Page 61 of The Spider & the Storm

“I had nothing better to do,” I replied nonchalantly, trying so hard to act casual and cool while knowing I was probably failing miserably at both.

It was hard to act anything but neurotic and shaken when I knew, as sure as I’d known something terrible would happen the night my parents died, that my world was never going to be the same as it was before I came to this party.

“From saving my life to threatening to kill me to offering stellar compliments.” She added a wistful sigh for good measure. “I don't wanna say anything, but I'm getting some mixed signals over here.”

The words were said in jest, sarcastic, but there was truth to them, and I said nothing, as they were allowed to marinate.

Am I intentionally pushing her away?

The wind answered with a gust of rustling willow branches. Of course I was. I knew myself enough to see that, and I knew myself well enough to know why.

“So, what exactly do you do all the time? I mean, when you’re not … doing whatever it is you do in the graveyard,” she said, stealing me away from my thoughts and changing the subject.

I chuckled quietly, splaying my hands over my knees. “I maintain the grounds. I open the gates, dig the graves, mow the lawn—”

She snorted and nearly choked around a laugh. “That's onebigfuckin’ lawn.”

Beneath my mask, I smiled easily. “Keeps me busy.”

“Too busy to work on those social skills—that's for damn sure.”

My smile broadened. “That's kinda always been the idea.”

“But, like … why?”

“Why do you want to know?” I asked, amused.

She shrugged. “I’m curious! You’re, like, a mystery, and now, I finally have my chance to talk to the elusiveSpider.” She said it with amazement and awe. “I wanna know more about you, other than how much you love threatening people.”

“I don’tlovethreatening people,” I corrected, fighting the urge to clench my jaw and grow rigid with the need to defend myself.

She huffed a laugh. “Sure had me fooled.”

“I do what I have to do to get by and do the right thing, but I don'tloveit.” I snickered, giving my head a slight shake at the audacity.

“Oh, I see.” She nodded, an air of sarcasm fueling the motion. “That makes me feel better. You were about to sever my jugular, but you wouldn't have found pleasure in it.”

“Youbroke intomyhouse,” I pointed out for what felt like the thirtieth time. This time though, it was said teasingly with a smile.

“And IsaidI wassorry!” She laughed, her cheeks darkening beneath the blush she wore.

Shit, she was pretty. Absolutely stunning. She looked like one of those alternative-style models with pale skin, a generous number of piercings glittering in various parts of her face and ears, chaotic black hair, and a certain rebellious quality, carried with every lift of her hand or quirk of her lips.

What she wanted from a loser like me, I had no idea.

“Anyway”—I cleared my throat, attempting to send the unwanted negativity away—“I draw, read … that’s sort of it.”

It seemed pathetic now that I’d said it out loud. But the truth was, a part of what kept me loving my job so much was how little time I had to do anything else. Little downtime meant little time to think. Little time to mourn. Little time to miss people I couldn’t be with.

“You draw?” She seemed intrigued. “Are you any good?”

I shrugged. “My brother always thought so,” I said, already knowing how lame that sounded before it even came out of my mouth.

“Does your brother lie a lot?”

I huffed a laugh, thinking of all the blunt truths Luke had thrown my way. “No. Not particularly,” I said, even as I thought about all the promises he’d unintentionally broken.

She quirked a half smile, bumped her shoulder against mine, then said, “Well, you must be pretty good then.”

---