Beth Wonders's Arc

Chapter 17 of 29

Beth woke to the soft click of small legs on stone. She did not open her eyes at first. Her magic had come back thin but real, a low warmth under her sternum. In her sleep she had walked the stars again, looking for something she could not name. A guide. A steady hand. She had found only doors that would not open and a voice that told her to look down, not up. She had woken with dirt under her nails and no memory of digging. The spotted cat was on her chest, six-toed paws braced, staring past her ear. Beth turned her head. Black shapes moved along the far wall. Spiders. A dozen of them, bodies like wet ink, spreading and gathering. They were not attacking. They were building. She sat up. The void chef still coiled at the seam by the sky, star-eyes half closed. It lifted one bright point toward the spiders, then toward her, as if to say, watch. The spiders spun a line from the cathedral's north stone, out through the sealed air, and back. Not a web. A bridge. Thin silver threads laid one over the other, thickening as she watched. They were weaving a path through the invisible wall that held her in. "You're helping me," Beth said. Her voice cracked. "Why is everyone helping me." The cat butted her chin. The void chef bobbed once. The spiders kept working. She stood. Her knees held. She crossed to the purple vanity by the window and touched the black scrying mirror. The surface cleared. She saw the outside of the barrier from above: her vampire hunter walking the perimeter, dagger drawn, jaw tight. He had not slept. He had not stopped. Beth put her hand on the glass. "Up here," she said, though he could not hear her. A thump landed above her. Boots on tile. She jerked around. A second-floor window she had left cracked for air now stood open, curtain moving. Elijah dropped from the sill and landed in a crouch. Silver threads clung to his coat. He had climbed the spider bridge without knowing what it was. He straightened. His red eyes found her, moved down her body once, and came back to her face. "You're standing," he said. "Barely." "The wall lets me through here." He nodded at the window. "Only here." "They made a road for you." She pointed at the spiders, still working. "I don't know why." Elijah looked at the ink-black cluster on her wall, at the star-worm at the seam, at the cat. He did not ask. He crossed the room and put a hand under her elbow to hold her up. "Tell me what you need," he said. "I'll bring it in." Beth breathed out. The barrier had not broken. It had opened a door only for him. She was not sealed alone anymore.