Chronicles Of The Keeper - Summon The Keeper Part 106

"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 bra.s.s 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 bas.e.m.e.nt stairs. With both hands free, Sara sc.r.a.ped 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 h.e.l.l WAITING FOR HER WHEN SHE DIES?.

After a long silence, h.e.l.l 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 pa.s.sageways.

"Margaret Anne. Close the door."

Margaret Anne Abrams, nee Groseter, had been fifteen the last time Sara had commanded her. A lot of water had pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sing. 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 pa.s.sed.

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 cliche.

"Margaret Anne, as much as I'd love to finish what we started so long ago, I've got all the sacrificial bodies I need." She raised her voice to be heard over Baby's frantic snarling. "This time, there's no mistake about the qualifications."

Dean hung limp in the air, but Diana took a moment out from breathing to glare.

Sara ignored them both. "Please, go to sleep, Margaret Anne." As Mrs. Abrams slumped forward, Sara glanced down at the Doberman, still desperately trying to rip her to pieces. "You," she said, "have got a single-minded way of going after a goal I rather like."

Nearly throttling himself, Baby made an unsuccessful lunge for her ankle.

"In fact, you remind me of me. Good dog."

The words meant nothing. The tone sent Baby into a frenzy of barking.

Dragging Dean and Diana behind her, Sara started down the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs.

With seven doors to go, Claire paused in the center of the hall.

She could hear barking.

The distinctive, just barely sane barking of a big dog forced to live a lapdog's life. Who, with the fraction of brain that hadn't been bred out of it, intended to get even.