Don’t do that,he warned himself.Don’t smear her with the memories of how other women would have reacted.

It was a fair warning, but it didn’t lessen his feelings of bitter unhappiness.

“I will explain to the Lady,” Beale said, squaring his shoulders.

“No.” Daemon took the invitation. “No matter the reason, I’m still the one who is accountable.”

“But—”

“No.” He hesitated. “I do appreciate the offer, Beale.”

He waited until Beale left before he approached the connecting door and knocked.

“Come in.”

As he walked into the room he usually thought of as their bedroom and now hesitated to think of at all, Jaenelle gave him a puzzled look, then turned her attention back to the dress box on the bed. “I stopped in Amdarh on the way home. I wanted to see if the dress was finished, and it was.” She seemed happy and excited as she tossed the top of the box aside. “Why were you knocking?”

“I wasn’t sure if I would be welcome.”

She stopped unwrapping the dress, straightened up, and faced him. Her sapphire eyes were filled with a chilling blankness.

They were still working through some difficult patches in their relationship, raw spots created during the months she had been healing—when neither of them had been sure of still being wanted by the other. So his words were a warning that he had done something that could end with her locking him out. Forever.

“Meaning what?” she asked too softly.

He felt a desperate need to hold her, to assure himself that it was, after all, a small mistake. But it wasn’t. Not for a Blood male who wore a wedding ring. Not when the marriage was so new he still wasn’t accustomed to the feel of that ring on his finger—or the joy of knowing that it was there at all.

So he couldn’t touch her as he wanted to. Couldn’t even beg to be forgiven until he received some sign from her that she would permit him to beg. Because it wasn’t just his wife he had disappointed; it was his Queen.

He held out the invitation. “I’m sorry.” Inadequate words, but all he could offer at the moment.

She stared at the invitation for a long time. Then she looked at him.

Her sapphire eyes blazed with anger, but it was the icy slash of temper swirling deep in the abyss, almost to the level of the Black, that told him he was in serious trouble.

Sweet Darkness, she waspissed at him.

“Do you know where this village is located?” she asked, handing the invitation back to him.

He nodded.

“Then get a Coach ready. Something big enough to accommodate several people. I need to gather a few supplies.” She headed for the door leading to the corridor.

“Jaenelle…”

“Now,Prince.”

Her voice made his heart race as the sound sizzled down his spine like cold lightning. There were caverns and sepulchres—and a whisper of madness—in that voice.

Midnight whispered in that voice.

Witch, not Jaenelle, had just issued that command. And the Lady wasn’t pleased.

Since there was nothing he could do about her anger, he went downstairs to prepare the Coach so they could ride the Winds to the landen village where that damn spooky house was located.

“That’s not a fresh kill,” Rainier said, holding a hand over his nose and mouth.

Surreal stared at the body in the closet. “Nope. Been here long enough to start to smell. But someone wearing the illusion of that face let us into this house and passed me just a minute before he went through the door at the end of the hallway.” The shields had kept the smell to a minimum until she opened the door. Now there was no doubt they were looking at carrion.

“What door?” Rainier asked.

She looked at the end of the hallway. “The door that’s no longer there.”

“Hell’s fire,” Rainier muttered. “What’s going on here? And where are Jaenelle and Marian?”

She shook her head, then took a step closer to the body. Was that…? Yes. There was a folded piece of paper tucked between the dead caretaker’s thigh and hand. Naturally it was between the body parts farthest from the door.

She reached in, pulled the paper free, shook off a couple of maggots, and then stepped back, closing the door to cut down on the smell.

“It’s getting dark outside—and even darker in here,” Rainier said. “Let’s go into the sitting room and light a couple of lamps before we have to deal with frightened children.”

“We’re going to be dealing with frightened children whether we light lamps or not,” Surreal replied.

“I just don’t understand what Jaenelle and Marian were thinking.”

Surreal waggled the paper. “Since I think I found the first clue, let’s light the lamps and find out.”

The moment they walked back into the sitting room, Dayle said, “Where is the spooky stuff? This place is boring.” Then she poked her lower lip out in a pout.

Maybe landen adults thought pouting was cute. As far as Surreal was concerned, if you were old enough to stand up by yourself, you were too old to pout and have it look cute.

"Don’t even consider it," Rainier said.

"I wasn’t considering anything."

"You were going to tell her to open the door under the stairs."

Of course she was. "If she doesn’t stop pouting, I’m going to put maggots in her hair."

A hesitation. Just long enough to tell her he was picturing the possibility—and enjoying it.

Since that cheered her up, she waited while Rainier used Craft to light two of the oil lamps in the room.

Somewhere in the house, a gong sounded twice.

Rainier held one lamp while she opened the paper.

THERE ARE THIRTY EXITS FROM THESPOOKYHOUSE, BUT YOU WILL NEED TO LOOK CAREFULLY TO FIND THEM, FOR THEY ARE WRAPPED IN DANGER.EVERY TIMECRAFT IS USED, AN EXIT IS SEALED, AND THAT WAY OUT IS LOST.WHEN THE LAST EXIT IS SEALED, YOU WILL BECOME PART OF THE HOUSE—AND STAY WITH US FOREVER.

“What in the name of Hell…?” Rainier said, following Surreal as she moved away from the children.

“The gong,” she whispered once they were standing near the door. “It sounded twice when you created the tongues of witchfire and lit the lamps. I heard it when I made the witchlight.” Which was still floating in the hallway.

“When I checked the time, I called in and vanished the pocket watch,” Rainier whispered back.

“So that’s five times we’ve used Craft since we went through that gate in the fence.”

“Five times that we remember.”

He had a point. The Blood—especially darker-Jeweled Blood—were so accustomed to using Craft as a way to siphon off the power that flowed within them, they weren’t even aware of using it half the time.

“The gong must be a signal that Craft was used,” Surreal said, glancing at the children to make sure she and Rainier were still out of hearing.

“Or a signal that one of those exits closed because Craft was used.” Then Rainier added on a psychic thread, "But communicating like this doesn’t appear to trigger…whatever this is."

They waited, but no gong sounded.

She read the note again and considered the implications.

"Rainier…I couldn’t have been the only one to receive an invitation."

"An invitation to a trap, from the looks of it."

"Yeah." She gave him a moment to consider that. "The others haven’t shown up yet, and we don’t know how many invitations were sent."

"Fair bet invitations were sent to Yaslana and Sadi. And the caretaker, or whoever he is, did say there were twelve visitors per tour."

"Doesn’t mean twelve of us were expected." She studied the note. "Every time Craft is used, an exit is sealed, and there are thirty exits. That sounds like the total number of times Craft can be used between all of the Blood in the house. Which means the more Blood in this place, the less chance we have of finding a way out while there stillis a way out."

"Agreed," Rainier said. "What are you suggesting?"

She handed the note to him. "That we not play the game and try a direct approach for getting out of here."

Returning to the hall, she opened the front door. Still had solid brick behind it. But brick was no match for a punch of Gray power.

Turning inward, she made a fast descent in the abyss until she reached her inner web and the full power of her Gray Jewels. Then she turned and rose like an arrow of psychic power released from a bow.

She raised her right hand, aiming it at the bricks framed by the doorway. The Gray Jewel in her ring flashed as she unleashed a punch of power that would blow out the whole damn wall.

Or should have.

She stared at the undamaged bricks. Then she heard an odd crackle. A sizzle.

“Surreal!”

No time to reply. Some kind of webbing suddenly wrapped around her head and torso. She couldn’t see it. Her fingers couldn’t feel it. But it felt like a web made out of lightning and wire that passed through her skin and tightened until it squeezed her lungs, closed her throat.

Her heart thundered in her ears as she fought to breathe, fought to stay alive.

“Surreal!”

Rainier’s arms around her.

She heard him snarl in frustrated rage. Heard a door slam. Or maybe that was her heart.

Then she heard the gong.

Suddenly the webbing was gone and she could breathe again.

“Mother Night,” she gasped.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

No.“Not sure.” Shit shit shit. Thathurt.

“What happened?”

She was on the floor. Didn’t remember going down. Since Rainier was being so obliging about propping her up, she leaned against him.

“Backlash,” she said, wincing when she swallowed. “There must be spells that have formed a cage around this place. I punched them when I tried to open the wall. They punched back.”