Seliah glanced over her shoulder at the effigy, which was back to its blank, dusty state. Turning back to him, she lifted her hands to his face, stroking his beard. “I understand why you don’t trust anyone, Jadren. Given what you come from, it would be a miracle if you did. But we need the house to show you the way out.”
He resisted the sweetwater tide of her magic offering itself through the thin barrier of skin-to-skin contact. “Why don’t you ask it? You’re part of House El-Adrel now.”
“Fine.” She stepped away from him. “I will.” Turning in a slow circle, she offered her hands in palm-up supplication. “House, I am the newest member of your family and don’t know you well yet, but we need your aid. Your scion, Jadren, has suffered here and must leave. I must go with him, to care for him. But if you let us go now, I promise we’ll return.”
Jadren grabbed her arm. “What are you saying?” he hissed.
She jerked her arm from his grip. “Houses need to be lived in and loved. Of course it wants people to stay. Failing that, it will want us to come back. I’ll make sure we do,” she promised.
“This is a terrible idea that will only lead to trouble,” Jadren predicted darkly.
Seliah threw him an impatient glance. “Worse trouble than we’re already in? No,” she answered for him. “Do we have a deal?” she asked the air.
The effigy of Elizabetah smirked at him. And a door appeared in the pedestal beneath her.
It was a small door—child-sized in height—the frame embedded with silver triangles that looked like stylized arrowheads, all pointing inward from the edges, as if he needed additional clues. “There you go,” he said to Seliah, indicating the miniscule portal. “Ask, and you shall receive, more or less. In this case: much less.”
“Why is the door so small?” Seliah asked.
“The house likes to amuse itself at our expense.”
She laughed. When he only tossed her a grim stare, she sobered. “Seriously?”
He bent to examine the door. Tried the handle. It was, of course, locked. And not with an Iblis lock, either, but with an archaic brass mechanism. Must there always be a test? Above him, the effigy giggled. “You have no idea.”
“I can’t decide if I hate it when you say that or if I’m becoming perversely fond of it.”
He decided there was no good answer to that. “I need to make a key, which means I need your magic.” With a pleased smile, she held out her hand. “Put it on my shoulder,” he instructed. He wasn’t touching her more than necessary, ever again.
She huffed out an impatient sigh, but complied. Bracing himself, he drew on her magic, trying to pretend it wasn’t addictively delicious, that he didn’t need it desperately. The enchanting moonlit water of her hit him hard, however. That instinctive healing aspect of himself, seemingly forever beyond his conscious control, as his mother loved to remind him, sucked it up greedily. He hadn’t realized how much pain he’d been in until it eased. Even his next indrawn breath didn’t rattle as badly. “That’s enough. Let go.”
“Jadren.” She said his name with gentle patience he didn’t deserve. “You need more. I may be a rank amateur, but even I can feel that.”
“Incorrect, poppet,” he replied, knocking her hand off his shoulder with brusque purpose. “You’ve been precipitously launched into the pro leagues, which also means you should do as you’re told. Now be silent and let me work.”
“Funny. It’s almost like we’ve had this conversation before.”
“Yes—leads me to wonder how many times I’ll have to repeat myself to get the lesson through your thick skull.” He almost felt her roll her eyes, but she said nothing more. He selected a slim, short rod of metal from one of his jacket pockets, glad he’d transferred the tools to his formal clothes, just in case. Setting a finger on the lock under the brass doorknob, he focused his magic on the metal shank in his hand, willing the enchantment into it. Feeling the spell take hold, he pushed the pin into the slot, held his breath, and turned it. The lock clicked and the door sprang open, the house sending a wave of approval into him. The bitch.
Unfortunately, the inward-swinging door revealed a knee-high passage. They’d have to crawl—just like that box Seliah hadn’t been able to handle. Of course. “Good news and bad news,” he told her.
“No luck unlocking it?”
“It’s unlocked. That’s the good news. The bad news is you’re going to hate what’s on the other side.”
“More catacombs? I told you, the dead bodies don’t bother me.”
If only. He turned around, facing her worried frown. How she could be so enticingly lovely, even so disheveled and under such dire circumstances, he’d never understand. A tangle of curls hung around her face, tempting him to comb them back. The flimsy black gown draped low over her bosom, revealing far too much, reminding him of the satiny weight of her breast in his palm, the way her nipple had pebbled eagerly for him. Determinedly, he averted his eyes and met her serious ones. “It’s dark and closed in,” he told her gently. “We’ll have to crawl.”
Closing her eyes briefly, she dipped her chin in acknowledgement. “I understand.” Opening her eyes again, she stared him down. “I can do it.”
“That’s my girl.” Risking the touch, he chucked her on the chin, hoping it would feel like elder to child. It didn’t. “Lead or follow?”
“I’ll lead. That way you can make sure I keep going.”
In wry agreement, he set the bag of supplies inside the doorway. “Push this ahead of you. It will give warning in case there’s a drop or obstacles you don’t see in time.”
She blanched a little at that. “Is that likely?”
