Long Hot Summoning

“We think he’ll go back to the other mall.” Kith sounded very young as she stepped out of the shadows. “But we don’t know for sure.”

Across the concourse, Arthur’s army began to move out.

Claire looked for Sam but couldn’t see him in the crowd. She did see Jo raise her bat to the place Stewart disappeared. From the look on her face, the security guard should thank any gods willing to listen that he wasn’t in this reality and that Jo could never cross back.

But I can.

Claire added another note to her mental to-do list—after rescue Diana and save the world but before pick up dry cleaning.

“Come on.” A hand on skinny shoulders got her escort’s attention. “Let’s do this.”

*   *   *

IT BEGINS.

The declaration jerked Diana up out of her slump, spilling Kris’ head off her shoulder. “What does?”

WHAT DO YOU THINK? IT!

“Right.” It. The battle. Her diversion. She shuffled around toward Kris, using the motion to cover an attempt to move the wand a little farther up her leg. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, fuckin’ great. I wasn’t asleep.”

“Okay.”

“I was just…you know.”

Looking for an excuse to cuddle. Diana grinned. “Okay.”

Kris flipped her dreads back off her face and sighed. “You have to sound so smug?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Keeping her back against the wall of the cavern, she got to her feet and held a hand down to the elf.

“So this where all Hell breaks loose?”

Someone had to say it, Diana reminded herself. It wasn’t exactly a Rule. Some things didn’t have to be. “Not yet.”

With any luck, not ever.

Leaning out around the quartet of meat-minds left to guard them, she watched as the Shadowlord came into the cavern—not walking, striding, and being pretty da…darned obvious about it, too. Over the whole black-on-black wardrobe, he was wearing greaves, vambraces, and a polished breastplate. Also in black. He pulled his sword—not black, Diana was happy to note, although it wasn’t like he hadn’t already beat the theme to death—and knelt by the edge of the pit.

“Is it time?”

IT IS. ARE YOU READY?

“I am.”

“Who writes their dialogue,” Kris muttered as the Shadowlord stood, his blade lifted in salute.

Diana had a witty comeback ready, but it slipped off her tongue. The Shadowlord’s hair, definitely blond on all other occasions, was looking more than just a little red. It might have been reflected light from the pit, but she had a horrible feeling he was about to earn a name.

Given who he’ll be fighting, three guesses as to what name and the first two don’t count.

*   *   *

Sam trotted along at Arthur’s heels, vaguely aware that this wasn’t the first time he’d gone to war—Angels being soldiers of the Lord and all that. He just wished he could remember more of his life before he became a cat. Well, he remembered the few days he’d been essentially a human teenage male, but since that had mostly involved being confused, hungry, and obsessed with genitalia, it wasn’t a lot of help.

He would rather have been with Claire, rescuing Diana. He would rather have been with Diana right from the start, but no one ever listened to him.

This made his ability to stop Arthur from doing a little one-on-one whacking with the Big Bad just a little suspect. The access to higher knowledge he retained in this form was no help at all.

So.

What would Austin do?

“The trick in getting them to listen is making sure you’ve got their attention before you start.”

“But how?”

Austin stretched out a front leg and flexed the paw. His claws sank a quarter inch into the sofa cushion. “Use your imagination, kid. That’s what it’s there for.”

Well, if a cat could look at a king, he supposed it was only a small step from there to leaving scars. Feeling more confident, he began memorizing the places Arthur’s padding didn’t quite cover. Just in case things got unpleasant.

“Did you have a pleasant time at the shopping mall, Dean?” Meryat’s voice was low and musical, her movements graceful, even considering she was still more than half corpse.

Dr. Rebik stared at her in open-mouthed fascination.

Dean stared in horror.

Austin seemed to have disappeared.

“You seem to have done some shopping,” she continued, her eyes following the movements of the hockey bag. “Is it another kitty?” Her arm whipped forward with snakelike speed and one finger poked the canvas. The answering squawk was more indignant than pained. “No, not a kitty. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d bought yourself a chicken.”