A Web So Dark and Deadly

Chapter Sixteen

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My eyes open to a dim room. Wires cross over my face, creating a web of clear and black plastic.

Web. Web.

Poison.

Tabitha.

I jolt awake, trying to sit up, but my face is held back by the wires. My eyes search the blank walls around me. Aside from my bed, the door, and a single chair, the room is empty. It seems that I'm in some sort of hospital. But that doesn't make sense. The order wants to kill me. After all, I did break into their headquarters.

And the question remains about Tabitha. Where did she go? Did she escape?

Do I want her to have escaped?

So many questions that I can't answer.

I doze in and out of sleep. Time is lost to me; either minutes or hours may have passed by the time the door creaks open. My bleary eyes blink up at two men and a woman standing before me. Behind them, a man in scrubs ducks inside the room, clicking the door back into place.

I gulp, looking up at the stony gaze of a man with squared shoulders and a small, square face to match. Round glasses sit on his squished nose, and he has closely cropped light brown hair.

"You work for Tabitha," he rumbles.

"N-not any more."

The man exchanges glances with the woman by his side, a tall woman with dark brown skin and curly hair. The final visitor, a man with blond hair and fair skin, glances at a tablet screen that he holds in his hands.

"How did Tabitha find you?"

"I was looking for a job. I found her posting online and applied." The words pour forth, father and faster as tears cloud my eyes. "She said she just wanted an assistant to run errands and attend opera concerts for her. And the pay, the wardrobe, the car, the apartment..." I break down into loud sobs that wrack my chest. Pain explodes through my body every time I move, but I can't stop, can't contain the emotion pouring forth.

After several minutes pass, the nurse hands me a box of tissues. I grab two. My elbow throbs, right in my veins, as I bring the thin paper to my face. I notice the source a moment later. There's an IV in my arm.

"W-what happened to me?" I tremble from head to toe. I'm terrified — of these people, of what happened during my failed escape, of what they'll do once they're done speaking to me.

"You suffered many bullet wounds and cuts from glass and debris," the blond-haired man states stoically.

My face crumples, preparing to cry again.

The first man clears his throat. "After a detailed analysis of your blood, it appears that you are not a Poison Weaver like we initially suspected. In fact, you belong to none of the nine bloodlines."

"Well, that's a relief."

The man hums. The three visitors turn around. Whispers buzz through the air, though my brain is in too much of a fog to pick out any words. At last, they turn around.

"Cleo Barone, is that correct?" the woman asks. I nod. "You've put us in a difficult position, Cleo. We recognize that you're young, nineteen, and fresh out of high school. You're a civilian. And everyone makes mistakes, especially at your age."

While part of me wonders how they know so much about me, the rational part of my brain doesn't question it. These are powerful people with access to a treasure trove of information.