And then the spider dipped beneath my nightgown.
Every scratchy leg was a splinter in my skin, small nicks sinking deeper the farther it crawled down my body. I tried lifting my arm. Nothing worked. It was as if a heavy, invisible body was sitting on top of me, pressing me into the damp sheets from my cold sweat.
The covers slipped off me, and with frightened eyes, I peered down.
I could see the shape of the spider crawling beneath my nightgown, a bulge moving under the silk. I could feel its prickly legs inching down my belly.
I tried to scream, but nothing came.
I heard my scream echo in my skull.Alice!
Her name never made it outside of my head.
Panicked, I looked back at the chair.
It was still empty, but it rocked harder,faster.
That fateful night sixteen years ago splashed across my vision like a film. Women in black cloaks with hoods pulled low and over their eyes, Kane’s crafty, child-like spell, the lighthouse’s rotating beam slicing the room over and over. Each loud creak of the rocking chair on the floor felt like a wave crashing against my chest until I couldn’t breathe.
The spider found my panty line and slipped under it.
It crept along my pubic bone, and I jerked my head from side to side on the pillow. The long legs scraped my heated flesh as it changed form. Thicker legs. Softer legs.
At my sides, my hands turned into fists, grasping the sheets.
Though the touch was like ice, a warm buzz heated my skin. Melted me.
I peered down, and my vision clouded.
A head full of hair—the color of snow—waved between my legs.
Stone pressed a soft kiss on the inside of my thigh, then looked up at me.
A cunning smile appeared in his spider-black eyes.
Circe.Circe. Circe.
My shoulders were gripped by two hands, shaking me.
“Adora!”
My eyes sprang open. The chair stopped rocking. A complete standstill.
Alice was standing over me, frightened.
“Oh, Adora,” she gasped, “you had me worried.” She sighed, clutching a relic hanging around her neck and kissing it repeatedly. Stone wasn’t in the room. Only Alice, rambling nervously and pacing. “What is this, Adora? What does it mean?” She was facing the fogged window, and her head tilted oddly.
The window was closed. Not open like in my dream state.
My chest heaved. My blood pounded, deprived and hot.
I slid out of bed and crept to the window. My legs wobbled, and my arms were heavy at my sides. My entire body was weighed down with longing and need and exhaustion.
It was dark, but the lighthouse beam rotated. Its light glossed over a single word that had been scribed into the fogged window like it had been done by a finger.
Wistor
Deep in my chest, I already knew, but I had to be sure.
