Ace of Spiders

by Stefan Mohamed

  As predicted, Eddie underwent an instant metamorphosis from commanding, slightly-tortured-with-a-side-of-­joviality adult in charge to awkward teenager. ‘Fine,’ he muttered.

  I glanced at Sharon and Connor. Sharon was making a valiant effort to remain composed, but I could see mischief in Connor’s eyes, the same frequency of cheekiness that I was feeling right now, like complementary protons or a science metaphor that actually makes sense. It was nice to know we still had that. ‘Is that where you’ve been disappearing lately, pal?’ he said, a pantomime of innocence.

  ‘Don’t see how it’s anyone’s business,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Yeah, Connor,’ I said. ‘Can’t you see that Eddie minds you minding his beeswax?’

  ‘Enough, tiny silly boys,’ said Sharon. ‘Leave poor Eddie alone.’

  Eddie offered a ‘yeah, leave me alone or I’ll pulverise the pair of you’ grunt, but I knew he appreciated it, behind it all. Hannah had had a pretty rough time the last couple of years, what with her place being brutally shot up. Her brother was in prison now. But she and Eddie had unofficially rekindled things, so that was good.

  Not that he could talk about it like a normal human being, of course.

  Glad for him, though.

  It was a nice evening, although I excused myself earlier than I might have under normal circumstances. I knew they all cared, that they were trying to keep me safe, but even with all the food and the booze and the happy chatter, I couldn’t fight the frustration. I was starting to hate the house, the same walls and rooms every single day, meandering around.

  Later I sat on my bed, waiting to hear the front door open and close, signalling Eddie leaving. Not long after that, Connor and Sharon headed to bed.

  I was halfway towards the open window when my phone started vibrating. It was Skank.

  Weird.

  ‘Hello?’ I said, keeping my voice low.

  ‘Stanly. Skank.’

  ‘Hi. How’s it going?’

  ‘It’s going. How’s protective custody?’

  ‘Also going. On and on and on and on.’

  ‘Yes . . . Stanly, I had an interesting conversation with Nailah today.’

  ‘Han vs Indy again?’

  Skank laughed. ‘No, nothing so contentious . . . she was asking after you. Wondering where you’d been. At first I thought that maybe she was . . . that she was interested . . . well, you know.’

  ‘OK . . .’

  ‘But I eventually ascertained that she wanted to talk with you about . . . something else. Something related to your situation.’

  ‘Morter Smith?’ That doesn’t make sense.

  ‘No, not that situation . . . the general situation.’

  ‘Skank, no offence but can you stop being so cagey?’

  ‘You never know who’s listening.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Do you mean about powers and stuff?’

  Skank sighed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘She knows about me?’

  ‘That’s the impression I got, yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘She didn’t say. She just said that she had some important information, and she wanted to speak with you face to face. She asked if I could set up a meeting.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said I’d see what I could do.’

  I nodded. ‘OK.’ Excitement was bubbling in my gut. Finally, something. God, anything would be better than the nothing my life seemed to have become. ‘So . . . what do you think? Should I meet her?’

  ‘I think that it might be worth a try,’ said Skank. ‘There is risk, of course. We can’t be sure that she’s not somehow working with your enemy, whoever that is. But we could meet quite privately and safely at the shop. I would prefer to sit in.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It is somewhat awkward,’ said Skank. ‘I feel as though I’d rather not tell Connor or Eddie or Sharon at the moment. Nailah was very clear about wanting to speak to you, and you alone. I think we might be able to swing my presence, but anybody else . . .’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘We’ll tell them when we feel the time is right.’

  ‘Yes . . .’ Skank sounded reluctant, but at this point I was beyond caring. I needed this.

  ‘How about tomorrow evening?’ I said. ‘Half eleven-ish, at the shop?’

  ‘All right. I’ll confirm by text. Meet us downstairs. I’ll leave the front door open.’

  ‘Great. Thanks Skank. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  I tossed my phone on the bed and levitated up to the ceiling, rolling around in the air, silently whooping. Finally, something to do. Something to think about. I decided not to push my luck and stayed in. I was so wired though, tingling with anticipation, far too buzzing to go to sleep, so I eventually decided to try meditating. I lit one of the scented candles that Kloe had left behind after her last visit, sat cross-legged in the air above my bed and closed my eyes. Calm. Calm. Breathe in, breathe out.

  In.

  Out.

  Calm.

  A still and silent ocean.

  Washes of breeze.

  Silence.

  Death threat.

  No. Shh. Silence.

  Death threat. Morter Smith. Nailah. Angel Group.

  I said shut up.

  Death threat, Morter Smith, Nailah, Angel Group, Eddie, Kloe, South Park, cake—

  I SAID SHUT UP.

  STILL AND SILENT BLOODY OCEAN, YOU BLOODY CRETIN.

  WASHES OF BLOODY SILENT LOVELY BLOODY QUIET BLOODY BREEZE.

  STUPID BLOODY STUPID SHIT BRAIN.

  SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

  I opened my eyes, floated down to my bed – bugger that for a laugh – and read old Charlie Brooker columns until around three in the morning, when sleep finally engulfed me. And when I woke up, there was a text waiting for me from Skank.

  Tonight is on, it said.

  Groovy, said my brain.

  Chapter Six

  IN THE GRAND pantheon of days that dragged, this one could have stood shoulder to shoulder with the very draggiest, head held high. I forced myself to read, although I took in little, and when evening eventually came I was lying on my bed, digesting sausage and mash and staring at the same page of Consider Phlebas that I’d been looking at for the last hour. Sharon had gone to get an early night, and Connor would probably stay up for a little while. I was usually the last one left awake anyway, which was handy. I have that night gene.

  I popped downstairs at half ten to get a glass of water and found Connor yawning over the paper. ‘I’m going to sleep,’ I said, feeling like a traitor. ‘Kippered.’

  ‘Presuming that’s rural Welsh slang for tired?’

  ‘Ydw.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll be heading that way too shortly.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Not too hardcore these days, are we?’

  ‘Old age catching up.’ For a second I thought about asking him whether everything was OK, whether I’d done something, why he seemed so distant lately, but the moment passed, or perhaps I hadn’t ever really intended to say anything. Either way, I just smiled. ‘’Night.’

  ‘’Night.’

  I shut my bedroom door, drank half of the water and sat watching the clock, listening. I heard Connor come upstairs a few minutes later, heard the bathroom door groan, toilet flushing, teeth brushing, then his and Sharon’s bedroom door. I waited a little longer, just to be safe, then donned my coat, steeling myself.

  This has to be a trap.

  But Nailah seems so . . .

  It’s too much of a coincidence though, surely? Death threat, then this?

  Maybe Skank was right, maybe it is a come-on?

  Oh don’t flatter yourself. She’s way older than you. Plus why would she want to m
eet at 110th Street? With Skank? Would he be there in a chaperone capacity or what? Also, let’s face it punk, you’re not exactly Ryan Gosling.

  Plus, Kloe.

  Not that I even—

  THIS THOUGHT PROCESS IS RIDICULOUS. CEASE AND DESIST, AND GO OUTSIDE.

  Sometimes I honestly wondered how I was able to maintain even the tiniest semblance of control over my psychic powers, with such an uncooperative brain.

  The night was like a cold shower and I slipped into it gratefully. It was a bit of a way to the shop and I considered flying, but that felt like tempting fate. Plus, if it was a trap, they’d expect that. Pedestrian transport.

  Train.

  My gratitude for my freedom didn’t last long. Usually I felt confident moving around in London, secure that I knew the place, that nobody would try to tangle with me, and that I could take them if they did. Now I felt paranoid, edgy, hyper-aware of everybody else I saw, my eyes darting to the source of any sudden movement as I was propelled through glow-streaked tunnels by unfriendly currents.

  What if this really was a trap?

  I got to the shop in one piece. The door was unlocked and I slipped inside, turning the deadlock behind me, and moved as quietly as I could towards the stairs. I could hear Skank and Nailah’s voices quite clearly – aww, they started without me – but when I realised what they were talking about, I had to stifle a laugh.

  ‘You are missing the point,’ said Skank. ‘Again.’

  ‘What do you mean, “again”?’ said Nailah. ‘When did I last miss the point?’

  ‘You know when.’

  ‘Oh, that. Look, I maintain that Han’s sneakiness would give him the edge.’

  ‘Wrong. He prefers a straight fight to all this sneaking around—’

  ‘But is willing to shoot first, willing to hide under the floors, willing to—’

  ‘Indiana Jones represents pure aggression and endurance, which—’

  ‘Oh God, it’s just cavemen vs astronauts again—’

  ‘Of course cavemen—’

  ‘Look, can we maybe not do this again, please? And also maybe come back to how I somehow missed your point? Could it have been because the logic was so obtuse and wrong-dimensional that MC Escher would be like “nah mate”? How am I missing this point?’

  There was a pause, and I could almost see Skank taking a very deep breath. It was always amusing when my otherwise supernaturally placid boss lost his rag, but I rarely saw anyone take as much pure pleasure in goading him as Nailah seemed to. I knew I should go down and announce my presence, but this was too much fun. ‘You are missing the point,’ Skank continued, ‘that I am very clearly making. I am not saying that Abrams made a bad film. At least not until the second one. It’s not a great film, by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s fast-paced, exciting, brainless fun. What I’m saying is that aside from the superficial nostalgia bait of the characters and setting, it has about as much in common with Star Trek, the true essence of Star Trek, as Battlestar Galactica, i.e none. The Motion Picture—’

  OK, enough eavesdropping. Best make an entrance before genuine physical violence erupts. I started walking down the stairs, calling, ‘Yo. Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.’

  They were in a small room adjacent to the one where we’d interrogated Masters, which Skank had kitted out with a green sofa, an armchair, a massive flat-screen television, a Blu-Ray player, several games consoles and a top-of-the-range sound system. He was sitting on a beanbag rolling a joint and Nailah was on the sofa puffing on an e-cigarette. Skank looked at me with an expression that said why did you leave me with her for so long. Nailah smiled, friendly but guarded. ‘No, nothing important,’ she said. ‘Usual banter.’

  ‘Banter,’ said Skank. ‘But not as we know it . . .’

  ‘So,’ said Nailah. ‘Where have you been recently? Holiday?’

  ‘House arrest,’ I said. ‘Someone wants to kill me.’

  She nodded. ‘Figured it might be something like that. The guy on the bus?’

  My spine went cold. ‘What?’

  ‘Nasty guy? You fought him on a bus? And a truck? That’s the guy who’s trying to kill you?’

  I stared at her, and she rolled her eyes. ‘I know it’s you in the video.’

  ‘Really.’ I sat down on the arm of the chair. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because it couldn’t more obviously be you?’ said Nailah. ‘That’s why I’m here. You’ve got powers.’

  I glanced at Skank, who shrugged almost imperceptibly. He seemed to have regained his composure. Trust him to lose his rag over a conversation about Star Trek, and be utterly un-phased by this.

  Un-phasered, more like!

  Yeah, good one.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Yeah. It’s me. And I do have powers.’

  Nailah nodded. ‘And Skank? You know about all this business?’

  ‘I do,’ said Skank, sticking his joint.

  ‘OK,’ said Nailah. ‘Cool. We’re on the same page, then.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I said. ‘What this about, Nailah? You’re not Angel Group, I hope.’

  ‘Course not, although if I was you I would have asked me that before admitting being a superpowered type.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll remember that next time. You know about the Group, though? The real Group?’

  She nodded.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Usual. Behind the scenes, string pullers. Dodgy experiments. Political corruption.’

  ‘And how do you know about me?’

  ‘You heard of Weird, Sister?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s me,’ she said, with a crafty smile.

  ‘You run Weird, Sister?’

  ‘Yep. Well. Co-run, with a conspiracy nut who I’d probably have gently let go if he hadn’t done me so many insane tech-related favours. I’m more legwork than admin anyway.’ She mock-bowed. ‘London’s self-proclaimed number-one anonymous investigative supernatural blogger at your service. Style of thing.’

  ‘Pretty long title.’

  ‘I have very long business cards.’

  ‘I thought you said you were anonymous?’

  ‘Never said they had my name on them.’

  ‘Pretty crap business cards if they don’t have your name on them.’

  ‘I also never said they were any good.’

  ‘Is Nailah even your real name, anyway?’

  ‘Has anyone ever genuinely made the choice to spell Stanly the way you spell it?’

  ‘Do you even like the Beatles?’

  Skank coughed politely. ‘As much as I love fast-paced screwball comedy-style back and forth . . .’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘So how did you work out it was me? In the video?’

  ‘Did you miss the “investigative” bit? I did some detective work. Plus, like I said, obvious. Had some other pictures of you too, and various whisperings. You killed Smiley Joe, didn’t you?’

  ‘I might maybe have helped,’ I said. ‘You left all this off your site. Why?’

  ‘’Cos I think there’s more important stuff happening than getting scoops on private individuals,’ said Nailah. ‘Like making alliances. And I think that you’re in danger.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Like who Morter Smith is, maybe?’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ said Nailah. ‘Weird name.’

  ‘I know, right? He’s the one who wants me dead, apparently. Hence the cloak’n’daggery.’

  She nodded. ‘Fair ‘nuff . . . well, I’m sorry to hear about the price on your head, if that’s what it is, but when I say you are in danger, I mean superpowered types in general. And by extension, possibly everyone else.’

  ‘Scoop many “superpowered types” then, do you?’

  ‘I’ve found some,�
�� said Nailah. ‘But I’m not making stories out of them.’

  ‘You hosted those videos, though,’ said Skank. ‘On your site. Compared them with another picture of Stanly.’

  ‘That wasn’t me,’ said Nailah. ‘Well . . . I took that other picture, yeah. But it was Damien, the guy who conjures the ones and zeroes, he put that stuff up, without asking me. I actually made him take it down.’

  ‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘Damien? Captain Conspiracy, hippie, dreadlocks, stoner?’

  Nailah frowned. ‘Yeah?’

  Small. Goddamn. World. ‘I know him,’ I said. ‘Well. Met him, at a festival. Friend of a friend of a friend or something.’

  ‘Woah,’ said Nailah, her eyes widening. ‘That’s . . . I mean, that couldn’t possibly be a coincidence? Perhaps this is all connected? Maybe it’s meant to happen? Like destiny? Or perhaps it was all engineered by someone . . .’

  ‘Really?’

  Another eye roll. ‘No, not really. Look . . . you might think this sounds ridiculous, considering the website I work for, but I’ve never been much for conspiracies. Even if things seem weird, generally there’s going to be a mundane explanation, and usually a depressing one, ’cos that’s the world. I never really thought that there were evil government agencies or sinister corporations lurking out there. Well, no more sinister than regular corporations, anyway. I just figured it was run-of-the-mill people, some stupid, some clever, some greedy. Then I started hearing about superpowered types, and monsters, and I did some digging, which led to deeper digging . . . so . . .’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Fair enough. You got a glimpse of the weird world within the world. But what’s this about? What’s this danger?’

  ‘There should be a lot more of you out there,’ said Nailah. ‘Enhanced people, or powered individuals, or special folk, or whatever you call yourselves.’

  ‘We tend to say “empowered”,’ I said.

  She looked amused. ‘Cool. And also kinda naff.’

  She’s not wrong.

  And also . . . when did we collectively decide to adopt Angel Group nomenclature?

  ‘Anyway,’ Nailah continued, ‘I think the Angel Group has snapped most of the others up. Honestly, they should have got you by now. They’re incredibly powerful, incredibly well-connected, and no offence, but you’re not exactly sly. I mean, not to downplay my detective skills or anything, but if I could find you then they definitely could. So either you’re working with them already, or—’