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Spindlekin’s .
    Once I’m back inside, the patio door locked and the blinds closed, I go in search in Liana. She’s not in the kitchen anymore—not unless she’s somehow managed to squeeze herself into one of the cupboards. I quickly check the rest of the apartment, even the bedroom closet, but I can’t find her. A cold fluttery feeling takes up residence in my chest, and I think the other two men came for her while the third had me distracted outside. I recognize how absurd the thought is. I have no reason to believe our new neighbors are connected to Liana in any way—except that they possess wide-set eyes similar to hers, and they also have a strange manner to them. But then again, Liana has been on edge since they arrived.
    It’s just that I lost something recently. Something important to me and my Spindlekin. In fact, you could say it was stolen from us.
    The fluttering blossoms into full-fledged panic, and I race out of the bedroom, down the hall, to the front door. It’s not locked. I know I locked it when I got home. I always lock it.
    I open the door, run into the hallway, and I’m about to head up the stairs to the second floor when I catch a glimpse of Liana through the windowpanes set into the building’s main door. She’s standing outside. And she’s not alone. Gray-Hair is with her.
    I walk up to the door, but not too close. I don’t want them to see me. Why I feel this sudden need for secrecy when only a moment before I was fearful for Liana’s safety, I’m not sure. Instinct, I guess. There’s something about Liana’s body language—a strength and confidence—that tells me that not only isn’t she afraid, she’s in charge of the situation. Or at least is pretending to be.
    Gray-Hair looks plenty confident too. What’s more, from the way they’re talking, it’s clear they know each other. Gray-Hair seems to be trying to convince her of something. He smiles often, his gestures are soft, his manner conciliatory. Liana, on the other hand, appears to be berating him. She scowls, and her gestures are sharp and emphatic, but despite the attitude she projects, I can see that she’s trembling. I’m sure Gray-Hair can, too.
    There’s a good twenty feet between us, not to mention a door, so I can’t make out what they’re saying. I can hear their voices, but not individual words. The rhythm and cadences of their sentences seem off somehow, and I’m not sure they’re speaking English.
    I’m tempted to sneak closer to the door so I can hear better. Part of me feels guilty for wanting to spy on Liana, but part of me feels driven to do so. What if something’s seriously wrong and she needs my help? What—
    The conversation ends and Liana turns toward the door. I’m afraid of getting caught, so I whirl around and run back to the apartment, careful not to slam the door so Liana won’t know I was out in the hall spying on her. I run to the couch, sit, and force myself to breathe evenly.
    I hear Liana’s footsteps as she approaches the door, along with the stomping of work boots as Gray-Hair heads back upstairs.
    I’m tempted to grab a magazine off the coffee table and pretend to be reading it, like some clueless sitcom character. But I resist. She walks into the room, but instead of joining me on the couch, she stands there, looking at me.
    “I wanted to get some air,” she says. “It was too…” She pauses, searching for the words, finally settles on “Much. It was too much in here.”
    I nod as if I understand.
    Then she comes over to the couch, kisses me with trembling lips, and I kiss her back. Soon she’s not trembling anymore, and this time when we make love, it’s good. More than good.
    Even with the occasional stomping going on over our heads.
    * * *
    Later, we watch a movie on pay-per-view. We turn up the volume higher than normal because of the stomping. It’s intermittent now, but still distracting as hell when it comes. I have my laptop out, pretending to be doing