Tangled Webs

gold-green eyes were glassy. Not glazed with cold rage, but glassy with shock. And she was breathing in these funny little hitches.
    This had struck more than a nerve with her.
    “Hey,” he said softly, moving with a deliberateness that wouldn’t startle her. “Illusion spell. That’s all they were.”
    She was shaking. He could see the effort she was making to regain control, but she was shaking.
    “Go back in the hallway,” he said gently. “I’ll get your clothes.”
    “Check them,” she whispered as she stepped back.
    He retrieved her shirt and jacket, pushed the witchlight out ahead of him, and left the bathroom.
    He set everything on the hallway table next to the unlit candle, including the globe candle and pillowcase he’d handed her. Then he looked at her left side.
    “How bad is it?” he asked, his fingers hovering over the blood-spotted paper covering the wound.
    “Not as bad as it could have been. The Black Widow who attacked me had lost the finger with the snake tooth, so I don’t have to worry about venom.”
    The bitch could have coated her other nails with poison. He was about to remind her of that—and then realized there was no point in telling her. She had been an assassin. She knew more about using poisons than he did.
    “If there’s any in me, I’ll feel it soon,” she said quietly, looking past him as the hallway got lighter.
    “Whoever made this house trapped at least one cildru dyathe in here. Maybe more.”
    “Along with two demon-dead Black Widows. Not good odds if they all decide they want someone for dinner.”
    Rainier looked back at the children, then shifted closer to Surreal. «Any suggestions?»
    She sighed. «I’m tired, Rainier. We’ve only been in this house a couple of hours, but it feels much longer.»
    «I think it has been longer, but we’ll talk about that later.»
    «My suggestion is to go back downstairs. We’ll check that sitting room again for surprises. Then we’ll put a shield around the room and a Gray lock on the door. That will keep out unwanted visitors.»
    «That will close two more exits.»
    «I know.»
    He nodded. «Main staircase should be that way.»
    «You’ll take point?» Surreal asked.
    « We’ll take point.» He shook out her shirt and jacket, then helped her into both. «Don’t argue about it.»
    She hesitated. «Wasn’t going to.»
    That told him more than anything else that she needed time to regain her balance.
    They gathered up their various kinds of illumination and their weapons.
    Rainier looked at Kester, put a finger up to his lips, then pointed at the doorway that would lead them back to the main staircase.
    He and Surreal led. The children followed.
    The front upstairs hallway looked just as he remembered it. That wasn’t right, but he couldn’t figure out why—and didn’t care once they reached the bottom of the stairs.
    Then Surreal said, “It’s different.”

    Daemon capped his pen and vanished it. He folded the paper and tucked it in the inside pocket of his black jacket. Then he was up and moving toward the parlor door, slipping past the irate Queen of Halaway as he said, “Thank you for your assistance, Lady Sylvia. And Mikal’s as well. I appreciate it.”
    As he opened the door, she balled up her fist and slugged him in the shoulder.
    He turned on her, snarling.
    “Don’t you dare criticize Tersa,” Sylvia said. “Don’t you dare make her feel bad about what she’s done.”
    His temper chilled, and he replied too softly, “You’re out of line, Lady. ”
    “I saw your face, Prince. When Mikal walked out of the room and you didn’t have to pretend to take a disapproving stand, I saw your face. Tersa may not understand the mundane world she tries to live in, but she understood her boy. If you were still Mikal’s age, you would have been as fascinated by her spooky surprises as he is. Especially those damn beetles.”
    In that moment, he understood why his father had fallen in love with the Queen of Halaway. He could picture Sylvia squaring off with Saetan over whatever had lit her temper or nipped her sense of justice.
    But he doubted Sylvia had ever slugged his father.
    “No response?” Sylvia asked tartly.
    “My father told me I should never lie to a Lady,” Daemon replied.
    “So?”
    “So I have no response.” Because he was not going to admit she was right. “Good evening, Sylvia. I’ll see myself out.”
    She changed from irate woman to concerned Queen in a finger snap.
    She