Chronicles Of The Keeper - Summon The Keeper Part 26

Squeezing past a steamer trunk plastered with stickers from a number of cruise s.h.i.+ps, including both the t.i.tanic and the Lusitania, Claire worked her way toward the back of the building. It was farther than it should have been; one of the earlier Keepers had obviously borrowed a little extra s.p.a.ce.

Well, I hope they kept the receipt... Out of the corner of one eye, she saw a bit of red race along the top of a wardrobe and disappear behind a pink-and-gray-striped hatbox. "Oh, no."

"Trouble, Boss?" She could hear furniture shoved aside as Dean struggled toward her.

"Not exactly, but I saw something; something small moving very fast. Unfortunately, it would take at least two hours of excavation or an Olympic gymnast to get to the spot."

The sound of distant movement ceased. "It was just a mouse. There's prints and t.u.r.ds all over up here."

He sounded so positive, Claire didn't bother pointing out that mice seldom came in a bright fire-engine red.

"Don't worry about it, okay? I'll bring some traps up later."

So would she, and she rather thought hers would be more successful.

Ignoring the way her reflection moved slightly out of sync, Claire ducked around an elaborate, full-length mirror and finally ended up under the sloping edge of the roof. "This," she said, turning off the flashlight, "is certainly strange."

Displayed in relative isolation by one of the windows was a bed and mattress, a set of drawers, an old radio, a washstand with a full china set, and a pair of ladder-back chairs.

As Claire stepped forward, she caught sight of something that drove all thoughts of V.C. Andrews-style decorating out of her mind. Just at the edge of the "room" was the very table she'd been looking for. It could easily seat twelve, and all it needed was a bit of polish.

"Dean! I've found it!" She swept a pile of papers onto the floor and had barely emerged, sneezing and coughing from the cloud of dust, when Dean stepped out from between a stack of washstands and yet another steamer trunk, having discovered a slightly wider route to the spot.

"It looks solid enough," he admitted, circling the table. Frowning thoughtfully, he heaved one end into the air. "It's some heavy. How are you after carrying it downstairs?" Releasing the table edge, he bent under it for a closer inspection, highlighting the joints with his flashlight beam. "Those stairs are narrow, and it doesn't come apart."

"I'll get it down the same way they got it up." Dismissing the little voice in the back of her mind that suggested she was showing off, Claire carefully reached through the possibilities and pulled power. "First, I stack the chairs and tables currently in the dining room, out in the hall."

Listening hard, Dean thought he heard the faint sound of stainless steel chiming against stainless steel and the slightly louder sound of an irritated cat.

"Then..." She traced a design in the dust on the table. "... I send this beauty down to replace them."

The table disappeared.

"Rapporter cette table."

Waving one hand vigorously in front of her face, Claire peered through the reestablished dust cloud at Dean. "What did you say?"

He sneezed. "Wasn't me."

In the silence that followed his denial, they could hear the dust settling.

"It's quiet."

"Too quiet," Claire corrected.

With a sinister rustle, scattered papers rose into the air, riding an invisible whirlwind. They spun for a moment in place, faster, faster, then whipped forward.

Claire dove for Dean just as he reached out to rescue her. Foreheads connected. They hit the floor together as the papers flew overhead.

Ears ringing, Claire scrambled to her knees. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to save you!"

"Oh? How?"

"Like this!" He flung himself at her and returned her to the floor as the papers made their second pa.s.s. The edge of an envelope opened a small cut on his cheek.

"Get off me!"

"You're welcome!" Too buzzed with adrenaline to be embarra.s.sed, he rolled onto his back and watched her climb to her feet. "What are you doing?"

"Putting a stop to this!" She pointed a rigid finger at the papers. "Right now!"

Everything except a postcard plummeted to the floor. The postcard made one final dive.

"You, too!" Claire snapped.

It burst into flames and fell as a fine patina of ash over the rest.

Hands on her hips, she glared around the open s.p.a.ce where the table had been. "We can do this easy or we can do this hard. Your choice."

The silence picked up a certain mocking quality.

"Just remember, I warned you."

"Now what?" Dean asked, standing slowly, keeping a wary eye on those larger items, like chairs, that might also be considered movable.

Claire bent down and smudged a bit of ash on her left forefinger. "Now, I'm going to make whatever it is show itself."

"You can do that?"

"Of course," she snapped. "Check the card."

"The card?"

"The business card I gave you."

He pulled it out of his wallet as she walked over to the window ledge and smudged a bit of dust on her right forefinger.

Aunt Claire, Keeper Your Accident is my Opportunity (spiritual invocations a specialty)

"It didn't say that before."

"It didn't need to. Now, be quiet." With both hands out at shoulder height, she pulled power. The symbol drawn by her left hand glowed green, the symbol drawn by her right glowed red. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Appear because I say you must."

Dean glanced back down at the card. It now read: (poetry optional). Claire's sister apparently had a good idea of Claire's limitations.

Between the symbols, fighting the invocation every inch of the way, the figure of a man began to materialize. Still translucent, he jerked back and forth trying to break the power that held him. When he finally realized he couldn't win, he snapped into focus so quickly the air around him tw.a.n.ged. Medium height and medium build, he wore a bulky black turtleneck, faded jeans, and a sneer.