“Gramps?” she looked around. Nothing. “Sherlock? Freida?” Nothing.
She then checked her satchel. The shape of the music box was there, but she opened it anyway and took it out, making sure it was all right. It was. Not even so much as a scuff. The music played as sweetly as ever.
“Where am I?” She scanned her surroundings. The grass only grew in patches because she was near a large mountain. One that stretched much higher than an Earth mountain. It wasn’t as tall as Mount Everest, but she reckoned it was close.
Not only was there no sign of her family, but there was also no sign of any civilization for as far as the eye could see. No towns, no villages, no rivers—didn’t Gramps say Ashbourne was a fishing village? She thought he did.
The portal still hadn’t closed. Maria put the music box back in the satchel and made sure it was securely closed, then she stood up with one hand on the hilt of her sword—the same hilt that had driven pretty hard into her side upon landing. Maybe she had to go through the portal again before it closed. Maybe something malfunctioned, and Gramps and the rest of them were still in the living room.
As she approached the portal, though, the blackness within shimmered. The sound of breaking glass filled Maria’s ear as something exploded through the portal. She brought her left hand up to shield her face while her right hand unsheathed the sword.
“MARIAAAAAA!” a horrible voice said.
Maria moved her hand away. From the portal stretched a spider leg as thick as the stump of an oak tree. It ended in a razor sharp point, as if sharpened by whetstone. From the leg came bristly black hairs that were as long as Maria’s middle finger.
“GIVE ME BACK WHAT IS MINE!” that voice said. Then the leg lashed out at her, seemingly coming for her heart.
It almost made Maria freeze.
Almost.
With one quick motion, Maria swung the blade. The metal was so light in her hand that her muscles hardly strained, and the gleaming silver looked like a fan rotating at a thousand miles per hour.
The edge connected with the hard flesh of the spider leg with a clink.
Just like Malakai, she thought bitterly.
Whoever the leg belonged to screamed shrilly at the top of their lungs. Maria had cut the leg clean off. It tumbled from the portal onto the scrubby grass right in front of Maria’s feet.
The nub pulled back through the portal, and the portal snapped closed with a crackling fzzzt.
Maria took a step back from the writhing leg, her sword held up in front of her, just in case. She’d seen enough horror movies to know not to let her guard down.
But nothing happened. The spider leg didn’t magically sprout a body or jagged teeth—nothing like that. Instead, it just fizzled and crackled, much like the portal had done. Then it disintegrated right before Maria’s eyes; Malakai’s body had done the same thing.
“The Widow,” Maria said softly to herself. She prodded the ground with her sword in the spot where the leg had been. All she stabbed was dirt. The immediate danger was gone. Now she had to worry about where the rest of her group had gone.
She sheathed her sword and turned around. As she did, a scream rippled through the air, followed closely by barking.
“Sherlock!?” Maria shouted back. She took off running in the direction of the sound.
Maria found Gramps, Freida, and Sherlock under a nearby tree. It was mostly bare of leaves. The ones that had been shed were on the ground, deep purple and fiery red. Not like fall in Ohio, that’s for sure.
Gramps was half-laying, half-sitting against the tree trunk. Frieda knelt next to him, holding his hand. Sherlock was licking his face.
“Gramps!” Maria shouted and sprinted the rest of the distance, leaves crumbling under her soles.
“He is all right,” Freida said. “Took a nasty spill when we came out of the portal.”
One look at Gramps, and she knew it was more than that. His white and gray hair was all frazzled, his long beard twisted, with twigs and bits of leaves stuck in it. On his forehead was a deep gash.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes and moaned.
“Gramps, are you okay?”
He brought a hand up to the gash, touching it gently. As he brought his fingers away and looked at them, he moaned again. They were sticky with blood.
“What happened?”
Frieda answered. “Interference. Something dark tried to reroute us.”
Maria nodded. “I think I know exactly what that something dark was.”
“Arachnid,” Gramps answered.
“Not just any Arachnid… The Widow.” Maria shivered. “Don’t worry, I cut off one of her legs.”
Gramps’s eyes shot wide open. “You saw her? Oh, you poor dear. I’m so sorry. I knew I should’ve never brought you along; we haven’t even faced the dragon. Oh, my—”
“Relax, Gramps,” Maria said, grabbing his hand. “I handled myself pretty well. Me: one. The Widow: Minus one…leg.” She winked.
It took a moment for Gramps’s stern look to melt into a smile, but eventually it did. He tried to stand up without much success. Maria and Frieda had to help steady him, but he got there mostly on his own. From his robe, he pulled out the same wand he’d used in Dominion, examining it closely.
“All good. I’d hate to break another wand,” he said.
“Exactly why I don’t use them,” Frieda replied.
“Yeah, but I don’t think I could handle flames as well as I could handle a wand. Much respect to you for taking the harder road.”
Frieda smiled, and Maria thought she might’ve even blushed a little.
Oooh, it’s like me and Claire, Sherlock said with a wink.
“Cool it,” Maria answered. She cleared her throat and Gramps and Frieda stopped goggling each other and turned to look at Maria. Freida’s pale skin was quite flushed. “Sorry,” Maria said. “I was just wondering where the town was.” She looked up in the sky, shielding
