Yes, Lucivar Yaslana wouldn’t have thought twice about killing Tavey. After all, killing was what he did. Why not force Daemon into continuing to play nursemaid so that he wouldn’t have to take care of Jaenelle?

She walked over to the window, intending to look out, but something shuddered through her, making her back away.

There was something outside, waiting for her. Something dangerous. Something deadly. Something cold.

Shivering violently, Lektra hurried to the other side of the room, away from the windows, away from whatever was out there.

As long as she stayed inside, she was safe. Whatever it was couldn’t get in, couldn’t harm her. As long as she stayed inside.

Wrapped in Black shields that prevented the rest of the Blood from detecting his presence, Daemon watched the town house across the street. Lady Lektra’s town house. Easy enough to find the root of all the rumors once he’d known where to look—and if it hadn’t been for the Warlord at the party last night, he never would have looked in her direction. He’d probably seen her at a party or some other public gathering, maybe had even danced with her, a transient partner in one of those country dances. But he didn’t remember her. The face he’d pulled from the Warlord’s mind meant nothing to him.

Lektra’s friend, however, did have a connection to him. Or, at least, to his brother. How unfortunate for her.

Smiling, Daemon walked away. His prey wouldn’t go anywhere. The spells he’d wrapped around the town house would make sure of that. Whenever Lektra or Roxie got near a window or door leading outside, they would feel certain something deadly waited for them beyond those doors and windows . . .

Which was true.

... and they were safe as long as they remained inside.

Which was not true.

But he would let them have the illusion of safety for a few more hours. Because some games were best played in the dark.

2

Saetan knocked on the workroom door, then opened it enough to poke his head into the room. “I’m looking for a witchling. Seen any about?”

Turning away from the worktable, Jaenelle gave him a dazzling smile. “Papa! What brings you to the Hall?”

“Nothing in particular,” he replied, walking toward the worktable. “I just wanted to see . . . how . . . you were . . . doing.” He stared at the rosebush rising up from a bowl on the table. “Mother Night, witch-child. It’s beautiful.”

Jaenelle looked at the rosebush and grinned. “I’m pleased with it.”

Saetan circled the table to get a better look at the illusion she’d created. But he tried to touch one of the roses just to be sure it was an illusion. She’d always been able to create illusion spells that could fool the eye, and it seemed she hadn’t lost that ability. But something felt different about this spell.