A Spider Comes Calling Read online

  “Of course I don’t,” Gideon said, all cheerfulness. “Death can be terribly boring, you know, and you people certainly aren’t.”

  “Dead or boring?” I queried.

  “Neither of the above,” he replied, grinning.

  “At any rate, I’m only making an appearance because my father arranged the party,” I clarified.

  After I’d implored him to use moderation, Father had relented his ambitions to throw a grand ball for me and instead had agreed to be satisfied with a dinner party. Given that I knew all the guests well enough, I felt that to be a tolerable compromise.

  Gideon chuckled. “That’s the spirit, love!” Before Mr. Timmons could scowl, the ghost faded away just as we entered the house.

  “We should be grateful he hasn’t yet developed poltergeist powers,” I said as I patted my husband’s arm. “I suspect he’s too mischievous not to use them.”

  Mr. Timmons shuddered with mock horror. “God save us all.”

  As we approached the entrance to the dining hall, I could hear Mrs. Steward’s strident voice.

  “It’s all well and good that she’s married,” my aunt declared. “Thank the heavens for that mercy, for else this wouldn’t be a party but a commiseration. To be a woman at her age and without a household of her own would have been catastrophic, really. In fact, it would be tantamount to perpetual spinsterhood. The likelihood of finding a man to marry a woman who is rapidly approaching the end of her third decade of life would be rather implausible.”

  “Mother,” I heard Lilly hiss as Mr. Timmons and I paused at the threshold to the room.

  “Well, it’s true, my dear Lilly,” Mrs. Steward continued, waving a glass of wine above her head as if it were a flag summoning the troops. “Not everyone can be blessed with your youth and beauty. And to find such an eligible match, particularly in such a backwater as this place! You should count your blessings, Lilly. As for your cousin…”

  Ignoring Mr. Steward’s attempt to interrupt her, she said, “She had little to recommend her. It’s nothing short of miraculous that Mr. Timmons conceded to the union. God bless that man.”

  Mr. Timmons snorted, his expression a peculiar blend of amusement and irritation. “That’s a first, her blessing me instead of insulting me,” he murmured as he tightened his grip on my human hand, stroking a thumb across my knuckles.

  “Mrs. Steward,” my uncle said with growing agitation, for he had observed us.

  “Despite all that, it’s still astonishing what she has resorted to,” Mrs. Steward stated, oblivious to our presence even as Lady Hardinge made a subtle gesture to her to cease, one that was blithely ignored. “It’s truly pathetic and indicates an unfulfilled longing for a child of her own. But alas, she may be too old or barren now, so she has instead adopted a monkey. A monkey! Mr. Steward, what have you to say about that, sir?”

  Mr. Steward, his eyes wide with dismay at his wife’s diatribe and with discomfort at our overhearing it, could only pretend to choke heartily on his drink while Tiberius attempted to comfort him with a few blows against his back.

  “I know what I’d say to that,” Gideon whispered in my ear. “I’d tell her to sod off.”

  “Gideon,” I admonished him under my breath just as Mr. Timmons cleared his throat loud enough to catch the attention of everyone already present.

  “I believe I have a thing or two to say about that,” he said, allowing a sharp edge into his tone. I was gratified that Mrs. Steward had enough sense and sensibility to blush as she turned toward us. “Unfortunately, none of the sentiments I wish to express are suitable for mixed company.” Bestowing a chilling smile upon Mrs. Steward, he added, “However, I might be tempted to make an exception.”

  “Here, here,” Gideon said, although only Mr. Timmons and I could hear his cheer.

  Meanwhile I wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else, even if that required me to melt into the floor and join Wanjiru with the God of Death. Mrs. Steward peered into her wine glass and Lilly smirked.

  “Oh, Miss Knight,” Dr. Ribeiro hailed me by wagging his head, his soft brown eyes lit with a joy that reassured me the party wouldn’t be a complete disaster. “I am so very interested in your adopted monkey. Is it being with your fine person?”

  “I should hope not!” Mrs. Steward huffed even as Gideon growled, “I should hope so. You haven’t forgotten her again, have you?”

  “Goodness,” I muttered and hastened into the room, determined not to admit how my aunt’s words had disturbed me. After giving my greetings to Lord and Lady Hardinge and noting with relief that Bobby had absconded to another quarter of the house where the Hardinge children were dining, I forced a smile and held up a basket.

  “My surrogate child is here, doctor,” I announced and experienced a rather savage cheerfulness, both disturbing and delicious, at witnessing my aunt blanch.

  “That is being very good,” Dr. Ribeiro gushed as he removed his felt hat, leaned over the basket and prodded the sleeping monkey with a slender finger. The only reaction was a twitch of Shelby’s long tail. “I am not having so much good fortune in my attempts to train apes.” He frowned before smiling. “It seems zebras and primates are being very different. I would be so very, very gratified if I may observe your efforts.”

  “Of course,” I answered.

  “But he might experiment on our precious Shelby,” Gideon howled in my ear.

  “Although I must admit I’m struggling to visualize what you would do with trained apes,” I said, ignoring Gideon’s fierce protestations. “Surely you wouldn’t use their services in your surgery?”

  “I could well imagine him attempting to do just that,” Gideon grumbled as Dr. Ribeiro reassured me that such a notion would be inappropriate.

  “But maybe they could be helping me in the recovery rooms,” the doctor added.

  “Mr. Elkhart Senior is delayed and has requested that we commence without him,” Lady Hardinge interrupted the conversation with a raised voice. She invited us to the table before Mrs. Steward could protest at the presence of a monkey or Mr. Timmons could exasperate the situation with a suitably inappropriate jest or Dr. Ribeiro could suggest we summon his zebra in order to compare the two animals.

  “Let’s,” Lilly hastily agreed, and we all sat as directed by our hostess who was very careful to separate Mrs. Steward from any source of aggravation. The result of such an arrangement ensured that my aunt was seated at the other end of the table from myself and my husband, and a full bottle of wine was placed at her disposal. This was mutually beneficial for all concerned, but I still took care to tuck Shelby’s basket under the table by my feet.

  Despite the awkward start to the dinner party, the conversation proceeded well enough, focused as it was on the weather which was usually a topic safe from conflict and contention. Comments were also provided regarding the delightful flavors of the meal. While Lilly seemed a bit wearied and noticeably bigger than the last time we’d met, her energy field was bright, unusually so. As I hadn’t had previous experience with studying the energy of pregnant women, I had to accept her reassurances that all was well.

  Given that it was my birthday party, I decided to allow myself the luxury of not holding onto any concern at all. Still, I couldn’t help wondering if Drew would make an appearance, for I hadn’t seen him since our disastrous conversation several days prior. He’d departed from the cottage shortly after. Had he returned to the Kerit pack? Or was he lurking near the house, building his resolve to enter and join us? With that expectation, I almost called out his name when I heard a door open midway through the first course. It was with some effort that I hid my disappointment when Father entered and was introduced.

  “You will be joining us then?” Mrs. Steward gushed at the man with whom she was now related through marriage, her face flushed. I glanced at the bottle near her glass and observed that the level of wine within was much diminished.

  Taking the seat beside me, he smiled with all the graciousness one would expec
t from a gentleman who possessed the persuasive powers of a vampire. “Alas, I have already partaken from an earlier engagement. I shall instead enjoy the discourse of such marvelous company.”

  Flattered, Mrs. Steward giggled while Mr. Timmons struggled not to choke on his food or whatever discourse he would’ve offered my aunt. Gideon meanwhile floated up from under the table. “Do you know, I believe that Shelby can not only see me but also hear me,” he announced to me with paternal pride.

  Before I could decide how to respond, the breaking of glass and the screaming of a woman interrupted all our pleasant and meaningless conversations. We were all astonishment, my aunt and uncle particularly as they were unaccustomed to such going-ons that might involve screams of terror and other such inconveniences.

  Lord Hardinge and the Elkhart men all rose but before they could endeavor to investigate, the new maid ran into the room, her duties forgotten as she blabbered incoherently.

  “What is it, Esther?” Lady Hardinge demanded while attempting to console the distraught young woman.

  Between hysteria and hyperventilating, Esther managed to blubber, “Giant talking monkey in the kitchen.”

  Mrs. Steward let out a huff. “What is it with monkeys and this estate?” she demanded as she flung down her serviette and took hold of her wine glass.

  “It talks?” Mr. Steward asked, an incredulous expression on his round face. There was also a spark of curiosity which I didn’t appreciate one bit. While curiosity and imagination were essential tools for a paranormal investigator such as myself, they only caused grief and confusion amongst the uninitiated.

  “She’s hysterical,” I said as I pushed myself away from the table. “She’s clearly imagining things now.”

  Before anyone could protest, I hurried out of the room, doing my best to ignore my husband’s exaggerated sigh of resignation as he joined Father and Lord Hardinge in following me.

  “There’s only one talking monkey with which I’m acquainted,” I muttered to them as we followed the corridor to the kitchen.

  “I’m astounded you know of any, madam,” Mr. Timmons said.

  “I’m gratified that I’ve been able to amaze you, sir,” I replied, my smirk quickly fading as I recalled the circumstances in which I had met this particular simian. “And it’s not actually a monkey but a chimpanzee.”

  “And where and when did this encounter occur?” Mr. Timmons demanded.

  I paused at the end of the corridor and faced him. “In West Africa, a few years ago. It was during that same trip when I first encountered Koki.” I gulped at even having to utter the name of my arch nemesis who unfortunately was a giant praying mantis with a penchant for decapitating her victims and holding a grudge for far longer than was polite.

  “Oh, yes, you might have mentioned that story,” Mr. Timmons said. “Wasn’t that when you cut off one of her legs?”

  “And people say vampires are bloodthirsty,” Father reflected, a touch of disapproval in his tone. “Humans do a far better job in that regard.”

  Lord Hardinge refrained from questioning or commenting, and I didn’t bother to reply as we entered a large, stonewalled kitchen. Its rounded ceiling reminded me of a church dome. A cooking fire in one corner provided heat and most of the light. Shiny pots and pans were hanging in an organized fashion from hooks above a stone counter. A broken glass dish was scattered across the center of the stone paved floor, and a man-sized chimp bounced in a corner.

  “Hello, Ngofariman,” I said, a certain degree of weariness evident in my tone; in fact, I bordered on despair. It was a sentiment that occurred whenever I was reminded of my inaugural venture into Africa and my first encounter with the she-demon Koki.

  Ngofariman grinned which amounted to his flabby lips pulling back to reveal mottled brown-and-cream gums and sharp canines. His teeth clattered together, and he bounced around in a circle, hooting at a joke only he could comprehend. Upon sighting my companions, he stood upright. He was as tall as a man but much bulkier, his every limb corded with muscles that the dark fur couldn’t fully hide.

  “I’ve never met a talking monkey,” Father said, studying the animal with great interest.

  “Chimp,” I corrected as Ngofariman thumped a fist against a pot left on the counter. The metal caved in with a metallic clang.

  “Greetings, Miss Knight,” the chimp cackled.

  “How did you learn to talk?” Lord Hardinge asked, equally amazed.

  “Blessed by the gods,” I said, repeating the phrase that the chimp had uttered to me when we’d first met in Lagos.

  The chimp’s mischievous eyes glinted with shrewdness and cunning, which served to remind me that this was a creature not to be trusted. “Miss Knight remembers well,” he chattered. “Now remember your oath to Anansi.”

  If Koki terrified me with her bloodthirstiness, her husband the Spider intimidated me with his sheer size. I preferred insects small enough to fit under my boot where I could squash them into oblivion. “Technically, I never gave him an oath.”

  Ngofariman snarled at me. “He said you did, so you did. This is a summons. In three days, Kamalu will come for you. Do not fail to attend.”

  The chimp quirked his head, studying me to ensure I understood the solemnity of the occasion and the severity of the response should I fail to obey. Whatever he observed must have satisfied him, for with a cackle and a leap, he bounded through the outer door and disappeared into the night.

  Chapter 15

  NGOFARIMAN’S DRAMATIC ENTRANCE and exit had thoroughly rattled any sense of comfort I’d achieved from the superficial dinner conversation. There wasn’t an opportunity to discuss the summons, for Mrs. Steward’s temperament wouldn’t allow us sufficient privacy. Having consumed some courage from her wine glass, my aunt flounced into the kitchen and demanded an interview with the offending monkey. While Lady Hardinge coaxed Esther to return to her duties, Mr. Timmons escorted Mrs. Steward to the table and fabricated a marvelous story about a monkey stealing a banana. While hardly astonishing, it provided amusement to those minds that could be so easily entertained and distracted.

  “Surely you won’t attend this meeting,” Father whispered to me as we returned to the dining room. “Isn’t Anansi a spider?”

  “Yes and yes,” I replied. “Given the height and girth of this particular spider, not to mention his position in the African paranormal society, it would be unwise to decline his request.”

  Before he could attempt to persuade me otherwise, we rejoined the party and nothing more of consequence could be discussed apart from the delightful bouquet of the wine (courtesy of Mrs. Steward, who had imbibed sufficient quantities to become an expert of sorts) and possible baby names (which interested me not at all). Both Father and Lord Hardinge attempted to communicate to me by non-verbal means their perturbation regarding the chimp’s message while Mr. Timmons maintained a suspiciously neutral expression throughout.

  Only when we had extracted ourselves from the party and were on our way home did my husband venture a remark. “I take it you intend to go then?”

  Pulling my shawl around my shoulders and lifting my chin, I replied without looking at him, “I don’t see how I have a choice in the matter.”

  Gideon appeared as he tended to do: at an inconvenient moment and without an invitation. “Of course you do,” he said, his energy buoyed by the disturbance caused by the chimp. “I was thinking we could sail away to Indochina. I’m sure there are no giant insects there. What say you?”

  Mr. Timmons said nothing at all, nor did he so much as glance toward the ghost who pirouetted around us before fading away. His silence disturbed me more than I dared admit. I’d expected him to protest, to insist he attend with me or some such argument. Yet the only sounds were the soft squashing of earth and leaves beneath our shoes, the shivering of branches above us, the distant calls of animals and the gurgling of a nearby stream. As we entered our cottage, he finally set aside his wordless disapproval along with his cape.

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p; Turning to me, Mr. Timmons grabbed my hands. “I know Kam most likely won’t permit me to join you on this escapade,” he said, his thumb trailing over my flesh-and-blood hand in a way that was pleasantly distracting.

  “No and it’s best you don’t,” I murmured. I refrained from adding how earnestly I wished circumstances were different, for such useless sentiments could provide no benefit and would only distress him further.

  He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, held his breath a moment and said on the exhale, “Take Gideon.”

  “I heard my name,” Gideon said as he popped into view.

  Mr. Timmons continued, “I want him to accompany you.”

  “What am I, her pet poodle?” Gideon complained.

  Astonished, I stepped back to study Mr. Timmons, searching his expression. “You’re serious,” I gasped.

  “And why shouldn’t he be?” Gideon demanded in disingenuous outrage. “After all, I clearly am the logical choice for this mission.”

  “As I won’t be welcome, at least let this mischief maker prove himself useful for once,” Mr. Timmons explained, pulling me closer. “He can let me know if anything untoward occurs.”

  “Hm,” Gideon huffed. “I believe I’ve proved myself useful on numerous occasions. I can’t think of which ones at this moment, but I’m certain there’s a few.”

  “Are you sure, Simon?” I asked, leaning toward Mr. Timmons.

  “Of course he is,” Gideon said as he peered over the basket in which Shelby slept.

  Mr. Timmons chuckled without mirth. “Perhaps it’s best not to ask too many questions in this regard. I’d rather you’re with someone I can tolerably trust than alone with Kam whom I trust not at all.”

  Smiling so widely as to be practically beaming light, Gideon exclaimed, “Aw, you trust me. How rapturous! We’re practically family now.”

  Glancing at the ghost, Mr. Timmons scowled. “Let’s just say you are a mere step up the ladder from a storm spirit and a giant bug. That doesn’t mean I won’t drain you of every bit of energy if you allow anything to happen to my wife.”