Diana snorted. “You know, Claire, if you’re playing with one, you really should be able to name it.”
This was more than Claire could take from a sister ten years younger. “Good,” she snapped, “because I was thinking of calling it Floyd!” She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth and snapped her teeth closed just a little too late to catch them. From the way Diana’s eyes lit up, she knew she’d be paying for that comment for the rest of her natural life. And possibly longer. “Let’s just get back to work,” she suggested sharply, her tone a preemptive strike. “I’ll seal this. You clear the hatred out of your friend.”
“Sure.”
“Diana…”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
“That wasn’t…” When Diana lifted an eyebrow in exact mimicry of Claire’s best sardonic expression, Claire had to laugh, in spite of what would be inevitable later. “…what I meant, as you very well knew.”
“Yeah. But I’ll still be careful.” She sat back down on the edge of the bed and gently turned Lena’s face toward her. “Although the urge to do something about her decorating is extreme.”
“…but did you ever stop to think that perhaps they didn’t want quite so many chestnuts in the stuffing?” Claire asked as they picked their way up the icy front path to the truck.
Diana shrugged. “Beats what was in there before I fixed it. And that, by the way, is why you should never keep the litter box in the kitchen.”
Things were back to normal in the Giorno household. Tree and dinner had been restored, gifts repaired, the cat appeased, and family tensions resolved. The site it had involved considerably more cleanup than a Keeper would normally perform, but—as Diana pointed out just before the cat knocked the tree over again with no help at all from the dark possibilities—it was Christmas.
Dean jerked awake when Claire opened the passenger door. “Everything fixed, then?”
“Everything we could fix,” she acknowledged as she kicked the snow off her boots and slid over beside him. “Sorry it took so long.”
“That’s all right. Your thing kept the truck warm.”
“Her thing?” Diana snickered, climbing in. “Got a name for it?”
“Ignore her,” Claire advised, hoping Dean would assume her ears were red from the cold.
From the look in his eyes, he didn’t.
He glanced at Diana, then back at her, but only said, “Where to now?”
“Back to pick up our stuff and then south, we’ve got another Summons.”
“Another Summons?” Martha Hansen set the roasting pan on the stove top and lifted an indignant Austin down off the counter before she turned to face her daughters. “Do you think it concerns the angel?”
“Unlikely. Mr. Giorno took him to Father Harris over at St. Patrick’s, so that should be the last we see of him.”
“Him?”
Claire shot a look at Diana, saw she had a mouthful of dill pickle, and reluctantly continued. “Apparently, he somehow acquired gender during the manifestation.”
“Gender?”
Diana swallowed and snickered. “Means just what you think, Mom.”
“Oh, the poor boy! He must be so confused.”
“Confused? Surprised maybe,” Diana allowed, perching on the corner of the kitchen table and tossing a hot roll from hand to hand. “But it’s not like they’re that difficult to operate. It’s pretty much point and click.” She glanced around the suddenly silent kitchen. “You know, metaphorically speaking. Okay,” she sighed, “they don’t actually click, but you’ve got to admit they point.” Catching her parents exchanging a meaningful look over the mashed potatoes, she tossed the roll to Dean and spread her hands. “What?”
“We’ll talk later,” Martha said tightly. “Right now,” she turned to Claire and gathered her into her arms, “you’d better get going.”
Austin’s head snapped up from where he was investigating a bit of spilled grease. “Excuse me? I have been waiting five hours for that bird to come out of the oven; that Summons can just wait for twenty more minutes.”
“We don’t know how long it’s been waiting already,” Claire reminded him as she crossed the kitchen to hug her father. “Things got a little stacked up, remember?”
“So I should suffer?”
Martha bent and stroked his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll pack up a box of food while Claire and Dean are getting their things together.”
“You know that this is your second Summons this morning,” Diana complained, sliding to her feet as Claire stopped in front of her. “You’ve had two today and I’ve had none. How unfair is that?”
“You’re not on active duty yet.”
“But I’m on vacation. And I’m so available.”
“And if something opens up that’s serious enough to need you, you’ll be Summoned. Just like you were when I needed you in Kingston.” Reaching out, Claire touched her sister on the cheek. “Everything’ll change once school’s over in June. I know it’s hard when there’s so many more important things you feel you should be doing, but you’ll get through it. I did.”
“Don’t patronize me.” The answering shove rocked Claire on her feet. “And don’t forget your presents. And be careful. And let Dean help. Really help, not just hang around and pick up after you.”
“I will.”
“I doubt it.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good enough.” She stepped back. “Well; go.”
About to turn for the door, Dean found himself pulled into a motherly embrace. He hesitated for a moment, then he returned it and was curiously reluctant to let go when Martha pulled away. Although his mother had died when he was a baby, he’d always felt her love in his life. He’d had no memory of ever feeling her arms, though. Until now.
As though she could sense his reluctance, Martha reached up and touched his cheek. “I’m very glad that you and Claire have found each other, Dean McIssac. You’re a good man; strong, steady…”
“Mom,” Diana interrupted, sitting back on the edge of the table and picking up another roll, “Claire’s trying to answer a Summons. This isn’t the time to write Dean’s eulogy.”
He shot a questioning glance at the younger Keeper. “Eulogy?”
“You’ll be fine.” Martha
