Except, he knew, somewhere deep inside, she would.
Human beings do not like being pushed about by gods. They may seem to, on the surface, but somewhere on the inside, underneath it all, they sense it, and they resent it. They know. Spider could tell her to be happy about the situation, and she would be happy, but it would be as real as painting a smile on her face—a smile that she would truly believe, in every way that mattered, was her own. In the short term (and until now Spider had only ever thought in the short term) none of this would be important, but in the long term it could only lead to problems. He didn’t want some kind of seething, furious creature, someone who, though she hated him way down deep, was perfectly placid and doll-like and normal on the surface. He wanted Rosie.
And that wouldn’t be Rosie, would it?
Spider stared out of the window at the glorious waterfall and the tropical sky beyond it, and Spider began to wonder when Fat Charlie would come knocking on his door. Something had happened this morning in the restaurant, and he was certain that his brother knew more about it than he was saying.
After a while, he got bored with waiting, and wandered back into Fat Charlie’s flat. There was nobody there. The place was a mess—it looked like it had been turned upside down by trained professionals. Spider decided that, in all probability, Fat Charlie had messed the place up himself to indicate how upset he was that Spider had beaten him in their fight.
He looked out of the window. There was a police car parked outside beside a black police van. As he watched, they drove away.
He made himself some toast, and he buttered it and ate it. Then he walked through the flat, carefully closing all the curtains.
The doorbell rang. Spider closed the last of the curtains, then he walked downstairs.
He opened the door and Rosie looked at him. She still seemed a little dazed. He looked at her. “Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Of course. Come in.”
She walked up the stairs. “What happened here? It looks like an earthquake hit.”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you just sitting in the dark?” She went to open the curtains.
“Don’t do that! Just keep them closed.”
“What are you scared of?” asked Rosie.
Spider looked out of the window. “Birds,” he said, eventually.
“But birds are our friends,” said Rosie, as if addressing a small child.
“Birds,” Spider said, “are the last of the dinosaurs. Tiny velociraptors with wings. Devouring defenseless wiggly things and, and nuts, and fish, and, and other birds. They get the early worms. And have you ever watched a chicken eat? They may look innocent, but birds are, well, they’re vicious.”
“There was a thing on the news the other day,” said Rosie, “about a bird who saved a man’s life.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that—”
“It was a raven, or a crow. One of those big black ones. The man was lying on the lawn in his home in California, reading a magazine, and he hears this cawing and cawing, and it’s a raven, trying to attract his attention. So he gets up and goes over to the tree it’s perched on, and down beneath it is a mountain lion, that had been getting all ready to pounce on him. So he went inside. If that raven hadn’t warned him, he would have been lion-food.”
“I don’t think that’s usual raven behavior,” said Spider. “But whether one raven once saved someone’s life or not, it doesn’t change anything. Birds are still out to get me.”
“Right,” said Rosie, trying to sound as if she wasn’t humoring him. “Birds are out to get you.”
“Yes.”
“And this is because…?”
“Um.”
“There must be a reason. You can’t tell me the great plurality of birds has just decided to treat you as an enormous early worm for no particular reason.”
He said, “I don’t think you’d believe me,” and he meant it.
“Charlie. You’ve always been really honest. I mean, I’ve trusted you. If you tell me something, I’ll do my best to believe it. I’ll try really hard. I love you and I believe in you. So why don’t you let me find out if I believe you or not?”
Spider thought about this. Then he reached out for her hand, and he squeezed it.
“I think I ought to show you something,” he said.
He led her to the end of the corridor. They stopped outside the door to Fat Charlie’s spare room. “There’s something in here,” he said. “I think it’ll explain it a bit better than I can.”
“You’re a superhero,” she said, “and this is where you keep the batpoles?”
“No.”
“Is it something kinky? You like to dress up in a twinset and pearls and call yourself Dora?”
“No.”
“It’s not…a model train set, is it?”