Long Hot Summoning (21 page)

Nothing definite. Not
exactly
imposing her will- Her subconscious was in full agreement with her conscious when it came to destroying that thing.

For an instant, she smelled woodsmoke and burning marshmallows and heard high, girlish voices singing rounds. Then smells, sounds, and shadow were gone.

Another slow tumble and there was water all around her.

She dropped the compact and began kicking for the surface.

“How much longer until the Keeper emerges?”

Sam’s ears flattened, but his gaze remained locked on the half-open refrigerator door. “I don’t know.”

Arthur crouched down beside the cat, stretched out a hand to stroke him, and thought better of it. “I think that she is safe. I think that she has defeated the shadow. I think that even now, she makes her way back to us.” When Sam’s only response was his tail tip, jerking back and forth, he sighed and straightened. “I will leave you, then, to your vigil. I think that the Keeper will be pleased to see you here when she returns.”

As the footsteps of the Immortal King faded into Women’s Accessories, Sam sighed.
“I
think that Austin’s going to kill me.” Head up, Austin remained motionless on Claire’s pillow sifting the night for what had awakened him.

Dean? No. One arm stretched up over his head,

bare chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep, Dean hadn’t moved for hours.

Something outside? No. He could hear the occasional car going by on King Street, two raccoons up a tree arguing about whose turn it was to dump the garbage but nothing unusual. Nothing to lift the fur along his back.

He glanced toward the wardrobe, Claire’s preferred entrance to the Otherside.

The door was closed. Even if there was trouble, nothing could seep through.

But something
had
wakened him. Something
had
lifted the fur along his back.

Therefore, something was wrong.

He stood, stretched, walked over Dean’s stomach to the edge of the bed, and jumped cautiously to the floor. Over the last year or so, the floor had developed a nasty habit of being farther away than it should be.

The bedroom door was open. Whiskers testing the air with every step, Austin crossed the living room, the light spilling in around the edges of the blind just barely sufficient. Except for Dean’s unfortunate taste in artwork-who really believed dogs had enough imagination to play poker-and Claire’s equally unfortunate inability to say no to him, everything seemed fine.

The door between the living room and the office was closed, but it had been years since Austin had allowed that to stop him.

With no blind on the front window, the office was lighter than the living room.

And empty.

The elevator?

No.

The basement?

Not this time.

The kitchen?

He was too unsettled to be hungry.

Only one place left. Only one room occupied.

Usually, Austin preferred to stay away from the guests but tonight, he’d make an exception. Slowly and silently he slipped up the stairs, along the hall. Another closed door.

There were two bodies in the bed, the perpetually nervous scent of Dr. Rebik as distinctive as the dust and desiccation scent of his companion. His tail lashing from side to side, he crept closer, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong but willing to believe it could be prejudice on his part. He’d half expected Meryat to have been up and
walking,
arms outstretched, a bit of musty linen trailing off one heel. The whole concept of the undead annoyed him. Nine lives and it’s over, that was his motto.

A tray on the small table by the bed held two empty mugs and a plate covered in muffin crumbs. Under the table, crumpled up against the table leg, was a dead mouse.

Okay, not so much wrong as embarrassing.

The mice had come to his aid after his . . .
meeting
with the Keeper who’d been interred in room seven and when he and Claire had returned to the inn just after Christmas, they’d come to an understanding. He would see to it that they were left in peace and, in return, they would be circumspect in their foraging, stop shitting behind the microwave, and never again wear orange waistcoats with blue breeches. Mice had appalling color sense and
The Complete Tales of Beatrix Potter
that had been left in the attic had only black-and-white illustrations. This particular mouse looked to have died of old age-Austin looked from the body up to the top of the table and shook his head. A mouse that age had no business even attempting such a climb.
Stupid little
bugger’s heart probably gave out on hint,
he thought as he sank his teeth through the tail of the brocade frock coat.

He carried the tiny corpse over to the dresser and set it gently on the floor. A strong smack with his right paw and it slid out of sight. When he heard it whack lightly against the baseboard, he nodded in satisfaction and left the room. The mice had an exit under there; now they could retrieve the body without the possibility of a guest being subjected to the sight of a tiny funeral cortege.

Nothing looked more asinine than a mouse in a black top hat and crepe.

He was halfway down the stairs when, between one heartbeat and the next, he felt something pass. Something old.

And hungry.

And gone so fast he might have imagined it.

Except that he was a cat and cats knew . . .

Dean!

Heart pounding, he raced back to the bedroom and bounded onto the bed.

“Ow! That was my arm!”

“Yeah, whatever.” He freed his claws from the surface layer of skin and walked up Dean’s chest until he could stare into his face. Blue eyes blinked myopically back at him.

“What?”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m bleeding and I’m after being awake when I’d rather not be, but yeah.” His voice softened, and one hand stroked gently along Austin’s spine. “What’s wrong, then?”

“Nothing. Why should anything be wrong?”

“I just thought . . .”

“Well, don’t.” A purposeful climb over an inconvenient shoulder and onto Claire’s pillow. Snuggling down, he glared at Dean, now gazing at him with concern.

“I thought you were sleeping?”

“I was.”

“So sleep.”

“All right. But we’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Not so smart to warn me,” Austin muttered. Not one of his best comebacks but he was shaken. He watched Dean until he went back to sleep. Watched him sleep.

Could see nothing wrong.

He’d been so sure on the stairs. So sure.

He thought about the mouse lying dead under the table and sighed. Maybe he was just getting old.

A pale and slightly murky green, the water had never been treated by chemicals or filtered through anything but a fish bladder. As Claire’s head broke the surface and she sucked in a welcome lungful of air, a light caress trailed down the inside of one leg.

Oh it’s
fresh
water. Great
.

Pushing her dripping hair out of her face with a quick swipe of one hand, she began treading water and trying to figure out exactly where she was. A combination of sunshine and a gentle swell threw reflected light up into her eyes, making her squint.

Outside.

Far enough beyond the segue for there to be actual weather-not the neither/nor sort of sky that had been draped over the mall-but still on the Other-side.

She’d been lucky. With both her conscious and subconscious preoccupied in sending the shadow assassin to a place where it would be no threat, she could have ended up anywhere. Stepping through a door on the Otherside with no clear idea of a destination could have resulted in a visit to any number of unpleasant places, not only on the Otherside but in the real world as well.

She could have ended up on the south side of Chicago.

Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside.

The West Bank.

The north of Afghanistan.

At a second-run theater screening of
Attack of the Clones.

Claire shuddered.

A little water was a small price to pay.

She was wet and her batik silk skirt might never recover but she was safe.

Arthur was safe. She had defeated the shadow. All that remained was to find her way back to the mall, which shouldn’t- wouldn’t-be a problem for a Keeper of her abilities.

The Otherside was no place for false modesty.

Or actual modesty.

Kicking harder lifted her head above the swells. Unfortunately, it didn’t change what she could see- water and sunlight. She turned slowly. Water and sunlight. Water and sunlight. Water and sunlight and . . . something. It might have been fog. It might have been land, lying low along the horizon. She sank down until her chin settled just under the water, rested for a moment, then took another look.

Something.

Exactly what I need,
she amended silently and started to swim, the water lapping at her in a vaguely lascivious way.

Years of practice kept her from thinking about all the many things that could go wrong before she made it back to the mall. Plenty of things were likely to go wrong without her help.

“No, you cannot go after Diana. I forbid it.”

“You forbid it?” Sam’s ears flattened as he glared up at Arthur. “News flash; you’re not the boss of me!” Tail lashing from side to side, he stalked toward the door.

Only to find himself lifted off the floor by strong hands tucked into his armpits.

Folding himself almost in half, he got a back paw between his fur and an unprotected palm, got a claw out, and raked it downward.

Anyone else would have hollered and dropped him. Screamed and thrown him aside. Cursed and pitched him. All possible reactions and all a variation on a theme resulting in his freedom. Arthur jerked a little at the sudden pain but held on, and Sam realized he’d continue to hold on even if his hands were ripped to bloody shreds. For a moment, he considered testing that conclusion, then the moment passed and he found himself dangling helplessly.

“I’ll put you down if you give me your word you’ll remain in the store.”

“And if I don’t,” Sam sneered.

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to put you somewhere secure until you give me your word or until one of the Keepers returns. They both wished you to remain here and I will not risk their wrath.”

“And my wrath?” He had a feeling his look of disdain would have been more successful had Arthur not been holding him so he could see only the back of his head.

“Your wrath, I’m afraid, I will have to risk.”

He flexed his claws. “Big mistake, bub.”

“Do I have your word?”

“No.” He needed to be free. He couldn’t be bound to the store by his word when either Diana or Claire might need him.
Austin
would never allow himself to be held. Too late, he realized Austin would have lied-given his word, and then broken it with a perfectly clear conscience. He could almost hear the older cat’s voice as the door to the pet crate closed behind him.

“What part of ‘cats make their own rules’ did. you not understand, kibble-for-brains?”

“I changed my mind. You want my word, you’ve got it!” Arthur shook his head. “Too convenient a conversion, I fear, but well speak again later.”

“I saved you from that shadow! You owe me.”

“I do.”

“And this is how you repay me?”

“The two are not connected.”

Sam watched the Immortal King head out of Pet Supplies and searched for a sufficiently scathing last word. Unfortunately, nothing came to him. One paw braced on a crossbar, he rose up on his hind legs and studied the latch. It could only be opened from the outside.

“Hey, little furry dude. What’re you in for?”

Sighing, he dropped back down to all fours and glanced mournfully up at Stewart. “I wouldn’t promise Arthur I’d stay in the store.”

“Oh, for crying out loud; what part of ‘lying’ did you not understand?”
Oops.

“Couldn’t lie to him, eh? Yeah, I know how it is. He’s the kind of guy you can’t lie to because this little voice in your head just kind of chimes in and says he deserves the truth.”

“The little voice in
my
head keeps calling me kibble-for-brains.”

“Harsh.”

“Yeah, but cats are supposed to be good at lying. And they’re supposed to only think of themselves, but I can’t stop worrying about Diana. And Claire. And you guys.”

“Us guys? Hey, we’re fine.”

Sam swept an amber gaze up one side of the mall elf and down the other, getting full mileage from the disdainful expression Arthur hadn’t seen. “No, you’re not. The only person I’m not worried about is Dean, and that’s because he’s got Austin with him and Austin knows what he’s doing. He can keep bad things from happening. I can’t.“ The stripes on his forehead folded back into a worried frown. ”I just haven’t been a cat long enough.“

“Yeah?” Stewart picked up a tiny purple mouse on a scarlet string, looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, then began attaching it to a braid. “What were you before you were a cat?”

“An angel.”

“An angel? A real angel? No shit?

“Not until I got a body, then it came as a bit of a surprise.”

“Okay.” Reaching into a birdcage, the mall elf pulled out a tiny mirror. “Why do you suppose birds want to look at themselves?”

“I have no idea.”

“Are they just, like, really vain? Or do they think the mirror’s some kind of, I don’t know, magic window to another bird?”

Mirror’s some kind of magic window.

Magic mirror.

Sam padded over to Stewart’s side of the crate. “Can I have that?”

“The mirror?” He finished checking the position of the purple mouse, flipped the narrow braid back over his shoulder, and shrugged. “Sure.” That was easy.

“Can you unlatch the crate?”

“Sorry, little furry dude, not unless Arthur says it’s okay.” Oh, well. Worth a try.

Back in the Emporium, Austin had used a mirror to talk to the magic mirror and then used the magic mirror to connect to him. Well, technically, Claire; but the basics were the same. If he could use the budgie mirror to contact the magic mirror, then he could find out where Claire was and if Diana was okay. Sam ran through that one more time, just to be certain it made sense, then had Stewart hook the mirror over the crossbar. Ignoring the dangling bell and bits of fake feather, he stared at his reflection.