right I wouldn’t.

  The pressure of attention stuck with her until lunch. Despite the wall of awed noise that pressed against her from all sides, she forced herself to maintain a calm and stoically maladjusted air. To her relief, no boys were stupid enough to approach her. At her locker, however, she found that somebody had left a note in an off-white envelope addressed to someone named Spiniret. As it was clearly intended for someone with a similar and equally unfortunate name, she inserted the unopened envelope directly into the nearest trash can.

  At lunch, Spinneretta couldn’t even handle the thought of food. She sat at the usual table, put her head on the cold metal surface, and waited for Amanda and Chelsea to arrive and talk her ears off. Her spider legs, slipping from her olive jacket in a rare display, tapped nervously at the edge of the table in a vacant rhythm.

  When her friends sat down with their trays of gruel, she gave them an insincere greeting without bothering to lift her head. To her surprise, Chelsea did not explode in gushing fountains of gossipy goo. Instead, she simply greeted Spinneretta as normal, her energy level not far above her standard volatility. What a relief.

  “So, who is he?” Chelsea asked in a cautiously excited tone, startling Spinneretta from her half-hearted attempt at sleeping and immediately shattering her relief.

  “Huh? Who?”

  “Your boyfriend, of course!”

  The syrupy smile on Chelsea’s face shook her to her core. Spinneretta’s heart stopped beating, and she realized the terrible implication of that question. “W-what do you mean?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

  “Well, everyone’s talking about the fight,” Amanda said in a cold, scientific tone far removed from Chelsea’s sensationalism. “And the rumor is that after everyone started leaving you just threw yourself on some guy.”

  “So who is he?” Chelsea’s eyes were wide with a girlish excitement that was wholly unjustified.

  Spinneretta swallowed hard. Nice fucking job, Spins. Why didn’t you check to make sure nobody was around before going all clingy on him? She began to panic. “That would make a good story if nothing else,” she said. “Fight’s all over, then I run into the arms of my boyfriend who was cheering me on from the crowd. I bet they also said that I grew wings and flew away into the sunset.”

  Amanda and Chelsea exchanged dubious glances. Spinneretta’s nervousness swelled when she saw the doubt on their faces. “What?” Spinneretta said. “You’re going to believe the crazy rumors instead of me? I told you there’s nobody. Jesus, don’t you think you guys would be the first to know if I had a boyfriend?”

  Amanda’s stoic gaze cut right through her soul. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

  “Come on, just tell us!” Chelsea said. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  Spinneretta glared at Chelsea and then put her head back down on the cool surface of the table. “There’s nobody. End of discussion.”

  Chelsea let out a frustrated sigh. “You know, you really need to stop being so distant, Spins. I get that you don’t like talking about personal shit, but for God’s sake, we’re your friends. You haven’t seemed even slightly interested in guys since you were taken by that Will kid, so you can imagine what a rumor likes this does to us.”

  “Uhh, does to you,” Amanda corrected.

  “Not to mention . . . ”

  Spinneretta looked up at Chelsea. “Not to mention what?”

  “Well, it just seems a little odd is all,” Amanda said. “You get into a crazy fight on behalf of your pig-headed brother—which I absolutely respect you for—and then, according to the people there, you throw off your jacket and show off your legs for the whole world to see, which is, like, the first time that’s happened in years, right? And then you supposedly get yourself wound up with some guy. Rumors or not, something’s gotta be going on, and we want to know what.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “It is,” Chelsea replied, “because we’re your friends.”

  Spinneretta said nothing. The cold metal of the table eased the heat of her forehead. There wasn’t any graceful way of not telling them without driving an unneeded wedge in their friendship. Admitting to carrying a torch for someone, however, made her feel too much like Chelsea for comfort. She raised her head but didn’t make eye contact with either of the girls sitting opposite her. “Okay,” she said, “since you’re so damn insistent, I’ll tell you. There is a guy I’m sort of interested in.”

  Chelsea’s eyes sparkled. “I knew it! I fucking knew it!”

  “He was at the fight, but I wouldn’t say I threw myself at him. Either way, I probably don’t have a chance with him anyways, so the whole thing is pointless. Are you happy now?”

  A romantic fascination glistened in Chelsea’s pupils, and her cheeks were flushed. “Hell no! Who is he? What’s he like?”

  “He’s just a guy I know. That’s it.”

  “Come on, give me something to work with, will ya?”

  “God, give it a rest,” Amanda said. “If she doesn’t want to talk about it then don’t push her. Just be happy for her. Jesus.”

  Chelsea bit her ton
gue and showed Amanda the eye of death, but didn’t press any further. Spinneretta smiled a thank you at Amanda and dropped her head once more to the table.

  “Mind if I ask something?” Amanda asked. Spinneretta groaned and Amanda chuckled apologetically. “Is he the reason you’re acting so weird today?”

  “Weird? What do you mean?”

  “You’re avoiding people more than usual.”

  She started. “I am?” Holy shit, you need to rein in your self-awareness, girl.

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “That reaction wasn’t really an incidental-weirdness kinda reaction. What’s going on?”

  Spinneretta tried to break her gaze from Amanda’s cool green eyes, but found it difficult. Her shoulders sagged and she sighed. “God, you two are nosy today.”

  Amanda snickered. “Oh, please. Do you know how rare it is for you to give me something to be nosy about? I want to live this up just a little.”

  A malcontent sigh escaped Spinneretta’s lips. “Fine. Whatever. You’re so damn curious, I may as well indulge you. That guy and I made a bet.”

  Chelsea’s eyebrows rose. “A bet?”

  “Yeah. I’m not going to say any more than that because the last thing I want to do is jinx it.” The allure of learning magic—and all the Mark-time that would come with it—was too enticing to invite even the most childish of curses upon.

  Amanda’s puzzled expression remained a few seconds longer. “I think that’s the weirdest string of sentences I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “How old is he?” Chelsea asked, her curiosity insatiable.

  “Twenty,” Spinneretta answered without thinking, eager to be off the topic of the bet. Her tablemates fell silent.

  Chelsea stared at her. “Twenty?” Her voice cracked in disbelief.

  “Isn’t that a bit old for you?” Amanda said, her tone still unsensational.

  Spinneretta shrugged. “I don’t think so, all things considered. Either way, it doesn’t matter since he’s—”

  “You should be careful, Spins,” Chelsea interrupted. “That’s a little on the creepy side. The youngest someone should date is half your age plus seven, everyone knows that rule. So if he’s twenty then that’s . . . ”

  Spinneretta stared at her. “It’s seventeen.”

  “Yeah,” Chelsea said without missing a beat. “So that’s weird, then.”

  “I’m almost seventeen.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not. You’re sixteen. So it’s messed up.” Chelsea said it as though she were explaining the situation to a child.

  “What does it matter? Ages should be expressed as real numbers instead of integers.” The blank look on Chelsea’s face said that the statement had gone over her head. Spinneretta sighed. “Your age can’t be accurately represented by a whole number.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a hidden decimal,” Spinneretta said, growing impatient. “You and I are both sixteen, but we’re not the same age because we have different birthdays. Because dealing with anything after the year is cumbersome, we truncate it.”

  “I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

  “Christ. Okay, look, if we’re going by your stupid half-age plus seven rule, that means that it should be universally acceptable to society if I was seventeen. If you don’t truncate my real age, I’m something like sixteen point nine, which is way closer to seventeen than if you ignore the trailing decimals.” Why am I even trying to argue this point? I should’ve just dropped it. Now they’re going to think I’m some defensive and lovestruck duckling.

  The school’s intercom came to life, interrupting the math lecture and Spinneretta’s regret-leaden train of thought. “Attention, please,” came the voice of the school’s assistant principal. “Spinneretta Warren, please report to Mr. Martinscroft’s office. Repeat, Spinneretta Warren to Mr. Martinscroft’s office. Thank you.”

  “Whoa,” Chelsea said. “What do you think that’s about?”

  Spinneretta shrugged her shoulders as she got to her feet, thankful for the escape. “Don’t suppose that’s going to take any attention off me. Well, whatever. Don’t forget dinner tomorrow, alright you guys?”

  Chelsea gave a small pout. “Right. See ya.”

  An out was an out, and talking to the principal couldn’t possibly be more embarrassing than continuing this conversation. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? Unless the school had unilaterally decided that only Arthr was allowed to slip through the disciplinary system, she shouldn’t have had anything to worry about. It wasn’t like she was going to get suspended or anything.

  “Welp, I got suspended from school for a week,” Spinneretta said when she got home.

  Her mother looked up from the magazine she was reading on the couch. “You what?”

  “Yeah, I know. Apparently there’s a really dumb zero-tolerance policy on delinquent activities like kicking giant bullies in the teeth,” she said with a self-satisfied smile.

  “Jesus, what the hell’s wrong with the world?”

  “No idea. You probably shouldn’t try to appeal it to the PTA or anything, though. Martinscroft was pretty irate, so I think the best thing to do would be to just accept my sentence. I’ll take this time to reflect on how I was apparently supposed to let Arthr get butchered.”

  Her mother scowled and set the publication down on the coffee table. “I think I’m going to need to write a strongly worded letter about this. This whole new age of education is doing nothing but ruining what made this country great. Land of the free, get punished by school for what you do on your own time. Probably gave you a worksheet on Colonial Britain’s tyranny while they were doing it, bastard hypocrites. Making stands was what this country was founded upon, the nerve of that Martinscroft. Are you listening, Spins?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s fine. I imagine you’re pretty upset about it. What do you want for dinner?”

  Spinneretta perked up at once. “Do you have to ask?”

  May smiled. “Don’t think there’ll be a problem with moving pasta night up a day.”

  “Thanks, Mom!” That kicked her mood to the next level of elation. “Well, I guess I have some homework to get started on for the week, so I’ll be heading to my room.” Spinneretta took to the stairs, a literal skip in her step.

  “Bastard hypocrites.”

  Perfect, Spinneretta thought. Now there’s absolutely no way I can lose that bet. All at once the anxiety that had accompanied that anonymous and poorly addressed note vanished; even if it had been from someone a little too interested in her, it no longer mattered. For a last line of safety, she’d screen her calls for the remainder of the week to make sure no one got their hands on her number. After that, she was home free, and then she would see just how deep the rabbit hole of magic went, gods willing.

  As she was about to cloister herself away in her room, she heard the front door open, followed by Arthr’s voice coming from below. “Well,” he said, “I’m suspended for a week.”

  “Good,” she heard May yell, “you deserve it you irresponsible brat!”

  The next evening, in accordance with Spinneretta’s invitation, Amanda and Chelsea arrived at the Warren residence not long after school let out. Spinneretta had spent the day up to that point catching up on sleep and then cutting through her surplus of homework, though she still procrastinated on the genealogy project sitting half-finished on her hard drive. Her fantastic mood from the previous day still lingered, and she wore her excitement on her sleeve when her friends arrived.

  “Took you two long enough!” Spinneretta said as she threw the front door open. Last time she’d made a similar declaration, it had been Mark on the other side of the door, but this time it was indeed Amanda and Chelsea.

  Amanda shrugged at the accusation. “Sorry. We got stopped by the cops on the way over.”

  Spinneretta cocked her head to the side. “What? Why?”

  “Carrying a controlled substance.” Amanda held a plastic bag up be
fore Spinneretta’s eyes.

  The breath left Spinneretta’s lungs, and she snatched the bag from her friend’s grip with arm and appendage alike. “Oh my god!” She checked the bag and, to her amazement, it contained two whole plastic tubs of Amanda’s mom’s famous rice pudding.

  “Yeah, I’m surprised they let us off with a warning, I thought for certain that we’d be doing hard time for—”

  Spinneretta interrupted Amanda’s deadpan delivery by jumping on her and crushing her in a tight hug. “You’re the best, Mandy!”

  “Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” Amanda asked, returning the hug gingerly, as though afraid of accidentally turning up the force on Spinneretta’s grip. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy about anything in years.”

  Spinneretta regained her composure and hopped back a step. “Sorry. Just having a good week, is all.”

  “I wouldn’t think getting suspended would make anyone this happy,” Chelsea said.

  Spinneretta could only smile as she showed them in. Suspended from school, well on the way to unlocking the secrets of seemingly miraculous powers, last night’s pasta dinner, and now a double serving of the famed ambrosia-like pudding. It was perhaps for the best that whenever she herself tried to make rice pudding it always ended in disaster. Were it not for that, she would surely cause a catastrophic spike in the local demand of rice, a singularity event which would drive up the price of the grain and cause widespread famine among the peasantry. It may also have had a negative impact on her slim figure, so it was just as well either way. Dancing back inside, she beckoned the two in, excited beyond all reason.

  Amanda felt her best friend’s joy rubbing off on her as they sat around laughing and talking about nothing. It had been a while since the three of them had been together under this roof. Basketball meets and debate practice had been squeezing her free time, and even Chelsea was busy with choir three nights a week these days. She couldn’t say why, but she always preferred spending time together at the Warren house over anywhere else, as she knew Chelsea did as well. There was just something comfortable about it. Thinking upon it, she didn’t think she’d been over to Spinneretta’s since her cousin started staying there. No, she definitely hadn’t; she’d have remembered somebody greeting her with something as arcane as well met.