db1bd484fe8700408f51338793ca8c56

Shoving his glasses back on approximately where they belonged, Dean stood and headed for the door.“I think I’ll get that stuff off the road before there’s an accident.”

Dragging herself up onto her feet Claire waited a moment until the world stopped spinning.“I think I’ll go throw up.”

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_5]

THAT’S IT? YOU SCARED THEM A TIME OR TWO AND YOU DID A LITTLE DAMAGE AND YOU TIRED THEM OUT, BIG DEAL. THE KEEPER FIELDED EVERYTHING YOU THREW AT HER AND NEVER ONCE DREW POWER FROM LOWER THAN THE MIDDLE OF THE POSSIBILITIES.

SO LET’S SEE YOU DO BETTER. The rest of Hell sounded miffed.

BETTER?

OKAY. FINE.WORSE.

WAIT FOR IT….

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_5]

Down on one knee, the police constable poked at the hole torn in the concrete setting and shook his head.“When exactly did this happen?”

“About four A.M.”

“Four-twelve,” Mrs. Abrams corrected.“I know because when I heard the noise, and it was a terrible noise, I looked at my alarm clock and even though I bought it before Mr. Abrams died, God bless the man, it still keeps perfect time.”

“Four-twelve,” the constable repeated. “Did you happen to see who did it?”

“Oh, no! I wasn’t going to expose myself to that kind of destructive hooliganism. That’s what the police are paid for and that’s why I called them.”

“I was actually asking Ms. Hansen.”

Since there’d been a chance of flying glass, Claire had stayed away from the window and so could truthfully answer, “Sorry, I didn’t see anything.”

“It was probably a gang of students from the university. They get a few too many drinks in them and go crazy.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Claire agreed as he stood. It wasn’t what had happened, but it sounded reasonable. Most of the vandalism in Kingston conveniently got blamed on wandering gangs of students from the university who’d had a few too many drinks. Occasionally they were spotted in the distance, but no one ever managed to identify individuals since, like other legendary creatures, they vanished when too closely approached.

“When you arrest them,” Mrs. Abrams said, so determined to do her civic duty that she clutched at the constable’s sleeve, “you let me know. I’m the one who called. Mrs. Abrams. Onebe and aness.”

“You’re the lady with the dog, aren’t you?”

“You’ve heard of my Baby?” she beamed up at him.

The constable sighed.“Oh, yeah.”

Another call dragged the grateful police officer back into his car and away. Mrs. Abrams transferred her attention to Claire.

“You haven’t forgotten that Professor Jackson is coming to stay the day after tomorrow, have you, Kimberly, dear?”

“We’re looking forward to it, Mrs. Abrams.”

“I’m sure you’ll take wonderful care of him. I’ll likely be over to visit him while he’s there. Only because Baby dislikes him so, you know. We wouldn’t ever do anything compromising. Although,” she simpered, “I used to be quite progressive in my younger days.”

The worst of it was, she was telling the truth. Shuddering slightly, Claire went inside and spent the rest of the day trying to catch up on her sleep without dreaming of Mrs. Abrams and the professor in progressive positions. Had she not checked to insure all shields were holding, she’d have assumed the dreams, in graphic detail with full sound and color, had risen up out of the pit.

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_5]

“You Claire Hansen?”

Claire checked, but the courier had not been called by Hell. Which made sense after she thought about it a moment; if something absolutely had to be delivered the next business day, Hell’d prefer it to be late. “Yes, I’m Claire Hansen.”

“Sign here.”

“Why?”

Although the young woman’s expression made a rude comment, she kept her tone professional. “I got a package for you.”

“You want me to sign for it, then. Boss?”

“You Claire Hansen?” the courier demanded.

“No, but…”

“Thenshe’s got to sign it.”

In return for her signature, Claire was handed a large, bulging manila envelope and an illegible receipt.

“Who’s it from?” Dean asked as the courier carried her bike back down the front steps and rode away.

“More important,” Jacques murmured appreciatively, rematerializing by the window, “what does she wear? Her legs, they look like they are painted black.”

“They’re tights.”

“Oui, they are tight. Me, I do not complain, but they are allowed?”

“Sure.”

He heaved a heavy if ethereal sigh.“I died too soon.”

“The package is from Hermes,” Claire interrupted with heavy emphasis.

Austin snickered.“Someone doesn’t like not being the center of attention.”

Ignoring him, she pulled a folded towel from the envelope and frowned.“Why would Hermes send us a towel?”

“It’s one of ours,” Dean declared, fingering the fabric. “It must’ve gotten accidentally mixed in with his stuff.”