Page 23 of The Spider Queen
I reached for the last egg roll. “You know what? I think I am.”
“What the fuck!” Anita yelled.
I bolted up in bed, terrified and looking instinctively for something to defend myself. As the fog of sleep cleared and I realized it was just Anita, I glared at her.
“What are you doing? It’s ten o’clock in the morning. On a Sunday.”
Sunday was my day. I usually spent it vegging because I pushed myself hard during the week. Anita knew this.
“You better have a damn good reason for screaming like a maniac and waking me up,” I grumbled, falling back over and tugging the covers up to my chin.
She pointed to the glass cube and the spider inside. “This has gone too far.”
Sighing, I realized there was no hope for it. There would be no going back to sleep. It would be impossible with Anita screeching like a banshee on steroids.
Not bothering to answer her, I threw off the covers and reached for my glasses. “Will you give me some time to ingest caffeine before we do this?” There was no way I could face the day—and Anita—without coffee and a ton of sugar.
She dogged my heels all the way into the kitchen. “Seriously, Poppy. It’s gross.”
“So don’t look at it,” I snapped. “It was inmyroom. It wasn’t like I put it on the mantle and then threw a party for all to see.”
She shuddered. “It scared the living shit out of me. You know what it looks like? One of those Facehuggers fromAliens.”
“It does not.”
“It does! Your spider is so fucking creepy. Where the hell did you find it?”
“I found it at the junk store with Hunter.”
Not it, HIM.
It resonated like a murmur inside my mind.
My head whipped around toward the direction of my room.
“Poppy? Poppy! Are you even listening to me?” Anita demanded. “This is an intervention. Stick that spider in the closet—or better yet, throw it in the trash.”
I set down the coffee pot and ignored Anita, racing back to my bedroom.
“Where are you going? We’re not done talking! Poppy—I’m calling your mother!”
Not even that threat stopped me from shutting the door in her face, her sputtering protests dying on her lips. I leaned against the door, closed my eyes, and willed myself to breathe.
Opening one eye, I peered at the spider in the cube. Its color didn’t look any different today.
When Anita realized I wasn’t going to come out any time soon, she left me alone. I bit my lip, wondering if she would actually call my mother. But I had other things to worry about.
I forced myself to walk to the cube. Crouching down so I was eye level with the spider, I felt stupid for what I was about to say.
“Are you talking to me?” I whispered.
There was no response from the spider.
I didn’t know if I was disappointed or relieved.
Chapter 8
I took a sip from my to-go coffee, polishing off the rest of the triple caramel macchiato. My eyelids drooped, and not even the last blast of sugar perked me up. The past few nights had been sleepless. When I was awake, I’d lie in bed and stare at the spider in the glass cube. When I was asleep, I’d dream of the dark-haired man.
