Tangled Webs (30 page)

“None at all.”

“I guess that’s the direction we
don’t
go in.”

“Agreed. Now let’s find a way to get back upstairs.”

Lucivar grinned as he watched the little black beetles cover the bottom of the bathtub, then swell into big black beetles—and pop.

He hoped Rainier had been the first one to walk into this bathroom, because Surreal…She still believed that particular fear was her little secret, and neither he nor Daemon had any intention of telling her otherwise. But it wouldn’t be a secret for long if she’d been the one to find
these.

Tersa’s work. Had to be.

Daemonar would love having a popping beetle. Of course, it couldn’t be a free-roaming beetle. More like a bug-in-a-box. A well-shielded box, because if the boy managed to remove the beetle and leave it someplace as a surprise for his mama…Marian would
never
forgive him for bringing the thing home.

He’d talk to Tersa about making the beetle and talk to a carpenter in Riada about making the box. There would be plenty of time to get the thing made as a Winsol gift.

“Surreal, darling, you’ve got more spine than most of the Eyrien warriors I knew back in Terreille, but I bet you squealed when you saw these.”

His amusement vanished when he walked out of the bathroom and saw the boy standing in the back hallway.

Not an illusion this time. The boy was
cildru dyathe.

“I am going to bite you and drink your blood,” the boy said.

Poor scared puppy. He must have been a sweet child. Even now he sounded like he was reciting a line for a performance at school—and stumbling over the words.

“The person who killed you…,” Lucivar began.

“He was a powerful Warlord.”

The boy sounded more hopeful than sure that he’d been killed by someone powerful.

“Puppy, in terms of power, whoever killed you was a glass of water. I’m a stormy lake. You come at me, I will rip you apart.”

“But…I’m just a boy.”

“I know,” Lucivar said gently. “I can’t let that matter. Not right now.”

The boy wilted.

A sweet child, killed for a game.

Lucivar set the pack down, then reached into the pouch of healing supplies he had hooked to his belt. He withdrew a small, stoppered bottle and held it out. “Here. It’s lamb, not human, but it’s undiluted blood. It will keep your power from fading, at least for a little while.”

“Will you hurt me if I take it?”

His temper flashed to the killing edge for a moment before he chained it back. “No, I won’t hurt you.”

Wonderful dialogue. Just wonderful! Who would have thought such a gem would come from the
Eyrien
? He would have to put a scene in the book where Landry Langston meets the boy. It would be so sad, so moving, so…wonderful.

The boy took the bottle and gulped down the blood. Wasn’t more than a couple of swallows, but he looked like he’d been given a feast. He almost started licking the inside of the bottle, then stopped as if suddenly remembering his manners. He replaced the stopper and handed the bottle back.

“Puppy, do you know who the
cildru dyathe
are?” Lucivar asked.

“Dead children,” the boy replied. “If you’re a good boy, you get to go to a nice place for a while before you become a whisper in the Darkness. But if you’re bad…” He looked around the hallway.

You bastard. You not only killed this boy, but you told him he deserved to be here?
Compared with here, he supposed, the
cildru dyathe
’s island in Hell
was
a nice place.

“Who killed you?” The question was blunt, and his voice had hardened with the strain of keeping his temper leashed. This boy didn’t deserve seeing his temper.

Instant terror. The boy knew who had killed him, and even now was too afraid to say.

Not likely the boy had any training in the psychic communication the Blood used, but anyone who was Blood
could
do it to some degree. “Look at me and think the answer as loud as you can in your head.”

Jarvis Jenkell.

Barely a whisper. If he hadn’t been focused on the boy, he wouldn’t have heard it. Now he had confirmation for Daemon about who had set up this trap for them.

“I don’t remember his name,” the boy lied, “but he’s very famous.”

“As of this moment, he’s walking carrion. That’s a promise.” Lucivar took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This is another promise. I have to help the living first, but if there’s a way to break you free of these spells and get you out of this house before we tear it apart, my brother and I will do it.”

“Okay.”

Lucivar picked up the pack and moved into the front hallway, aware of the boy following him.

“Those are bad stairs. They have a trick.”

He looked at the stairs, then back at the boy. “What’s the trick?”

“You can see the hallway down there, but you can’t reach it. You end up someplace else.”

“Have you seen a witch and a Warlord Prince?”

The boy nodded. “They went down the stairs. They disappeared.”

“They have any children with them?”

“Four.”

Which meant three of the children who had come in with Surreal and Rainier were now among the dead.

“You didn’t warn them about the stairs?”

“The lady witch was screaming and I got scared. So I didn’t talk to them.”

“I guess she saw the beetles.”

A quick, boyish grin. “They pop real good.”

Lucivar hesitated. “If there’s a way, we’ll get you out of this house.” Then he went down the stairs.

Oh, this wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. If Lucivar caught up to the Surreal bitch and her companion, it would spoil the big battle at the end of the story. Just
spoil
it. And that boy! What was he doing? He should be
attacking
people, not
talking
to them.

Of course, he hadn’t anticipated any of his “guests” coming in with bottles of blood to use as bribes.

Good idea, though. Probably have to give that idea to the witch in the story. Landry couldn’t have
all
the good ideas. And she would be carrying blood because she always did—ever since her encounter with…

Well, he’d figure that out later.

Right now he had to provide his “guests” with the way out of the cellar and up to the final act.

And he wasn’t going to think about that phrase Lucivar used: “walking carrion.”

TWENTY-TWO

O
ne minute there was nothing but a pile of storage boxes and broken furniture; the next, there was a set of stairs leading up to a door.

Surreal didn’t much care where the stairs led as long as it got them out of the cellar, which was a warren of little rooms piled with debris—or barren in a way that made her think the space had been used to cage something. It went on too long, was too
big
for the house above them—and it also felt like it was shrinking around them.

Rainier looked at her. «The Black Widows who made the illusion spells were good at their Craft. The illusion that hid these stairs didn’t stop working by chance.»

«I know,» she replied.

«It feels like a grave down here. It feels like we’re buried alive.»

She wished he hadn’t said that, since it matched her sense of the place closing in on them.

«Do we go up?» Rainier asked.

She nodded. Whatever was on the other side of the door would be easier to face than staying here.

They went up the stairs, Rainier leading while she guarded his and the children’s backs. The door opened with a dramatic creak—and they were back in the kitchen.

And somewhere in the house, a gong sounded.

Good. Good. One problem solved. As soon as Surreal closed the cellar door, he reengaged the illusion spell that hid the stairs.

Now they would see how well Lucivar fared in the cellar.

The ball of witchlight floated on the end of his war blade, challenging the smothering darkness.

Lucivar hated the cellar. Too dark, too damp, too closed in for a man who belonged to a winged race.

Too much of a reminder of the salt mines of Pruul.

This Jenkell bastard. This writer. How much did he know about the SaDiablo family? Was he choosing some of the things in this house because he
knew
they would provoke memories, or was it all just chance? Did he know enough about Eyriens to understand the difference between living within a mountain and being trapped under the ground?

Didn’t matter. There was a punch of fear that came from memories, so he let fear fuel temper. He’d gotten out of the salt mines of Pruul. He would get out of this house too.

The kitchen looked exactly the same—except for one thing.

“The bowl of peaches is gone,” Surreal said, turning slowly as she looked more carefully at the room. “Did the ‘caretaker’ remove the bowl or are we in a different room despite how this looks?”

Suddenly all four children screamed. A moment later, the smell of urine stung the air.

Rainier gave her a sheepish look as he closed a drawer. “The spiders are still here.”

Currents of air. Not fresh air, exactly, but different from the cellar. The witchlight revealed no opening, no difference in the walls. But there were those currents of air. And then…

The roar took him by surprise, had him shifting into a fighting stance.

No movement. No rushing attack. Just that warning.

“Jaal?” he called softly. “Kaelas? It’s Lucivar.”

It was possible that Jenkell had hired other Blood to hunt down a tiger or an Arcerian cat. As one of the demon-dead, either feline would be a lethal predator. Of course, either one would be just as lethal if it was dumped into the house alive. Wouldn’t even need one of the kindred if it was a live predator.

But if the cat wasn’t part of the spells in the house…

Using the air currents as a guide, he moved closer to the wall—and was rewarded by a snarl.

He’d heard it often enough to recognize that snarl and knew which cat he was dealing with. He just wasn’t sure if the snarl was meant as a greeting or a threat.

“Kaelas? It’s Lucivar.”

What was there? A passageway that had been built when the house was inhabited so that servants could move back and forth from the house to another building? Or was it just a dirt tunnel that had been dug as an escape route when the house was being made into this nightmare?

Either way, he couldn’t see Jaenelle asking one of the cats to guard a tunnel, and neither cat had been with her this morning, so neither was close enough to have reached the house this soon.

That left a shadow guarding the tunnel. Almost as deadly as the real thing. Maybe a little more so if Jaenelle made it. There was a faint hope of reasoning with the real Kaelas, since the cat knew he’d get yelled at if he attacked another male who belonged to Jaenelle. But a shadow followed a set of commands. Lucivar figured “kill” was the dominant command for anything Jaenelle had placed in the tunnel.

He was about to call again when the male rumble that was Kaelas’s psychic voice thumped against his inner barriers. Kaelas’s voice, but not Kaelas. So it
was
a shadow guarding the tunnel.

«Do not eat Lucivar. Do not eat Surreal. Do not eat Rainier.» The shadow Kaelas sounded grumpy about having his list of edibles restricted.

Damn shadow couldn’t eat anyone anyway. Maul and kill, yes. Eat, no.

At least, he was fairly sure a shadow couldn’t really eat someone. Then again, it wasn’t smart to make assumptions about any shadows Jaenelle made.

“The Lady told you not to eat me?”

A pause. Then, reluctantly, «Lady said do not kill you.»

Hell’s fire. He would have to tell Jaenelle she was giving these shadows a little too much of the original’s personality. Unless it had been told to, a shadow shouldn’t be making that distinction.

“Have you seen Surreal?”

«Smelled her. Gone now.»

“Out the tunnel?”

«No.»

Not surprising. Surreal and Rainier didn’t know Jaenelle and Daemon were waiting outside, had no reason to think Jaenelle was responsible for the cat guarding the tunnel. Instead of heading out of the house, they must have headed back in.

Lucivar started to turn away, then stopped and considered that faint presence he’d sensed in the house—the little writer-mouse scurrying behind the walls, watching and listening. Then he considered that, shadow or not, it never hurt to make a large predator happy—especially if he might need to use the tunnel to get everyone out of the house.

He told the shadow cat, “If any other human tries to get out through the tunnel, you go ahead and eat him.”

As he walked away to explore another part of the cellar, the shadow Kaelas’s pleasure purred at him through the psychic thread.

Daemon circled the fence around the house, a slow prowl. Watchful. Aware.

There was no sign of anyone in the house. No movement of a curtain, no face at a window. Of course, he hadn’t seen any lights last night, and there had to have been lamps or candles burning.

So he couldn’t trust what he was—or wasn’t—seeing.

But he had to trust that when Lucivar punched through the spells and opened up a way out of the house, he would see it.

He stopped over the spot where the tunnel was located and considered the shadow cat standing guard. Seemed a shame to waste such a magnificent predator. Maybe…

Instead of continuing his prowl, he retraced his steps and returned to the Coach.

“Mrs. Beale was very efficient,” Jaenelle said when he stepped inside. “Yuli and I have discovered more food in the chill box and pantry. We’re going to heat up some soup. Do you want some?”

He shucked off his coat and vanished it. “Yes, I want some, and I’ll heat up the soup.”

“I can heat up soup.”

“I’m sure you can.” Having made the attempt to teach her a couple of cooking basics, he wasn’t sure of that at all.

She narrowed her eyes at him. «It’s been years since I blew up a kitchen.»