Moon Rise

"It was a favor for a friend," Arachne said dismissively, and she glanced up from the bank of computers she was furiously typing into. "I owed a favor and putting them in that night was paying it off. I wasn't pleased that they decided to entrance the audience with Regs in the club that night, which is why you won't ever be seeing them here on Mix nights again. But the upside with their skill was that it affected everyone so no one took advantage of the humans being too distracted by the siren's song. Could you imagine if the Crypti patrons lost their inhibitions but retained enough will to feed? It would have been a disaster!"

"There was still a death that night," I reminded her softly, respectfully.

"Yes. Yes, of course, Tempest, you're so right. I'm sorry if I seem callous to your plight, it's not that at all. I'm so sorry if the use of their abilities without warning had anything to do with your loss of... your dinner companion."

"My loss of control, you mean to say," I said bitterly.

Arachne was an odd Crypti when it came to the subject of Integration; Crypti blending with humans. She believed that it was necessary for continued survival, and that our relationships could be more symbiotic than parasitic, but at her core she was still what she was; an old world Goddess who saw the humans as either dinner at worst or a beloved family pet at best.

"As you like," the old spider said gently, and I saw her briefly in her alternate form, like a shadow image superimposed over the human shell she was currently projecting, a large spider forever weaving her webs, as she'd been cursed to do by Athena eons before. She turned back to the bank of computer monitors in front of her, each surveying something different; security footage, social networking sites, wikis on something or other, a YouTube tutorial on a new type of yarn for knitting, google maps... "If there isn't anything else, Tempest?"

"Who was the favor for?" I asked as I stepped to the door of her office, readying to leave. "If you don't mind my asking, my lady?"

She shrugged and began typing on one of several keyboards lying about. "Ask away. It was at the request of an out of state gentleman I used to know eons ago. He currently goes by Hector Jimeros. But I once knew him by another name." She paused in all of her typing and looked over her shoulder at me, her large eyes black, inky orbs devoid of any whiteness. "His given name is Himeros. He was once the one prayed to by those who loved but were never loved in return."

"A god of unrequired love?" I murmered. "Seems odd company to keep, m'lady," I observed.

"Is it now?" Arachne asked, and when she blinked, I swore I saw more than one set of eyes blink at me from behind her cute little black cat-eye glasses. She eloquently shrugged and turned back to her screens, her inky black fifties pony tail bobbing behind her, the curled bangs just caressing the delicate sweep of her brows. "Just because I project an image similar to what I once was, little one, does not mean that is who or what I am any longer. Nor would I wish to consign myself to anyone that would see only that façade. And often that can lead to one-sided feelings. Surely you know a bit about that?"

Oh, Jesus Christ on a goddamn pogostick, did I ever. One of the problems with always leading a double life in my fantasy games, at work... everywhere, really, was that I was always showing only the best possible side of who and what I was, fearing to let anyone see what lay beneath. Because once they saw what lay beneath the soft skin, the fiery hair and gemstone green eyes, they ran. They ran fast and far, and left me holding my heart, still beating in my fist, proffering it before me, like an unwanted trinket, an obnoxious tchotchke from a spoiled love affair. I'd learned eons ago not to tell my human partners what I was; that was a quick trip to some well-meaning priest's private torture chamber to be symbolically purged. But, even with my own kind, I was hiding. Hiding who I was, where I was from, who I was birthed by. And those Elders that had rank and cause to know my truth just gave me that same pitying look that Arachne now gave me, but hers was also a mix of empathy. She did understand. Too well.

She swiveled her office chair again, and now she held no glamor between us. She was an elegant creature, really, if you weren't an arachnophobiac. I didn't love spiders, myself, but Arachne had known me since I was a child and I didn't fear her. In fact, if I was honest, there were more than a few fond memories of her teaching me to crochet, knit, weave and waking up from naptime as a child in a hammock made from her own spider silk. I know, it sounds far more grotesque that it was. Really. Promise. It was like being tucked in to bed by a favorite aunt. Not at all like being wrapped up by Shelob for supper later... I swear! And it wasn't as sticky as you imagine.

"If you want to contact Hector and ask him why this band, this night, you may, of course," the giant rosey-furred eight legged beast before me said in Arachne's calm voice and she extended a card to me. It had the name and phone number of the man in question, including his title of talent scout and agent. "But I honestly do believe it was a matter of his needing to book them somewhere in the Pacific Northwest to round out their tour schedule. They moved on to Victoria, British Columbia soon after." I took the card and gave her a grateful smile. On the back, however, I saw another number.

"What's this one for?" I asked curiously.

"Oh! His personal assistant, in case he didn't answer right away. Can't recall the young man's name. Sorry, my dear."

"No, thank you. You've been more help than I could have hoped. I appreciate it, my lady." I took a step to the door and then remembered my other reason for this trip. "Oh, may I ask on other favor?" She arched that dark brow at me again, her lips pursed in an almost amused reluctance. But she tilted her head and waited. "Is there cameras in the bar?"

"Of course." She clicked a few buttons and I got a good look at the writhing bodies on the dance floor in the club below, patrons at the bar, the tonight's band, some cute Imagine Dragon's cover band for Reg night. It was a deep irony. I had it on good authority those guys were Crypti. Dragonkin, of course. If I recalled correctly more than a couple of them earned their bardic titles hundreds of years ago. I could see the whole club and bar. "This is amazing!" I gasped, leaning over and looking close at the split screens showing all areas of the premises. "Would you be willing to make me a copy of that night?"

"You WANT photographic proof you were with this Regular boy before he died? Tempest, darling, I would have thought you smarter."

"It's also proof when I was last seen with him, he was alive. And I need to just... really closely at what HE was doing that night... and who else might have been watching besides you."

She began typing commands into her keyboard, and then stuck a thumb drive into her system, downloaded the files from that date, then pulled the portable memory stick out and handed it to me. I took it with a deep bow of respect and confidence, trying to ignore that it was not her primary arms which handed me the item, but one of her extra limbs. "Thank you so much, Auntie A," I said, calling her the name I used to when I was young and innocent. She paused and I actually saw her multiple eyes look a sad and touched with nostalgic emotion. "You're the best. Thank you."

With a nod, she was once more the image of a lovely mid-forties woman dressed in a cute off the shoulder striped top and pencil skirt, looking ever so much like she planned to hit a pin up girl photoshoot later after work. She winked and smiled behind her cat eye spectacles and went back to her massive bank of monitors, getting lost in the world of her interwebs.