Curse of the Spider King (17 page)

“Funny thing is, Jimmy, I've not seen him today.”

“Worn out, I bet,” Jimmy replied. “His back's been givin' him what for.”

“Probably so.” Regis gave him one of her trademark winks and then went to washing some glasses. “Shall I be getting yu somthin' in the meantime?”

Several replies came to mind:
A great big hug. Maybe a kiss on the
cheek. I know! How about your hand in marriage?
But what Jimmy said was, “A cola is fine.” She nodded and walked to the cooler.

Waiting for his drink, Jimmy let his eyes wander over the familiar room. Music pumped out from a jukebox in the corner. He had heard every song in there a hundred times and wished someone would put new music in it. The two guys with darts were yelling at each other, and the men at the table burst out laughing at them. Jimmy laughed for a moment, but stopped abruptly. A man sat alone in the far corner, just out of reach of the nearest table light. Jimmy hadn't noticed him before and tried not to stare. He certainly wasn't a regular. He wore a long gray coat, an expensive-looking fedora hat with tufts of white hair protruding out the side, and had a cane leaning against the table. He leaned over a drink. Jimmy couldn't see his face.

A tourist,
he thought.
But a strange tourist.

“He's a new 'un,” Regis whispered, leaning in close. She pushed the cola toward Jimmy on a napkin. “Been sittin' here all h'afternoon. Ordered a pint, but hasn't touched it.”

“What's his name?”

“He didn't say, Master Jimmy.” He loved when she called him that.
Master Jimmy.
“Ah well, probably justa migrant moving through town.”

“Aye, probably,” Jimmy said, looking back over his shoulder. Just then a chill shook his body. It must have been obvious because Regis said something about it.

“You catchin'a cold?”

“Nah, is justa' shake to keep me warm.”

He looked back to Regis, but she was staring at the man in the corner now, too. And there was something in her eyes. Something fearful he had never seen before.

“I think you best be a-gettin' home, Master Jimmy.”

“But me cola—”

“It's on me,” she said looking back to him. “Yu'll have a fresh one next time. But the rain's pickin' up and I wouldn'a want yur ma pinnin' yur sickness on me.”

“Nay, that yu wouldn't.” He smiled, wishing he was old enough not to have her talk about his mother, except for maybe in meeting her when Jimmy introduced Regis as his future bride.

“Run along now, Jimmy,” Regis said, her voice hushed. Jimmy slid off his stool and cast one glance around the room, looking last at the man in the corner. He got another shiver and opened the door, but not before walking through a thin net of a spiderweb. He frantically wiped it off his face and pulled the slicker's hood over his head.

In the open air once more, his ears filled with the loud pounding of the rain as he turned back down the road. The main street was flooding and the puddles were now unavoidable. He kept to the shoulder mostly, taking his time. Regis ushered him out rather abruptly, Jimmy thought. What had made her do so . . .
the man in the corner
. That had to be it.

Feeling a sudden panic, Jimmy turned to look back at the ul. Lightning flashed, and a man stood in the middle of the street. Jimmy's heart leaped.
It couldn't be
.

He kept walking, trying to look as if nothing was wrong. His legs felt heavy, his footfalls awkward. A chill climbed up his back and spread across his shoulder blades like a glacial frost. Everything in him screamed
run!
But he held back.
It's justa' tourist or a migrant, that's
all,
he assured himself.

He casually glanced behind him again, only this time the man was walking . . . toward him.

Jimmy wanted to remain calm, but it was no use. His heart pounded, and a chill surged over his flesh like bolts of electricity. A moment later, Jimmy blasted down the road, water shooting up from beneath his feet.

Heavy footfalls sounded behind him. The chase was on.

Jimmy's hood flew back, and the rain soaked his hair. He squinted against the water streaming down his face and willed himself blindly down the street. He screamed for help, but the wind seemed to swallow up his voice. It was very unlikely anyone who could help would be out in this weather anyway. He could feel the man gaining on him. Jimmy's legs were just not long enough.

His frantic mind spun to any possible hope of safety. Home was too far up the hill. Mrs. Landry's general store was closed up for the night. Farther away was the marina. Mr. McDougal might still be down there doing maintenance. That man never seemed to quit working.

He had no choice. He'd have to leave the main road and sprint down the slope to the marina.
Mr. McDougal will help . . . if he is there.

But as he jagged to the right, his shoe caught on the edge of a pothole, and Jimmy went splashing to the ground. He felt his chin dig into the asphalt and his palms burn. Cold water filled his shirt, his trousers soaked to the core.

A hand grasped the back of Jimmy's arm and began to pull.

“Here, let me help you, Jimmy,” came a woman's voice. Though Jimmy's vision was a blur at first, he knew the voice. But from where?

He felt the pull even stronger and regained his feet. He rubbed his eyes and looked up. “Miss Finney?” It was Lochgilphead's new reading teacher. “What are yu—? I mean, why—?”

“Run home now, Jimmy,” she said. Her dark hair was soaked with a few sodden strands matted against her ivory forehead and cheeks, but there was no mistaking the intensity of her eyes. “Are yu listenin', boy?”

“But I don't—”

“There is no time. I'll handle this. Yu get home,
now
.” The urgency of her last word was clear, but still Jimmy hesitated.

“Din' ya hear the lass, Jimmy?” came another voice, this one back down toward the ul.
Regis? What was she doing outside?

Jimmy blinked once more before Miss Finney shoved him down the road and yelled, “Run!” Jimmy took off at full speed. Between his hammering heart and the drenching downpour, Jimmy could barely breathe.

Bright light flashed from behind. Jimmy winced, waiting for the thunder that would no doubt follow. But there was no noise . . . no
crash
or
bang
. Just a flash of bright bluish light . . . and at street level, too.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he spun around in time to see . . . Miss Finney? There were three figures—two light, one dark—ducking, dodging, lunging, swiping . . . fighting in the street. Jimmy wiped streams of rain from his face and stopped running.

A very dark-haired woman wearing a flowing white cloak stood her ground against something Jimmy couldn't quite understand. It looked human, but crouched like a beast. Through the rain, its face looked skullish, and its fingers seemed more than twice as long as a normal person's. It leaped up from its crouch, much higher than a person should be able to jump, and plummeted toward the woman. But she, Jimmy realized, was not unarmed. She whirled a staff upward and struck out at the dark thing like a child smacking a ball. There was a guttural screech. The thing crashed to the ground, rolled, and was back in its crouch in a heartbeat. It flung something toward the woman in white, and there was another blinding, blue flash. The woman tumbled to the ground and was slow to get up.

The second woman, dressed in a similar cloak—but dark blue—stepped in front of the first, and went on the offensive, stepping forward and raining down blow after blow against their enemy. The beast, whatever it was, took a jab in the abdomen and then a cracking blow to the cheek. It went down and stayed down this time.

The woman in white was up and racing after the fallen thing. She raised her staff as if she might deliver one final crushing blow to finish it off. But with her arms raised, her body was defenseless for a moment. And in that breathless pause, the beast lashed out, scraping one hand at her midsection. She nearly dropped her staff as she covered her stomach with one arm and backed away. The woman in blue stepped in to finish the task.

Suddenly the woman in white looked in Jimmy's direction. “Get home, Jimmy! Now!” Jimmy jumped back at the sudden sound of his name. It was Miss Finney, he was sure of it . . . but her voice had changed; there was more power in it. More authority. But who was the . . . other?
The dark hair . . . Regis?

Jimmy stumbled backward and turned, running past the general store and then turning up the lane to his home. With every step Jimmy realized he had no idea what he was going to tell his parents when he burst through the door out of breath. They would never believe this. In fact, he didn't know if
he
believed this!

His lungs burned, he gasped for air as he rounded the corner into the driveway and took the stone steps two at a time. He glanced behind him to make sure he wasn't followed.

Nothing but rain and a street lamp.

He stood on the porch and gasped, watching his breath in the cooling air. His chin burned from hitting the pavement, as did his palms. With his heart beating loudly in his ears, Jimmy tried his best to calm down and control his panting. But the images that played over in his head were too extravagant. Too unusual.

He took one more breath and then walked inside. To his surprise, both his father and mother were seated on the sofa beside the fire, with a platter of tea and cookies on the low table. A man sat across from them on the other sofa. Geoffry was busy playing with something in the corner.

“Jimmy,” his mother piped up. “Whatever took yu so long?”

“What?”

“Yu're late gettin' home, boy.”

“I—I was—”

“Yu was fixin' to catch a cold is what yu're doing,” said his mother. ”And now yu're drippin' all over the carpet. Mind yurself!”

“Do as yur mutha' says,” added his father.

Jimmy looked between them. Something didn't feel right.

“Don't just stand there like a doe in the headlights, take off yur wet things and com'a sit down,” his mom commanded. Then her tone softened a bit. “We'd like ta introduce yu to Mr. Ogelvie. He is our new neighbor comin' for a wee chat.”

Jimmy turned to the man and got a clear look at him. What he saw stopped his heart cold, and only one thought came to mind:
Get
out, now
.

17

Stolen Thoughts

“BUENAS TARDES, Senorita Simonson!” called the new housekeeper from the open window of the blue luxury SUV. Kat's parents had bought the vehicle especially for the housekeeper to use for errands.

“It's Kat. Just Kat,” she said, closing the rear passenger-side door to the SUV. “So, uh, what should I call you?”

“Well, my full name es Anna Rosario Delarosa Espinosa,” the petite, Latino woman replied. “But my friends call me Anna. So please, Kat, call me Anna.”

“Okay, thank you, Anna.” Already she liked Anna much better than Mrs. Braithwaite, the last housekeeper. She was an English lady who served tea and condescending insults three times a day—if not more.

Kat smiled at Anna in the rearview mirror. Anna smiled back.

Anna had long black hair pulled back in a bun and wore a nondescript black dress coat and a white-collared shirt. The Tahoe moved slowly forward. The bus lanes were full of cars and, of course, buses.

Kat put her earbuds in and clicked play. No sound came out, but she heard a whispered voice.
I know who you are.

Kat tore the earbuds out. “Anna!”

The housekeeper put on the brake and turned round. “Sí, Kat?”

“Did you just say something?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all?”

“No, Kat, nada.” Anna looked at her. “You okay?”

Kat nodded. “I'm good,” she said. “Just thought I heard something strange when I put my earbuds in.”

“I know de kind of music you kids listen to,” Anna said and laughed softly. “And it es strange.”

Kat laughed.
True
. Some of the bands she had on her player were pretty weird. Spiked, multicolored hair. Nose rings, eye rings, lip rings, . . . leather everything, studs, chains, the works. The singers often screamed or growled, but Kat hadn't remembered any of her song downloads beginning with someone whispering.

In a flash, the earbuds were back in and she fast-forwarded to another track. This time, the music came on right away: a long drum fill concluding with a thunderous double bass drum and a scorching guitar riff. But above the music came the same raspy, whispering voice:
I know you, Alreenia.

Kat rewound the track. Same song, but no whispering. She took out both earbuds and leaned across the backseat to look out the other window. And there he was, the creepy detective man standing at the driver's side of a black truck. And, based on the direction of his sunglasses, he was staring right at Kat.

You need not steal my thoughts. I will give them to you freely. I am
coming for you, Alreenia . . . coming to correct an ancient wrong. You are
going to die today. Or . . . perhaps, I will take you to my home where there
is fire and lightning. And you will dine on the black fruit of Vesper Crag.
Such a slow, painful death. Yesssss.

The man slid a very pale hand from his pocket. He pointed a long, bony finger at Kat.

“Anna!” Kat shrieked.

The housekeeper spun around. “What es wrong?”

“There's a man over there!”

“What man?” Anna ducked and bobbed, trying to see around cars and between busses.

“He's there,” she said, poking the glass. “He's standing next to that black truck. He's been staring at me. And just now he pointed at me.
Eww,
he has really long fingers.”

“Did you . . . did you say this man, he have long fingers?” Anna's expression changed as if her face had been erased and redrawn.