“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 small box that had been next to one of the lamps. When he opened it, he frowned thoughtfully at the contents.

“Those are matches,” Kester said, rolling his eyes. “You scratch one on the rough side of the box to get a little fire to light the lamp or kindling.”

“I know what matches are,” Rainier said, slipping the box into his coat pocket. Then he looked at Surreal. "Do we shield?"

If they didn’t, they were vulnerable. If they did…

"Just us or the children?" she asked. The landens wouldn’t have any control over the shield or be able to replenish the power in it, but she and Rainier could place one around each child to protect them from the first few attacks. Except…

"If we shield everyone, that’s nine more uses of Craft. Counting the times we’ve already used Craft, that would eliminate more than half the possible exits from this place," Rainier said, saying exactly what she had been thinking.

"And most likely, the easier exits to find are the ones that will close first." Like the front door. And the window there in the sitting room. “How many rooms?” she asked. “I wasn’t paying a lot of attention, but the house looked like it was a good size without beingthat big. A dozen rooms in all?”

Rainier nodded. “Plus attic and cellar.”

Was there another exit in that room?

"If the intention is for us to face the traps, there won’t be more than one or two exits in the front rooms," Rainier said. "And if thisis based on a mystery story, we’ve already seen the clue and been shown a sample of the danger that will be triggered if we find an exit and try to use it."

Unfortunately, she agreed with him. No one would have gone to this much trouble to create this place and then risk the possibility of their finding an exit quickly.

Surreal studied the room, looking for a potential exit or anything else that might be useful—and seeing nothing that would work to their advantage.

She had dressed casually in trousers, shirt, and jacket, and was wearing the boots Lucivar had given her at Winsol. Too bad she hadn’t called in her stiletto and the palm knife before going through the gate. The boots were designed with sheaths for both knives. She would have felt more comfortable if she had a couple of honed blades within reach. Well, they were still within reach, since she could call them in, but she wouldn’t be the only one penalized if she used Craft, so she would have to wait until she needed a blade.

"You know, we’d better get out of this place in one piece," Rainier said.

"For other than the obvious reason that I don’t want to get stuck living here if I end up demon-dead?" Surreal asked, still turning slowly as she studied the room.

"Doyou want to explain to Lucivar that you didn’t shield before walking into a strange house?"

Ah, shit. Maybe getting stuck in the house wouldn’t be so bad after all.

"Do we gamble and not create shields?" Rainier asked.

"For now. Let’s gather up our flock of idiot sheep and herd them over to the room across the hall."

"They’re not idiot sheep; they’re children."

"That’s what I said." Her study of the room finally brought her back to the portrait over the fireplace.

Something wrong with the eyes. Then there was something wrong with the whole face as the illusion spell started. The portrait’s head shifted to look down at her. The mouth curved in a leer as the man said in a harsh whisper, “I know what you are.”

Something inside her stilled. Something that had gotten bruised when Falonar’s interest had waned in response to her wanting to hone her fighting skills. No. Not her fighting skills. Her killing skills. There was a difference, even to an Eyrien warrior. She had never been a warrior, but she had been a damn good assassin.

Now she felt as if she were drawing a blade from its sheath. Shining. Deadly. Her.

“I know what you are,” the portrait said again.

“No,” she told it. “You don’t.”

Just his luck to get the least interesting member of the SaDiablo family. An uneducated whore. That’s all she was. No flair, no drama.

Or were they using those psychic threads to say all the interesting things?

No matter. He hadn’t arranged this to collect dialogue. This was to observe the Blood and how they would deal with the little surprises.

And when his next book came out,no one would be able to say his character Landry Langston lacked authenticity.

That’s not my spooky 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. “Youreally 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 feltwrong. “I know, Lady. I didn’t pick up that there weretwo more, but I recognizedher. ” 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 turned, but Daemon shifted just the little bit needed to place Jaenelle partially behind his left shoulder, still giving her a view of the boy while acting as another shield.