Summon the Keeper

by Tanya Huff

  “A simple solution, cherie; do not think of Dean.”

  Straightening, Claire drew in a deep breath. She hadn’t been looking forward to this, not after the way she’d smacked Jacques away from her yesterday.

  When she turned, the ghost was sitting cross-legged on the dining room table—a position he favored because of how it irritated Dean. He grinned at her. “Why the long face, cherie? The day, she is sunny, Dean is gone, and me, I am here for company.”

  Claire searched his face unsuccessfully for any lingering sign of hurt and betrayal.

  “Ah.” The grin broadened. “You cannot see enough of me.”

  “Yesterday…”

  “I am dead since 1922,” he reminded her, with a matter-of-fact shrug. “I cannot carry all my yesterdays with me. Although,” he winked, “some I remember very well and am anxious to repeat.”

  “Not now…”

  “Oui, not now, not here. Although,” he glanced around and smiled broadly, “you and me on this table; it would give the old lady something to see, yes?”

  “No.”

  “Fraidy-cat.” He blew her a kiss and dematerialized.

  “Some of us,” Austin muttered, jumping onto a chair and then up onto the counter, “don’t appreciate the word cat being used in a derogatory manner. If you’ve left the television on PBS, he’s going to be right back.”

  “It’s probably still on TSN. I didn’t check.”

  He rubbed his head against her elbow. “You okay?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing’s changed with Jacques and everything seems changed with Dean. I can’t figure it out.”

  “It’s simple. Jacques is dead, he can’t change. Dean’s alive, he can’t not change. Now me, I’m a cat. I don’t need to change.”

  She reached down and scratched him gently between the ears. “What about me?”

  “You need to move your fingers a little to the left. More. Ahhhhh. That’s got it.”

  An hour later, perched precariously on top of the stepladder, eyes squinted nearly shut against the thin November sun, Claire razored masking tape off the windows. As expected, there’d been no change in the shields around Aunt Sara and Hell. She’d written as much in the site journal and now had the rest of the day to fill. Jacques was watching television, Dean was still out, and if the masking tape didn’t come off soon, it’d be there until Hell froze over.

  SHE’S THINKING OF US.

  SO? KEEP WORKING.

  WE’LL NEVER WAKE HER USING SEEPAGE. The rest of Hell sounded sulky.

  I DON’T NEED TO WAKE HER. I MERELY NEED TO UNBALANCE THE BALANCE OF POWER. SHE’LL DO THE REST.

  WHO?

  HER.

  HER?

  NO! HER, YOU IDIOT!

  Picking bits of tape off the edge of the blade, Claire could just barely make out the unmistakable shapes of Mrs. Abrams and Baby by the driveway. Baby seemed to be sniffing the fresh concrete around the base of the railings.

  “I don’t suppose you want to go chase that dog off our property?”

  “You suppose correctly.” Sprawled in a patch of sunlight, Austin didn’t bother opening his eyes. “But I’ll pencil in a visit for later in the afternoon.”

  “I can’t see the fun in bothering a dog that neurotic.”

  “You can’t see the fun in shredding the furniture either. Don’t worry about it.”

  When Baby’s head rose suddenly, ears flattened against his skull, Claire leaned forward to see what had caught his attention. The approaching pedestrian seemed to have no idea of the danger.

  “Oh, no.” Although details had been washed out by the light, she knew that shape. Knew the way it moved. Watched it make a fuss over the big dog who, after a moment of visible confusion, actually wagged his stump of a tail.

  Climbing down off the ladder, reluctantly deciding it might be safer if she wasn’t holding the razor blade, Claire walked to the door and opened it.

  Mrs. Abrams turned as she came out onto the step. “Yoo hoo! Courtney! Look who’s here! It’s your sister, Diana. She’s come for a visit; isn’t that nice?”

  “Swell.”

  Diana looked up from murmuring endearments in under the points of Baby’s ears. “Isn’t this the sweetest doggie you’ve ever seen?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s a real cream puff.”

  Giving the Doberman a final pat and telling Mrs. Abrams she hoped to see her again, Diana picked up her backpack, ran up the front steps, and paused to examine Claire critically. “You ought to let your hair grow out, I can’t believe you’re wearing mascara in the house, and didn’t I tell you that nail polish was bad for the environment?”

  Claire stepped back and motioned her sister inside. “I don’t want to. I don’t care. And what are you talking about?”

  “Nail polish remover is like, so toxic.” She turned on the threshold to wave at Mrs. Abrams and Baby, then bounded inside. “Nice paint job. Forest green. Very trendy. Hey, Austin.”

  He lifted his head, sighed deeply, and let it fall back to the countertop. “Shoot me now.”

  ANOTHER KEEPER!

  IT’S A CHILD. KEEP YOUR MIND ON YOUR WORK.

  BUT THERE’S TWO OF THEM!

  AND THERE’S VERY NEARLY AN INFINITE AMOUNT OF ME.

  The rest of Hell considered the implied threat. GOOD POINT.

  “Diana, why are you here?”

  “I’m needed.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m a Keeper.” She ducked under the flap into the office. “We go where we’re summoned, and I was summoned here.”

  “Here?”

  “Uh-huh. Right here. Are you still using this old computer? You must’ve bought it, what, two, three years ago?”

  “Three and a half, and don’t touch it”

  “Chill, I’m not going to hurt it.” She tapped lightly on the monitor. “Oops.” At Claire’s low growl, she grinned. “Kidding. It’s not even turned on.”

  “Diana.”

  “What?”

  Claire took a deep breath and tried to remember where the conversation had diverged from the important questions. “Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?”

  “No. I snuck out in the middle of the night.” Diana rolled her eyes. “Of course they know I’m here. They’re Cousins. I’m a Keeper. And, at the irritating risk of repeating myself, I was summoned.”

  “All right. You were summoned. So?”

  “So I guess I’m here to help you.”

  “You want to help?” Austin muttered. “Take a man off her hands.”

  “As if. Didn’t Mom tell you? I’m a lesbian.”

  Claire sighed. “Isn’t everyone?”

  “You know, Claire…” Arms folded over her black jean jacket, Diana’s eyes narrowed. “…I get the feeling you’re not happy to see me.”

  “It’s just…”

  “…that the thought of you and Hell in the same building is enough to give anyone with half a brain serious palpitations,” Austin finished.

  “No problem.” Diana raised both hands to shoulder height, backpack sliding down her arm to swing in the crook of her elbow. “I solemnly swear to stay away from the furnace room. Now are you happy to see me?”

  Claire’s better judgment suggested she send Diana home immediately, summons or no summons. She had no idea what part of her kept repeating, but she’s your kid sister, as though that had any relevance at all. Whatever part it turned out to be, it was doing a good job of drowning out her common sense. “All right I’m happy to see you. Now what?”

  “Now, you give me the guided tour.”

  There was a soccer game on in her sitting room; a dozen guys in green and white appeared to be running circles around a dozen guys in red and black. Claire wasn’t even certain that they’d played soccer in Canada when Jacques died, but he was interested enough in this particular match that he’d faded out until only a faint distortion remained in the air above the sofa.

  “Imbecile!”

  Claire’d been half hoping he
wouldn’t be there at all, but since he was, and since she couldn’t come up with any kind of a believable reason for him not to meet her sister, she called his name.

  “Do you see that? The ball goes right by him, but he does not move to kicks it!”

  “Kick it.”

  “Tabernac! Qui t’a dit que tu puissejouer a balle?”

  “Jacques, there’s someone here who wants to meet you.”

  He snorted. “Why not? These people, they are asleep!”

  Reaching past him, Claire picked up the remote and muted the TV. “Could you focus?”

  “Focus?” He looked down through himself. “Ah, d’accord.”

  By the time Diana came into the room, his edges had firmed up. His eyes widened and he walked through the sofa toward her. “Another Keeper? And so young and beautiful.”

  Recognizing the reaction, Claire sighed. “Jacques, this is my sister Diana.”

  “Diana, fair huntress of the bow. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “given how the rest have fallen, no doubt she is now fat and old.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a long story,” Claire answered before Jacques had a chance. “There, you’ve met him. Let’s leave, so he can get back to his game.”

  Jacques glanced speculatively at her through his lashes. “Are you ashamed of me, cherie?”

  “It’s not you,” Diana told him. “It’s me.”

  “I’m going to the kitchen for a coffee, you kids have a blast working it out. Wait a minute!” Claire jabbed a finger in her sister’s direction. “You just forget I said the word blast.”

  The coffee helped. Claire sank into her regular chair at the dining room table and took another long swallow. Showing Diana the hotel had been exhausting. When they ended up in front of room six for the second time, Claire had accused her sister of clouding her mind. The resultant denials had lasted down all three flights of stairs and had been no more believable in the lobby than they had originally.

  She’d emptied the mug and begun worrying about what Jacques and Diana were discussing when Dean’s truck drove up. The feeling of impending doom returned. All the hair on her body standing uncomfortably on end, she hurried outside, ostensibly to help him carry in the groceries.

  Reaching past him for a pair of canvas bags, she tried to sound nonchalant as she asked if he was all right.

  “Sure.”

  He sounded all right; depressed maybe, but not doomed. She checked for the taint of dark or eldritch powers and found only that frozen peas were on sale for a dollar thirty-nine. “No trouble at the grocery store?”

  “No.”

  “No trouble with the truck?”

  “No.” Dean held open the back door and stood aside so Claire could enter the building first. “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay. I understand now why you don’t trust me.”

  Teeth gritted, she put the bags down and turned to face him. “No, really, I don’t know.”

  “She doesn’t know why I’m here? Or she doesn’t know when I’m leaving? Which?”

  Claire’s nostrils flared. She’d intended to tell Dean about her premonition but not in front of her sister. Diana in the same room with impending doom practically guaranteed Armageddon. “She’ll be leaving on Sunday night because she’s got school on Monday morning and she’s already missed too much of it this year. Dean, this is my sister Diana.”

  “Hey.” She waggled a hand in an exaggerated wave.

  It was the first time Dean had felt like smiling all morning. Although the sisters looked superficially alike—dark hair and eyes, short and thin—energy popped and fizzed around Diana as though she’d been carbonated. “Hi.”

  “So you’re from Newfoundland?”

  “That’s right.” Picking up the bag with the produce, he began putting things away.

  “I’ve never been there.”

  “You’d have noticed,” Claire added, passing over a package of luncheon meat.

  “So.” Diana picked up a loaf of bread and examined it critically. “Did you always want to work in a hotel?”

  “No. I just needed a job.”

  “I hear Augustus Smythe was a real tyrant.”

  “He wasn’t so bad.”

  “Worse than Claire?”

  He stared down into a net bag of cooking onions. “Different.”

  “Still, I guess you get to meet a lot of interesting people working here. Vampires and werewolves and…Ow! Claire!”

  They were standing about ten feet apart but, obviously, that hadn’t been far enough. Dean had no idea of what was going on and no intention of getting between them. “Yeah,” he said, folding the bags and putting them away, “lots of interesting people.”

  “How long are you planning on staying around?”

  “Actually…” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and turned to face Claire. “Actually, I’ve been thinking of leaving.”

  “Leaving?”

  “Yeah. You know, getting on with my life.”

  Silently congratulating herself for maintaining a neutral expression, Claire wondered why her reflection in his glasses looked as though she’d just been punched in the stomach. “When?”

  “Soon. If you want, this can be my two week notice.” When Claire gave no indication of what she wanted, he shrugged. “Nice meeting you, Diana. I’ve got to go make some phone calls.”

  “Well, thud,” Diana said, as he disappeared down the basement stairs.

  Claire felt as though she were waking up from a bad dream, the kind where she was trying to cross the road but her feet kept sticking in the asphalt and there were two trucks and a red compact car bearing down on her. “What do you mean, thud?”

  “Thud. The sound of the other shoe dropping.” Diana straight-armed herself up to sit on the edge of the counter. “A little more than a month ago, Mom said Dean was the most grounded guy she’d ever seen and now look at him. You’ve just cut the ground right out from under him, haven’t you?”

  “I have not.”

  “He must really dig your looks ’cause it can’t be your personality.”

  “Diana!”

  “I mean, Jacques is cuter than I expected and, okay, he makes me laugh with those corny pickup lines, but he’s dead. In spite of the glasses, Dean’s big-time beefcake. If I can see that, you should be able to. You had the perfect opportunity here, and you blew it.”

  “The perfect opportunity for what?” Claire demanded.

  “For making the best of the situation and building a partnership with a really nice guy. Not my personal cup of tea, but a lot of people would jump at the chance.”

  “Why can’t a man and a woman run a hotel together and just be friends?”

  “Well, gee, I don’t know, Claire. You’re the one doing the horizontal mambo with the dead guy, you tell me?”

  “We’re not talking about Jacques!”

  “Sure we are. Enlighten me; if you needed to bed one of them, and obviously you felt a need, why Jacques and not Dean? Don’t answer, I’ll tell you. They’re both bystanders so that’s not it. Is it because Dean’s alive? No, from what I hear that’s never been a problem in the past. Oh wait, could it be because you’re an ageist?”

  “A what?”

  “You heard me, an age-ist! You think I’m incompetent because I’m younger than you, and you ignore the evidence and think Dean’s a kid for the same reason.”

  “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this.”

  “True.”

  “I have work to do.”

  “Okay. Go do it.”

  “Fine. I will.” About to leave the kitchen, Claire whirled back around to glare at her sister. “Don’t blow the place up while I’m not watching.”

  “I came to help, remember.”

  “Oh, you’ve been a big help.”

  Leaning back and kicking her heels against the lower cabinets, Diana waited until she heard the door to Claire’s sitti
ng room slam shut before she smiled triumphantly. “Made her think.”

  “And I’m all for that,” Austin agreed, jumping up beside her. “As long as you don’t blow the place up while she’s not watching.”

  “I promised I’d stay out of the furnace room.”

  “Good for you.”

  “How come Claire screwed things up so badly?”

  The cat shrugged. “She’s a Keeper. She’s trained to come in post-disaster and deal with the mess, so she has to make a mess of any potential relationships before she feels competent to deal with them.”

  “I’m a Keeper and I don’t do that.”

  “Yet,” Austin said, looking superior.

  Golf had replaced the soccer game and Jacques was gone. Still steaming, Claire turned off the television and stomped through to the bedroom. In order to get far enough from her sister to keep from wringing her neck, she’d have to leave the hotel. Yanking open the wardrobe door, she stepped inside.

  Right at the moment, she’d enjoy dealing with a troop of killer Girl Guides.

  Still sitting on the counter, Diana searched the cupboards for cookies, found three-quarters of a bag of fudge creams, and sat happily eating them while she worked out a way to fix Claire’s life.

  Obviously, Claire needed to leave the hotel.

  Since no other Keeper had arrived to take over the site, the site had to be closed.

  In order for the site to be closed, the exact parameters of the current seal had to be determined.

  “And since there’s only one remaining witness…” Scattering cookie crumbs, Diana jumped down off the counter. “…the logical solution would be to ask her.” She snapped her fingers toward the kitchen and headed for the stairs.

  Behind her, the crumbs cleaned themselves up and dropped into the garbage.

  Paying only enough attention to keep from tripping over unexpected phenomena, Claire strode deeper into the wardrobe.

  There were, Diana realized, a couple of ways to get into room six. The first involved pulling enough power to melt the locks, but that kind of heat would probably also burn down the building.

  She went looking for a set of keys.