“I . . . I need something from you. A flying grasscutter.”

“What will you give me in return?”

Sunny thought about it for a moment. Then she said what she’d planned to say, especially after Orlu had just saved all of them by doing the same thing. “A story,” she said. Udide’s hairs rippled with what Sunny could only guess was delight.

“You know me well,” she said. “But you must remember, I am storyteller. I am old. I’ve dwelled for years at a time beneath this city over many decades. Since its birth. I lie on my back and I put my legs to the ceiling of this cave and I listen to the vibration of Lagos. I listen to its millions of stories. And I weave just as many. Lagos breathes stories. It is life and death; it is many worlds in one. And I have done the same in many cities of the world. New York, Cairo, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Dubai, Rio. Tell me a story I have not heard.”

The spider got down low in front of Sunny. She came very close, within a foot. Sunny felt her bladder try to let go. She squeezed and stayed where she stood. Her friends were behind her, but as Udide stared deep into Sunny’s eyes with her door-sized eyes, Sunny was alone. Alone with a giant storytelling, probably immortal, hyper-intelligent, merciless spider.

“No,” Sunny said. She felt Anyanwu inside her, part of her. “I can’t tell you a story you have not heard. But I can tell you my own particular story. It’s mine. Only mine. There is only one me in this world. So in a way, maybe yes, this is the only story of its kind.” She took a deep breath and then began to talk.

“I lived the first nine years of my life in New York City.” Her legs were shaking, and something in her said she should sit down. Her experience with Sugar Cream’s office told her that there would be spiders on the floor, but these spiders were smart and she doubted they’d climb on her. Even the ones in Sugar Cream’s office knew not to do this . . . unless they meant to. So she sat before Udide in the dirt of the cave. She turned to her friends and nodded. They, too, sat. Then, miraculously, Udide also settled. She did not sit, because spiders do not sit. However, she rested her legs a bit and puffed out her fumes and made a contented hum that seemed to come from deep in her abdomen.

Sunny shut her eyes for a moment and calmed herself. Anyanwu, she said in her mind. Give me strength. Help me tell this well. Once Sunny started talking, she found that it wasn’t as hard as she thought to tell a giant spider and her best friends about the most painful day of her childhood.