Long Hot Summoning

“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.

His reflection stared back.

Apparently, there was a trick to it.

He leaned closer until his breath fogged the glass. Leaned a little closer until there was less than a cat-hair’s width between his nose and the mirror. He was not in the mood for tricks. “HEY!”

Blue-on-blue eyes snapped up out of nowhere. “I’m not deaf! Or I wasn’t,” Jack added petulantly as Sam jumped back. His eyes slid from one side of the mirror to the other, then widened. “Okay, this is new. Hold it!”

Sam froze, one paw in the air.

“Don’t move your reflection off the glass. It’s all that’s holding me here. Not that it should be holding me here. Or that I should be here at all.” The eyes narrowed speculatively. “Who knows, maybe our earlier connection left some residue or something. So what do you want?”

“Information.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m a mirror—not a database.”

“Information on Claire and Diana.”

“You lost both Keepers?”

Sam really didn’t like the way that sounded. “You know something.”

“Not about Claire, I haven’t seen her since you guys crossed over, but…”

Jack’s pause suggested all sorts of horrible possibilities. “But what?” Sam demanded, surging back toward the mirror.

“Diana was in the store; her and some elfin cutie. They stopped and talked, I told them what I knew, and they went into the back room. I don’t know how to break this to you, kid, but from the buzz I picked up later, they got caught.”

“By the bad guys?”

Blue-on-blue eyes rolled. “No, by the Publishers’ Clearing House prize patrol. Of course by the bad guys!”

“And?”

“Sorry, kid. That’s all I know.”

“Okay.” Sam stepped away from the mirror, and the eyes disappeared. Tail whipping from side to side, he caught Stewart in an amber gaze and growled, “Get Arthur.”

*   *   *

Dean knew he was dreaming because, although he had once played hockey in his underwear, he’d never had so much trouble covering the ice. It had to have been five or six kilometers between the goals and by the time he crossed the blue line, he could barely put one skate in front of the other. With all his remaining strength, he drew back his stick, set up for a slap shot, and stared in amazement as the blue light around the puck turned white and sparkly and, for no good reason that he could determine, it ascended, becoming a higher being.

“Hey, McIssac!”

He looked down at Austin, wondering how he could actually blow a whistle without lips.

“What have I told you about keeping your stick on the ice?”

It took him a moment to remember how his mouth worked. “Nothing.”

“Fine. If that’s the way you’re going to be about it, get up and feed me.”

“What?”

“I said, get up and feed me!”

A sudden sharp pain on his chin jerked his eyes open in time to see Austin pull back his paw, claws still extended.

“What’s a cat got to do to get some breakfast around here?”