Long Hot Summoning (33 page)

“Although this is not the best place; we could be interrupted, and that has already happened once too often.”

Dean suddenly realized she wasn’t talking about the phone. “Lance.”

“Yes. When my binding came undone, he was partially caught by my counterspell. It seems to have unbalanced him.”

“He’s not Australian,” Dr. Rebik announced calmly.

Meryat rolled her eyes. “He might as well be. Now then, I think we’ll take this someplace more private.” Her gaze traveled slowly down the length of Dean’s body and he shuddered. Before Claire and he had . . created an angel, he’d never noticed that sort of thing. After, he realized-to his intense embarrassment-it had happened a lot. “Let’s go to your bedroom.”

Suddenly, being a statue didn’t look like such a bad future.

He only hoped Claire remembered to dust him.

Claire stifled a sneeze against her shoulder unable to believe the amount of dust in the dropped ceiling. She stopped herself from wondering where it came from before the Otherside provided an answer, and concentrated on crawling after Teemo’s narrow backside.

Fortunately, Diana had already taken this route, so she didn’t need to worry about securing its reality.

The drop down into the bathroom was a little farther than she was comfortable with. One foot slid off the edge of the soap dispenser and into the sink, but Kith steadied her as she landed, averting disaster with a steady grip above both knees.

The room smelled of cleaners and disinfectants, and all at once she missed Dean so badly it was like a physical ache. In fact, it wasn’t
like
a physical ache at all.

It was a physical ache. Austin would do what he could, but a reanimated mummy was a just a little beyond what snark and sympathy could hope to deal with.

She had to defeat the darkside and return to them before it was too late. Or get Lance to them if that was all she could manage.

Save the world.

Save Diana.

Save Dean.

At least this time, there’d be no nasty surprises in the final inning.

And that was an unprovoked sports metaphor. Even her subconscious missed Dean. At one time, she’d thought maintaining a relationship would be a distraction. It wasn’t, it was a goal. Something she could use as incentive to charge right through the worst the possibilities could offer.

Memo to self,
she sighed, following Kith and Teemo out into the hall,
watch a
little less Oprah with the cat.

They were almost to the food court when a rumble of thunder flattened them back against the wall, Teemo raising an unnecessary finger to his lips.

No. Not thunder. Meat-minds. A whole herd of them pounding purposefully past the food court in ranks that were more or less even. Claire thought very hard about saving the world; thinking about how clumsy they looked would only set up a chain reaction of vaudevillian proportions and give away their position.

Bringing up the rear between four meat-minds more defined than the rest was a vaguely familiar warrior dressed and armored all in black. His skin was milk pale and his hair a deep red. Really red. Blood red. Bad fantasy cliché red.

That couldn’t be good. Claire sent a silent plea that Sam remembered what he had to do.

On the bright side, if their leader had taken the field, both Diana and the segue would be minimally guarded. Pulling Kith and Teemo closer, she whispered, “From here, I go on alone.”

“No way, Keeper. Arthur . . .”

“. . . is going to need you. You saw the size of the army he’s facing; pull some weapons from that sporting goods store, and attack from the rear. Remember, as soon as I shut down the segue, the meat-minds will fall apart, so you don’t have to win so much as you have to not lose.“

“What?”

Okay. That hadn’t made a lot of sense to her either. “Look, I usually work alone. I clearly suck at motivational speaking. Just be careful.” She put a hand on each of their shoulders, squeezed lightly, then turned and raced down the hall toward the Emporium.

They hadn’t come through the store. The plywood construction barricade was gone; in its place was a dark tunnel leading down under the mall.

Only one meat-mind on guard.

He saw her, turned, and, because she believed he would, tripped over his own feet.

Getting past him was as easy as dropping a marble on his head.

The passage ended in what was obviously a throne room. Kicking through bits of shattered chitin, Claire approached the dais where she found, amid the broken insect bits, a tampon lying crushed and forgotten.

Diana.

She paused and quickly checked her memory of the charging meat-mind army.

Well, the odds were very good it was Diana’s anyway.

A few scorch marks against the polished stone showed where preset possibilities had been destroyed. None of them looked large enough or scorched enough to have been the wand.

Then there was a chance Diana still had it.

Definitely a good news/bad news scenario.

Only one exit from the throne room. A stone corridor leading even farther down. The moment she stepped into it, Claire felt a familiar pull.

Running as quietly as she could under the flickering torches, Claire hurried toward it. This wasn’t her Summoning. She shouldn’t be feeling a pull, familiar or otherwise.

It was possible that she was sensing Diana’s presence by the segue.

But she didn’t think so.

Diana could feel the power fluctuations. They filled the cavern, rippling from side to side, up and down, raising all the hair on her body. Not exactly a pleasant feeling. They were strong enough that she suspected she could see them if she just un-focused her eyes the right way.

The good news was they weren’t all coming from the pit.

Most, but not all.

Some of them were coming from her.

Some from outside the cavern.

She felt it the moment the armies joined. Felt it as the weight of Hell’s attention grew lighter. Soon.

Only one small problem.

She stood, stretched, and beckoned for Kris to join her. “There’s a few thing I’d like to do before we die.”

Which was the absolute truth and always the best way to deal with Hell. No point playing in its court.

I’M SURE THERE ARE, Hell snarked as Kris put her hand in Diana’s and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. BUT YOU CAN’T DESTROY ME, AND IF

YOU TRY, I WILL MAKE YOU VERY VERY SORRY. I NEED YOU ALIVE AS

BAIT, BUT I DO NOT NEED YOU UNHARMED.

Hands on Kris’ hips, Diana snorted in the general direction of the pit. “It’s not always about you, dude.”

The kiss had a touch of desperation about it-the odds were extremely good this would be one of their last, after all-and things heated up a little past the point where brain cells started to fry. Somehow, Diana managed to keep a small fraction of her mind on something other than the way Kris’ lips felt under hers and got them turned around until the mall elf’s body was between hers and the pit. Chewing along her jaw, Diana sucked the lobe of a pointed ear into her mouth and murmured, “Slide your hand down the back of my pants!”

And let’s hear it for enthusiasm.

“Farther . . . oh, yeah ... no ... down the leg.” Diana squelched a sudden desire to giggle at what sounded like bad porn dialogue. “The other leg.” As Kris’ fingers touched the top of the wand, she stiffened, suddenly realizing what this was about. From the way she began to pull back, she wasn’t entirely happy about it either.

Diana tightened her grip and yanked their bodies into even closer contact.

Licking her way around the inner curve of Kris’ ear, she sighed, “If I survive this, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Kris’ answer was an emphatic wriggle.

Probably trying to get a better grip on the wand.

Probably . . .

She could feel the wand begin to move up her thigh, toward her waistband and couldn’t resist. “Oh, yes! Yes! That’s it!”

OH, FOR . . . GET A ROOM!

Staying close to Arthur wasn’t easy. The Immortal King moved through the battle with archetypal skills and the flexibility of a teenager. Sam did the best he could, and if he took a few detours to avoid being pounded into marmalade-colored kitty paste, well, he figured he was entitled. Squashed flat was not a good defensive position.

The trick was to see the pattern of the battle and then become a part of it.

The trouble was that his part of the pattern took him across the concourse at the same time Arthur’s brought him face-to-face with the tall redhead in the so cliché black armor. Who was very definitely not a meat-mind. And who looked vaguely familiar.

The hair rose along Sam’s spine.

He leaped a fallen elf and darted between two massive legs. He had to get to Arthur before . . .

“What say you? Your sword against mine. Let us leave the young and the stupid out of what we both know is our battle.” The redhead’s voice filled a lull in the fighting; everyone froze for a heartbeat, then dark and light turned to face the middle of the concourse.

Sam raced up and over a planter and found himself peddling air as Will grabbed him and clutched him tight against his hockey jersey.

“Put me down!”

“Shhh, it’s a challenge.”

“I know it’s a challenge! I have to . . .”

“You have to wait,” Will said, cutting him off. “When a challenge has been made, everything stops until it’s been answered.” The mall elf didn’t add that it was a Rule, but then, he didn’t have to. Sam could feel the Rule holding elves and meat-minds both in place. Fortunately, he was neither.

“Put me down, or I’ll add a few new piercings to your nose.”

“What?”

A claw hooked into the inside of Will’s left nostril.

“Right.”

And Sam was back on the floor.

“So, do you accept my challenge?”

Arthur’s back was to him. Sam had no way of knowing what his answer would be, but something in the redhead’s pale eyes suggested he was about to get the response he desired. Too far away to stop Arthur from speaking, Sam did the only thing he could. “I accept!”

Everyone blinked in unison.

The redhead recovered first. “I was not speaking to you, cat.”

“Should’ve been more specific, then.” Sam walked out into the open space between the two, sat down, and washed his shoulder.

Arthur shook himself and took his eyes off the redhead for the first time since the battle had brought them face to face. “Sam, you can’t . . .”

“And I won’t!” the redhead snorted.

“I can and you will.” Sam stood and stretched, butt in the air. “The challenge has been made and answered. You can deal with him ...” A jerk of his head toward Arthur. “. . . later, but the Rules say you have to deal with me first.”

“The Rules . . .”

“You break them, we get to break them. Up to you, crud for brains, but you know who’s here and you know what she’s able to do if you give her the chance.” The redhead frowned and suddenly squatted, peering into Sam’s face. “I get the feeling we have fought before, you and I. A long time ago, before all...” His gesture managed to encompass the elves, the meat-minds, the mall, Arthur, and their own bodies. “. . . this.”

“Well, at least one of us has come up in the world,” Sam snorted. “We gonna fight, or were you planning on talking me to death.”

“When I kill you,” the redhead purred, straightening, “I will have my name. I will use the subsequent death of. the Immortal King to gain the kind of power that will cause whole kingdoms to tremble before me!”

“Subsequent death? You pick up that word-of-the-day toilet paper at the Emporium?”

“No, at the stationery shop.”

“Ah.”

“Sam.” Arthur stepped forward, Excalibur a gleaming silver line across his body. “I can’t let you do this.”

“You have no choice,” the redhead snarled, shifted his weight, and swung.

Sam leaped left. Then right. Then left. Then up and over another planter.

“Damn it, cat! Hold still!”

“You think I’m going to hold still because
you
want me to?” Sam ricocheted off a meat-mind and folded back on himself. “You’re not only evil,” he snorted, raking his claws across the redhead’s wrist as he rocketed by, “you’re not too bright. .

. .”

“You, turn on the lights.” As Dr. Rebik stretched a palsied hand toward the switch, Meryat sat down on the edge of the bed. “You, put the bag on the floor and open it.”

“I don’t think,” Dean began, searching for a protest that would carry some weight.

“Good. You’re not supposed to think. You’re supposed to do as I say.” She smiled and brushed dry, brittle hair back off her face with fingertips that were still a little black. “So what did I say?”

“Put the bag on the floor.”

“Do it.” Her hand closed around Dr. Rebik’s arm.

“Or have you forgotten the consequences? He dies, and it’s all your fault.” There had to be a way out of this. There had to be. Unfortunately, Dean had no idea of what it was. Coming up with a last minute solution wasn’t in his job description. Run the guesthouse. No problem. Anchor Claire in the real world. Got it covered. Get a high enough gloss on the dining room table that he could stop nagging about coasters. Almost there. He even did windows. Pull a brilliant plan out of nowhere just as things were about to land in the crapper-not likely.

Where was Austin? The wardrobe door was open about six inches. Was he inside? Waiting for the perfect moment?

Dean set the writhing bag on the floor.

Meryat smiled. He really wished she’d stop doing that-although all things considered, her teeth were remarkably good. “Open it.” Austin needed to hurry it up. They were rapidly running out of perfect moments.

Dean dropped to one knee-the last thing he wanted was to be bending over the bag as the basilisk emerged-closed his eyes, and yanked the zipper open.

The scream of an enraged cat filled all the empty spaces in the room.

Adrenaline surged through Dean’s body demanding flight or fight and getting neither.

He jerked his eyes open in time to see a scaled tail disappear into the wardrobe.

Austin leaped from chair, to dresser, to the top of the wardrobe and sat there looking smug. “The half with the brain is a chicken,” he said.