I woke in Celia’s antechamber.

I felt like I’d been coming in and out of consciousness for a while, and when my eyes finally fixed and focused on some-thing, it was on the bright flame over a red candle. It seemed to flicker and dance an inch or two above the top of the wick.

‘Celia?’

The sounds of the room around me came in and out. I recognised Celia’s voice, and Luke’s. Though I tried, I could not form words. Someone was telling me to drink some more, and I realised that I had been drinking something that still clung to my mouth. I licked my lips.

Strange. Sticky.

‘It’s safe now. We saved her,’ I heard Great-Aunt Celia say, and she seemed to be talking to me. Her face appeared above me, white and serene beneath her widow’s veil. ‘Don’t fret darling, I made sure she didn’t die.’

‘Didn’t . . . die?’

I sat up on my elbows with some effort, and felt Luke’s warm arms around me. ‘Miss Pandora, you’re all right. I’m so sorry I let you fall.’

I took in the dimly lit room around me. I was on the velvet chaise lounge. The three candles still burned on the low, carved table. There was a glass of red wine, and a jar on the table – a small glass jar.

‘If we keep her in there much longer we’ll have to poke some holes in the lid so she can breathe,’ Celia said.

‘Are you saying —’

‘That is Arachne. Yes.’

It seemed only a moment ago that Arachne was destined to destroy all of Spektor, and now my great-aunt was concerned that she be kept alive? That she got enough oxygen? The surprise must have shown on my face, because Celia added, ‘As you well know, I couldn’t let her die. There would be ecological ramifications.’

You shall live to swing, to live now and forever, even to the last hanging creature of your kind.

‘If she dies then spiders will become extinct?’ I asked.

Celia only gave a quick nod. ‘She is the goddess of all spiders.’

I swung my rubbery legs off the lounge and leaned forward to look at the jar. The woman – the goddess – who had been intent on devouring me piece by piece now looked impossibly small and vulnerable trapped in that tiny glass jar. Her expressive human face was pure spider now, her half-human torso had morphed into a plump, round shiny black body marked with the distinctive red hourglass of the black widow, the bright red marking just where Luke’s sword had cut her open – as if all black widow spiders had been created to show that piece of present history on their bodies. Where once Arachne had slender, human arms above six monstrous limbs, she now had eight tapering spider legs. She was perhaps ten millimetres long. There was nothing about this little spider to indicate she was the immortal weaver, the goddess of the ancient tale.

‘You saved me, Luke. It was so close. I thought you’d dropped your sword but you got her. You are amazing. She would have eaten me.’

‘But that was you, young Pandora. You took hold of that sword.’ It was Celia who spoke.

‘But, I couldn’t move.’ Then I remembered the strange feeling I’d had. The feeling I was controlling the sword. Had that been real?

‘It’s true, Miss Pandora,’ Lieutenant Luke said.

My great-aunt smiled. ‘You didn’t know, did you? You have the gift of Mind Movement, just like Madame Aurora.’

Mind Movement?

‘Telekinesis. Once you learn to harness it, it will come in quite handy, I should think. And just imagine what else you can do. This is just the beginning.’

I blinked. Was it possible? Telekinesis. I opened my mouth to protest, but fell silent. I thought of how the jar with the tarantula in it had been shaken from my bag, and yet it had ended up in my hand before anyone could see.

Imagine what else you can do . . .

‘How are you feeling?’ It was a male voice, not Luke. I scanned the antechamber until my eyes fell upon a third person. Well, not a person.

Deus.

‘Good evening, young lady,’ he said, stepping into the pool of light thrown by the candles, and grinning his magnetic Kathakano grin. I felt myself lurch forward. ‘Take it easy now. The first drink is the strongest,’ he said.

First drink? My eyes moved to the glass of red wine and I squinted. I brought my hand to my lips and then gazed at it. There was blood on my fingers.

No!

‘Don’t worry. I only gave you enough to kill Arachne’s poison. Celia’s strict instructions, you understand.’ He crossed his heart.

I was speechless.

‘Remember to be grateful, Pandora,’ Celia told me in a low voice. ‘If Deus was not so talented at flight, he wouldn’t have got to you in time. A lesser Sanguine could not have done it.’

He could fly. I remembered the shadow I’d seen fly past my window that night, just before our second meeting. And now I’d been drinking his blood . . .

‘I have to get up,’ I said. ‘Now.’ I pushed myself forward and felt my ankles wobble.

‘Your legs may not be strong enough yet,’ my great-aunt warned. ‘The poison was quite toxic.’

Just like that, Lieutenant Luke scooped me up off the chaise lounge and into his arms. With effort I linked my arms around his neck.

I hate the whole damsel-in-distress look, but heck, it’s awfully nice up here. I found myself smiling as full feeling returned to my face.

‘I’ll take care of her tonight,’ Luke said.

My great-aunt gave me a wink. ‘He’s keen, isn’t he?’ she said.

‘Well, I should be going.’ Deus gave a courteous bow. ‘I do so hope you won’t let my blood go to waste?’ He eyed the wine glass.

‘Darling, are you kidding?’ Celia said. She and Deus brushed lips, and she whispered something in his ear. He bid us goodnight, walked to the casket on the floor, opened it and disappeared inside. He’d no doubt exit via the roof.

Celia opened the door to the penthouse and Luke walked me over the threshold. I felt weirdly like a bride. A bride in the arms of a dead, yet not dead, Civil War soldier. He carried me down the hallway to the lounge room and Celia followed after us with the jar. She carried it very carefully, I noticed.

Celia placed the jar on her shelf and turned. Beneath her veil I watched her take in Lieutenant Luke, from his leather boots to his handsome, chiselled face and back down again. The corners of her perfectly painted mouth turned up ever so slightly, I noticed, but she said nothing. Luke did not notice her appraisal. He was too busy watching me attentively.

‘Your legs will be fine in a few minutes. How about I fix us some tea, to help wash things down,’ Celia suggested.

I swallowed. ‘Yes please.’ The less I thought about what I’d been drinking, the better.

I indicated Celia’s hassock, and Luke gently placed me there. ‘I’m so glad you are okay, Miss Pandora,’ he said, and kissed my hand. I tried to run through what had happened since he’d woken me. The sight of Spektor under siege. The race to the roof. The confrontation.

Celia soon returned with perfectly prepared cups of tea on her silver tray. ‘I was so worried about you, Great-Aunt Celia,’ I told her. ‘When I entered the antechamber I saw the candles glowing, and I thought you might be somewhere inside.’

‘Ah, the offering to the Triple Goddess.’ She handed the tray around and we each took a cup. ‘The Mother was powerful tonight, was she not?’ she said, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

‘The . . . Triple Goddess?’

I thought of the red candle. I had woken staring at it. And the low table. And then it finally occurred to me that there might be a word for what my great-aunt was. I’d at one time worried fleetingly that she was a vampire – or Sanguine. But a witch? It hadn’t crossed my mind until now, though looking back, perhaps it should have. There were signs I might have picked up on, had I not been blinded by Hollywood’s Wicked Witch of the West with her pointy hat and green warty skin. The witch was always depicted as the embodiment of female ugliness and evil; polar opposites of the attributes my great-aunt possessed.

Celia returned to lean on the leather arm of her reading chair. ‘Ah, The Wizard of Oz,’ she lamented, and sighed. It seemed Celia knew precisely what I was thinking. The thought made me blush. ‘You didn’t think we all ride broomsticks, did you?’

‘Sorry,’ I muttered awkwardly. After my childhood exposure to history and mythology, I knew better, and yet the cliché had popped into my head in all its neon-green Halloween hideousness.

Great Aunt-Celia – telepathic, half-Sanguine witch?

But of course, my great-aunt was never one for labels. True to form, she changed the subject. ‘Now darling, our guest requires rather a better home, don’t you think?’

I turned to Luke, who stood just next to me, politely sipping his tea as if it might still be 1860, and he’d been taken home to meet the folks.

‘Not him,’ Celia said. ‘Her.’

Arachne. The jar was on her shelf.

‘But where did all the other spiders go? The web they were creating around the building?’ I asked.

‘The spiders were extensions of her, and when her powers vanished, so did they.’ Celia looked around the lounge room and frowned. ‘Though the shattered windows remain. Shame.’

It was quite a mess.

‘So they weren’t real spiders?’

‘It depends what you mean by real. They certainly weren’t imaginary, were they?’

‘No wonder it wouldn’t eat,’ I remarked of the spider I’d brought home.

‘The tarantula. Yes.’

It had spied on me. It had led her straight to me.

Celia walked across to her bookshelf and took down the spider’s vivarium. ‘Now, help me put her in here,’ she instructed, and pointed at the jar. ‘Your legs should be fine now.’

I stood up slowly and circled my ankles and wrists. The poison did seem to have worn off. I exchanged glances with Luke, who carefully watched what Celia was doing.

I walked up to the jar, and looked in. Arachne scuttled along the round base of her glass prison. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. What if she became the spider goddess once more and tried to devour me?

‘And when she’s in the vivarium, um . . . assuming we get her in there . . . what if the spell you cast wears off and —’

‘Have you no trust in me yet, Pandora?’ Celia calmly asked.

I blushed. Of course I trusted her. She had only ever helped me, despite my naivety and, at times, my resistance. And now she had used her powers and her connections to well and truly save my life.

I raised the glass jar and marvelled at the moment – here I was with my unnaturally youthful, stereotype-defying witchy great-aunt, holding a spider that used to be a woman and a goddess, and talking about spells wearing off. Oh how my life had changed since leaving Gretchenville.

‘She is in stasis. Neither dying, nor transforming back into her original human self.’

‘How did you do that? I mean, transform her?’

‘Well, she was already half-transformed, and like I’ve said many times, I’m not so powerless. Besides, magick works well on magick, especially when the timing is right.’ Celia had laid the vivarium on the floor. ‘The same magick that allowed her rather showy entrance into our little neighbourhood also helped transform her into what we see now. The moon is full and the magick is high tonight. The Mother is at her most powerful. Thankfully she picked our side. This time.’

We both gazed at the little jar, and the spider trapped within it.

‘Go on. It is for you to do,’ Celia told me.

I unlocked the top of the beautiful castle, placed the lid on the floor of the lounge room and, holding my breath, unscrewed the top of the little jar. I placed it inside and tilted it, and the spider slid into her new home. I quickly retracted my hand, placed the lid back on top, and locked it. When it was done I breathed a deep sigh.

‘See, it’s perfect for her.’

Thousands of years ago, the spider had been a mortal woman, then an immortal goddess, and now she looked like nothing more than a common black widow spider. Was she self-aware? I wondered. Did this little spider know who she had been? I suppressed a shiver at the thought of being trapped in another creature’s body. My experience of being paralysed in her web was bad enough. I felt a rush of sympathy, until I remembered that she’d aimed to eat me.

My wise and beautiful great-aunt placed the little castle back on the shelf in her lounge room, alongside her other curios. I found myself looking at each item – the small vase, the tiny figurine carved of bone, the art deco nymph, the Venus flytrap plant – and I wondered what or who they were.

‘Great-Aunt Celia?’

‘Yes, darling?’

‘Are there any other goddesses here in your lounge room?’

She only smiled.

‘Now, I have a certain someone to catch up with,’ Celia said, and I knew she meant Deus. ‘Don’t you two do anything I wouldn’t,’ she told us. She turned on her elegant heel and left Luke and I alone.

I looked at my companion. The Hunger Moon was still full, shining through the broken windows behind him, silhouetting his frame.

We had tonight. I knew that much. We had tonight.