“Does he welcome them the way he welcomes the postman?” Claire wondered.
“Don’t be silly, dear, there’s a fence in his way. I’d best go check on the poor thing.” Pausing on the threshold, she pointed back toward the gleaming oak counter. “You should put some paint on that dear. All that bare wood looks somewhat indecent don’t you think?”
The two young men weren’t much taller than Claire, although they had a wiry build and self-confident grace that suggested their height had never been an issue. Both had sharply pointed features, an eyebrow lying across each forehead with no discernible break, and short dark hair that picked up the light as they moved so that it seemed the very end of each individual hair had been dipped in silver.
Claire relaxed as a quick dip into identical gray eyes showed not only a lack of evil intent but that they carried significantly less darkness than the general population.
“You guys twins?” Dean asked, wandering over to the counter, hammer in hand.
“Actually,” said one.
“We’re triplets,” said the other. “I’m Ron, never Ronald since that clown came on the scene, and this is my brother Reg. We’re in town for the sportsman’s show that’s at the Portsmouth Center this week.”
“Randy had a previous commitment,” Reg explained with a toothy grin. “But we’d like a room. Our grandfather stopped here some years ago, and he spoke very highly of the place.”
Must’ve been before Augustus Smythe took over, Claire thought When Dean glanced her way, she had to hide a grin. It was obvious he was thinking the same thing. “All of our rooms are doubles,” she told them making a mental note to have Jacques search the attic for a set of twin beds. “If you mind sharing, we could give you a deal on two rooms.” It wasn’t like the second room would be needed for other guests.
“Sharing’s fine.”
They were in constant motion and she’d lost track of which was which. “Breakfast is included in the price.”
“Great but all we really need you to do is…”
“…throw half a dozen raw eggs into a blender.”
“We’re in training.”
For what? Salmonella? But they were guests, so all she said aloud was, “Well, if you’ll give us a few minutes, we’ll get room one ready for you.”
“No hurry.”
“We’re going for a run down by the lake.”
“We’ve been on the road since dawn and…”
“…we don’t do so well sitting still that long.”
“We’ll be back in about an hour.”
Ron, or possibly Reg, grinned up, way up, at Dean. “See you later, big fella.”
Reg, or as it were, Ron, nodded at Claire. “Ma’am.”
They bounded out the door together. Claire had never seen anyone over the age of three actually bound before. Feeling a little out of breath, although she hadn’t moved from behind the counter during the entire exchange, she wondered just when exactly she’d become a ma’am.
“Cool guys,” Dean said. “Lots of energy. Should I go up and do the room?”
And was Boss really any better?
“Boss?”
Not really. “Why not? Has to be done.”
She walked over to the desk as he went upstairs and dropped into the chair. Keep your distance, she reminded herself. The way things have turned out, he’ll be moving on long before you do.
When Austin came into the office a few minutes later, she was sulkily updating the day’s noninformation into the site journal. “What’s with you?” she asked, noticing the cat’s bottle brush tail, and half open mouth.
“Something stinks,” he growled. “I smell dog.”
“Two guests just registered.” She hadn’t noticed any particular odor, but if the twins were competing at the sportsman’s show perhaps that meant they worked with dogs.
“It’s coming from over here.”
Rolling her eyes, Claire got up to peer over the counter at him.
“And it’s not dog.”
He was sniffing the spot where Reg, or possibly Ron, had stood to sign the register.
“Then what is it?”
“Werewolf.”
WEREWOLVES?
THERE WOLVES. THERE CASTLE.
The silence that fell in the furnace room was the sort of anticipatory silence that fell just before a smack. In this particular case, it wasn’t so much a smack as total, all encompassing destruction.
The silence continued a moment longer, then a very small voice said, OW.
NINE
“THE SEEPAGE IS BUILDING UP AGAIN.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, Claire pulled on a sock. “I can feel the buzz beginning.”
Austin yawned. “What’re you going to do about it.”
“I don’t know. I can stop the buzz by using it—which’ll make Hell happy—or I can endure it and go slowly nuts—which’ll also make Hell happy. There’s got to be an alternative.”
“I’ll let you know if I think of one.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “You do that”
“You going after the Historian this morning?”
Already halfway out the door, she threw an irritated, “What’s the point?” back over her shoulder.
“Boss? You busy?”
Claire looked up from writing Smythe;junk on the outside of the sixth box of assorted odds and ends, mostly ends, she’d cleared from the sitting room. “Not exactly, no.”
“Can I talk to your?”
“I think I can spare a moment.” When he frowned, clearly considering the actual time he’d need, Claire sighed. “Figure of speech, Dean. What did you want to tell me?”
“Well, I was upstairs, wiping down the molding…”
She leaned slightly toward him, as though proximity would help the statement make more sense. “You were what?”
“Wiping down the molding. The trim around the doors,” he expanded with an indulgent smile when she continued to look confused. “It collects dust I didn’t get to it last week because of the renovations. Anyway, you know the
