"I know what a contraction is."

"They use them."

"So?"

He exhaled explosively. "So who ever heard of a G.o.d using contractions? It just isn't G.o.dlike."

Claire'd heard of G.o.ds who took their own names in vain three words out of seven, but she decided not to mention that to Lance. "What's second?" When he looked confused-well, more confused than usual-she expanded the question. "You said 'first of all,' so there must be at least a second."

"Right!"

And the exclamations were back.

"It's the two of them, the way they interact. They're like Ruff and Ready!"

"Who?"

"You know; the cartoon!" Waving his hands from side to side, sketching out the beat, Lance sang, "They're Ruff and Ready. Always Ruff and Ready. They sometimes have their little spats, even fight like d . . ."

Up onto her toes, she got her hand over his mouth just in time. Anubis was showing rather a lot of teeth, and Bast's ears were flat against her skull while the triangle of fur that touched the top of her spine had lifted. Lesson . . . actually, Claire'd lost track at this point, but it had to be around lesson seven or eight in dealing with G.o.ds. Do not ever compare them to cartoon animals.

"Please ..." No power, just a heartfelt plea. ". . . ignore him. He's just a Bystander."

"He is . . ."

". . . annoying." Anubis finished, the word emerging as one, long growl.

"I know. But we'll be gone soon and, gross!" She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away and wiped it on her skirt. "You licked me!"

Lance grinned down at her. "It worked."

"How'd she taste?"

Bast and Claire turned as one toward the jackal-headed G.o.d.

"How did she taste?" Bast demanded.

Anubis shrugged. "I'm just curious."

"Pretty good," Lance allowed thoughtfully. "A little salty."

His muzzle wrinkled as Anubis took a step toward her, and Claire was ninety percent sure she was about to be licked again. Oh that's just great. I am so not a dog person.

Bast's hand on his arm yanked him to a halt. "The Lord Osiris is waiting."

Sure enough, there was now a figure sitting on the distant throne.

Sighing deeply, Anubis began walking again. "You never let me have any fun."

"Oh, yeah? Who throws all those d.a.m.ned b.a.l.l.s for you?"

Instead of growing larger, the throne grew smaller as they approached until it, and the male figure sitting upon it, were only slightly bigger than the human norm. Osiris wore a pleated linen skirt similar to Anubis' but with a cloth-of-gold overskirt.

Gold sandals laced up around muscular calves, and a huge gold-and-obsidian collar rested on broad shoulders over impressive pecs. In spite of the traditional stick-on beard, the G.o.d of the underworld was a piece, no question about it, although Claire was fairly sure she'd seen the same outfit while closing an accident site at the Pyramid Club in Las Vegas.

Before either of their guides could speak, Lance pulled his PDA from its belt pouch, hit a quick sequence of keys, and read, in what Claire a.s.sumed was ancient Egyptian, "Praise be unto thee, O Osiris, lord of eternity, Unnefer, Heru-Khuti, whose forms are manifold and whose attributes are majestic. It's a hymn to Osiris from the Book of the Dead," he added, sotto voce in English. "I've got the whole thing in here! Had to get extra memory! It goes on for a bit."

"I think you hit the high points."

"You understood that?"

"It's a Keeper thing." One golden-shod foot had begun to tap. "I'll explain later. Why don't we let Bast speak now?"

"Why do you need me?" Bast wondered pointedly. "You seem to be doing so well on your own."

Seventeen years with Austin had given Claire seventeen years of practice groveling, and a cat G.o.ddess was by no means as picky an audience as an actual cat, particularly one who'd accidentally been shut outside in the rain. Austin had made her pay, and pay, and pay for days, but by the time Bast turned to Osiris, she was almost purring.

Claire tuned out the story of their arrival in the Hall and worried about Dean instead. It was her fault he was in danger, her fault he might get his life sucked out by a reanimated Egyptian mummy. Women who went away on business and only worried about the man they left behind compulsively gambling away their savings or getting involved with the floozy at the coffee shop had no idea how good they had it. At least they had better-than-average odds that the man they loved wouldn't end up as bait in a deadly plot that involved power sucking and world domination. Well, better than average odds everywhere but New York and LA.

"It has been a long time since the living came to my Hall," Osiris said thoughtfully as Bast finished. His voice reminded Claire of that velvet glove/iron fist combination and while he was speaking, she couldn't take her eyes off him. "You are not on the Otherside, Keeper. You could reach into the possibilities here. Why haven't you?"

"This is your domain, Lord Osiris. To breach your parameters would be at best very stupid and at worst, incredibly rude."

He frowned. "Don't you mean that the other way around?"

"No. It's a Canadian thing," she added when he continued to look confused. "Lord Osiris, all we want to do is to leave. I'm in the middle of trying to stop a shopping mall from taking over the world, and Lance here . . ."

"Isis embraceth thee in peace and she driveth away the fiends from the mouth of thy paths."

"Not now, Lance."

"If not now, when?" he asked.

Claire admitted he had a point. Unfortunately, she had no idea how long they'd been traveling as her watch had stopped working between the beach and the hippos and she couldn't risk squandering the time. "Probably never. Sorry. Lord Osiris, if you could point us toward a door . . ."

"Unfortunately, there is only one door out of my Hall and to go through it, you must be judged."

"But we're not dead."

"I would so have remembered to tell him that," Anubis muttered.

"Living or dead, it doesn't matter," Osiris pointed out. "Judgment is the only way out. One at a time, your hearts will be weighed against a single feather. If your heart is lighter than the feather, you will be declared maa kheru and the door will be opened. If it is heavier, then you stand condemned and will be devoured . . ." He gestured toward a triangle of deep shadow to the left of his throne. ". . . by the Eater of the Dead."

"But we're not dead," Claire repeated, enunciating carefully.

NOT A PROBLEM. I'LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT.

"Claire?" Lance grabbed her shoulder and shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth. "Your mouth is open."