The Second Summoning

She sighed. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Oh. Them. No, they’re not.”

“Yeah, they are.”

“No.”

“Yes. You shouldn’t be perpetually hungry. You shouldn’t know what a six-liter engine is.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you shouldn’t be looking at my breasts!” Ears burning, he locked his gaze on her right eyebrow. “You’re a Keeper. You could send me back.”

“Only if you want to go.” Pushing a desiccated French fry around with a fingertip, she sighed again. This was, after all, why she’d come to Toronto. It had only taken a small prod from St. Patrick for her to realize that an angel designed by committee would need a Keeper’s help to go home, her help. “The problem is,” she said slowly, “if I send you back, you won’t be you anymore. You’d just be light.”

“But that’s what I am.”

Diana shook her head. “That’s not all you are. If I send you back, then the you that I’m talking to, the you that’s experienced the world, he’ll disappear. I’ll have killed him.”

“Killed me?” When she nodded, he frowned. “That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You already know about it.”

“Figure of speech, Samuel. I was agreeing with you.” She dropped her chin onto her hands. “I don’t know what to do, and I really hate that feeling.”

“Tell me about it,” Samuel muttered, unwrapping a fourth . . . something that seemed to involve chicken ova, a slice of pig in nitrate, and melted orange stuff probably intended to represent a dairy product. He’d eaten the first three too fast to really taste them, which all things considered, had probably been smart. “So, what you do think of the iIlea that I am the message? That I’m here to help people?”

“How? And don’t give me that look,” Diana warned him. “I’m not being mean, I’m being realistic. You can’t even help yourself.”

“I’ve been managing.”

“No. You haven’t. Can I think of an example? Hmmm, let’s see.” She leaned forward. “How about: without me, you’d be covered in pigeons.”

“Well, yeah, but . . .”

“And pigeon shit.”

His brows drew in. He didn’t know they could do that. It was an interesting feeling. “I’m still a superior being, I can figure stuff out.”

“How do you know you’re a superior being?”

“I just . . . know.”

“So does every other male between twelve and twenty,” she snorted, folding her arms. “But that doesn’t solve their problems either.” Samuel stared at her for a long moment, then he smiled. “I could be insulted, but I know you’re only saying that because of your own sexual ambiguity.” He took a large bite and chewed slowly. “I mean, you say you’re a lesbian, but you’ve never actually made it with a woman although you did make it with a guy and it wasn’t entirely his fault it was such a disaster.”

Her lip curled. “If you were to choke right now, I wouldn’t save you.” They left the highway just north of Huntsville, heading southwest on 518.

“We’re close,” Claire insisted when Austin pointed out the total lack of anything but Canadian landscape around them.

“Close to what?” he snorted. “The edge of the world?”

“We need to turn right soon. There.” She pointed. “Is that a road?” It was. After another thirteen kilometers of spruce bog and snow, they passed the first house. Then the second. Then a boarded-up business. Then, suddenly, they were in downtown Waverton, all five blocks of it.

“Park in front of the bank.”

Braking carefully, Dean peered down at the thick, milky slabs of frozen water.

“I don’t know, Claire; it looks some icy.”

“We’ll be okay.”

“If you’re thinking of using my kitty litter to make it okay, think again,” Austin muttered, climbing up onto the top of the seat.

“You mean because I’m only a Keeper with access to an infinite number of possibilities and wouldn’t be able to get this truck moving without a bag of dried clay bits designed to absorb cat urine?”

“Essentially . . .” He paused to lick his shoulder. “. . . yes.” Lips pressed into a thin line, Claire reached into the possibilities and slid the truck sideways across the nearly frictionless surface, bringing it to a gentle stop against the slightly higher ice sheet that was the curb.

Dean released the breath he’d been holding and forced the white-knuckled fingers of one hand to let go of the steering wheel long enough to switch off the engine. “You need to warn me when you’re after doing something like that,” he said, still staring straight ahead as though he intended to keep the truck from ending up at the New Accounts desk by visual aids alone. “Sideways is not a good way.”

“Sorry.”

He turned to face her then. “Really?”

“No.”

“Austin!”

“Just giving him the benefit of my experience. You’ve never been sorry when you do that sort of thing to me.”

“When have I ever . . . ?”

“Plevna. December 12th, 1997.”

“How was I supposed to know claws don’t provide traction? It was an honest mistake.”

“Uh-huh.”

Yanking her toque down over her ears, Claire got out of the truck. “He scored the winning goal,” she pointed out to Dean as she closed the door.

“How did you hold the stick?” Dean wondered, pulling on his gloves.

Austin’s head swiveled slowly around. “I. Didn’t.”