Page 263 of The Spider Queen

Down. Down. Down.

But it was only a matter of time before I unraveled. I couldn’t erect a large enough wall to keep the emotions of others at bay. It grew to be too much and eventually, the barrier came crashing down. I talked to voices that no one else could hear. In art class, I painted death and gore when I was feeling through my classmates’ hormone riddled angst.

I had a nervous breakdown.

I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. And I was medicated. I took pills. My parents watched me with careful eyes. Afraid for me. Afraid for themselves. I went to therapy. None of that cured me. The only thing that helped was opening myself up to my gift and helping other people.

I left the house at eighteen and traveled the world. I spoke the universal language of emotion and learned how to control my gift, so it did not control me. I learned other languages at a frightening rate. A few days in a new place and I spoke the language like someone who’d been born to it. It was as unique a gift as my extreme empathy, but I didn’t question it.

As I turned down my street, orange and pink dusted the sky. The butcheries and poultry shops were just starting to open for the day. Salted fish, exotic fruits, and signs in Chinese greeted me from windows.

I traipsed up to the second floor to my apartment and unlocked the front door. Though I could hear the foot traffic and the occasional call of vendors, the double-paned glass did a good job of blocking most of it out.

It was lonely—the apartment. Maybe it was time for a pet. But something low maintenance; like a fish.

I headed to the bedroom, stripping off my black dress as I went. I turned on the shower, and while I waited for the water to steam, I stood in front of the mirror and examined myself, something I did every morning. I wanted to see if I looked any different, but I never did. Same shoulder-length, glossy black curls, same green eyes the color of moss in a New England forest.

For someone who didn’t sleep regularly, I didn’t look at all tired. No bags under the eyes, no pale cheeks. I’d never been sick a day in my life. Not even a late spring cold.

I shimmied out of my bra and panties and pulled my hair into a messy top bun before I hopped into the shower. I had about seven minutes before the hot water went cold. After washing the city off me, I climbed out. I slid into a robe and put the teakettle on to boil.

The buzzer rang while I was fixing my tea. Grabbing the mug, I went to the buzzer and let Herron up. I sat down on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table. The dark red polish on my toenails was chipped, but I didn’t care.

Herron pushed open the front door and then closed it with her backside, a paper bag in one hand, a to-go cup of coffee in the other. Her white button-down was pressed, and her black pencil skirt had just enough of a slit to be feminine. She’d pulled her wheat-blond hair into a bouncy ponytail. Only Herron could pull off the effortlessly sexy look.

“Those are amazing!” I exclaimed, gesturing to her silver, fine-glitter Jimmy Choos.

She grinned. “I know, right?” Herron set the paper bag on the coffee table and then did a fancy twirl.

I didn’t pay Herron enough to be able to afford such luxuries. Then again, she technically didn’t have to work for me at all. Herron had married a Wall Street trader two years out of Brown and things were going well for them.

“Ugh, if we weren’t friends, I’d claw out your eyes and then steal those things right off you.”

Herron sat down in the scarred, battle-worn leather recliner. “They’re a size eight and they’d never fit your hobbit-sized feet.”

I grinned. “Safe for another day.”

“Then I live to shop another day.” Herron laughed. “I got you an everything bagel with bacon, egg, and cheese.”

“You’re a Godsend. Thank you.” I reached into the paper bag and pulled out the foil-wrapped bagel. “It’s still warm. How?”

“I made good time.”

I paused with the sandwich halfway to my mouth. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Youtook the subway?” I gasped in mock horror. “You?”

“Don’t tell Blaze. He’d have a coronary.” She lifted her coffee to her perfectly painted nude lips, her three carat Harry Winston glinting in the morning light.

“Your secret is safe with me,” I assured her.

We were silent as I ate my sandwich. I washed it down with the rest of my tepid tea. I stood, crumpling the foil. “Let me change real fast and then we’ll open up.”

I headed to the bedroom as Herron called out, “What time did you get in?”

“Dawn-ish.”