Either way, he couldn’t see Jaenelle asking one of the cats to guard a tunnel, and neither cat had been with her this morning, so neither was close enough to have reached the house this soon.
That left a shadow guarding the tunnel. Almost as deadly as the real thing. Maybe a little more so if Jaenelle made it. There was a faint hope of reasoning with the real Kaelas, since the cat knew he’d get yelled at if he attacked another male who belonged to Jaenelle. But a shadow followed a set of commands. Lucivar figured “kill” was the dominant command for anything Jaenelle had placed in the tunnel.
He was about to call again when the male rumble that was Kaelas’s psychic voice thumped against his inner barriers. Kaelas’s voice, but not Kaelas. So it was a shadow guarding the tunnel.
«Do not eat Lucivar. Do not eat Surreal. Do not eat Rainier.» The shadow Kaelas sounded grumpy about having his list of edibles restricted.
Damn shadow couldn’t eat anyone anyway. Maul and kill, yes. Eat, no.
At least, he was fairly sure a shadow couldn’t really eat someone. Then again, it wasn’t smart to make assumptions about any shadows Jaenelle made.
“The Lady told you not to eat me?”
A pause. Then, reluctantly, «Lady said do not kill you.»
Hell’s fire. He would have to tell Jaenelle she was giving these shadows a little too much of the original’s personality. Unless it had been told to, a shadow shouldn’t be making that distinction.
“Have you seen Surreal?”
«Smelled her. Gone now.»
“Out the tunnel?”
«No.»
Not surprising. Surreal and Rainier didn’t know Jaenelle and Daemon were waiting outside, had no reason to think Jaenelle was responsible for the cat guarding the tunnel. Instead of heading out of the house, they must have headed back in.
Lucivar started to turn away, then stopped and considered that faint presence he’d sensed in the house—the little writer-mouse scurrying behind the walls, watching and listening. Then he considered that, shadow or not, it never hurt to make a large predator happy—especially if he might need to use the tunnel to get everyone out of the house.
He told the shadow cat, “If any other human tries to get out through the tunnel, you go ahead and eat him.”
As he walked away to explore another part of the cellar, the shadow Kaelas’s pleasure purred at him through the psychic thread.
Daemon circled the fence around the house, a slow prowl. Watchful. Aware.
There was no sign of anyone in the house. No movement of a curtain, no face at a window. Of course, he hadn’t seen any lights last night, and there had to have been lamps or candles burning.
So he couldn’t trust what he was—or wasn’t—seeing.
But he had to trust that when Lucivar punched through the spells and opened up a way out of the house, he would see it.
He stopped over the spot where the tunnel was located and considered the shadow cat standing guard. Seemed a shame to waste such a magnificent predator. Maybe…
Instead of continuing his prowl, he retraced his steps and returned to the Coach.
“Mrs. Beale was very efficient,” Jaenelle said when he stepped inside. “Yuli and I have discovered more food in the chill box and pantry. We’re going to heat up some soup. Do you want some?”
He shucked off his coat and vanished it. “Yes, I want some, and I’ll heat up the soup.”
“I can heat up soup.”
“I’m sure you can.” Having made the attempt to teach her a couple of cooking basics, he wasn’t sure of that at all.
She narrowed her eyes at him. «It’s been years since I blew up a kitchen.»
Despite the boy watching wide-eyed, he gave her a simmering kiss—then nipped the jar of soup out of her hand. «All the more reason why we shouldn’t take a chance now. You can slice up bread and cheese.»
«Hurray for me.»
He noticed Yuli’s puzzled look and grinned. The boy was bright enough and observant enough to know something was going on but not what—or why.
«After we eat, I’d like to talk about making a slight change in the tangled web that holds the shadow cat. I may have a use for a predator.»
«Can I at least stir the soup?»
«No.»
A huff. «I’ll talk to you anyway.»
As he heated the soup for the three of them, he put aside the worry and the anger. There would be time enough for both later.
It was time.
Tersa vanished the tangled web and turned away from the worktable.
She would go to the spooky house and talk to the Langston man. One…last…time.
TWENTY-THREE
“Surreal? Surreal!”
“Wha?” Why was Rainier sounding so cranky?
“Drink this.”
A glass against her lips. A hand behind her head to keep her from pulling away.
The glass tasted dusty, and she had this odd memory of seeing Rainier flicking his wrist to toss out dried mouse turds before wiping the glass with his shirttail. Then the water, tasting like dust and bitter leaves, was filling her mouth. She swallowed the first mouthful because she needed the water.
“Drink it all.”
He wasn’t giving her much choice. Since he was being such a prick about it, it was either drink or drown.
“Hell’s fire,” she muttered when Rainier released her and set the glass on the kitchen table. She stared at it for a moment, then looked at him. “Did you toss mouse turds out of that glass and then give it to me without washing it?”
“No.” His voice sounded odd, strangely hollow, and…yes, there was a slight echo. And something was going gong inside her head.
“Surreal!”
“Wha?”
“I gave you a general healing tonic. I’m hoping it will help enough so you can think clearly for a while longer.”
The floor swished. Swishy, swishy, swish. She watched it until Rainier bent over so they were face-to-face. She didn’t like the worry and fear in his eyes. She would rather watch the floor swish.
He grabbed her shoulders. She tried to pull back. It made her side hurt—and she felt like she was suddenly standing on a patch of clear ground surrounded by fog.
“We have to get out of here,” he said.
“Sugar, we figured that out yesterday when we realized this place was a trap.”
“We have to try harder,” he said. “Surreal…I think you were poisoned after all.”
Lucivar had shown such promise—and was such a disappointment. He was just wandering around the cellar, all woeful and lost. He wasn’t even trying to get out.
At least the Surreal bitch was finally doing something interesting.
Death scenes were always gripping moments in a story.
Somewhere in the house, a gong sounded.
And overhead, a floorboard creaked.
The gong indicated Craft had been used. He remembered that from the rules of the game—and he’d heard it when he made the witchlight. The floorboard creaking…Might be real, might be illusion. No way to tell in this house.
Lucivar stared at the ceiling, waiting for another sound.
No staircases except the one he came down. There had to be others.
He took a sandwich out of the pack and ate while he prowled through the cellar again, looking for some indication of where Surreal and Rainier had gone.
The cellar under the two sight-shielded houses was connected, but it was split into a warren of small rooms that made it feel bigger and smaller at the same time, confusing a person’s sense of where he was in relation to the ground floor. The cellar of the first house—the house that had been the lure—was closed off from the rest. And held something dangerous enough that Jenkell didn’t want the thing roaming freely.