Ace of Spiders

by Stefan Mohamed

  Skank grinned. ‘Obviously. Homer all the way. Goes without saying. So, what’s your name?’

  ‘Masters. Scott Masters.’

  ‘Why were you trying to kill Stanly?’

  ‘I was contracted by a man named Morter Smith.’

  ‘Do you have a number for him?’

  ‘No, he contacts me.’

  ‘Does he work for a particular group? Government?’

  ‘I don’t know, he never said and I never asked. He paid well.’

  ‘And you don’t have any idea why he wants Stanly dead?’

  ‘No. I just do the job.’

  ‘He told you about Stanly’s abilities though? What he can do?’

  Masters nodded. I was gobsmacked. Eddie and Connor were staring intently at the suddenly chatty assassin. ‘So this guy knows about Stanly’s powers,’ said Skank. ‘Did he mention anybody else? Anything about the Angel Group?’

  ‘I’ve never heard of the Angel Group,’ said Masters. ‘And he didn’t mention anyone else. I work freelance, he contacted me with a name and a description and sent me off to do my work.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it.’ There was a brief silence, then Masters blinked once. Part of me expected him to come to and start raging at having let his guard down, but instead he just . . . stared. His face, his eyes, everything had gone completely blank. ‘Hello?’ said Skank. ‘You all right there, buddy?’

  ‘I . . . ’ said Masters. ‘Who are you? Who . . . who am I? What am I doing here?’

  There was a general exchange of nonplussed looks. ‘You just told us who you are,’ said Connor. ‘Scott Masters. You tried to kill Stanly here.’

  Masters looked utterly, painfully confused. ‘What? Scott who? Stanly . . . who tried to kill . . . I don’t know what the hell’s going on . . .’ He started to struggle, pulling at his bonds as if he’d only just realised he was tied up, taking in his surroundings with sharp, panicked twitches of his head. ‘Why am I tied up? Who the hell are you?’

  ‘OK, this is weird,’ I said.

  ‘Nice try, mate,’ said Connor. ‘But you’re going to have to do better than—’

  ‘Wait,’ said Skank. He was staring at the wriggling, desperate man through narrowed eyes, brow furrowing. ‘I think he’s telling the truth.’

  ‘What?’ asked Eddie. ‘So he just suddenly, randomly developed amnesia? Like that’s a thing that happens?’

  ‘I didn’t say it was random.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘He’s telling the truth,’ Skank said again, not taking his eyes off Masters. ‘I promise you.’

  ‘Well how the hell did that happen?’ asked Connor.

  ‘Some kind of failsafe, I imagine,’ said Skank. ‘A trigger.’

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ yelled Masters. He was rocking back and forth on his chair, threatening to tip himself over, and Skank threw a hefty punch that immediately knocked him unconscious.

  ‘Wow,’ said Eddie. ‘I . . . didn’t think that actually worked in real life.’

  ‘You have to hit them really hard,’ said Skank. ‘In the right place. And even then it’s fifty-fifty.’ He stared at the silent hitman, frowning and blowing on the hand he’d used to punch him.

  ‘What did you mean by “trigger”?’ said Connor. ‘Like a . . . brain chip?’

  ‘More like behavioural conditioning, I’d imagine,’ said Skank. ‘A command implanted in the mind of the assassin, presumably intended to kick in before he could give anything away. I imagine someone’s going to get fired for that blunder.’

  ‘An assassin with a self-wiping brain?’ I said. ‘That’s . . . mental.’ Literally.

  ‘I point you in the direction of your ability to fly,’ said Skank. ‘In fact, he might even have been empowered. Maybe they found a way to turn his power against him, in the event that he was caught . . . although it seems likely that he would have used his powers against you if he had them. I don’t know, this is all conjecture . . . but I’m certain that he wasn’t lying.’ He shook his head and breathed deeply. ‘I could do with a sandwich. I’ll be back.’ He tucked his gun into his shorts and pulled his T-shirt over it, and headed upstairs.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘So. I’m not sure which “what the hell” to address first.’

  ‘You and me both, kiddo,’ said Eddie.

  ‘How did Skank do that?’

  ‘We think it might be his power,’ said Eddie. ‘Well . . . we’re not sure, exactly. He’s never brought it up, and you know what Skank’s like. If he doesn’t bring something up, it’s probably pointless asking. We’re guessing it’s some kind of psychological power. He draws people out, makes them feel completely comfortable, as though they can share anything. Catches them off-guard. Did you see how he kept constant eye contact? I don’t know how the hell it works, but when it does . . .’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘So what do we do now? I mean . . . someone we don’t even know is taking out hits on me. Is that on top of the other mysterious group we’ve fallen foul of?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Eddie sat down and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Seems strange that the Angel Group would decide to strike now,’ said Connor. ‘It’s been more than a year since we heard from them. And we know they had at least one dangerous empowered in their employ.’

  ‘Pretty sure I killed him,’ said Eddie, which gave me pause. It had come up a few times in conversation, the likelihood that Eddie had killed Leon that morning at the Kulich, but he’d always changed the subject. He obviously regretted it, even though he had been defending us, but right now he stated it as though it was nothing.

  Do you get used to the idea?

  ‘Stands to reason they’d have more, though,’ said Connor. ‘So why send a standard hitman? Apart from the memory-wiping thing, of course.’

  ‘Maybe they think I’m a standard target,’ I said. That thought annoyed me, and not quite in the way that you’d probably expect.

  ‘I’ll get on to some of my contacts,’ said Eddie. ‘Skank can too. In the meantime, you two should head back to your place.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Um . . . no thanks. I’d quite like to find out why some wanker I’ve never met wants to kill me, if it’s all the same to you. Plus, I don’t want to put Connor and Sharon in danger. What if he sends someone else? To the house, or something?’

  ‘He’d better not,’ said Connor. ‘I’ve had enough of arseholes busting into my house.’

  ‘I’m sure that won’t happen,’ said Eddie, ‘but even if it does, you guys will be ready, right?’

  ‘Oh yeah. I’ve got a few bits and bobs saved up for a rainy day.’ Connor didn’t sound thrilled by the idea. Although, I guess, why would he? ‘Also these,’ he said, holding up his fists.

  Plus, your girlfriend’s kind of a terrifying badass when necessary.

  ‘Good,’ said Eddie. ‘And Stanly, I can feel you itching to say that you can take any bad guys who come knocking, and I believe you, but the best way for you to stay safe, for now, is to stay out of sight. Please. I promised your parents I’d look after you. I’m all responsible and stuff.’

  ‘Yeah, well I have responsibilities too,’ I said, feebly. ‘To . . . like . . . the city.’ I knew exactly what Eddie thought of my entirely ineffectual crime-fighting mission, but still. It was the principle of the thing. ‘And to Kloe and Tara, obviously . . .’ OK, neither of them have any idea about your future family craziness, so that probably sounded like a mega weird thing to say.

  ‘Tara has her own family,’ said Eddie. ‘She’s not your responsibility.’

  Oh, if only he knew. I wanted to argue but there was no point. Eddie was wearing his ‘just don’t bother’ face, and who’s got time to push against that immovable object? I sighed and nodded. ‘Fine. I’ll go home and hide.’

  ‘What are you going
to do with him?’ Connor nodded at Masters, who was still sparko.

  ‘I’m sure Skank and I will think of something,’ said Eddie. He looked at me, then back at the hitman, then sighed. ‘Well. I’m sure Skank will think of something.’

  It was a very British autumn evening, hazy and slightly warm with an edgy tingle, winter reminding us that it wasn’t as far away as we’d like to think. The sun was low, the remains of its light spread delicately over the horizon, and I was sitting at my bedroom window once again, watching the city and the distant fug. The tree at the bottom of the garden was starting to shed its leaves, which had recently become trimmed with orange, yellow and deep red, and I could hear birds, and the rustle of branches as they murmured impenetrably to one another. A squirrel performed an acrobatic leap from one branch to another, landing with absolute grace. It was utterly tranquil, the perfect cliché of a perfect evening. And somewhere out there was someone who wanted me dead.

  It was all so weird. I’d always known that something like this would happen, sooner or later. Our encounter with Pandora, Lucius and their henchmen had to have been a prelude to something. There was no way that that was it. It was impossible. Maybe in the world I’d lived in before I’d turned sixteen, but I didn’t live there any more.

  The timing, though . . . like Connor had said, it had been over a year since the battle at the Jonathan Kulich Gallery. They’d not been particularly forthcoming with details of their true agenda, although I felt like ‘something bad’ wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. At any rate, there had been absolutely no sign of trouble in the intervening months.

  And now there is Morter Smith.

  I wondered who the hell he was. Who he was working for, why he wanted me dead. Was he connected to the Angel Group? I wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to be or not. It would tie up a bit better if he was, but the appearance of a third party did make things a lot more interesting. And God, it was about time things became more interesting.

  Surely I hadn’t done enough to irritate any third parties, though?

  ‘Stanly! Dinner’s ready!’ Good old Sharon. We’d arrived home and explained the situation, and while she was obviously concerned, her solution was to be calm and reassuring, and act normal, and have a nice dinner. It was great . . . although it also made me feel much worse about potentially bringing trouble to her door. Connor, to be fair, had been friendlier to me than he had been for a while. Not that he’d been unfriendly lately, just not friendly, if that makes sense. But he’d asked me if I was OK, and said we’d sort it all out.

  So even if he was secretly thinking he wished I didn’t live in his house any more, at least he didn’t say it out loud.

  That’s something.

  ‘Stanly!’ Sharon called again. ‘Come for dinner or it’s to the cupboard under the stairs with you!’

  ‘Sorry,’ I called. ‘I’ll be right there.’

  I stood up and inhaled the air again. Something wicked was definitely this way coming. I just hoped that it had nothing to do with Tara, because as my supreme klutziness this afternoon had showed, I was not prepared for a fight, let alone a war.

  Not yet, at any rate.

  I miss Daryl.

  Chapter Four

  WHEN I WENT down for breakfast the next morning, I wasn’t surprised to find Eddie there. Nor was I surprised that he looked annoyed, or that he had his laptop open, along with two of the day’s papers, ready to show me various photos, videos and other references to my encounter with Masters. I wasn’t even particularly surprised that the general consensus had it down as a staged stunt, using wires and special effects and a hidden hot-air balloon – viral marketing for a new TV series, or possibly just a piece of performance art.

  What did sort of surprise me was how little inclination I felt to take any of Eddie’s crap this morning. So when he banged his fist on the table in response to my nonchalant dismissal of the pictures and video footage and demanded to know why I was being so glib, I snapped. ‘God, Eddie, what do you want me to say? Do you want me to apologise for defending myself? How exactly would you have played the whole thing?’

  ‘That’s not the point—’

  ‘What is the point, then?’ I was very aware of Connor and Sharon hanging back in the hall, trying to make it look and sound like they weren’t there. ‘Please do enlighten me, as I’m clearly far too dense or immature or maybe both to pick up on such a subtle—’

  ‘Everything is in there!’ Eddie yelled. ‘The fight on the bridge, the fight on the bus – you neglected to mention the fact that you jumped on to a truck from the moving bus – and then you dangling this guy over the river and flying off! It’s all there!’

  ‘Do you get a good look at my face in any of those videos?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Do any of them lead back to us?’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘And have any of the papers or sites ventured anywhere near the truth?’

  ‘Stanly, that’s not the—’

  ‘Christ, Eddie!’ Now it was my turn to slam a fist down, except when I did it Eddie’s pile of newspapers flew off the table, along with his laptop, and the fridge door burst open, spilling milk all over the kitchen floor. Sharon immediately stepped in, catching the laptop with her mind before it could smash. Eddie seemed too stunned to do anything. Connor strode past Sharon, one hand raised. ‘Stanly,’ he said. ‘That is enough. All right? Calm down. Right now.’

  I breathed deeply, avoiding eye contact. He’s right. Calm down. ‘Sorry,’ I said, as levelly as I could. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t know what you want from me, Eddie. And attacking me, and constantly saying “that’s not the point”, and not actually telling me what the point is . . .’ I looked at him, expecting rage, but he just looked crestfallen. ‘Someone tried to kill me. I defended myself, using the skills I had available - I don’t have super-strength, remember? I’m not dead. No-one’s kicking the door down. Seems like the whole thing’s worked out about as well as it could have.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Sharon, softly, placing Eddie’s computer back on the table. As she did so, I saw a wet cloth leap from the sink to the floor, cleaning up the milk like something from a Disney film. The fridge door closed itself quietly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Eddie. ‘I didn’t mean to . . . attack you. That’s not what I . . . I just . . . I worry.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I know you worry. If there’s one thing I’m painfully aware of, it’s that you worry.’

  ‘Stanly,’ began Sharon.

  ‘It’s fine, Sharon,’ said Eddie.

  ‘But I’m not a child,’ I said. As usual, saying ‘I’m not a child’, or anything to that effect, made me feel about as childish as I’d ever felt. Irony’s kind of a dick sometimes, eh? ‘I do understand how things work. I know what’s at stake. I know you . . . I know you feel responsible. But waiting down here with a pile of papers and a computer, giving me a bollocking like I’m some disobedient eight-year-old who had a fight at school . . .’

  ‘We need to keep out of sight,’ said Eddie, ‘that’s all. There’s so much we don’t know. I want to keep us all off the Angel Group’s radar. Off anyone’s radar.’

  ‘A plan I’m also very down with,’ said Connor.

  Eddie nodded. ‘And this sort of thing . . .’

  ‘How many times?’ I said, starting to feel the anger bubble up again. ‘He tried to—’

  ‘We know,’ said Sharon, stepping in. ‘Stanly, we know.’ She looked at Eddie. ‘I think the point’s been made, yes?’

  Eddie nodded.

  ‘I’m going to work, anyway,’ I said. ‘I’m going to be late.’

  ‘Oh no.’ My cousin moved to block me as I headed for the door. ‘You’re under house arrest until further notice.’

  ‘You’ve got to be f—’

  ‘We had this discussion last night,’ said Edd
ie.

  ‘Um, no we didn’t,’ I said. ‘We didn’t have anything remotely resembling a discussion, actually. You sent me home. Unless you’re talking about a conversation you had with Connor and Sharon from which I was excluded?’ Ooh, go get ‘em small whiny tiger.

  ‘No, but . . .’

  ‘Did you get anything from Masters, anyway?’

  ‘We didn’t,’ said Eddie. ‘His amnesia act pretty much saw to that. And nobody I spoke to could tell me anything about Morter Smith.’

  ‘So basically, we’re none the wiser,’ I said. ‘So I should be able to go to work.’

  ‘The shop’s not even open today,’ said Eddie. ‘Skank . . .’ He turned to Connor. ‘He wants us to meet him in town.’

  Connor nodded.

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘So what do I do while you guys are off playing detectives?’

  ‘Stay in,’ said Eddie. ‘Watch TV. Play Scrabble. Just don’t leave the house. Please.’

  I deployed my most petulant eye-roll. Playing the moody teen seemed a better option than doing what I wanted to do, which was call Eddie loads of names, psychically shove him aside and fly out the front door.

  ‘Sorry, Stanly,’ said Eddie. To be fair, he sounded as though he meant it. ‘And I’m sorry I got angry.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’ Not really actually, fingers crossed behind my back, *raspberry*.

  Nice. Real mature there, sport.

  ‘And I’m sorry about making you stay in,’ said Eddie. ‘I know you want to be out there doing the thing. We will bring you in, of course we will. I just want to wait until we know a bit more about what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘Do you not remember me rescuing Tara from Smiley Joe?’ I asked. ‘Or chasing Pandora through that trippy dimension slide-show thing? I came out of those intact and I did it all by myself.’

  ‘I don’t doubt your skills,’ said Eddie. His voice sounded genuine, but both he and Connor suddenly had a look in their eyes. I knew what they were seeing in their heads. Me, whaling on the horrific black beast that had emerged from Smiley Joe’s head, pulverising it, smashing it against the ground long after it had died. Jesus. You lose your temper one time.