Page 34 of The Spider Queen

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Anita paused and then moved away. I held my breath and focused on the spider. “What is it you’re wrapped around?”

A black stone.

“Not an egg?”

No, not an egg.

Somehow, I’d felt that the spider’s tone was full of gentle amusement. How could I sense that?

Oh God, I’m unraveling.

“You’re mocking me.”

Wasn’t my intent.

“What’s your name?” I asked again.

Try asking that question with your mind.

“Um…yeah, because this isn’t weird enough.”

Just try.

I formed the question but didn’t voice it aloud. The spider didn’t reply.

“Didn’t hear me, did you?”

No.

“Well, how are you speaking to me? Why can I hear you, but you can’t hear me?”

Picture a spider web. Place your question on a silk thread in your mind. Gently push it toward me.

“That makes no sense.”

You have no imagination.

“I beg to differ,” I snapped. “Aside from insanity, imagination is the only explanation. I wonder if I’m tripping.”

You do drugs?

“No.”

Then it couldn’t possibly be a drug-induced hallucination, could it?

“I’m sick. I have a tumor that makes me hallucinate.”

What is it about human minds? They have no explanation for something, and they immediately leap to a conclusion where they doubt their own perception of reality. You are not insane, you are not sick. Try again—picture the web. Close your eyes if it helps.

I took his suggestion. Shutting my eyes, I envisioned a spider web. White, ethereal. I took the words of my question, wrapped them in silk, and gave them a mental push.

An unseen force tugged on the silken swaddled question, pulling it away from me. And then my question disappeared into a black void.

Thane. My name is Thane.

My eyes snapped open and I said aloud, “It worked?”

It worked.

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