the other side of the room. I knew it had been over there.
"Wait. Wasn't that over there?" I said, hesitating, but Al yanked me forward, pulling me to stand right next to him.
"Probably," he said, kicking backward at it again. "I can't pop into reality uninvited unless I'm checking on you. I'll get you there, and you summon me. Immediately." His eyes narrowed, and I shoved his tightening grip off my arm. "It's that trust thing you've been whining about," he growled. "I trust you to bring me along."
"And I trust you not to throttle him," I said, and he made a pained face.
"Abso-o-olute-e-e-ly," he said, so slowly I doubted him. "Tap a line, Rachel."
Doubt or not, I tapped the line, feeling the curious ache of using a line this side of reality. My eyes widened when the bit of paper flamed up in Al's white-gloved hands. "You can only do this once?" I asked, amazed as he breathed in the smoke, eyes closing in bliss, but my shock redoubled when I realized the paper wasn't being burned.
"It's not real flame," Al said, then gave me a shove. "Go!"
"Hey!" I shouted in protest, but my lungs compressed and the line took me. With an almost absurd quickness, I popped back into existence in a dark, low-ceilinged room. It was stuffy, with the light coming from a bank of electronic equipment. I could smell stinky socks and what seemed like too much occupation. The walls were painted cinder block, and there was the tang of mold. Flat brown carpet lay over what felt like cement. Metal and wood racks made aisles from floor to ceiling, all holding wooden crates wired shut.
Oh. My. God. Am I in Nick's mother's basement? But then I decided that it was more like one of those bio shelters they made during the Turn with filtered air and bottled water.
"Al, I summon you," I mouthed, and with that tiny bit of invitation, I felt his heavy presence mist into existence beside me. He made a low growl of sound, pleasure and satisfaction. It went right to my middle and burned. I knew what he was feeling, and I cursed myself. It was the thrill of not knowing if he could trust me.
"Are you sure this is the place?" I breathed, feeling small with Al beside me.
Al raised his hand, a steady finger pointing out a rumpled shape sleeping on an old military cot. "Go get him, itchy witch," he breathed in my ear, and the burning sensation in me redoubled. "Let me see you make your first kill."
I knew he was speaking metaphorically, but I couldn't help being reminded of Jenks's wildlife programs of a lioness wounding prey to let her cubs practice bringing it down. My jaw clenched and I shoved the thought away. Nick had lied and tried to scam me in what would have put me in jail after I saved his ass from militant Weres. I didn't owe him anything, not even my respect. It wasn't as if I was going to snatch him.
I crept forward, my sneakers silent on the musty carpet. Nick was snoring. I stopped when he took a deep breath, a frown line showing as his eyes opened, not moving as he stared at the ceiling. "Shit," he breathed, and I realized the reek of burnt amber had given us away.
Pushing myself into motion, I jumped for him, landing on his bed and pinning him there. It would have been a simple matter to throw me off, but he didn't, staring up at me in shock, his brown eyes wide. "Hi, Nic-k," I said, hitting the k hard. "How's it hanging, buddy?"
Hidden by the covers, I felt his hands move, guessing that he was angling for something. "You," he said, his eyes darting behind me to Al.
"Me," I drawled, shifting my weight to stop his motion to his pillow. "That's Al, and you, of course, are the rat." I leaned in, inches from his face. "Isn't this nice, all of us here together? Do me a favor. Don't get up. Just sit there and listen, and maybe I can convince Al not to steal everything in your little rat hole here."
"You bitch!" Nick spat. "You did it again! You brought a demon into my home!"
My face twisted. "Yeah, but this time, I did it on purpose."
I could hear Al humming "Tiptoe Through the Tulips," punctuated by little mmms of discovery as he unearthed who knew what from the crates