Actually, she was trying very hard not to wish he’d fall and break his neck.
The rock smoothed out on the top of the ridge and she was able to move quickly out to the end. They were twenty, maybe twenty-five feet above the water.
“Long walk back,” Lance observed, one hand shading his eyes as he gazed toward the distant cabana.
“Not necessarily.”
“The sun hasn’t moved!”
“It never does.”
“I don’t see Meryat’s palace.”
“As Diana would say, ‘Quel surprise. Not.’”
“Who’s Diana?”
“My sister.” Who needed her. In the mall. Not standing here trying to see past reflections to what might be lurking below the surface. Fortunately, she didn’t need to convince herself that there was nothing there, only that it didn’t matter. She wasn’t jumping into water; she was using the change, the line between air and water like a door. “Go back to the cabana and wait for Dean.”
“I think I should keep searching for Meryat.”
“Whatever.” This Bystander, at least, was not her responsibility. Stepping back half a dozen paces, she ran for the edge of the rock and jumped, folding her knees tightly against her chest, arms holding them in place in order to cross the line as simultaneously as possible.
Just before she hit the water, she heard:
“Cannonball!”
* * *
“Lance!” Dean moved a little farther away from the propped-open door of the elevator and yelled again. “LANCE!”
“Maybe Meryat ate him.”
“Not funny, Austin.”
“Not joking.”
“He’s not answering and I don’t see…Austin!”
“I know, I know.” Austin stepped off the path and began digging a new hole. “Just because this place looks like the world’s biggest litter box doesn’t mean I should yadda yadda.” After checking depth, he stepped forward, positioned himself, and glared up at Dean. “Do you mind?”
“Sorry.” Ears red, Dean headed for the cabana. “I’ll be after checking if Lance is inside.”
“Yeah, you be after doing that, then.”
There were a suspicious number of footprints around the cabana’s flap. A large bootprint—Dean dropped to one knee and measured it against his hand—probably belonging to Lance, and a small bare print that appeared to have come up from the water.
“Hey, Claire’s been here.”
“Claire?” Heel, toes, instep; still anonymous to him. “How can you tell?”
“I’m a cat.” Flopping down, Austin rolled over on his back, sunlight gleaming on the white fur of his stomach as he rubbed his shoulders into the compacted sand. “And I’m generally a lot closer to the ground than you are.”
Hard to argue with. Leaping to his feet, Dean grabbed for the canvas. “Claire!”
“She’s not here, hormone-boy. Look there, the same footprints heading out. She’s been and gone.”
“How long ago?”
“About thirty-one minutes. She was walking quickly, carrying a ham sandwich, and humming The 1812 Overture.”
“You can tell all that from her footprints?”
“No, you idiot, I can’t. But I’d be just as likely to know the last two as the first.” Shaking his head, the cat slid through the break in the canvas.
Because he couldn’t think of anything better to do, Dean followed. “Still no Lance.” But there was a note on the beer cooler. “Just passing through. Still working on the mall. I agree with your assessment of Lance. Austin, you’re eating the geriatric cat food and that’s final. Love you both. Claire.” He folded his hand around the paper.
“Are you going to do something sappy, like hold the note up to your heart?”
“No.” Not now he wasn’t. “Do you think she took Lance with her?”
Wrapping his tail around his toes, Austin looked thoughtful. “They definitely headed off together, and she said she trusted your assessment of him.”
“Well, after hearing Lance’s story, it wouldn’t be hard for Claire to figure out that I sent him up here to get him safely out of the way.”
“So maybe she took him with her because this place is no longer safe.”
Dean’s brows drew in and he studied the cat. “Facetious comment?”
“Experienced guess.”
Fair enough. “And if this place is no longer safe…”
“…we should go.” Austin finished, jumping down and running for the cabana’s flap.
Dean caught up to him halfway back to the elevator. “Did you know there was a back way into this beach?”
“Sure.”
“You lying to me?”
“You’ll never know.”
* * *
“It’s like a fucking maze down here. What do they need all these tunnels for?”
“Nothing. It’s what we expected to find.” Specifically, it was what she’d expected to find, unable to shake the feeling that they couldn’t just go straight to the anchor—way too easy. About to suggest they stop wandering and start coming up with some sort of a plan, she snapped her mouth closed as Kris raised a silencing hand.
Voices.
Angry voices.
Not very far away but bouncing off the rock.
Head cocked, ears fanned out away from her skull, Kris slowly turned in place. Barely resisting the urge to make beeping sounds, Diana waited. After a long moment, Kris pointed to the left. “That way.”
“I guess Chekhov was right.”
“What does Star Trek have to do with this?”
“Not that Chekhov. The Russian writer—we studied him last year in English.”
“You studied a Russian in English?”
“Yeah. Go figure. He said that you never hang elf ears on the wall in act one, unless you’re going to use them in act three.”
“You’re not making any fucking sense. You know, that, right?”
The tunnels to the left slanted away on a slight downward angle—just enough to be noticeable. Heading down toward evil…it was annoyingly clinchéd and beginning to make Diana just a little nervous. She’d cop to the maze but not the slope, she just didn’t do symbolism that blatant. Which meant something that did was in control of this part of the Otherside.
The voices grew louder, and Kris pointed to an inverted, triangular-shaped fissure in the rock.
And this is why I get the big bucks, Diana reminded herself, kicking the toe of one sneaker into the bottom of the crack and heaving herself up into the passage. It took her a moment to figure out how to tuck herself inside, but she finally started inching sideways toward the distant argument. Rocks jutting out from the sides of the fissure scraped across her
