Curse of Arachnaman (28 page)

By the end of the week, Vintage City was declared safe from Arachnaman. At least for the time being. We knew that it was only a matter of time before he'd strike again. For now, it was best to pick up the pieces, brush ourselves off, and move forward.

I also managed to finish all the take-home work that Dr. Dibbs gave me, and it was sort of good that he was so distracted by all the cleaning-up happening around the city that he'd forgotten to ask me for my work.

I just played coy when he finally remembered. It was Thursday, and we were in the middle of Chemistry lab. Yeah, I know. It sucked.

"Oh,” I said, flashing him my sweetest, most innocent smile.
Ever
. “I didn't think to bother you with them, seeing as how you've been so busy with out-of-school stuff.” That was the truth. I just didn't admit to procrastinating on my last essay all that time as opposed to getting everything done before the week started. Then again, he never asked, and I wasn't about to encourage him.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Eric,” he said, blinking and scratching his head. “I really appreciate your consideration. But work is work, as they say, and I'd like to have your essays back tomorrow, please."

"Okeedokee.” I watched him turn his attention back to his notes, mumbling to himself as he rifled through them. I pursed my lips and tapped my pen against my lab notes. “Uh, can I ask you a question?"

"Hmm?” He continued to search for something.

"Are all the human arachnids okay now? I mean, those kids and grandparents at the Yee Apartments, are they normal again?"

Dr. Dibbs sighed and sat back, regarding me with a look of mild surprise and amusement. “They are, thank you for your concern. Arachnaman might be a genius in causing physical damage, but his biological attacks? In a word, Mr. Eric, he sucks."

I chuckled. “Those are two words."

"Ah. So they are. The progression of their development into so-called human arachnids was severely lacking, and rather than terrorizing us with completely transformed monsters, he gave us a gaggle of half-breeds, you can say, all of whom appeared to be suffering from a transformation process that got cut short."

"Yeah, but they still ended up like monsters in some way. Pretty cheesy-looking, sure, but they were like zombies, almost. Like, they were lobotomized or something."

He nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It was to our advantage that those poor folks didn't change all the way. I had doubts about our antidote, you know. The formula was created under such enormous time pressure from the heroes that we didn't have time to test it. Had the transformations been more complete, I don't think we would've saved any of them."

I listened to him, horrified. “Does that mean Arachnaman's going to try to up the ante next time? I mean, we all know that supervillains find themselves back on the streets even after they get put away. And we all know that he's going to be pissed as hell. No one's going to keep him from mixing up something even worse than what we've seen here."

"You're a very astute young man, Mr. Eric,” Dr. Dibbs said, smiling. “I like that. You'll go a long way, for sure. But to answer your question, yes. We anticipate that, and while he's locked away, we'll continue to work with the heroes in developing stronger protection as well as antidotes."

"Can I help?"

He laughed, his belly shaking. “Thank you, thank you, but no. We're fine as we are right now, but I'm sure that you'll prove to be one of our most significant allies down the road."

I perked up. “Really? Even without any special powers?"

"What, should you have special powers for you to be an asset to Vintage City?"

I shrugged. “Just wondering. That's all. Well, at least you have one more good guy joining your ranks. Quickshield's with you now, eh?"

"Ah, yes. Him. We're about to get him started on his superhero training. He's a little shy and defensive, but we're trying to get to know him better, and he seems keen on being a part of the group. I doubt if we'll have too many problems with him."

"Yeah. Hope to meet him soon. I mean, formally, that is. He didn't seem to like me the last couple of times we talked, but then again, he was being bullied one time and being laughed at the other time."

"I certainly hope to see you two become good friends soon. Now, let's get on with our Chemistry lessons..."

"I haven't seen or heard from that girl since the accident,” Peter said. “The one I saved, that is."

"I guess that's good,” I said, sighing, as I drew up my knees to my chest and watched the sun sink a little more. “I have a feeling, though, that we'll still hear from her later on. It's not the end of it."

"I'm sure you're right.” Peter draped an arm around my shoulder and fell silent. We sat on an old, tattered blanket, which we'd laid out on my house's rooftop. We'd kind of decided to have a spur-of-the-moment picnic, but since Peter was set to turn into Calais soon and continue to watch over Vintage City, we didn't really have much time to pack something big and special and then drive off somewhere that was more romantic. For the time being, chowing down on tortilla chips and salsa and chasing all those down with sodas right on the rooftop was the best that we could do. At least the rains had stopped, and we'd been enjoying a week of uninterrupted sunshine.

"Well, I suppose if I can't be with you all the time, helping you out in protecting the city, the least I can do is keep an eye out for you online.” I grinned, turning and leaning closer to kiss him. “See? I'm not all that useless."

He kissed me back. A couple of times. Three times, really. “I never said you were, but I want you to stay safe. Being my online guardian angel is good.” He kissed me again. “You know, my birthday's coming up. We should do something."

Oh, God, yeah. “You'll end up filling your day. I'm guessing that you'll have at least half a dozen celebrations. You've got your family, then the superheroes, then my family, then Althea's family, then me. That's what happens when you turn into a superhero and go steady with me."

"I don't mind being spoiled,” he said, dropping his voice to that hot little drawl of his. He knew how it affected me, too, the sneak. Not that I was complaining or anything...

I shifted and moved to straddle his lap. He laughed while I slowly pushed him down on his back while stretching myself out over him. “I feel like spoiling you right now, actually,” I murmured against his mouth. I felt his fingers weave through my hair as he pulled me close. I think we didn't resurface for air or whatever for a good long while. Before he left for “work,” he made me promise not to ditch Grandma Horace and bingo night. Phooey.

Before I went to bed that night, I decided to go online and check his fan site, immediately clicking on the link to the guestbook.

I hate you all. You stupid hacks and wannabe artists. Calais is way better than all that crap you've been vomiting all over this phony site.

I quickly did a screencap of the message and saved it. “Over my dead body, girlfriend,” I muttered. When I refreshed the page, the message was gone. I wondered why the guestbook owner didn't bother to ban her ass. Then again, maybe she'd figured out a way around that.

The day of reckoning finally came, a month and a half after Althea's first bingo hint email. Sucked to be me. I stared at my cards. My vision had gone quadruple at that point. I'd already refilled my coffee, and judging from the fact that I was slowly slipping away from the moment, I couldn't help but suspect that they served decaf at the church's community hall.

OMFG. “Wha...huh?” I spluttered, blinking. “Did they just call out a number?"

"Yeah. He said G 60.” Freddie glanced at my cards. “You've got nothing. Man, did they give you dud cards? I'm rolling in cash, and the night's just started!"

Go Freddie. “I don't care,” I grumbled, yawning for the tenth time in one minute. “I just want to lie on the floor and die."

"Ssshh!” Althea nudged me. She sat on my left, and Freddie sat on my right. Grandma Horace happily played beside Althea, even though she could barely hear a thing and had to depend on her granddaughter to yell the numbers in her ear. “Dude, come on. Don't make it worse on anyone. Shut up."

Across from me, on the wall, hung a pretty large close-up picture of the Pope. I'd say that there was some kind of conspiracy involving seating placement because my chair happened to be directly in his line of sight, so the whole time I languished, I was also being given a major stare-down by the guy who was supposed to be St. Peter's successor or something. If I'd had my way, I'd've sabotaged the lights so that they'd all turn off, and during the confusion, I'd drag a ladder to the wall, climb up it, and turn the stupid picture around. I'd rather look at dead insects getting fossilized on the back paper of a frame than be subjected to the Pope's hollow-eyed glare.

"I can see you, Eric Steven Plath,” he seemed to say to me from across the room. “You don't fool me."

I jerked in my seat. “What? Number?"

"Hey—bingo!” Freddie yelled, jumping up and pumping a fist in the air. I felt myself shrink.

"Oh, look, that's another ten bucks,” I sniffed as one of the bingo officials, or whatever they were called, walked toward Freddie and inspected his card.

"It's fifty, dude,” Freddie crowed, elbowing me. “I'm seriously rolling here!” He paused and looked around before leaning close and whispering, “And I'm not even twenty yet!"

"Better watch it,” I whispered back. “Karma's got a pretty funny way of working sometimes."

He ignored me and got his next card ready. The announcer dude then said, “Oh. I almost forgot to give you guys a break.” He laughed, and the microphone he was talking into shrieked. Around me, poor senior citizens cowered and covered their ears. Beside me, Althea sighed, pointed a finger at the clunky old console that operated the microphone and the big screen that flashed the numbers, and shut it down.

"I hate microphones,” she said, glancing at me. We both looked like hell. Eyes bloodshot and rimmed with shadow, posture drooping and ugly—we were totally Freddie's opposite. We just sat there, drool practically hanging down from our mouths, while he stood up, stretched and cracked a few joints, before hurrying off to get himself a soda.

"I'll treat you to a hot dog, Eric,” he said, slapping my back and nearly sending me toppling forward. Great.

Althea kept Grandma Horace company, holding a conversation with her by yelling in her ear. I watched everyone else move around, refilling their cups or plates and chatting happily. I sighed for the gazillionth time. I don't know. I guess bingo night wasn't too bad. Those folks were having fun, so there must've been something to it. Too bad I just didn't get it at all. Ahead of me, the Pope continued to pin me down with his stare.

"I'm turning Buddhist,” I said, glaring back at him. “And you can't stop me."

"Okay, here you go,” Freddie piped up. A paper plate containing a pretty hefty-looking hot dog cradled in a bun appeared on the table in front of me. “And since you can't really eat that without choking, I decided to treat you to a drink, too."

A cup of soda appeared next to the hot dog. I nodded. “Thanks, Freddie. I owe you a rubbery hot dog and a soda."

"No problem, man. I'm really enjoying this. Thanks for bringing me here.” He took his place next to me, even rubbing his hands as he marveled at the hot dog he got himself. It was covered completely with all kinds of condiments. Judging from the pile, I figured that he loved relish. I mean,
loved
it. Like, he'd probably have sex with it if it weren't illegal. I couldn't even see the hot dog at all. It was just the bun with a pile of relish, onion slices, tomatoes, mustard, and catsup. It was gross.

"And I'm loaded.” His eyes sparkled as he grinned. “Althea, how many times do they have these bingo night things?"

"Um, too often,” Althea grumbled.

"What was that, dear?” Grandma Horace asked.

"Nothing, Grandma!” she yelled back. Althea turned to us. “Ohmigawd, I'm going crazy."

"Don't look at me,” I hissed, staring at my food. “I never said that suffering with you was going to keep you from going insane. Come to think of it, you're already insane. Being here's just redundant."

"Okay, let's go!” Freddie said after taking a gulp of his drink. He pushed his food aside just as the microphone came to life. I turned and glowered at Althea, who shrugged.

"Hey, I can't just take away everyone's fun,” she said, taking up her super bright pink pen. “I don't abuse my powers that way."

I continued to glower at her. “Boy, if your mom could hear you now..."

"All right, ladies and gentlemen,” the bingo announcer guy said after gingerly blowing into the microphone. “I apologize for the sudden equipment malfunction, but it looks like we're back in business. Everyone settle down, and we can move on with the next game."

I took a bite of my hot dog. Beside me, Grandma Horace asked, “What did he say? What?” I stared, glassy-eyed, at my food. I hated to admit this, but rubbery hot dogs weren't too bad.