Таня Хафф - Long Hot Summoning

“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, “Close one, dude.”

In the joyful chaos that followed, Sam lifted his tail and sprayed the place where the Shadowlord had been standing.

* * *

“Enough of this!” Meryat rose from the edge of the bed and locked Dean in place with a pointed finger. “These games no longer amuse me. I will take your life now and face your Keeper stronger because of it!”

“Not so fast.” Austin crouched at the edge of the wardrobe and stared down at the mummy/Dean tableau. “If I’m not mistaken, which I’m not, so don’t go there, the Rules state you, as the villain of the piece, have to brag about how you defeated us before you administer the coup de grace. That’s the finishing stroke,” he added for Dean’s benefit.

Dean’s expression suggested he didn’t appreciate the translation.

“The point is,” Meryat sneered, the missing piece of her lip adding further scorn to her expression, “you have been defeated. What difference will bragging about it make?”

Austin shrugged. “Well, I personally could care less, but if you break the Rules, we get to break the Rules.”

“You? What can you do?”

He licked his shoulder at her.

“Fine! I’ve waited three thousand years; I can wait a few more minutes.”

FIFTEEN

“C OME ON, DIANA,you’ve got to run. This whole place is coming down!”

Diana twisted free of Claire’s grip and headed back toward the center of the cavern. “We’ve got to get her out!”

“We can’t.” Claire hooked her fingers into the waistband of Diana’s pants and yanked her to a stop. “You know as well as I do that there’s a hundred ways to go to Hell—hand baskets, good intentions—but we can’t use any of them if we’ve been crushed under a pile of…” She threw herself sideways, taking Diana with her as a piece of the cavern ceiling crashed down. “…rock.”