Authors: Anne Bishop
But not in this house. And not in the first house. Pointless to drive Surreal and Rainier back to the starting point when there was one last possibility—the third house.
Lucivar opened his mouth and breathed in.
A taste in the air, coming from…that direction. Up there. In the third house.
He smiled and rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles.
There was a killing field in this place after all.
They had followed the children into one of the rooms. The
cildru dyathe
had gathered in the adjoining bedroom, cutting off that possible escape. The Eyrien Warlord and the two Black Widows were standing in the doorway, savoring the moment when the fight began.
“So,” Surreal said as she shifted to stand on Rainier’s left and support his weak side as long as she could. “This is where we die.”
Rainier shifted slightly to defend against the
cildru dyathe.
“Yeah. This is where we die.”
TWENTY-FOUR
«Y
ou have to shield again,» Surreal told Rainier, shifting her weight as the predators moved forward, savoring the moment of attack. She cut him off when he started to protest. «We’ll survive longer if you’re shielded. Maybe long enough for Lucivar to join the fight.»
«That may not work to our advantage,» Rainier said. But he created an Opal shield around himself.
She didn’t hear the gong. What did that mean? That it no longer made a difference if they used Craft? That the last exit had closed? That they were trapped in this house forever?
Forever meaning until Daemon unleashed the Black against this place and tore it all apart—and everyone still in it.
A sideways glance at Rainier. He was sweating heavily, his face tight with pain.
He was a dancer. And that leg…
The tight shield around his thigh was acting like a brace, which was the only reason he was still on his feet. She couldn’t think about what it was going to cost him to fight.
«Have you ever seen Lucivar on a killing field?» Rainier asked.
«I’ve seen him when he’s riding the killing edge. Hell’s fire, your caste of male rises to that edge as easy as you breathe. Maybe more so.»
«Not the same thing. I saw him, once, when he walked off a killing field.» Rainier swallowed hard. «May the Darkness have mercy on us if he sees us as an enemy.»
Not something she wanted to hear—especially when it was being said by one Warlord Prince about another.
A door suddenly appeared in the wall and swung open—and the demon-dead walked out. A dozen of them. None of them wore Jewels, but that didn’t matter. Not in this fight.
«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
splush
ed 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
H
e 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 Daemon 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—”