I stared at the spider in trepidation. The flickering candlelight made it hard to tell, but I could almost swear it stared back.

  “Okay, buddy,” I whispered. “Gonna have to ask you to leave.” I raised my broomstick like it was a sword and I was some kind of hero.

  Except I was not some kind of hero.

  The thing was huge. If I missed the first blow, it would vanish into the shadows, and I’d have an angry spider stalking me for the rest of my life.

  No pressure.

  I inched closer, arms tense, one foot forward—

  “AAAAAAHHHHHH!”

  Stupid shrieked.

  So naturally I screamed.

  Which led to the spider hissing.

  Wait.

  Oh no.

  Absolutely not.

  I started backpedaling like my life depended on it. Because it probably did.

  Then the spider launched itself off its web—directly at my face.

  I died.

  Okay, not literally. But emotionally? Spiritually? Mentally? My soul bailed and left a note that just said “nope.”

  The spider was bigger than my head—and that was before counting the legs. Which were now wrapped around said face.

  “Oh No! Spooda eetz Ugly!” Stupid shrieked, already halfway down the aisle, her tiny arms flailing like a drunk windmill in a hurricane.

  I was too terrified to move. The creature hovered over my face, slowly rotating to stare at me with its many, many cruel little eyes.

  “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” the spider hissed.

  Right. Talking spider. On my face. Talking. Giant. Face-sitting spider.

  My brain short-circuited. Somewhere in the static, a tiny voice whispered: Should’ve married that baker’s daughter. Should’ve sold cupcakes. Should’ve never left the mines.

  The spider clicked its fangs.

  I did not like that.

  “I hate this job,” I whimpered.

  I was a miner. I had seen things. Fought things. Survived things. But this? This was where I died.

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  Then Stupid reappeared around the corner, still screaming.

  “Oh my stinky socks!” she shrieked. “Beeg Spooda gonna eetz dah beeger Ugly’s face! Eetz gonna take control of eez body!”

  The spider glanced at her, clearly offended.

  She shrieked louder, then sneezed.

  There was a flash of pink light and the air shattered—something invisible blasted past my face and obliterated the spider, launching it across the aisle like it owed the universe money.

  I stood there, stunned. Whatever that was—if it had been one inch closer—I’d be a headless half-elf.

  I turned slowly to stare at Stupid, who stood there, arms outstretched, eyes wide, a single curl of smoke rising from her now completely bald head.

  “Nooo… eet beeg Ugly…” she sniffled.

  We stared at the scorched remains of one twitching spider leg.

  “Is it dead?” I croaked.

  Stupid blinked. “Eet… uh… goes boom when eet die. So maybes?”

  “Maybe?” I echoed.

  The leg twitched.

  I kicked it.

  It twitched harder.

  I kicked it again—harder. The leg rolled under a shelf.

  Out of sight.

  I decided that meant it was someone else’s problem now.

  “What in the nine hells is going on over here?!” a familiar voice roared.

  The boss goblin stormed into the aisle, fuming, his golden nametag gleaming like a cursed relic.

  “Stupid! Get the new minion a name tag!”

  The tiny goblin squeaked and bolted.

  “And you,” he snapped, turning to me, “pick up that broom and get back to work. Now.”

  “Sir,” I sputtered, “there was a spider—”

  He dropped his clipboard in mock horror. “A spider? You mean a creature smaller than you? By the gods, whatever shall we do? Sound the alarms! Warn the king!”

  I blinked.

  He picked up the clipboard.

  But I guess he wasn’t done.

  He dropped it again, gasping.

  “Huge, you say? Then surely it would be even bigger to me, since I’m half your size! And yet, behold! I’m not screaming like a lunatic!” He waved his arms dramatically. “Incredible!”

  “Look, I was just—”

  “I want this aisle spotless,” he barked, spinning on his heel. “So clean I could eat off the floor!”

  He paused.

  “Not that I would! Too many curses down there.”

  Then he vanished back around the corner.

  I stared after him.

  “That evil, clipboard-dropping lunatic—” I began to rant, only to feel a small tug at my coat.

  I looked down.

  Stupid stood there, beaming with pride, holding out a name tag.

  In big pink letters, it read:

  Beeg Ugly.

  I blinked.

  “Oh hells no,” I whispered.

  She looked so proud.

  I sighed. Loudly. Dramatically. Then pinned it to my vest.

  Somewhere in the back of the warehouse, something screeched like a haunted kettle. A shelf exploded.

  I didn’t even flinch.

  “So,” I said, deadpan. “Where do the brooms live?”

  Stupid beamed. “Yay! Training start now!”

  I grimaced.

  Of course it does.