The Spider Queen

by Emma Slate

  She nodded.

  After a brief pause, I finally lifted my hand.

  Herron looked out the window and sighed. “It’s an easy promise to keep, Stella, because you don’t have a love life.”

  Chapter 5

  “What are you wearing?” Herron teased, her voice pitched low and husky.

  I laughed. “At the moment? Ripped jeans and a threadbare wife beater—I’m in the workroom of the shop, so don’t worry. It’s not really public.”

  “You scared me there for a moment.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be boarding the plane instead of ridiculing me for my fashion choices?”

  “Who was ridiculing?” she asked. “We’ve boarded. I’m currently sipping on a glass of champagne, and I’m ready for an in-flight movie.”

  There was a low rumble of conversation and some murmuring, and then Herron said, “Blaze says hi.”

  “Hi, Blaze,” I said dutifully.

  “I better jump off here. But I’m serious, Stella. I want a picture of you in your costume.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She made a noise of disgust. “No ‘ma’am,’ for the love of God. I’m not old.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  “That’s better. Everything is better in French. Où sont les toilettes? See what I mean?”

  “Ah, yeah,” I said with a snort.

  “How was my accent?”

  “Nearly perfect.”

  “Hmmm. I think you might be lying to me. Oh well.”

  “Have fun, yeah?” I said. “Eat a chocolate croissant for me.”

  “I’ll eat many. And Stella?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have fun tonight. Or try to, anyway.”

  That itchy feeling under my skin was back, but I ignored it. “Text when you land.”

  “I will.”

  I hung up with Herron and set my phone aside. I wasn’t ready to think about the masquerade. My costume was upstairs—a beautiful confection that any woman would’ve been lucky to wear. But my focus was entirely on the Garden of Eden music box. With ruthless determination, I got back to fiddling with it.

  “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t work.” I spoke to the inanimate object like it could be rationalized with. “Everything works individually, and yet when it’s all put together? Nothing.”

  I traced the glass with my fingers. It was warm to the touch. Suddenly, it was as though my fingertips were fused to the glass, like they’d been coated in superglue.

  They wouldn’t budge.

  “Let me go,” I whispered.

  My fingers felt like they were vibrating, pulsating to the beat of a tune I couldn’t hear.

  I gulped in fear when I felt something twist around my wrists, like two invisible hands holding me in place. My chest expanded, feeling like a balloon was under my skin and rapidly filling with air.

  My hairline dripped with sweat, and the pressure on my wrists increased. I began to pant in full-on panic mode and then—

  The dome exploded, shards of glass whipping past my hair and face. None of them cut me, but warm, clear liquid and golden flakes dewed my hair. The tightness in my chest began to ease, but a great sadness overcame me when I realized I had broken the dome.

  And then I heard singing.

  An eerie chant that made goose bumps rise along my flesh. It was as if the song floated around me, and then covered me in a musical blanket.

  I felt nothing inside me—not the pull to help others, not even my own feelings. There was no sense of self, either. It was an entirely unfamiliar feeling of becoming an empty vessel waiting to be filled.

  The song grew louder in a sharp, dramatic crescendo. My eardrums throbbed with the intensity of it.

  My gaze was riveted on the remains of the shattered snow globe. The scene depicting Adam and Eve appeared different. The two figurines were no longer lying among the painted grass. They were now standing behind the tree, their expressions depicting their fright.

  The snake figurine tucked away amongst the leaves gently slithered out of its hiding spot. Its tiny red forked tongue tasted the air, and it looked in the direction of Eve, who shrank in terror. But the snake wasn’t at all interested in her. It wriggled down the tree and coiled around the trunk.

  Round and round it went. With each completed circle, the snake grew larger, blocking out the entire garden scene, overtaking the globe itself. Its eyes were indigo blue, flashing, twinkling like gemstones.

  I couldn’t look away.

  Its tongue flicked again.

  The air around me turned cold and my breath froze in my lungs. I should’ve felt fear. But all I felt was curiosity.

  The snake figurine was no longer a figurine, but a real flesh and blood animal, a serpent that looked like a cross between a copperhead and a rattlesnake.

  It continued to grow in size and rose up from the globe, its flat head nearly touching the ceiling. Its tail waved back and forth like a flag in the breeze.

  “You won’t hurt me,” I murmured.

  And then the snake opened its mouth and swallowed me whole.

  My eyes opened to see the cracked plastered ceiling of my bedroom. I lay on the bed, numb.

  The dream had felt all too real.

  I slowly sat up, my heart finally kicking into gear and pumping blood and adrenaline through my veins. Looking out the window, I saw it was dark outside, but I had no idea the time or how long I’d spent passed out.

  Feeling returned to my limbs and face. I began to shake, like I was thawing from the inside out. I pulled my knees up to my chest. The alarm on my cell phone blared, reminding me I had some place to be.

  I turned on the shower to the hottest setting and didn’t even flinch when I stood under the spray. I was frozen and I felt like I’d never be warm again.

  I took a deep breath as I pressed my fingers to the gold, blue, and green sequined mask covering half my face.

  Blaze’s cousin had completely come through for me. I’d never worn anything so beautiful in my entire life. My usual clothes were serviceable, designed to blend in.

  But this costume put me on display.

  My spaghetti strap dress was made of multiple layers of tulle, each a different shade of blue and green. Two pieces of indigo fabric were sewn into the back of my dress and covered my hands like gloves to form wings. My skin shimmered gold from the body paint, and my hair hung in loose waves down my back.

  I was completely out of my element as I stepped into the Gold Ball Room, which was already filled with guests. Though the party had officially begun at nine, I chose to arrive closer to eleven. I’d had an excess of energy that I’d needed to burn off before being forced into a room with so many people’s emotions.

  The ballroom wasn’t like any event room I’d ever seen. Then again, from the moment I’d walked into The Rex Hotel, I knew I’d been transported to a different world. It catered to the elite, the über wealthy.

  The Rex was no average hotel.

  A crystal chandelier that once belonged in an Austrian castle hung in the middle of the ceiling; the walls were made of gold damask from Versailles, and the marble floor was recreated from the original design used on the Titanic.

  I knew all of this because I’d gone to the hotel’s website, and then researched Flynn and Barrett.

  Servers in elegant and crisp black tuxedos held trays of champagne. I took a flute but didn’t drink.

  The costumes were stunning. Haute couture. It looked like an episode of Project Runway. Beaded headdresses, bejeweled horns, gossamer wings. Ladies wearing every color of the rainbow.

  The Campbells knew how to throw a masquerade.

  Emotions swirled around me.

  Lust, greed, desolation, gratitude. And so many more. Some I couldn’t even name. Emotions had layers. Anger and sadness were two sides of the same coin, and that was only one example.

  I caught my breath as I battled the feelings of others and erected a mental wall around myself. I’d figured out how t
o do it when I was younger, and it was a good thing too. Otherwise I’d never have been able to live in New York City.

  When my mind was finally clear, I took a sip of champagne and went to find my hosts.

  Chapter 6

  “Plaid?” I asked in amusement.

  Barrett turned, her hand clutching a tumbler of amber liquid. “Tartan,” she corrected, “and people expect it of us.”

  “Who are you supposed to be?” I asked her.

  She shrugged and then gestured with her chin to her husband. “He wanted to go as a twelfth century Highland warrior. That left me going as his wife.”

  “I told her she should’ve gone as Marie Antoinette,” the blonde next to her said with a wry smile.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said, already turning to leave.

  “No, stay,” Barrett insisted with a wide smile. “Stella, meet Ash Buchanan.”

  “Oh! You know Herron’s older sister,” I remarked.

  “Yes, I’m a good friend of Sparrow’s.” Ash was a tall, willowy woman dressed as a mermaid. “And you’re the snow globe artist. I saw Barrett’s gift. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You didn’t bring a date?” Barrett asked, her hazel eyes delving into me.

  “I didn’t know I was allowed a plus one.” It was a lie. I knew it had been expected. But there was no one in my life even close to being a plus one.

  Barrett waved her hand. “There are a lot of fascinating people here. I’m sure you will find one who interests you.”

  Don’t hold your breath, I wanted to say. No man had ever captivated me past the point of curiosity. Even when I was a girl, I hadn’t been plagued with schoolgirl crushes. Not that I’d felt that way about my own sex either. Though calling myself asexual wasn’t right.

  Lost in my own thoughts, it took me a moment to realize Flynn had joined his wife and her friend. A burly man stood next to him, also dressed like a Highlander, but his kilt pattern was different.

  “This is my husband, Duncan,” Ash introduced. “Duncan, this is Stella.”

  “Pleasure, lass.”

  My eyes darted between both Flynn and Duncan and then went to Barrett and Ash. The women wore knowing grins.

  I shook my head.

  “What’s your costume?” Barrett asked.

  “And where did you get it? It’s stunning.” Ash’s hand reached out to run her fingers along one of the tulle layers of my skirt.

  “From the American Ballet Company’s costume room.” I brought my finger to my lips like it was a secret. “I’m a hummingbird.”

  Talk turned to discuss the party and the hors d’oeuvres, the children, Dornoch—where the four of them lived. I let my mind and gaze wander, tuning in just enough to give rudimentary answers to questions they asked.

  As I was looking around the room, my gazed locked with a stranger.

  He was tall. Broad. His dark hair gleamed from the chandelier light. He wore all black, but it didn’t appear to be any sort of costume. Half his face was covered in a black mask, a sinful smirk spread across his lips.

  But it was his eyes that had me holding my breath.

  They were bright, glinting.

  Like two indigo gemstones.

  He bowed ever so slightly, and then two people dressed in Elizabethan garb moved in front of him, shielding him from view. A moment later, they relocated. But the stranger in black was nowhere to be found.

  “Stella?” Barrett asked. “Did you hear the question?”

  “Will you excuse me?” Before waiting for her response, I turned and ran into the throng.

  My heart pounded as I kept my elbows in and dodged bodies. Skin-tingling awareness shot through me as I looked around the lobby.

  But the man whose eyes I fell into was nowhere to be found. My shoulders slumped in defeat. There had been something about him, something that made me want to come closer.

  My breathing had sped up, and my whole body felt like it was on fire.

  Lust.

  I’d never felt it before. But that arrogant grin…those eyes. Somehow he’d awakened my entire body.

  “Looking for me?”

  His voice was rich, sinful. He was cocky, yet cool.

  I turned toward him—slowly—so I could mentally prepare myself. He was leaning against the wall, half his body drenched in shadows, which was why I’d overlooked him when I’d exited the ballroom.

  His black mask was still in place, but it didn’t conceal his sensual grin.

  “I—” My words died on my tongue when he pushed away from the wall and strode toward me. There might have been other people in the lobby, but they faded away in the background. The noises, the conversations, the emotions of the people in the hotel were suddenly gone.

  My eyes were locked on the stranger. When he came within a foot of me, he stopped. He was tall. Taller than most men. I was a little above average in height, but it wasn’t enough to stop me from craning my neck to meet his gaze.

  The air between us crackled with energy.

  He hadn’t blinked his indigo blue eyes once. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “What question was that?” I asked, sounding breathless, unable to stop it.

  The man smiled slowly. “Were you looking for me?”

  My voice caught in my throat, so all I could do was nod.

  He offered me his arm. Frowning, I stared at it. Who, in this day in age, offered a woman an arm? It was an old school move—one from Frank Sinatra’s era. And yet the stranger pulled it off.

  “I’d like to buy you a drink. If you’ll let me.”

  “Oh. A drink.”

  With volition of its own, my hand settled in the crook of his arm. The man tugged me even closer, close enough that I could smell the aftershave on his skin. Spicy, heady, intoxicating.

  And he didn’t cause me any physical pain when he touched me.

  “Who are you?” I asked, letting him lead me toward the bar and restaurant.

  The stranger with entrancing indigo eyes looked down at me. His grin was mocking and impish. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Lucifer.”

  I blinked and then let out a laugh. Gesturing with my free hand down his form, I nodded. “I got it. You came as Satan. In the flesh.”

  He chuckled. “That I did. And who are you, if I may ask?”

  “No names tonight,” I said with a rueful shake of my head. “If you’re going to introduce yourself as Lucifer, then you don’t get to know my name.”

  The man shrugged, as if my rebuff hadn’t bothered him. He greeted the hostess with a charming smile and then asked for a booth in the corner of the restaurant.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but all the tables are booked.” The hostess held a pen in her hand, her eyes full of regret as she raked them over the man’s impeccable form.

  “Oh,” he said softly, “would you mind checking again?”

  Her eyes widened and then she nodded. Looking at the reservation book, she said, “We seem to have had a cancellation. Follow me.”

  I wanted to ask how he’d managed that, but I instantly forgot my question when Lucifer moved, my hand dropping from the crook of his elbow. His large palm went to the small of my back. Tingles shot up and down my spine—it felt like he was touching my bare skin, despite the fact that I wore layers upon layers of tulle.

  We followed the hostess to the table in the corner, far enough away from the bar and the main floor to have some privacy. The hostess set two menus down and then said, “Your server will be right with you.”

  She slipped away, leaving me alone with the man I’d chased out of the ballroom.

  Who was I? I’d never felt such a need before.

  Need and lust.

  Lucifer sat down in the booth and watched me with cool amusement. “Aren’t you going to sit?

  I nodded and then quickly scooted into the booth across from him. I immediately reached for the menu, but I wasn’t hungry. I just needed something to do
.

  Lucifer didn’t bother grabbing his own menu. Even out of the corner of my eye, I could feel him watching me, but I pretended he wasn’t.

  When Herron had met Blaze, she’d said he was out of her league. He was older, urbane, a wealthy playboy.

  I felt that way now. I didn’t know this man’s character—I couldn’t read any emotion coming off him, which was unsettling. That, combined with the fact that he inspired new emotions in me contributed to my unease.

  And yet, I wanted to be sitting here with him. I wanted to lean closer, peer into those indigo eyes, and talk until the sun came up.

  No one, not ever, had intrigued me more.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked. His tone was pleasant if a tad cool. Was that how he always sounded?

  “Not really.” I looked up at him to find his lips pulled into a grin. “It was just…something to do.”

  He grasped the strings that held his mask in place. He pulled it off and set it aside.

  My mouth parted in surprise. He’d been handsome and mysterious with the mask. Without it, he was a true sight to behold. His indigo eyes seemed to gleam and his dark hair appeared even blacker—as black as mine. His cheekbones were high and sharp.

  He smiled slowly; he knew the effect he had on me.

  “Hello,” the server said, suddenly appearing at our table. “May I get you—”

  “Bottle of Dom,” Lucifer said without taking his eyes off me.

  “Bottle of Dom,” I repeated, my voice a murmur, completely mesmerized by the man sitting across from me. His stare bore into me, and I felt like he’d lassoed my heart and was trying to tug me toward him.

  The server departed.

  “Impressed?”

  I smiled. “No.”

  He grinned back. “Your turn.”

  “My turn what?” I asked.

  “I want to see you.”

  With great hesitation, I lifted my fingers to my mask and removed it. His eyes scanned my face like he was memorizing it.

  The server returned with our bottle of champagne, effectively ruining the intimacy of the moment. But the hum of awareness remained.