by Anne Bishop
«Now I know why we couldn’t find any weapons,» Surreal said. «The demon-dead were hoarding them.»
Knives. Pokers. Clubs.
She spared one thought for the four children pressed into a corner behind her and Rainier. She hadn’t liked most of them, wouldn’t have spent an hour with any of them by choice except for…
She glanced at the children. Sage gave her a wobbly smile that seemed all the more brave because of the wobble.
Her chest ached.
She looked away.
Odds were good that the children would have been lured into the spooky house as fodder for the game, but she and Rainier had invited them in last night, and she felt the weight of their presence on her shoulders—and she would carry the weight of their deaths.
And his. Rainier, too, was here because of her.
I’m sorry.
Even more sorry because she knew the weapon that would kill her in the end. The cildru dyathe. She would do everything she could to destroy the adults, but not the demon-dead children. Memories of ghosts swam through her mind—and the night when she’d seen the truth about a place called Briarwood.
She couldn’t raise a weapon against a child.
Then all the demon-dead attacked, and there was no more time to think—or regret.
Damn hard to win a fight when you could die and the enemy couldn’t. No room to maneuver, no place to retreat.
The room swam and time became fluid as the poison inside her worked its deadly magic. Either blows came too fast or she made a defensive move for a blow that took too long to fall, giving another enemy an opening.
Her shields would fail soon, and the blows would start breaking bone, start breaking her down, start killing her for real.
A female grabbed her left wrist and jerked her arm up, throwing her off-balance and pulling the wound in her side.
A club came toward her head that she barely deflected with the poker.
Then something dark and fast and so damn big came toward her, shining in places where the sunlight caught metal and—
A hand shoved the female’s head against the wall.
Surreal ducked as brains splushed out of the shattered skull.
A movement in front of her. A scream of fear.
She looked up just as he spun to meet another of the demon-dead, and she saw him—the glazed gold eyes, the face carved from implacable stone. Here in this place, his life was about slaughter; his world was made of death. He was power and grace, savagery and skill—and no mercy.
Now she understood what Rainier meant about seeing Lucivar on a killing field.
He was so damn fast. He didn’t bother to duck the blows from the demon-dead. He didn’t even try to parry them. Their blows hit his shields and never touched the man. And any of the demon-dead who were close enough to strike at him…
It wasn’t that large a room, and he seemed to fill it.
He severed heads, sliced through limbs. Or simply ripped off an arm and drove it into the next body.
And he was just as ruthlessly efficient when it came to eliminating the cildru dyathe from the fight.
Then there was only the sound of harsh breathing—hers and Rainier’s—and the children whimpering in the corner.
Lucivar stood in front of them, those cold glazed eyes just staring at them. He pointed the war blade at her, then shifted the tip to a spot on her right.
“Move,” he said.
She sidestepped to the right.
Lucivar pointed at the wall. The Ebon-gray ring flashed as a burst of power was unleashed.
The wall exploded, leaving a gaping hole.
An odd feeling, like netting tightening over bare skin.
Before she could cry out a warning, the spells around the house hit Lucivar with a vicious amount of power. Enough power that she felt his Ebon-gray shield break.
But he withstood the strike, never moving, and when that lash of power was done…
She could feel all the spells trying to close the gap in the wall, chewing on the Ebon-gray power shielding the hole, in an effort to cut off the possibility of escape.
Lucivar reached into the pouch hanging from his belt, pulled out a ball of clay, and tossed it to Rainier.
“Jaenelle made a slide. You need to rub blood on the clay to trigger the spell.” Lucivar’s eyes raked over Rainier. “That won’t be a problem.”
“No need to get pissy about it,” Surreal muttered.
His eyes sliced over to her. “I’ll deal with you later.”
«Surreal, don’t push him,» Rainier whispered. He hobbled over to the hole in the wall and blooded the clay. When he set it on the bottom of the hole, the slide appeared, looking like a clay-colored cloud.
“Rainier, you take one of the girls and go,” Lucivar said. “You two boys go next. Surreal, you’ll help them get on the slide. Then you’ll go with the other girl.”
“I should—” Rainier began.
“Most wounded, first out,” Lucivar said.
No arguing with that voice.
Rainier, the fool, argued anyway. “Surreal has been poisoned.”
Oh, shit. If Lucivar was pissed off before, now he was really pissed off.
Lucivar stared at Rainier. “Go,” he said too softly.
Surreal dropped the poker, dragged Dayle out of the corner, and brought her over to the hole.
Rainier was cursing softly and viciously as he got into position on the slide. She settled Dayle on his right side. As he put his arm around the girl, Surreal looked at the end of the slide and saw Jaenelle and Daemon waiting.
The poison blurred her vision, and she was glad. She really didn’t want a clear look at Sadi’s face right now.
She gave Rainier and Dayle a push, then watched them slide on air until they passed over the wrought-iron fence and all the tangled spells that had held them captive in this house.
By the time she got the boys on the slide and started them down, the hole Lucivar had made in the wall was half the size. The spells around the house were closing the hole, and there was no doubt in her mind that anyone left in the house when that hole closed completely wouldn’t be coming out. Ever.
“Lucivar…”
His head was turned, as if he was listening to something behind him. But there was nothing but blank wall behind him.
“Take the girl,” he said. “Go.”
“The hole is closing up. The three of us need to go now.”
He looked at her and snarled.
She couldn’t reach him. He would never listen. Not to her.
He’ll listen to Jaenelle.
She grabbed Sage and hustled to the hole, ignoring the way her feet couldn’t seem to find the floor. Since Lucivar wasn’t going to leave until she was gone, she needed to get herself and the girl out fast.
The poison made the ride down a little too exciting, and she felt giddy when Daemon helped her off the slide and set her on firm, unspelled ground.
“What—?” Jaenelle said, her voice sharp.
Then Daemon roared, “No!”
She saw Lucivar framed by the rapidly shrinking hole as he turned back toward something in the house.
A moment later, the hole closed and the exit was sealed shut.
TWENTY-FIVE
He had time, Surreal thought as she stared at the solid wall.
He could have gotten out. Why in the name of Hell had Lucivar turned back?
Thunder rolled over the house and shook the ground. She wasn’t sure if that was Daemon’s temper being given voice or Jaenelle’s.
But it was Daemon who bared his teeth in a snarl and wrapped one hand around a wrought-iron spike. She thought he was going to rip away a piece of fence. He was furious enough that he might not even need Craft to do it.
Instead, a section of fence suddenly fell to the ground, nothing more than a pile of metal shavings. That was a quieter—and more frightening—indication of the power and fury that had just blasted out of the man.
Then Dae
mon was running toward the house’s front door.
Jaenelle leaped to follow him, hit a Black shield, and bounced back. “Daemon! Daemon!”
He didn’t stop, didn’t even check his stride—but the shield came down, and Jaenelle ran to catch up to him.
“Go,” Rainier said. “Help her stop him. I’ll shield the children.”
She ran. The poison seemed to slow her down a little more with every step, but she ran.
He’d reached the covered entranceway. Once he opened that door…
“Daemon!” Jaenelle shouted.
He spun to face her, his face filled with barely controlled fury.
“I am not leaving my brother in that house!”
“Of course we’re not leaving him in that house,” Jaenelle snapped. “But—”
BOOM!
Surreal staggered. Stopped. Spun around as the side of the house exploded. «Rainier?»
«I’ve got a shield around us. Shit! I’ll layer the shields.»
Debris rained down as a dark shape shot skyward with the speed of an arrow released from the bow. Past the fence and high above the trees beyond the property line.
Then those dark wings spread, pumped, caught the air, and began a wide circle back to the front door, where Daemon and Jaenelle waited.
“Who did Lucivar bring out with him?” Jaenelle asked, shading her eyes with one hand.
He’s an idiot, whoever he is, Surreal thought, hurrying to join Jaenelle and Daemon. The man, who was held by one wrist, was flailing around trying to get free. Lucivar was still high enough to skim over rooftops. If he let go, the fool would end up with broken bones or get impaled on the fence.
A gliding descent. The man’s feet barely cleared the fence. Then Lucivar backwinged, dropped his prey, and landed lightly on the walkway.
“Look what I found,” Lucivar said. His mouth curved in a savage smile as he looked at Daemon. “I think it’s a little writer-mouse who’s been scurrying in the walls.”
Daemon’s golden eyes became glazed and sleepy. He purred, “Jarvis Jenkell.”
“I built this house as research for a novel,” Jenkell said, sounding belligerent. “No one was forced to go inside.”
“You sent us invitations,” Daemon said.
“But no one was required to attend,” Jenkell replied.
Surreal thought about the wording of that invitation and snorted. Then she looked at Lucivar. He looked primed to crush another skull.
“That’s true,” Daemon said mildly. “We had a choice, even if the phrasing of the invitation implied otherwise. However…” He raised one eyebrow as he looked at Lucivar. “How many dead?”
“At least twenty,” Lucivar replied.
“Twenty people were killed to provide the entertainment.” Daemon pursed his lips, looked at Jenkell, and shook his head.
“Somehow, I don’t think they were given a choice.”
Jenkell’s forehead beaded with sweat, but he looked defiant. “Among the Blood, there is no law against murder. And I’m Blood, same as you.”
Surreal stared at Jenkell. Boyo, if you think being Blood makes you the same as Sadi, then you weren’t paying attention to that little detail we call caste.
“There is no law against murder,” Daemon agreed. “But there is a price. So I think—”
“Langston man.” The words came out in a vicious snarl.
Surreal took a step to the side to get a better look at the woman moving toward them in a predatory stalk.
Hell’s fire. It was Tersa.
“You tried to hurt the boy,” Tersa said. “And the other children, too. You lied to me. You said it was a surprise for the children.”
It was that, Surreal thought.
“Tersa.” Daemon turned toward Tersa, blocking her direct path to Jenkell.
She had known Tersa for centuries, had seen her when she was semilucid, lost in her visions, or just raving mad. But she’d never seen her when she was filled with a cold, wild fury.
Still focused on Jenkell, Tersa shifted to move around Daemon. “You tried to hurt the children. You tried to hurt my boys!”
She lunged at Jenkell, who squealed—squealed!—and turned to run.
Daemon caught Tersa. Lucivar caught Jenkell.
“Tersa, let me handle this.” Daemon tightened his grip on Tersa’s arms. “Mother.”
Jenkell froze. Surreal wanted to slap him for being an idiot twice over. Hadn’t he bothered to find out who she was before he lured Tersa into helping him?
“Mother, let me handle this.”
They stared at each other, mother and son, and Surreal saw a truth about Daemon she’d never seen before. Mother Night. What he is…Not all of it came from his father.
Then Tersa held up something between them. Surreal couldn’t see what it was, but when Daemon looked down, he smiled. A cold, cruel smile.
He stepped back and turned to face Jenkell. “There is no law against murder. But there is a price. I rule this Territory. The people you killed to fuel this entertainment? They belonged to me. The Warlord Prince who was wounded works for me. The witch who was injured is family. Not to mention the harm you’ve done to my mother by using her in a scheme to kill her own son. Everything has a price, Jenkell. It’s time for you to pay the debt.”
Daemon walked up to the front door, then looked at Jaenelle. “Lady, would you mind holding the door?”
Jaenelle followed him up the steps. She was the one who opened the door and kept her hand on the latch while he walked past her into the house. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, nothing more than a shadowy figure.
Somewhere in the house, a gong sounded. One, two, three, four.
I guess the count starts over when a new game begins, Surreal thought.
She lost count. She wasn’t sure if there were echoes in her head or if the gong was really sounding that quickly.
Daemon walked back to the door, holding a pen in his hand. “Twenty-eight?” he asked Jaenelle.
“Twenty-eight,” she agreed as he slipped the pen into a jacket pocket.
He nodded at Lucivar, who dragged Jenkell up to the door.
“According to your rules, there are thirty exits in this house. Twenty-eight have now been closed. You have seventy-two hours to find either of the remaining two. I guarantee that no matter what you meet in this house, you will live through those seventy-two hours.”
Surreal shivered, hearing the threat beneath the words.
Jenkell, the idiot, looked relieved.
Then Daemon stepped out of the house, grabbed Jenkell by the shirt, and flung him into the front hallway.
Jaenelle released the latch and skipped back.
The door slammed shut.
Jaenelle and Daemon came down the steps to join her and Lucivar, and all four of them looked at Tersa.
“Why?” Jaenelle asked, her voice gentle. “If you wanted to help with the spooky house, why didn’t you say something to Marian or me? We would have been glad to have your help. We would still like your help.”
Tersa wrung her hands, looking lost. “I saw…in a tangled web. Surprises for my boys. Not to harm, just little surprises. But there were other boys. That’s why I came to this place, this house. When the Langston man said he was building a surprise for the boys…I saw it in the web. One boy lost because I didn’t make my surprises.”
Lucivar looked back at the house, then looked at Daemon. “I think I met that boy. And he would have been lost in every way if it wasn’t for one of Tersa’s surprises.”
Daemon studied Lucivar for a moment, then nodded before he looked at the Coach across the street. “And I think Jaenelle and I found the other boy who needed help.”
“Yes,” Jaenelle said. “I think you’re right.” She smiled at Tersa.
“But you didn’t answer the question. Would you like to help Marian and me finish up our spooky house? Maybe you could put in the same surprises.”
No, no, no, Surreal thought. Not the damn beetles. “
The skeleton mouse was kind of cute. Very clever.”
“The spiders were good too,” Lucivar said.
“But you can’t have them pouring out of a drawer,” Surreal said. “If you do, you’ll need to assign someone to keep mopping the floor.”
A beat of silence. Then Lucivar burst out laughing. “That explains why I smelled piss in the kitchen.”
The ground melted. Suddenly Jaenelle was holding her up.
“We need to finish this discussion later,” Jaenelle said. “I’ve done as much preparation as I can on Surreal and Rainier. Now we need to get them into the Coach so I can do the actual healing.”
Preparation? Come to think of it, she had been feeling a phantom hand over the wound, easing the heat and pain.
“Yes,” Lucivar growled. “Our little cousin got herself poisoned.”
“You can’t yell at me if I’m sick,” Surreal said. “It’s a family rule.” And if it wasn’t a family rule, it was damn well going to be—starting now.
“Since when?”
That was Lucivar. In a pissing contest, he not only stepped up to the line; he pissed on the other person’s foot.
Since she was the other person, she balled up her fist, threw a punch—and didn’t come anywhere close to hitting him.
“Lucivar and I will bring Rainier and the children to the Coach. Can you handle Surreal?” Daemon asked.
“Don’t need to be handled,” Surreal muttered.
“Do you really want Lucivar to help you into the Coach?” Jaenelle whispered.
“No.”
“Tersa?” Jaenelle said. “Give me a hand?”
With Tersa on one side and Jaenelle on the other, she didn’t trip or stumble on the way to the Coach. Of course, Jaenelle was floating her on air and they were just tugging her along, but that was a small and insignificant detail.
“How bad is it?” Surreal asked when the Coach’s door opened and a young boy stared at her. “Really.”
“You’re going to be sick for a few days, but your body’s been burning out a lot of the poison in the same way you burn up food. An advantage you had because you wear the Gray.” Jaenelle hesitated, then added, “It was fortunate you were the one who was wounded that way. Rainier wouldn’t have survived it.”
Shit shit shit.