The Second Summoning

“Oh, sure, ignore me all you want, but I’m not going away.” The slight echo in the room made her sound more petulant than defiant. Definitely the echo . . .

On the bottom step, she paused, suddenly worried she was about to do the wrong thing.

“Wait a minute.” The smack, palm to head, was a little harder than it needed to be. “I’m supposed to be doing the wrong thing.” Stepping off onto the floor, she walked quickly to where the memory was the strongest and, before yet another mood swing could come along, dropped to her knees, placing her hands flat against the stone. The connection was there, but what should have been a rush of power revitalizing every dark molecule of her being was no more than a mere trickle of low-end possibilities it took forehead-furrowing concentration to feel.

WE’RE SORRY, THE NUMBER YOU HAVE DIALED IS NOT IN

SERVICE. PLEASE INSCRIBE A PENTAGRAM AND TRY AGAIN.

“Oh, for . . .” Both palms slapped down hard. “I don’t need a freaking pentagram, I’m a piece of you!” All the hair on the back of her neck lifted as her anger lent the connection new strength. They were listening down there, no doubt about it; probably arguing about who was going to take the call. “This isn’t evil, guys, this is irritating. Do you want to be released into the world or not? I’ve got better things to do than sit around waiting for you to get your head out of your ass.” HEY! THERE’S NO NEED TO BE INSULTING.

Byleth sat back on her heels. “Got your attention, so apparently there is.” YOU’VE BEEN CORRUPTED BY THE WORLD.

WE HARDLY RECOGNIZED YOU.

Hell sighed. THEY GROW UP SO FAST.

“Look there’s a Keeper coming . . .”

WE FEEL ONLY YOU.

BECAUSE THERE’S NO ACTUAL HOLE, IDIOT.

OW.

Didn’t miss that, Byleth remembered. “The point you’re not listening to is that we don’t have much time so like pull it together into one voice, would you, and tell me how to reopen this thing.”

In the long pause that followed she had the strangest feeling Hell was about to ask if she was sure, if she really wanted to wrap the world in a shroud of darkness and pain. All the world, including the Porters and that axworthy guy in the music store andLeslie/Deter and his car. Which was ridiculous because Hell as a general rule could care less about the opinions of and/or motivations of those who offered it a chance to release chaos.

She bit her lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

Was she sure?

ALL RIGHT, HERE’S WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO Too late anyway.

“It doesn’t look like it’s open.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Diana told him, handing over the last of her Christmas money. “The guy who runs this place is a Cousin.”

“Ah, yes, family, where they always have to take you in. ”A happy family is but an earlier heaven.“ John Bowring.”

“And this particular family is trying to prevent an earlier Hell.” Backpack on her lap, she slid out the door and straightened. “Keep the change.”

“There is a certain relief in change, even though it be from bad to worse.” Washington Irving.”

Smiling tightly, Diana slammed the cab door. “Get a life,” she advised as he drove off, then she turned and raced up the porch stairs, ignoring Samuel’s muffled protests as he banged against the small of her back. Once inside, she dumped him out on the counter and watched incredulously as he raced to the end, flung himself to the floor, charged across the lobby and halfway up the stairs, spun around, returned at an even higher speed, launched himself back onto the counter, across to the desk, to the windowsill, and back to the counter again.

“What was that all about?” Diana demanded, hoping no one had heard.

“I figured out the legs,” Samuel told her proudly. Turning around, he caught sight of his tail out of the corner of one eye and pounced.

“This is so not the time,” she sighed as he spun about like a furry, orange, and not terribly coordinated dreidel. “The demon is in the building. Can’t you feel the dark possibilities opening?”

Head spinning, Byleth struggled unsuccessfully to make sense of the information Hell had just passed through their tenuous link. “Let me guess,” she muttered peevishly, wishing she could rub both throbbing temples, “those instructions were translated from the Japanese by someone whose first language was Urdu.” CLOSE.

“They don’t make any sense!”

THEY DON’T? After a moment Hell cleared its throat in a vaguely embarrassed sort of way. UM, THAT’S BECAUSE THEY’RE ACTUALLY THE

INSTRUCTIONS FOR HOOKING UP THE CABLES BETWEEN A DVD

PLAYER AND A DIGITAL TELEVISION.

“Would they make sense if I had a DVD player and a digital television?” she snapped.

NOT REALLY, NO. HANG ON, WE’LL TRY AGAIN.

“That Cousin who’s supposed to be here . . .”

“Augustus Smythe.”

Samuel’s fur felt as though someone had been standing on a nylon carpet stroking him the wrong way and he had to keep fighting the urge to run up the walls.

“He’s not here.”

“You can’t smell him?”

“Oh, I can smell him. But he’s not here.”