Slices of Midnight Chapter 10
Pearce isn’t just a spider—he’s a vessel of venomous magic, bound to Marissa by ritual and fate. But his first bite doesn’t just hurt. It rips her open.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to name my new pet spider—or wonder about its gender. He was male. His name was Pearce. And he had called the Isle of Indamar home for over two centuries.
I learned this from a manual tucked inside my alchemy bag—a slim book of barely a hundred pages, detailing his history, his care, and his needs.
Pearce wasn’t just mine. He had always belonged to someone.
Like most spiders, Pearce dined on crickets and other insects—commodities not in short supply within my secret lair.
But feeding him wasn’t as simple as tossing a bug into his jar.
Each meal required preparation. The insects had to be treated with alchemical reagents—sometimes even fed mixtures of their own before Pearce consumed them.
The manual provided meticulous instructions.
The ritual had a purpose.
By digesting reagent-laden prey, Pearce distilled their magic into a venom—one he delivered through his long, terribly sinister fangs. His bite granted his owner short-lived magical abilities.
It didn’t take me long to note the cruel irony of his name.
"Oh, Pearce, be a good boy. Do be gentle." I eyed him warily. "This is Mommy’s first time, you know."
My heartfelt plea did nothing to temper Pearce’s spirit. If anything, it excited him.
Freshly fed, he leapt about in his jar, fangs clicking against the glass. He knew the pattern—magic-fed crickets meant a chance to sink his fangs into human flesh.
I sat cross-legged on the cobbled floor of one of the priory’s secret corridors, the jar resting in my lap beside Maggie and Mr. Beans.
The manual had been clear: Never let Pearce envenom someone near fire, cliffs, or sharp objects—should they thrash about from the venom’s effects.
This empty hallway seemed as safe a place as any for him to do his worst.
I gripped the jar’s lid. Took a deep breath.
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to open it.
According to the manual, a new owner’s first dose of Pearce’s venom granted a glimpse into the realms of the dead.
A previous owner had even sketched a tiny skull beside the recipe—as if I needed more reason to hesitate.
The worst part? I had no idea what glimpsing the dead actually meant.
The only certainty was that Pearce’s bite wouldn’t kill me.
Plenty of other recipes in the manual could handle that, should the need arise.
I sat there for what felt like an eternity, doubts creeping in.
A few hours ago, after hearing Nyomi praise my intelligence and potential, I had been so sure of my future.
Now, staring through the glass at my eight-legged lovely, I wasn’t so sure I had the nerve to take the first step down destiny’s path.
I bit my lip in frustration.
When Waurista was my age, I bet she didn’t hesitate.
Muriel and Morgan would be sorely disappointed if I couldn’t face this first challenge.
It felt like my future was on the line.
The thought of languishing in Dowling forever was what finally pushed me to act.
And when that fateful moment came, it wasn’t courage that did it. It was distraction.
My mind drifted—oddly enough, to Piper Shambling.
I pictured her in my place, trembling at the prospect of Pearce’s bite. I saw her bolting home in tears, seeking comfort in her mother’s arms, in her silver-tongued father’s reassurances.
I could almost hear Prior Shambling’s scornful decree:
"Stay away from that degenerate Marissa Bonifay and her blasphemous ways."
I seethed, comparing Piper’s easy life to my own.
But oddly, the thought comforted me.
Piper would never forge her own way. She would always rely on her father, then her husband—always.
I, on the other hand, had no doting parents.
But fate had given me something better: self-reliance.
A will of iron.
And I refused to yield—to anyone, to anything.
Not to a malefic spider.
Not to the horrors it might bring.
I didn’t hesitate.
I ripped the lid off and thrust my hand inside.
Pearce struck.
Scorching pain ignited through me, racing up my arm, filling my chest, my skull.
The manual said he’d withdraw on his own, but I couldn’t wait. The torment was unbearable.
With a violent jerk, I flung him off—then the convulsions began.
A red haze fell over my vision as I thrashed against the stone floor.
It felt as though the fires of Hell had claimed my veins as their own.
And they had.
Watch for Chapter 11
