Jory Strong: Spider-Touched

Araña hesitated. Indecision plagued her as she folded the paper she’d grabbed when she passed the front counter.

There was a certain poetry in using the notices putting a price on her head to keep the lock from engaging again. But part of her wanted to protect Tir from a direct confrontation with Abijah if she failed.

Hesitation ended with decision. She put the paper between door and jamb, accepted that if she died, she owed it to Tir to allow him a chance to see Abijah and perhaps remember some of the past.

Cold sweat drenched her at the second of the keypads. Her mind was blank—as if this code had been set after Anton gained whatever protection kept his soul thread from appearing in the weave.

Panic welled up. She’d never failed with a lock. Never.

The lights flickered in warning, probably programmed to remain on only for the time it would take someone to travel the length of the walkway.

A feather-soft awareness brushed over the mark now on the back of her hand, causing her to glance up and spot the spiderweb wedged in the corner. The sight of it gave her a rush, the same thrill she’d always gotten when a plan jelled into something workable.

Just as she’d done with the spiders in the copse of trees, she asked in pictures—and was answered by movement.

Delicate, long brown legs covered the distance to the keypad. They reached out and lightly touched a series of numbers before retreating.

Araña didn’t hesitate or doubt. She punched in the code and heard the telltale click.

She was in.

Another folding of paper to prevent the door latch from engaging. A few steps.

And then Abijah was there. Appearing from nowhere and immobilizing her as though she were a child and not a woman who had trained and killed.

He pinned her arms at her waist as the serpentlike tail coiled around her ankles and his palm pressed against her mouth, preventing even the sound of her terror from escaping.

Adrenaline spiked and she wrestled against the instinct to thrash. The mark cowered at the bottom of her foot.

She struggled to think , to use her mind as both Erik and Matthew had so often counseled when it came to dealing with someone so much more powerful than she was. It hadn’t occurred to her that she wouldn’t be able to talk to Abijah.

In desperation she took control of the fear and willed the mark to her cheek, to Abijah’s hand. He laughed. “Do you think I didn’t recognize a Spider? Especially one who looks as you do? Did you think it coincidence that I diverted my attention to the convicts and left you unattended in front of the very exit and trap I knew held no danger for you?”

Talons pressed into her side, piercing the fabric of her shirt but not breaking her skin. His palm slid from her face to curl around her neck, against the sharp, hard beat of her pulse.

“There’s something different about you,” he murmured, scraping the deadly nails lightly over her throat. “Something that stirs an ancient memory.”

She couldn’t stop the telltale race as her heart sped up more than she would have thought possible. To distract him she said, “I’m here to destroy the urn, Abijah en Rumjal.”

He stiffened at the mention of both urn and name, then laughed. “You might be able to do it, wrapped as you are in human flesh. But the one who thinks of himself as my master would need to be dead and I’m charged with protecting him. One threatening move, one command…”

Abijah’s hand slid to her belly, the movement suggestive. “And you will become my plaything, whether I will it or not.”

Araña blocked her revulsion and parsed through his words, seeing them for what they were—warnings, hints, the twisting of Anton’s commands.

Abijah’s forked tongue found her earlobe and she couldn’t stop herself from shuddering and trying to pull away from him. She staggered when he let her go, though one taloned hand kept possession of her wrist.

A curved nail scratched over the fingerless glove hiding the brand before tracing along the line where fabric and skin met above the veins in her wrist. Without warning he sliced through the flesh, cutting more deeply than he had when Anton asked him whether she was one of the human gifted.

Blood streamed over her leather-coated palm and off her bared fingers. Abijah’s tongue submerged itself in the flow. Yellow eyes flashed to red. “You taste like my enemy,” he purred, cocking his head. “Perhaps I won’t regret your fate when you fail at your task.”

“I won’t fail.”

His tongue lapped over her wrist again. “Tell me, has he enjoyed his captivity as much as I have mine?”

“He’s hated every moment of it and wants his freedom as much as you must want yours.”

Abijah laughed, but his eyes remained red. He leaned forward abruptly, and the scorpion mark flared to life on his cheek, only inches away from the spider on hers. “Is that your price for destroying the urn? The incantation I used when I placed the collar on him?”

“No. I’ll destroy the urn regardless of whether you tell me the incantation. That’s a price I have to pay for gaining help from a vampire.”

Red eyes faded to glittering yellow. “Your mother was always one for playing deep games, but then she wouldn’t have risen to rule her House otherwise.”

The tip of Abijah’s forked tongue brushed over the spider. “Did you know we were lovers once? Your mother and I?”

“I didn’t know anything until yesterday, when I would have died. When I could have died and been reborn into the kingdom of our people. But I chose to return.”

Abijah’s eyes flashed red for an instant. “Because of him?”

“Yes.”

He cocked his head. “He will kill you when his memory returns.”

An icy hand squeezed her heart, its cold fingers the words Tir had spoken in the midst of the carnage at Gulzar’s house. “I’m not his enemy.”

Abijah’s smile was terrifying. “In all scenarios your mother gains something.” He stroked a talon over the spider. “You succeed in your task, I return to her. If you don’t, your failure will see you reborn into a place at her side.”

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Did it occur to you that freeing him completely was never the goal in this game? The incantation is in parts. Speak some of it and he gains strength and power—enough to believe you’ve done what you can for him, enough to enable him to protect you until you grow weary of living as a human. Hold back the last of it and he doesn’t remember anything about… demons.”

“No. I won’t betray him.”

Abijah stepped away from her. “Where do you expect to find the one who calls himself my master?”

She didn’t know. Killing Anton had always been secondary to destroying the urn. She guessed this was Abijah’s way of helping her without violating the commands governing what he could and couldn’t do.

“Upstairs. In his study.”

“A good choice.”

She tugged at the wrist still in Abijah’s possession. He dug his talons in, reopening the wound he’d created. “I’ve been told you are a permissible plaything as long as you don’t try to escape. Given you’re the more immediate danger to the one able to command me, I will remain with you. Make a threatening move toward him and I’ll kill you. Think of it as a fate preferable to the one you’ll gain if I take you prisoner instead.”

She nodded and he released her.

As they moved deeper into the house, Abijah said, “If you succeed in performing the vampire’s task, I will give you the incantation.”

THE snap of Farold’s neck and the sound of Levi dropping the body to the ground seemed loud in the silence of the maze. To the animals that hunted and killed there, it served as a trigger for them to charge the front of their cages and clamor to be let out. For Rebekka it was a signal to move, and move quickly.