I had a lot of questions about the giant spider standing before me, the foremost of which being, ‘What shadowed pit did he crawl out of to get here?’

“I was born in this forest you call Wychwood, but it was during your kind’s war on my home that I ascended into this greater form,” Wickham said. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he projected it into my head. Given humans lacked psychic transceivers, I didn’t see how that was possible. In any case, the monstrous arachnid spoke in a vaguely singsong voice, contrasted by deep, chittering undertones.

“You mean the Tag Hunters?” I opted to speak out loud, unsure I liked his ability to read my thoughts.

“Butchers, plunderers, call them what you will,” he said “Theirs was the crucible in which this gift was forged.”

“Then you’ve ruled this forest for the last hundred years?” I said.

“I have spun the thread of fate to my benefit.” He sounded terribly pleased with himself.

“That’s nice and all, but I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“I was curious if you carried my ability as well.”

“You mean being psychic?” I said.

“It is not a gift of the mind, but the web,” he said. “Though it seems you are merely a strange kind of bird.”

“Well, okay, glad we got that sorted out. Guess I’ll grab my classmate there”—I motioned towards a large bundle of silk—“and get out of your hair. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t cause any more trouble.”

“The bait served its purpose,” Wickham said, “save perhaps as a snack, but we’ve only begun to explore your usefulness.”

I sighed, drawing a pair of straight swords from my waist. They drew tight into my palms. “I don’t know why I hoped this could be easy.”