Tangled Webs (29 page)

TWENTY

L
ucivar looked around the dining room. In the early light of a gray autumn morning, an eyrie could look gloomy too, but that was balanced by the fact that an eyrie was built of stone and had the strength and character of being part of the land around it.

There was no excuse for
making
a room look like this.

No reason to linger, since Surreal and Rainier weren’t there, but he set his pack down on the dining room table and circled the room anyway, just to see if he could sense anything of interest.

Like the reason someone had ripped the door of the storage cupboard off its hinges and then replaced the door with enough care that a casual glance around the room might not detect the damage.

As he came abreast of the door, the knob rattled, as if someone inside was trying to get out. Or trying to entice whoever was in the room into
letting
him or her out.

Switching the war blade to his left hand, he stood on the hinge side and closed his right hand over the doorknob, using the length of his arm as a brace to keep the cupboard’s occupant from simply knocking the door down.

As soon as he started to open the door, something inside the cupboard slammed into it, trying to knock it down on top of him. He moved with the swing of the door, using it as a shield as the enemy rushed into the dining room, intent on finding its prey.

He tossed the door and flipped the war blade back to his right hand. The door’s crash had the witch turning to face him, to find him—and his gorge rose.

Enough of her face was left for him to see that she had been pretty. Enough of her psychic scent was left, despite the layers of rage, for him to tell that she hadn’t been a bitch when she walked among the living. In fact…

Hearth witch. She had been a hearth witch, and someone had burned her. Not a fast fire meant to kill, but a slow burning to torture the body and break the mind.

Her face blurred. Became Marian’s.

She was on him before he could regain his emotional balance and evade her.

His heart went numb. Instinct and training took over. He caught her by the back of the neck and threw her against the wall. Before she could recover, he followed, pressing her head between his hand and the wall. Then he let temper and memories be the whip driving him as his hand smashed through bone and brains.

He kept his hand pressed against the wall, capturing bits of skull and brain while her body slumped to the floor.

Still there. Her Self was still there, chained to a demon-dead body that no longer functioned.

He shook the gore off his hand, then wiped off the rest on her dress.

As he crouched there, too close to the sight of her, the smell of her, memory took him back to the camp in Terreille and the nightmare that still haunted his sleep some nights.

Two naked…things…floated out of the hut into the light. An hour ago, they had been a woman and a small boy. Now…

Marian’s fingers and feet were gone. So was the long, lovely hair. Daemonar’s eyes were gone, as well as his hands and feet. Their wings were so crisped, the slight movement of floating made pieces break off. And their skin…

Smiling that cold, cruel smile, the Sadist released his hold on Marian and Daemonar. The little boy hit the ground with a thump and began screaming. Marian landed on the stumps of her legs and fell. When she landed, her skin split, and…

The Sadist hadn’t just burned them; he had cooked them—and they were still alive. Not even demon-dead. Alive.

“Lucivar,” Marian whispered hoarsely as she tried to crawl toward her husband. “Lucivar.”

Lucivar stood up, backed away from the witch’s body.

Daemon had tortured him with nothing but elaborate shadows, knowing that his response would convince Dorothea and Hekatah that the Sadist had actually cooked his brother’s wife and son. That game had provided Daemon with the breathing space needed to get Marian and Daemonar away from the camp and keep them safe.

He and Daemon had both paid a high price for Marian and Daemonar’s safety. He reminded himself of that often on the nights when he woke up in a cold sweat, certain there was a lingering odor of burned hair and cooked flesh in the bedroom.

But he also never forgot that, with the right provocation, the Sadist was capable of playing out that kind of game for real.

He studied the hearth witch. Was that why she had been killed this way? Had Jenkell been trying to kindle that memory, maybe turn him and Daemon against each other so they would focus thoughts and tempers on each other instead of this house? Who could have told Jenkell what happened in that camp?

Or had the little bastard killed the witch that way just for the fun of it?

“I don’t know the answer, and I don’t care,” Lucivar said quietly. “Even if you pay for nothing else, you will pay for this witch’s death. I’ll make sure of it.”

Picking up his pack, he headed down the passageway to the kitchen.

“The last time we used the back stairs, you got lost,” Rainier said.

“I didn’t get lost,” Surreal replied, feeling testy. “I just didn’t end up in the same place as you did.”
And discovered those damn beetles because of it.

“However it happened, we came up the front stairs and everyone is here. I say we go back down the same way.”

But Lucivar is on the first floor.
That couldn’t matter. They hadn’t found anything in their hurried exploration of the second floor. No clue that might indicate an exit. No trap that might indicate an exit.

They could pick a room and wait for something to come after them, or they could try to find a way out before someone else got killed.

Which meant going down.

“All right,” she said. “We’ll use the main staircase.”

They went down in a tight little pack. Rainier led, taking it slow, testing each step just as he’d done on the way up. Henn held on to Rainier’s jacket and Dayle’s hand. Trout held on to Henn’s jacket and Sage’s hand. And Surreal held on to Trout.

Constant contact and a continuous roll call so they would know immediately if anyone suddenly disappeared.

How many times can you repeat six names?
Surreal wondered.
It’s not a big staircase.
But it felt like they had been going down those stairs
forever.

She finally took the last step—and daylight vanished. The only light came from the witchfire on the candle Rainier held.

“Mother Night!” Surreal said. “Where are we now?”

Rainier looked over his shoulder at her. “I think we’re in the cellar.”

Lucivar took a mouthful of water, then corked the jug and dug an apple out of the pack.

The mice’s heads floating in the jar of peaches was a bitch-mean trick. But the spiders…

Damn things gave him a jolt when they came pouring out of the drawer like that, big and hairy and
fast.
Of course, their scariness was greatly diminished by the fact that they giggled like a herd of little children who were playing “chase me.”

“Not bad, Tersa,” he said as he munched on the apple.

It had the feel of her, and it was what he’d expect from her efforts to build scary surprises for children. Strange? Yes. Creepy? Definitely. But benign.

He tossed the apple core in the sink and picked up the pack and war blade he’d set on the table. The doors that seemed to lead outside didn’t interest him, so he considered the other door.

Cellar door? Probably. Even without the warning of a chair braced under the knob, he didn’t need to get any closer to know something malevolent was on the other side of that door. Since they were trying to get out, Surreal and Rainier wouldn’t head belowground. They’d stick to the parts of the house where they could make use of a door or window. So that left him heading upstairs.

Whatever was in the cellar held no interest for him.

Lucivar was destroying the predators! He was going to ruin
everything
!

At least the special one in the cellar hadn’t been discovered yet. He wanted
that
one to survive for the story’s climax.

“There’s a tunnel here,” Jaenelle said, pointing at the ground. “It’s deep, so it must start in the cellar—maybe even in a chamber below the main cellar—and runs to there.” Her finger traced a line that led to the stables behind the house.

Daemon pursed his lips, then let out a frustrated sigh. Give him a house party with rooms packed with people and he could pick out his prey and make the kill while gliding through the crowd—and more often than not, no one realized what he’d done. But this kind of tracking was as frustrating to him as reading was to Lucivar. And admitting he needed help was just as humiliating. “Does the Black shield go down deep enough to block the tunnel?”

Jaenelle’s eyes had the unfocused look of someone deep in thought. “Not quite,” she finally said. “There’s enough space between the tunnel floor and the shield for someone to crawl out.”

“Then I should extend the shield.”

She gave him a sharp, feral smile. “I have a better idea. Yuli, take a look at this.”

“How did you know there’s a tunnel?” Yuli asked.

Good question,
Daemon thought.

“The Arcerian cats build dens deep beneath the snow,” Jaenelle replied. “Since some of the cats are my friends, I learned to recognize the feel of a tunnel or chamber that is deep underground. That was the only way I could find their homes.”

«So you’ve been finding tunnels like this since you were a child?» Daemon asked.

«Yes.» “Speaking of Arcerians…”

Jaenelle held out her hand, palm up. A moment later, a small tangled web appeared, protected by a bubble shield that rested in her hand. A moment after that…

Yuli stared at the white cat that now stood on Jaenelle’s hand.

“This is an Arcerian cat,” Jaenelle said.

“It’s so tiny.”

I wish,
Daemon thought.

Jaenelle gave him a sharp look, as if she’d heard the thought—or at least suspected what he was thinking.

“This is the first stage of the illusion,” Jaenelle said. “This little cat will get as big as the real ones.” With a fingertip, she stroked the tiny white head.

The purr that came out of that little shadow was that of full-sized Kaelas when he was being petted and was a happy, happy cat—the purr that was strong enough to make Jaenelle’s spell-strengthened bed vibrate.

“You know Surreal,” Jaenelle said to the shadow cat. “You know Rainier. You know Lucivar. You will not hurt them. If someone is with them and they tell you the person is a friend, you will not harm that person.” She paused, then added too softly,

“Kill everything else that tries to leave.”

The tiny cat vanished. Because he was trying to sense it, Daemon felt the moment when the shadow cat reappeared deep in the ground beneath them.

“The shadow has slipped under your shield,” Jaenelle said.

“Now the next part of the spell will engage.”

Yes, Daemon decided as the three of them walked back to the Coach. Jaenelle’s shadow Kaelas
was
better than simply extending the shields. Anyone entering that tunnel would find an eight-hundred-pound cat waiting to kill him.

Try to touch it and it would be as solid as smoke. But when the cat struck…

Nothing was going to get out of that tunnel except the people the shadow had been told to recognize.

TWENTY-ONE

“I
t’s solid,” Rainier said, giving the ceiling above the stairs one last whack with the poker before joining Surreal and the children. “The spell must have been designed to let us pass through the floor.”

“Damn dangerous thing to do,” Surreal said. Using Craft, the Blood could pass through solid objects—like walls and floors—but it wasn’t something that should be done carelessly. And passing flesh through a solid object without the person’s being aware of the pass could be fatal.

Of course, that wasn’t likely to be a consideration here.

Raising her arm to rub her forehead, she almost vanished the poker before remembering not to use Craft. She wasn’t used to having her hands full all the time. She tucked the poker under her other arm, since that hand was holding the candle with the witchfire flame.

«How many more times can we use Craft before we get locked into the spells in this house?» she asked Rainier as she rubbed her forehead. «Have you counted them up? Could we make the pass and go back up the stairs to reach the first floor?»

«I’m not sure I’ve remembered all of them,» he replied. «I think we’re getting close to “last one, the game is over.” You and I could make the pass. If we each carried one, we could take two of the children with us. But that’s all we could do.»

Which meant leaving two of the children behind, prey to whatever might be down here. Not a choice she wanted to make.

«And there’s no certainty that if we did this, we would end up where we intended,» Rainier added.

“Let’s see what we can find down here,” she said.

A few steps away from the stairs, the candles guttered and went out, except for the one holding the witchfire.

“Air currents,” Rainier said, a hint of relief in his voice. “Maybe there’s an exit down here after all.”

A roar filled the cellar, both threat and warning.

“Do you think that’s really one of the cats?” Surreal asked when she could hear again.

“Whoever built this place managed to kill two Black Widows and an Eyrien warrior, as well as who knows how many others in order to have predators for this game. Why not one of the cats? You wouldn’t need one that wore Jewels, just one who was kindred and could make the transformation to demon-dead. Without Craft, it’s our physical strength against the cat’s.”

“We’d have no chance,” Surreal said grimly.