Page 5 of Explosive Chemistry

Little Liliana ran to her home wagon, left hand stuck in her hair by her own spider silk. “Mut, help,” she said, hopping up onto the wooden steps. She pulled the carved door open with her free hand. She must have been eight or nine since her second eyes hadn’t opened yet.

The scent from the bunches of drying lavender tied to the ceiling and the warmth of the close wagon interior washed over her. “Look what you’ve done, Liliana.” Solifu’s clipped Egyptian accent sounded annoyed. “Your silk is strong, not easy to break. You must not be careless with it.” She set aside the safety net she’d been retying that would go under the high wire and trapeze when they did their circus acts.

“I’m sorry, Mut. I didn’t mean to.” Liliana stared at the floor, seeing her first mother’s delicate feet in ballet slippers and her second mother’s bare feet and harem pants of brilliant green velvet with sequined edges.

Liliana looked to Ixchel for sympathy, where she sat on the floor, her head resting on Solifu’s knee. Her tall, lithe second mother simply shook her head in exasperation. “I’ll find the sewing scissors.” She stood and started rummaging through the storage cupboards that lined most of the walls inside the wagon.

“But I don’t want my hair short again. It makes me look like a boney little boy.” The other kids in the circus made merciless fun of Liliana the last time her hair had to be cut short.

Solifu’s face was stern, immune to her child’s whining distress. “If you would keep your silk out of your hair, we wouldn’t have to cut it.”

Ixchel sat on the bench built into the wall where they stored their clothes and gestured to the spot between her feet. “Come here.”

Liliana knelt between her second mother’s knees, back to her, facing her first mother, who went back to tying the net.

Ixchel carefully cut away the hair and silk to free Liliana’s hand. The snick, snick near her ears made Liliana’s eyes burn, but she was glad to have her hand freed.

“I could just cut away the pieces of your hair that are tangled with silk?” Her lilting South American accent made the words sound like gentle music.

“Yes, Mamãe. Please.” Liliana’s tense shoulders relaxed a little. At least she would get to keep some of her hair.

Solifu clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Your hair will be a dozen lengths. You will look like a crazy person.”

Liliana’s ears and cheeks heated. Insanity was a problem her kind was prone to that got spider seers killed. Women in her family who lost touch with reality had been killed by their own sisters.

“What do you want?” Ixchel’s deep sympathetic voice rumbled next to Liliana’s ear. “Shall I cut it all short?”

“Yes.” Tears rolled down Liliana’s cheeks, even as she said it. The scissors cut away the hair she had just started to grow out from the last time she got silk tangled in it.

Ixchel gave her a quick hug when she was done. “You look cute with short hair, Kitten. Ignore the other children.”

Solifu nodded to her. “The opinion of others is far less important than your actions. Be careful with your silk from now on and you can grow your hair as long as you like.”

Liliana left the caravan, ducked under two others, and wedged herself as tiny as she could against the wagon wheel of a third, not caring about the grit under her knees. Then she stopped suppressing the heartbroken sobs.

Her elegant adult sister, Isabella, stepped down from the wagon. She had her own caravan, as the great Madame Bella who could see your future in your hand or your stars. Liliana, both her mothers, her father, and her two youngest brothers, Jason and Petros, all shared their wagon. It was much bigger, of course, but privacy and quiet were impossible goals. Liliana gravitated toward Isabella’s wagon. It often felt like a point of peace in her chaotic life. She had come here instinctively to nurse her pain.

Isabella squatted down beside her wooden step, carefully tucking her pretty skirts up out of the dirt, and peered under the wagon. “Why are you crying?” Her voice was flat, without inflection as usual. Liliana couldn’t tell if her sister was angry or disappointed or merely curious.

When Liliana told her what was wrong, Isabella put her head to one side as she often did when thinking or remembering. “I had the same problem when I was little. Come. I have something to show you.”

Liliana wiped her face with her sleeve and followed her sister into the shadowy interior of Isabella’s wagon.

“Sit,” she told Liliana, who slid into a built-in bench around the small fold-out table.

Isabella fetched a beautiful decorative glass bottle from one of the storage cupboards that lined the walls. She set it down on the table and sat next to Liliana.

“Watch, now.” Isabella touched the spinneret in her wrist and pulled back her finger, extending a line of sticky fresh spider silk from the tiny hole. A quick twist of her wrist put the silk into her other hand. She carefully pulled and tied and played with the silk, making cat’s cradles of it and tiny nets like the giant one of rope Solifu had been repairing.

Liliana watched, fascinated by the ease and grace, where she was so clumsy.

A final twist of wrist and hand cut off the flow of silk, leaving the little net free. Isabella wrapped it around itself until it was a tiny ball, never getting stuck.

Liliana nodded, imitated the movement of her sister’s hands, without pulling out any silk. It would take practice, but knowing how to keep her silk under control would help a lot in keeping it out of her hair.

Then Isabella opened the pretty bottle. It smelled wonderfully of thyme and lavender.

“Now, for when you make a mistake.” Isabella’s hair was straight and sleek, shimmering like a raven’s wing, where Liliana’s dull black hair tended toward wild curls, and frequently, frizz. Isabella deliberately tangled sticky fresh webbing in that lock of shiny blue-black hair.

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