“I see.”
“Really?”
“No, sir. But I know how I feel and I know how Claire feels, and that’s what matters.”
Claire looked more like her father than her mother, Dean realized as the older man’s mouth curled into a familiar smile and he clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Give me a minute to finish up here, and we’ll get back to the ladies.”
“Women,” corrected a bit of empty air over the sink.
John raised a hand and there was a muffled, “Ow!” from the other room. “And don’t ever expect any privacy,” he sighed.
“No, sir.”
Glancing around the kitchen, Dean noted the juvenile artwork framed and hung in the breakfast nook, the souvenir tea towel stamped with the ubiquitous My daughter closed a hole to Hell and all I got was this lousy tea towel, the simmering pot of giblets, the mess.…His eyes narrowed. The early morning stuffing of the turkey had left bread crumbs and less easily identifiable debris scattered along six feet of counter. It looked as though the turkey had put up a fight. And very nearly won. He picked up the dishcloth without thinking and by the time the tray of coffee was ready, the counter was spotless.
As John handed Dean the tray, he nodded approvingly. “If you ever stop loving Claire, feel free to keep coming around.”
“With a little scouring powder, I could get those stains out of the sink.”
“Later, son.”
Back in the living room, Dean had barely handed the tray in turn to Martha when Claire stuffed a large, lumpy, striped sock into his hands. It took him a moment to realize what it was. “There’s a stocking for me?”
“Hey, the big guy doesn’t make mistakes.” Diana smashed a chocolate orange apart against the side of the fireplace. “Five people in the house, five filled stockings.”
“The big guy?”
“Santa. St. Nick. Father Christmas.”
“Is real…” And then he remembered the sound of Hell arguing with itself. “…ly efficient.”
Claire patted his arm as he sat. “Nice recovery.”
“Thank you.”
A couple of hours later, after the stockings were emptied and presents had been unwrapped and exclaimed over and rather too much chocolate had been eaten for the time of day, Claire took a long swallow of lukewarm coffee and sank back against Dean’s arm. “This has been the best Christmas ever. It’s been…” She cocked her head and frowned. “…quiet.”
Diana looked up, started to protest, paused, and nodded. “Too quiet,” she agreed.
Austin dove under the couch.
“Do you feel any kind of a Summons at all?”
“No. You?”
“No. Not since last night. I felt the prod and…Of the Summons, you deviant!”
Diana raised both hands. “Hey. Didn’t say anything.”
“I saw your face.”
“We’ll deal with Diana’s face later, Claire,” their mother sighed. “Right now, what happened last night?”
Claire chewed her lower lip, trying to remember. “It woke me and I…oh, no. I shunted it into the privacy barrier. It must still be there.”
Martha Hansen shook her head. “Claire, I realize you were a little preoccupied last night, but that was very irresponsible of you. Release it at once.” As Claire reached into the possibilities, she added a worried, “Let’s just hope it wasn’t urgen…”
Every light on the Christmas tree exploded, and as brightly colored shrapnel ricocheted off hastily erected shields, the angel on the top of the tree broke into a loud chorus of “Day Dream Believer.”
“That,” Austin observed from under the couch, “doesn’t sound good.”
FIVE
“CLAIRE!”
It was a voice that required a response regardless of circumstances. A voice that could be heard across a crowded shopping mall, that could blow past headphones, and could cut right through indifference. Had Hannibal used it on his elephants, he’d have not only made it across the Alps and conquered Rome but he’d have done it with clean dishes and folded laundry.
Claire recognized it in spite of the Summons careening around inside her skull like roller derby on fast forward. “Mom?”
“Uncross your eyes, dear. You don’t want your face to freeze like that.”
After a long moment, Claire figured out just where her eyes were attached to her face, and a moment after that she got them working again as a set. Gradually, the multiple images of her mother merged and nodded approvingly.
Worry lines pleating his forehead, Dean leaned into her line of sight. “Claire, are you okay?”
“I…I can’t feel my fingers.”
“Sorry.” He loosened his grip. “What happened?”
Shaking the circulation back into her hand, she sat up. “It was a Summons. Is a Summons.”
“Do Summonses usually…?” His gesture took in the fine patina of broken glass that covered the carpet three feet out from the Christmas tree creating a perfect reproduction of “The Last Supper” with the Teletubbies replacing four of the Apostles.
“No.”
“Thought not.”
Tinky Winky appeared to be arguing with St. James.
Gripping Claire’s chin between the thumb and forefinger of one hand, Martha turned her daughter’s face up into the light. “Your pupils are dilated, and your pulse is racing.”
“Mom, I’m fine. The Summons has blown off its stored energy and is settling down to same old same old. Give me a minute or two and I’ll have totally recovered.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Straightening, she folded her arms and frowned. “What were you thinking? How could you have trapped a Summons in a privacy barrier!”
“How could she?” John repeated thoughtfully before his elder daughter could muster a defense. “That’s a good question. It shouldn’t have been possible, not even for Claire.”
Martha turned to face her husband, brows lifting as she reconsidered all the implications. “Do you think the resolution of the situation with Dean has actually added to her power?”
“It’s possible. I’d like to run some tests.”
“But it could have just been the timing. I doubt that she deliberately tapped into the sexual energies.”
“True, and an accidental surge would be harder to reproduce under measurable conditions, but…”
“Excuse me?”
Both Cousins turned.
Claire was on her feet, arms folded. “No one is running any tests.”
“But…”
“No, Dad; I have a Summons to answer. And I only knocked it aside because it felt like Diana.”
All heads turned.
Diana pulled
