Sylvus weaves a contract:one of the advanced, metaphysical abilities of Arachnoids. I read a description of how they work once—Arachnoids craft most of the binding contracts that make the ICSS go ‘round—and after sixteen pages I was more confused than when I started.
The best my human brain can do is conceive of it as a magical contract that can’t be broken. It also safeguards against deception and ulterior motives during the contract-making process. These aren’t tricky wordplay contracts—they’re bound to intent, to the spirit of the agreement, via the consciousness energy of each party in the contract. At least, when they’re made by a skilled Arachnoid.
Andromeda says Sylvus is the best.
If she trusts him, that’s good enough for me.
On the restaurant table, Sylvus presents me and Razul with a circular panel of silk. Impossible colors scintillate through it, like a rainbow made of stardust. I place my palm against it, and Razul does too.
I gasp as a strange sensation fills my mind. My eyes flutter shut, and it’s as if I’m standing before a shining golden sphere. Warm energy arcs off it like solar flares. The image cracks and twists in kaleidoscopic fragments.
Time feels strange—I see flickers of memories that can’t have already happened. It’s as if the contract’s magic is testing me, seeing how I’d react to different scenarios. The images are vivid as they happen but disappear quickly, like a dream that vanishes a moment after waking up, leaving you without memory of what happened, only the ghost of how it felt.
I open my eyes.
There’s a warm sensation around my wrist, and rainbow light that resembles the silk forms an abstract filigree under my skin, like a ghostly bracelet. The same shines on Razul’s wrist, then slowly fades.
Oh, this was a very, very,verybad idea. I am going to fall head over heels for this gorgeous, strange male, and then it’s going to end, like everything always does.
But for once, it might be worth it.
I muster my courage. “So, next is the… transformation?”
Andromeda squeezes my hand. “You’re going to be just fine.”
I’m not sure whether it makes me feel better or worse that the transformation is temporary. It would be a relief to just have it over with. To just be Razul’s hucow from now on and hope for the best.
But there’s something about Razul… I think if he merely tolerated me, it might break me. I need him to want me.
Exactly the reason to run in the opposite direction. And yet, here I am.
Andromeda climbs into Sylvus’s arms, and Razul extends a hand to me.
I stare at him blankly.
“Unless you’d rather walk.”
Oh.Oh. I tentatively take his hand. It’s warm and rough andgigantic. Mine barely spans his palm.
Then suddenly I’m in his arms. His warmth surrounds me, laced with the scent of incense and spice.
Razul is quiet as we walk. I just listen to the sound of his breathing and try not to think about what happens next.
Sylvus leads us through the city along a winding array of branches and silk and wooden platforms to one of his houses. The way Andromeda says ‘one of’ implies Sylvus has a lot of them.
The house is even more three-dimensional than the rest of the city. Everything is made of silk, which forms connecting tubes and chambers that weave around each other. Art objects and paintings decorate the walls, and I even spot a few Earth artifacts, which isextremelyillegal.
As we enter a moderately sized chamber, its purpose is immediately clear. Milking equipment hangs on the far side of the room, looped over silk hangers and tucked into cubbies: steel motors, glass tanks, polymer attachments…
Sylvus sets Andromeda just outside the room and says something quietly to her, and she nods and clambers over the silk, going wherever he told her to.
The Arachnoid then fiddles with the milking equipment, getting it connected.
“It’s here if you want it,” he says to Razul. “But you don’t need to use it.”
When Sylvus is satisfied, he comes back over. I peek out from around Razul’s massive bicep.
“I need to bind her now,” Sylvus says.
