Chronicles Of The Keeper - The Long Hot Summoning Part 43

Kris shot her a look, equal parts irritation and exasperation, as she pushed by. "Man, I am so not envying your cat if this is the s.h.i.+t he has to put up with."

Sam raced past and disappeared behind the winter coats as Claire slowed to avoid trampling the elf on guard at the entrance between the cosmetic counters. It seemed as though he might try to stop her but clearly thought better of it as he got a closer look at her face.

"s.h.i.+t, Keeper . . ."

"Arthur!" She spat out the name. "Where is he?"

"Large Appliances."

"And that's where?"

"Straight to Children's Shoes, hang a right, then a left at Women's Accessories and straight to the back. You want I should sound the alarm?"

"No." The alarm would only warn the a.s.sa.s.sin she was coming. Hopping on first one foot then the other, she slipped her sandals off, bare feet would make a lot less noise, then, hiking her skirt up above her knees, lengthened her stride.

Children's Shoes, Women's Accessories . . . The floor was cold, and the air smelled like overheated Teflon, like someone had left a nonstick frying pan on the stove and not realized the burner was still hot. As she ran, Claire hoped the smell was seeping through from the other mall. She didn't like the implications if it wasn't.

She could hear voices up ahead.

Arthur asked a question about fabric softener.

One of the elves snickered.

A cat screamed.

Sam.

Heart racing, she tried to remind herself that cats screamed as much for effect as affect and were as likely to scream in rage as in pain. It didn't help. Death of the Immortal King, successful segue, end of the world aside, if Sam got hurt, Diana was going to kill her.

Large Appliances. Buy the washer; get one hundred dollars off the ticketed price of the dryer.

Sam crouched on top of a was.h.i.+ng machine, tail las.h.i.+ng, fur straight up along his spine, ears clamped tight to his skull. He didn't look injured. He didn't sound injured. He sounded like a cross between a rabid racc.o.o.n and a civil defense siren.

Arthur had his sword out.

Facing them both was ... at first Claire thought it was the shadow of the a.s.sa.s.sin, then it moved, an almost fluid flow from one shape to another, and she realized it was shadow and it was the a.s.sa.s.sin.

The shadow feinted right; Arthur moved with it, keeping his blade between them.

The shadow rose up ten, fifteen feet, stretched into a thin line, then whipped forward. Arthur dove out of the way, one hand reaching out to the mall elf beside him and dragging her behind a free-standing dishwasher.

Claire pulled a length of white thread from her belt pouch, tied two quick knots, and threw it into the darkness.

It froze, s.h.i.+vered once, s.h.i.+fted shape, and turned toward the Keeper, the thread anchoring it in place. Given the power pulling against it, the thread wouldn't hold long.

Shrieking a challenge, Sam launched himself off the was.h.i.+ng machine.

It arched just enough of itself out of the way.

Rising up on one knee, Arthur swung. Missed. Leaped to his feet. Swung. Missed. Nearly had his head taken off by a sudden side shot. Got his sword around in time to cut off a piece eight inches long by about three inches in diameter. It hit the floor, flattened, and s.h.i.+mmied its way almost too fast to follow back into its dark bulk.

Claire winced. That's not good.

The thread was beginning to give.

Light could defeat it. Shadows disappeared in the light.

Unfortunately, the closest thing to a light source was in the refrigerator beside her and it went off when the door closed.

. . . door. . .

It could work. If she could get it to chase her. If the shelves hadn't been put into the refrigerator. If she hit the back of the fridge with time enough to set a second path.

An ice cream scoop flew through the center of the shadow, whistled past her arm close enough for her to feel the breeze, and clattered off white enamel. The good news; the cavalry had arrived. The bad news; it was half a dozen mall elves with slingshots and bats. They couldn't have brought flashlights?

"Careful!" Arthur's voice rising above the sudden babble.

And a voice out of the babble. "f.u.c.k! What is this thing?"

"An a.s.sa.s.sin!" Claire snapped. "It's here to kill Arthur, but it'll just as happily take any of you. Don't let it touch you; it'll suck your life out through any exposed skin!" If she'd thought, suspected even, that they'd be fighting shadow, she'd have brought along some lotion with an SPF of at least 30. Rummaging in the belt pouch, she pulled out her compact. "Get back! All of you. You, too, Arthur. In fact, you especially."

He shook blue-black hair off his face. "Your spell will not hold it for much longer, wizard. I would rather be facing it and ready to fight when it breaks free than running away with my back exposed."

"Fine." He had a point. "Then back away, but give me some room to work and try to remember that you must stay alive."

"What are you planning, Keeper?"

Switching the compact from hand to hand, she wiped her palms against her skirt. "I'm going to get it to chase me into this refrigerator."

"Are you totally mental?"

A good question. Exactly what Diana would have asked were she around. Claire spent a moment believing her little sister was up to whatever she might have to face, then flashed the a.s.sembled mall elves a confident smile. Belief and confidence both for the benefit of the Otherside. "Trust me. Just don't close the door until I find my way out."

"Of the refrigerator?"

"Yes."

The shadow swayed left, the elves s.h.i.+fted right, and Claire felt a cold wet nose b.u.mp up against her s.h.i.+ns. "I'm going with you."

"No, Sam, you have to watch out for Arthur and the elves while I'm gone."

Amber eyes narrowed. "You can't tell me what to do!"

The shadow rose up, then snapped flat. Arthur swung his sword like a nine iron and sliced a piece off as it tried for his ankles.

"I'm not." Too many years with Austin for her to even attempt it. "I'm just telling you what the right thing is and hoping that you'll do it."

"But what . . ."