Tangled Webs

I’m still shielded. You’re not.”
    Using the poker as a cane, he hobbled up the stairs as fast as he could.
    The Eyrien Warlord pulled out her stiletto and dropped it on the floor. The three-fingered witch came out of the sitting room. And half a witch floated out of the door on her right.
    “Surreal,” Rainier said. “Come on.”
    The three of them moved toward her, sure they’d have her, one way or another.
    She was sure too—until a blast of power shook the house.

    It was so damn frustrating, Daemon thought as he watched the spooky house. When it came to communicating with someone using a psychic thread, the Black gave him a long reach, and he and Lucivar were usually able to contact each other over fairly long distances. Now the tangled webs around that house separated them.
    Be patient, old son. He’ll get out. Lucivar has stood on worse killing fields and walked away. He’ll walk away from this one too.
    Then he felt the blast of Ebon-gray power. Even the spells around the house weren’t strong enough to completely muffle the temper behind that punch.
    “Lucivar,” Daemon whispered.
    “Daemon,” Jaenelle said, rushing from the Coach to join him.
    He touched her shoulder. “You check the point where he intended to come out. I’ll circle around the house in case he needed to choose another exit.”
    She trotted toward the far side of the house. He went in the other direction.
    And he tried not to think of what he’d tell Saetan if Lucivar didn’t come out of that house.

    Lucivar stood in what was left of the front hallway and listened. Waited. Then he frowned.
    No gong. If the last exit had closed, wouldn’t he sense something? Or…
    “Every time Craft is used,” he said softly. “Every time Craft is used.” Craft, not power. Had the little writer-mouse made that distinction deliberately? Had the man even realized there was a difference? Probably not.
    Of course, it was a subtle distinction, one that hadn’t occurred to him when he’d heard the rules—and still wouldn’t have occurred to him if he hadn’t heard the gong confirm the use of Craft when he’d made the witchlight.
    “My apologies, Bastard. I guess you could have played this game after all.”
    Lucivar waited. Listened.
    The house felt oddly empty, the way a house feels when you’ve had a big gathering and the last guest is gone.
    Had Surreal and Rainier gotten out? Was the game ended?
    No. The game hadn’t ended because he was still here. Which meant the little writer-mouse had been scurrying to herd all his predators to one particular spot.
    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