The Web by Jonathan Kellerman Page B

happy. All my
guests adapt well to close quarters and many of them achieve
amazing longevity—my
Lycosa
’s ten years old, and
some spiders live double or triple that
amount. .   .   . Am I boring you?”
    “No,” said Robin. Her eyes were wide and it didn’t seem
like fear. “They’re all impressive, but
Emma .   .   . her size.”
    “Yes.” He walked quickly to a tank in the last row. Larger
than the others, at least twenty gallons. Inside, several
rocks formed a cave that shadowed a wood-chip floor.
    “My brontosaurus,” he said. “His ancestors probably
did
coexist with the dinosaurs.”
    Pointing to what seemed to be an extension of the rock.
    I stayed back, looking, steeling myself for another
heart-stopping movement.
    Nothing.
    Then it was
there.
Without moving. Taking shape
before my eyes:
    What I’d thought to be a slab of rock was organic. Extending out
of the cave.
    Flat bodied, segmented. Like a braided brown leather
whip.
    Seven, eight inches long.
    Legs on each segment.
    Antennae as thick as cello strings.
    Twitching antennae.
    I moved further back, waiting for Moreland to play the
pellet game.
    He put his face up against the glass.
    More
slithered out of the cave.
    At least a foot long. Spikes at the tail end quivered.
    Moreland tapped the glass, and several pairs of
feet pawed the air.
    Then, a lunging motion, a sound like snapping fingers.
    “What .   .   . is it?” said Robin.
    “The giant centipede of East Asia. This one stowed
away on one of the supply boats last year—Brady’s as a
matter of fact. I obtain a lot of my specimens that way.”
    I thought of our ride on
The Madeleine.
Sleeping
below deck, wearing only bathing trunks.
    “He’s significantly more venomous than most spiders,” he
said. “And I haven’t named him yet. Haven’t quite trained
him to love me.”
    “How venomous is significant?” I said.
    “There’s only one recorded fatality. A seven-year-old
boy in the Philippines.
The most common problem is secondary infection, gangrene.
Limb loss can occur.”
    “Have you ever been bitten?” I asked.
    “Often.” He smiled. “But only by human children who
didn’t wish to be vaccinated.”
    “Very impressive,” I said, hoping we were through. But
another pellet was between Moreland’s fingers, and before I
knew it another corner of mesh had been drawn back.
    No dangling this time. He dropped the food into the
centipede’s cage from a one-foot height.
    The animal ignored it.
    Moreland said, “Have it your way,” and refastened the
top.
    He headed up the central aisle and we were right behind
him.
    “That’s it. I hope I haven’t repulsed you.”
    “So your nutritional research is about them,” I said.
    “Primarily. They have much to teach us. I also study
web patterns, various other things.”
    “Fascinating,” said Robin.
    I stared at her. She smiled from the corner of her
mouth. Her hand had warmed. Her fingers began tickling my
palm, then dropped. Crawling down my inner wrist.
    I tried to pull away but she held me fast. Full smile.
    “I’m glad you feel that way, dear,” said Moreland.
“Some people are repelled. No telling.”
       
    Later, in our suite, I tried to extract revenge by
coming up behind her as she removed her makeup and lightly
scratching her neck.
    She squealed and shot to her feet, grabbing for me, and we
ended up on the floor.
    I got on top and tickled her some more.
“Fascinating?
All of a sudden I’m living with
Spiderwoman
? Shall we begin
a new
hobby
when we get back?”
    She laughed. “First thing, let’s learn the recipe for those
pellets. .   .   . Actually, it
was
fascinating,
Alex. Though now that I’m out of there, it’s starting to feel creepy
again.”
    “The
size
of some of them,” I said.
    “It wasn’t a typical evening, that’s for sure.”
    “What do you think of our host?”
    “Mucho eccentric. But courtly. Sweet.”
    “Dear?”
    “I don’t mind that from him. He’s