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CHAPTER NINE

One of the nice things about having money is that it makes choosing beer even more fun. I could get the guys plenty of their beloved Stella Artois and PBR—I try not to judge, but when would their taste buds evolve?—and I didn’t have to choose between Stone Enjoy By or the Totalitarian stout. A six-pack of each, please. I even grabbed a couple of bombers of Arrogant Bastard for Seth, partly because he liked it, but mostly because my sense of humor can veer toward the childish.

Oooh, what’s this?

At some point during my six-week absence, Arlo’s had started carrying bombers of Dragon’s Milk, an imperial stout aged in bourbon barrels. Dark bottles with adorable little white dragons and carrying a hefty eleven percent ABV. I pulled six out of the cooler, then remembered to grab a bag of kibble and a few cans of cat food. Nothing fancy, just Friskies for the time being, because that’s what they stocked at Arlo’s. I’d hit a pet supply store in the next day or two and get Mama Cat some high-quality stuff.

I heard a car corner into the parking lot, skidding to a halt with an unnecessary screech of brakes. My first thought was that Drift had decided to join us on the beer run, so I peeked out the window. A blood-red Spyder, top up, with black racing stripes, was parked vertically across three spaces. Definitely too sloppy to be Drift—even shitfaced, he drove and parked with a precision that was uncanny. Most likely it was teenagers who just got their license. If they came in and tried to buy booze with a fake ID, Madge would sort them out quickly enough.

As I started taking the six-packs, bags, boxes, and bombers to the front counter, the back of my neck started to itch. Just a tingle at first that quickly increased to a steady buzz.

Oh, come on, haven’t I put in my time this month?

I reached up and touched my mother’s amulet, suspended on a thick leather cord and currently resting below the hollow of my throat. The metal was warm, but that was all.

The passenger door on the sports car opened and a lanky, dark-haired man in jeans and black T-shirt got out. Small head set on a short neck between broad sloping shoulders. Limbs slightly too long for his torso. Missed being handsome by several fractions of an inch.

Great.

Skeet Silva, wannabe stuntman, caminhante de aranha or spider walker—a fancy name for arachnid shifter—and a real asshole. Which explained the itching, since his intentions toward me weren’t good. He hadn’t made the cut for the Katz crew, despite some major Peter Parker action. He had, in fact, been banned from training at the Ranch because he couldn’t take direction or critique, and had basically pissed everyone off.

Then there was his creepy obsession with me. Last time I’d seen him had been at Arlo’s a few months ago, when he’d gotten borderline rapey. I’d slapped him down hard and had been fortunate enough not to run into him since. Guess my luck had run out.

As I watched, the driver’s door opened and a pair of muscular, denim-clad legs swung out, feet shod in well-worn brown leather cowboy boots. The rest followed in a quick graceful movement, revealing a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to the spider walker. But whereas everything about Skeet was just a little out of proportion, this dude definitely had the dark good looks of a telenovelas star. And unlike Skeet’s slightly awkward physicality, he moved with a quick, almost aggressive assurance that was sexy as hell. Definitely tasty, but if I was gonna judge him by the company he kept, it was a nonstarter.

Before the two men had stepped away from the Spyder, another car pulled into the lot. Two teenage girls—one blonde, one auburn—jumped out of the pale blue Camry, both wearing tank tops and shorts showing off long, tanned legs despite the cool weather. Full of high spirits and that unconscious self-confidence that comes with being young and cellulite-free. I recognized them.

The blonde was Mary McDonnell, daughter of the owners of a local horse ranch, and the auburn-haired girl was her best friend Donna, the offspring of very minor Hollywood royalty. Too young to drink but old enough to drive, and definitely not mature enough to handle the trouble staring at them from across the parking lot.

Sucking in nonexistent stomachs, the girls tossed glossy manes of hair off smooth tan shoulders as they passed the two men on their way to the porch. Skeet and his buddy lounged against their car, making no effort to hide the fact that they were watching. Skeet reached up and ran a thumb over his red, wet lower lip, a gesture that made me want a gallon of antibacterial soap even though I wasn’t his target.

His friend, on the other hand, wasn’t so obvious. He looked at the girls, smiled, and said something that made them giggle. Then Skeet spoke and I saw their expressions change from coquettish flirtation to obvious discomfort, bordering on disgust. They quickened their pace, but Skeet didn’t take the hint. Pushing off from the Spyder, he fell into step right behind the teenagers. The other man followed at a more leisurely pace.

Donna hurried onto the porch, but Skeet grabbed Mary by her wrist before she could follow. She jerked away and dashed up the stairs, saying something over her shoulder that made the handsome guy laugh. Skeet’s expression darkened, however, and he started after her.

A-a-and that’s my cue.

Putting down my haul, I gave the door an emphatic shove that made the bell jangle loudly, and stepped outside. Skeet reached the top stair and stopped in his tracks. I felt rather than saw his pal’s attention switch over to me. The two teens might have been invisible, for all he cared.

Ignoring both men for the moment, I nodded at the girls.

“Hey, you two. Marge’ll be back in a few minutes. Why don’t you head on in?” I held the door for them. Mary nodded, relief and gratitude nakedly clear in her expression.

“Thanks!”

As soon as the girls were both inside, I let the door slam shut and leaned against it, arms folded. “Hey Skeet,” I said casually. “You must have missed the ‘sexual harassment’ memo, huh?”

“Lee.” Skeet smiled, not a pleasant sight. “Nice to see you.”

Not everyone could give those words the sleazy snail trail Skeet managed to impart. If you were a woman, in his mind, “nice to see you” meant something a lot nastier, and I knew better than to ask him what was up. He’d tell me in pornographic detail. I suspected Skeet had a very rich inner life. When he’d hit on me hard during his short time at the Ranch, Drift and Tater had offered to rip his legs and arms off and use them to beat him to death.

They hadn’t been kidding.

Mister Telenovela sauntered over, boot heels crunching on the gravel. “So, this is Lee Striga, eh, Skeet?” He had a low, gravelly voice that called to mind whiskey and cigarettes. A heavy accent that wasn’t quite Spanish. Outwardly there was nothing threatening about his words or posture, but my scar and amulet told me otherwise.

“That puts you one up on me,” I said. “You know who I am. How about an introduction, Skeet?”

“Yes,” the man agreed. “Where are your manners, Skeet?”

“My cousin, Nigri,” Skeet replied sullenly. “Nigri Barboza. He’s here from Brazil. He’s a stuntman, too.”

“That so?” I replied. I sincerely hoped Skeet wasn’t gonna ask about bringing him to the Ranch. “You in town for work, or just playing tourist?”

A slow smile spread across his lips, accenting their sensuality as he turned the smolder in his eyes up a few degrees. I’d bet he practiced the look in front of a mirror.

“I am here for work, Senhorita.”

Skeet nodded. “Nigri worked on Crocoboa for Crazy Casa last month—”

Oh boy. “Wasn’t someone injured during the shoot?”

Sim.” Nigri didn’t take his eyes off me as he replied. “The stunt coordinator.”

“That’s right.” Skeet sounded almost gleeful. “He did a high fall into the river and hit rocks instead of the deep water.”

I winced. I couldn’t help it. Way too close to home.

“Figured you could relate,” Skeet said with a nasty grin. I ignored him.

Nigri continued. “It will be many months before he can work again, so Crazy Casa… they are looking for a new stunt coordinator. I hope to interview for the job.”

Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw.

This was news to me.

Okay, I really didn’t want to work for Crazy Casa—they were known for crap movies based on higher budget crap movies, and original films like Arachnapanther and Snow Yeti. Their in-house stunt coordinator had gone through stunt crew like I went through bourbon barrel beer. Even so, it still stung that he’d turned me down for work when my agent had thrown my name into the ring.

“Nigri and I are starting our own crew,” Skeet interjected, breaking into my gloomy “screw my career” retrospective. “Got about a half-dozen guys lined up.”

“They all spider walkers?”

“Not all of ’em.” Skeet’s gaze shifted to one side as he replied, a sure sign he wasn’t being straight with me.

“Any women on the crew?”

“Not yet.”

No surprise there. No way Skeet would want a female spider walker on his crew—they were bigger and meaner than the males, and there was always the question of, “Is my girlfriend gonna eat me tonight?” Which is why most of the males tended to date outside their species.

“You interested?” he said. “You’d be working under me”—he actually winked at me—“but I can guarantee you’ll enjoy it.”

“Huh?” I was so used to Skeet hitting on me that it took me a moment to realize he was asking if I wanted to join his stunt crew. I almost laughed out loud, but managed to keep it to myself. “Thanks, Skeet, but I’m not looking to leave KSC anytime soon.”

“Oh, get off your high horse,” Skeet said with a sneer. “You ain’t done a job with KSC for what, a year now?”

“I was healing.”

“Maybe for the first six months, but from what I hear, Sean doesn’t trust you enough to put you back into play.”

I took a deep breath. Then another one. Anything to stop me from ripping Skeet’s spinal cord out and beating him with it. “Sean’s overprotective. If it were up to him, I wouldn’t be doing anything for at least another year.”

“Yeah, sure.”

I stepped closer, got in Skeet’s face. “You do know I’ve been working, right? Just got back from a shoot in New Orleans.”

Skeet took a half step back. “Hadn’t heard.”

“Yeah, well, do your homework.”

“That mean you’re not interested?”

“What the hell do you think?”

“Hey, menina.” Both Skeet and I turned toward his cousin. I’d actually forgotten he was there.

“Lee Striga,” he continued, “I think you owe my cousin an apology.”

“Really?” I replied, ignoring the crawling feeling running up and down my legs and spine, like dozens of little spider legs. “Why is that?’

“From what he tells me, you are the reason he is no longer working with this… this Katz Stunt Crew.”

“Really?” I laughed. I didn’t mean to—and probably shouldn’t have—but it just kinda came out. “That’s what he told you?” I shook my head. “Oh, Skeet, you just had to go there—the whole ‘Eve ate the apple and got you kicked out of the Garden’ story.”

“Well, yeah, if it hadn’t been for you, Sean and Seth wouldn’t have—”

“Wouldn’t have what?” I growled. “Wouldn’t have booted your ass off the Ranch for being an arrogant asshat who can’t work with a team?” I grew angrier as I remembered how Skeet hadn’t been able to deal with any sort of criticism, even when his screw-ups could have caused injuries. “You were careless, sloppy, and arrogant. Trying to hit on me was the least of your mistakes, and it was still a pretty stupid one.”

Skeet clenched his fists, face crimson with anger. “Y’know, Lee, forget I even asked you.”

“Cadela.” Nigri glared at me. “You do not judge my family.”

“Dude, just fuck your honor culture bullshit, okay?” The words flew out of my mouth without thought. “Skeet acted like an asshat, and I’m thinking it runs in the family.” My amulet lit up like a Fourth of July sparkler, leaving no doubt that they didn’t have a good intention between them. Nigri reared up on the heels of his boots, a glimmer of red flaring up in the depths of his dark brown eyes as he swayed side-to-side.

“You should watch your words.” He radiated menace, making Skeet seem as harmless as an extra in Charlotte’s Web.

“You have no idea what I’ve faced down in the last month,” I said, my voice soft and steady. “So, if you think I’m going to be intimidated by a couple of itsy-bitsy spiders…” I trailed off and looked pointedly at their crotches.

Yeah, I know, but see how they liked feeling like pieces of meat.

They didn’t like it.

Nigri swarmed up the stairs past Skeet, closing the distance between us with unnatural speed.

“Let’s dance, little girl,” he said softly, body swaying side to side almost hypnotically. All my muscles tensed.

“How ’bout we just fight?”

For a split second, I saw the spider under the human skin, ferocious and ugly, looking like the Predator without its helmet. Then the human mask slammed back down as he swung an open palm toward my face. I didn’t stop to think, instinctively blocking the strike with the outside edge of my left hand while smashing him in the chin with the heel of my right palm. I didn’t pull my momentum because he sure as hell wasn’t pulling his—I could tell by the strength of the impact when I blocked his blow that he was going for some damage.

My strike rocked him back several paces, and the look of surprise on his handsome face was priceless. Before I could take advantage of the moment, though, Skeet, no doubt emboldened by his cousin’s presence, grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to face him, throwing me off-balance into the porch railing. Still, I was able to avoid the sloppy punch he threw at me, turning sideways so it slipped past my face. I grabbed his wrist and gave a sharp tug, throwing Skeet past me into Nigri.

“Jeez, Skeet,” I said, “with a punch like that, you couldn’t even get a job at the old Universal Western stunt show.”

He hissed and scuttled forward again, hands stretched out to grab me. Using the railing, I swung myself up and smashed Skeet in the stomach with both my feet, grateful for the rigorous daily training I’d gotten working on Voodoo Wars. My timing was perfect—Nigri sent out a fine mist of webbing that hit the railing where I’d been standing.

Goddamn spiders.

Nigri snapped something to Skeet in a language I didn’t quite recognize—similar to Portuguese, but more sibilant, punctuated with clicks. I saw a shadow of doubt flicker over Skeet’s face. Evidently common sense and second thoughts were starting to penetrate his rage-fueled stupidity.

His cousin, on the other hand, had clearly gone to eleven. Nigri hissed a single word. Skeet’s face blanched, and they both started shooting webbing.

Spider walkers didn’t spray out webbing from their wrists à la Spider-Man—it exuded from spinnerets in their hands, coming in strands and small sticky patches. Skeet had explained it to me back when he was still training at the ranch.

“When we’re in human form, we can only spin webs enough to do things like climb walls, hang upside down, stuff like that. To do the serious web spinning, now that takes being in spider form. And naked.” He’d leered at me, as if the thought of a Skeet-sized spider in the buff was a turn-on. It wasn’t.

So there was only so much the two spider walkers could do with their webs, but it still made things difficult, and they kept throwing the sticky shit at me. Before I knew it, I found myself with my back against the storefront, sticking to the wood. My left hand was emmeshed in the webbing, several strands wrapped around my wrist.

Well, hell.

My right arm was still free, though. When Nigri tried to pull me toward him, I reached into my jeans pocket, pulling out the Xterra keys. They immediately heated up. Holding the fob in my clenched fist, keys sticking out between my fingers, I shredded the webbing around my left wrist. The stuff melted at the touch of the metal.

Seeing what I was doing, Nigri grabbed my wrist in a strong grip, fingers digging into my flesh as I tried to pull away. I heard Skeet coming up behind me, and donkey-kicked him where his spinnerets don’t shine. He gasped for breath, a wheezing, squeaking noise that would’ve been funny under other circumstances. It was a good solid kick and it put him down.

There was no time to enjoy that little victory, because I still had to fend off his hot-tempered cousin. I cracked a closed fist against Nigri’s nose. It was my left hand, so I didn’t have quite as much strength or precision, but it was still enough to make him let go. Shoving hard against his chest with the heels of both palms, I put some distance between me and the reeling men.

Blood trickled from one flaring nostril as Nigri glared at me. He lunged, but jerked to a halt when Skeet grabbed him around an ankle.

“Nigri,” Skeet said, voice reedy and thin as he clutched his manly bits with his free hand, “let it go.”

“What the hell’s going on out here?”

Marge rounded the corner of the building. Hot on her heels, Tater took in the scene, muscles expanding under his jeans and long-sleeved Henley. He only went “Hulk Smash” when he was really angry.

“These spiders bugging you, Lee?” His voice was deceptively mild.

Skeet had the good sense to flinch, but Nigri did that peculiar rearing up and swaying from side to side motion. He spat, the cords of his neck standing out with the force of it. A dark blob of sputum landed on the ground in front of Tater’s feet, smoke rising from it. Nasty.

“Enough!” The single word pierced the night air, rising to a shriek and ending with a rattle in Marge’s throat. Her body shifted and elongated as her legs flowed together into a sleek scaled body, muscles undulating beneath a black-and-red diamond pattern. Eyelids receded, green-gold bleeding into the whites, brown irises vanishing as the pupils expanded into horizontal ellipses. Her short, thick hair merged into her as she swayed back and forth in front of the men, a good three feet taller than she’d been just seconds before.

Wow.

Both spider walkers recoiled. Spiders and snakes are not friends, and Marge was damned scary in her current form.

“Skeet Silva,” she hissed, “you’ve had your last chance. You are no longer welcome on our property, you or this other asshole spider.” She glared at Nigri. “I’d make you clean up your damn mess, but I don’t want you soiling the place any more than you already have.”

Skeet scrambled backward. “Now don’t be like that, Marge,” he whined. “Nothing happened. Right, Lee?” He looked over at me, a sickly smile pasted on his face along with an emotion I couldn’t quite read.

I stared at him silently.

“Awww, don’t be like that,” Skeet said. “You know we were just foolin’—”

Marge fixed her gaze on him, and he shut up.

“I’m only gonna say this one more time—get off my property. If you’re still here when my husband gets back, there’s gonna be two dead spiders. Your kind don’t taste very good, but I imagine Hal would be happy to make an exception, on account he don’t like to waste fresh meat.”

Skeet did a scuttling crabwalk away from her. Nigri stood his ground a little longer, trying to save face, but we all knew it was bullshit. He finally spun on his heel, jerking his chin at his cousin as he stalked over to their car and got into the driver’s seat. Skeet cast one last beseeching look at us before following his cousin, trying his best to look macho and failing miserably.

We watched the Spyder peel out of the parking lot and vanish over the rise in the road.

“Sonofabitch can drive,” I observed. Tater growled in reply, which meant he agreed but didn’t like it.

As soon as the car was out of sight, Marge’s snake trunk divided into two legs again, clothing reappearing as if to say, “Nothing to see here, folks.” Her eyes returned to their usual dark brown, only a shimmer of green-gold remaining as the pupils lost their elliptical shape.

The bell on the front door jingled as the screen door creaked.

All three of us turned. Mary stood peering out from behind the partially open door, Donna behind her.

“Um… Marge? Can we pay for our stuff?”