The Face in the House

37

Teddy hid in her bedroom, which she still thought of as Rose's room. That night, however, the strange old woman felt far, far away. Her warmth, her light, were all smothered out by dread and shadow.

Seeing her mother's face had been a shock to her senses. And Chrissy, too, though her face didn't bring back the pain of abandonment, it was still unwelcome. Chrissy may have meant well, but she could never forgive her for contacting her mother. That was the most likely theory, at least.

She stared at the floral bedspread beneath her and let her mind wander. It was strange how her only loving, caring relative had been dead long before she'd ever met her. It was strange how her heart yearned for this ghost from her childhood, whom she so briefly knew, when her mother sat in the next room, alive and in the flesh.

"Why did you leave," Teddy whispered to no one. To her grandma Rose. To her mother.

She kicked off her heels, and flung them hard against the door. She remembered the guests in the next room and immediately regretted her fit of anger. She couldn't give them any clue as to where she was.

She was at least comforted by the promise Owen had made her. Maybe he didn't understand it, maybe he did. But she saw in his face that he would do what he could to keep them from coming back. Her mother was here, at Thornewood house, as an invader.

She sat on the bed, listening, waiting to hear them scream. If she needed to use the spiders, she would. But only if she had to.

For now, she called them to her. She'd been practicing whenever she could, trying her best to understand what the power could do and what it meant. She wasn't sure if she had come any closer to an answer, but she'd certainly gotten better at controlling it. Now, rather than calling the whole swarm, she had the precision to call even a single spider.

She focused her energy on two, and the creatures came forth from the shadows on either side of the bed. They crawled up the side of the bed and met in the middle in perfect unison. They paused, as if frozen, awaiting her next command. She sat barefoot in her red gown and crossed her legs, still focusing her energy on the spiders. The exercise was a cross between meditation and mental math; relaxing, yet oddly taxing.

Fight, she thought.

The spiders sprung to life before her, obeying her mental command with blind submission. She wondered if they obeyed her as a subject would obey its queen, if called upon—but there was something about the immediacy of compliance that made it feel compulsory. It was as if she were putting them under a spell they couldn't break.

It felt like they couldn't disobey her if they tried.

The spiders moved like dancers, graceful and calculated in the choreography of their battle. Their many legs sprung, dodged, shielded, and jabbed. They spun webs and broke free of them, jumped and wrangled. It was a performance, a bar fight from a musical . . . until it wasn't.

She felt the power fill her up, a bubbly, drunk feeling of elation and conviction. As the spiders' brawl descended into a fight to the death, Teddy watched with unblinking eyes. Her laser-focus wavered as a leg broke off from the force of its opponent. It emitted a cry of pain, a small, but piercing sound, and black goo dripped onto the bedspread.

She realized she was willing them to continue, to push forward, to fight until one of them (or both of them) died. She shook her head. It wasn't what she wanted but they wouldn't stop. The spider with seven legs curled itself into a ball, its last effort of self preservation as the other continued its ruthless attack.

"Stop," she whispered.

But it didn't stop, and that feeling of power rolled through her veins. It felt like love and tasted like honey. She had learned to control the spiders, but had she learned to control her will?

She had always thought that power was about being in control. That night, she found that power was about letting go, about letting it take you—drag you—into the dark.

***

Teddy jerked awake. It was full dark in the bedroom, so she reached over and turned on the lamp on the bedside table. She had fallen asleep atop the bedspread. The corpse of the defeated spider lay crumpled beside her. The skirt of her gown flowed all around her like fresh blood.

She rubbed her eyes, then caught a glimpse of a girl in the mirror.

The girl in the mirror was familiar . . . more familiar even than her own reflection. But this girl, staring back at her, though like a reflection, could not be, truly, a reflection. She moved when Teddy moved, blinked when she blinked, and smiled when she smiled, but . . .

She had seen her before. That girl with the moonlight skin, with the expression of powerful seduction, with the devious glint in her eye. Teddy remembered her, but not with the sick shame that had rolled in her stomach the first time they met. Tonight, Teddy greeted her.

She felt it crawling up her throat before she saw it emerge from her mouth in the mirror. It blocked her airway, but she didn't shudder, didn't grasp her throat, she just let it work its slow way up. She stood before the mirror and watched her face, watched the stars fill her vision from lack of air, felt the brief euphoria of lightheadedness before it finally broke free. She breathed deeply and the air rushed to her head as the spider parted her red lips, and crawled out of her mouth. It crawled onto her cheek and down her neck, its legs tickling her skin like dozens of small kisses.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them the girl in the mirror was gone. Before her was a wood frame, empty but for a few pieces of broken glass. Her hand tickled where she had broken the mirror, so many weeks before. She inspected her knuckle, where the glass had broken the skin in a deep gash. It had long since healed over, but the black vein that took its place looked raw and vibrant, pulsing lightly within her skin.

Somewhere deep in her mind, she knew she should feel something. Fear or confusion were two that came to mind, but all she really felt was curiosity, and the remnants of a thrilling power. The only thing she feared, in that moment, was losing it.

A soft knock at the bedroom door saved her from the burden of thought. She willed the spider that sat on her neck to return to wherever it lurked in the shadows.

Owen peered through the doorway as if he expected her to be asleep. She thought for the first time since she woke up about her mother. All thought of abandonment, pain or sorrow was gone, replaced with a steady confidence that the intruder was likely gone.

He seemed surprised to see her up, and still in the dress she had planned to wear for the seance. She felt his eyes on her body, for a fraction of a second, before meeting her face.

"Hey, I . . ." his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "I was just coming to check on you."

She thought about the girl in the broken mirror, about how her lips pouted and her eyes smiled with a dark mystery. She looked at Owen, and made her face a reflection of the memory.

He stood, as if caught in a trap, mouth open and a question in his eyes.

"They're gone?" Teddy asked, and her voice sounded like it did when she performed, deep and powerful.

Owen nodded.

"Close the door," she said.

Their bodies met in the shadow of the doorway. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she slipped her hands behind his head. When they kissed, she thought about his body in the basement, about the layers of silk that cocooned it, about the spiders that protected it. In her arms, against her mouth, he felt solid; a warm body, alive beyond the confines of the flesh. In his touch there was something more than skin, something more than sweat and lust . . . She didn't know what it was, but it was in her too, just the smallest hint . . . and she craved more.

The black vein on her hand pulsed as they collapsed together on the bed.