Summon the Keeper

by Tanya Huff

  Claire expected sure to mean, Would it matter to you if I wasn’t? It didn’t and she couldn’t seem to find an actual translation. “I’m not saying that I’ll rearrange my life to spare your feelings, but I don’t want you to be…” She’d intended to say hurt but the assumption that her actions would cause him pain just sounded too egotistical. Even for a Keeper. “…upset.”

  “Not a problem.”

  It was, actually, but every Keeper learned early in her career that sometimes a lie had to serve. People were entitled to emotional privacy. “Good night, Dean.”

  “Good night, Boss.”

  She watched him go down the hall, listened to him go down the stairs, until a furry weight against her shins distracted her. “What?”

  “Sure meant I’m not so stupid that I can’t see you’ve made your choice, so if I get all bent out of shape about it I’ll look like some kind of a wuss moaning on and on about what I can’t have, so I’m just walking away and pretending it doesn’t matter.”

  Claire blinked. “How do you know that?”

  “It’s a guy thing.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Stepping over Austin and purposefully closing the door in his face—not that a closed door ever stopped him— Claire went back into the sitting room to find Jacques sprawled in the armchair poking himself on the bridge of the nose with an old wooden ruler. “Why are you doing that?”

  “I have never done it before.” He tossed the ruler aside and stood. “You have said what you have to say to our young friend?” When she nodded, he reached for her hands. “Bien. Now I will say something to you.”

  “Jacques…”

  “Non. My turn.” His grip tightened around her fingers, cool and still weirdly insubstantial. “I desire you. You know how I wish to use this flesh you have given me, but I will not make pressure on you.”

  “Put pressure on you.”

  “That also. If you decide we will not be together tonight, I have a bed still of my own in the attic. But know that you are to me more than a way to break a very long time without a woman.”

  “Jacques.”

  He winced. “Too much? I should not have said the last about the woman, I know. It is funny, I am, how do you say…nervous.”

  “That’s how we say it.” This was the moment she had to decide. On the one hand, Jacques was sexy and funny and there’d been a frisson between them from the moment she’d forced him to materialize. On the other hand, he was dead. That would definitely be a problem for most people. “I don’t want to be like her.”

  “You are not anything like her.” Releasing her hands, he cupped her face.

  “I don’t want to just use you.”

  “Use me, cherie. I can stand in.”

  “Stand it.”

  “We are both needing each other, Claire. Stop worrying about regrets you might have tomorrow. This is now.”

  He was going to kiss her; it hadn’t been so long that she couldn’t recognize the preliminaries. She just didn’t know how she was going to respond. Fifty-three seconds later, she found out.

  “Oh, my…”

  PERFECT. SHE’S DISTRACTED.

  WE SHOULD BE UP THERE, the rest of Hell protested. WE’RE MISSING A TERRIFIC OPPORTUNITY TO SCREW WITH HER HEAD.

  I’VE GOT BETTER OPPORTUNITIES DOWN HERE.

  The power seepage had been gathered in one place, prevented from escaping into the shield.

  ARE YOU GOING TO CREATE ANOTHER IMP?

  YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR PROBLEM IS? YOU DON’T THINK BIG ENOUGH. THAT’S WHY YOU’RE GOING TO SPEND AN INFINITE AMOUNT OF TIME DOWN IN THAT PIT.

  YOU CAN’T GET THE SEEPAGE THROUGH THE SHIELD.

  OH, YES, I CAN.

  NO, YOU CANT.

  YES, I CAN.

  N…

  ARE YOU ARGUING WITH ME? The silence seemed to indicate that, no, it wasn’t. GOOD. I CAN GET THE SEEPAGE THROUGH THE SHIELD USING THE CONDUIT THE KEEPERS HAVE PROVIDED.

  The hoarded seepage began moving.

  Low wattage lights went on in the rest of Hell as realization dawned. BUT THAT POWER GOES RIGHT UP TO HER!

  YES.

  SHE TRIED TO USE US.

  AND FAILED.

  WE’D RATHER NOT RISK THAT AGAIN.

  NO ONE ASKED YOU. SHE WILL TAKE CARE OF THIS YOUNG KEEPER FOR ME.

  Up in room six, under dust-covered lids, Aunt Sara’s eyes began to move in her first dream in over fifty years.

  “Jacques, wait I felt something…”

  “This?”

  “No…. Oh. Yes.”

  “Hey, Diana.” Phone cradled against her chin, Claire did up her cuff buttons and listened to the sounds of Dean moving about in the kitchen making breakfast “Is Mom home?”

  “Hey, yourself,” her sister responded suspiciously. “What are you doing up so early in the mor…Oh my God! You did it, you slept with the dead guy!”

  Recognizing that the move was completely illogical but needing to do it anyway, Claire held the receiver out in front of her and stared at it.

  “Don’t bother denying it.” Diana’s voice came tinnily out through the tiny speaker. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  “Hear what in my voice?” Claire demanded, the receiver back to her mouth.

  “You know, that post-necrophilia guilt. How was he? I’d make a crack about him being a stiff, but you’d blow.”

  “Diana!”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I understand your choice. I mean, even ignoring the whole forbidden fruit thing, Keepers have responsibilities—busy, busy, busy—and after a night in the sack, a dead guy’s not going to expect you to settle down and play house. So did you give him back his actual flesh, or did you make some minor additions?”

  Breathing heavily through her nose, Claire attempted to keep her voice level. “Is Mom home?”

  “No. Lucky for you. What kind of an example are you setting here for your younger sister?”

  “Tell her I called.”

  “Should I…”

  “No. Just tell her I called.”

  “…of course I landed on my feet, but the other guy…” Austin let his voice trail off as Claire came into the kitchen. Wrapping his tail around his toes, he sat and stared unblinkingly up at her.

  Claire glanced over at Dean, who shrugged, then back at the cat. “What?” she sighed.

  “Nothing. I just figured the first meeting between you and Dean the morning after would be awkward, and I wanted to start things off right I think you two can take it from here.” Looking smug, he leaped down to the floor and padded away.

  The silence stretched.

  Having made his decision to cut a net he had no hope of hauling, to save the boat so he could fish another day, to suddenly get caught up in regional metaphors he’d never previously considered using, Dean should have slept the sleep of the just, the sleep of the man who has recognized that he’d lost the battle but by no means lost the war. As it happened, he slept hardly at all, Claire’s bedroom being right over his. His imagination, deciding to make up for twenty years of benign neglect had kicked into overdrive the moment his head hit the pillow. He’d finally gotten a few hours’ sleep on the couch in the next room.

  “So,” he said at last “you’re up early. Where’s Jacques?”

  Before Claire could answer, he blushed and held up both hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out the way it sounded.”

  “What way?”

  “Like I had a right to know.” He took a deep breath, adjusted his glasses, and said, “Did you want some coffee, then?”

  “Sure.” When Dean shot her a surprised glance before reaching for a mug, she hoped she’d got the nuance right. She’d intended sure to mean, nothing’s changed between you and me. Dean could continue feeling how he felt about her—a little unrequited whatever it was he felt wouldn’t hurt him—and she’d continue thinking of him as an incredibly nice, gorgeous kid who just happened to do windows. She’d come to that conclusion while dressing, wondering why she was ma
king such a big deal out of Dean’s reaction. “Jacques went back to the attic. He said he needed some time to think.”

  “Ah.”

  The silence fell again.

  “Professor Jackson’s not down yet.”

  Dean gratefully looked at his watch. “No, but then it’s just turned eight.”

  “Ah.”

  Before the silence extended far enough to elicit a conversation about the warmer than seasonal weather, the front door opened. And closed.

  Dean frowned. “Stay where you’re at,” he muttered, untying his apron, “I’ll get it.”

  Sighing, Claire started walking toward the lobby. “What have I told you about this kind of thing?”

  “Specifically?”

  “Generally.”

  “You’re a Keeper and you can take care of yourself?”

  “Bingo.”

  Bent nearly double, stroking Austin as he wound around black leggings and chunky ankle boots, the young woman in the lobby seemed to be neither a threat nor a guest. When she straightened, one hand rising to try and brush disheveled blonde curls down over the purple-and-green swelling on her forehead, Claire got the impression of a person just barely hanging on to the end of her rope.

  A quick glance at Dean showed him ready to pound whoever, or whatever, had brought such a fragile beauty to such a state.

  The delicate jaw moved slowly up and down on a piece of gum. The weary motion seemed so involuntary it came as a bit of a shock when she stopped chewing to speak. “I’ve been walking all night” she offered tentatively, “and I need, um…”

  “A room?” Claire asked.

  She glanced back over her shoulder before answering. “I haven’t any money.”

  “That’s all right” Keepers went where they were needed; sometimes, need came to them. Without turning, Claire lightly touched Dean’s arm. “Go make up room three.”

  “Sure, Boss.”

  No one spoke again until he’d disappeared up the stairs.

  “This is a beautiful cat.” A trembling hand ran down the black fur from head to tail. “Is he yours.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I had a cat once.” She closed shadowed eyes. When she opened them again, she stared around the lobby as if wondering where she was.

  Austin nudged her.

  “I saw your sign. I thought, if I could lie down for a few hours, I could figure out what to do. But I can’t pay you….”

  “The room’s there and it’s empty,” Claire told her, stepping forward. “You might as well use it.”

  Clearly too tired to think straight, she shook her head. “That’s not how it works.”

  “That’s how it works here.”

  “Oh.” She looked up the stairs and thin shoulders sagged. “I don’t think I can.”

  “I’ll help.” By the third step, Claire had wrapped the girl’s weight in power. Reaching the first floor hall, hoping the professor wouldn’t chose this moment to head downstairs for breakfast, she led the way to room three, pausing outside the door to allow Dean to leave.

  When he opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head and pushed past him. He couldn’t help until they knew what was going on.

  Settling the girl on the edge of the bed, Claire stepped back and watched Austin make himself comfortable beside her. “Do you mind if he stays?”

  “Oh, no.” Her hand reached out to stroke him again. “You and that big man, are you happy?”

  Claire blinked, completely taken aback. “There’s nothing between me and Dean.”

  The ugly bruise on the girl’s forehead darkened, surrounded by an embarrassed flush. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that you looked…”

  “Postcoital,” Austin murmured when she paused.

  “Ignore that, please,” Claire suggested, spitting the magic word through clenched teeth, “I’ll leave you now, get some sleep. We’ll talk later.”

  HELLO….

  NOT NOW. I DON’T WANT THE PISSANT LITTLE ENERGY WE CAN PUSH OUT OF HERE WASTED ON TRIFLES.

  YOU DON’T WANT? WHAT ABOUT WHAT WE WANT?

  Time passing suddenly became the loudest sound in the furnace room. After a moment, the rest of Hell answered their own question.

  NEVERMIND.

  By the time Claire got back to the kitchen, Professor Jackson had descended for breakfast. He seemed extraordinarily pleased with himself as he ate his bacon and eggs. He hummed slightly as he spread jam on his toast, and he stirred his coffee with the air of a man who’d lived up to his own extraordinary expectations. Fortunately, he’d lifted himself to such exalted heights, he was far beyond making casual conversation with mere hotel staff.

  Wiping his mouth, he rose from the table and graciously informed both Dean and Claire that he’d be leaving as soon as he packed.

  “Well?” Dean demanded the moment the professor was out of earshot. “Who is she? What happened? Does she want us to call the police?”

  “I have no idea, but Austin stayed with her so we’ll soon find out.”

  “Austin?”

  “Why not. She’s tired and vulnerable….”

  Dean nodded, understanding. “He’ll be a nonjudgmental comfort to her.”

  “No, he’ll take advantage of it. He’s a cat not Mother Theresa.” Claire poured herself a bowl of cereal and sat down. “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  On cue, Austin jumped up onto the counter. “All right; bacon.” Glancing over at Claire, he added, “Which I, of course, can’t eat even though I’ve been gathering vital information about the young woman in room three.”

  Claire sighed. “One small piece.”

  “Two.”

  “One and the dregs of milk from my cereal.”

  “Not if it’s bran; last time I was in the litter box all morning.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Deal.”

  They waited more-or-less patiently while he ate and not at all patiently while he washed his whiskers.

  “First of all,” he said, at last, “it’s not what you think. Her name is Faith Dunlop….”

  “She told a cat her name?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous; I hooked her ID out of her pocket when she fell asleep.” He snorted. “Who tells a cat their name?”

  “Just get on with it.”

  “Who hit her?” Dean demanded.

  “No one. She walked into a door. Our little Faith was leaving in a hurry because she’d just helped her boyfriend rip off a convenience store out on North Montreal Street. When they split up to throw off pursuit, she had the bag of loot. Unfortunately, she left it on a bus and now she’s afraid to go home because this is the second time something like this has happened and the boyfriend is going to be very unhappy.”

  Claire stared at Austin in astonishment. “This is the second time she’s left the loot on a bus?”

  “If I understood her correctly—and between the sobbing and the gum she wasn’t very coherent—the last time she left it in the women’s washroom at a fast food restaurant but essentially the same scenario, yes.”

  “She’s afraid of her boyfriend?” Dean growled. Behind his glasses, his eyes narrowed to a line of blazing blue. “Oh, I get it; first off, he forces her into a life of crime and then, when she can’t perform to his satisfaction, he beats her.”

  “She walked into a door,” Austin protested.

  “Sure. This time. But what’ll happen when she gets home? She’s terrified of him, or she wouldn’t have been out all night, forced to throw herself on the kindness of strangers.”

  Claire sighed. She’d just discovered two things about Dean. The first, which was hardly unexpected considering the rest of his personality, involved taking the side of the weak against the strong. The second, that at some point in his scholastic career he’d been forced to read A Streetcar Named Desire. “You don’t know any of that for certain.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I know what I see in front of my face.”

  “I don’t know how you
can see anything with your eyes slitted closed like that.”

  “It’s obvious what happened!” His jaw thrust slightly forward.

  “It’s never that obvious.” Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she asked Austin if he’d got a look at Faith’s home address when he snagged her ID. When he admitted that he had, she headed for the phone.

  Hurriedly picking up the empty cereal bowl and putting it in the sink, Dean followed. “What are you doing?”

  “Calling Faith’s apartment and telling the boyfriend where she is. Once he’s here, I can protect her, but until I hear the whole story, I can’t help her.”

  “You’re after helping her right into the hospital!” Rushing forward, Dean put himself between Claire and the phone. “Look, you can put yourself into whatever weird relationships you want, but you can’t make those kind of choices for Faith.”

  “Weird relationships?”

  “Uh, oh.” Ears close to his head, Austin ducked under the desk.

  Claire’s nostrils flared. “I thought you said you were okay with it?”

  “Well, what else was I supposed to say? You’re the Keeper; you always know what you’re doing, and you never listen to me. I can’t even get you to put your dirty dishes in the sink!”

  He was right about the dishes. Claire took a deep breath and forced it out through clenched teeth. “Move away from the phone, Dean. I know what I’m doing.”

  “And I don’t?”

  “I didn’t say that”

  “But you’re always implying it. After all, I’m just the bystander and all this lineage stuff is way over my head. Okay. Maybe it is. But this,” he stabbed a finger toward room three, “this is people stuff, and I know people stuff better than you.”

  “The moment Faith entered this hotel, she became lineage stuff.”

  They locked eyes for a long moment. Finally, Dean jerked away from the phone. “Okay. Fine. If you’re not after listening to me, I’ll go and do the dishes. That seems to be all I’m good for around here.”