The remark struck Spinneretta with its absurdity. “The . . . audience?”
But the Cheshire Man ignored her. “You may not realize it, Mark, but you and I go way back. I’ve been watching you for a very long time. You have no idea how hard it’s been to stop myself from breaking down and seeing just what it is that makes you tick.” His sickening grin grew wider. “So, tell me, Mark. How does it feel, here at the reveal, to finally spill the secret of your dear old mother’s end?”
Mark’s muscles tightened, but he did not speak. The heartless words spilled a riotous heat through Spinneretta’s core. Her teeth ground against one another.
“It must hurt, to relive the things you’ve done every time you shut your eyes, no? And yet avoiding sleep like the Bubonic plague must take quite the toll on your gifted mind. How much potential have you squandered by casting death before you at every turn?”
“Who the fuck do you think you are!?” Spinneretta yelled. She moved to put herself between the purple-suited man and Mark. Her spider legs emerged from her jacket, spreading into a threatening posture. “What’s the matter with you, coming out of nowhere and saying shit like that to someone who—”
The Cheshire Man’s grin twisted into a snarl. “I have no interest in you.” One hand flew up to her collarbone and shoved her away. “Begone from my sight.”
Spinneretta stumbled back. Her spider legs spread and arranged themselves automatically to correct her balance, but it took three steps before the world stopped spinning.
“Don’t you dare touch her!” Mark leapt toward the Cheshire Man, the Flames of Y’rokkrem erupting in his palm. He threw a soul-cracking fist toward the man, but he was gone in the blink of an eye. The green fire burned through nothing but air.
A moment of silence, and then Spinneretta heard low laughter behind her. She spun about and found the gaunt purple figure looming mere feet away. Startled at his sudden reappearance, she gasped and fell back a step.
“Oh my,” the Cheshire Man said. “It seems you’re more protective of the girl than I thought. You must forgive me, Mark. I simply hate being interrupted while I am speaking of matters of such import. There is surely no need for you to give yourself to violence so easily. Do not worry. I shan’t hurt the girl.” The street light again glinted off the silver blade he spun between his fingers. “Provided you indulge my lust for fine conversation.”
Spinneretta slipped a few steps further back. What the hell was with him? If he could teleport in the blink of an eye, what did that make him? A Chosen like Mark? An adrenal flood tried to pry at her nerves, but the descent toward anger died shortly thereafter. Instinct or not, she knew she was no match for someone like him.
“What do you want?” Mark asked. He again moved to put himself in front of Spinneretta, presumably to protect her should the Cheshire Man decide to sheath the blade in her stomach.
“Oh, really now, that is such a tiring question. Right up there with what are you, and why are you doing this. I was hoping you could entertain me, not read the same old lines over and over. It is a waste to ask such questions when there are so many unspokens just waiting to be let loose into the world.” The man erupted in a cackle of glee. “We could have some fun, you and I. We could talk about NIDUS and their past, if you are so inclined. We could speak of their ambitions and ultimate goal, that is to say . . . ” His eyes widened as he stared into Mark. “Yes, that’s right. The Coronation of the unborn prince. You know, don’t you?”
Spinneretta swallowed hard. “Coronation?” She looked to Mark, but his expression was stone-cold, unmoving. “Mark, what is he talking about?”
“Oh?” The Cheshire Man laughed. “You haven’t told her? If you’ve plumbed Simon’s mind, then you must know of the Coronation. Of how—and indeed, why—the girl exists, and why they wanted these hybrids in the first place. You’ve been holding out on her, I see.”
Holding out on me? She suddenly recalled how elusive Mark had been before when asked about such topics. Did he know? Was he really hiding something? The strain in his features suggested the topic was uncomfortable. Spinneretta felt sweat beginning to build on the back of her neck.
“But let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the Cheshire Man continued. “If these things so near and dear to the brood are of no interest, then may I suggest we speak of the intangibles? We could speak of the Jailers and the Cradles they left behind. Of Black Euclidean. The things which lurk beneath our very feet, down in the realm of Tsun-Guar, the Dweller Below. There are things never recorded in any of your scorched books—things even Alhazred would have been absolutely revolted to learn. I’d love to see just how deep your knowledge goes, for I have no doubt that I could take your understanding far, far deeper. I could remake you. Or I could break you.”
Clearly shaken, Mark widened his posture yet further, glaring daggers at the man. “Do not waste my time by talking in circles.”
The man grimaced. “Circles? No, not circles, Mark, spheres!”
“What?”
He laughed. “It’s always spheres. Yes, your universe seems to have this bizarre obsession with them. Your planets are spheres, your stars are spheres . . . Even your brains resemble particularly weird and perverse spheres, which I find wholly unsettling.” Perhaps seeing the impatient look on Mark’s face, the Cheshire Man sighed. “Very well. You’re just so unsociable. Much like Dwyre was. I will get to the point, then. Since you don’t seem keen to entertain me, I’ll just give you your present.”
The Cheshire Man raised his hand and twirled it once. A book appeared from thin air. He raised it up and showed them the cover. It was a thin, pale blue book with a simple title scrawled across it. And then he raised his other hand and, in the same manner as the first, summoned a thick tome with a hard yellow cover. “I’ve been following your journey very closely, Mark, and so to make it a bit more interesting for all parties involved I shall give you a choice. In my left hand, I hold the late Simon Dwyre’s most treasured possession: one of the only complete copies of the Repton Scriptures.”
Spinneretta snapped to attention. Her eyes traced the outline of the book.
“That’s right. In this book, all the secrets of the Websworn are revealed in glorious detail—to the extent that they’re accurate, of course. Quite rare. I believe only three complete copies exist. In my right hand, however, I’ve got something just for you. It is with impeccable timing that I present this, if I do say so myself, for it’s an heirloom from your beloved mother!”
Mark went rigid. Spinneretta heard the breath escape his lungs in a quiet gasp.
“Your mother kept her secret for quite a while. She knew she was running out of time, though how short it ended up was probably surprising to her. And so, after writing this little manifesto, she hid it away to pass on to your sister on her eighteenth birthday. But after she died, Father Golgotha became privy to its existence. He stashed the book deep in the library where nobody would ever find it, convinced it held secrets older even than those inscribed within the Ars Geometricorum Lunae. And as your fires consumed all the knowledge contained within that library, I couldn’t resist the temptation to help myself to a piece of history.”
Mark stared at the book in the man’s hand, and Spinneretta saw that his shoulders were shaking. It took another moment to realize that hers were as well.
“Just between the two of us, I’ve been waiting with bated breath for you to let the secret slip to the girl here. It makes it all so much more satisfying. I’m sure you’ll find it most enlightening.” Another vile laugh. “Well then, Mark, which will it be? Which one strikes your fancy?”
Mark was quiet. His fists were clenched, his knuckles turning pale. “The Repton Scriptures.”
Spinneretta couldn’t muffle her surprise at the answer. “Huh?”
The Cheshire Man’s delighted expression morphed into an incredulous glare. “What?”
“You heard me,” Mark said, his voice growing in force and confidence. “Give me that damn yellow book
.”
The man scowled at him. “You don’t want to see just what it was that your mother’s legacy entails? You don’t care about her family secrets?”
“I have decided,” Mark said through his teeth.
The Cheshire Man gave a bladed sigh and lowered his gaze. “Very well.” He tossed the thicker of the two books toward Mark with a deliberate carelessness, though Mark caught it with no apparent difficulty. “You’re much more callous in person, you know.” He breathed out slowly, and his anger seemed to wane. He turned his gaze toward Spinneretta, and she felt a chill between her spider legs. “Well, no point in letting this little discovery of mine go to waste; I do still have to give the girl a birthday present, after all.”
Spinneretta took a reflexive step backward as his luminous eyes fell upon her. Those eyes seemed somehow familiar; she hated them, and despite his innocent-sounding words she found herself on the defensive. He took a few meandering steps toward her before handing over the plain-covered blue book. Spider legs poised to strike if the knife reappeared, she just stood there, tense.
“Go on, take it,” the Cheshire Man said. “Live life to the fullest. Carpe diem, memento mori, and what have you.” She bit down and carefully accepted the book. When she took the old volume into her hands, the man flashed a broad smile at her. “There! It’s not so hard, is it? Just relax! You’re among good company.”
Spinneretta looked down at the book. Its contents were thin, barely thicker than the cover itself. Several pages protruded, as though they’d been forced to fit against their will. The old, handwritten lettering on the front of it read: Starblooded. She shivered, remembering what Annika reported to be among the final words of Golgotha. She glanced up at Mark, as if entreating permission to even hold it, but Mark had his eyes fixed upon the thing in the purple suit.
The Cheshire Man turned about and took a series of exaggerated, dance-like steps away from them. “Something on your mind, Mr. Warren?” he sang.
“Answer me something.”
The man sighed. “You humans are always, always asking things. That detail never changes; why are you so concerned with what I know?” He hummed a low note as he rolled his knife across his fingers. “Very well. I am a generous curator, so I will grant you one question. Choose wisely.”
Mark crossed his arms. “I read a copy of the Repton Scriptures when I was a child. Or at least part of it. But the more I’ve been thinking about the fact, the more it’s been bothering me. Arbordale is thousands of miles from here, and there’s nothing linking the Vigil with the spider cult. Is it merely a coincidence that they happened upon a copy and filed it away in their library?”
The Cheshire Man’s eyes widened. “That’s quite an obscure and specific question you’re asking me. Why should I know anything about that?” He paused. “You’re not accusing me of having something to do with it, are you?”
“Answer the question,” Mark said in a low growl.
“Let us just say that you would do well to remember Alhazred’s razor: attribute not to chance that which can be stirred by the Primal Ones.” Mark grew silent, and his entire body seemed to stiffen. The man gave another poisonous laugh and spread his arms apart. “All things serve the Primal Ones. In a Cradle of five masters, it’s hard to imagine anything happening by chance on this little globe of yours.”
Mark dropped the Repton Scriptures into the grass and again lunged toward the man. He seized him by the collar and scowled. “Cease wasting my time and give me answers!”
Despite the abruptness of Mark’s advance, the Cheshire Man just looked at him with that same violent smile. Mark’s eyes twitched as he gazed into the face of the purple-suited thing. A tense moment passed, and then Mark’s entire body began to shake. His expression warped into bewildered horror. “What is this?”
The man in his grip gave a bored sigh. “I’m confused. Is something supposed to be happening?” His arm blurred as it lashed out in an arc. Mark stumbled back and crashed to the ground, a fresh cut splitting his shirt and drawing a line of blood across his chest.
Spinneretta gasped and raced to his side. Her spider legs went to assist him as he curled into a half-sitting position. “Mark! Are you okay?”
“Incredible, isn’t it?” the Cheshire Man said. “Bet you haven’t seen that before, have you? A mind that you cannot rummage through as you see fit. I’ll let you twirl that fact about that little brain of yours. I’m sure you’ll come up with some interesting theories about why that is.” He thrust his hands into his pockets. “As I seem to have worn thin my welcome, I’ll leave you two be for now. It was a pleasure.” He tipped his hat and flashed another malign grin. And just like that, his entire form faded from view, as though vanishing into a mist that was not there.
For a moment, Spinneretta gazed after where the man had been. She then regained her senses and snapped out of her paralysis. “Jesus, are you okay?” she asked, inspecting Mark’s chest. Blood was running, but the cut was only skin deep. “Shit, you’re bleeding.”
He shook his head. “And you are fretting. It is nothing.”
She studied his expression. “What’s wrong?” she asked, realizing how idiotic it sounded considering the circumstances.
“Nothing,” he said. “There was nothing.”
“Wha?”
He looked up, and she saw a profound dread etched into his pale eyes. “I attempted to plumb his mind, and yet . . . There was nothing. His mind was empty.”
“What? What does that mean?”
He shook his head. “I know not. I thought he may have been another Chosen. A Chosen of something. But I believe now that we can rule that out. I do not think he is even human.”
Her shivering grew in intensity, and the creeping chill of the night tried to slip through her skin. She threw her gaze toward the vacant space where the man had receded from reality. “If he isn’t human, then what is he?”
Mark’s hand snaked out and claimed the book that had tumbled beside the fallen log. With a groan, he rose to his feet, allowing his arms to hang beside him. His expression intensified. “Whatever he is, I suspect he’s had a hand in far more than just the tapes and Dwyre. That he should even know the cursed name of the Ars Lunae . . . ”
The salty sea breeze stirred Spinneretta’s jacket, and she clutched it tighter around her. “He’s our enemy,” she said with a phantom certainty.
Mark nodded. “I fear you’re right.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. A weak, helpless sigh slipped out, and her spider legs moved to recapture the lost air. She was starting to hate being right.
“Spinny.”
“Huh?”
He was quiet for a moment as he scanned the shadows. “Let us keep this purple demon to ourselves for now. We do not yet know what he is, or what he is after. Until we know more, there is little reason to worry the others.”
The sound of the Cheshire Man’s malicious laughter seemed to echo in her ears. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
He brought his hand to chest, and then inspected the dribble of blood upon his fingertips. “No. But I believe it is a pragmatic one. Right now, our concern is NIDUS, and keeping you and your siblings safe from them.”
There was reason in the explanation, she supposed. But it felt wrong. If this purple man-specter-thing was indeed their enemy, that changed everything. Was it truly wise to hide that information? And then, something that the Cheshire Man had said came back to her. She swallowed hard. “Mark, what’s the Coronation of the unborn prince?”
A momentary grimace, visible only in the edges of his eyes. “I know not.”
The shift in the scent of the air betrayed him. “You’re lying again,” she said, her unease spreading. A deep breath stained her blood with a creeping dread. “So it’s true. You are keeping things from me. What else have you learned? Is it true that you know why they wanted to . . . ?” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. Make spider people.
“Spinny, listen,�
�� he said. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but for now I do not wish to divulge what I know. Explaining all that I know would be tedious, and doing so at this time would not help our situation in the least.”
Indignation flashed through her blood. “Seriously? Wait, how the fuck long have you known? You realize I’ve spent my whole life wondering about this, and now you’re telling me it’d be too tedious to give me answers?”
“Not now, Spinneretta,” he said, impatience sharpening his tone. “I will explain everything to you, of that you have my word. But not now. Now we have other things to worry about. Not the least of which is this.” He held up the Repton Scriptures, allowing the street light and waning gibbous of Y’rokkrem to illuminate the yellow canvas cover. “There may be something in here that aids us directly. If we know how NIDUS thinks, we may discover a weakness.”
She bit her tongue. “Fine.” The taste of secrecy sat in her mouth, acrid and sharp. But she didn’t feel like fighting him about it now. Her spider legs kept shaking; she wasn’t sure she could handle hearing the truth at the moment, even if Mark were more willing to share. And so she nodded in acquiescence. With a low breath, she held the blue book out toward him. “I guess I should give this to you.”
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye with an unmistakable distance. “I do not want it. I need no further reminders about what I’ve done.”
A brief trill sounded in her throat. “Then, what should we do with . . . ?”
“You may read it if you wish. I’m certain you’re curious.”
She was. Something about the taste of the word Starblooded. And remembering what Annika had told her of Mark’s true power, she felt an intense drive to read the contents of that thin volume. And yet to arbitrarily rummage about through something so personal . . . “Is it really okay? That I read it, I mean?”
He grunted as he started toward the path leading up the hill. “Of course it’s okay. It’s not like it can change anything now.”
Helixweaver (The Warren Brood Book 2) Page 35