Long Hot Summoning

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.

“You do realize that a basilisk would have no effect on me,” Meryat murmured conversationally.

“Obviously not,” Austin purred in much the same tone.

“But since there’s one available, I was thinking that turning Dean here to stone would reverberate through their bond and bring the Keeper racing back believing she was about to face a basilisk.”

“Whereas sucking Dean dry would bring her back prepared to face you.”

“Exactly. While she’s dealing with the lesser threat, I will…”

“…suck her dry and regain youth, beauty, and power in one fell swoop.”

“What a smart kitty you are. I think the Keeper might miss you more. Get down from there.”

“Or you’ll what?” Austin snorted. “Suck Dean dry? You’re going to do that anyway. Kill Dr. Rebik? Talk to someone who cares.”