The bedroom door was open. Whiskers testing the air with every step, Austin crossed the living room, the light spilling in around the edges of the blind just barely sufficient. Except for Dean’s unfortunate taste in artwork—who really believed dogs had enough imagination to play poker—and Claire’s equally unfortunate inability to say no to him, everything seemed fine.
The door between the living room and the office was closed, but it had been years since Austin had allowed that to stop him.
With no blind on the front window, the office was lighter than the living room. And empty.
The elevator?
No.
The basement?
Not this time.
The kitchen?
He was too unsettled to be hungry.
Only one place left. Only one room occupied.
Usually, Austin preferred to stay away from the guests but tonight, he’d make an exception. Slowly and silently he slipped up the stairs, along the hall. Another closed door.
There were two bodies in the bed, the perpetually nervous scent of Dr. Rebik as distinctive as the dust and desiccation scent of his companion. His tail lashing from side to side, he crept closer, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong but willing to believe it could be prejudice on his part. He’d half expected Meryat to have been up andwalking, arms outstretched, a bit of musty linen trailing off one heel. The whole concept of the undead annoyed him. Nine lives and it’s over, that was his motto.
A tray on the small table by the bed held two empty mugs and a plate covered in muffin crumbs. Under the table, crumpled up against the table leg, was a dead mouse.
Okay, not so much wrong as embarrassing.
The mice had come to his aid after his…meeting with the Keeper who’d been interred in room seven and when he and Claire had returned to the inn just after Christmas, they’d come to an understanding. He would see to it that they were left in peace and, in return, they would be circumspect in their foraging, stop shitting behind the microwave, and never again wear orange waistcoats with blue breeches. Mice had appalling color sense andThe Complete Tales of Beatrix Potter that had been left in the attic had only black-and-white illustrations.
This particular mouse looked to have died of old age.
Austin looked from the body up to the top of the table and shook his head. A mouse that age had no business even attempting such a climb.Stupid little bugger’s heart probably gave out on him, he thought as he sank his teeth through the tail of the brocade frock coat.
He carried the tiny corpse over to the dresser and set it gently on the floor. A strong smack with his right paw and it slid out of sight. When he heard it whack lightly against the baseboard, he nodded in satisfaction and left the room. The mice had an exit under there; now they could retrieve the body without the possibility of a guest being subjected to the sight of a tiny funeral cortege.
Nothing looked more asinine than a mouse in a black top hat and crepe.
He was halfway down the stairs when, between one heartbeat and the next, he felt something pass.
Something old.
And hungry.
And gone so fast he might have imagined it.
Except that he was a cat and cats knew…
Dean!
Heart pounding, he raced back to the bedroom and bounded onto the bed.
“Ow! That was my arm!”
“Yeah, whatever.” He freed his claws from the surface layer of skin and walked up Dean’s chest until he could stare into his face. Blue eyes blinked myopically back at him.
“What?”
“You’re okay?”
“I’m bleeding and I’m after being awake when I’d rather not be, but yeah.” His voice softened, and one hand stroked gently along Austin’s spine. “What’s wrong, then?”
“Nothing. Why should anything be wrong?”
“I just thought…”
“Well, don’t.” A purposeful climb over an inconvenient shoulder and onto Claire’s pillow. Snuggling down, he glared at Dean, now gazing at him with concern. “I thought you were sleeping?”
“I was.”
“So sleep.”
“All right. But we’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“Not so smart to warn me,” Austin muttered. Not one of his best comebacks but he was shaken. He watched Dean until he went back to sleep. Watched him sleep. Could see nothing wrong.
He’d been so sure on the stairs.
So sure.
He thought about the mouse lying dead under the table and sighed.
Maybe he was just getting old.
NINE
[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]
APALE AND SLIGHTLY MURKY GREEN, the water had never been treated by chemicals or filtered through anything but a fish bladder. As Claire’s head broke the surface and she sucked in a welcome lungful of air, a light caress trailed down the inside of one leg.
Oh it’s freshwater. Great.
Pushing her dripping hair out of her face with a quick swipe of one hand, she began treading water and trying to figure out exactly where she was. A combination of sunshine and a gentle swell threw reflected light up into her eyes, making her squint.
Outside.
Far enough beyond the segue for there to be actual weather—not the neither/nor sort of sky that had been draped over the mall—but still on the Otherside.
She’d been lucky. With both her conscious and subconscious preoccupied in sending the shadow assassin to a place where it would be no threat, she could have ended up anywhere. Stepping through a door on the Otherside with no clear idea of a destination could have resulted in a visit to any number ofunpleasant places, not only on the Otherside but in the real world as well.
She could have ended up on the south side of Chicago.
Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside.
The West Bank.
The north of Afghanistan.
At a second-run theater screening ofAttack of the Clones.
Claire shuddered.
A little water was a small price to pay.
She was wet and her batik silk skirt might never recover but she was safe. Arthur was safe. She had defeated the shadow. All that remained was to find her way back to the mall, which shouldn’t— wouldn’t—be a problem for a Keeper of her abilities.
The Otherside was no place for false modesty.
Or actual modesty.
Kicking harder lifted her head above the swells. Unfortunately, it didn’t change what she could see—water and sunlight. She turned slowly. Water and sunlight. Water and sunlight. Water and sunlight and…something. It might have been fog. It might have been land, lying low along the horizon. She sank down until her chin settled just under the water, rested for a moment, then took another look.
Something.
Exactly what I need, she amended silently and started to swim, the water lapping at her in a vaguely lascivious way.
Years of practice kept her from thinking about all the many things that could go wrong before she made it back to the mall. Plenty of things were likely to go wrong without her help.
*
“No, you cannot go after Diana. I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?” Sam’s ears flattened as he glared up at Arthur. “News flash; you’re not the boss of me!” Tail lashing from side to side, he stalked toward the door.
Only to find himself lifted off the floor by strong hands tucked into his armpits.
Folding himself almost in half, he got a back paw between his fur and an unprotected palm, got a claw out, and raked it downward.
Anyone else would have hollered and dropped him. Screamed and thrown him aside. Cursed and pitched him. All possible reactions and all a variation on a theme resulting in his freedom. Arthur jerked a little at the sudden pain but held on, and Sam realized he’d continue to hold on even if his hands were ripped to bloody shreds. For a moment, he considered testing that conclusion, then the moment passed and he found himself dangling helplessly.
“I’ll put you down if you give me your word you’ll remain in the store.”
“And if I don’t,” Sam sneered.
“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to put you somewhere secure until you give me your word or until one of the Keepers returns. They both wished you to remain here and I will not risk their wrath.”