“Don’t…”
“It’s all right. If her name could get through the field, they’d have woken her years ago.” There was a vibration in the air, just on the edge of sound, an almost hum as though they were walking toward the world’s largest wasp’s nest. “On the other hand, you know that low-level buzz I mentioned last night? There seems to be some seepage.”
“But you couldn’t feel it this morning.”
“Not outside this room, no. Augustus Smythe probably used it up making his getaway.”
“That’s bad.”
“Well, it’s not good.” Placing her feet with care, she backed up the stairs, squeezed over the threshold, shoved Dean away from the door, and very, very gently, pushed it closed.
“Was it a dragon?” Dean asked, not entirely certain why he hadn’t followed her inside but untroubled by the uncertainty.
“No.” As the dampening field began to take effect, it became possible to think again. “It wasn’t a dragon.”
“Then was it a furnace?”
“Sort of.” She unhooked Austin’s claws from her shoulder and settled him more comfortably in her arms, her free hand rhythmically stroking his fur and sending clouds of loose hair flying. He tucked his head up under her chin, and left it there.
“Was it the hole?”
Claire giggled. She couldn’t help it, but she managed to cut it short; she hadn’t expected such a literal example of the explanation she’d created to fit a bystander’s limited world. “Oh, yes, it was the hole.” Still cradling the cat, she started toward the basement stairs, head up, back straight. “Could you please replace the chains and the locks?”
Dean had the strangest feeling that if he tapped her shoulder as she passed, she’d ring out like a weather buoy. “Are you all right, then?”
“I’m fine.”
“Where are you going?”
“Upstairs.”
He shook his head, thought about opening the door and taking a look for himself and for reasons he wasn’t quite clear on, decided not to. “Hey, Boss?”
It took Claire a moment to realize who he was talking to. Three steps up, she paused and leaned out from the stairs so she could see him. “Yes?”
“What are you after doing?”
“I’m going to do what anyone in this situation would do; I’m going to get a second opinion.”
“From who?”
Her smile looked as if it had been borrowed and didn’t quite fit. “I’m going to call my mother.”
Behind the chains, behind the turquoise door, down the stairs, and deep in the pit, intelligence stirred.
HELLO?
When it realized there’d be no answer, it sighed.
DAMN.
TWO
“HANSEN RESIDENCE.”
The voice on the other end of the line was not one Claire had expected to hear. “Diana?” Unable to remain still, she picked up the old rotary phone and paced the length of the office and back. “What are you doing home? I thought you were doing fieldwork this weekend.”
“Hong and I had a small argument.”
“Like the argument you had with Matt?”
“No.”
There was a lengthening, a scornful pronunciation of that second letter that only a teenager could manage. At twenty, the ability was lost. Three years, Claire told herself, just three more years. She’d been ten when Diana was born and the sudden appearance of a younger sister had come as a complete surprise. Over the years, although she loved Diana dearly, the surprise had turned to apprehension—being around her was somewhat similar to being around sweating dynamite. “These people are supposed to be training you. You could assume they know what they’re doing.”
“Yeah, well, they’re old and they never let me do anything.”
“I haven’t time to get into this with you right now. Put Mom on, please.”
“Duh, Claire, it’s Sunday morning.”
She took a minute to whack herself on the forehead with the receiver. She’d completely forgotten. “Could you ask her to call me the moment she gets home from church?”
“You didn’t say the magic word.”
“Diana!”
“Chill, I’m kidding. What’s the matter anyway? You sound like you just looked into the depths of Hell.”
Reflecting, not for the first time, that her little sister had an appalling amount of power from someone with an equally appalling amount of self-confidence, Claire smoothed the lingering tremors out of her voice. “Just ask her to call me—please.” She read the number off the dial. “It’s important.”
Dean could hear Claire talking on the phone as he came up the basement stairs. Ignoring the temptation to eavesdrop—as much as he wanted to know what she was saying, it would’ve been rude—he continued on into the kitchen, where he found Austin attempting to open the fridge.
“They build garage door openers, push of a button and you can park your car, but does anyone ever think of building something like that for a fridge. No.” He pulled his claws out of the rubber seal and glared up at Dean. “What does a cat have to do to get breakfast around here?”
“Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“A few minutes ago…”
Austin interrupted with an explosive snort. “That was then, this is now.” Rising onto his hind legs, he rested his front paws just above Dean’s denim-covered knee, claws extended only enough for emphasis. “You look like a nice guy, why don’t you feed me?”
“Austin!”
“That’s my name,” he sighed, dropping back to all four feet. “Don’t wear it out.”
As Claire came around the corner, she was amazed at how familiar it seemed, as though this were the twenty-second not merely the second time she’d walked into the kitchen. Layered between the sleeping Sara and Hell, there was a comforting domesticity about the whole thing. She shuddered.
“Are you okay?” Dean asked.
“I’m fine. I just had a vision of an unpleasant future.” Shaking her head, hoping to clear it, she added, “My mother wasn’t home, but I left a message with my sister. She’ll call later.”
Austin jumped up onto the counter. “Why was your sister home!”
“The usual.”
“Anyone get hurt?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Leaning back against the sink, Dean looked down at his sock-covered feet. Had she not been his boss, he would’ve asked her if she wasn’t a little old to be calling her mum when she ran into a
