The restaurant, if that's what it was, had no door. Instead, a dark patch of its wall lightened in color as Koen approached, and softened in texture. What had looked like mahogany had turned to bleached leather by the time Koen put his hand on it. When he pushed, it parted like a curtain, letting out a scent that did indeed seem soup-like.

Inside, the shop was dim and close, the air unnaturally still. Light came from reddish globes stuck to the ends of pendulums. They ticked back and forth, casting erratic shadows. And there, in the shadows at the back of the shop, something twitched.

At first, Koen thought it was a Quotidian. It had the same outline, with a bag-like abdomen above a single-eyed head, but it didn't look…right. Especially as it drew closer.

The creature drifted toward the humans like a ghost, legs moving not quite in sync with its forward progress. Its voice was made of harp-notes and tinkling crystal.

"Welcome, honored sophonts! Please step into my parlor. Do your fangs ache? May I supply them with a protein pap to suck?"

"Welp, let's go," said Mark.

"Wait," said Koen. "Hello. We're humans."

"How delightful!" said the proprietor.

"You've heard of our species?"

"I must confess that I have not. However, I am delighted to hear of you now. Are you some kind of priapulid?"

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"What's a priapulid?" asked Mark.

"I'll tell you when you're older." Koen addressed the proprietor. "We're related to the Pick."

"Koen, are we supposed to be birds?"

"Compared to most of the other species around here, birds are our close cousins."

Mark decided that wasn't important. "We want to know whether the stuff you sell here is food, and whether it will poison us," he said to the shape in the gloom.

The proprietor shuddered, as if in barely-controlled bliss. "You have come to the right place! I serve the most traditional and digestible bodily fluids. For you, I recommend the basic pap, which contains nothing but proteins and fats."

"Low carb," said Koen.

"How nice," said Mark. "Koen, you made me an excellent plate of scrambled eggs. I'm not sure I'm hungry right now for nothing but proteins and fats."

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

"Let's try, at least." Koen pleaded. "There must be something in this city that will cater to our needs."

The proprietor jangled. "Yes! Something like me! Do you live in this neighborhood, humans? Are there many of you? A hive packed with precious, precious guests?"

"Red flag, Koen," muttered Mark.

"It's just the translation," said Koen. "Clarify: you want to know if there are many humans nearby?"

The proprietor bobbed, as if nodding. "I very much want to know. For repeat customers, I will research your digestive systems to produce ever more pleasing paps. I will work hard to repeatedly lure you back!"

"Okay. Fine," said Mark. "Let's eat if we're going to eat." He squinted past the pendulous lights. "Do you see anywhere to sit?"

"Of course. You may fold your bodies in any way you want."

The proprietor was very close now, and it still looked very much like a Quotidian. The skin was the right color, but appeared not so much slimy as shellacked. When the eye twitched, Koen could hear a mechanical clicking. Its feet touched the ground, but didn't seem to press any weight against it. It was as if he were talking to a pinata. A marionette suspended by a string…

"Oh," Koen said, "You're a Neurospastic." He looked up into the darkness above the fake Quotidian, and found the real spider.

On one earth, spiders learned how to build puppets. The first of these spiders were simple deinopid net-casters, which spun their webs between their four front legs and jumped onto their prey. Spiders with camouflaging leaves stuck to these nets found themselves better fed, and bred more. Spiders that placed their leaves in deliberate patterns were even more successful. Some of those patterns bore a resemblance to the spiders' prey.

The first mimic-nets were simple affairs, capable of fooling only stupid insects in poor light conditions. Of course, this meant that over time insects got better at recognizing and avoiding mimics. This placed a selective pressure on the spiders to build more convincing mimics, which meant only the most discerning prey survived, which forced the spiders to improve their craft, and so on in a text-book case of evolutionary arms-race.

Larger spiders evolved, with better vision and cleverer legs. Webs evolved with naturalistic colors and movement, smell, and even sound. Even logic.

The proprietor of Happy Brain and Bowel Protein Paps hung within her web, nestled in the shadows on the ceiling, her eyes pointing downward, her thin legs spread, each the length of Koen's hand. One of these twitched, tugged a thread, and counterweights rattled within the body of the puppet-Quotidian.

It slumped. "You have uncovered my true nature and I am crushed by the stone of shame."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Koen. Of course a mimic predator would hate to be exposed. "Your puppet was very convincing. We're just not your accustomed…prey species."

"You are savory when you say that." Strings tugged the puppet back up. "You overflow with succulent juices, honored humans." The construction turned gracefully and glided toward a huddle of foam-covered poles. Harp-strings vibrated and crystal bells rang. "Please step deeper into my parlor. Rest yourselves."

"You know what?" said Koen. "I will!"

Out of Koen's sight, Mark curled his lip. He followed, though, because in his way, Mark was as curious as Koen. He had almost found his handle on the weird, geeky cook, and he wanted to find out more.

"Would you prefer alkaline digestive juices, or acidic?" asked the spider.

Mark reconsidered again.

"Do you have any broths that were cooked?" asked Koen. "I mean, denatured by heat?"

"Oh, you're one of those kinds of species. Please excuse me. Yes, of course it's not at all strange to 'cook' your food." Things rattled against the ceiling. "I'll just go find a suitable source of infrared."