Tiny wisps of steam rose up from Diana’s ears.
Sara smiled and ignored them. “…you couldn’t possibly comprehend how I work. Over fifty years ago, two interfering busybodies put a shield around me. Specifically, around me. It’s still there. No one will know I’m awake until it’s much too late.”
As the sound of Sara’s gloating receded down the hall, several small, multicolored figures came out from behind various pieces of furniture and moved purposefully toward the limp body of the cat.
Running full out, Claire still hadn’t reached the end of the bookshelves.
“Stop thinking about the past!”
Distorted by echoes, it could have been anyone’s voice. Claire didn’t waste time turning to check. She needed a door. She couldn’t get home without going through a door.
“Hello, handsome. Are there any more at home like you?”
Pressed up against the wall in the lobby. Dean had a sudden memory of a fish flopping about the gaff that pinned it to the bottom of the boat. It didn’t stop him from struggling, but it did give him a pretty good idea of how successful that struggle would be.
When he finally sagged, exhausted, he felt the sharp points of fingernails lift his chin off his chest.
“Very nice,” Sara cooed. “I’ve always been a big fan of flexing and sweating.” Slipping her fingers into the front pocket of his jeans, she pulled the denim away from his body and dropped the keys into the pouch. “Thanks so very much for your help. I don’t suppose you have a cigarette on you?”
Dean shook his head and dragged himself out of the pale depths of her eyes. They were same gray/blue as the heart of an iceberg only less compassionate. He nodded toward Diana’s thrashing body. “She said she was going into the attic. I thought Keepers couldn’t lie.”
“Bystanders can’t lie to a Keeper, but we’re actually very good at lying to…” Sara ducked and the old leather-bound registration book whipped over her head and slammed corner first into the wall. As the ancient binding gave way and yellowed pages fluttered to the ground, she measured the dent between thumb and forefinger. “Nice try, Jacques. I’m amazed you managed that much ectoplasmic energy.” Leaning toward Dean, she whispered, “He must’ve gotten lucky in the last couple of days.”
Eyes watering, Dean turned his head away. Her breath would’ve peeled the paint off the gut cans at the processing plant.
“Hey!” A fingernail opened a small cut in his cheek. “You sleep for that long and see what kind of a morning mouth you wake up with.”
The brass bell rose off the counter and smacked into her shoulder.
“This is getting tiresome, Jacques.” She turned to face the office. “Technically, I should have dust and ash for this, but we’ll just have to make do with an abundance of dust.” A gentle push sent Diana down the hall toward the basement stairs. With both hands free, Sara scraped a bit of fuzz off the front of her skirt and drew two symbols in the air.
Dean braced for bad poetry, but he needn’t have bothered.
Both symbols glowed red.
Jacques snapped into focus between the symbols. Eyes wide with terror, he twisted and fought, and when Sara smacked her palms together, he exploded into a thousand tiny lights that scattered in all directions.
Praying silently, Dean worked his left hand free and snagged two of the lights as they went by. They burned as they touched his skin, but he closed his fingers around them and faced Sara with both hands curled into fists.
“Well,” she said, “that takes care of him. You, however, I can use.”
SHE’S GOING TO TRY IT AGAIN!
WOULD YOU STOP WORRYING! A FEW DECADES AT HER BECK AND CALL AND THEN WE’RE FREE.
AND YOU THINK SHE’LL WANT HELL WAITING FOR HER WHEN SHE DIES?
After a long silence, Hell muttered, YOU MIGHT HAVE BROUGHT THAT UP BEFORE.
SHE’S SEALING THE PIT! WE CAN’T STOP HER!
NO. NOT FROM IN HERE….
First there were no doors, and then there was nothing but doors. Claire’d charged into three saunas, two walk-in freezers, something animated she couldn’t identify, and more hotel rooms than she wanted to count.
“Yoo hoo! Cornelia! Diana! I was taking Baby out for his walkies and I just popped by to see if you…” Mrs. Abrams froze on the threshold, her mouth opening and closing but no sound emerging. Finally she managed a strangled, “I remember you!”
“That was an oversight on somebody’s part,” Sara observed as she tied the laces of Dean’s work boots together. “Please, come in and close the door.”
One hand pressed against the polyester swell of her bosom, Mrs. Abrams shuffled forward.
“And the door,” Sara prodded. “Don’t forget to close it.”
Although her movements were pretty much limited to impotent thrashing, Diana managed to bring herself closer to the wall. Twisting left, she slammed her heels into the plaster.
Mrs. Abrams jerked at the sound and took a step backward, toward escape.
Sara raised a hand, and Diana found herself wrapped even more tightly in power. All her strength, all her attention, focused on drawing air through constricted passageways.
“Margaret Anne. Close the door.”
Margaret Anne Abrams, née Groseter, had been fifteen the last time Sara had commanded her. A lot of water had passed under the bridge since then, and little old ladies were not without power of their own. Taking a breath so deep it stood each orange hair on end, she rallied. “Don’t you talk to me in that tone of voice, young woman! I’ll have you know that I’m the head of the Women’s Auxiliary at our church and I’ve five times been volunteer of the year at the hospital. Look at you, you’re all covered in dust. If I were you I’d be ashamed to go out in that…” Her voice trailed off as Sara’s pale eyes narrowed and she expelled the last of the breath in a squeaky cry for help. “Baby!”
Secured by a leather leash to his own front porch. Baby lifted his wedge-shaped head off his paws.
He heard his master calling.
Lips pulled back off his teeth, the big Doberman surged up onto his feet and out to the end of his leash. The leather held.
The porch, on the other hand, surrendered to the inevitable.
Claire knew she was close. She could feel the hotel, but a dozen doors remained between her and the end of the hall, and she couldn’t shake the fear that time, usually so fluid outside reality, had decided to march to a linear drummer. In other words, it was passing. Quickly.
Behind the first door to her right, sat a tiger. Fortunately, judging from the debris around its cell, it had just eaten.
“You’re only delaying the inevitable,” Sara muttered, as with a crooked finger she drew Mrs. Abrams farther into the lobby. “There’s nothing you can summon, old woman, that can hurt…” Her eyes widened.
Baby had lived his whole life for this moment. Years of frustration propelled him over the threshold in one mighty leap.
The remains of the porch swept Mrs. Abrams off her feet, tangling her in the twisted wreckage.
Baby’s front paws slammed into Sara’s chest.
She hit the floor, bounced once in a cloud of dust and lost the collar of her jacket as the extra weight on the end of Baby’s leash stopped him a mere fraction of an inch short.
Breathing heavily, the Keeper scrambled to her feet careful to stay clear of the snapping mouthful of too-long, too-pointed, and too-many teeth.
Fixated on her throat Baby missed his chance at a number of other body parts as they passed.
A wave of Sara’s hand closed the door. The sound it made, the sort of sound that put a final period on both rescue and escape, was almost a cliché.