Chapter 4
The Dust Bunny and the Hermit
Riven
I wake to sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom, and my first coherent thought is of June’s face when she came apart in my web.
The way her back arched against the restraints when my mandibles found that perfect spot… The breathless sound she made when I told her to wear my silk instead of those deplorable cotton undergarments.
I stretch luxuriously across my custom king-sized bed, all eight legs extending in different directions as my spine pops in a dozen places. The bed is one of many indulgences I allowed myself when I finally built this place after the Great Unveiling changed everything.
For decades before that, I’d lived in caves and abandoned mines, hoarding the money Celeste split with me selling my textiles under her human disguise.
I carefully saved every dollar because spending it meant risk, meant exposure, meant the possibility of discovery.
But when monsters came out of the shadows officially, I’d finally been able to hire human contractors to build the home I’d always wanted.
The home I’d always secretly hoped to share.
The construction crew had been terrified of me. Five grown men, all of them strapping professionals who’d probably faced down angry bears and mountain storms without flinching, yet they’d trembled like children whenever I emerged to check their progress.
While they had done excellent work, their fear had been a painful reminder that even in this new world, human society would never truly accept something as monstrous as me.
But June seems different. And that has given me a hope I haven’t felt in years.
I head downstairs to the kitchen, the fuzzy slippers June delivered yesterday cushioning each step. The impossibly soft faux fur against my feet provides a comfort I never knew I needed.
But more importantly, they’re a tangible connection to her. June had carried this box up my mountain, stood on my porch holding my delivery, and got tangled in my web in the most beautiful way.
A reward for me finally stepping out of my comfort zone.
These slippers are my first independent purchase, my first delivery, my first step toward engaging with the world beyond my mountain. Before yesterday, everything I owned had either been crafted by my own hands or personally brought to me by Celeste.
But now I have June to deliver the world to me.
I continue along into the kitchen, intending to make yet another sad attempt at making coffee. One ought to know how to make such a beverage if one hopes to impress human females. At least, that is what my research tells me.
I glance across at my living room, where my laptop sits closed on the coffee table next to my TV remote, all evidence of last night’s research session.
While I had ensured the contractors made me a proper kitchen with all the amenities, I’d be lying if I said I used it much. The webs throughout my property provide more than adequate food, but Celeste still brings me fresh ingredients in hopes that I explore eating more civilized cuisine.
It seems my fuzzy little friend might get her wish…
Speaking of the devil, the sound of the back entrance opening interrupts my internal monologue. Only one person has access to that door, and she always arrives at exactly the same time for our weekly meeting.
“Riven?” Celeste’s voice carries that particular breathless quality it gets when she’s been flying too long in daylight. “Please tell me you have the curtains closed. I think I’m getting a migraine from all this horrible sunshine.”
“The curtains are open,” I call back, because I’m feeling magnanimous this morning. “Fresh air and natural light are beneficial for mood regulation.”
“Fresh air is a conspiracy by morning people,” she mutters, appearing in the kitchen doorway like a disgruntled shadow.
My mothman friend is wearing her usual ensemble: oversized sunglasses, an enormous hoodie that makes her look like a particularly gothic marshmallow, and her proboscis is curled tightly against her face as she clutches what I assume is her usual horrifically sugary nectar and coffee concoction.
Celeste is naturally cute in that mousy, easily startled way that makes humans want to protect her, so her transition into society after the Great Unveiling wasn’t as harsh for her as some others.
She has soft brown and white fuzz covering her segmented body, delicate features that belong on a porcelain doll, and black eyes that take up half her face when she’s not hiding behind sunglasses.
Despite our immense differences, she’s an extremely competent businessperson, which is why our partnership has lasted so long despite her tendency to shed wing scales all over my silk.
She settles onto one of the kitchen stools with a grateful sigh. Her proboscis unfurls slightly to test the air before she reaches across the table for her weekly shipping manifest. But then she freezes, and her antennae twitch curiously.
“Riven,” she says slowly. “Are those… slippers?”
I look down at my feet, where the faux-fur monstrosities are indeed decorating my usually bare appendages. “They are slippers, yes.”
“Pastel pink fuzzy slippers,” she continues, as if I might have missed this detail. “With little hearts embroidered on them!”
“The product description specified ‘premium comfort styling with whimsical aesthetic accents,’” I inform her with perfect dignity. “The customer reviews were quite favorable, and I find myself in agreement with them.”
Celeste stares at me for a long moment, then slowly removes her sunglasses to get a better look.
Her enormous compound eyes shimmer with something approaching shock. She knows every single item in my home, as she has been personally bringing me everything I’ve needed for the past twenty years of our friendship.
“You bought them online,” she says, and I can practically see her mind working as her proboscis unfurls completely in surprise.
“Which means someone had to deliver them. Someone came onto your property.” Her voice gets progressively higher with each revelation.
“Someone got past your security webs. Someone who isn’t me. ”
Her wings start shimmering with agitation, sending wing scales everywhere, a sure sign she’s getting flustered. But she is correct. I’ve never allowed another soul near this place after I had it built.
She’s been my only connection to the outside world, my sole business partner, my one friend. The implications of someone else accessing my domain are clearly overwhelming her systematic understanding of my habits.
“Her name is June,” I say, because watching Celeste work herself into a panic flutter isn’t particularly amusing this early in the morning. “She works for Hartwell Delivery.”
“June,” Celeste repeats faintly, sinking onto the stool like her lower legs have given out. “A delivery driver. Got past your webs. And you didn’t… eat her?”
I give her a sharp look. “I am not a common house spider, dust bunny. I don’t eat people.”
“You know what I meant!” Her upper arms wave frantically while her lower ones steady her on the stool.
“You have trust issues! Massive ones! You haven’t let anyone but me within five miles of this place since you built it!
And now there’s some random human woman who just… what, walked up and rang the doorbell?”
“She walked into my web, actually.” I begin preparing the coffee, partly because I need the caffeine and partly because Celeste’s increasing excitement is making me nervous. “Quite thoroughly caught. Displayed beautifully, if I say so myself.”
The silence that follows is so complete I can hear her heart hammering from across the kitchen. Her proboscis has curled so tightly against her face it’s practically hidden, and she’s staring at me like I’ve just confessed to murder.
“You caught a delivery driver in your web,” she says slowly, wings trembling. “A human delivery driver. Named June.”
“Yes.”
“And she’s… still alive?”
“Very much so.” I can’t quite suppress the satisfied rumble that accompanies that particular memory. “Remarkably responsive, actually.”
Another long silence. Then Celeste’s compound eyes go wide as dinner plates, and a strangled squeaking sound escapes her throat. “Oh my God. You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”
“I’m not sure what you’re implying—”
“You seduced her!” The accusation bursts out of her like a dam breaking, and her wings beat so rapidly they’re a blur. “You caught some poor innocent delivery driver in your web and—” She makes vague gesturing motions with her upper arms that I assume are meant to represent something scandalous.
“I courted her,” I correct with dignity. “There’s a difference.”
“Courted her?” The shriek is loud enough to rattle the windows. “Riven, that’s not courting! That’s kidnapping with extra steps!”
“She seemed quite satisfied with my approach.” I take a deliberate sip of coffee. “Multiple times, if I’m being precise.”
“You… She… multiple…” Another strangled squeak. “Oh my God, you actually did it. You found someone!”
The wonder in her voice catches me off guard. For all her panic and dramatic gasping, there’s something almost reverent in the way she’s looking at me now. Like she’s witnessing a miracle instead of a scandalous encounter with a delivery service.
“I did,” I admit, and something warm unfurls in my chest at the words.
“June of Hartwell Delivery is a remarkable female. Strong, competent, professionally dedicated. A valiant woman worthy of my attention. I even crafted clothing for her from my silk.” I intentionally neglect to say exactly what kind of clothing…
“Oh my god, Riven, you’re actually—” She cuts herself off. “You’re in a real courtship! With silk gifts and everything! Oh, this is so exciting! What’s she like? When do I get to meet her?”
“Celeste.” My voice, honed by years of her exuberance, slices through her babbling. “Breathe.”
She takes a dramatic gulp of air as her wings settle into a gentle flutter. “Sorry. It’s just… I’ve been waiting for this for years. I was starting to think you were going to stay a grumpy hermit forever.”
“I am still grumpy,” I point out. “And I’m still a hermit. June simply happens to be compatible with both traits.”
“So when are you seeing her again? Please tell me you have a plan. Please tell me it involves more than hiding in your lair hoping she runs into another web.”
The question brings me up short. When am I seeing her again? I need a reason to summon her back to my mountain, something that requires her specific delivery services.
“I haven’t determined the optimal approach,” I admit reluctantly. “My research into human courtship protocols is… incomplete.”
Celeste blinks at me. “Research?”
“I’ve been studying human mating rituals through anthropological observation. The Bachelor provided particularly valuable insights into competitive selection processes.”
The look she gives me is pure horror. “Those shows are entertainment! Horrible, trashy entertainment that has nothing to do with how real people actually date!”
I frown, processing this information. “But the subjects engage in structured courtship displays under controlled observation—”
“They’re paid actors looking for Instagram followers!” Celeste looks like she’s about to have a full nervous breakdown.
“Well, I’ll have you know my research yielded favorable results, as June has already expressed an interest in perhaps having dinner with me.”
If Celeste’s compound eyes widen any further, I fear they might pop out of her head. “She did?”
“Yes. But I require a delivery pretext,” I explain. “She won’t return without professional justification.”
Celeste looks off, thinking. “Okay. You need something to order. Something that requires her to come back up here.”
“Precisely. But what could top premium comfort footwear? I have all a Vyder could possibly need now, besides a mate.”
The look Celeste gives me suggests I’ve said something particularly stupid. “Riven. Get something for her, you dolt! It’s like you have more legs than brain cells!”
“Oh,” I say, having not considered that. But while the advice is sound, it raises an obvious problem. “But I know virtually nothing about her personal preferences. Her shopping history isn’t exactly public information.”
“Then learn,” Celeste says simply as she reaches for her drink. “To start off, just get something basic but thoughtful. Then once she delivers it, strike up a conversation and actually get to know her.”
“You’re right,” I say, the gears in my head already turning.
With a sigh, Celeste gets up. “All right. Back to business. What am I shipping out today?”
Shortly after, Celeste is leaving with this week’s completed textile orders: tapestries, silk scarves, and luxury bedding bound for clients who pay a premium for my work.
Alone once again, I settle at my laptop with a fresh cup of coffee and a growing sense of determination.
I must order a gift for June. Something worthy of her kindness and acceptance of me.
The cursor blinks expectantly on the search page.
I can only hope that I’ll find something that pleases her even a fraction as much as she has already pleased me.