“Widow McDonald.”
She rose from her seat in the middle of the room. She was repeating over and over in her head the speeches of Lord Recluse that were usually on repeat throughout Grandville. She concentrated her entire mind on that, so much so that she tripped on someone’s boot and stumbled forward through the aisle, to sprawl at the Fortunata’s feet. Snickers were all around the room.
I’m going to kill that fucking spider bastard that tripped me–
“Widow,” snapped the Fortunata, knowing that was the thought in her mind. JoAnne got to her feet and tried to brush off the knees of her uniform.
We work together as a team, Widow. What happened with your punishment with the – ah. I see.
The Fortunata saw the result before JoAnne could put a damper on it. Even if she could, she and the Fortunata knew that anyone with any power could plow through that protection. JoAnne was prepared with a bribe.
This Fortunata wore the usual mask, so she couldn’t see her face, only hear in her mind. What you offer is sufficient. Please leave it in the usual place.
JoAnne hid back her shock – she was good at that. She had lowballed it, and it was acceptable? She wasn’t about to ask questions, so she headed back to her seat, again repeating the oaths, more for protecting herself against the other widows in the room. She paid attention to the floor this time, and got to an empty seat – not her original one. She didn’t care; she sat down.
The Fortunata called up others. The spiders leered at her, some of the banes – male and female – did too. She noted their faces. She would note their names on a piece of paper if they were called up to face the Fortunata. If not, she would remember their faces, burned into her memory like the faces of Jongolay, the first bastard who held her down with the spider legs and tore her widow costume from her body when she was just learning basic widow training. He was of a much higher rank and abused that privilege.
However, widows often took care of their own. She wasn’t the first one he’d done that to. When a Fortunata saw it, she immediately left the room and reported it. It went up the chain of command, supposedly to Ghost Widow, who allegedly took care of Jongolay himself. He was never on the rolls again, having disappeared.
When the last person – a male Fortunata in training – was called up, the Fortunata rose, and everyone did also. She swept out of the room first, and everyone gave her two beats to get clear, then they all bolted. JoAnne tucked the paper in her shoulder, the only pocket she actually had other than for the blades, and followed them all out.
One of the spiders was watching her – she hadn’t caught his name – and soon his group of three spiders and two banes were watching her. They started to follow. She took two steps and turned around to face them. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah,” said one, his voice deep and gravelly. He was huge, pumped up on the backpack and probably extra steroids. “Come in the other room here and bend over that thar desk.”
More snickers. Her face grew hot. “Fuck you.” She started away.
She knew he was going to reach for her, so she disappeared, and turned sideways, against the wall. She quietly flattened herself there, while the spider’s legs worked wildly to try and find her. A bane was coming toward her, his hand out feeling against the wall. They’d brush her in a minute. She turned and stabbed his forearm through with a blade, pinning it to the drywall. He screamed, she appeared, and the spider lunged for her.
She dove to the floor, kicking hard at his knee. It was armored, so she got more pain than he did. He grabbed her leg and pulled her across the linoleum toward him. He grabbed at her other leg, but she kicked hard, at the same time aiming a blade right at the bastard’s head. She fired – it missed, slicing across his helmet. He wrenched her ankle and twisted savagely, then continued to pull. She screamed as the pain ran up her leg almost seemingly right into her brain.
Let her go.
The voice wasn’t spoken. It was in all their minds. It was a cold, ruthless voice, one that brokered no argument. Then, she saw the source for the voice – a man, or she thought was a man, in a typical spider uniform with the backpack. Except, this one’s spider’s arms weren’t moving, searching, like the other ones were. And this man had a powered-up mace to the spider’s head.
The spider dropped JoAnne. A couple of other widows helped her up, but she couldn’t stand on that leg. Someone was getting her boot off, and they carried her away in a fireman’s carry. The last thing she saw was that man who looked like he wore a skull under that helmet, still standing perfectly still with that mace to the man’s head.
They got her to the infirmary, did X-rays, confirmed the break. “You can either pay for one of our healers, or try and find one yourself,” the nurse said. “Or, of course, go the natural course.”
“And stay laid up here? No thanks.”
“I’ll put it in a cast and give you a shot to ignore the pain so you can get home without the indignity of a pair of crutches. After that, you’re on your own.” She walked out of the room, and came back with a huge needle. “This will make you feel like you’re invincible. It’ll only last half an hour. Don’t dilly-dally. Go right home and make sure you’re near something soft when it ends.” She took out a small bag and poured assorted bottles into it. “Vicodin, and lots of it, to last for 30 days. If you haven’t gotten a healer in 30 days, go back to one of the Arachnos forts – not a hospital! – and we’ll reset the cast, check it over again. Think you got it? Instructions are in the bag anyway. Here you go.”
She pushed it through the IV, and waited. Indeed, suddenly, JoAnne thought she could rule the world. But a part of her said straight home. Where was home? Maybe the weird Dean at the academy wouldn’t mind her and Alphonse staying there for a while…
Words: 1089
Comment: After Alphonse and Widow Jo first meet.