Tangled Webs (16 page)

She handed the note to him. «That we not play the game and try a direct approach for getting out of here.»

Returning to the hall, she opened the front door. Still had solid brick behind it. But brick was no match for a punch of Gray power.

Turning inward, she made a fast descent in the abyss until she reached her inner web and the full power of her Gray Jewels. Then she turned and rose like an arrow of psychic power released from a bow.

She raised her right hand, aiming it at the bricks framed by the doorway. The Gray Jewel in her ring flashed as she unleashed a punch of power that would blow out the whole damn wall.

Or should have.

She stared at the undamaged bricks. Then she heard an odd crackle. A sizzle.

“Surreal!”

No time to reply. Some kind of webbing suddenly wrapped around her head and torso. She couldn’t see it. Her fingers couldn’t feel it. But it felt like a web made out of lightning and wire that passed through her skin and tightened until it squeezed her lungs, closed her throat.

Her heart thundered in her ears as she fought to breathe, fought to stay alive.

“Surreal!”

Rainier’s arms around her.

She heard him snarl in frustrated rage. Heard a door slam. Or maybe that was her heart.

Then she heard the gong.

Suddenly the webbing was gone and she could breathe again.

“Mother Night,” she gasped.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

No.
“Not sure.” Shit shit shit. That
hurt.

“What happened?”

She was on the floor. Didn’t remember going down. Since Rainier was being so obliging about propping her up, she leaned against him.

“Backlash,” she said, wincing when she swallowed. “There must be spells that have formed a cage around this place. I punched them when I tried to open the wall. They punched back.”

She tried to get up—and wasn’t happy that she needed Rainier’s help.

«If Sadi and Yaslana were invited, then this cage was designed to hold the Black and Ebon-gray,» Rainier said.

«Yeah.» And that wasn’t good news for her or Rainier.

“Come back into the sitting room,” he said, leading her to the room. “You should sit down.”

“I’m all right.” Had to be. “I don’t need to sit down.” More to the point, she didn’t want to find out she was too shaky to get up by herself if she did sit down.

«Looks like we’re going to play the game,» Rainier said. «The only way out is to find one of those exits.»

Surreal nodded. «But first, we have to find a way to warn the others before they walk into this place. Then we get us and the children out of here.»

«Without using Craft.»

«Without using Craft.»

Rainier hesitated. «Do you think Jaenelle and Marian did this?»

«Doesn’t matter at this point, does it?»

Everything has a price. That was a common saying among the Blood. Everything has a price.

And the price for trying to leave his game by cheating was pain.

The caging spell had worked exactly as he’d been told it would, using the witch’s power against herself to inflict a great deal of pain.

But not enough physical damage to take Surreal out of the game.

Unfortunately, the caging spell wasn’t as effective if it was challenged a second time, but that was why the pain was so vicious—to discourage anyone from trying to break through the spell a second time.

Why were Surreal and Rainier just standing there? Why weren’t they doing anything? They had the first clue. Had the
only
clue.

He’d debated giving them even that much, but it seemed necessary. If his character Landry Langston was going to get ensnared by a house that would tighten the trap every time he used his newly learned Craft skills, he had to have a chance to escape the danger—and readers had to be
aware
of the danger.

Besides, having the gong sound every time one of them used Craft meant none of them could deny using it—and, by using it, taking away another chance for all of them to escape.

But why…?

Damn!
They were using those psychic threads to talk to each other! He hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t done anything to penalize them for doing that. How was he supposed to make notes for dialogue if he couldn’t hear what they were saying?

No matter. He was betting the Surreal bitch and her stud would have plenty to say once they started seeing his little surprises.

Surreal turned to the children and held out one hand with her fingers slightly curved. “We need to find something about this size—a whatnot or rock or, Hell’s fire, even a loose brick. Start looking.”

Trout and Sage immediately headed for the crowded tables, but Kester asked with a sneer, “Why? Will we finally see something spooky if we look?”

“If you don’t look, you’ll see me kicking your ass hard enough to bounce you off the ceiling.” Right now, she’d end up on the floor if she didn’t keep both feet planted, but no one but Rainier realized that. “Do as you’re told, boyo. We’ve got trouble here.”

“I don’t like this place,” Dayle whined. “I want to go home.”

Surreal looked at Rainier.

«They didn’t notice the cobweb feeling,» he said.

This place was a trap for the Blood. Maybe the children would be allowed to leave.

She looked at Dayle. “Sure. Go ahead. Go home.” She stepped away from the door, giving the girl a clear path to the hallway.

“This is a stupid house,” Trist said as he and the two younger boys followed Dayle and Ginger into the hallway.

Sauntering out of the sitting room, Kester paused in the doorway and gave her a look that would have earned him bruises from the adult males in a Blood village. Lucky for Kester, Rainier hadn’t caught that look. Under the circumstances, she didn’t think her Warlord Prince escort would have much tolerance for any kind of cock wagging from a boy old enough to use his brains instead of showing off his balls.

She gave a moment’s thought to shoving the little prick-ass in the closet under the stairs to see how he liked spending time with a corpse, but she was still too wobbly to take him on without using Craft, so she dismissed the idea. Besides, once all the children were out of the house, it would make things easier for her and Rainier.

Finally the only child lingering in the room was Sage.

The girl looked up at her, genuine concern in those young eyes. “You fell down before. I saw it. Are you hurt?”

She almost dismissed the concern, almost offered a lie in order to reassure. Then she thought of what she would have said to a Blood female that same age.

Glancing at Rainier to make sure he was out of hearing, she leaned toward Sage and said quietly, “Yes, I’m hurt. But right now, that can’t matter.” She tipped her head to indicate the door. “Go on. Join the others. You need to get out of here if you can.”

Moments after Sage left the room, Dayle said in a loud, whiny voice, “Where’s the door?”

Shit shit shit.

“You go,” Surreal said to Rainier. “I’ll look for what we need.”

On a table in the farthest corner of the room, she found a hefty glass paperweight. In the center of the glass was a slightly squashed baby mouse.

She decided not to wonder why anyone would find that appealing.

Rainier’s expression was grim when he came back into the room followed by all seven children.

“Couldn’t get past the bricks blocking the doorway?” she asked, holding the paperweight just behind her hip to avoid upsetting the children.

“No doorway,” he replied. “No door. And nothing to indicate there ever was one.”

Great. Wonderful. “All right. Let’s wrap up our package and figure out a way to deliver it. Do you have a handkerchief?”

“A hankie?” Henn said. “Does it have boogers on it?”

Trist stared at Rainier as if he were part of the entertainment. “Do the Blood make boogers?”

“Some things that are tolerated when said among males are
never
tolerated when said in the presence of a Lady,” Rainier said too softly.

«They’re landens, not Blood,» Surreal reminded him.

«They’re males,» he snapped.

Shit. If Rainier was going to divide acceptable behavior by the criterion of penis or breasts, they were all in trouble.

Hoping to shift his mood, she said with blatantly false cheerfulness, «We could just kill them now. It would make everything so much easier.»

«Don’t tempt me,» Rainier replied as he took a clean handkerchief out of his pocket.

Hell’s fire. He might be serious. About the boys anyway. A Warlord Prince didn’t put up with much of anything from a male who didn’t outrank him.

But that caste of male was also primed to defend and protect. If she could get Rainier focused on duty, that would turn his temper toward the problem of getting out of the damn house.

«We invited them to join us, Rainier.»

«I invited them, you mean.» He took a deep breath—and puffed it out in a sigh as he nodded acceptance of the reminder.

Nothing more needed to be said, so Surreal looked at the double strand of blue ribbon Ginger was using as a hair band. “I need those ribbons.”

“I don’t have to give them to you. I don’t have to do anything you say.” Ginger fisted her hands on her hips. “You make the door open so we can go home.”

Surreal caught the quick look Ginger gave Kester. Oh, yeah. Impress the dominant cock by playing the bitch. Or keep the cock impressed by squaring off against a witch. Since she’d seen plenty of variations of that theme when she lived in Terreille, she knew one thing for certain: Ginger was going to be a pain in the ass she didn’t need.

“Give me the ribbons,” Surreal said calmly. “If you don’t, I will rip them off your head—and rip most of your hair off with them.”

Ginger’s face paled, then flushed with embarrassment.

Lesson one, bitch. Don’t start a pissing contest with someone who has the strength and temper to hurt you.

Ginger pulled off the ribbons and threw them on the floor. “You’re bad! You’re just like my mother says you are!”

“Well, sugar, that’s something you should have remembered before trying to act like the dominant bitch around someone like me,” Surreal said softly. She took a step toward the girl—and felt a tapping against her fingers. No, that wasn’t quite right, but…

She brought her hand around to look at the paperweight and felt a jolt of revulsion followed by a sick tickle in the belly.

No longer solid glass. Now it was a glass dome over a solid base. Now the baby mouse, still looking slightly squashed, was on its hind legs, its front paws pounding on the glass as it squeaked for help.

Her hand shook, but she didn’t drop it. It was the only thing she’d found that would serve her purpose, so she didn’t drop it, didn’t throw it against the fireplace.

“Ew,” Dayle said, her eyes wide and excited. “That’s
creepy.
”

«My apologies, Lady Surreal,» Rainier said. «I shouldn’t have discouraged you from showing them the closet. They’d probably find a dead body and maggots entertaining.»

“What was it before the illusion spell started?” Rainier asked out loud.

“A dead mouse in a glass paperweight.” She hesitated but had to ask because there was something about the skewed nature of the illusion that made her uneasy. «When you were a boy, would you have found this entertaining?»

«The mouse? Hell’s fire, no.»

«Would boys in general find this entertaining?»

Rainier studied her but must have sensed she didn’t want to share the reason for her questions. «Maybe. Our companions seem to, at any rate.»

Mother Night.

She started to bend down to pick up the ribbons, but Sage scooped them up and handed them to her. Thanking the girl, she perched on the arm of the overstuffed sofa, unwilling to sit on the cushions in case the mouse’s relatives were still in residence.

The paper with the warning about the nature of the spooky house was wrapped around the paperweight. The handkerchief was wrapped over the paper. Everything was tied securely with the ribbons.

“Now what?” Rainier asked.

“See if that window is still a window.”

She watched him pull aside the lace curtains—and then jump back, swearing viciously, when black, beetlelike things fell from the curtains as they shredded.

Her heart jumped in her throat as the damn things scurried into cracks in the baseboard. She couldn’t tell if the beetles were real or illusion—and since seeing them made her skin crawl, she really didn’t want to know.

“Still a window,” Rainier said, peering through the glass. “At least, I seem to be looking out over the front lawn.”

She moved until she was just a little more than an arm’s length from the window.

Rainier studied the glass panes. “We could open the window and climb out.”

“Which might trigger a spell that will put more than glass in our way.”

“It might.”

The look in his eyes. Assessing. Considering. Weighing his desire as an escort to get her out of danger regardless of the cost against his responsibility for getting the children out safely, since they were here because of his invitation.

Just as he was here because of
her
invitation.

«We walked in together, Prince Rainier. We will leave together.»

Another assessment. Then he nodded.

“Stand to the side as much as you can, but hold what’s left of that curtain out of the way,” she said.

“Surreal, maybe I should…” He looked at the paperweight and didn’t say anything more.

“You wear Opal; I wear Gray.” And there was the simple fact that the Dea al Mon side of her heritage made her a lot stronger than she looked.

“You’ve already taken a hit,” Rainier said.

“Yeah.” And that was pissing her off because breathing still hurt like a wicked bitch.

Not that far from the house to the wrought-iron fence. Fifteen paces at the most. She could throw a stone that far.

She waited while Rainier fetched the poker from the brass stand on the hearth. Hooking some of the material, he pulled back the remains of the shredded curtain.

She stared at the window. Dark outside now. She couldn’t see the fence or the street. Just her reflection in the glass. If she broke the glass…