Tangled Webs

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

Despite the boy watching wide-eyed, he gave her a simmering kiss—then nipped the jar of soup out of her hand. "All the more reason why we shouldn’t take a chance now. You can slice up bread and cheese."

"Hurray for me."

He noticed Yuli’s puzzled look and grinned. The boy was bright enough and observant enough to know something was going on but not what—or why.

"After we eat, I’d like to talk about making a slight change in the tangled web that holds the shadow cat. I may have a use for a predator."

"Can I at least stir the soup?"

"No."

A huff. "I’ll talk to you anyway."

As he heated the soup for the three of them, he put aside the worry and the anger. There would be time enough for both later.

It was time.

Tersa vanished the tangled web and turned away from the worktable.

She would go to the spooky house and talk to the Langston man. One…last…time.

TWENTY-THREE

“Surreal?Surreal!”

“Wha?” Why was Rainier sounding so cranky?

“Drink this.”

A glass against her lips. A hand behind her head to keep her from pulling away.

The glass tasted dusty, and she had this odd memory of seeing Rainier flicking his wrist to toss out dried mouse turds before wiping the glass with his shirttail. Then the water, tasting like dust and bitter leaves, was filling her mouth. She swallowed the first mouthful because she needed the water.

“Drink it all.”

He wasn’t giving her much choice. Since he was being such a prick about it, it was either drink or drown.

“Hell’s fire,” she muttered when Rainier released her and set the glass on the kitchen table. She stared at it for a moment, then looked at him. “Did you toss mouse turds out of that glass and then give it to me without washing it?”

“No.” His voice sounded odd, strangely hollow, and…yes, therewas a slight echo. And something was goinggong inside her head.

“Surreal!”

“Wha?”

“I gave you a general healing tonic. I’m hoping it will help enough so you can think clearly for a while longer.”

The floor swished. Swishy, swishy, swish. She watched it until Rainier bent over so they were face-to-face. She didn’t like the worry and fear in his eyes. She would rather watch the floor swish.

He grabbed her shoulders. She tried to pull back. It made her side hurt—and she felt like she was suddenly standing on a patch of clear ground surrounded by fog.

“We have to get out of here,” he said.

“Sugar, we figured that out yesterday when we realized this place was a trap.”

“We have to try harder,” he said. “Surreal…I think you were poisoned after all.”

Lucivar had shown such promise—and was such a disappointment. He was just wandering around the cellar, all woeful and lost. He wasn’t eventrying to get out.

At least the Surreal bitch was finally doing something interesting.

Death scenes were always gripping moments in a story.

Somewhere in the house, a gong sounded.

And overhead, a floorboard creaked.

The gong indicated Craft had been used. He remembered that from the rules of the game—and he’d heard it when he made the witchlight. The floorboard creaking…Might be real, might be illusion. No way to tell in this house.

Lucivar stared at the ceiling, waiting for another sound.

No staircases except the one he came down. There had to be others.

He took a sandwich out of the pack and ate while he prowled through the cellar again, looking for some indication of where Surreal and Rainier had gone.

The cellar under the two sight-shielded houses was connected, but it was split into a warren of small rooms that made it feel bigger and smaller at the same time, confusing a person’s sense of where he was in relation to the ground floor. The cellar of the first house—the house that had been the lure—was closed off from the rest. And held something dangerous enough that Jenkell didn’t want the thing roaming freely.

But there was nothingtruly dangerous here. Not by his standards. On the other hand, there were plenty of things here that could do some damage if a person walked in unaware—or unprepared.

He washed the sandwich down with a long drink of water, then returned the water jug to the pack.

“Enough,” he said as he walked back to the staircase. Most likely, the predators that were loose in this house were hunting Surreal and Rainier. It was time to give the predators a reason to come hunting him instead.

And it was time to remind them that they were also prey.

Enough? Yes, he’d spent more than enough time on the SaDiablo family, who were nowhere near as interesting as he’d been led to believe. They hadn’t provided him with nearly enough material to justify the risks he had taken. Still, hehad acquired a few good scenes, and he would flesh out the rest of the story.

Now it was time to unleash all the surprises and record the last moments of desperation before he got rid of the props.

A door creaked.

Lucivar turned away from the stairs and set the pack down.

Something had entered this part of the cellar.

Moving away from the stairs to the area that had the most open ground, he took the ball of witchlight off the end of his war blade, raised his arm, and left the witchlight floating above him.

A rank smell. Shuffling feet.

The man who came out of the dark topped him in height, weight, and muscle. But Lucivar saw no real intelligence in the eyes—and didn’t get the sense there had been much, if any, even before the man was caged in this house.

Doesn’t mean the bastard can’t use the club he’s carrying or the…

Leg bone in the man’s other hand. Not an old bone. And not completely clean.

“Food.” The man smiled, tossed the bone aside, and took a step toward Lucivar.

A glint in the eye. Not intelligence, just anticipated pleasure. This man liked to fight.

A club against an Eyrien war blade. A simple mind against centuries of training. An unshielded landen against a shielded Warlord Prince.

The fight would be over as fast as Lucivar wanted it to be.

He made the choice out of pity rather than practicality, out of Eyrien tradition rather than landen understanding. He would give the man the compliment of pretending that he, Lucivar Yaslana, was facing another warrior.

The man took another step toward him. And Lucivar rose to the killing edge.