No.
At the very least, they were creating a distraction. She’d have never gotten this close unchallenged had the darkside been paying attention.
Time to return the favor.
The cayenne pepper in one hand, a marble in the other, Claire sprinted for the edge of the pit.
She made it about two thirds of the way.
* * *
One of the wand’s points had snagged on the inside of Diana’s black stretch pants and wriggling didn’t seem to be freeing it.
“Harder!” she growled, her mouth against Kris’ ear.
“I don’t want to hurt you!”
“I can take it!”
OKAY, UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, I HAVE TO SAY THAT THIS IS INAPPROPRIATE BEHA…AH!
Between one heartbeat and the next, Diana felt the power fluctuations stop and the cavern fill with a grid of dark bands. She saw Claire snatched up into the air and held writhing. She heard Hell begin to laugh.
Then the wand ripped free.
She met Claire’s eyes.
Said a silent good-bye.
And shoved Kris out of the way.
With its pink star pointed toward the pit, the wand bucked in Diana’s hand like a living thing, fighting to find the possibilities through the power of Hell.
Hell’s first attack slammed her to her knees. The pain of impact almost broke her concentration, but four years of enforced PE lent her strength. If she could work through the pain of field hockey, she could work through this.
Had to work through this.
She touched the edges of the possibilities.
Not enough.
Hell’s second attack slid shadows through her mind.
THEY WILL PAY FOR EVERY MOMENT YOU FIGHT ME!
Images of Claire, of Kris, of her parents, of Sam broken and bleeding.
* * *
With Hell’s attention split, Claire managed to open her hand although she broke a finger doing it. The marble rolled from her palm, fell too slowly to the stone, and shattered.
* * *
Brilliant white light burned the shadows away.
It only lasted for an instant.
It lasted just long enough.
Free of the darkness, Diana touched the possibilities and threw herself open to them. No fear. No doubt. No regrets.
This had been her Summoning not because she was closest but because she was youngest and most powerful.
All that she was.
The end of the wand erupted. Streams of pink luminescence sizzled and danced their way down into the pit.
NO!
Diana reluctantly admitted to a brief moment of sympathy—it was disturbingly pink.
Then the pink began to mute as lines of gray snaked up from the pit, twisting and spiraling around the light toward the wand. Toward her hand. Toward her heart.
HA! NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
Blood in her mouth. The taste of iron. Her vision began to blur.
“Get…stuffed.”
Her Summoning because she was youngest and nothing but possibilities.
All that she would be.
Bubble gum pink. Barbie pink.
The scent of brimstone disappeared. The flickering red light against the cavern’s roof began to brighten.
The pit began to fill with glittering, gleaming, shimmering, incandescent pink.
Diana could no longer tell where her hand stopped and the wand began. At the edge of her vision, she saw Claire fall, missed her impact with the floor, but saw the remaining shadows given form. Had to trust her sister would stop them. At this point, she could no more stop the flow of possibilities than Hell could.
She didn’t realize she was moving until her toes stubbed hard against the edge of the pit.
IF I GO, YOU GO WITH ME!
Well, duh.
All she was, all she would be, given to save the world. How hard was that to understand? It was, after all, what Keepers did. Evil had a distinct tendency to keep missing the obvious.
She wasn’t so much falling forward as moving through the wand.
And then…
…falling back.
She saw Kris poised on the edge of the pit, the wand raised in a defiant fist.
Saw her totter.
Saw her fall.
Pink light filled the cavern.
When Diana could see again, the pit was closed.
Someone, she thought it might be her, threw themselves forward, pounded bloody fists against solid rock, and screamed “No!”
There were Rules to follow, after all.
* * *
The problem was, Sam couldn’t just run. The Rules said he had to engage in battle or he wasn’t actually answering the challenge. The problem was, although he had more pointy bits, he was fighting a Shadowlord with a great big sword.
He zigged.
The Shadowlord zagged.
A great big sword and opposable thumbs.
Dangling by the scruff of his neck, Sam struggled to fold himself in half and get a claw into the hand holding him. Shrieking defiance, he felt the sword begin to descend.
Flash of silver.
He felt the impact reverberate through fingers buried painfully deep in his fur. Hissed and spat as he was thrown aside.
Twisting in the air, he landed on his feet. Tail lashing, singing his challenge, he spun around.
“Let it go, Sam. I am permitted to intervene at the last instant in order to save the life of my champion.” Arthur stared over his blade at the Shadowlord. “Let’s get it on.” When his opponent looked confused, he sighed and translated. “It’s our fight now.”
Not quite human teeth flashed in a brilliant smile. “I have always killed you.”
“Yeah, yeah. That was then.”
“Fear me.”
“Bite me.”
Sam had to admit the dialogue was less than archetypal. Maybe, hopefully, possibly that would be enough.
Or not.
As swords clashed overhead, hilt caught on hilt, body slammed against body. Eight inches from the floor, his angle unique, Sam saw the Shadowlord pull the dagger from his belt. Saw a black-clad elbow pull back. Slam forward.
My bad.
His failure.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Then the world turned pink.
Really, really, really pink.
When he could see again, the Shadowlord had vanished and Arthur was standing with Excalibur over his head, hips canted back, staring down at a hole in his chest protector.
The circle of mall elves seemed frozen in place as Sam crept forward. “Are you…? Did he…?”
Holding his position, moving only his left arm, Arthur slid a finger into the rent.
Pulled it out again.
The tip was red.
A strangled cry from a dozen throats.
“No, no, it’s okay.” Excalibur’s point clanged against the tiles, as Arthur relaxed. “He barely pricked me.”
They were all still too close to the edge for cheers.
Then someone sighed,
