Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
I asked four different questions.
Did a job go bad?
Is Nova involved?
Why will it take almost a month?
Is Phoebe all right?
My father tightened his black tie. He gave me a sterner look. “It’s not your concern. You’re going to watch out for your brother and sister. You’re in charge while we’re gone.”
I sighed out roughly. “Just let us go with you.”
“It’s safer for you here,” my mom consoled.
“I can look out for them there!”
“You’re not coming,” my dad finalized. “And that’s the end of it.”
I glared down at the baseball cards. I hated being in the dark more than I hated playing babysitter, and they weren’t explaining shit to me.
At thirteen, I felt entitled to answers.
To the big picture.
In hindsight, I was too young to be trusted with everything. If I knew less, then I’d have less chance of incriminating myself if we were caught. But what my parents did, it was just as much to protect themselves as it was to protect us.
Selfish. The older I became, the more I realized they were all fucking selfish. At the end of the day, we were their little pawns, and I was in no position to outmaneuver them.
I stopped arguing about Dallas.
It was odd for us to be separated from the Graves for this long.
I wanted them back.
I wanted her back.
My parents left. We were staying on the sunny coast of Savannah. Warm, sticky heat bathed me on a freshly painted wraparound porch. My seven-year-old brother ran around the lush front yard, trying to catch crickets in his palms.
I was about to call him back to finish his homework. Until I noticed the textbook on the rocking chair—all the math had been completed, penned directly on the page.
“He only has a few more years left in him,” Hailey said from a hammock.
I frowned. “What?”
At first, I thought she was reciting something from the paperback in her clutch. But she glanced over to the yard. To Trevor. “I overheard Mom and Dad talking. They said he only has a few more years before his ‘cuteness’ wears off.”
My stomach gnarled. “Before he gets older,” I rephrased.
She nodded. Trevor was the youngest, and we’d all pretended to be the innocent, bright-eyed, and bushy-tailed kid before. Anything to make our parents seem more trustworthy. But Trevor would be the last. Then he’d have to figure out where he actually fit into the family.
His purpose.
His role.
But I didn’t think he’d have a hard time figuring it out. Like our sister, he was brilliant. I was glad he was nothing like me.
Slowly—or quickly, depending on your vantage—I was becoming bitter, cynical, and protective. I’d lost faith in most of humanity. It’d become easy to fuck everyone over, knowing that most people would just as easily screw me.
Trevor wasn’t jaded by people yet. He didn’t have rough edges. No bone to pick with anyone. No venom in his veins.
I liked that for my little brother.
Nearing Hailey, I rested my shoulder on the column her hammock was tied to. She began reading again. Artwork of a moth decorated the cover. Maybe a science book? She read so much that it’d been hard to keep track.
Before I could ask, she said, “Have you ever heard of a Phengaris rebeli?”
I shook my head.
“Commonly known as the mountain Alcon blue butterfly.” Her eyes left the book and planted on me. “No?”
“Alcon blue . . .” I took a seat beside her on the hammock, and Hailey tucked her legs to make room for me. I eyed the page. “I don’t think that was in my biology textbook, Hails. What’s so special about it?”
“As a caterpillar, it tricks worker ants into bringing it into the colony. They’ll dote on the caterpillar. Bring it food and give it protection. All because the caterpillar makes the ant believe it’s also an ant. The queen ant to be exact.”
Damn. I raised my brows. “How?”
She smiled at my interest. “Worker ants and queen ants emit different sounds. This species of caterpillar learned how to tell the difference and mimic the queen. Then they evolved so that their progeny knew how to do it, too.” Our gazes drew back to the yard where Trevor gently cupped a grasshopper between his palms.
The weight of this comparison compressed against my chest.
“The caterpillar has it all figured out, then. Mimic the queen. Get what you want without breaking a sweat.”
She blinked. “The caterpillar is the parasite.”
I let that sink in. “Would anyone want to be the ant?”
The naïve fools.
The desperate, trusting marks.
That would never be me.
“No one would choose to be deceived,” she rationalized.
“But there will always be ants and caterpillars. And the caterpillar will always win in the end.”
She nodded, thoughtful about this. She’d always been thoughtful. Her eyes fell back to her book. “It’s comforting in a way,” she told me. “Knowing that we’re not unique. So many other beings in the animal kingdom adopted this lifestyle first.” She smiled at me. “Who doesn’t want to be queen, right?”