The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [68]
There were two dozen books on Gordon still on the shelf, and she picked them up, one by one, thumbing through the index to each—and on the seventeenth book she hit paydirt.
“All right,” she muttered, sure that whatever had directed her here could hear her. “I’ve found it. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to take it back to the hotel and read it there.”
There was no response, nor had she really expected one.
Tucking the book under her arm, she walked to the same side exit she had used earlier in the day and twisted the handle. It was as she had thought: locked from the outside, but not the inside. A moment later she was back in the alley, and heading back to the Arak Hotel, but before she had taken a dozen steps, her way was barred by a glowing skeleton of something that stood erect but would never be mistaken for human, or even primate.
It reached a bony hand out to take the book from her. She backed away.
All right, she thought. The Amulet wants me to read this, so it didn’t send you. That means you’re from the Mahdists or anti-Mahdists, and their magic isn’t as strong as the Amulet’s. I hope.
The hand reached out again, and this time she grabbed it—and was mildly surprised to find that it was substantial, rather than just an illusion. She bent one of the fingers back. It broke off, but the skeleton seemed not to notice.
Its jaws moved, and though it had no tongue, no larynx, no means of making a sound, the words “I want!” seemed to emanate from its missing lips.
“You can’t always have what you want!” said Lara, backing up another step, her eyes searching the alley. Finally she found what she was looking for—a metal garbage can, one of the few. She picked up the lid and, using it as a warrior might use a shield, charged into the skeleton, holding it in front of her.
The bones shattered and the skeleton collapsed, but where each bone fell there was now a small, growling, vicious dog. The closest one launched himself at her ankles, and she kicked it through the air like a football. Before it could fall to the ground it sprouted wings, metamorphosed into a black crow, and flew off, squawking its anger.
Then she was among them, kicking some, picking others up by the scruff of the neck and hurling them away, pounding on some with her shield. Every time contact was made the dog turned into a crow and flapped noisily away.
Finally just one small dog remained.
“You tell your creator that I don’t scare easily,” said Lara, approaching it.
Suddenly the dog’s entire demeanor changed. It turned away, tucked its tail between its legs, and ran off, yipping like a terrified puppy, leaving her to ponder whether the sorcerer had given up or a real dog had accidentally wandered into a pack of its supernatural brethren.
She held up the book to show whatever had directed her to the library that she still possessed it.
“I hope you’re satisfied,” she said into the dark, empty night.
The sigh of a breeze was her only answer.
23
There was a knock on Lara’s door.
“Are you awake?” said Mason’s voice.
“Just a minute,” she said, getting up off the couch, where she’d fallen asleep reading the book. She walked to the door and opened it.
“It’s three in the afternoon,” said Mason. “Were you planning on sleeping the day away?”
“I was up all night reading,” she said. “Have you been out?”
“Yes,” replied Mason. “I picked up a little .22 caliber Beretta; I’ve got it tucked away in my belt.”
“If you shoot anyone with it, you’ll just make them mad,” said Lara. “Why didn’t you pick up an AK-47? They’re for sale in almost every alley in the city.”
“Because I couldn’t hide it under my coat,” he admitted awkwardly.
“We don’t want to get in a shooting war with a million Mahdists,” she said. “The whole purpose of having a gun is to frighten people off, or make them think about the consequences of shooting at us. If they can’t see it, it can hardly serve as a deterrent.”
“I disagree,