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   Chapter 11 The Spiders That Spare Us

The Silverskin By Rian Torr Characters: 13288

Updated: 2018-03-07 15:18


When they hit the river, Eva grabbed Seven and held him close to her body.

"What is going on with me? My dark visions are getting worse now I think ..."

"No … It's just these woods. You will be better when we are far away from here. Once we get back to New London."

"Do you really think so? That's all?"

"It has to do with the ley lines around these parts. Electromagnetic tracks run all over these woods you see."

"Wow ... How do you even know?"

"I grew up here, remember ... It's no lie I've seen more than what's imaginable. I didn't want to tell you, but French's Forest really is truly haunted."

She made him kiss her suddenly.

Several long seconds later―he finally tore himself away―begging her to stop. He was so torn up inside about it all.

"What is wrong?" she whined. "Why have you been acting so distant lately? Last night you would not even look at me. I felt so insulted." She felt better venting.

He wanted to tell her it was only because he loved her—because he did not want to draw Faye's jealous ire down upon them. But he sensed that it was now well passed the time or place for that kind of revelation. It was his fate to find Faye.

"It was a long day ... That's all ... Plus I'm tense around the family. I'd rather just get the weekend over with―you know. Get this shit on with it."

"Well I still don't feel too well, do you think we could stop for a minute, maybe eat some of that food we packed?"

"Of course babe, but not too long."

Sitting on a log by a field fecund in giant sunflowers―listening to rapids slip steadily by—they made a quick picnic.

Seven struggled to act natural—still dealing with his own 'visions' of Hellbear. But he was ultimately able to put on airs of calm—which aided Eva in feeling more at ease. Last she needed was to worry.

So they relaxed and helped themselves to apples and cheese―hard boiled eggs and deli slices. They sipped from a thermos of Marietta's dragon blend tea, which they thought tasted like weed.

Then Eva washed her hands in the stream, when she saw her reflection morph into a green-eyed face of molten silver—with horns and long black lashing locks. It was a wicked visage of horror.

She fainted—collapsing into the River Payne—her paper frame crumbling.

Seven pulled her free. "What happened?" He slapped her face sharply.

"Nothing, " she said—choking and coughing. "Just, nevermind … Everything's fine … I'm fine … I mean ..."

While denial did not do much to fade down the visions—sometimes she felt the least she could do was spare him the displeasure of hearing about every one.

He held her close—sensing she was hiding something―deeply frustrated with Faye's intrusions, wishing he had never brought Eva here at all. It was sabotage.

He stroked her soft red hair, as she looked up into his eyes—and he could not help himself just then from abandoning all caution and kissing her strongly on lips.

She breathed in sharply, kissing him back—sucking his soul out his mouth—drawing his heart into her―as their spirits soared off, forever entwined together.

He pulled away gasping—but dove in for more—when from behind a cloud bank, the full moon came out—and they felt a tremendous rumbling rise up underfoot.

"What the Hell was that? My God."

"Miramar gets restless ..." he said, pulling her toward him again, to keep her from looking up―while he kept his own eyes on the sky. This was no place to be.

Faye's face floated in the clouds, glowering down—Her expression raging at sight of their union. She blazed jealously.

Lightning flashed across the southern sky. The stars shimmered off.

"It's cold all of a sudden―" Eva said, breaking moment. "It must have dropped ten degrees." She sensed old evil.

"We should go, " Seven said huskily.

He draped his jacket across her shoulders—and then quickly packed up their lunch, as the sound of thunder and lightning intensified around the

mortal life she once led—and why She deserved now to finally rest in peace. She must be shown home."

"Okay—hold on now, " Eva interrupted. "You have to tell me: Do you really, honestly, truly believe any of this?"

Den shrugged casually—calculating his response. He poured himself another glass, stirring it calmly with a slow swirl.

"Elves and vampires crop up in ancient writings on every continent—dear. It's hard to say one way or another what actually walked these lands long ago—now isn't it? Especially when we do not even seem to know what stalks among us in the here and now." His eyes danced all about.

She nodded reservedly, mystified.

"Call them what you will ..." he went on. "Asanbosam, Peuchen, Strigoi, Nhang, Nosferatu, Nephilim ... They are all of the same blood-line that has slithered over Earth for so many millenia.

"Every culture refers to them—in one form or another—plaguing humankind. Why should we be different?

"So at least keep an open mind. But if you really want to know what I think—I believe they are as real as you or I―for I have seen them with my own two eyes."

Eva gasped short under her breath.

"Some of my best friends—whom I have known all my life—have turned out to be closer in blood to them than to us."

"That is a scary thought for sure."

"Just be so very careful out there."

Seven returned then—and the conversation now sharply veered into lighter topics. They three needed to relax.

Seven filled Den in on the ups and downs of being a starving artist in Old York—and how he often wondered if he would have been better off sticking to his drugstore delivery job back in New London. They spoke of art and love.

Toward dusk, the storm turned.

After giving their good-bye's and thank-you's—they made their way back toward Bane House, sticking to the path, propelled by a healthy zip in their heels.

They felt refreshed somehow, like Den had reset them, with his stories and his disarming demeanour. Perhaps they had been spending too much time together and just needed a third voice of reason in somewhere in the stormy mix.

Also, Eva had felt a shift inside her, as if Den's tales so held some deeper knowledge that had awakened from way within, which may harbor secret clues.

It sort of put her at ease well enough to keep her chin up and her heels on the path ahead with Seven arm-in-arm.

For one precious half of an hour, on that walk home from Den's waystation, in the eye of the storm, they were blissfully unware of impending doom, just stepping in time with the frosted puffs of their quick breaths on the crest of a chill night's air.

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