“He’s all right.” Claire released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank God.”
“You’re welcome.”
Diana rubbed her hands over the goose bumps texturing her arms. “Uh, Claire, ixnay on the anking-thay odgay while we’re erehay. Attracts the wrong kind of attention.”
“I know.”
“I know you know. You were just relieved to see, you know.” She nodded toward the cat in the mirror.
“What’s he trying to…oh. Dean. He’s going to go to Dean.”
Eyes narrowed, Diana peered up at the ceramic name plate Austin had pushed out into the aisle. “Are those mice eating a pixie?”
“What? No, they’re eating a straw…Okay, that’s really, really gross.”
Then they were staring up at themselves.
“Hey!” Claire folded her arms and stomped one foot—which would have been a more effective protest had the tar residue not temporarily attached her heel to the carpet. She jerked it free, caught hold of a display shelf as her backpack shifted suddenly, threatening to topple her over, and snapped, “What happened?”
The blue-on-blue eyes managed to look slightly sheepish. “Sorry. Lost the signal.”
“How?” Diana demanded. “You forgot to disable call waiting?”
“No, it’s a hardware problem—those newfangled convex mirrors distort everything. Look, I’ve got to get back on duty, but don’t forget what you promised.”
She nodded. “To get you out of here before we shut the place down. I remember.”
“You remember now,” the mirror acknowledged. “Harder to remember when you’re pinned down under enemy fire.”
“What enemy fire?” But the eyes were gone and her reflection looked as annoyed as she felt. “What enemy fire?” she repeated in her sister’s general direction.
“What difference does it make? Stop thinking about it!”
Diana blanched. The Otherside built substance from the subconscious of its inhabitants and she was suddenly unable to think about anything else. Distraction, distraction…“OW!”
Looking smug, Sam removed his claw from her foot.
“So I’m suddenly less convinced that mirror’s on our side.” Dropping to one knee, she licked her finger and dabbed at the blood. “What do you think, Claire?”
“About what?” She forced her gaze off the mirror. “Sorry. I’m worried about Austin all alone in that mall.”
“Austin’s older than most of the weekend staff,” Diana reminded her. “And it goes without saying he’s smarter. I’m totally sure he’ll have no problems getting back to where we left Dean.”
“We’ve been here a while. What if Dean’s not there?”
* * *
His biggest problem was going to be getting out of the Emporium unseen. Capture out in the mall would mean, at most, a few unpleasant hours until he escaped custody. Capture in the store would mean mustard. Trolls put mustard on everything they ate. Usually, to kill the taste. Occasionally, to kill the food. Austin had no intention of dying by condiment.
Concentrating on keeping his tail close, he crept along the floor using every bit of cover an eclectic array of merchandise provided and trying not to notice what he was creeping through. Trolls weren’t known for the cleanliness of their carpets and some of the merchandise was eclectic in ways that stained. A little over a meter from the door, he ran out of things to hide behind.
No customers remained to distract the troll.
Even at this distance, the wards around the door stroked energy into his fur. If he read them right, which went without saying, they needed only a single word to close them down and create an impenetrable barrier. Given that he had to cross directly through the troll’s line of sight, it would take luck as much as speed to ensure he was on the right side of the barrier when that word was spoken.
Okay. He drew his legs in tight to his body, weight to the back, ready for powerful haunches to launch him forward. Remember, you’re only as old as you feel.
…ready for powerful haunches to launch him forward.
And I feel like I’m going to be eighteen in August.
…launch him forward.
Eighteen’s old for a cat. If I was a dog, I’d probably be dead. Of course, if I was a dog, I’d want to be dead.
…forward.
Oh, crap.
His first leap took him nearly to the threshold. He heard the troll yell “Cat!”, then he heard him yell “Endoplasmic reticulum!”, saw a flash of aubergine light, smelled the unmistakable odor of burning cat hair, and was in the concourse under the bench, patting out the smoldering end of his tail. Fortunately, his fur was long enough so that no actual damage had been done.
Another flash of aubergine light and an impact that set his whiskers vibrating.
Heart pounding, he turned toward the Emporium.
The troll lay flat on his back just inside the door. Apparently, the wards were set to keep everything in.
“Idiot,” he muttered, and washed a triumphant paw.
“Kitty!”
His attention had been so completely on the store that the toddler squatting down and peering under the bench, his diaper nearly touching the tiles, one chubby hand reaching for Austin’s head, came as a complete surprise.
“Are you trying to give kitty a heart attack,” he gasped when he could catch his breath.
“Pretty!”
“Don’t touch that!”
“Come on, Brandon.” A woman’s feet came out from behind a massive stroller. Large hands tucked themselves into the child’s armpits and hoisted him out of sight while ducky sandals kicked futilely in protest. “Let’s get you home while you’re still in a good mood.”
Austin inched carefully forward until he could get a good look at young Brandon’s destination. The stroller not only had plenty of room for hitchhikers but a large flat canopy. When the back rack was full of bags—which it was—the adult pushing couldn’t actually see the seat. He waited while the seat belts were secured, waited while the woman went around to the handle, then, just as the stroller was about to move, he leaped.
“Kitty!”
“No kitties this trip, big fella,” the
