Chronicles Of The Keeper - Summon The Keeper Part 66

"Yes, it does."

"Fine. But your health is important to me."

"My health?"

"It's been nearly six months."

"So?"

"If I remember correctly, the last incident wasn't terribly successful."

Her brows drew in. "What are you talking about?"

"I was under the bed."

"You were under the bed!"

"Hey, it's all just loud noises to me." He stretched out a back leg and stared down at the spread toes. "Mind you, some loud noises are more believable than others."

Claire counted to ten and let it go, reminding herself, once again, that no one ever won an argument with a cat.

Young Keepers started out believing that accessing the possibilities required inner calm and outer silence. After their first couple of sites they realized calm and quiet were luxuries they'd seldom have. Claire's first site had been in the sale bin at a discount department store. It hadn't been pretty, but it had prepared her for eventually working through the catcalls and attempted interference of h.e.l.l.

Breathing shallowly through her mouth, she adjusted the possibilities on the inside of the s.h.i.+eld until the seepage began to adhere. It was a simple, elegant solution and she left the furnace room three hours later stinking of brimstone and feeling inordinately pleased with herself.

PRIDE IS ONE OF OURS, h.e.l.l called after her. When the only response was the slamming of the furnace room door, it examined the addition to its binding. IS SHE ALLOWED TO DO THAT? it asked sulkily.

NOTHING SEEMS TO BE STOPPING HER.

WE SHOULD BE STOPPING HER.

WELL, DUH.

As he heard Claire come into the lobby, Dean looked up from sorting the mail. "Good timing. Boss; you... you look like something they dragged off the bottom of the harbor."

"Thank you, Dean, I'm touched by your concern. You forgot to mention that I smell like something from the sewage treatment plant." She paused, took a deep breath, and ducked under the counter, swaying a little when she straightened on the other side.

Dean took a step toward her. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You look exhausted."

"I'm a bit tired, yes. I've been working."

"On the pit?"

"By the pit."

"Is that safe?"

"It is now."

"I don't understand." He frowned. "Did you figure out how to seal it?"

"Wouldn't that be good news?" Austin asked before Claire could respond.

"Well, sure..."

"Then shouldn't you sound happier about it?"

"Stop being annoying just because you can," Claire suggested. Turning back to Dean, she shook her head. "No, I haven't figured out how to seal the pit, but I have solved a smaller problem. What did you mean when you said, good timing?"

It took him a moment to follow the path of the conversation. "The mail's finally here. You got a postcard."

Claire took the cardboard rectangle between thumb and forefinger, glanced at the photograph of a tropical paradise, then flipped the card over.

"Who's it from?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

"My sister, Diana. Apparently, she's in the Philippines."

Austin's ears went back. "Didn't they just have a huge volcanic eruption in the Philippines?"

"We don't know that was her fault." A tooth mark on the edge of the postcard had the distinct, punched hole appearance of Baby's games with the mailman. "Speaking of natural disasters, we haven't heard from Mrs. Abrams for a while."

"Maybe the blinds discouraged her?" Dean offered.

"Maybe we should put the wagon train in a circle," Austin muttered. "You should start to worry when the drums stop."

After a long hot shower, Claire spent the rest of the day sprawled in an armchair, watching a National Geographic video about killer whales. It was one of only eleven tapes she'd salvaged from Augustus Smythe's extensive collection. The p.o.r.nography hadn't been the worst of it; his video library had also included every episode of "Gunsmoke" plus a nearly complete collection of "The Beverly Hillbillies."

h.e.l.l was not only murky, it filled out subscription forms.

"You coming, Austin?"

"You're kidding, right?" Tail las.h.i.+ng from side to side he backed up a step just in case Claire decided to force the issue. "You actually want me to get into that cross between a cage and a coffin, allow myself to be lifted three stories off the ground by an antique mechanism reinstalled by a cook under the direction of a dead sailor? I think not."

"It's perfectly safe."

"That's what you said about that cruise."

"Cruise?" Jacques asked by her ear.

"Bermuda Triangle. Long story," Claire told him.

"I wouldn't get into that thing," Austin continued, ears flat, "if I still had all nine lives. Not even if I'd rescued Princess Toadstool and picked up another life. If anything goes wrong, somebody has to be around to say I told you so."

"Suit yourself." Unfortunately for any second thoughts she might have been having, Claire couldn't back out now, not with the cat so vehemently opposed. He was quite smug enough without her giving him more ammunition. She closed the door, dropped the inner gate, and turned to the more corporeal of her two companions. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"