The Spider Queen

by Emma Slate

  I turned the music dome back over. Tantalizing dancing snowflakes twirled through globe. The purple Scottish thistle looked suspended within the glass, an illusion that made it appear as though it was free floating. It was a trick of the placement I’d learned on the island of Murano—I’d used the glass as a sort of prism to deceive the eye.

  Barrett took the snow globe back and held it up to her eyes to peer at it. “It’s beautiful. And I will treasure it always.”

  “Thank you.” I picked up my purse. “Happy Birthday, Mrs. Campbell.”

  “Call me Barrett,” she said, her smile wide and friendly, all traces of unease between us gone.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Flynn said.

  “You have a phone call to make,” Barrett said pointedly. “I’ll take Stella to the lobby.”

  Flynn strode across the cream carpet, his hand outstretched. At the last moment, he remembered and placed his hand in his pant pocket. “Thank you again for the beautiful creation.”

  “Aren’t you glad you trusted me?” I teased.

  He grinned. “You knew best.”

  “Women always do,” Barrett quipped.

  Flynn made a noise in the back of his throat as he took his tumbler and sat down on the couch.

  Barrett gestured to the elevator and in a show of friendship, she linked her arm with mine.

  Stabbing pain shot through my radius. I repelled away from Barrett and the relief was instant.

  “Sorry. I don’t like to be touched,” I said, absently rubbing my arm. “It’s not—it’s just a quirk I have. Please don’t take offense—”

  “No explanation needed. Truly.” Her smile was genuine. The elevator doors opened and we stepped in. She pressed the lobby button and down we went, but after a few floors, she pressed another button and the carriage came to an abrupt halt. “What was that back there? Down at the bar?”

  I didn’t even pretend I didn’t know what she was talking about. “I get the sense that you’re missing something. Something you want desperately.”

  “And how would you know that?” Barrett wasn’t at all defensive. Curious, more than anything.

  “I’m…gifted,” I said.

  “Ah. Like a medium?”

  I shook my head. “Not like that. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try.”

  Her tone was no-nonsense, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting out of the elevator until I gave her some sort of explanation.

  “You might think I’m crazy,” I warned her.

  She smiled. “Try me.”

  I sighed. “Okay. Well, here goes… I’m an empath.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

  “I sense emotions,” I evaded.

  “I’ve heard of people who can see auras or who talk to spirits. But this isn’t like that, is it?”

  I shook my head. I thought it wise not to mention that I went out at night, hunting for the troubled so I might aid them. She also didn’t need to know I required little to no sleep and it pained me to be touched when it wasn’t of my choosing.

  “I can’t determine the exact cause of the emotion,” I said, meeting her hazel gaze. “But I know immediately what I sense.”

  “Like desperation?” she asked mockingly.

  I didn’t smile at her dark jest. “Sometimes. I once met a man who was covered in misery. After just a little prodding, I found out he had excessive gambling debts and had been considering using his daughter’s college tuition money to pay them off.”

  She arched a perfectly tweezed auburn eyebrow.

  I shrugged. “Believe me, or don’t.” My eyes pinned her. “But you were rattled.”

  Her jaw clenched, and she leaned over to push the button that would get the elevator moving again. We arrived to the lobby floor and the sleek doors opened. I stepped out and turned to face her.

  “Have a good night, Stella. Thank you for the snow globe.” As an afterthought, she added, “And thank you for your advice.”

  The doors closed and only then did I allow myself to smile.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, I was glaring at the Garden of Eden music box when Herron blew in like a tornado, dressed in a pale pink A-line dress and nude heels.

  “Bagel with a side of what’s wrong with you?” she demanded, setting the foil-wrapped sandwich in front of me.

  I gestured to the snow globe. “I can’t get the damn thing to work.”

  Every spare moment I had the previous few days had been spent fiddling with the music box.

  “I can’t even get it to warble a few notes before going silent. Nothing. It just won’t work.”

  “But you can fix any music box,” Herron said, her eyebrows rising nearly to her hairline. “It really is gorgeous.” She bent her tall, willowy frame over to peer at the Garden of Eden scene.

  I ran my hand down the glass and swore I saw it ripple.

  Again.

  No doubt I was about to crash from exhaustion.

  “Still no note saying who dropped it off?” Herron asked, unwrapping her own sandwich.

  I shook my head. “Nope. None.”

  “You don’t think it’s a tad creepy that someone managed to get into the shop while it was locked? And you didn’t hear them?” She gave a dramatic shiver.

  “I was probably just tired,” I lied. “And you know when you’re tired you think you do something but you actually don’t?”

  She stared at me, her sandwich halfway to her red-lipsticked mouth. “Why are you lying to me?”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Stella. I know your tells. You’ve got a good poker face, but I know you.”

  “You only think you know me.” I reached over and plucked a piece of bacon from her sandwich and popped it into my mouth. “How’s the dragon-in-law?”

  “Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “As dramatic as ever. The charity luncheon went off without a hitch, no thanks to me. Blaze hired her a private nurse. Hence why I was able to come back to work.”

  “Hence, he was determined to save your marriage.” I laughed.

  Herron chuckled. “My husband is well aware of my inability to be in the same space as his mother for longer than two hours without a steady supply of gin.”

  “He’s good like that.”

  We munched on our food and then she asked, “What did Campbell think of the gift?”

  “He loved it. The wife loved it.” I frowned, thinking about Barrett.

  “What?” Herron wondered.

  I forgot to school my features when I was around her. Armor needed to be in place with everyone else, but not with Herron.

  “Nothing,” I mumbled, not wanting to discuss Barrett’s emotions with my friend.

  “It’s not nothing. You’ve got something written all over you face. So?”

  “It’s just—”

  The doorbell jangled, and in walked the woman we were currently discussing. Barrett Campbell was impeccably dressed in a smart black dress, black ballet flats, and enormous Jackie O sunglasses. Her auburn hair was twirled up to reveal a graceful, fair neck.

  Her smile was wide as she lowered her sunglasses. “Hello, Stella.”

  “Hi,” I greeted, instantly on my guard.

  Barrett gazed around the room quickly, taking in the shop, but something told me that even though it was nothing more than a scan, she had missed nothing. “Lovely,” she murmured. “Stunning.” Shaking her head, her attention whipped to Herron. “You look very familiar.”

  Herron smiled. “My older sister was in the same sorority as Ashby Rhodes.”

  Barrett snapped her fingers. “That’s it!”

  The two engaged in a quick game of who-knew-whom on Park Avenue. I tuned them out, recognizing no one they spoke of.

  They laughed like old friends, and it struck me how different they were from other women of their echelon. They didn’t act like they had money. They were genuine and warm, and I realized why I had liked Barrett immediately.

  She�
��d reminded me of Herron.

  “Why are you here?” I asked bluntly.

  Their conversation cut off mid-sentence as they both looked at me.

  Herron rolled her eyes. “Forgive Stella.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Barrett said with a wave of her hand. “My visit is two-fold.”

  Barrett exchanged a quick glance with Herron who immediately scooped up her to-go cup of coffee and said, “I think I’ll go buy a roast duck or something.”

  I coughed out a laugh.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Herron called out to Barrett just before the door shut behind her.

  Barrett set her clutch and sunglasses on the counter. “Your work is incredible.”

  “Thank you.”

  “After you left the other night, I bugged the ever-loving-crap out of Flynn with questions about you.” She smiled. “He told me he wandered in here by accident?”

  I nodded. “A few weeks ago, yes.”

  “Your shop isn’t easy to find.”

  “I know where this is leading. Herron offered to help me move to Tribeca. I already turned her down.”

  She cocked her head to the side, reminding me of an elegant, elusive bird. “Why?”

  “Because I like my life just the way it is.”

  Barrett thought for a moment, and then her gaze slid away to take in one of the display cases—the one that housed my favorite snow globes.

  Mythical creatures. Gargoyles, dragons, mermaids, and unicorns.

  “Huh,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I wouldn’t have expected you to create such…fantastical pieces.”

  I said nothing as she continued to look around, every now and again nodding to herself. Once she’d made the rounds, her eyes landed on the Garden of Eden snow globe. I’d forgotten to take it to the back out of sight.

  She gestured to it. “Wow. Is this your newest work?”

  I felt oddly protective of the music box and discreetly tried to move so my body shielded it from Barrett’s gaze.

  “It’s not. The music box is broken and I’m determined to fix it. So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

  “One of my favorite Chinese restaurants is around the corner. I make a point to stop by every time I’m in New York.”

  She turned away and went to a display case. Her finger traced along the ornately carved door. “You make beautiful things, Stella. I came here because I want to sell them in Dornoch. My best friend, Ash, has an art gallery there.”

  “Snow globes aren’t really art gallery material.”

  Barrett swiveled to smile at me. “Aren’t they? It’s an intimate space, but Dornoch is surprisingly entrepreneurial. The Scots are…” She paused in thought for a moment and then went on. “Well, they’re an odd blend of pragmatic with a healthy dose of superstition. Scotland is magical.” She looked abashed, but her smile was genuine.

  “It’s beautiful,” I agreed.

  “You’ve been?”

  I nodded. “Edinburgh. Inverness. Orkney. Not some of the lesser-known spots like Shetland.”

  Though I’d enjoyed Scotland, I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d enjoyed Ireland more. I understood what she meant about Scotland being magical, though. There was just something about the place…

  “What do you think?” she pressed.

  “About what?”

  “About selling your globes in Dornoch.”

  I frowned. “I’ll need some time to think about it.”

  “What is there to think about? It’s a great opportunity.”

  “What’s in it for you?” I demanded.

  She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “You. What do you get out of this?” My gaze narrowed, willing her to answer, but all Barrett did was smile and look innocent.

  “Your creations deserve to be seen. They won’t be seen here. Not in this shop off the beaten path, even though it’s in Manhattan. You don’t even have a sign on the door.”

  “I don’t do it for the money,” I said quietly. “I do it because I love it.”

  “So the answer is no?”

  “The answer is no. Thank you, though. It’s a nice offer, but…” I shrugged. “What’s the other reason you came here?”

  “I’m inviting you to my birthday celebration. Friday at nine p.m. The Gold Ballroom at The Rex.” She reached for her sunglasses and slid them on. “Oh. It’s a masquerade.”

  “But—”

  “Stella,” she began with a rueful shake of her head. “This, I won’t let you say no to. I’ll see you there.”

  “I can’t go to a masquerade,” I said as I collapsed onto Herron’s ten-thousand-dollar, stark-white plush couch.

  She poured a glass of red wine and handed it to me. “Um, I’ve got news for you. If the Campbells want you at their party, you go to their freakin’ party.”

  “What does that even mean?” I demanded. I looked away from her to glance out the window. It was just past sunset—I’d closed the shop early. The Garden of Eden snow globe was pissing me off. I couldn’t seem to fix the music box, but I’d be damned if I gave up. I just needed some time away from it.

  “It means,” Herron said, taking her own glass of wine and sitting in the matching white chair perpendicular to the couch, “that Barrett and Flynn Campbell are influential people. Not going is like a slap in the face.”

  I frowned. “They’re in your circle. Why aren’t you going?”

  “We were invited.” Herron grinned. “But Blaze surprised me with tickets to Paris for the weekend.”

  “That will be fun,” I remarked absently.

  “What’s really bothering you, Stella? Because I know it’s not the masquerade.”

  “It’s—I don’t know. Restlessness, I guess. About being here.” I’d been in the city for a few years, but I’d been born with wanderlust. I never liked to call one place home for too long.

  Herron’s gaze remained on me. “Where will you go, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just—feeling itchy in my own skin. Like this life doesn’t fit me anymore.”

  “What life?” Her tone was gentle, but no less powerful for it. “You’re holed up in that shop all the time. And every night you venture out into the city. For what? To ease your own burdens by aiding others?”

  It was my form of balance. But lately, it just hadn’t felt as enriching. Obligatory, maybe.

  “I’m in a rut.”

  “Which is why I think the party will be good for you. It will force you out of your comfort zone, but at least you can do what you do. Think about all those people in one place. I bet you could ease the emotions of at least ten people in one night. Hell, you might even set a new record.”

  “Throwing down the gauntlet, huh?” I took my glass of wine over to the window. Blaze and Herron lived in a penthouse on Park Avenue. The balcony wrapped around the entire floor, and on a good, clear day, there was a perfect view of the city. Today, murky gray clouds floated across the sky, too lazy to rain.

  “When was the last time you slept more than a few hours a night?”

  “About two weeks ago,” I admitted.

  “You’re going to crash soon.”

  “No doubt.” I took a sip of the wine. French, if I had to guess. Herron was a Francophile, through and through. She’d studied abroad for a year in Paris where she’d been discovered. She’d met Blaze there, too. She’d graced the cover of a few French magazines but hadn’t pursued a modeling career further than that. She’d chosen him over a world of diets and jet-setting. She still got to do the jet-setting, but she was able to do it with the man she loved.

  “How am I lonely in a city of eight million people?” I asked, turning quickly and nearly spilling my glass of wine.

  “Was there ever a time you weren’t lonely, Stella?”

  “How can I connect with people the way I do, and yet feel so disconnected? Sometimes I think…” I shook my head.

  “Finish that thought.”

&nbs
p; I bit my lip. “Sometimes I wonder if I really am schizophrenic. And one side of me is completely apathetic. But that would be weird, right?”

  For as long as I could remember, I’d always felt like I had multiple facets. Like I was layers and layers of different personalities. Yet, I knew I wasn’t schizophrenic. The pills I’d taken when I was a kid hadn’t worked.

  Herron didn’t say anything—she just continued to watch me. Not in a fearful way, but cataloguing me. She knew me best, but that wasn’t saying much.

  It was like a part of me was behind a wall and whatever was behind it was something I couldn’t fathom. A dark part, perhaps. A monster. I had no idea. I wanted to find out what it was, but at the same time, I was afraid of it.

  “So this masquerade,” I said, clearing my throat. “What should my costume be?”

  Instead of answering, she leaned over to grab her cell phone, which rested on the heavy wood coffee table. She typed off a quick message and then sat back and waited. A few seconds later, it buzzed with a reply.

  “Finish your wine,” she said in excitement. “So we can get out of here.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked in trepidation. There was a glimmer in Herron’s eye that I didn’t like.

  “Blaze’s cousin does costumes for the American Ballet Company. We’re raiding the costume closet.”

  I gulped.

  “We’re going to find you an amazing costume.” She took a sip of her wine and then set her glass down on a coaster. “You know what? Screw the wine, Stella. Leave it.”

  Herron dragged me out of the apartment and into the elevator. When we were on the sidewalk, she lifted her hand to hail a yellow cab. One came almost immediately. She reached for the door and gestured for me to get in.

  “Bangin’ costume that will hopefully get you banged,” she stage-whispered.

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re kidding, right? And can we not talk about it in front of the cabbie?”

  Herron shrugged and then opened her mouth like she was going to speak. I quickly placed my palm over her lips. “I’m going to this party because I was invited—and apparently you don’t say no to the Campbells.” I pinned her with a stare. “If I remove my hand, will you promise not to talk about my love life?”