Tangled Webs

otherwise. “I’m sorry I missed the viewing. I am, but—”
    “You think that’s why I’m angry with you? Because you didn’t answer the invitation?”
    His temper grew fangs. “If that isn’t the reason, then why don’t you tell me why you’re so pissed off at me?”
    Her sapphire eyes blazed. “I’m pissed off, as you so elegantly put it, because you think I am so shallow and so selfish that I would issue that kind of finger-snap summons and expect you to drop everything and obey.”
    “What?” Female was an alien language, but he usually could translate it well enough to understand what was being said. But this…
    “You must think I’m completely unaware of what is required to rule a Territory or oversee the SaDiablo family. You must think I’m ignorant of how much work you do or the demands that are now made on your time since you became the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. Or do you have another explanation for being so damn stupid?”
    His temper strained against a fraying leash.
    “When did that invitation arrive?” Jaenelle demanded.
    “This afternoon. It was brought up to the room instead of being delivered to me.”
    “And if it had been delivered to you, you would have dropped everything and run to obey.”
    “I love you,” Daemon shouted. “What in the name of Hell is wrong with wanting to please you?”
    “What’s wrong with it is that you never considered it odd that I would send such an invitation,” Jaenelle shouted back. “Instead of using your brain, you would have obeyed and walked into that house! Now open the damn door!”
    Because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, he released the Black lock and opened the door. He was wrong. He still didn’t know why, but somehow he was wrong.
    She barely waited for the door to open before she was out of the Coach—and he was barely a step behind her. He grabbed her arm, knowing full well another kind of woman would rip his face for touching her during a quarrel.
    “Jaenelle…” He loosened his hold, making it easy for her to pull away from him if she chose. Angry and confused, he wasn’t sure if he should fight or surrender. And he wasn’t sure what either choice might cost him. “You’re angry because I would have answered the invitation?”
    “Yes.”
    The ice in her voice chilled his heart. “Why? Please tell me why.”
    She pointed at the house across the street from where they stood. “Because that’s not my spooky house.”

ELEVEN
     
     
    C loaked in a sight shield, he watched them from the peepholes in the portrait, secure in the knowledge that he would remain undetected. These hidden corridors and his little hidey-holes weren’t bound by the spells constricting the use of Craft in the rest of his “entertainment.” He’d made sure of that before he settled his account with the Black Widow who had added the final, deadly layer to his version of the spooky house. Of course, she hadn’t intended to become part of that final, deadly layer.
    Now that he’d taken care of all his “partners,” there was no one to connect him to this place. Well, he’d taken care of almost all of them. That one hadn’t shown up for her payment. Just as well. He’d sweated through the whole business of dealing with the Hourglass Coven, but that one had been creepier than the others. Still, even if she did talk about making illusion spells for a spooky house, who would listen to her, let alone believe her?

    “All right,” Surreal said, hooking her hair behind her ears. “Someone has cast us as the lead characters in a mystery about a house that’s trying to kill us. Does that about sum it up?”
    “The house itself is wood, glass, and stone,” Rainier said. “It’s not trying to do anything. But based on the clue and the witch in the glass, it does seem like someone is trying to kill us. Hurt us at the very least. That same someone hired a Black Widow to create illusion spells—and probably other things—that we’ll assume will try to harm us while we look for a way out.”
    More than one Black Widow, Surreal thought. That was something she was going to keep to herself a little while longer. After all, she could be wrong.
    Sweet Darkness, please let her be wrong.
    “We’ve got two lamps and the witchlight,” Rainier said.
    “And one weapon,” Surreal said as Rainier handed her the poker. “I didn’t put much power into the witchlight when I made it, so it won’t last long.”
    Rainier picked up a