Part 64 (2/2)

”So, just out of curiosity . . .” He hooked his claws in the seat as the truck maneuvered around another corner. ”. . . what would be grounds for rudeness in your book?”

Dean's brow creased above the upper edge of his gla.s.ses as he thought about it.

After a few moments, Austin sighed. ”Never mind.”

There'd been discussion about Austin remaining at the guest house to keep an eye on things, but in the end they'd decided it was too great a risk. Without Dean there to snack on, there was always the chance that Meryat would turn to the cat and the cat didn't have life force to spare.

”Although it's entirely possible she can't feed from me.”

”Why?” Before Austin could answer, Dean had raised a hand, cutting him off. ”Because you're a cat.”

”Does there need to be another reason?”

”Is there ever another reason?”

The guest house had proven it could take care of itself.

The mall parking lot was about half full. Fully three quarters of the parked vehicles were minivans, which was disturbing mostly because Dean didn't know how disturbed he should be. Or why. Just to be on the safe side, he parked next to a white sedan with Ohio plates.

”I'd feel better about this if I could go in there with you,” Austin muttered as Dean pulled an empty hockey bag out from behind the seats. ”Do you remember the plan?”

”Find a spot by the food court, place the bag on its side with the zipper open, place the dish of cold Red River cereal in the bag, close the bag while the basilisk is eating, only look at it with this piece of mirror.” Dean held up the sideview mirror that had broken off the truck on his first drive to Ontario a year and a half ago. The support had snapped, but the gla.s.s was fine, so he'd hung on to it. ”You're sure it'll come to the cereal, then?”

”It's got to be hungry, and that stuff's close enough to chicken feed it'll never know the difference.”

”I can't believe we're ...”

”. . . utilizing local resources to disable a metaphysical threat.”

Dean stared at the cat.

Austin stared back.

”Well, when you put it like that,” Dean said at last. He opened the door and stepped down onto the asphalt. ”Try to stay out of sight. The windows are open and you've got lots of water, but I don't want some good Samaritan calling the cops on me because they think you're suffering.”

”n.o.body understands my pain.”

”You can say that again,” Dean sighed as he closed the door.

The parking lot felt soft underfoot. It wasn't the heat, even though it was hot enough to paint his T-s.h.i.+rt to his body, and bright enough to light it up like Signal Hill; it was as if the asphalt itself was rising around each boot and trying to drag him down. Not exactly what had happened to Claire and Diana the morning he'd dropped them off since they'd left visible footprints in the tar and he had no actual evidence that this was going on anywhere but in his head. No footprints. No smell of melted tar.

Just a feeling. Accompanied by the certainty that things on the Otherside had gotten worse instead of better.

Things always get worse before they get better, he told himself and didn't find it very rea.s.suring. He wanted to help. He couldn't help. All he could do was make sure that when Claire came home, she wouldn't be facing a life-sucking reanimated mummy. Given the condition of the parking lot, it didn't seem like enough.

He found himself walking with an exaggerated, high-stepping gait. And he wasn't the only one. Across the lot, two kids, one around three, the other no more than five, were walking the exact same way. The funny thing was, their mother, Dean a.s.sumed it was their mother although she could have been a babysitter, didn't seem to notice. Her feet were dragging with the unmistakable exhaustion of someone who'd just spent the morning with two preschoolers in a shopping mall.

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