db1bd484fe8700408f51338793ca8c56

The solid stone steps shuddered as the dinosaur started up after them.

“Think about the bedroom!” Claire yelled as they reached the top step. Still clutching his shirt, she thumbed the latch and dragged him through the door after her.

The wardrobe shuddered to a mighty impact as they flung themselves out into the worried presence of Austin and Jacques.

Breathing heavily, Claire lay where she’d fallen, staring under the bed at a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers that weren’t hers. Four paws, propelled by a ten-pound cat, landed on her kidneys and a moment later Austin’s face peered into hers from over her right shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I’m just a little thirsty.” She rolled over, cradled him in her arms, and sat up. Dean had gotten to his feet and was busy trying to pull his T-shirt back into shape. “What,” she asked the cat, “was the idea of sendinghim in after me? If I hadn’t shown up in time, he’d have been killed.”

“I heard roaring.”

“You’ve heard worse.”

“You’d been gone for over an hour.”

“I lost track of time. I was reading.”

“Reading?” Austin repeated, squirming free and jumping up onto the bed. “You were reading!”

About to mention the dinosaur, Dean’s vision suddenly filled with an extreme close-up of a ghost. “Get my cushion,” Jacques whispered, “quickly, and we will leave.”

“But Claire…” Dean whispered back, trying to see around Jacques’ translucent body.

“This you cannot rescue Claire from. And as much as I would like my cushion to remain, pick it up. We are leaving.”

“I was worried sick and you werereading?” Austin repeated.

Something in the cat’s tone suddenly got through. Eyes wide, Dean stared at Jacques who nodded frantically toward the cushion.

“It wasn’t like that, Austin.”

“It wasn’t like what? It wasn’t like you never even considered my feelings? Is that what it wasn’t like?”

Careful not to break into the line of sight between cat and Keeper, Dean scooped up Jacques’ anchor and the two of them raced into the sitting room.

“So what was it Claire save you from?” Jacques asked as they slowed.

Dean shrugged, the material stretched by Claire’s hands riding on his shoulders like tiny wings. “A dinosaur.”

“A what?”

“A very big carnivorous lizard.”

“Ha! If I can go through the wardrobe, she would not have to rescueme from a big lizard. She would not have to rescue a real man.”

“Real men admit it when they need help.”

“Since when?”

“I think it started around the mid-eighties.”

“Ah. Well, it did not start with me. I would have did what I went into the wardrobe to do.”

“You would havedone what you went into the wardrobe to do.”

“That,” said Jacques, staring down his nose at the living man, “is what I said.”

“Okay.” Dean half-turned toward the bedroom, gesturing with the hand holding the cushion. “If you’re so brave, go back in there.”

Austin’s voice drifted out through the open bedroom door. “…consider more important than…”

Jacques looked thoughtful.“How big did you say was that lizard?”

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_5]

Later, after tempers had cooled and apologies had been offered and accepted, Austin rested his head on Claire’s shoulder and murmured thoughtfully, “Maybe it had nothing to do with either of us. Maybe it only had to do with Dean.”

Claire stopped halfway across the sitting room and shifted her hold on the cat so she could see his face.“What are you saying?”

“Maybe heneeded to go into the wardrobe; to begin tempering.”

“Tempering?” Her eyes widened as the implication hit her. “Oh, no. Forget it. We don’t need another Hero. They’re nothing but trouble.”

“Granted, but he fits the parameters. No parents, raised by a stern but ethical authority figure, big, strong, naturally athletic, not real bright, modest, good looking…”

“Myopic.”

“What?”

“He’s nearsighted,” Claire said, feeling almost light-headed with relief. “Who ever heard of a hero in glasses?”

Austin thought about it for a moment“Clark Kent?”

“Fake prescription.”

“Woody Allen?”

“Get serious.”

“Still…”

“No.” She stepped out into the lobby, closing the door to her suite behind her. Patting the gleaming oak counter with her free hand, she headed for the kitchen. Since the unsuccessful search for the Historian had taken most of her energy, she had no memory of Dean actually finishing the work, but it sure looked good. Granted it would look better if they refinished the lobby floor, painted and recarpeted the stairs…

“No. I’m a Keeper, not an interior decorator, I have a job. If I can’t find the Historian,” she muttered, stepping into the kitchen, “there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

Austin jumped out of her arms, landing by the sink and whirling around to face her.“I beg your pardon.”

“Sorry.”

He washed a shoulder.“I should hope so.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Claire pulled the plastic container holding the site journal out of the fridge. Faint fumes could be detected seeping through the seal.

“Do you have to do that now?” Austin demanded. “It’s twenty-five to ten. I thought we could have breakfast first.”

“I have no intention of opening this when I have food in my stomach.”