db1bd484fe8700408f51338793ca8c56

ARE YOU ARGUING WITHME? The silence seemed to indicate that, no, it wasn’t. GOOD. I CAN GET THE SEEPAGE THROUGH THE SHIELD USING THE CONDUIT THE KEEPERS HAVE PROVIDED.

The hoarded seepage began moving.

Low wattage lights went on in the rest of Hell as realization dawned. BUT THAT POWER GOES RIGHT UP TOHER!

YES.

SHE TRIED TO USE US.

AND FAILED.

WE’D RATHER NOT RISK THAT AGAIN.

NO ONE ASKED YOU.SHE WILL TAKE CARE OF THIS YOUNG KEEPER FOR ME.

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_5]

Up in room six, under dust-covered lids, Aunt Sara’s eyes began to move in her first dream in over fifty years.

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_5]

“Jacques, wait I felt something…”

“This?”

“No…. Oh. Yes.”

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_5]

“Hey, Diana.” Phone cradled against her chin, Claire did up her cuff buttons and listened to the sounds of Dean moving about in the kitchen making breakfast “Is Mom home?”

“Hey, yourself,” her sister responded suspiciously. “What are you doing up so early in the mor…Oh my God! You did it, you slept with the dead guy!”

Recognizing that the move was completely illogical but needing to do it anyway, Claire held the receiver out in front of her and stared at it.

“Don’t bother denying it.” Diana’s voice came tinnily out through the tiny speaker. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“Hear what in my voice?” Claire demanded, the receiver back to her mouth.

“You know, that post-necrophilia guilt. How was he? I’d make a crack about him being a stiff, but you’d blow.”

“Diana!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I understand your choice. I mean, even ignoring the whole forbidden fruit thing, Keepers have responsibilities—busy, busy, busy—and after a night in the sack, a dead guy’s not going to expect you to settle down and play house. So did you give him back his actual flesh, or did you make some minor additions?”

Breathing heavily through her nose, Claire attempted to keep her voice level.“Is Mom home?”

“No. Lucky for you. What kind of an example are you setting here for your younger sister?”

“Tell her I called.”

“Should I…”

“No. Just tell her I called.”

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_5]

“…of course I landed on my feet, but the other guy…” Austin let his voice trail off as Claire came into the kitchen. Wrapping his tail around his toes, he sat and stared unblinkingly up at her.

Claire glanced over at Dean, who shrugged, then back at the cat.“What?” she sighed.

“Nothing. I just figured the first meeting between you and Dean the morning after would be awkward, and I wanted to start things off right I think you two can take it from here.” Looking smug, he leaped down to the floor and padded away.

The silence stretched.

Having made his decision to cut a net he had no hope of hauling, to save the boat so he could fish another day, to suddenly get caught up in regional metaphors he’d never previously considered using, Dean should have slept the sleep of the just, the sleep of the man who has recognized that he’d lost the battle but by no means lost the war. As it happened, he slept hardly at all, Claire’s bedroom being right over his. His imagination, deciding to make up for twenty years of benign neglect had kicked into overdrive the moment his head hit the pillow. He’d finally gotten a few hours’ sleep on the couch in the next room.

“So,” he said at last “you’re up early. Where’s Jacques?”

Before Claire could answer, he blushed and held up both hands.“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out the way it sounded.”

“What way?”

“Like I had a right to know.” He took a deep breath, adjusted his glasses, and said, “Did you want some coffee, then?”

“Sure.” When Dean shot her a surprised glance before reaching for a mug, she hoped she’d got the nuance right. She’d intendedsure to mean,nothing’s changed between you and me. Dean could continue feeling how he felt about her—a little unrequited whatever it was he felt wouldn’t hurt him—and she’d continue thinking of him as an incredibly nice, gorgeous kid who just happened to do windows. She’d come to that conclusion while dressing, wondering why she was making such a big deal out of Dean’s reaction. “Jacques went back to the attic. He said he needed some time to think.”

“Ah.”

The silence fell again.

“Professor Jackson’s not down yet.”

Dean gratefully looked at his watch.“No, but then it’s just turned eight.”

“Ah.”

Before the silence extended far enough to elicit a conversation about the warmer than seasonal weather, the front door opened. And closed.

Dean frowned.“Stay where you’re at,” he muttered, untying his apron, “I’ll get it.”

Sighing, Claire started walking toward the lobby.“What have I told you about this kind of thing?”

“Specifically?”

“Generally.”

“You’re a Keeper and you can take care of yourself?”

“Bingo.”

Bent nearly double, stroking Austin as he wound around black leggings and chunky ankle boots, the young woman in the lobby seemed to be neither a threat nor a guest. When she straightened, one hand rising to try and brush disheveled blonde curls down over the purple-and-green swelling on her forehead, Claire got the impression of a person just barely hanging on to the end of her rope.