Tangled Webs
A door. She had created her shield a hand span away from the walls to avoid triggering any spells that might bein the walls. Looked like she’d made the right choice. Still, in the morning, the only way out of the room was through a door that held who knew what on the other side.
She took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “Next?”
“Food and water,” Rainier said. “We’ll use my stash.”
He didn’t expect to get out of the house, Surreal realized. If he died and made the transition to demon-dead, he might get pulled into the spells and become an enemy instead of still fighting with her. If that happened, she wouldn’t have access to the supplies he carried. That’s why he wanted to use his supplies first. But neither of them actually put that into words.
The other thing neither of them said was that she would be able to destroy him, to finish the kill, but ifshe was the one who died and turned on him, he wouldn’t be able to survive her attack. So keeping her alive was the only chance that one of them would get out of this house.
He called in a jug of water and a chill box that was inside a large wicker picnic hamper—the kind that had a separate compartment to carry dishes, glasses, and silverware.
Surreal blinked. She’d brought water, yes. Always carried some with her. But her stash of food was four apples she grabbed from a bowl in the town house’s kitchen as she and Rainier were leaving.
“You carry a chill box?”
He looked puzzled. “Why not?”
She didn’t answer that, too busy wondering if a chill box was something all escorts kept with them or if this was just Rainier.
He opened the chill box’s lid and pulled out a whole roasted chicken, a small wheel of cheese, and three apples.
“What, no sweet?” she teased.
“The chicken had already been cooked when we changed our plans for the evening. We didn’t get much dinner, since we rushed to get here—”
She snorted.
“—so I figured a harvest picnic after viewing the house would be appropriate.” "And I did bring a sweet," he added, "but it’s not in the chill box, so you’ll have to do without."
She grinned at him and opened the compartment that held the silverware and dishes.
They were joking, smiling, eating! How could they find anything amusing? Why weren’t theyafraid ?
The worst was still to come, but they had managed to shut out all his pets. Nothing in that room but a couple of the little, creepy spells, and the bitch had already spoiled one of them by not letting the children eat the grapes. Unless the Warlord Prince insisted on sex, nothing interesting would happen while they stayed in that room.
But no. The Surreal bitch outranked the Warlord Prince, so he couldn’t insist on being pleasured, even though shehad been a whore.
No matter. When he wrote the Landry Langston version of this little adventure, he’d make things interesting. Besides, stories always needed an interlude before the final storm.
“So.” Surreal bit off a piece of apple and chewed slowly. The wheel of cheese was gone, and the chicken was nothing more than a jumble of bones. With their tummies sufficiently full, the children had fallen asleep before they’d gotten to the apples. Just as well. She and Rainier needed the extra food, since their bodies, as the vessels of the power they wielded, burned up food faster. “If this was one of those mystery stories we’ve read, where do you think we’d be now?”
Rainier looked around the sitting room. “Well, we’ve had death and danger, we’ve been warned that there is worse coming, and we’re barricaded in a room in order to get some rest. In terms of story, this is the place where the two main characters have fast, hot sex.”
They looked at each other.
“So what do you want to do in the five minutesthat would have taken?” Surreal asked.
Rainier huffed out a laugh. “Surreal.”
“What? Remember that one we read where the man’s penis wept in gratitude? Personally, I thought he was just leaking, and that the woman, who swore it was the best sex she’d ever had, was being very polite. I know this because when I was a whore and had to be very polite in that way, I always charged a lot more.”
“Hush.” Rainier’s face was turning red with the effort not to laugh loud enough to wake the children.
She looked at the painting above the fireplace mantel. Blood still oozed down the woman’s chest from the wounds inflicted by her lover. Then Surreal looked at the children. They were all so exhausted, she doubted they were capable of overhearing anything, but she switched to a psychic thread anyway.
"Has this all seemed odd to you?" she asked.
"In any particular way?" Rainier replied dryly.
She hooked her hair behind one ear. "I don’t know. It just seems…Not tame, exactly."
Rainier looked away. "Three children have died. That isn’t tame."
"And more died before we walked into this place. I know. But it’s…clumsy. Deadly, yes, but…" She wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell him, wasn’t even sure what she was sensing.
Rainier hesitated. "Your family has a vicious elegance that is unmatched anywhere in the Realm. The only males and witches who come close are the ones who served in the First Circle at Ebon Askavi, and they rule the Shadow Realm now. These are your friends, your family. And frankly, Lady, that is the level of Craft that you yourself wield. This place may not be elegant, but it’s a well-constructed trap."
"Yes," she agreed. "Well constructed but not elegant."
"If any Black Widow in your family had built this place with the intention of destroying whoever walked in here…"
Surreal shivered. Seductive. Alluring. Lethal. Breaking a person down layer by layer. Weaving pain and pleasure together until both were a torment you would beg to feel.
Clickety-clack. Tippity-tap.
The sound—and Rainier’s gentle nudge—brought her wandering thoughts back to the room and the potential danger.
Clickety-clack. Tippity-tap.
Something white, scurrying along the baseboard just inside her shield, tapping on the wood floor.
They watched the skeleton mouse scurry-scurry until it reached the corner of the hearth. Then it sat back on its haunches and turned its skull until it seemed to be looking right at them.
She wished she still had a crumb of cheese left to toss to it—just to see what would happen.
The mouse held its position for a moment longer, then scurried away.