Claire stared at her, aghast. “The spring?”
“Comes after winter. The snow melts. The dog crap lies exposed on the lawn.”
“I won’t be here in the spring.”
“I hope you’re not expecting old Gus to come back. He’s blown this popsicle stand for good.” The vampire paused at the door. “Oh, yeah; Dean’s memory of me’s going to get a bit foggy. I don’t like to leave too many specifics behind.” Ebony brows rose and fell suggestively. When it became obvious that Claire was not going to respond to this mild provocation, she snapped pale fingers. “Hey, Keeper!”
Wandering thoughts jerked back to the lobby. “What?”
“Domo arigato on that lifesaving thing. I know, I know, you’d do it for anyone, but this time you did it for me. In return, can I offer you these words of wisdom, culled from a long and eventful existence? You needn’t bother answering ’cause I’m going to anyway.
“First of all, at the risk of sounding like Kenny Rogers, God forbid, you should make the best of the hand you’ve been dealt Second, a genuine, unselfish offer of help is the most precious gift you’ll ever be given. And third, remember that you never have to travel alone…” Teeth flashed. “…hitchhikers make a handy protein supplement when on the road. Thanks for coming, you’ve been a wonderful audience, maybe we can do this again sometime—less the asshole trying to kill me, of course.”
Claire stared at the closed door for a moment, then jerked around to the window as the red van roared down the driveway, honked twice, and disappeared into the night.
“Is Ms. Moore gone?”
Dean’s voice seemed to come from very far away. She nodded, without turning.
“Did she say if she’d be back in the spring?”
It was only just October, not even winter yet, spring was impossibly far away. “I won’t be here in the spring. I’ll have finished up and moved on.”
“Okay.” That wasn’t what he’d asked, but since it was clearly on Claire’s mind…“That, uh, book you’ve got soaking? It’s starting to stink up the fridge.”
“It needs to soak a little longer.”
“But…”
“I need that information, Dean, and I’m not going to risk losing it because you don’t like the way it smells.”
“Is Claire coming out for breakfast?”
“In a minute,” Austin told him, staring alternately at his empty dish and Dean. “She has to have another shower first. The Historian appears to have led her through an area populated by ruminants.”
“Say what?”
“She crawled through some cow shit. Are you going to feed me, or what?”
Weighing the bag of geriatric kibble in one hand, Dean scratched the back of his neck with the other. “There should be a lot more in this.”
“Not necessarily. I told the mice they could help themselves. With any luck we’ll run out on the weekend when the vet’s closed, and you’ll have to feed me something decent.”
The next morning, Dean handed Claire a cup of coffee and watched in concern as she slumped against the sink and stuffed a whole piece of toast into her mouth. “Manage to avoid the cow shit this morning?” he asked hesitantly.
Claire snorted, blowing crumbs onto the spotless stainless steel. “This morning,” she said, and paused to swallow, “I crawled through the cow. Same end result though,” she added after a moment.
“You know, lady, I got a cousin who does renovations. Not too expensive,” the locksmith assured her as he screwed down the new plate. He nodded toward the charred, smoke-damaged interior of room six. “Why leave a room in that condition when you can fix it up and use it that’s what I say. You gotta spend money to make money, you know?”
“We’re not that busy. Which,” she added dryly, “is a good thing. I called you four days ago.”
“Hey, I couldn’t have got here faster if you’d been Old Nick himself.”
WANNA BET?
The locksmith pulled bushy brows down toward his nose. “Did you say something?”
“No.”
“Thought I heard…Never mind. You know, you don’t have to stay with me. I can just come down when I finish up.”
“Like I said,” Claire told him, keeping the glamour centered over the actual contents of the room, “we’re not that busy.”
“Oh, I get it. Lonely, eh? I know how you feel; some days when I don’t leave the shop, I’m ready to climb the walls by four, four-thirty. No one to talk to, you know? What was that?” He leaned around the door, staring at the floor by the curtained window, then settled back on his heels, shaking his head. “It sorta looked like a bright blue mouse.”
“Trick of the shadows,” Claire said tightly. It figured that the locksmith would see the imp when neither Dean nor Austin ever had.
A few moments later, his weight on the newly installed doorknob, the locksmith heaved himself to his feet and flicked the open flange with his free hand. “Quite the secondary locking system. I guess you can’t be too careful about this kind of thing, eh? I mean, one tourist wanders in here, hurts himself on a bit of loose board and the next thing you know, you’re being sued.”
Peering through the glamour, Claire checked that Aunt Sara remained undisturbed by all the banging. “If a tourist wandered in here, being sued would be the least of my concerns. But you needn’t worry, this is only a temporary measure.”
“So you are going to fix it?”
“Sooner or later.”
“Hopefully sooner, eh?” He pulled the door closed and nodded with satisfaction as the lock clicked into place. “When the time comes, and you need some help, don’t forget my cousin.”
Claire had a vision of the locksmith and his cousin facing down the hordes of Hell. It was strangely comforting.
The ink soaked out of the site journal had turned the onions blue. The brine had been absorbed and the whole thing smelled like pickled sewage. With a cheese sauce.
When Claire opened the plastic container, Austin left the building.
Breathing shallowly through her mouth,
