Dark Harvest (Darkling Mage 2)

And magic, as Carver said, wasn’t simply a matter of the mind. It was all these things in concert: emotion, imagery, mindset, all of it tied together with something verbal, and something physical. I’d once opened a gateway to a goddess’s dimension by reciting the marketing copy off of a pack of doggie biscuits, after all. If I could connect our reality to Hecate’s domicile, then I sure as hell could make fire.

Burn. That was all I repeated in my head. I was a dragon, and that was all I knew to do, was to burn. Burn. Burn. I held my hand out towards the ceiling, cupping my fingers around the ball of flame I was willing to appear. Something was happening, I was sure of it.

The sheets against my back were so much warmer, my neck glazing with sweat. I was there, so close, and in the spaces between my fingers I swore I could feel the beginnings of something hazy, of the kind of distorted warmth that rises from the asphalt on a summer day. It was working. It was finally working.

My eyes flew open in excitement, but there was nothing there. My hand was still cupped around thin air, and just as soon as the disappointment of reality set in, every other sensation vanished. The fire that I knew was building inside of me melted away like candle wax. I stared at the ceiling accusingly, grumbling to myself, until I spotted something shining, orange, and glimmering above me.

Holy hell. Had the spell worked? Was that fire? Wait. Maybe my eyes were just bleary from being shut. They refocused, and I realized what I was looking at. It was a jewel on the ceiling, reflecting the incandescent light from one of my lamps. Wait. What was a gemstone doing up there?

I looked closer. The jewel was dangling from a single thread. And it was moving all eight of its wriggling legs. It was a spider, with a gem embedded in its back. One of Arachne’s children, the enchanted ones she used to harvest information from around the city. How the hell did it make it into the hideout? More importantly, what did it want?

The answer came swiftly as the secret-spider went about its work of weaving a web in the corner of the ceiling. Supernaturally fast, too, the web taking shape before my eyes, until it had created a roughly circular weave the size of a hubcap. The spider settled into the center, the light reflected out of its gemstone shimmering, then expanding across the web into something hazy and indistinct, like – like a computer screen, I realized.

An image wavered from out of the web, and I swear I almost shit myself when a face came into view. It was Arachne herself, staring out at me from the makeshift flatscreen television her offspring had just crafted for her in the privacy of my own damn bedroom.

“Sweetling,” she said, her voice shuddering and distant, but warm with familiarity. The veil over her face rustled as she spoke. I knew that eight eyes peered out of the beautiful face hidden behind it, though I didn’t quite know why she bothered wearing it. I caught glimpses of her fangs as she smiled, as she cooed in greeting. “Sweetling. Can you hear me? Do you see me?”

“Loud and clear, Arachne,” I said, doing my best to be as enthusiastic and as friendly in return. What the crap was going on? “I thought this place was warded. How did you find me here?”

“We have a special bond, you and I. Not even the ethers or your master’s precious wards can keep us apart.” She tilted her head in a coquettish pose, and grinned again. “How sweet you look outside of your exoskeleton. Tender and fleshy.”

Exoskeleton? Oh. I was half naked. I pulled my covers closer to my body, blushing when I heard her giggle.

“So. Um. How can I help you?”

“On the contrary, sweetling, it is you I have come to help. I have come to warn you. My children bring ill news. I have reason to believe that your former master is alive and well. The woman who dared to kill gods.”

Something cold trailed up my spine. I knew in my bones that Thea was still out there somewhere, but knowing what we did of her and her talent, who could even stand a chance of tracking her down? Of course. An entity.

“Instinct tells me that she exists still. My children note distortions in nature centered around the city of Valero, yet we could not pinpoint her location. I could not sniff her out. It was that accursed ring she traded me. It must have dampened my senses.” Arachne sighed. “Even now I find no trace of your erstwhile master. But I do know that she lives still. You must be careful, Dustin Graves.”

I nodded earnestly. “I will. I thought she’d still be alive. But listen, Arachne. If I may ask. Is there any way you could track someone down for me?”

She cocked her head and rested her chin on her knuckles. “How interesting. The mage thinks he can order around the greatest weaver the world has ever known?”

“That’s not how I meant it at all,” I said, reaching forward in some lame attempt to convey with my body language that I didn’t mean to offend her. “I only wanted to ask.”

“And I only wanted to tease,” she said, smiling kindly. “Ask, then.”

“Would your brood be able to find my father?” It was greedy, I knew, but again, where was the harm in asking?

Arachne’s smile grew wider. “It is a noble thing to ask, sweetling. There is none such as a youngling’s love for its parent. I will see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” I said, almost rolling off the bed. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Think nothing of it. I make no promises, but I shall consult the web.” She raised her fingers, thin gossamer strands stretched between them like a cat’s cradle, and tittered to herself. “The web. See? Did you like my joke, sweetling?”

“I. Um. Yes.”

“But you did not laugh.”

“You’ll forgive me, Arachne. It’s been a tiring day, and these are strange circumstances for us to be communicating in.” Like a video call, only way creepier. “I do have a last question. Do you – do you watch me when I shower?”

“No. I watch you after.”

“What?”

She chuckled. “I see your pink skin after it has been scrubbed raw in hot water, and it makes me wonder whether you would taste better poached or sauteed.”