This was not the time, nor the mood, to deal with that. “At least the others didn’t show up.”
“I suspect they keep a low profile when Hera’s on the rampage.”
Claire slapped the wards back up and staggered to the bathroom. “I need a drink.”
“May I suggest a little compost tea?”
“No.”
“So you’d as leaf not?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Back in his own apartment Dean pulled Claire’s business card from his pocket expecting that it would give him some indication if she really wasn’t all right.
Aunt Claire, Keeper
your Accident is my Opportunity
(100% organically grown)
Reassured, he went back to bed.
The Olympians left directly after breakfast. Claire watched them climb into the van, fighting over who was sitting by what window, and raised a neutral hand in response to Hermes’ wave. The moment the van pulled away, she raced upstairs.
“Where are you going?” Austin demanded.
“Something woke Hera last night. I’m going to find out what it was.”
“With grape flavor crystals?”
“You’ll see.”
Standing by the bed in room one, she flung the crystals into the air. When they settled, there were tiny purple three-toed footprints on the bedside table.
“Go get Dean and Jacques,” Claire said.
Unusually quiet, Austin left the room.
“When Hermes said Poseidon leaves a room damp, he wasn’t kidding.”
“You think you have problems? I work like a dog for that Persephone and she does not even tip.”
“You’re dead. What would you do with money?”
“So I am dead.” Jacques sniffed disdainfully. “It is, how do you say, the principle of the thing.”
As they rounded the bed and saw Claire’s expression, they fell silent. She pointed toward the bedside table. “I want that imp caught,” she said.
It wasn’t as easy as all that. Both men, the living and dead, were unsuccessful. The traps remained empty. Claire’s mood grew worse.
“If anything’s going to get done,” Austin sighed, leaping down off the bed as the bathroom door slammed the next morning, “I’ve clearly got to do it myself.”
“Uh, Boss? I can finish the wallpapering myself if you’d rather be somewhere else.”
Fighting the urge to photosynthesize, Claire stepped out of the shaft of sunlight. “No. I said I’d help.”
Wondering how much trouble he’d be in if he mentioned she was being more of a hindrance, Dean rolled the next sheet through the tray and laid it against the wall. “Could you please hand me the smoother.”
“The what?”
Hands still holding the paper to the wall, he turned to point and froze.
Claire frowned and followed his line of sight.
Picking his way over the folds in the drop cloth, Austin crossed the dining-room table with something small and squirming in his mouth. Its legs were froglike and ended in three toes. Its arms, nearly as long as its legs, ended in two fingers and a thumb. Its eyes were small and black and it appeared to have no teeth. Covered in something between fur and scale, it changed color constantly.
As Austin drew even with Claire, he spit the imp out. “Yuck, those things taste awful.”
The imp leaped off the table, scrambled up the wall, and dove under the wet wallpaper.
As the bulge headed for the ceiling, Claire snatched up the last full roll and, swinging it like a club bat, smacked it down again and again. And again.
When her arm dropped to her side, Dean pulled the roll from limp fingers.
Breathing heavily, she looked up at the barely noticeable lump. “I’m feeling much better now.”
In the furnace room the silence filled all available space and pushed against the shield. After a moment, it found a voice.
SHE DESTROYED MY IMP!
YOUR IMP?
MY IMP. NOW, IT’S PERSONAL.
ELEVEN
CLAIRE WOKE FROM UNEASY DREAMS where images of Hell unfolded like overdone special effects, realized the date, and gave serious consideration to remaining in bed. Although the origins of Halloween were far older than the beliefs that had defined the pit in the furnace room, greeting card companies had seen to it that pointy-hatted hags and men in red long Johns with pitchforks had risen to dominance over history.
If Hell intended to try anything big, it would make the attempt on October 31.
WELL?
NO. TOO OBVIOUS. SHE’LL BE EXPECTING SOMETHING TO HAPPEN TONIGHT.
BUT IF NOTHING HAPPENS, WON’T THAT MAKE HER SUSPICIOUS?
Hell considered it a moment. YOU’RE RIGHT. It sounded surprised. I WILL BIDE MY TIME. YOU MAY DO AS YOU PLEASE.
BUT WITHOUT YOU…
TRY HARDER.
“Diana’s more likely to be a catalyst than a help, Mom.”
“I don’t like the thought of you there alone, tonight of all nights.”
Which was the truth as far as it went. On the other hand, Claire couldn’t really blame her mother for trying to get Diana out of the house on Halloween, not after the incident with the gob stoppers. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Thanks to the seepage, the shield’s never been as strong.”
Claire felt as much as heard her mother’s sigh. “Just be careful.”
“I will.”
“Doublecheck her shielding.”
“I will.”
“Your father says that you should try to convince Jacques to pass over. He says it isn’t healthy for a spirit to be hanging about on the physical plane and that the links between worlds are weak over the next twenty-four hours. He says…” She paused and turned her mouth from the receiver. “Do you want to talk to her, Norman?” This second sigh held a different timbre. “Your father, who seems to think I have nothing better to do than pass on his commentary, says Jacques’ presence could call other spirits and that you’d best ward against it unless you want to house a whole company of ghosts.”
“Tell Dad that Jacques has been haunting this place for over seventy years and that hasn’t happened yet. Tell him it’s probably because of the nature of the site—ghosts don’t want to be near it.”
“Do you want to talk to him?”
“No, you can tell him. I’d better go now, Mom.” Leaning out over the counter, she peered down
