by Anne Bishop
Daemon pursed his lips, then let out a frustrated sigh. Give him a house party with rooms packed with people and he could pick out his prey and make the kill while gliding through the crowd—and more often than not, no one realized what he’d done. But this kind of tracking was as frustrating to him as reading was to Lucivar. And admitting he needed help was just as humiliating. “Does the Black shield go down deep enough to block the tunnel?”
Jaenelle’s eyes had the unfocused look of someone deep in thought. “Not quite,” she finally said. “There’s enough space between the tunnel floor and the shield for someone to crawl out.”
“Then I should extend the shield.”
She gave him a sharp, feral smile. “I have a better idea. Yuli, take a look at this.”
“How did you know there’s a tunnel?” Yuli asked.
Good question, Daemon thought.
“The Arcerian cats build dens deep beneath the snow,” Jaenelle replied. “Since some of the cats are my friends, I learned to recognize the feel of a tunnel or chamber that is deep underground. That was the only way I could find their homes.”
«So you’ve been finding tunnels like this since you were a child?» Daemon asked.
«Yes.» “Speaking of Arcerians…”
Jaenelle held out her hand, palm up. A moment later, a small tangled web appeared, protected by a bubble shield that rested in her hand. A moment after that…
Yuli stared at the white cat that now stood on Jaenelle’s hand.
“This is an Arcerian cat,” Jaenelle said.
“It’s so tiny.”
I wish, Daemon thought.
Jaenelle gave him a sharp look, as if she’d heard the thought—or at least suspected what he was thinking.
“This is the first stage of the illusion,” Jaenelle said. “This little cat will get as big as the real ones.” With a fingertip, she stroked the tiny white head.
The purr that came out of that little shadow was that of full-sized Kaelas when he was being petted and was a happy, happy cat—the purr that was strong enough to make Jaenelle’s spell-strengthened bed vibrate.
“You know Surreal,” Jaenelle said to the shadow cat. “You know Rainier. You know Lucivar. You will not hurt them. If someone is with them and they tell you the person is a friend, you will not harm that person.” She paused, then added too softly,
“Kill everything else that tries to leave.”
The tiny cat vanished. Because he was trying to sense it, Daemon felt the moment when the shadow cat reappeared deep in the ground beneath them.
“The shadow has slipped under your shield,” Jaenelle said.
“Now the next part of the spell will engage.”
Yes, Daemon decided as the three of them walked back to the Coach. Jaenelle’s shadow Kaelas was better than simply extending the shields. Anyone entering that tunnel would find an eight-hundred-pound cat waiting to kill him.
Try to touch it and it would be as solid as smoke. But when the cat struck…
Nothing was going to get out of that tunnel except the people the shadow had been told to recognize.
TWENTY-ONE
“It’s solid,” Rainier said, giving the ceiling above the stairs one last whack with the poker before joining Surreal and the children. “The spell must have been designed to let us pass through the floor.”
“Damn dangerous thing to do,” Surreal said. Using Craft, the Blood could pass through solid objects—like walls and floors—but it wasn’t something that should be done carelessly. And passing flesh through a solid object without the person’s being aware of the pass could be fatal.
Of course, that wasn’t likely to be a consideration here.
Raising her arm to rub her forehead, she almost vanished the poker before remembering not to use Craft. She wasn’t used to having her hands full all the time. She tucked the poker under her other arm, since that hand was holding the candle with the witchfire flame.
«How many more times can we use Craft before we get locked into the spells in this house?» she asked Rainier as she rubbed her forehead. «Have you counted them up? Could we make the pass and go back up the stairs to reach the first floor?»
«I’m not sure I’ve remembered all of them,» he replied. «I think we’re getting close to “last one, the game is over.” You and I could make the pass. If we each carried one, we could take two of the children with us. But that’s all we could do.»
Which meant leaving two of the children behind, prey to whatever might be down here. Not a choice she wanted to make.
«And there’s no certainty that if we did this, we would end up where we intended,» Rainier added.
“Let’s see what we can find down here,” she said.
A few steps away from the stairs, the candles guttered and went out, except for the one holding the witchfire.
“Air currents,” Rainier said, a hint of relief in his voice. “Maybe there’s an exit down here after all.”
A roar filled the cellar, both threat and warning.
“Do you think that’s really one of the cats?” Surreal asked when she could hear again.
“Whoever built this place managed to kill two Black Widows and an Eyrien warrior, as well as who knows how many others in order to have predators for this game. Why not one of the cats? You wouldn’t need one that wore Jewels, just one who was kindred and could make the transformation to demon-dead. Without Craft, it’s our physical strength against the cat’s.”
“We’d have no chance,” Surreal said grimly.
“None at all.”
“I guess that’s the direction we don’t go in.”
“Agreed. Now let’s find a way to get back upstairs.”
Lucivar grinned as he watched the little black beetles cover the bottom of the bathtub, then swell into big black beetles—and pop.
He hoped Rainier had been the first one to walk into this bathroom, because Surreal…She still believed that particular fear was her little secret, and neither he nor Daemon had any intention of telling her otherwise. But it wouldn’t be a secret for long if she’d been the one to find these.
Tersa’s work. Had to be.
Daemonar would love having a popping beetle. Of course, it couldn’t be a free-roaming beetle. More like a bug-in-a-box. A well-shielded box, because if the boy managed to remove the beetle and leave it someplace as a surprise for his mama…Marian would never forgive him for bringing the thing home.
He’d talk to Tersa about making the beetle and talk to a carpenter in Riada about making the box. There would be plenty of time to get the thing made as a Winsol gift.
“Surreal, darling, you’ve got more spine than most of the Eyrien warriors I knew back in Terreille, but I bet you squealed when you saw these.”
His amusement vanished when he walked out of the bathroom and saw the boy standing in the back hallway.
Not an illusion this time. The boy was cildru dyathe.
“I am going to bite you and drink your blood,” the boy said.
Poor scared puppy. He must have been a sweet child. Even now he sounded like he was reciting a line for a performance at school—and stumbling over the words.
“The person who killed you…,” Lucivar began.
“He was a powerful Warlord.”
The boy sounded more hopeful than sure that he’d been killed by someone powerful.
“Puppy, in terms of power, whoever killed you was a glass of water. I’m a stormy lake. You come at me, I will rip you apart.”
“But…I’m just a boy.”
“I know,” Lucivar said gently. “I can’t let that matter. Not right now.”
The boy wilted.
A sweet child, killed for a game.
Lucivar set the pack down, then reached into the pouch of healing supplies he had hooked to his belt. He withdrew a small, stoppered bottle and held it out. “Here. It’s lamb, not human, but it’s undiluted blood. It will keep your power from fading, at least for a little while.”
&nbs
p; “Will you hurt me if I take it?”
His temper flashed to the killing edge for a moment before he chained it back. “No, I won’t hurt you.”
Wonderful dialogue. Just wonderful! Who would have thought such a gem would come from the Eyrien ? He would have to put a scene in the book where Landry Langston meets the boy. It would be so sad, so moving, so…wonderful.
The boy took the bottle and gulped down the blood. Wasn’t more than a couple of swallows, but he looked like he’d been given a feast. He almost started licking the inside of the bottle, then stopped as if suddenly remembering his manners. He replaced the stopper and handed the bottle back.
“Puppy, do you know who the cildru dyathe are?” Lucivar asked.
“Dead children,” the boy replied. “If you’re a good boy, you get to go to a nice place for a while before you become a whisper in the Darkness. But if you’re bad…” He looked around the hallway.
You bastard. You not only killed this boy, but you told him he deserved to be here? Compared with here, he supposed, the cildru dyathe ’s island in Hell was a nice place.
“Who killed you?” The question was blunt, and his voice had hardened with the strain of keeping his temper leashed. This boy didn’t deserve seeing his temper.
Instant terror. The boy knew who had killed him, and even now was too afraid to say.
Not likely the boy had any training in the psychic communication the Blood used, but anyone who was Blood could do it to some degree. “Look at me and think the answer as loud as you can in your head.”
Jarvis Jenkell.
Barely a whisper. If he hadn’t been focused on the boy, he wouldn’t have heard it. Now he had confirmation for Daemon about who had set up this trap for them.
“I don’t remember his name,” the boy lied, “but he’s very famous.”
“As of this moment, he’s walking carrion. That’s a promise.” Lucivar took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This is another promise. I have to help the living first, but if there’s a way to break you free of these spells and get you out of this house before we tear it apart, my brother and I will do it.”
“Okay.”
Lucivar picked up the pack and moved into the front hallway, aware of the boy following him.
“Those are bad stairs. They have a trick.”
He looked at the stairs, then back at the boy. “What’s the trick?”
“You can see the hallway down there, but you can’t reach it. You end up someplace else.”
“Have you seen a witch and a Warlord Prince?”
The boy nodded. “They went down the stairs. They disappeared.”
“They have any children with them?”
“Four.”
Which meant three of the children who had come in with Surreal and Rainier were now among the dead.
“You didn’t warn them about the stairs?”
“The lady witch was screaming and I got scared. So I didn’t talk to them.”
“I guess she saw the beetles.”
A quick, boyish grin. “They pop real good.”
Lucivar hesitated. “If there’s a way, we’ll get you out of this house.” Then he went down the stairs.
Oh, this wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. If Lucivar caught up to the Surreal bitch and her companion, it would spoil the big battle at the end of the story. Just spoil it. And that boy! What was he doing? He should be attacking people, not talking to them.
Of course, he hadn’t anticipated any of his “guests” coming in with bottles of blood to use as bribes.
Good idea, though. Probably have to give that idea to the witch in the story. Landry couldn’t have all the good ideas. And she would be carrying blood because she always did—ever since her encounter with…
Well, he’d figure that out later.
Right now he had to provide his “guests” with the way out of the cellar and up to the final act.
And he wasn’t going to think about that phrase Lucivar used: “walking carrion.”
TWENTY-TWO
One minute there was nothing but a pile of storage boxes and broken furniture; the next, there was a set of stairs leading up to a door.
Surreal didn’t much care where the stairs led as long as it got them out of the cellar, which was a warren of little rooms piled with debris—or barren in a way that made her think the space had been used to cage something. It went on too long, was too big for the house above them—and it also felt like it was shrinking around them.
Rainier looked at her. «The Black Widows who made the illusion spells were good at their Craft. The illusion that hid these stairs didn’t stop working by chance.»
«I know,» she replied.
«It feels like a grave down here. It feels like we’re buried alive.»
She wished he hadn’t said that, since it matched her sense of the place closing in on them.
«Do we go up?» Rainier asked.
She nodded. Whatever was on the other side of the door would be easier to face than staying here.
They went up the stairs, Rainier leading while she guarded his and the children’s backs. The door opened with a dramatic creak—and they were back in the kitchen.
And somewhere in the house, a gong sounded.
Good. Good. One problem solved. As soon as Surreal closed the cellar door, he reengaged the illusion spell that hid the stairs.
Now they would see how well Lucivar fared in the cellar.
The ball of witchlight floated on the end of his war blade, challenging the smothering darkness.
Lucivar hated the cellar. Too dark, too damp, too closed in for a man who belonged to a winged race.
Too much of a reminder of the salt mines of Pruul.
This Jenkell bastard. This writer. How much did he know about the SaDiablo family? Was he choosing some of the things in this house because he knew they would provoke memories, or was it all just chance? Did he know enough about Eyriens to understand the difference between living within a mountain and being trapped under the ground?
Didn’t matter. There was a punch of fear that came from memories, so he let fear fuel temper. He’d gotten out of the salt mines of Pruul. He would get out of this house too.
The kitchen looked exactly the same—except for one thing.
“The bowl of peaches is gone,” Surreal said, turning slowly as she looked more carefully at the room. “Did the ‘caretaker’ remove the bowl or are we in a different room despite how this looks?”
Suddenly all four children screamed. A moment later, the smell of urine stung the air.
Rainier gave her a sheepish look as he closed a drawer. “The spiders are still here.”
Currents of air. Not fresh air, exactly, but different from the cellar. The witchlight revealed no opening, no difference in the walls. But there were those currents of air. And then…
The roar took him by surprise, had him shifting into a fighting stance.
No movement. No rushing attack. Just that warning.
“Jaal?” he called softly. “Kaelas? It’s Lucivar.”
It was possible that Jenkell had hired other Blood to hunt down a tiger or an Arcerian cat. As one of the demon-dead, either feline would be a lethal predator. Of course, either one would be just as lethal if it was dumped into the house alive. Wouldn’t even need one of the kindred if it was a live predator.
But if the cat wasn’t part of the spells in the house…
Using the air currents as a guide, he moved closer to the wall—and was rewarded by a snarl.
He’d heard it often enough to recognize that snarl and knew which cat he was dealing with. He just wasn’t sure if the snarl was meant as a greeting or a threat.
“Kaelas? It’s Lucivar.”
What was there? A passageway that had been built when the house was inhabited so that servants could move back and forth from the house to another building? Or was it just a dirt tunnel that had been dug as an escape route when the house was being made into this night
mare?
Either way, he couldn’t see Jaenelle asking one of the cats to guard a tunnel, and neither cat had been with her this morning, so neither was close enough to have reached the house this soon.
That left a shadow guarding the tunnel. Almost as deadly as the real thing. Maybe a little more so if Jaenelle made it. There was a faint hope of reasoning with the real Kaelas, since the cat knew he’d get yelled at if he attacked another male who belonged to Jaenelle. But a shadow followed a set of commands. Lucivar figured “kill” was the dominant command for anything Jaenelle had placed in the tunnel.
He was about to call again when the male rumble that was Kaelas’s psychic voice thumped against his inner barriers. Kaelas’s voice, but not Kaelas. So it was a shadow guarding the tunnel.
«Do not eat Lucivar. Do not eat Surreal. Do not eat Rainier.» The shadow Kaelas sounded grumpy about having his list of edibles restricted.
Damn shadow couldn’t eat anyone anyway. Maul and kill, yes. Eat, no.
At least, he was fairly sure a shadow couldn’t really eat someone. Then again, it wasn’t smart to make assumptions about any shadows Jaenelle made.
“The Lady told you not to eat me?”
A pause. Then, reluctantly, «Lady said do not kill you.»
Hell’s fire. He would have to tell Jaenelle she was giving these shadows a little too much of the original’s personality. Unless it had been told to, a shadow shouldn’t be making that distinction.
“Have you seen Surreal?”
«Smelled her. Gone now.»
“Out the tunnel?”
«No.»
Not surprising. Surreal and Rainier didn’t know Jaenelle and Daemon were waiting outside, had no reason to think Jaenelle was responsible for the cat guarding the tunnel. Instead of heading out of the house, they must have headed back in.
Lucivar started to turn away, then stopped and considered that faint presence he’d sensed in the house—the little writer-mouse scurrying behind the walls, watching and listening. Then he considered that, shadow or not, it never hurt to make a large predator happy—especially if he might need to use the tunnel to get everyone out of the house.
He told the shadow cat, “If any other human tries to get out through the tunnel, you go ahead and eat him.”
