Not that she’d mentionedthat to Lucivar.
She used the poker to lift the lid and seat. No nasty surprises, thank the Darkness, other than the kind that would give a hearth witch bad dreams.
But as she squatted over the toilet bowl, she thought she heard a sound coming from the bathtub drain. A funny sound. Like fingernail clippings being shaken inside a metal pipe.
It didn’t take long to find the secret door. In fact, finding it seemed a little too easy.
Rainier lengthened the wick on the oil lamp to give himself better light.
Maybe it wasn’t meant to be a secret door, just one that was supposed to blend in with the room. All he could see was a short hallway that ended in another door, and shelving on the right-hand side.
Folded blankets. Decorated paperboard boxes that women used to store hats and gloves or other small items that were used occasionally. Linens. Probably a mutual storage area for the bedrooms on either side.
He didn’t see anything sinister, didn’t hear anything suspect. Of course, if the whole house was riddled with aural shields that kept people from hearing one another, not hearing anything wasn’t actually comforting.
Linens.
He set the poker aside. Planting his right foot in the room they were in, he set his left foot in the storage room.
Something creaked. Might have been the floorboard under his foot. Might have been the door. But something creaked.
Rainier stepped back and studied the door.
Traps and games and illusions. The last time a storage room door was opened, a boy died.
“Kester,” Rainier said. “You and the other two boys brace yourself against this door and hold it open.”
While he waited for them to follow orders, he created a tight shield around himself, barely a finger width above his skin. Three openings in the shield—one for taking in sustenance, the other two for eliminating waste. Lucivar had taught him and the other boyos that particular trick, and they’d all gotten bruised enough times from Lucivar’s surprise attacks to have learned that lesson very well.
Normally a tight shield was a subtle protection, since no one could know for certain it was there unless a person touched you. But…
Somewhere in the house, a gong sounded.
In this damn house, there was nothing subtle about using Craft.
He glanced at the boys and nodded, satisfied that he’d have plenty of warning if the door tried to shut. Then he stepped into the storage room, raising the lamp high.
Pillowcases.
“Girls,” he called. “Come to the doorway.”
He handed Sage the pillowcases, then gave Dayle a box of tapered candles and a globed candleholder. The candleholder would be easier to carry and shield the flame.
Stepping back into the room where the children waited, he set the lamp down near the poker. Taking the pillowcases from Sage, he shook them out to be sure there weren’t any surprises hidden in them. Then he stripped the metal gauntlets off Anax’s hands and took a good look at them before he dropped them into one of the pillowcases. Too small for his hand, but they weren’t made for a child, so they would probably fit Surreal or Kester.
At this point, any weapon they could carry was a good weapon.
He fitted one candle into the holder and created a steady flame of witchfire to burn on the wick—and tried not to wince when the gong sounded.
“Bring that other candle over here,” he said.
“It’s almost gone,” Henn said, handing him the candle in the cup.
Rainier stared at the candle. Almost gone. The bottom of the cup was filled with softened wax.
How long since they’d left the kitchen? Not long enough for a candle to burn down that much.
“Mother Night,” he muttered. “Line up.” He moved his hand to indicate a line in front of him.
When the children were lined up, he created a tight shield around each of them, leaving the openings for sustenance and waste.
“What did you do?” Kester asked.
“Created a shield around each of you,” Rainier replied, trying to ignore the sound of the gong echoing in his mind. He lit a candle from the old one, then replaced the old one with the new.
“It won’t stop something from taking you, but it will keep you from being wounded or killed.”
“Why didn’t you do that before?” Kester demanded.
He put the box of candles and the second pillowcase in the one he was using for a sack. After closing his left fist around the top of the case, he hooked his finger into the loop on the candleholder. “Sage, you carry that other candle. Kester and Henn, you take the lamps.”
He walked back to the storage room door and picked up the poker in his right hand.
“Hey!” Kester shouted. “I’m asking you!”
“It takes Craft to create those shields. One use of Craft for each shield. And every time Craft is used, a way out of this place is closed off.”
The boy didn’t understand—or didn’t want to understand.
“Why didn’t you make these shields before Trist and Ginger got killed?” Kester said.
Because I thought we had a chance of getting out.
Rainier didn’t answer. He just walked into the storage room.
Daemon sat at a round table in Sylvia’s family parlor and stared at the piece of paper in front of him. He made hatch marks on the paper just to give himself time to…Not think, exactly. Just time to assure himself that he was maintaining the correct understanding-but-disapproving expression. Then he looked at Mikal, who sat opposite him. He didn’t dare look at Sylvia, who was standing a full step back and to the right of her son’s chair. He. Did not. Dare.
“Are these all the suggestions you can remember giving Tersa?” Daemon asked. These were bad enough. Skeleton mice that would scurry across a room, their little bones tippy-tapping on the floor. Big spiders that might drop from the ceiling or be hiding in a drawer. And the mousie in the glass.
“There was the eyeballs in the grapes,” Mikal said hesitantly.
“The—” A quick glance at Sylvia. Oh, he should have insisted on talking to the boy alone. This was probably a lot more than a mother wanted to know about the workings of her male offspring’s mind.
“The spell isn’t triggered until someone starts eating the grapes.” Mikal’s voice held an excited enthusiasm. Apparently, since he couldn’t see her, he’d forgotten about his mother being in the room. “Then some of the grape skins split and the illusion spell makes it look like there are eyes, all bloodshot and oozy.”