Tangled Webs

silently swore when the light glinted off the hourglass that hung from a tarnished silver chain around the witch’s neck.
    A Black Widow who was very much one of the demon-dead, judging by how badly misshapen the head and face were from the blows that must have killed her. And not the same Black Widow who had attacked her downstairs.
    “You want to tangle with me, you come ahead,” Surreal said.
    “I’m in the mood to kill something.”
    The Black Widow laughed. “You think you can kill me? Look again.”
    “All right, maybe I’m too late to kill you, and maybe I won’t even be able to finish the kill. But if you don’t back off, I can arrange for you to become a permanent resident of a part of Hell that will make this place look like a high-class indulgence.”
    “Even when you become demon-dead you won’t have that much power.”
    “Actually, sugar, since my uncle is the High Lord, I’ll be able to send you anywhere I damn well please. He’ll make sure of it.”
    The Black Widow hesitated, then smiled as much as her misshapen face allowed. “You won’t be going anywhere, not even to Hell. I can wait to finish you, bitch.” She passed through the wall and vanished.
    “Shit,” Surreal muttered. “Guess there’s no penalty for using Craft once you’re dead.” Or part of the spells woven into the house.
    She huffed out a breath and winced. First she needed to take care of the wound, figure out how bad it was—and whether she’d just been poisoned. Then she would deal with whatever came next. Right now she was certain of two things: she was in the upstairs back hallway and Rainier wasn’t.
    «Rainier?»
    No answer. Nothing but a strange, gray blankness.
    «Rainier!»
    An aural shield must have been triggered, one that not only blocked out ordinary sounds but also prevented communication along psychic threads.
    Had the gong sounded? She’d been too preoccupied to notice. Had Rainier heard it, or was that sound also blocked by the aural shield?
    Leaving the unlit candle on the table, she took the poker and the ball of witchlight. The first door on her right was a bathroom. A narrow space with no room to maneuver if she had to fight. But it might have clean water, and that was something she needed right now.
    “Wounded because I didn’t shield and got separated from my escort,” she said as she warily entered the bathroom. “Lucivar is going to be so pissed.”

    Interesting. Why was the witch so concerned about the opinion of a male who wasn’t there? It wasn’t like she was ever going to hear what he thought of her mistakes.
    Yes. That was a thought. Those pointed ears would make a fine trophy. Something to remember her by when she was absorbed into the spells of this house.
    And then she wouldn’t have to worry about hearing anything.

    Somewhere in the house, a gong sounded twice.
    «Surreal?»
    No answer. Nothing but a strange, gray blankness.
    «Surreal!»
    Rainier held his position. Waiting. Listening. Then he wove between the children and stopped at one of the hallway’s openings and held out the lamp, trying to get a better look at the room.
    Not a room. It was the front hallway.
    He looked at Kester, then tipped his head to indicate the other children. “Stay here. Keep them together.”
    No sass from the boy. No arguments. No comments. Maybe it was finally sinking in that the children needed to do what they were told in order to survive.
    He moved toward the front staircase. Could Surreal still be downstairs?
    “Surreal?”
    He peered over the banister. No sign of light down below.
    The gong had sounded twice. One time would have been for the witchfire she needed to create in order to light the candle. The other?
    She’d sensed something. Or someone. The second time the gong had sounded. Was that for a weapon or a shield?
    Should have shielded when they first realized something was wrong. They had gambled on the degree of danger they were facing—and had underestimated their enemy.
    She’d been coming up last, watching their backs. Should have been the safer position, since they’d already checked the kitchen.
    Should have been.
    What had changed in that moment between the last girl’s starting up the stairs and Surreal’s following her?
    The last girl.
    Rainier turned toward the opening leading to the back hall. Seven children had come up the stairs with him. But there shouldn’t be seven anymore. The fourth girl. The last one to come up the stairs. She wasn’t one