Chronicles Of The Keeper - The Long Hot Summoning Part 32

The key locking the optical shop not only continued to hold but couldn't be moved. Claire pushed against it with one finger, then with her entire hand, then sat back on her heels with a satisfied nod.

"So, what's it worth to you to have me not tell Diana you were checking up on her work?"

She turned her head just enough to spear the orange cat with a disdainful gaze. "What's it worth to you for me not to tell Diana you tried to blackmail me?"

Amber eyes blinked. "You're a.s.suming she'd care?"

"Good point."

On the 'better safe than sorry' principle, she locked the rest of the stores along the short corridor. Once they defeated the darkside, she'd unlock them and give the elves access to the entire mall but, for now, the last thing they needed was a horde of meat-minds charging out from behind a rack of cheap silver accessories.

The doors at the end of the corridor, the doors they entered the mall through way back whenever, were unlocked. Claire wasn't sure why. They could have been open because it was now business hours in the real mall or they could have been open because she wanted them to be. She had to be more careful about her desires before they set up a beacon the darkside could use to ... to ... she honestly couldn't say what the darkside would do, but it went without saying that it wouldn't be good.

"Sam, you wait in here."

"Why?"

"Because going through a door on the Otherside can be dangerous; you don't always end up on the other side of the door and I don't want to explain to Diana that I lost her cat."

"Her cat?" Sam snorted. "I am a free agent in the universe."

"Not until you can open your own cans of cat food, you aren't." Without waiting for a reply, she pressed down on the bar latch, and pushed. Her mind carefully blank, she stepped over the threshold. And then again, press, push, blank, step, for the outside door.

She was still on the Otherside. A half turn. She was outside the copy of the mall. All things considered, it wasn't a bad copy. Some of the edges in the middle where neither the elves nor the darkside held complete control were a little fuzzy, but, even so, it would pa.s.s.

The concrete pad was exactly as she remembered it: black metal bench, newspaper box. The headline GFDHK SCGH TPR! was different, most newspapers used at least a couple of vowels, but the hockey scores seemed current. That probably wasn't relevant. Or no more relevant than the appalling reality of hockey in June. The only things missing were Dean and Austin and they were safe in the guest house.

She didn't remember it smelling so bad.

Although the edges of the parking lot faded into mist, intent on their segue, the darkside hadn't bothered to anchor the mall on the Otherside, the lot itself was glossy black, the yellow lines gleaming. And steaming. And bubbling. Claire jumped back as an ebony bubble swelled to iridescence then burst almost at the edge of the concrete. The parking lot was a very, very large tar pit. She had no idea how the yellow lines stayed in place, but at least that explained the smell.

On the bright side, there'd be no attacks coming in through this door.

As she turned, she noticed something she'd missed before. A sign and a ramp. There was parking on the roof.

Frowning, she remembered there were skylights over the hexagonal cuts through the floor. Designed to send light down into the lower level, Claire had a sudden image of dangling . . .

Not ninjas. Think old people, dangling old people. Images that were already real.

Trouble was, she remembered looking up and seeing handrails around the skylight.

There had to be a way up to the parking on the roof.

Where?

"Greetings, I am Professor Jack Daniels . . ."

Far too polite to say what he really thought, Dean peered across the desk at the balding man in the tweed jacket and said, "I'm sorry?"

"Jack Daniels . . ."

"Is a kind of whiskey."

"Oh." He sighed, looked down at his hands, and up again. "Bad choice?"

"Not a good one," Dean allowed. "Besides, you gave me your real name when you called." He spun the registration book around and pointed. "Dr. Hiram Rebik."

"Right." Another glance down at his hands. "I'm uh ... I mean, just so you know, I'm not a medical doctor. I have a doctorate in archaeology."

"Yeah? I've seen Raiders of the Lost Ark more than twenty times."

"Have you?"

"Maybe thirty even, it's some good. I'm Dean McIssac."

A small self-conscious smile. "Pleased to meet you."

"You wanted a room for you and your mummy."

"Yes."

"I've had the dehumidifier running in room two all day."

"Thank you."

"Did you want help carrying him ... or her," Dean corrected hurriedly, "inside?"

"No, thank you. I'm parked in the back. I a.s.sume there's a back door?"

"Yes, of course." Coming out from behind the counter, he indicated that Dr. Rebik should follow, and led the way down the hall.

"You have an elevator," Dr. Rebik observed as they pa.s.sed. "Late Victorian?"

"Sometimes." Slipping back the deadbolt, Dean opened the door out into the narrow pa.s.sageway that separated the guest house from the building to the north. "I hope there's enough room."

"Plenty."

As Dr. Rebik hurried out to the parking lot, Austin appeared to wind around Dean's feet. "I wonder why he wanted to use the back door."

"Well, it's a mummy. There's got to be, you know, a sarcophagus or something."

"You think that skinny little guy could carry a sarcophagus on his own?"

"No."

"Then . . . ?"

Dean shrugged. "You're the expert, you tell me."