Tangled Webs (27 page)

“And Daemon?” Saetan asked. “What is he protecting?”

“More than Lucivar, Daemon needss a father who undersstandss him. By keeping you here, he iss protecting hiss own heart.”

Daemon put away the spider silk and the rest of his supplies, then vanished the debris, leaving no trace of his night’s work.

Three tangled webs sat on a table, carefully protected by shields. These webs offered no visions. Nor were they simple dreams.

They were nightmare illusions combined with shadows. They were alluring and lethal—and exquisitely brutal. They would extract the debt owed to the SaDiablo family down to the last drop of blood and the last heartbeat of fear.

Now all he needed to do was find Jarvis Jenkell.

He vanished the tangled webs and went downstairs. They could all use some breakfast, and it would be better for the boy if Jaenelle was working on her second cup of coffee before Yuli woke up.

Then he felt the thunder rolling through the abyss.

He looked at Jaenelle.

She said, “Lucivar is here.”

EIGHTEEN

T
he only thing behind the door was a dining room that wasn’t the same as the one they’d seen last night. Nothing in the back passage, nothing on the stairs. No shadow illusions of dead boys. No Black Widows trying to take another slice out of her.

No damn beetles in the bathroom.

Surreal would have felt better if a hairy, giggling spider had been climbing up a wall or a skeleton mouse had been scurrying in the hallway.

The lack of small surprises could mean they were getting close to something big—and a lot more dangerous.

Daemon rushed out of the Coach and saw Lucivar walking along the outside of the wrought-iron fence, looking at the house and the land around it.

Looking relaxed, unconcerned, even friendly.

And underneath a surface that gave no warning, the man was so furious, he was capable of ripping a person’s arm off before anyone realized his smile was feral and not friendly.

The fact that that particular flavor of Lucivar’s temper seemed to be aimed right at him wasn’t a good way to start the morning.

“Hell’s fire,” Jaenelle muttered as she joined Daemon outside. “He’s really feeling pissy this morning.”

Lucivar stopped at the gate and waited for them.

The lazy, arrogant smile. The glazed eyes. The explosive temper dancing one step away from the killing edge.

“Lucivar,” Daemon said.

“Because you’re my brother and I love you, I’m going to let you tell me why I shouldn’t break your face.”

“Lucivar,” Jaenelle said.

He snapped his fingers, pointed at her, and snarled, “Stay out of this, Cat.”

She blinked and actually took a step back in surprise. Then her eyes changed, the blue becoming a deeper sapphire. And suddenly Daemon could see his breath as the air around them turned cold.

“And put a warmer coat on,” Lucivar snapped, still glaring at her. “It’s cold out here.”

«The cold has nothing to do with the weather, Prick,» Daemon said on a spear thread.

«I don’t give a damn. Cold is cold, and she’s not dressed warmly enough to be standing out here.»

“Prince Yaslana,” Jaenelle growled.

“Don’t get bitchy with me, or I’ll knock you on your ass.”

«Have you forgotten that I’m standing here?» Daemon asked.

«No, it just means I’ll have to knock you down first.»

Yes, he knew that flavor of Lucivar’s temper, and he knew the man. Lucivar was primed for a fight—and right now, the opponent didn’t much matter.

“Lady,” Daemon said, never taking his eyes off Lucivar. “Prince Yaslana and I need a few minutes alone.”

She studied both of them for a long moment, then walked away, muttering something about snarly males that he couldn’t quite hear. She stopped halfway between them and the Coach—out of earshot but close enough to quickly rejoin the discussion.

“Who’s in that house?” Lucivar asked.

“What makes you think anyone is in there?”

“You’re here, and it’s still standing.”

Daemon tipped his head to acknowledge the accuracy of that assessment. “Surreal and Rainier—and seven landen children.”

Lucivar stared at him. “You knew it was a trap. Last night when you sent the message, you
knew.
”

“Yes, I knew,” Daemon replied, letting his own temper sharpen. “Jaenelle figured it out before I did, but I knew it was a trap when I told you to stay home. I was afraid you’d just march in there if you found out Surreal and Rainier were caught in the spells that had been spun around this place.”

“I am going in,” Lucivar said.

“You
can’t
.” He called in the paper that had the spooky house rules and waved it at his brother. “Damn you, Lucivar, according to the rules of this place—”

“Since when do we play by anyone else’s rules?”

The words felt like a bucket of ice water thrown in his face.

Lucivar moved closer, until there was no distance between them. “Tell me, Bastard. Since when do
we
play by anyone else’s rules?”

He floundered. Felt like he’d lost his footing, but he couldn’t quite figure out why.

“This place was built as a trap to kill the three of us,” he said, sure of at least that much. “You, me, and Surreal.”

“Understood. What else?”

“We’ve figured out—or are almost certain, anyway—that Jarvis Jenkell is behind the creation of this place. He’s recently discovered that he’s Blood, and it seems he wants to test his newfound skills against the SaDiablo family.”

“Which only proves he’s a clever idiot. What else?”

Daemon held out the paper. “Read this.”

Lucivar glanced at the paper, then looked at the house. “You read it.”

“Lucivar…”

“Read it.”

Daemon took a breath, ready to argue that Lucivar was perfectly capable of reading the rules by himself. Then he paused. Considered. This wasn’t about Lucivar’s resistance to anything “bookish.” This was about what he absorbed from words when he heard them.

THERE ARE THIRTY EXITS FROM THE SPOOKY HOUSE, BUT YOU WILL NEED TO LOOK CAREFULLY TO FIND THEM, FOR THEY ARE WRAPPED IN DANGER. EVERY TIME CRAFT IS USED, AN EXIT IS SEALED, AND THAT WAY OUT IS LOST. WHEN THE LAST EXIT IS SEALED, YOU WILL BECOME PART OF THE HOUSE—AND STAY WITH US FOREVER.

Lucivar looked at the house, at the land, at the sky.

“Again,” Lucivar said.

Daemon read it again—and watched his brother. That look. That stance. What was Lucivar looking at when he considered that house as a battleground? More to the point, what was Lucivar
seeing
?

Lucivar took a couple of steps away from him. “Read it again.”

He read it a third time, then waited.

Lucivar took a deep breath and let it out in a gusty, annoyed sigh. Frustration filled his eyes, and Daemon recognized the feeling washing the air between them—their mutual desire to grab each other and shake some understanding into the other one’s head.

“He hamstrung you, Bastard,” Lucivar said. “He used words instead of a blade, but he hamstrung you. He counted on you doing exactly what you did—play by his rules. Surreal and Rainier, too, since they’re still in there.”

Jaenelle joined them. “There are three Black Widows who spun the illusions around this place. Every time Craft is used, the people in the house become more ensnared in the webs. And there are death spells tangled in with the rest. If you take a step over the boundary, you’ll be caught in the spells.”

“If you play by the rules,” Lucivar said. “The sun’s going to shine in Hell before I play by someone else’s rules—especially some landen prick who wants one of us to help him commit suicide.”

“He’s Blood, not landen,” Daemon said. “I don’t think he expected anyone to know he was behind this game, so I doubt he anticipated experiencing a slow execution firsthand as fodder for one of his stories.”

Lucivar stared at him as if half his brains had just fallen out of his ears.

“Even someone as strong as you can get caught by webs like this,” Jaenelle said. “Have you forgotten when we got caught in the Jhinka attack a few years ago? Those weren’t the same kind of webs, but close enough.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” Lucivar replied. “I’ve learned a few things since then.” He looked at Daemon. “That’s why I know you can’t go into that house—and I can.”

“What makes you think—?” Daemon began.

Lucivar swung his arm out, shoulder high, his hand in a tight fist.

Daemon felt the punch of Ebon-gray power as it hit the tangled webs that surrounded the house.

The house shook. It felt like a violent gust of wind—or a fist—had slammed into the house, trying to knock it off its foundation.

“Hell’s fire,” Rainier said. “What was that?”

Daemon had been able to feel the webs around the spooky house. Now he saw them. Lucivar’s power lit them up—and revealed some of the things they hid. Just for a moment. Just long enough.

“No wonder the house didn’t look balanced on the land,” Jaenelle said. “There’s actually three attached houses here, and two of them were sight shielded.”

Lucivar nodded. “Spells wrapped around places of transition—like a staircase or door—can be used to move people without their being aware of it. The illusion spell preys on their sense of where they are and how long they’ve been doing something simple. They think they’re going up a regular flight of stairs or going through a door, but they’re really being herded down a corridor that leads somewhere else. Surreal and Rainier are probably in the second or third house by now.”

“I’ve never heard of illusion spells that could do this,” Daemon said, glancing at Jaenelle. “Have you?”

“No,” she replied, sounding as puzzled and intrigued as he felt.

Lucivar looked at both of them and shrugged. “I guess it’s not part of the Hourglass’s standard training.”

“So where did you learn about this?” Daemon asked.

“From Tersa.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I learned about trap spells and transition illusions from Tersa.”

“Tersa walks in the Twisted Kingdom,” Jaenelle said. “You know that.”

Lucivar shrugged again. “Most people think in straight lines; Tersa thinks in squiggles. Just means it takes a little longer to get an answer when you ask her a question.”

Daemon rubbed his forehead, trying to dispel the headache that was brewing. “You talk to Tersa?”

“I visit her a couple times a month. I’ve done that for a few years now. We sit in the kitchen and drink ale and eat nutcakes.”

He saw Jaenelle shudder at that combination of tastes. The combination didn’t appeal to him either, but it brought up other questions. “Why don’t you have to drink milk in order to get nutcakes?”

Lucivar grinned. “I told her ale
was
Eyrien milk.”

You prick,
Daemon thought, feeling resentful because he’d never thought of something like that. “You visit my mother.”

“Yes,” Lucivar replied.

“You never mentioned that.”

“It’s none of your business.”

He rocked back on his heels, not sure how to respond. It
wasn’t
any of his business as long as Tersa wasn’t harmed by it.

“I don’t know what you’re fussing about,” Lucivar said. “I drop in, ask a question, and just listen while I have a glass of ale. A lot of what Tersa says has nothing to do with the question, and some of it makes no sense to me at all, but she picks up all the scattered pieces of information as she wanders the paths within her mind. It’s up to the listener to recognize what he needs and put the pieces together.”

He could picture them in the kitchen of Tersa’s cottage, with Allista hovering nearby. And it occurred to him that it might be a relief to Tersa to have the company of someone who could recognize her gifts of knowledge and experience without asking her to think in straight lines.

That was something he needed to consider more carefully at another time.

“You’ve been learning the Hourglass’s Craft from Tersa?” Jaenelle asked.

“No, I’ve been learning
about
the Hourglass’s Craft and how to defend against some kinds of spells,” Lucivar replied. “You can punch your way out of a trap spell, but you have to do it fast and you have to do it before you use Craft enough times for the spell to hook into you and start feeding off your own strength. Of course, part of the point of a trap spell is to drain the prey’s power, so there’s a backlash spell attached to the trap. The first time you try to punch out, you’ll get hit with a blast of power. It will hurt like a wicked bitch, even if you’re shielded. And you might have to take a second hit. After that, it’s strength against strength. The trap spell will keep trying to close up, so you just keep breaking through and moving forward until you’re out.”

“Mother Night,” Daemon muttered as he stared at the house.

“One of them would have tried to break through the spells,” Jaenelle said.

Lucivar nodded. “And took a hard enough hit to discourage them from trying again. So they’re playing the game—and moving deeper into the trap. And that means whoever goes in to find them has to deal with whatever is in that house without using Craft. Which is why I can go in and neither of you can.”

Lucivar unbuckled his everyday belt and vanished it. Then he called in the double-buckle fighting belt that Eyriens wore in battle. The hunting knife Eyrien males wore as standard dress was replaced by a hunting knife that was a little bigger, a little heavier, and a lot meaner. A palm-sized knife was slipped into a sheath between the belt buckles. Two more knives went into the sheaths in Lucivar’s boots. Then…

“Wait wait wait,” Jaenelle said. “What is
that
?”

Daemon felt the shield that formed around Lucivar like a second skin. He knew what it was. He’d just never expected to feel it again.

Lucivar frowned at her as he closed the leather gauntlets over his wrists and forearms. “It’s an Ebony shield.” Using Craft, he put chain mail over the light leather vest he was wearing in place of a shirt. “You may not wear Ebony Jewels anymore, Cat, but the power you put into the Rings of Honor is still there and the shields you built into those Rings still work.”