He'd just been told in no uncertain terms.

The possibilities would not allow him to cross over.

When the door to the access corridor remained closed, his eye narrowed. Had she been able to, Claire would have returned immediately to find him. She hadn't, so therefore she couldn't. The question now became: why?

Fortunately, there was a way to find out.

Unfortunately, even up on his hind legs, he could just barely stretch to touch the bottom of the latch plate.

Okay, new plan.

Dropping to all fours, he stared at the closed door, a position proven to bring a talking monkey trotting to his a.s.sistance.

"Not a problem, ladies, I've got more T-shirt sizes in the back room."

Or possibly a talking whatever the troll claimed as an evolutionary precedent.

As the door opened, Austin slid in behind a crate marked with both a biohazard and a live cargo symbol. Curious, he took a sniff at one of the air holes, but the crate was empty and had been for some time, probably a good thing although he could easily imagine scenarios where it wouldn't be. With the troll's full attention fixed on pulling an x.x.x large Astarte Fan Club out of a shipping carton of T-shirts, he slipped through the doorway and into the Emporium.

A fast right, a dive under a raised display case, a quick creep forward belly to the ground brought him behind a basket of small plastic jewelry boxes. Head c.o.c.ked, he listened for the straining gears that would indicate someone with a desire to hear music played on pieces of bent tin had wound the key. When he finally found a silent box, he flipped it open. The miniature Republican in a frilly pink tutu remained motionless in front of the mirror.

Austin smacked the tiny politician out of his way and tipped the box back until its mirror reflected only the security mirror up by the ceiling.

Fortunately, cats were masters of refraction.

The direct approach would have taken him right into the troll's line of sight now that the big guy was back at the counter explaining washing instructions to the T-shirt's new owner, apparently, the bloodstains were not supposed to come out.

Blue-on-blue eyes drifted up from the depths of the jewelry box mirror.

"What are you doing here?" the mirror demanded, its usual booming tones more of a low tinkle.

Muzzle so close his breath fogged the gla.s.s. "The possibilities wouldn't let me cross."

"Age thing?"

Austin shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe the idiots in charge think two cats would give the good guys an unfair advantage; I don't know. Can you get a message through to my people on the Otherside? I need to know that Claire's all right; she needs to know that I'm safe."

"I can do better than that. I should be able to patch you through, cat to cat. Video only, though, no audio. You want full bandwidth, you'll need a crystal ball."

"Video's fine." If Claire could see him, she'd know he was okay and could concentrate on doing her job. He scanned the store for something visual that would help get his message through and just when it seemed that nothing at all said "Dean," he spotted the rack of ceramic nameplates.

The rules governing tacky gift store purchases clearly stated that no one was to ever find exactly the name they were looking for.

Cats made their own rules.

Utilizing the speed that could hook a fry from unsuspecting fingers during the instant it pa.s.sed between plate and lips, Austin leaped into the air, got a paw under his objective, and was on the floor with it before the troll could look up from making change, the impact with the carpet barely audible over the muttered, "Five and six is thirteen plus eight is twenty."

The name was right although the decoration of two obscenely cute mice eating a giant strawberry didn't exactly say six foot two, obsessively tidy, Newfie hockey player. Oh, wait, not a giant strawberry, they just had most of the skin off.

Positioning himself by the mirror again, Austin leaned in until his whiskers touched the gla.s.s.

"Do it."

"What do you mean, where's Austin?" Sam rolled his eyes. "I mean, he's not here." Diana grabbed Claire's wrist as she reached for the door. "Where are you going?"

"Back. He could be hurt."

"He could be anywhere. Just because the possibilities didn't bring him through here doesn't mean they left him in the other mall."

"There's only one way to find out."

"And if he isn't there?"

Pulling free, Claire took a deep breath and looked her sister in the eye. "Then I'll come right back."

After a long moment, Diana nodded.

Claire closed her fingers around the latch, and froze.

Footsteps. Marching footsteps.

Distant, but coming closer.

Hard soles against concrete.

Hard something against concrete. Hooves, maybe? Impossible to tell.

The Keepers could feel the floor vibrate against their feet. Sam's tail puffed out to four times its usual sleek diameter.

Diana wound her fingers through Claire's pack straps and hauled her toward the other door. "We've got to get out of here!"

Closer.

A pair of snowflake paperweights vibrated so violently they shattered, spilling out miniature Grendels chewing on the b.l.o.o.d.y ends of Viking arms.

"We don't know what's out in the store," Claire protested, as Diana yanked the door open.

"It's got to be better than what's out there!"

Sam leaped off the milk crates and raced between their legs.

"Sam thinks it's safe! Move!"

They dove through the door after the cat. Diana slammed it behind them.

The sudden silence was almost overwhelming.

The hair lifting off his spine into an orange Mohawk, Sam moved out into the store. "It's so thick, it's like walking through pudding."