Chronicles Of The Keeper - Summon The Keeper Part 95

He winced. "Too much? I should not have said the last about the woman, I know. It is funny, I am, how do you say... nervous."

"That's how we say it." This was the moment she had to decide. On the one hand, Jacques was s.e.xy and funny and there'd been a frisson between them from the moment she'd forced him to materialize. On the other hand, he was dead. That would definitely be a problem for most people. "I don't want to be like her."

"You are not anything like her." Releasing her hands, he cupped her face.

"I don't want to just use you."

"Use me, cherie. I can stand in."

"Stand it."

"We are both needing each other, Claire. Stop worrying about regrets you might have tomorrow. This is now."

He was going to kiss her; it hadn't been so long that she couldn't recognize the preliminaries. She just didn't know how she was going to respond. Fifty-three seconds later, she found out.

"Oh, my..."

PERFECT. SHE'S DISTRACTED.

WE SHOULD BE UP THERE, the rest of h.e.l.l protested. WE'RE MISSING A TERRIFIC OPPORTUNITY TO SCREW WITH HER HEAD.

I'VE GOT BETTER OPPORTUNITIES DOWN HERE.

The power seepage had been gathered in one place, prevented from escaping into the s.h.i.+eld.

ARE YOU GOING TO CREATE ANOTHER IMP?.

YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR PROBLEM IS? YOU DON'T THINK BIG ENOUGH. THAT'S WHY YOU'RE GOING TO SPEND AN INFINITE AMOUNT OF TIME DOWN IN THAT PIT.

YOU CAN'T GET THE SEEPAGE THROUGH THE s.h.i.+ELD.

OH, YES, I CAN.

NO, YOU CAN'T.

YES, I CAN.

N....

ARE YOU ARGUING WITH ME? The silence seemed to indicate that, no, it wasn't. "GOOD. I CAN GET THE SEEPAGE THROUGH THE s.h.i.+ELD USING THE CONDUIT THE KEEPERS HAVE PROVIDED.

The h.o.a.rded seepage began moving.

Low wattage lights went on in the rest of h.e.l.l as realization dawned. BUT THAT POWER GOES RIGHT UP TO HER!

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.

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

"Jacques, wait. I felt something..."

"This?"

"No... Oh. Yes."

"Hey, Diana." Phone cradled against her chin, Claire did up her cuff b.u.t.tons 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 G.o.d! 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."

"... 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.