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.”
THIRTEEN
“NOW BOARDING AT GATE RORG, VIA Rail train number gonta sev to Nootival, with stops at Gaplerg, Corbillslag, Pevilg, and Binkstain.”
“That’s us,” Diana declared, scooping the cat up off the bench as the station loudspeakers repeated the announcement in French.
“Hey, watch the whiskers,” Samuel protested as she stuffed him into the backpack she’d bought at the station shop, heaved him up
