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“Well?” Austin asked from the top of the washing machine as they tightened the chains across the closed door. He had point-blank refused to go back into the furnace room.

“She wants to go seeher,” Claire told him, pointing upward.

“You should take Dean with you.”

“Are you out of your mind? Has he been feeding you on the sly?”

The cat’s eyes narrowed. “Read my lips, he’s a part of this.”

“You don’t have lips.”

“A moot point. Your mother will have to meet him sooner or later.”

“She can meet him later.”

Martha started toward the other end of the basement“Are his rooms down here?”

“Yes, but…”

“Austin thinks we should take Dean, and I’m inclined to agree.”

Claire threw up her hands.“Mom, Austin thinks baby birds are a snack food.”

“What doesthat have to do with this?”

“Listen to your mother, Claire,” Austin murmured as he padded by.

She managed to resist kicking him and hurried to catch up, wishing she’d remembered that her mother’s professional opinion carried personal baggage along with it. “I don’t want Dean told about what’s in the furnace room.”

“You don’t think he deserves to know the truth?”

“He knows there’s an accident site; telling him that he’s bedding down next to a hole leading to a classical manifestation of a Christian Hell will only compromise his safety.”

“In what way?”

“He’s a kid. Minimal defenses. The knowledge could give Hell access to his mind.”

“I think you’re afraid he’ll leave if you tell him,” Austin said, rubbing against the edge of a low shelf. “And you don’t want him to leave.”

“Of course I don’t want him to leave—he cooks, he cleans, I don’t. But neither do I want him blundering into situations he has no hope of understanding.” She turned to her mother. “He’s already in deeper than any bystander I’ve ever been in contact with. Isn’t that enough? How am I supposed to protect him?”

“If he’s been here since last February, I’d say he has pretty powerful protections of his own,” Martha said thoughtfully. “But you’re the Keeper, it’s your decision whether you tell him or not.”

“Then why isn’tthis my decision?” Claire asked as her mother knocked at the basement apartment. She didn’t expect an answer, which was good, because she didn’t get one.

Dean came to his door holding a mop.

“Merciful heavens.” Unable to stop herself, Martha glanced down at his feet.

Claire hid a smile. It seemed clear that any member of the lineage meeting Dean for the first time couldn’t help but check for tangible evidence of how very grounded he was.

Completely confused, Dean set the mop to one side, scrubbed his palm off on his jeans, and held out an apprehensive hand.“Hello. You must be Claire’s mother.”

“That’s right I’m Martha Hansen.” Recovering her aplomb, she took his offered hand in a firm grip. “Pleased to meet you, Dean. Claire’s told me so little about you.”

Half expecting a female version of Augustus Smythe, Dean was pleasantly surprised to find there were no similarities whatsoever. Mrs. Hansen looked remarkably like many of the artists who spent their summers in the outports. She wore her long, graying hair pulled loosely back off her face, no makeup, baggy pants, a homespun vest over a turtleneck and the ubiquitous sandals. Dean wasn’t sure why sandals were considered artistic, but they certainly seemed to be. While a resemblance to the summer people wasn’t entirely a recommendation, working for Mr. Smythe had taught him it could’ve been a lot worse. “You’ve been in the furnace room already, then?”

“We have. How could you tell?”

He felt his ears redden.“You’re sweating. Mr. Smythe was always sweating when he came out of the furnace room.”

Martha smiled and dabbed at her forehead with a tissue pulled from her vest pocket.“How observant of you. We have, indeed, been in the furnace room, but we’re on our way up to room six now and we’d like you to come along.”

He glanced over at Claire and noticed her slight hesitation before she nodded.“I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Nonsense. As Austin says, you’re a part of this.”

“Then just let me hang up my mop.”

When he disappeared into his apartment, Martha turned toward her daughter.“He’s a kid?”

“He’s barely older than Diana.”

“Sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but your sister isn’t exactly a kid any more either.” When Claire’s brows drew in, she patted her on the arm. “Never mind. I don’t think you’ll have any problems with Dean. He’s a remarkably stable young man, not to mention very easy on the eyes. Ilike him.”

Forced to agree with the first two sentiments, Claire snorted.“You’d like an Orchi if it did housework.”

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“This is incredible.” Remaining within the shielded area, attention locked on the sleeping Keeper, Martha moved around to the far side of the bed. “Just think of all the factors involved in achieving such an intricate balance of power.”

“I am thinking about it, Mom. Or more specifically, I’m thinking about what’ll happen if I unbalance it, ever so slightly.”

“Don’t.”