Tangled Webs

house.
    Daemon let the words seep into his mind like rain softening earth.
    Not hers.
    An invitation sent to bring him to this place, worded in such a way that he would respond without questioning. A gut-level reaction that didn’t take into account the personality of the woman. Jaenelle was right about that—if he had stopped to think for even a minute, he would have wondered why she had sent it.
    Finger-snap summons, she’d called it. That was exactly what this had been. She was capable of issuing that kind of command and expecting it to be obeyed without question, but he had a feeling that if he asked any of the boyos in her First Circle how they had responded to that kind of summons, every one of them would have said they would have shown up fully shielded and ready for a fight.
    Jaenelle Angelline had never been an inconsiderate or insensitive Queen. And she wasn’t an inconsiderate or insensitive wife.
    He took a deep breath and blew it out in a sigh as he stared at the house across the street. “If I admit to being an ass, could we finish this disagreement after we figure out what’s going on here?”
    “If there’s any disagreement left to finish.”
    When she slipped her arms around his waist, he wrapped his arms around her—and felt the tight muscles in his chest and back begin to relax.
    Until she smiled at him and added, “Just how guilty do you feel about being an ass?”
    His spine quivered. His knees turned to jelly. “Why?”
    “I need your help to finish the last part of my spooky house.”
    Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
    “Aren’t you going to ask what I want you to do?”
    Everything has a price, old son. Just consider this the equivalent to a kick in the balls. “No.”
    “I see.” She gave him a light kiss, then stepped back. “You really feel guilty.”
    Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. “Shall we?” He tipped his head to indicate the house.
    By the time they reached the other side of the street, he could feel the spells, like pins lightly scratching his skin. Tangled webs of dreams and visions. Illusion spells. Layers of them.
    He’d been born a Black Widow—the only natural male Black Widow in the history of the Blood. The only other male to be made a Black Widow was his father. Whatever was around this house was the work of Sisters of the Hourglass—and that wasn’t good. The other thing that wasn’t good…
    His heart jumped when he realized he recognized the feel of some of the spells.
    “Three of them,” Jaenelle said, taking a step toward the wrought-iron fence.
    “Shield,” Daemon snapped, creating a Black shield around himself. It was tempting to put a shield around her, but that would be like stuffing her into a sweater instead of letting her put it on by herself.
    She blinked at him, then muttered something under her breath in a language he didn’t know as a defensive shield formed around her. Not a bubble; this was a full cloak of power that followed her shape a hand span above her skin.
    He was still learning to read Twilight’s Dawn, the Jewel she now wore, but the shield seemed to have the equivalent strength of an Ebon-gray Jewel. That would do for now.
    “How do you know there were three?” he asked, returning his attention to her earlier comment.
    The look she gave him was Mentor to Student, since she was the one who was overseeing most of his formal training in the Hourglass’s Craft.
    The High Lord of Hell was overseeing the rest of it—which was something neither he nor Saetan mentioned to anyone.
    “There are three distinct feels to these spells, three distinct temperaments that went into their making. We haven’t reached the spot where the spells actually engage, but we’re close.” Jaenelle hesitated. “Daemon…”
    “I know.” And it made him heartsick because the closer he got to the gate in the fence, the more this place felt wrong. “I know, Lady. I didn’t pick up that there were two more, but I recognized her. ” Then he added, «We’ve got company.»
    They continued to study the house, giving no sign they were aware of the person moving toward them.
    A landen, which wasn’t surprising since they were in a landen village, but that’s all Daemon could sense because his Black-Jeweled power was too dark and potent for him to touch a landen mind without destroying it.
    So they waited until a young voice hesitantly asked, “Are you going into the spooky house?”
    Now they