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.
“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 basement 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.
Laying her ear against each door only long enough to check for a rise in volume, Claire moved quickly down the hall.
Three doors. Four.
She opened the fifth door and flung herself out of the wardrobe. The volume of the barking didn’t so much rise as expand to fill every available space with sound.
Baby was in the hotel.
Under normal circumstances, that would have been a problem, but being torn apart by a psychotic Doberman would be significantly preferable to life with Sara controlling Hell. Claire leaped over a pile of laundry, raced through the sitting room, and slid to a halt in the office.
Baby ignored her. Toenails scrabbling against the lobby floor, he dragged the ruin of the porch and the snoring Mrs. Abrams another inch closer to the basement.
Unwilling to scan the hotel lest she give her presence away, Claire decided to follow Baby’s lead. Adding up the dog, the porch, and Mrs. Abrams, the odds were good Austin hadn’t been responsible; not one hundred percent, but good.
Her back against the wall, she slid past, losing nothing more significant than a percentage of her hearing, and sped down the basement stairs, grateful that Baby’s barking would cover any possible noise she might make.
The door to the furnace room was open.
Her heart beating so loudly she could hardly hear herself think, Claire paused by the washing machine and reached for calm.
A Keeper without self-control could control neither the power accessed nor where in the possibilities that power was accessed from.
Evil favored the chaotic mind.
Whites and colors should be sorted before washing.
Claire blinked, breaking contact with the box of laundry detergent. This was as calm as she was going to get.
Wiping damp palms against her thighs, she slipped behind the masking angle of the furnace room door and peered inside.
Still wearing the dusty clothes she’d been put to sleep in so many years before, Sara stood on air over the pit, back to the door, both hands raised, head bowed. Her fingertips were red where the blood had dripped down from her nails.
Suspended horizontally over the pit in front of her, shirtless, blood dripping from a number of shallow cuts on his chest, Dean appeared to be unconscious but still alive. It took a moment to spot Diana wrapped in overlapping bands of power and propped, mummylike, against the wall.
Wait a minute…Dean was over the pit and Diana was up against the wall?
Claire took a closer look at the power holding her sister. Most of it held her in place and kept her quiet but threaded throughout it, head to toe, was a conduit set up to pour Diana’s considerable power into Sara—already in place because there’d be no opportunity to stop the invocation and set it up later.
Which meant that Dean was over the pit because…
No wonder he was always blushing.
But at twenty? Looking like a young, albeit myopic, god?
Hey! she told herself sternly, now is not the time. The problem was, it was easier, much, much easier to think about Dean than to come up with a plan to save the world.
It had taken two Keepers to stop Sara the first time she’d tried this. How could she possibly do it alone?
Not alone—if I can reach Diana without attracting Sara’s attention, I can use the conduit myself. With Diana’s power joined to mine, Sara’s extra twenty years of experience shouldn’t count for much.
As the evil Keeper began a new chant, Claire realized that were two small problems with her plan. The first was that Sara sealed Hell. With Sara removed, Hell would surge free. Claire would have to sign herself onto the site so that her power would become the seal when Sara’s power was removed. Which meant, if there wasn’t power enough left to close the hole, she’d be stuck here. In the hotel. For the rest of her life.
And Dean was leaving.
She didn’t even know where he kept the toaster.
The second problem was that Sara also held Dean. Literally. Attacked from behind, Sara would let go and Dean would fall into the pit.
When she hooked up with Diana, Sara would know. She’d have to strike immediately. If she saved Dean first, Sara would have time to marshal a defense.
If she let Dean fall…
What point in saving the world
