Spider's Game ((Book One) #Wattys2016 Winner!)

Chapter 8- Mr. N & Mr. Q

The hover-car was parked in his parents' looped driveway next to the hitching-post the old witch sometimes tied her nag to. If he hadn't already been warned about the hover-car, Darith would have mistaken it for a normal high-end vehicle. The sort all the rich paraded around in. But the wheels were a dead giveaway when he bothered to look.

Darith sat in the town-car, glaring at the metal wheels. He was wrong? Were his parents involved? Would he find Marim safe inside? The thoughts racing in his mind brought back the familiar, spiteful anger he had lived with since the 'incident.' One more betrayal to add to the list of how his parents failed him.

His display at the asylum had left him empty. The secret strength gone, he settled into the chair his driver brought out for him. With that hover-car sitting there he itched to stride into the house on his own two feet and confront his parents. He couldn't.

The driver returned to the car once Darith wheeled up the drive. What little strength remained, he wanted to keep as a reserve.

I'll kill them before I'll let them touch her. Meddle with my family. Darith smiled at a mental picture of his father lying in a puddle of blood. I'll open their juggulars if they've so much as touched Marim.

The front door was ajar. His parents' guests were careless. Darith reached out on the threads of darkness but felt only his daughter within. Marim wasn't here. Where else would they have brought her?

A loud crash from the direction of his father's study startled Darith. For the first time since discovering the car, Darith noticed his surroundings.

Door ajar.

And along the hall things were off. No servants had come to greet him and ahead, at the juncutre of the hall, a table was overturned, its contents scattered. A cracked Avartia vase rolled across the floor.

Darith stopped. Not my parents. Then who? And why come here? Why would someone want Marim and my parents?

The air felt twenty degrees colder. No, noone wants my parents. This revolves around me and Annabelle. Darith held his breath, torn between two actions. He recalled the crash from his father's office. Whoever did this, would they hurt the count? A habit from childhood overtook him, and he crossed his chest in prayer, but it was not toward the office he turned.

The count would have to fend for himself.

But my mother... I can't just leave her to them. Darith clenched his jaw and forced the thought of his mother from his mind. Her heir was in danger- she of all people would want him to protect Annabelle. The only time he'd ever seen an outward display of pride from her was when she found him curled in front of Marim's guestroom door. He had slept there that week when she first came to stay with them to form a barrier between the grieving girl and his father.

"This is what you are, Boy. Don't ever forget. Outward softness counts for nothing, it's the heart, the soul that differentiates the monster from the angel. Let the world worship men like your father. I know a hero when I see one," she had said. Then still as her usual, "I've all the alcohol locked away. I promise you, to get to her he will need to tear through me before he ever reaches you."

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said.

Whoever was here hadn't come for his parents. No, anyone who wanted Marim wanted her because of the darkness, which meant that they had come for him and for Annabelle. If he paid for his daughter's safety in his parents blood, he would experience not a moment's regret.

Annabelle had a beautiful nursury set up for her, painted in purple with unicorns etched in silver on the walls. She wouldn't be there. From moment one, Darith trusted his daughter with no one but himself. The nanny would not have dared take Annabelle out of Darith's room.