The Second Summoning, Page 2

  His arm slipped around her waist. “No problem, Boss, always willing to help.”

  Austin’s right, Claire thought as they turned their attention back to the couple staring into each other’s eyes in the center of the room. It’s been implied for a week, what are we waiting for?

  There’d been contact—touching, kissing, more touching, gentle explorations all crammed into those rare moments when they were actually alone and not likely to hear a speculative comment just as things got interesting—but somehow they hadn’t moved on to that next step.

  Maybe I should lock Austin in the bathroom.

  The next level of intimacy.

  Not that he’d stay there.

  The horizontal mambo…

  Stop it.

  “Howard.”

  “Cheryl?” Pulling off his glove with his teeth, he held out his hand and stroked the air by her cheek. “The, uh, Keeper, says you got something to say to me?”

  “That’s right.” She leaned into his touch. His baby finger sank into her eye socket. She didn’t even notice, but Howard shuddered and snatched his hand away. “It’s about me and Tony.”

  “Tony? My best friend who you betrayed me with?”

  “Yeah. Tony. I got something I need to say.”

  Howard spread his hands, the picture of forgiving magnanimity. “What is it, babe?”

  Cheryl smiled. “I just wanted to say—had to say—before I left this world forever…” All four of her listeners leaned into the pause. “…that Tony was a better lover than you ever were. Bigger, better, and he knew how to use it! We did it twice, twice, during his lunch hour, and he bought me a hoagie! He made me forget every miserable time you ever TOUCHED ME!”

  In the silence that followed the sound of Howard slamming up against the inside of the door, the queen of hearts fell from the ceiling and Austin murmured, “I gotta admit, that wasn’t totally unexpected.”

  Calm and triumphant, Cheryl turned toward the bed. “All right, Keeper. I’m ready.”

  “Dean…”

  “I’ll see that he’s okay.”

  It only took a moment for Claire to send Cheryl on. Thinned by a distinct sense of closure, the possibilities practically opened themselves.

  “Remember what I said, hon.” Scarlet lips made a suggestive kissing motion. “You oughta go for it.”

  Keepers were always careful not to respond emotionally to provocation from metaphysical accidents. Unfortunately, Claire remembered that after she shoved Cheryl through to the Otherside just a little harder than necessary. A lot harder than necessary.

  Howard seemed essentially unaffected by both his dead wife’s parting words and the impact with the door. As Claire resealed the barrier and turned, blinking away afterimages of the beyond and of a translucent figure bouncing twice, Dean was helping him onto the end of the nearer bed.

  “Is she gone?” he asked, searching through thinning hair for a bump.

  “Yes.”

  “Is she in Hell?”

  “Not my department.” Grasping the soft lines of his chin lightly with one hand, Claire tilted his head up. “It’s time you went home, Howard.”

  Pale blue eyes widened.

  “You were thinking about your late wife and you couldn’t sleep, so you went out for a drive.”

  “For a drive…?”

  “You found yourself outside the motel room where she died, and you got out of the car.”

  “Out of the car…?”

  “You stared at the door to the room for a long moment.”

  “Long moment…?”

  “Then you got back into the car and you went home.”

  “Went home…?”

  “You don’t know why, but you feel better about her death and the way things were left between you. You’re glad it’s over.”

  “Glad to be rid of her.”

  “Close enough.” It was the first definitive statement he’d made. She carefully used the new, more probable version of events to wipe out his actual memories. Then, still holding his chin, she walked him out to his car where she released him.

  “Is he gone?” Dean asked as Claire came back into the room and sagged against the door.

  “Oh, yeah. I demanded to know what he was doing staring at my room and he, after telling me his wife had died there, asked me if I wanted to comfort him.”

  “He was sad?”

  “Not that kind of comfort, Dean.”

  “What…oh.”

  “Lovely couple, weren’t they?” Rubbing her temples, she walked to the end of the bed and scuffed out the X with the edge of her shoe. “Makes you want to swear off relationships for the rest of your life.”

  It took her a moment to figure out why the answering silence resonated like the inside of a crowded elevator after an unexpected emission. Then she realized what she’d said.

  And who to.

  “Open mouth, insert other foot,” Austin advised.

  “But they were nasty.”

  “No one’s arguing. Although I can’t understand why you’re afraid that you and Dean will someday morph into them.”

  Claire had a sudden vision of herself in red stretch pants and a turquoise sweater and shuddered. “I’m not.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.”

  Austin snorted. “My mistake.”

  “You’re not getting a…a feeling about it, are you?” No one had ever determined if cats were actually clairvoyant or if they just enjoyed being furry little shit disturbers. Claire usually leaned toward the latter, but tonight…

  “It won’t happen, Claire.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I’m a cat.”

  Claire used a finger to smooth down the soft fringe of hair behind Austin’s ear. “Do you think I should wake him up and apologize?”

  “You already apologized. He already accepted.”

  “Then why is he over there by himself and I’m over here with you?”

  The cat sighed and shifted position on the pillow. “You know, maybe you should have hit the unpleasantly departed up for some relationship advice. You couldn’t possibly do any worse.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Well, duh. I can’t decide if you’re more afraid that being his first time he’ll expect all sorts of commitment that you’re not ready for, or if you’re afraid that being all of seven years older and practically decrepit you can’t live up to his expectations.”

  “As if. I just…”

  The silence stretched, broken only by the steady rhythm of Dean’s breathing.

  “You just?”

  “Never mind. Let’s just go to sleep.”

  “And the cat scores another point.”

  “Austin, what part of go to sleep didn’t you understand?”

  Hundreds of miles away, Diana Hansen woke up with a feeling in her gut that meant one of two things. Either she now had a hormonal defense should she waste her calculus teacher, or that dream hadn’t actually been a dream.

  The question now became: should she interfere?

  There were rules about Keepers using knowledge of the future to influence that future. Specifically, there were rules against Keepers using knowledge of the future to influence that future. Which was a load as far as Diana was concerned. What was the point of having the ability and not using it? Seeing a disaster and not preventing it?

  No point.

  And Diana refused to live a pointless life.

  But this particular future disaster involved her older sister, and that muddied the waters. Although she no longer adored Claire with the uncritical love of a child for a sibling fully ten years older and had become quite capable of seeing every uptight, rule-following, more-Keeper-than-thou flaw, she still loved her and didn’t want her to get hurt. On the other hand, she still owed her for telling their mother exactly what had happened and to whom in the basement of the Elysian Fields Guest House. Once what and who were known, it was only a small step
to why.

  Oh, yeah. She owed Claire big time for that.

  One more understanding, hip to the millennium, talk from the ’rents and she was going to misuse her abilities in ways previous Keepers had never dreamed. She had a notebook full of possibilities. Just in case.

  But she really didn’t want Claire to be hurt.

  Much.

  Scratching the back of one bare leg with the toenails on the opposite foot, Diana sighed, decided to worry about it in the morning, and went back to sleep.

  When Claire woke up in the morning, Dean was gone.

  “Relax. He went out to get breakfast.”

  She threw back the covers with enough force to practically strip the bed, dropped her legs over the side, and shoved her feet into waiting slippers. “I wasn’t worried.”

  “Of course not,” Austin snickered from the dresser. “That’s why you were wearing your kicked puppy face.”

  “I don’t have a kicked puppy face!”

  “If you say so.”

  “And stop patronizing me!”

  “Where would be the fun in that?” he asked the bathroom door as it closed.

  She felt better after her shower. As soon as Dean came back, they’d talk about what had happened or not happened, and move forward. She’d explain that this whole having someone without fur and an attitude as a part of her life, was still new. He’d understand because he always understood. She’d reassure him she wanted their relationship to continue. He’d be pleased.

  Then maybe they’d lock the cat in the bathroom. Checkout time wasn’t until noon, after all.

  She was packing her white silk pajamas—in a reluctant acknowledgment of the information age, Keepers were instructed to wear something that could appear on the six o’clock news in front of those unavoidable live camera shots of rubble—when the phone rang.

  “Hello?” Expecting it to be Dean, she was more than a little surprised to hear her younger sister’s voice.

  “Whatever it is you’re about to do, don’t do it.”

  Claire sighed. “Good morning, Diana. Why aren’t you in school? Stop calling me at work. And stop thinking you know how to run my life better than I do.”

  “I’m at school.” A sudden rise in background noise suggested the phone had been held out for aural emphasis. “You’re probably just packing. And I don’t think I know how to run your life better than you do, I’m sure of it.” She moved the phone not quite far enough from her mouth and yelled, “Gimme a minute!” before continuing. “Look, I had a major precognitive thing going on last night and you’re about to make a huge mistake.”

  Claire sighed again. In the best metaphysical tradition, Diana, as the younger sibling, was the more powerful Keeper—unfortunately, Diana was well aware of that. Fortunately, she hadn’t discovered that, as all the other Keepers had been only children, she was the only younger sibling any Keeper had. It gave her the wiggins. The very last thing Diana needed to know was that she, at an obnoxious seventeen, was the most powerful Keeper on Earth. “What kind of a huge mistake?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Can you give me some idea of scale?”

  “Nope. Only that it’s huge.”

  “That’s not very helpful.”

  “I do what I can. Gotta blow, calculus beckons.”

  “Diana…”

  “Kisses for kitty. And you might want to help Dean with those packages.”

  Deleting a few expletives, Claire hung up and hurried across the room as Dean returned with breakfast, his entrance turning into an extended production bordering on farce as he attempted to deal with two bags of takeout, the room key, and a cold wind from across the parking lot that kept dragging the door from his grip.

  “It’d be easier if you’d come farther into the room,” Claire pointed out, taking the bags.

  Flashing her a grateful smile, he gained control of the door. “I’m trying not to track slush on the carpet.”

  Claire glanced down. All things considered, she doubted that a little slush would hurt, but then she wasn’t the person who’d borrowed cleaning supplies from the housekeeping staff at every cheap motel they’d stayed in. The strange thing was, given how paranoid many of them were about releasing an extra sliver of soap, he almost always succeeded.

  By the time she returned her attention to Dean, he had his coat off and was bending over his boot laces. And that was always worth watching. Perhaps his success with various housekeeping staffs wasn’t so strange after all.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, wondering if he’d recently found a way to iron his jeans or if they’d been ironed so often the creases had become a structural component of the denim. “You’re moving a bit tentatively.”

  “My glasses fogged,” he explained straightening. With one hand he pushed dark hair back from blue eyes and with the other he removed his glasses for cleaning.

  Austin muttered something under his breath that sounded very much like, “Superman!”

  Claire ignored him and began unpacking the food, fully conscious of Dean walking past her into the bathroom. He smelled like fresh air and fabric softener. She’d never considered fabric softener erotic before.

  “Sausages?” Whiskers twitched. “I wanted bacon.”

  “You’re having geriatric cat food.”

  “We’re out.”

  “Nice try. There’s four cans left.”

  He looked disgusted. “I’m not eating that. Those cans came out of the garbage.”

  “Interesting you should know that since you were in the bathroom when I found them.”

  Drawing himself up to his full height, he shot her an indignant green-gold glare with his one remaining eye. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  Claire looked at him for a moment, then turned to Dean as he returned to the main room. “Dean, did you put Austin’s cat food in the garbage?”

  He had the grace to look sheepish as he took both plates of food from her and put them on the table. “Not this time.”

  “Then, yes, I’m accusing you of something.” She popped the top of one of the cans, scooped out some brown puree onto a saucer with a plastic spoon and pushed it along the dresser toward the cat. “You’re seventeen and a half years old; you know what the vet said.”

  “Turn your head and cough?”

  “Austin…”

  “All right. All right. I’ll eat it.” He sniffed the saucer and sighed. “I hope you realize that I plan on living long enough to see them feeding you stewed prunes at the nursing home.”

  Claire bent down and kissed the top of his head. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  They ate in silence for a few moments. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence. Finally, Claire stopped eating and watched Dean clean his plate with the efficiency of a young man who hadn’t eaten for over six hours. She usually liked watching him eat.

  He paused, the last bite of toast halfway to his mouth. “Something wrong?”

  Aren’t we supposed to be talking about last night? “Diana called.”

  “Here?” The last of his toast disappeared.

  “Well, duh.” Why aren’t we talking about last night?

  “Is she in trouble?”

  “No, she just passed on a warning.” I have an explanation; don’t you want to hear it?

  “About what?”

  “She didn’t know.” Why are we talking about my sister?

  “Helpful.” Plate cleaned, Dean picked up his coffee and leaned back in his chair, carefully peeling back the plastic lid.

  Things seemed to be going nowhere. Claire picked up her own cup and took a long swallow. She could read nothing from his expression, couldn’t tell if he was just being polite—and Dean was always polite—or if he honestly wasn’t bothered—and Dean was so absolutely certain of his place in the world that not a whole lot bothered him. This was one of the things Claire liked best about him although it did make him a little passive, secure in the knowledge that if he just waited patiently the w
orld would fix itself. As one of the people who fixed the world, Claire found this extremely irritating. And does everyone hold mutually opposing views about the people they’re in… Shying away from the “L” word, she settled for …a hotel room with, or is it just me?

  She suspected she needed to watch more Oprah.

  Although women who save the world and the men who confuse them sounded more like a visit to Jerry Springer—provided she gained a hundred and fifty pounds and lost half of her vocabulary.

  Look, if he’s not questioning, why should you? With that settled, she took another drink.

  “So, where do we go from here?”

  “Why do we have to go anywhere?” she demanded when the choking and coughing had subsided and all of the remaining napkins had been used to deal with the mess. “What’s wrong with the way things are?”

  “I just wondered where you were being Summoned to,” Dean explained, somewhat taken aback by the sight of Claire snorting coffee out her nose. “But if you don’t want to talk about it…”

  “About what?” She dabbed at the damp spots on her sleeve, trying and failing miserably to sound anything but near panic. Definitely more Oprah.

  “About the Summoning.”

  “Right.” Of course, the Summoning. Deep calming breath. “North.”

  “Back across the border, then?”

  “Probably.”

  “Is it another metaphysical remnant causing localized fluxes in the barrier between actuality and possibility.”

  That made her smile. “Another ghost kicking holes in the fabric of the universe? I don’t know.” When he smiled back, she covered an embarrassing reaction with a brusque, “You’re getting good at this.”

  “Two this week,” he reminded her.

  Claire was fairly certain that her current attraction to the restless dead was merely leftover sensitivity from spending so much time with Jacques, the French-Canadian sailor who’d been haunting the Elysian Fields Guest House. But, because that previous attraction had gone farther than…well, than things were going now, she wasn’t going to mention it to Dean. With any luck the residual effects would wear off soon.