Page 57

The images blur again, like paint smeared across a canvas, and then we’re standing in a different part of the forest. It’s raining, water pouring from a leaden sky, yet we feel nothing—no droplets, no chill. But the mud beneath our shoes feels solid, oddly real for this memory-vision.

Young Carla sits huddled in a small cave, arms wrapped around her legs, rocking back and forth as she cries. She looks impossibly small, fragile in a way that stings. This child will grow into my fierce, proud mate, but right now, she’s just a terrified little girl, alone in the world.

Present-day Carla looks at me, a strange mix of sadness and pride in her eyes. “This is when they were born.”

Young Carla’s head snaps up at a sound from deeper in the cave—a crackling, like twigs breaking.

I hear it too, oddly crisp in this vision-memory.

Then I see them—hundreds of spiders emerging from a hatching egg sac, surrounding the child’s feet.

They’re large for normal spiders, about the size of young Carla’s small hand, but nowhere near the giants they will become.

Images of “Mommy” flash through my mind repeatedly, a psychic chorus from these newly hatched creatures. Young Carla continues crying, oblivious to their communication, focused only on her growling stomach.

Some of the spiders scurry out of the cave, disappearing into the rainy forest. They return moments later, somehow carrying pieces of bread.

Present-day Carla turns away from the scene, tears streaming down her face.

I place my hand on her shoulder, offering silent comfort, but I can’t look away from this pivotal moment in her life.

“They went into the village and stole food to feed me,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “They understood me, and what I needed.”

I watch as young Carla looks up from behind her knees, noticing the bread.

She grabs it immediately, tearing into it with the desperate hunger of a child who doesn’t know when she’ll eat again.

The spiders begin to form a web around her, creating a makeshift blanket to keep her warm.

I see the exact moment when young Carla’s eyes shift from terror to something else—understanding, acceptance, security. She feels safe. Protected.

The images change again, blurring into another time, another forest. But this time, I hear voices before I see anything—angry human voices, shouting, calling for blood.

A mob approaches through the trees, torches illuminating hate-twisted faces as they search for the Spider Witch and her unnatural children.

An adult Carla steps from a cave—looking exactly as she does now, dressed in tattered clothing, her wild curls framing her face. Her children slip from the shadows around her, some larger than others, positioning themselves protectively in front of their mother.

Present-day Carla stiffens beside me, her hand gripping mine tighter. “I don’t remember this,” she says, confusion evident in her voice.

I pull her hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her skin. “Then let’s remember together,” I tell her, turning back to the scene unfolding before us.

Past-Carla stands at the edge of the cave, looking down at the approaching mob with a mixture of confusion and sadness.

“I’ve done nothing but care for your village,” she calls to them, her voice carrying through the forest. “My children have given you more than balanced leverage. Your village is free of rats and other rodents, as well as many insects that threaten your produce.”

The mob’s shouting grows louder, drowning out her words. She continues, desperation creeping into her voice. “I stay in the shadows, never encroaching on your space, and my children have not once harmed a human.”

But they aren’t listening. Their faces contort with hatred, fear driving them to violence against what they don’t understand.

“Die, witch!” they shout, the words becoming a chant that rises into the darkness.

An arrow flies from the crowd, striking past-Carla directly.

Present-day Carla gasps beside me, her free hand flying to her torso as if feeling the phantom pain.

Past-Carla’s eyes widen in shock. She drops to her knees, then collapses fully to the ground, her eyes open but unseeing, blood spreading across her gown like a blooming flower.

The humans cheer, celebrating their victory, unaware of the vengeance about to descend upon them.

The children surge forward, a wave of many-legged fury, swarming over the humans.

Their screams cut short as they’re torn apart, reduced to nothing in minutes.

The forest falls silent again, save for the soft sound of spider legs against the earth as they return to their mother’s body.

They surround past-Carla, removing the arrow from her chest with care, their movements heavy with unspoken grief. Together, they drag her lifeless body back into the cave, a funeral procession of unnatural devotion.

Night falls in the vision, stars appearing one by one in a clearing sky. A figure approaches the cave—a woman in a long, hooded cloak, making her way steadily through the forest. She holds something in her hand that glimmers in the darkness—a key.

“It’s Tabatha,” I say, recognition dawning. “I know her. She’s a Blackwood witch.”

Carla looks at me, surprise evident on her face. “You know her?”

Before I can answer, the scene shifts again, and we’re inside the cave. Tabatha stands before Carla’s lifeless form, surrounded by hissing, defensive spiders. She pulls back her hood, revealing her face.

Tabatha is striking—deep brown skin that seems to absorb and reflect the meager light simultaneously, blue eyes so vivid they almost glow, black hair twisted into elaborate braids with golden threads woven throughout.

Tiny points of light adorn her ears, pulsing softly in rhythm with her breathing, as if responding to some hidden starfire within.

“When my sisters prayed to Fate and offered themselves for a savior, this is not what we had in mind,” Tabatha says, her voice melodic yet sharp with irony. “A Mother of Spiders.” She holds up the key, which floats above her palm, suspended by unseen magic.

“Your Mommy is not gone,” she tells the gathered arachnids. “She’s stuck in limbo. Limbo is a place where unwanted souls rest. But I can see where you would become useful. Fate made you for a reason. To create balance. That’s what Mother Fate always does. Create balance between the realms.”

She paces around Carla’s body, the key floating alongside her. “And Aya Bailey’s curse has disrupted even limbo. I’m going to bring your Mommy back, but under one condition. You must always put Mommy first, even if it means keeping her in darkness.”

Tabatha’s voice hardens, her eyes flashing with urgency.

“What I’m about to do is dangerous for all realms. Your mother will become the bridge between two realms. This one, and the afterlife—a doorway.

And when humanity discovers this, and they will—they will try to take this power from her.

It’s your job to make sure they don’t. That is the deal.

Will you protect limbo, and your mother, no matter the circumstances? ”

The spiders tap their legs in agreement, sending images of loyalty and devotion. Tabatha smiles, satisfaction evident in her expression.

“Your Mommy is a Blackwood witch. There are enemies that want to see her dead. You have the power to make her undetectable. Don’t uncloak her until you are certain she is safe.

She will face many heartbreaks. Her own kind, other Blackwood witches will shun her to keep her safe.

She has a bigger purpose, I just don’t know what it is yet. ”

She kneels beside Carla’s body, the key floating lower, hovering near the wound.

“The power I’m about to bestow upon you will make her a guardian.

And I pray to Fate...” her voice drops to a growl, “...that her purpose is to guard our answered prayer. Because the Blackwoods are dying. Being hunted by an ancient evil. We are the second coming, the new leaders of this Earth.”

Tabatha’s eyes soften as she looks at Carla’s face. “Your mother has a kind, pure heart. A rarity in witches, but humanity has the power to take that kindness away. Do not, under any circumstances, let her. Pledge your allegiance to the cause.”

The spiders nod in unison, their bodies swaying with quiet understanding.

The key floats from Tabatha’s hand and explodes, creating a cloud of pink magical dust. It settles over the spiders, coating them in a glowing layer that seems to sink into their bodies. Tabatha flicks her wrist, sending what remains of the dust into past-Carla’s corpse.

Past-Carla’s body jolts, her back arching as she draws in a gasping breath.

Her hands fly to the place where the wound had been, searching for damage that’s no longer there.

A spider—one that looks strikingly like Moria—crawls into the spot where she was impaled and settles there, as if taking up residence deep within her.

Carla looks down, wrapping her arms around Moria, then turns her attention to her children, eyes wide with wonder. “You brought me back,” she murmurs.

Tabatha disappears as Carla begins looking around, fading into shadow without a sound. The spiders surround past-Carla, circling her with increasing speed. A pink, magical web begins to form around her, enveloping her entire body except for the small space where Moria rests against her heart.

The images blur once more, and suddenly we’re back in the forest clearing with Tofi and the other children, the vision-memory fading away. Carla looks at me, her eyes filled with understanding and sadness.

“They’re simply doing their duty,” she says softly, pulling her hand away from mine.

“Protecting me. My heart isn’t hidden. And that’s why I keep getting into trouble—because I’m always searching for acceptance.

” She looks down, placing a hand over the place where it beats.

“They left it unguarded so I could find you one day.”

She looks up at me, her face a mask of sorrow and realization. “I’m a doorway to limbo. And I just gave humanity my blood and two of my children.” Her voice breaks on the last words. “Because I wanted to feel.”

I pull Carla into my arms, burying my face in her hair, breathing in her peach scent like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored to this world.

Everything makes terrible sense now. It’s not supernaturals we need to be worried about.

It’s humanity—always humanity, with their insatiable greed and fear of what they don’t understand.

And I haven’t given her children a reason to trust me enough to lift the veil. I’ve allowed two of her children to be killed, along with her blood to be syphoned by humans.

Because I wanted to feel. My philandering ways were always me searching to relieve the ache in my now-beating heart that was once dead, but I never found that relief, not until Carla.

Fuck.

I’ve got a lot of work to do.