22 – i – The Adjustment

The Adjustment wasn’t what people usually considered a normal person. Some people wouldn’t consider her a person at all. Humans tended to feel unnerved in her presence, the same way they might find regular spiders creepy, except intensified by the fact that she was a human-sized spider.

It was a bit lonely, both because she couldn’t easily disguise herself to have normal relations with normal people, and because even other unnaturals tended to avoid her; she didn’t exactly have many confidants. The Eclipse didn’t treat her poorly; she was one of them through and through, but there was just a distance between her and the rest of them.

It was because of that distance that The Adjustment watched with great relief as The Art entered her room with her arms cradling a large bouquet.

“Well, well, well,” The Adjustment said, trying to sit up. “Look who finally stopped by. Thought you forgot about me.”

The Art rushed over and pressed her back against the infirmary bed. “You’ll hurt yourself,” she said, her voice sounding like violin strings. Only when The Adjustment sat back did she turn to the bedside table to drop the flowers into a simple crystal vase, replacing some withered old plants.

“Bah. I’m tougher than I look.” The Adjustment grinned up at The Art. “And I think I look pretty tough.”

“Look pretty, maybe,” The Art said with a note of humor in her voice. She fluffed the flowers for a moment before turning, leaning down to The Adjustment in concern. She ran one of her plastic hands down The Adjustment’s chest, pausing over the missing gap of carapace. “I don’t know about tough. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” The Adjustment blustered. “Better than I look. Might have a little scar in my carapace when it regrows, but nothing vital broke.”

“That person punched a fist through your chest.”

“Eh.” The Adjustment shrugged—or tried to. She had a large brace holding her torso steady so that her exoskeleton would regrow properly. “Honestly? I don’t know what all goes on inside my body. I know more about human anatomy than my own.”

“There are a lot of books on human anatomy,” The Art said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Not so many on the likes of you or me.”

“Speaking of you, how are you doing?” The Adjustment asked, seizing the opportunity to get the conversation off her. “Heard your body got damaged. Is that why you’re all…” She vaguely waved her hand up and down.

The Art was not wearing her usual smooth porcelain body. In its place was something… cheap, looking more like something stolen from a warehouse of crash test dummies. Her blank, empty eyes stared down with no emotion, and those molded lips were frozen in a dorky smile. Bright yellow paint covered most of the plastic, while large black trashbag-like coverings hid where joints would have been—they were probably occupied by The Art’s worm-like tentacles—giving the dummy some resemblance to a bumblebee.

“Damaged is a word to use,” she said with a flute-like scoff. “I don’t know what I did to piss off The Stalker so much, but every time we meet, she comes after me.”

“At least it was just your mannequin.”

“I am quite difficult to put down,” The Art said, somehow straightening her dummy’s back in pride. “Had anyone else been hit with that attack she used, their bones likely would have turned to dust. Quite lethal, The Aeon assured me.”

The Adjustment winced. She wondered if her exoskeleton would have survived. “So your body, the other one, I mean…”

“More like a bucket of sand at the moment. The Hierophant said he would build me a new body, one with some fun toys to use, when he got around to one of his fabrication masks. He has been busy on that project with The Hermit, so I don’t know when that will be.”

“Toys?” The Adjustment asked, wiggling the little plates of carapace that served as her eyebrows. “Sounds exciting. I sure can’t wait.”

“Weapons,” The Art stressed, flicking the center of The Adjustment’s forehead. “Not whatever your demented mind is dreaming up. I think he had an idea for a concealed needle that I could use to take down opponents using some toxin my blood produces. There wasn’t time to ask for details before he had to get back to his project.”

“Should just use a gun,” The Adjustment said, reclining back in her bed. “I know you say you can’t see things at a distance well enough to aim a gun, but maybe he could work on some lenses that fix that or… something.”

“The Hierophant is busy enough as is,” The Art said, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of her hand. She dropped her hand to The Adjustment’s chest, lightly running her finger back and forth over the carapace, carefully avoiding the damaged section. “How long do you think you’ll be out?”

“If you take this brace off, I could be up and at ’em right now!” The Adjustment said with a hearty laugh.

“And how long do you think you’ll be out without the tough-guy attitude?”

“A week before I’m healed enough to take the brace off. Another two after that to be fully normal. All guessed using previous injuries, that is. Don’t know if that other chick has any abilities that would change that.”

The Art nodded. “We’ve learned less than I would have liked.”

“Nothing strange showed up on the autopsy?”

“The Aeon didn’t tell you?” The Art asked, canting her head to one side. “There is no body. They loaded it up for transport, turned around, and when they turned back, the entire gurney was gone. The Hierophant suspects a portal, the same things the maggots are using to invade.”

“I thought the whole point of his project was to put a stop to that.”

“I do not pretend to understand such complex matters, but I gather that this portal was different enough. Its destination was somewhere The Hermit wasn’t expecting, or it was constructed differently.” The Art shrugged. “Whatever was different, it made their countermeasures ineffective.”

“Wow. They had one job…”

“Oh, hush,” The Art said, giving her a light swat again.

“Still, this is trouble, isn’t it? The Puppet has some new heavy hitters.”

“I do not believe your attacker was part of The Puppet. After you were…” The Art rested her hand on The Adjustment’s chest. “I assaulted her, as did The Agent. Neither of us struck at the other—an impromptu truce. The Aeon didn’t tell you?”

“He did. I was referring to The Agent and those others who were there. Heard The Fool is in the infirmary next door because of her. I can’t imagine The Emperor is pleased.”

“Consider yourself lucky you missed out on the dragon’s rage in the debriefing meeting.”

“Lucky?” The Adjustment said, trying to sit up again before The Art forced her back down. “I missed The Emperor blowing up? Did she breathe fire?”

The Art sighed. “The Hanged Man’s suit got singed,” she said with a chuckle that lacked humor. The Adjustment had no such reservations, letting out a loud laugh, clapping her hands together, as The Art continued. “I believe she blames The Church and their bounty for pushing someone into their arms, thankfully, rather than him.”

“Eh. Wasn’t like we could say no to The Church. Wasn’t she the one who begged The Church not to offer the bounty to the other factions?” The Adjustment laughed again. “Maybe if she hadn’t, we might have a new ally.”

“Ought not to mention that to The Emperor,” The Art said with a sly note of humor in her stringed tones, “unless you wish to test your resilience to flame.”

The Adjustment started to laugh, only to realize that The Art probably had a point. The Emperor was still a little baby dragon. Even when she didn’t mean to, she often ended up coughing out a belch of fire. She had not tested her carapace against heat that hot, but given how miserable regular fires were, she didn’t really want to try.

“In any case, it is good to see you well,” The Art said. She stood, reluctantly, leaving her hands trailing off The Adjustment’s chest as she moved. “Unfortunately, I was not significantly injured and thus, cannot spend all my time in the infirmary. The Emperor wants all able hands on deck for the next few days.”

“Tell The Hierophant to put on his alchemist mask again and conjure up some of those restorative draughts. Last time I broke one of my legs, it had me fixed up in a few days.”

“I’ll mention it, but for all I know, he wore that mask last Tuesday and will be unable to don it again until the new year.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s got problems,” The Adjustment waved her off. “We all do.”

The Art tilted her head, doing her best to affect a smile without malleable lips. “I’ll visit again when I am able. Rest well, little Muffet.”

The Adjustment grabbed the vase from the bedside table, lightly pulled the flowers out of it, then flung the vase across the room. It shattered against the wall next to the door, just as The Art shut it behind her. She could hear those string-like vocals laugh all the way down the hall.

Huffing back against the bed, The Adjustment brought the flowers up to her face. She didn’t have a nose, but she did have tiny sensilla dotted around the pedipalps hiding just beneath her chin.

They smelled longing.

---

“You’re looking much better today!”

The Adjustment stretched, twisting her torso back and forth. She moved with care; the newly grown chitin was still soft and tender in places, yet to fully harden. “Feels good to be out of that brace at least.”

The Eclipse’s retained medical doctor, a little man by the name of Reginald Davies VI, offered a cheerful nod as he gestured for The Adjustment to take a seat on the examination table. “Now,” he said as he placed his stethoscope to his ears, “anything still bothering you? No odd feelings or anything? Deep breaths!”

He slapped the listening end of the stethoscope to her chest, leaving The Adjustment entirely unsure if she was supposed to answer his questions or just breathe so he could hear whatever he was going to hear. That left her with a shudder in her breath before she decided to breathe once, then speak.

“Mostly fine. I can feel a molt coming on, so I’m going to be a bit sensitive for a day or two.”

“Ah! Excellent to hear,” Reginald said as he slid the stethoscope elsewhere on her chest. He paused to listen before moving around to her back and placing it somewhere just below the long legs that grew from near her spine—or where her spine would have been had she possessed one. “Shedding your exoskeleton at this point will help the uniformity of newly grown portions. Not only will that strengthen the overall structure, but it will keep your glossy black chitin looking healthy and cohesive.”

“So no scarring?”

“Well… perhaps at first.” He dropped his stethoscope back around his neck as he pulled up a little device, rectangular with a large lens on one end, pointed with a bright light on the other. “Another molt or two and I’m sure any evidence will fade. Open wide, let’s see those chelicerae.”

The Adjustment did so, and Reginald practically dove into her open maw. Though shorter than the average human by almost half—he had to use a step ladder to reach her—he wasn’t quite small enough to fit in her mouth. Still, he didn’t have any hesitation or reservation about performing his checkup despite her appearance.

As far as she knew, Reginald was a mortal human. He wasn’t some odd genius or a mage, nor did he possess psychic talents or a cursed doctor’s bag. He was just some guy. If she were being fully honest, she wasn’t sure he was an actual doctor. Even if he was, she wasn’t sure what qualifications he had to tend to something like her. Did he study arachnids? Or was she human enough?

He was the only doctor The Eclipse had. Well, occasionally, The Hierophant would don the mask of a physician or surgeon, but that could not be relied upon. The Hierophant’s surgeon mask had terrible bedside manners as well. In an emergency, The Hierophant could force a mask, but if he had already chosen a mask for the day, it could not be swapped out until midnight. It was Reginald’s duty to keep people alive until then.

“Do you brush regularly?” Reginald asked with a slight frown, finally pulling back from her mouth. “Floss?”

“I polish my fangs twice a day. I don’t have teeth to floss.”

“You have small serrations along the base of your chelicerae. They help you grip food. And you’ve got a bit of food stuck between some of them.”

The Adjustment felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. Chitin did not flush like human skin did, thankfully, leaving a few twitches in her legs as the only evidence of her sudden emotional flux. “It isn’t that easy, okay?” she snapped. “You try finding a flossing option that doesn’t snap. Even tried some fancy Kevlar no-break stuff that broke instantly the moment I put a little pressure on it.”

“Fair enough. Still, it is something to watch out for. Wouldn’t want any infections from bacteria buildup in excessive plaque. Maybe if we try… Hm…” He rubbed his chin for a moment. “I’ll look around and see if I find any options.”

“Sounds good. Am I good to go now?” The Adjustment said, wanting to go brush away whatever food she had stuck to her. She had a meeting with The Emperor after this; appearing before The Emperor in a sloppy state might just get a gust of fire spewed in her direction.

“Not at all. Turn your head a bit, lean toward me. Let’s get a look at those trichobothria.”

“My ears are fine, Doctor. I was injured in my chest, not my head.”

“Ah-ah,” he tutted. “You skipped your last three checkups. You never know when something odd might pop up that is an early indicator of future problems. Always best to catch those as soon as possible.”

“But my ears? You’re always going on about my ears.”

“Trichobotria are typically found on the legs of spiders, but yours are on your head. Odd, isn’t it?”

“Everything about me is odd.”

“True. You have hair—”

“Lots of spiders have hair,” The Adjustment said, running a hand through the stiff black hair on her head.

“They have bristles. Yours is more like a cross between hair and bristles. You’ve got a tongue, but no teeth. You’ve got a spinneret, but at the tips of your extraneous legs. You’ve got an epigyne, but no—”

“Doctor, please,” The Adjustment said, standing. “I have a meeting to attend. You can do your checkup next time.”

Reginald planted his hands on his hips. “You’ll skip next time.”

“Maybe,” The Adjustment said, hurrying toward the door. “Maybe I’ll surprise you!”

“That’ll be the day,” he called out just as The Adjustment shut the door behind her.

The Adjustment hurried away. Reginald’s office and her apartment were a mere floor apart, both located inside the tallest skyscraper within Chicago that served as The Eclipse’s primary headquarters. The Emperor’s office and living quarters were a few floors up—not at the very top, as mundane businesses and tourists used the space—but high enough to impress anyone who visited.

Not everyone had a living space inside the building. It was mostly her, The Art, and The Tower. The people who couldn’t easily pass for human. They had a whole few floors to themselves with all normal people denied entry—if they were even aware of the floors at all; the building plans said the floors were empty and for lease, but the regular elevators didn’t even stop at these floors. There were some general quarters where others could stay if they needed; otherwise, they all lived out in the city in various apartments, townhouses, or wherever else people lived.

After a brief few moments of tidying herself up in her room, The Adjustment took their private lift up to The Emperor’s floor. The elevator opened to a large open area, a few sofas and tables acting as clutter, not too different from what any mundane business might have. The receptionist—or secretary or whatever he was—looked up from his computer behind a small desk.

“Welcome. One moment, please,” the receptionist said. The Adjustment couldn’t remember his name—it seemed like someone new filled the spot every six months, so she never bothered, not to mention there were at least three of them at once, all working different shifts. Whatever the case, all the receptionists were aware of the supernatural, acting as The Emperor’s cultists… although The Eclipse didn’t like that term.

Traditionally, both Reginald and this receptionist were considered cultists. Cultist was too archaic for the modern Eclipse. The word implied reverence or worship and had unpleasant connotations. It was too heavy a word to use for a mortal who was simply aware of the supernatural and worked with supernatural beings.

That said, if The Emperor wanted them to use some other term, she should have put one forward.

“The Emperor will see you now,” the receptionist said after a brief call into the other room.

“Sounds good,” The Adjustment said, not knowing what else to say to the man as she slipped past through the large double doors into The Emperor’s office.

The Emperor sat at her desk, looking like she was trying to look casual despite being stressed out of her wits. She wore a rather simple silver blazer, not one of her fancier suits that she wore when meeting important people. The Adjustment didn’t take it as a slight so much as a sign of familiarity.

“Morning, boss.”

“Good morning,” she said, almost robotically. “Good to see you moving about again.”

That, or some variation of it, had practically been the first thing out of everyone’s mouth as of late. The Adjustment forced a smile. “Almost good as new,” she said. “You wanted to see me?”

“Correct. I have a task that I believe aligns well with your skills. The Liar’s group.”

The Adjustment frowned, slowly nodding. “You want them gone? Or just talked to?”

“The Liar’s latest report indicates that things are not as dire as they might have seemed the night of your unfortunate incident. However, she does not believe that she alone can steer the group anymore.” The Emperor, still sitting, leaned to the side and dabbled a bit with her computer. “I’m sending the relevant reports to your phone. As for what to do about them, given that the situation is not as severe as first believed, you may choose to go about this as you will. All I will say is that assets are valuable, but not if they are in danger of being stolen away. Understood?”

The Adjustment drew in a small breath. “It isn’t going to be easy. Wouldn’t someone unknown work better?”

“You have reason to work with them,” The Emperor said, giving a pointed look at the still-soft chitin in the center of The Adjustment’s chest. “Moreover, as per The Liar’s reports, we believe they would be more amenable if we reveal some details on The Hermit’s project. I’ve also sent you details that might help regarding that, and will leave it up to you whether or not to reveal it.”

The Adjustment frowned, then shrugged. What that meant would either become clear once she read the reports, or she would come back, asking The Emperor to quit with the roundabout way of talking. Did she fear someone was listening in or something?

Whatever.

“Do I get backup?” The Adjustment asked.

“Who did you have in mind?”

“The Art.”

“And the two of you would work, not just lie in bed together?”

“Please. We’re not that bad.”

The Emperor gave her a disbelieving stare. “If there are no results in short order, I will be placing The Art—not you—on sewer duty.”

The Adjustment grimaced, recoiling slightly. “Understood,” she said.

“Good. Then you are dismissed.”