Long Hot Summoning (24 page)

“All things considered, I think I have the right to be fucking terrified!” On a list of bad times for a second kiss, a kiss intended to fall between attraction and relationship, standing in a torchlit tunnel, deep in territory controlled by the dark side of a segue that could allow Hell itself into the world, ranked up there near the top-above “during the funeral of one of the participants” but definitely below

“in the holding cell at a maximum security prison.” any time soon, Diana closed her eyes and leaned in. After a moment-a long moment of soft lips and gentle pressure and just a little tongue-she pulled back and murmured, “Still terrified?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh . . .”

“But if you were trying to distract me, I gotta say it was a better idea than more stupid stories about your cat.”

“Hey, that’s Claire! I don’t tell stupid stories abo . . .” The third kiss involved a little more tongue and strong fingers cupped around the nape of her neck. Diana’s left hand buried itself in the warm mass of mahogany dreads and her right spread out to touch as much of a narrow waist as possible.

“I’m not sayin‘ this is anything more than a reaction to that whole Hell thing.” Still close enough that Kris’ voice was a soft warmth against her face, Diana murmured, “I’m not asking it to
be
more than a reaction to that whole Hell thing.”

“I’m not sayin‘ that it isn’t either.”

“Okay.”

“I thought we had to get out of here?”

“We do.”

“You can beat this thing, right?”

“Sure.”

Kris’ eyes widened and she stepped back, breaking the heat between them.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Look, I’m the most powerful Keeper in the lineage right now, and Claire’s already closed this thing down once. Anything’s possible, so all we have to do is find the right possibility. Which we won’t find standing here.” Taking a deep breath, she added a little more distance between them. “Let’s go.” By the time they reached the alcove where they’d been chained, they could hear the distant sound of pursuit behind them.

“I guess it’s stopped arguing,” Diana muttered as they began running faster.

“You mean they’ve stopped arguing.”

“No. The guy from the throne room is a Shadow-lord, as much a shadow of Hell as the assassin; just bit more formed, is all.”

“Hell was arguing with itself?”

“It’s a thing it does. It doesn’t get out much.”

“And that’s good, right?”

Diana shot a quick, disbelieving glance at the elf. “Generally speaking, yeah.” They took a small flight of stairs two steps at a time. “This also explains why the Shadowlord thought I should know him and why he lacks a name. Bits of Hell don’t get names until they’ve really distinguished themselves in some truly disgusting way.”

“So Jerry Springer’s pretty much a gimme?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

They were running between walls of dressed stone now. Walls that had been built rather than carved out of the bedrock. They were very close to the throne room.

“Good thing ... the torches are still . . . lit,” Kris panted.

“Yeah. They’re lit... because I expect them to ... be. We need them ... to get out of here.”

“Wouldn’t Hell ... know that?”

“Probably. But I don’t . . . think it has direct influence . . . this far out yet.” Between the time her right foot rose and she brought it under her body, ready to stretch it out front once again, the torches went out.

“Of course, I could be wrong.”

The bedroom was dark when Austin woke. The day just passed had grown overcast, although no cooler, and that overcast had lasted into the night, blocking starlight and moonlight and, very nearly, streetlight. Eye open the merest slit, he could see Dean’s darker-on-dark silhouette on the other pillow and not much else, but he knew they weren’t alone. Something stood beside the bed.

Something satisfied . . .

He sprang without warning, over Dean and off the edge of the bed. So positive that his claws would connect with linen bandages, he was taken completely by surprise when he hit the floor.

And was blinded an instant later.

“Austin?” One hand on the switch for the bedside lamp, Dean blinked down at the cat. “What’s the matter, then?”

“She was here. Just a second ago.”

“Who was?”

“Who do you think?”

“Meryat?”

“Give the man a rubber mouse.” He stalked stiff-legged out into the sitting room. “She’s gone.”

“I didn’t hear the door . . .”

“Neither did I.”

“So how did she leave without opening and closing the door? She couldn’t go through it-she’s touched me, you know. She’s solid. And slow. You’ve seen how she walks.”

“Maybe she’s just pretending to be slow.”

“I think I’d know if she was faking it.”

Austin snorted. “You’d be surprised.” He padded back to the bedroom and stared up at Dean. “I don’t know how she’s doing it, but she’s been sucking your life force!”

“You sound like Lance.”

“Yeah?” Hooking his claws into the edge of the mattress, he rappelled his way up the side of the bed and stood on Dean’s thighs. “You look exhausted. Explain that!”

Dean squinted at the dock. ‘It’s three forty-seven
a.m.“

“You were sleeping; you should be rested.”

“I
should still be
sleeping.”
Settling back against his pillow, he gently stroked the spot behind Austin’s left ear with his thumb. “Has it occurred to you that maybe you’re having mummy nightmares because you’re a cat and cats have this whole Egyptian connection going?”

Eye narrowed, Austin glared. “You know nothing about that.”

“Not true. When I had the new strut put in the truck, there were
National
Geographics
in the waiting room and I read this article on cats in ancient Egypt.”

“How old was the magazine?”

“Some old, but they were talking about 1,500 bc; does it matter?”

“I am not having nightmares. I am not imagining things. And I did not tell you to stop doing that.”

“Sorry.” Dean started stroking again as Austin stretched out.

“I will get to the bottom of this,” he vowed, sweeping his tail across Dean’s legs.

“Sure you wi . . . OW! Lord’t‘undering Jesus, cat! I’m attached to those!”

“Then maybe you should consider where my claws are before you make another patronizing observation.” Having leaped safely away from any physical retaliation, Austin curled up into a tight ball on Claire’s pillow and closed his eye.

“Turn out the light, would you. It’s the middle of the night.”

“Where are we?”

“Based on the cannons, the parapets, and that big guardhouse,” Claire hissed, grabbing a handful of Lance’s wet shirt and dragging him down behind the buttress,

“I’d say we were in a fort.”

“Which fort?”

“I don’t know.” They were still on the Otherside, although which Otherside she wasn’t entirely certain- a concept she’d take the time to find disturbing the moment she was no longer personally responsible for an idiot Bystander. Motioning for him to follow, she murmured, “Stay close,” and led the way along the inside curve of the outer wall. When she paused in the triangular shadow of a small lean-to, he tucked up tight behind her. She reached back and shoved hard enough to break the contact between them. “Not
that
close.” He inched in again. “What are we doing here?”

“You yelled cannonball as you hit the water and that influenced the path.”

“This is Meryat’s doing, isn’t it?”

“No.” Claire measured the distance between their hiding place and the guardhouse and decided a sprint across open ground with a Bystander in tow was just too dangerous-no matter how much she would dearly love to lose said Bystander.

They hadn’t seen any actual guards, but that didn’t mean there
weren’t
any actual guards.

“But . . .”

“Would you
please
shut up.”

“But why is it dark?”

“It’s night.” She didn’t know why the magic word wasn’t working-whether it was her, or him, or a combination of them both-but only an urgent need to return to the mall kept her from trying out a few more words. Any delays at this point would only serve the segue.

“It wasn’t night at the beach.”

Any delays at this point . . .
“No, it wasn’t.” She’d be willing to detour and take him back to the beach, but that didn’t seem to be possible. That path had closed behind them. And taking him back to the real world would take far too long. Time she-and the world-didn’t have.

“This is Meryat’s . . .”

“No, it isn’t. Shut up.”

On the other side of the lean-to, the wall curved out to the left. Wet skirt clinging to her legs, she crept forward, stumbled as Lance grabbed hold of the fabric, and managed to regain her balance without doing anything Lance would regret for the rest of his very short life. She followed the wall into a shallow alcove and began running her hands over the stone.

Lance crowded in with her. “What are you looking for?”

“A door.”

“Why?”

“So we can go through it.”

“And then we’ll be on the other side of it!”

“Yes . . . no.” She didn’t know what the alcove was for, but it wasn’t an access to anything. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

“Yes!”

Turning brought them almost nose to chest. Claire glared up at the oblivious grad student. “How many times am I going to have to say shut up before you actually do it?”

Lance looked thoughtful. “I don’t know.”

“So you used this budgie mirror to contact a magic mirror in the Emporium

...” Frowning at his reflection, Arthur turned the tiny mirror between long fingers. “...

which is both the store nearest to the darkness anchoring the segue and the place where you and the Keepers crossed through to this side.” Sam hooked his claws on the crossbar of the crate and stared at Arthur-who’d crouched just out of paw reach, his sword point on the floor, pommel jutting up at a sharp angle over his left shoulder. “Yes.”

“And this mirror said it saw Diana and Kris pass through the store?”

“Yes.”

“But that it later heard gossip suggesting they had been captured?”

“Recap much? Get on with it!”

“And this . . . story isn’t merely a ploy intended to secure your release so that you can run off after Diana?”

“No.” In all the time he’d been a cat, he’d never realized just how satisfying a good tail lashing could be. If he moved it any faster, he was afraid it might come off his butt. “Would I do something like that?”

Arthur straightened, reached back, and adjusted his sword. “As I understand cats, yes, you would.”

“But I’m not!”

“And you heard this conversation with the mirror?” Arthur asked, flipping his hair back off his face as he turned to Stewart.

The mall elf froze in mid squeak of a rubber fire hydrant. “No words, sire,

‘cause the mirror’s real small and it was down by him, not up with me, but I heard the talking.”

“Hey!” Sam drew the attention of both the Immortal King and the elf back to the crate. “You know I suck at lying. If I was any good at it, would I be in here?”

“You have a point,” Arthur acknowledged after a moment’s consideration.

“I have a whole lot of points,” Sam muttered, “and I know where they’ll hurt the most.”

Sapphire-blue eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“Nothing. Look, it’s real simple. The bad guys have Diana. We have to rescue her.”

“We?”

“I’m smart enough to know when I need help. You can’t just leave her there!

And what about Kris. You can’t leave her! You’re supposed to be this great leader, but isn’t abandoning your people a bad thing?”

“Yes.” Arthur bent and opened the crate.

“Finally.” Sam raced out and up onto a stack of dog food, reclaiming the high ground. “What convinced you?”

“With one Keeper taken and the other gone, the darkside will want to close the segue as soon as possible, before the light has a chance to send other wizards. In order to succeed, they must remove us. They will, therefore, be massing to attack. I have always preferred to attack on my terms, not the enemy’s.”

“I didn’t say any of that.”

“I know.”

“But Diana . . .”

“Will be freed when we defeat the darkside.”

Sam opened his mouth to ask what would happen if they didn’t defeat the darkside, but he closed it again when he realized he already knew the answer. And he didn’t like it much.

“What a lovely cat.”

Dean glanced down in time to see Austin pointedly cross to the other side of the dining room-as far from Meryat as he could get and still be contained within the same four walls.

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“Foolish kitty,” Dr. Rebik murmured, bringing the blackened tips of the mummy’s fingers to his lips.

Trying not to shudder, Dean developed a sudden interest in cleaning nothing off a spotless floor. He was doing his best to be open-minded about this- he was involved with an older woman himself-but he just couldn’t get past the reanimated corpse part of the relationship. When he straightened, all ancient digits were back within the masking folds of Meryat’s cloak and Dr. Rebik was finishing his oatmeal.

“As Meryat would like to remain here until your Keeper returns,” the archaeologist began, setting his spoon aside, “I was wondering, Mr. Mclssac, if you could do me a favor.”

Ignoring Austin’s warning twitch, Dean nodded. “I’d be happy to.”

“It’s just I don’t have a lot of clothes with me and, were I to go out to a coin laundry, I’d have a choice of either not washing my trousers or not wearing them while they washed. And they do need washing.”

From what he could see of the cream-colored chinos, that was an unfortunately accurate observation. “I’d be happy to do a load for you. Put everything you want washed in one of the pillowcases and set it out in the hall.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mclssac.” He set both palms against the tabletop and pushed himself to his feet, then tucked a hand under Meryat’s elbow to help her stand.

“Yes, Mr. Mclssac.” The morning light illuminated the depths of her hood as she turned and Dean got an unwelcome education in what bits rotted away even in a very dry climate. The dark eyes looked out of place amidst the lack of cartilage and fat. “Thank you.”