* * *
Head up, Austin remained motionless on Claire’s pillow sifting the night for what had awakened him.
Dean? No. One arm stretched up over his head, bare chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep, Dean hadn’t moved for hours.
Something outside? No. He could hear the occasional car going by on King Street, two raccoons up a tree arguing about whose turn it was to dump the garbage but nothing unusual. Nothing to lift the fur along his back.
He glanced toward the wardrobe, Claire’s preferred entrance to the Otherside. The door was closed. Even if there was trouble, nothing could seep through.
But something had wakened him. Something had lifted the fur along his back. Therefore, something was wrong.
He stood, stretched, walked over Dean’s stomach to the edge of the bed, and jumped cautiously to the floor. Over the last year or so, the floor had developed a nasty habit of being farther away than it should be.
The bedroom door was open. Whiskers testing the air with every step, Austin crossed the living room, the light spilling in around the edges of the blind just barely sufficient. Except for Dean’s unfortunate taste in artwork—who really believed dogs had enough imagination to play poker—and Claire’s equally unfortunate inability to say no to him, everything seemed fine.
The door between the living room and the office was closed, but it had been years since Austin had allowed that to stop him.
With no blind on the front window, the office was lighter than the living room. And empty.
The elevator?
No.
The basement?
Not this time.
The kitchen?
He was too unsettled to be hungry.
Only one place left. Only one room occupied.
Usually, Austin preferred to stay away from the guests but tonight, he’d make an exception. Slowly and silently he slipped up the stairs, along the hall. Another closed door.
There were two bodies in the bed, the perpetually nervous scent of Dr. Rebik as distinctive as the dust and desiccation scent of his companion. His tail lashing from side to side, he crept closer, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong but willing to believe it could be prejudice on his part. He’d half expected Meryat to have been up and walking, arms outstretched, a bit of musty linen trailing off one heel. The whole concept of the undead annoyed him. Nine lives and it’s over, that was his motto.
A tray on the small table by the bed held two empty mugs and a plate covered in muffin crumbs. Under the table, crumpled up against the table leg, was a dead mouse.
Okay, not so much wrong as embarrassing.
The mice had come to his aid after his…meeting with the Keeper who’d been interred in room seven and when he and Claire had returned to the inn just after Christmas, they’d come to an understanding. He would see to it that they were left in peace and, in return, they would be circumspect in their foraging, stop shitting behind the microwave, and never again wear orange waistcoats with blue breeches. Mice had appalling color sense and The Complete Tales of Beatrix Potter that had been left in the attic had only black-and-white illustrations.
This particular mouse looked to have died of old age.
Austin looked from the body up to the top of the table and shook his head. A mouse that age had no business even attempting such a climb. Stupid little bugger’s heart probably gave out on him, he thought as he sank his teeth through the tail of the brocade frock coat.
He carried the tiny corpse over to the dresser and set it gently on the floor. A strong smack with his right paw and it slid out of sight. When he heard it whack lightly against the baseboard, he nodded in satisfaction and left the room. The mice had an exit under there; now they could retrieve the body without the possibility of a guest being subjected to the sight of a tiny funeral cortege.
Nothing looked more asinine than a mouse in a black top hat and crepe.
He was halfway down the stairs when, between one heartbeat and the next, he felt something pass.
Something old.
And hungry.
And gone so fast he might have imagined it.
Except that he was a cat and cats knew…
Dean!
Heart pounding, he raced back to the bedroom and bounded onto the bed.
“Ow! That was my arm!”
“Yeah, whatever.” He freed his claws from the surface layer of skin and walked up Dean’s chest until he could stare into his face. Blue eyes blinked myopically back at him.
“What?”
“You’re okay?”
“I’m bleeding and I’m after being awake when I’d rather not be, but yeah.” His voice softened, and one hand stroked gently along Austin’s spine. “What’s wrong, then?”
“Nothing. Why should anything be wrong?”
“I just thought…”
“Well, don’t.” A purposeful climb over an inconvenient shoulder and onto Claire’s pillow. Snuggling down, he glared at Dean, now gazing at him with concern. “I thought you were sleeping?”
“I was.”
“So sleep.”
“All right. But we’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“Not so smart to warn me,” Austin muttered. Not one of his best comebacks but he was shaken. He watched Dean until he went back to sleep. Watched him sleep. Could see nothing wrong.
He’d been so sure on the stairs.
So sure.
He thought about the mouse lying dead under the table and sighed.
Maybe he was just getting old.
NINE
APALE AND SLIGHTLY MURKY GREEN, the water had never been treated by chemicals or filtered through anything but a fish bladder. As Claire’s head broke the surface and she sucked in a welcome lungful of air, a light caress trailed down the inside of one leg.
Oh it’s fresh water. Great.
Pushing her dripping hair out of her face with a quick swipe of one hand, she began treading water and trying to figure out exactly where she was. A combination of sunshine and a gentle swell threw reflected light up into her eyes, making her squint.
Outside.
Far enough beyond the segue for there to be actual weather—not the neither/nor sort of sky that had been draped
