"What?"

"Nothing!"

Claire smacked the barrier with the palms of both hands, then backed away. "We're going to have to use the access corridor to get behind it!"

"I hate this, but you're right!"

They turned back toward the store, but before they'd taken a single step, the door to the storeroom crashed open and half a dozen misshapen bodies in badly fitting navy blue track suits charged through. Essentially bipedal, they looked like someone had crossed a rhinoceros with a hockey player.

"Great! Not wanting them doesn't seem to be working either!"

"What are they?"

"Who cares?" Diana grabbed Claire's hand, yanked her around until she was facing down the concourse, and gave her a shove. "RUN!"

Sam was already almost at the food court.

The Tailor of Gloucester had become The Tailer of Gloucester with a number of samples hanging in the window. Diana would have liked a closer look at the multicolored fog swirling about inside the travel agency, but something slammed into her backpack as she pa.s.sed the store and she decided that maybe concentrating on running would be the better plan. Fortunately, here on the Otherside, concentrating on running was enough to lend new speed to her feet.

"What are they throwing?" Claire demanded as they began weaving through the tables in the food court.

Something buzzed past Diana's ear with an almost overpowering scent of gardenias, dented one of the metal chairs, and bounced out of sight.

"I think it's scented candles!"

"Oh, that's just great! Those things are deadly!"

"Only in enclosed s.p.a.ces!"

On the far side of the food court, they followed Sam to the right; the crashing and banging of their pursuers through the tables and chairs drowning out the distant sound of the sirens.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know!"

"Hey! Up here!"

Both Keepers skidded to a halt and squinting up through the hexagonal opening to the upper level trying to make out the features of the person leaning over the edge.

"Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" the spiky silhouette demanded.

"We're not . . ." Claire began but Diana drove an elbow into her side.

"Good witches!"

"Then haul a.s.s to the stairs! We'll hold them off."

"We're not . . ."

Diana grabbed Claire's hand again. "Close enough. Shut up and follow Sam!"

Something whistled through the air behind them as they pounded up the concourse after the cat. The escalators were insubstantial, but the stairs were much as they'd left them. Except for the piled barricade at the top and the half-dozen teenagers standing behind it.

Sam scrambled up and over but as the Keepers neared the top step, a genuine wood finish laminate armoire was rolled back out of the way. The packs made it a tight fit, but they both squeezed through and collapsed panting to the floor.

Candles pounded the barricade, hitting with enough force to slam through a display counter and into the piled barbeques behind it. The tempered steel rang like a gong but held.

The whistling noise was defined as the teenagers fired ceramic cherubs from heavy duty slingshots.

"Did you want these guys?" Claire murmured.

"I wanted rescue," Diana admitted, "but I don't think either of us had anything to do with this. It's too . . ."

"Cliched?"

"I was going to say too real, but strangely enough, too cliched also works."

"They're hitting the things," Sam reported from the top of the barricade. "It's stopping them, but they don't seem to be taking much damage."

"Nah, they never do," explained the teenager next to him, aiming and releasing again. "But if you hit them in the head, the bits of broken ceramic get in their eyes and they totally hate that. d.a.m.n! I don't know what you guys did to get 'em so worked up 'cause usually they got a zero attention span."

Another volley. And then another. And then a cheer went up.

"And we win again. The meat-minds'll mill around for a while, then they'll head home." She tossed long, mahogany dreadlocks back behind her shoulders and stared down at Sam. "You talk."

He shrugged. "So do you."

"Good point." Holding her bow across her chest, she turned to face the Keepers. "I'm Kris, Captain of the Guard. Who are you?"

"Too real?" Claire whispered.

Although Kris and the other archers were dressed in combinations of clothes obviously pulled off the rack, there could be no mistaking the pointed ears or the great hair.

Elves.

Except, of course, that elves didn't actually exist.

Chapter FOUR.

As the others moved to stand behind Kris, it became obvious that some ears were less pointed and some hair less blatantly great. Lined up in order, the seven would have looked like time lapse photography, from almost human to full elf.

Claire's eyes widened. "They're Bystanders."

"Maybe once," Diana agreed, watching one of them flick a brilliant red braid wound through with neon tubing back over his shoulder, "but not now. This place is changing them." Feeling like a turtle stuck on its back, she tried to stand, struggling against the weight of the backpack. When Kris grinned and held out a hand, she accepted it gratefully. The elf's grip was warm and dry, surprisingly callused and remarkably strong; Diana found herself lifted effortlessly to her feet.

"You're 'bout right for walkin' on the weird side," Kris observed as Diana reluctantly released her hand, "but your . . . sister?"