The Second Summoning

TWELVE

SINCE DEAN HAD POLITELY but vehemently objected to her willing the truck faster, Claire let her head loll back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Extending her will toward Toronto, she slid past the permanently monitored sites, her passage noted only by the elderly Keeper at the site in Scarborough.

“Oh, sure, you can go by like a ship in the night, but you never write, you never call. A lousy birthday card would kill you? The best forty-two years of my life I give to you and you don’t even remember my birthday. You got a memory like a cantaloupe.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why? What did you do?”

Claire moved on into the possibilities a little faster. Keepers who essentially became the seal that stopped darkness from emerging out of an unclosable hole, became caricatures of their former selves. She’d narrowly missed becoming the youngest Keeper to ever hold such a position and shuddered at the sudden vision of herself at ninety-two in stretch capri pants and wedges, scarlet lips and crimson fingernails, badly dyed hair poofed out over way too much purple eye shadow—a cross between Nancy Reagan and Miss Piggy.

Didn’t happen, she reminded herself. Didn’t…

Wait.

Something was happening.

She heard voices…

“I’m warning you, Michael, don’t touch the horn.”

“Or you’ll what? Blow me?”

…then a sudden flash of light threw her back into her body. She stiffened and moaned. The Summons hit a heartbeat later.

“As much as I’m happy you two are back into it,” Austin muttered without opening his eye, “given that we’re speeding down a snowy highway with a bunch of lunatics who’ve forgotten how to drive since the last time the frozen white stuff fell, don’t you think Dean ought to keep both hands on the steering wheel?”

“I can feel the demon.”

“I thought you were calling it Floyd. Ow!” He turned his head and glared at her. “Don’t poke the cat, I’m old.”

“So Diana came through, then?” Dean asked, making a mental note to ask about this Floyd guy when the cat wasn’t around.

“I knew she would.”

Austin snorted. “You thought she was going to destroy the world as we know it, bringing upon us the Last Judgment and roller disco. Not that there’s a lot of difference,” he added.

Somewhat redundantly in Dean’s opinion. “Are we still after heading to Toronto, then?”

Claire checked the Summons. “So far.”

They drove in silence for a few moments.

“The angel’s gone, then?”

Curious about Dean’s tone, Claire turned to face him. “Yes.”

“And you can find the demon now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And when you find the demon, you can get rid of it?”

“I’m a Keeper. Of course I can get rid of it.”

He glanced toward her and smiled suggestively. “No angel, no demon…”

“No problem.” Realizing where he was headed, she returned his smile and stroked one finger along the top of his thigh.

“Is it just me,” Austin asked, sitting up, “or are we suddenly moving a lot faster?”

The angel had changed.

Feeling suddenly exposed, Byleth ran into the only room in the mission where she’d be left alone—unexpectedly finding three other girls already in there sharing a cigarette.

The dominant member of the trio slid off the sink and turned to face her. “You want something, new girl?”

The part of her that was a seventeen-year-old girl wanted to protest that she’d just come in to use the bathroom and she wasn’t looking for trouble. Then the rest of her pushed that part down and stole its lunch money. “I want you to leave.”

“What?”

“Leave.” Breathing heavily through her nose, barely holding all the parts together, Byleth reached into the darkness. “I want you to leave.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t give a half-eaten rat’s ass for what you want. I…What’s that?” Pierced brows drew in and scowled at the dripping bit of flesh hanging from the tail in Byleth’s hand.

“It’s a half-eaten rat’s ass. Take it and go.”

Eyes locked on the partial rodent, the other two girls sidled by and out the door. In the complex hierarchy of adolescence, having a rat’s ass conveniently on hand clearly trumped a pack of smokes and an attitude.

“What kind of retarded shithole do you come from?” their abandoned leader asked, taking an unconcerned drag. “That is so totally not what I meant. Now, me, I’m going to finish my cigarette and…” Her gaze locked on Byleth’s nose. “I never saw you light up.”

“I didn’t.”

“But there’s smoke…”

“Get. Out.”

“Hey, you’re not the boss of me.” Bravado winning over common sense, she flicked her butt toward the sink…

“NOW!”

…and was out the door before it actually touched the porcelain.

Byleth tossed the rat in the garbage and stared at her reflection. “Why is it so damned foggy in…oh.” Like thousands before her, she found it a lot harder to stop smoking than to start, but, after an extended struggle, she managed it. Not that it mattered, her cover had been blown. She might as well walk around in a pair of horns, carrying a pitchfork—if that particular look wasn’t so yesterday’s demon. Without equal and opposite coverage by the light, she’d be easy to spot by any Keeper and probably most Cousins. Metaphysical alarms would be screaming, “Demon in the world!” and every Goody Two-shoes in the area not currently helping little old ladies across the street would be zeroing in.

She should have changed with the angel. He was as much tied by the stupid body he was wearing as she was. Therefore, he couldn’t have changed on his own. He so cheated.

“Oh, yeah, he got a Keeper to change him so they could find me. Fine. You want to find me, Keeper, you’ll find me!” A light wisp of smoke drifted out of both nostrils. It felt great. “If I’m going out, I’m going out big. No more just hanging around and irritating people.” She spread her arms. “I’ll open a hole of darkness so big it’ll make the Home Shopping Channel seem like a cable network!”

Her reflection frowned. “It is a cable network.”

“Shut up!”

“And you can’t open a hole of darkness big enough to cause much trouble because the physicality of the body denies you access to that kind of power.”

“I am that kind of power.”

“Then you’ll have to destroy the body. You’ll cease to exist. Gone. No more reality than you can find in that stupid television program about those people on the island.”

“What do you mean?”

“Read your lips. You’ll be absorbed back into the darkness. No more you.”

“Oh, like it’s such joy to be a teenager.” But it was better than being nothing at all, better than being a lesser part of a greater whole—actually it was remarkably similar to being a lesser part of a greater whole. Byleth chewed thoughtfully on the edge of a thumbnail, spitting bits of navy blue polish into the sink. If she could open a big enough hole, cause enough mayhem and destruction, she could maintain her identity even in the darkness where individuality depended on being more of a shit than the next guy—and not always metaphorically.

She’d have to open the hole quickly, before the Keepers found her, so she’d need a spot where at least part of the work had already been done.

“And I know just the place.”

Unfortunately, her evil chortle fell flat as her reflection ignored her, concentrating instead on the dorky little flip ruining the right side of her hair.

“One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”

“Are you all right down there?”

Samuel stopped counting and glared up at Diana, cream-colored whiskers bristling indignantly. “Why?”

“No reason,”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

“This four legs walking stuff is a lot harder than it looks, you know.”

Diana bit back a snicker as she pushed the elevator call button. “It couldn’t possibly be. I think I should carry you,” she added as the elevator arrived. “I’ve set it up so people’s attention will slide right off you, but in an enclosed space you’d likely get stepped on.”

“Something tells me I didn’t think this transformation thing through,” Samuel muttered as she scooped him up. Still, it felt surprisingly pleasant to be held. He flicked his tail out into a more comfortable position as the door opened.

A small child stared up at them with widening eyes. “Kitty, Mama!”

“Yes, sweetheart,” his mother agreed, as Diana moved past her, “a stuffed kitty.”

“Who’s she calling stuffed?”

“Kitty talks, Mama!”

“Toy kitties don’t talk, sweetheart.”

A small hand closed around Samuel’s tail and pulled. “Ding dong!”

“OW!”

“Kitties don’t ding dong either, sweetheart.” Shooting Diana an apologetic smile, she grabbed her son’s wrist with one hand and pried his fingers free with the other. A bit of fur came free as well. “And it’s not polite to touch things that belong to other people.”

“Especially tails!” Hooking his claws in Diana’s jacket, Samuel swiveled around until he could stare down at the child, golden eyes narrowed to glimmering slits. “Listen to your mother, Ramji, because someday she’ll die and you’ll wish you had.”

Ramji wrapped his arms around his mother’s leg. “Kitty knows my name.”

He was still wrapped around her leg when the elevator reached the lobby, and she crossed to the hotel’s front door with a resigned shuffle.

“That’s a kid who’s going to need serious therapy down the road.” Diana shifted her grip. “What kind of an angel says something like that?”

“The kind that just got his tail pulled. Besides,” Samuel continued after a few quick licks at his shoulder, “it’s the truth and one day he’ll thank me for it.”

“One day he’ll spend thousands of dollars being convinced you were a metaphor for toilet training.”

“He grabbed my tail!”

“I know. I was there.”

“You said people wouldn’t be able to see me properly.”

“He was a proto-person.” She set him down in one of the lobby’s over stuffed chairs and stepped back. “I’m going to check out. Stay there.”

“Or what?”

“I haven’t got time to go into it right now, but why don’t you apply that Higher Knowledge thing to the joint concepts of can openers and opposable thumbs.” As she walked over to the counter, she considered all the things he could have become and asked the world at large, more in search of sympathy than enlightenment, “Why a cat?”

The world at large offered no answers.

Left to amuse himself, Samuel did a little kneading, claws moving rhythmically in and out of the corduroy cushion covers. Shoulders up, head down, his eyes began to close as he moved in a slow circle. He didn’t know what it was, but something about that yielding surface under his front paws created the most incredible feeling. Kneading harder, really putting his back into it, he heard a sudden loud noise and froze.

Two-stroke engine, single spark, gas and oil mix…oh, wait, it’s me.

Which was when he spotted the other cat.

A marmalade tabby, it had a cream-colored bib and the same color markings around both muzzle and eyes. The darker stripes down tail and legs made it look as if it was wearing footie pajamas—the effect emphasized by the way the legs were still a bit too long for the body.

Samuel stared at it.

It stared back.

Head cocked to one side, Samuel took a cautious step forward.

It took a cautious step forward.

Hoping he wasn’t rushing the introduction, Samuel leaned forward for a good long sniff.

The cinnamon triangle of his nose mashed flat against the mirror.

Leaping back, his back feet scrambled for purchase as he nearly went off the chair, only the barricade of Diana’s legs saving him from an embarrassing fall. Blinking rapidly, he leaned against her knees, looked up at her, and said in what he hoped was a convincing tone, “I meant to do that.”

“Okay.”

“I knew it was a mirror.”

“I believe you.”

“Right.” He took a few quick licks at the edge of a stripe. “So, where do we go from here?”

Diana sighed. “Home.”

“But what about the demon?” Samuel demanded. “I’m not blocking it now. We should go after it.”

“Yes, we should. But we can’t.” She dropped down onto the arm of the chair and scowled at her reflection, one hand absently rubbing the cat behind the ears. “I can feel that there’s a demon out there, but I still don’t know where she is. Which means some other Keeper has it sealed up. And, gee, I wonder which other Keeper?”

“Claire?”

“Good guess.”

Samuel could tell Diana was upset, although he wasn’t entirely certain why. “You don’t know that for sure,” he offered.

Diana snorted. “We—me and Claire—were responsible for you, which makes us responsible for the demon, which means we should have got the Summons, but since I didn’t, she must have.”

He frowned, ears saddling. “Then she must be able to handle the demon on her own.”

“Well, duh. What?” she demanded of an eavesdropping Bystander, shooting him the look that had made her the terror of intramural field hockey back before the school board decided it might not be the best idea to give hormonally hopped up adolescents weapons and carte blanche to break shins. “You’ve never seen anyone talk to a stuffed animal before?”

“Actually, no.”

Holding his gaze, she reached into the possibilities. “You still haven’t.” Scooping up Samuel, she stood and headed for the revolving door. Outside, on Carlton Street, she put the cat down on a cleared bit of sidewalk.

“Hey! I’m in bare feet here!”

“You’re a cat. That’s the only way your feet come.”

“Right. I knew that, but…”

As the pigeon back-flapped into a landing, Samuel whirled around and leaped. Had he been in the body longer, he would have had to have dealt with the small ethical dilemma of whether or not an angel could actually eat a pigeon he’d killed—not to mention the slightly larger health dilemma of whether or not anyone should eat a pigeon born and raised on the streets of Toronto. As it was, he hooked a tail feather, but the rest of the bird got away, dropping a large, white, hysterical opinion of the change on Diana’s shoulder as it passed.

“Go on, chicken, fly! There’s more where that came from!” He boxed the feather to the ground, flicked it up, and boxed it down again.

“Are you done?”

“One more time.” Both front paws finally holding the feather captive, he smiled up at her. “Okay, I’m done. Now what?”

“First, you can stop being so cute.”

“Actually, I don’t think I can,” Samuel admitted after a moment’s consideration.

Diana sighed. “Swell. Do me a favor; if I ever talk baby talk to you, claw my tongue out.”

“I don’t think I can do that either.”

“Not surprised.” Bending, she picked him up and settled him in the crook of her arm. “Come on, it’s the subway to the train station and the first train to London for us.”

“That’s it?” When she nodded, he looked thoughtful. “So essentially I became a cat in order to go home with you and live a pampered life devoid of responsibility while others take the risks and get the glory?”

“Looks like.”

“Kewl.”

The Bystander Diana’d adjusted in the hotel lobby never saw anyone speak to a stuffed animal again. Although his wife didn’t believe in the disability, his children learned to exploit it early on by muttering constantly into the ears of plush toys when struck with the need to do something like fit a frozen hamburger patty into the DVD player.

“Yes, I have a car.” Backed into a literal corner, panic rolling off him like smoke, Leslie/Deter saw no way out. “Why?”

Byleth smiled sweetly and moved a step closer. “Because I need a ride.”

“No.”

“If you give me a ride, I’ll have sex with you.” She probably wouldn’t, but it seemed to be the best currency this body offered.

He swallowed and ground his shoulder blades into the wall, feet pedaling uselessly against the gray industrial tile on the floor. “No. I took the ch…chastity oath.”

“The ch…chastity oath?” Her breasts flattened over a good portion of his chest. “Okay, if you give me a ride, I won’t have sex with you.”

“Deal!”

Nalo almost never went to Scarborough. As well as old Aunt Jen, it had another Keeper taking care of day-to-day metaphysical maintenance. Unfortunately, old Aunt Jen had taken a dislike to the man, and Nalo found herself in the unenviable position of comforter and confidante.

So here I am, back on the bus. Reaching into the possibilities, she adjusted the heat blasting out of the grille under the window—a minor technical infraction but preferable to dry roasting. I know what Jen’s thinking, calling me out here again. She’s thinking she’ll leave me that hole when she dies. Well, she can just think again. I don’t give a damn about what’s supposed to be, I’m not dropping my ass onto a hole in Scarborough for the next fifty years. The moment Jen passes, I’m hauling Diana out here and she can use that power of hers to slap the sucker closed and I don’t care if she’s got more important things to do because there isn’t anything more important than keeping me out of Scar…

Hellfire and damnation.

Her fingers closed around the cord, and she was up out of her seat before the sound of the bell reached the bus driver’s ear.

“That’s your car?” Pulling off a mitten, Byleth trailed her fingers along the gleaming black hood of the 1973 Firebird. “Who’d have thunk it—a God-pimp with a truly kewl set of wheels. Maybe I will have sex with you.”

Eyes wide, Leslie/Deter jerked back. “Hey! You promised!”

Taking a deep breath, she leaned in and rubbed against the passenger door. “I know. But that was before I saw this totally demonic car.”

“You want a ride or not?”

“Yessss.…”

“Then stop humping my car and get in.”

The hair lifted on the back of Byleth’s neck. She watched a city bus drive by, slow, and pull into a bus stop at the end of the block.

“Byleth?”

“In a minute. I’ve got to take care of something first.”

The back doors of the bus opened.

She had to distract the Keeper or they’d never get away. Grabbing the first bit of darkness that came to hand, she tossed it into the small clump of preteens waiting at the light where it erupted into a sudden slush ball fight of epic proportions. She saw the massive handful of filthy ice and snow launched; she didn’t wait to see it land.

“Let’s go, Leslie.” Dropping into the car, she slammed the door and reached for the seat belt. “Did I mention I was a demon?” she asked as they pulled into traffic.

His laugh carried distinctly nervous overtones. “I almost believe you.”

“Really?”

“You’re not like other girls. You’re not even like the other girls we help off the street. You’re not like any girl I’ve ever met. You’re not…”

“I get it. Jeez. And thank you.” She needed the reassurance as geeky as it might be.

It was getting harder and harder to touch the darkness.

As Nalo stepped off the bus, time slowed. She saw the slush ball approaching, the bits of rock and mud and ice standing out with unnatural clarity against the tiny bit of actual snow holding the thing together. She saw past it to the expression on the kid’s face as he realized what was about to happen. She saw past him to a 1973 Firebird pulling away from the curb.

Then time sped up, and she didn’t see anything at all for a few minutes.

Staggering forward, she clawed the slush ball from her face, reaching into the possibilities, past the pain and anger and certain knowledge that she was going to need to have her coat dry-cleaned again. Nalo had been a Keeper long enough that it would take more to distract her than a face full of frozen crap and the prospect of a twenty-two-dollar dry-cleaning bill.

But by the time she could see again, the car was gone.

The young man who’d exited the bus behind her, touched her lightly on one shoulder. “You okay, lady?”

“No. I have a sense of foreboding that can only mean darkness has found a way to corrupt the world, bringing down upon us a future of pain and pestilence. And I seem to have a piece of gravel up my nose.”

“Bummer.”

“Indeed.”

Taking her seat on the half-empty subway, Diana did nothing to keep the other passengers from noticing the cat. Given the invisible walls that Toronto subway passengers erected around them in order to avoid interaction with potential crazies, religious lunatics, and lost American tourists, she could have been carrying a platypus on her lap and no one would have said anything. In fact, it very much looked as if an elderly woman in the other end of the car was carrying a…

“Hey, there’s Doug!”

A talking cat, however, attracted a little attention.

“Hair ball,” Diana announced, carefully tweaking reality. When everyone accepted the explanation—and no one took it as an instruction—she breathed a sigh of relief. “Keep it down,” she muttered into the plush orange fur between Samuel’s ears. “Unless you want to end up on late night TV hawking kibble between the psychics and those live girl phone things.”

“1–800-U-CALL-ME,” Doug added as he sat down beside them, having left a trail of cheap wine fumes the length of the subway car. “How’s it going, Samuel?”

“Pretty good. Still haven’t figured out the tail, though.”

“It’ll come. I see you’re down to partial genitalia.”

Diana closed her teeth on the comment she was about to make and took a closer look.

“Hey!” Samuel spun around and glared at her. “If you don’t mind!”

“Sorry.” A self-neutering cat. Just what the world needs. “And keep your voice down.”

“No need, little lady. We’re in my cone of silence.” Doug stirred the surrounding miasma with expansive gestures, the cuffs of two jackets and three visible sweaters rising up on thin gray wrists.

Breathing shallowly through her mouth, Diana reached into the possibilities. They showed no cone of silence but, on the other hand, street people were ignored so completely by the rest of the city’s residents it amounted to the same thing.

“Any particular reason you decided to walk on the furry side, kid?”

“We needed to expose a demon.”

“A demon? In the world?”

While Diana rolled her eyes and wondered why it was taking so long to get from College Street to Union Station where they could lose Samuel’s fragrant buddy, Samuel explained the whole thing.

“A demon in the world,” Doug restated, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, now, that does explain things. And here I was blaming that bottle of aftershave I knocked back this morning. So you exposed a demon, and now you’re off after it, right?”

“Wrong,” Diana told him—or more precisely told the space next to him. She was finding it hard to focus on his face, but that could have been because of the pale green strand waving from his nose. “We’re off home. Someone else is off after the demon.”

“Her older sister,” Samuel added.

“And you got a few younger sibling issues with that sister of yours, don’t you? No need to deny it, it’s dripping from your voice. Well, you know what I think?” He leaned conspiratorially forward. “I think that TV dinners go best with a nice Chardonnay.”

“What?”

He blinked. “What did I say?” Diana repeated it and he sighed. “Whoa, train of thought got derailed. Toxic spills. Evacuate the women and children.” He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Samuel flattened on Diana’s lap, and it passed harmlessly over his head. “Okay. Let’s try that again: I think you should go after that demon yourself. You have to save her.”

“I what?”

“Save her. From your sister.”

“It doesn’t work that way. First of all, we don’t interfere. Second, you seem to be a little confused about the good guys and the bad guys. And third, I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about this.”

“Because he’s an angel,” Samuel pointed out.

“Yeah, right, and I’m a model for Victoria’s Secret.”

Doug’s eyes widened and he cupped both hands in front of his chest. “Hubba hubba!”

“Okay, that’s it.” Diana grabbed the cat and stood as the subway pulled into the King Street station. “I’m gone. We can walk from here.”

“If the demon is an exact opposite of the young man Samuel was, then isn’t she as much of a person?”

Doug’s quiet question stopped her at the door. Diana sighed and let it close in her face before returning to her seat which was, not surprisingly, still empty. “Yes, she is.”

“And is your sister likely to take that into account?”

“No, she isn’t.” If not for an angel, then definitely not for a demon. “I think she’s taking this whole thing personally. But Claire’s being led to her, and I don’t know where she is.”

“Does she know she’s being hunted?”

“She should.”

“So, a demon in the body of a teenage girl knows she’s being hunted; what would she do?” He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “You’re a teenage girl, think like a demon.”

My cover’s been blown, I know I’m being hunted, I know I don’t stand much of a chance but I’ve been backed into a corner…

As though he were reading her mind, Doug nodded, the green strand bobbing emphatically. “You’ll never take me alive, copper.”

“If she’s got to go,” Diana said slowly, “she’s going to flip Claire the finger on the way out, leaving behind the biggest possible mess for Claire to clean up.”

The constant pound of the Summons changed tone and timbre. Claire shifted under her seat belt and brought both hands up to rub at her temples. There were times when being a Keeper resembled sitting next to the drum kit at a Moby concert. “It’s moving east.”

Glancing across the cab, Dean made a deductive leap. “The demon?”

Claire nodded.

“We aren’t after heading for Toronto, then?”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Nice to get some good news.” He turned his attention back to the highway. “Going through Toronto’s insanity enough.”

“I never noticed any insanity.”

“You’re not driving.” After his first trip through Toronto, Dean had decided that the Montreal reputation for having the worst drivers in Canada was undeserved. Sure, Montreal drivers all drove like maniacs, but at least they drove like maniacs who knew what they were doing. As near as he could figure, Toronto drivers had their heads so far up their collective arse they had to make it up as they went along.

“The biggest possible mess,” Diana repeated as the subway pulled into Union Station. “Oh, my God! She’s going to Kingston!” Grabbing up Samuel, she ran for the doors, paused, turned, and said, “Are you really an angel?”

Doug smiled. “Can’t you tell?”

“No.” The first whistle blew and she stepped out onto the platform. She should have been able to tell. Behind the closing doors, Doug spread his hands and bowed. Diana could see his lips move, but the roar of the old Red Rocket drowned him out.

He turned and waved as the subway headed north up the University line.

“I wonder what he said,” she murmured, hurrying toward the escalators.

“Lex clavatoris designati rescindenda est.”

“Good ears.”

“I’m a cat.”

“Only recently, so you can cut back on the attitude.” Diana shifted the cat to her other arm, cut off an elderly Asian man, and raced up the narrow stairs, boots pounding against the metal treads. “And while I agree that the designated hitter rule has got to go, what does that have to do with him being, or not being, an angel?”

Samuel hooked his claws through her jacket. “Don’t angels play baseball?”

“The Anaheim Angels. It’s just the name of a team—I like so truly doubt there are actual metaphysical players on it.”

“You sure?”

“No. And you know what? I don’t care.”

“Qui tacet consentit,” Samuel muttered, as she stepped out onto the tiles and headed for the train station at a fast trot.

“Fac ut vivas! And stop showing off, I can’t think of anything more annoying than a cat who criticizes in Latin.”

“A cat who horks up a hair ball in a hundred-and-forty-dollar-pair of sneakers?”

“Tres gross. You win.”

Leaning into the turn leading to a well-worn flight of limestone stairs, he smiled. “Of course.”

“That was cutting back on the attitude?”

“What attitude?”

Taking the stairs two at a time, Diana realized why so many of Claire’s conversations with Austin ended in unanswered questions.

“So why is the demon going to Kingston?” Samuel asked as they leveled out and headed across the polished marble floor toward the line for train tickets.

“She’s going to reopen a hole to Hell. OW!”

“Sorry.” Samuel fought his claws free of jacket, sweater, shirt, and flesh. “Are you serious?”

“No, I’m bleeding!”

“Hey, I said I was sorry, but you can’t just mention Hell to an angel and expect no reaction.”

“Fair enough.” Diana slid in between the velvet ropes and prepared to wait for the first available sales agent. At the moment, all three of them appeared to be on break. “That’s one powerful union,” she muttered when reaching into the possibilities produced no visible results.

“Hell?” the cat prodded.

“Okay, short version of a long story: My sister and I closed this really old hole to Hell in the basement of a sort of hotel in Kingston before Christmas. Sealed the site, saved the world—yadda, yadda, yadda—but the place will still remember the hole, so reopening it will give the demon the biggest bang for the least buck. If she gets past the Cousin monitoring the site fast enough—and from what Claire told me about the dirty old man, she shouldn’t have much trouble if she came fully outfitted—she’ll have time to get the hole open before Claire catches up. We may not have to worry about Claire erasing her personhood because the rising darkness will completely overwhelm it.”

“Not to mention overwhelm the world with pure unadulterated evil insuring that everyone on it lives short miserable lives of pain and desperation.”

“Well, yeah. That, too.”