VERSE
Arachnid
Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode
“Reach out, touch faith
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who’s there
Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believer”
Stretching the laced stockings up her milky thighs
Alexa stands up straight
Slowly circles her head counterclockwise
There’s a crack in her neck
She smiles
Hits the spot
She looks at her glass cabinet
Rows of exotic vials
Cold presses and distillations from the Surrey and Siberian biodomes
The latest — the Black Orchid — complements the White Eden
for high altitude.
Known to be potent with an arachnid venom
better than Putin’s Novichok.
Fragrant, muted poison, untraceable.
Tonight is different
She selects Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium
and sprays between her thighs
behind her ears
and lower back where
her lace underwear meets her tailbone
Tonight she isn’t there to socialize.
“Take second best
Put me to the test
Things on your chest
You need to confess
I will deliver
You know I’m a forgiver
Reach out, touch faith
Reach out, touch faith”
Dressed in a black turtleneck and cashmere suit
She puts on a high collared black bear fur coat
A welcome back gift from the President
“I knew you’d return” he said in a coded message.
Like I have a choice, she thinks to herself.
Spasibo prezident, K vashim uslugam she relayed a coded reply.
Her Black Badge Ghost sits purring, waiting and ready
Olivier stands waiting holding Ouroboros
“Finally, Olivier, the one thing I’ve actually missed.”
“That’s not true, Padrona. I’m sure there are others too, like people.” He smiles and hands her her 9mm luger.
“Go easy with that. It’s been innocent for some time,” he place it gently in her hand.
“You, Olivier, can be such a grandfather. You know I only use this as a last resort unlike someone we know.”
“Well, that’s his specialty. Yours is yours, his is his. Be nice. Besides he is the best at his game.”
“He’s tactical, I’m a forgiver, Olivier. You know that,” she gives him a sly smile as she slides into Diablo II.
“Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who’s there
Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believer
I will deliver
You know I’m a forgiver”
She arrives at the safehouse.
“This place is a fucking fortress now, Olivier.”
“Language, Alexandria. Language.”
She sees His Diablo V.
That Mulliner Batur ought to be mine, she smiles to herself.
Maybe next round.
He must be planning a new covert. Busy man.
The solid bronze entrance opens, leading into a labyrinth.
Deep in the heart of the fortress a series of bulletproof doors open.
One after another she struts through in her black heels as all the gentlemen gently bow.
Dobro pozhalovat’ obratno, padrona
Spasibo
The final one opens. Standing by the fire with an entourage of men, a familiar figure stands holding a vial in a protected casing — The Black Orchid. Her homework.
“Welcome back Alexa. We’ve been waiting.”
Spasibo prezident
From the Padrona Alexandria Gustav series:
