“I don’t know.”
“She thinks she’s too powerful to be here just as a monitor, doesn’t she?”
“Yes.”
Dean watched the iridescent light dance across the soap bubbles in the sink. “I’ll tell you, Mrs. Hansen…”
“Martha.”
“…I don’t know Claire and I don’t really understand what’s going on, but if you say she’s after needing me, well, I’ve never turned away from someone who’s needed me before and I’m not after starting now.”
Long years of practice kept her from smiling at the confidence of the young. At twenty-five that speech would’ve sounded pompous. At twenty, it sounded sincere. “She won’t make it easy for you.”
“You ever gone through a winter in Portuguese Cove, Mrs. Hansen?”
“Martha. And no, I haven’t.”
“Once you can do that you can do anything. Don’t worry, I’ll help her run things and I’ll try not to let her push me around because of what she is.”
“Thank you.”
“Everyone likes to be needed.”
She studied him thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “You’re taking this whole thing remarkably well, you know. Most people wouldn’t be able to cope with having their entire worldview flipped on its side.”
“But it wasn’t my entire worldview, now was it?” He plunged his hands back into the soapy water. “The sun still comes up in the east sets in the west, rain falls down, grass grows up, and American beer still tastes like the water they washed the kegs out with. Nothing’s changed, there’s just more around than I knew about two days ago.” With a worried lift of his brows, he nodded toward the rest of the silverware on the tray. “If you could, please finish that cutlery before the water dries and makes spots…”
They worked in silence for a while, the only sound the wire brush against the bottom of the roasting pan.
“Mrs. Hansen?”
“Martha.”
“What is it you do?”
“Claire’s father and I watch over the people who live in an area where the barrier between this world and evil is somewhat porous.”
“But I thought Cousins couldn’t use the caulking gun.”
Martha stopped drying one of the pots and stared at him. “The what?”
“The magical equivalent of the caulking gun that seals the holes in the fabric of the universe.” Dean repeated everything he could remember of Claire’s explanation.
When he finished, Claire’s mother shook her head. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, I’m afraid.” Then she frowned as she thought it over. “All right, perhaps it isn’t—but it’s certainly less rational. We’re not dealing with a passive enemy but a malevolent intelligence.”
“Does Claire know this?”
“Of course she does, she’s a Keeper. But she’s young enough to believe—in spite of what you might think of her advanced age,” she interjected at his startled expression, “that it’s not the energy that’s the problem, it’s what people do with it. While that may be true in a great many cases, there’s also energy that you simply can’t do good with, no matter what your intentions are.”
“Evil done in God’s name is not God’s work. Good done in the Devil’s name is not the Devil’s work.” He set the last pan in the rack to drain. “It’s what my granddad used to say before he clipped me on the ear.”
“Your granddad was very wise.”
“Sometimes,” Dean allowed, grinning.
Without really knowing how it happened, Martha found herself grinning back. “To finish answering your actual question, the site we monitor is too porous to be sealed—think T-shirt fabric where it should be rubberized canvas—so there’s constant mopping up to do. I do the fieldwork, and my husband teaches high school English.”
“Teaching high school doesn’t seem very…” He paused, searching for a suitable word.
“Metaphysical?” Martha snorted, sounding like both her daughter and the cat. “Is it possible you’ve already forgotten what it’s like to be a teenager?”
“Are you going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine, Mom.” Claire reached out and fixed the collar on her mother’s windbreaker as the early morning sun fought a losing battle with a chill wind blowing in off Lake Ontario. “And don’t worry. I’ll monitor the situation while I gather the information I need to shut it down.”
“I would never worry about you not fulfilling your responsibilities, Claire, but it took two Keepers to create the loop. What if it needs two Keepers to close it?”
“Then I’ll monitor the situation until the other Keeper shows up. This is not going to be my final resting place.”
Because even Keepers needed the comfort of hope, Martha changed the subject. “Be nice to Dean. He’s exactly what he seems to be, and that’s rare in this world.”
“Don’t worry about Dean. Austin’s on his side.”
“Austin’s on the side of enlightened self-interest.” A pair of vertical lines appeared above the bridge of Martha’s nose. “I think you’ll manage best with Dean if you treat him like a Cousin.”
“A Cousin?” She stared at her mother in astonishment. “He’s a nice kid, Mom, but…”
“He’s not a kid.”
“Well, not technically and certainly not physically, but you’ve got to admit he’s awfully young.”
“And how old were you when you sealed your first site?”
“That’s beside the point. He’s not of the lineage.”
“No, he’s not, but he is remarkably grounded in the here and now, and he’s going to be your main support. The less you hide from him, the more he’ll be able to help.”
“Mother, I’m a Keeper. I don’t need help from a bystander. All right,” she went on before her mother could speak, “I need his help running the guest house but not for the rest.”
“Just try to be nice to him, that’s all I ask.” She gripped Claire’s hands in both of hers. “If you must check the contact points of the loop, be very, very careful. You don’t want to wake her up, and you don’t want to believe anything they tell you. Don’t lose track of time when you’re searching for the Historian; you know what’ll happen if you come back before you’ve left. Try and make Austin stick to his diet, and you should eat more, you’re too thin.”
Claire opened her mouth to argue but said instead, “Here’s your ride,” as a battered cab pulled up in front of the guest house and honked.
“If you need me, call.” She frowned as the cabbie continued to hit his horn, the irregular rhythm echoing around the neighborhood. “Would you do something about that, Claire?”
The echo gave one last, feeble honk, then fell silent.
“Thank you. Come to think of it, even if you don’t need me, call. Your father’s likely to be worried about you being in such proximity to the hole in the furnace room.”
“There’s really no need to tell him about Hell, Mom.”
“He’s teaching in the public school system, Claire. He knows about Hell.”
Standing in the open doorway, Claire released her hold on the horn as the cab pulled away. Through the broad back window of the vehicle, she could see her mother giving emphatic instructions. If the driver thought he knew the best way to the train station, he was about to discover he was wrong.
At the last possible moment, Martha turned and waved.
Claire waved back.
“So. It seems I own a hotel.” A distraction, something to keep her mind off what was in the furnace room. “Who knows,” she said with more resignation than enthusiasm. “It might be fun.”
Raising her body temperature enough to fight the chill, she went down to have a look at the sign. To her surprise, her first impression had been correct. The sign actually said “Elysian Fields ’uest House,” the “g” having disappeared. “Dean’s going to have to repaint this.” She frowned. “I wonder what I’m paying him?”
A low growl drew her attention around to the building on the other side of the driveway. An apple-cheeked, old woman with brilliant orange hair, wearing a pale green polyester pant suit and a string of imitation pearls, stood on the porch, waving at her enthusiastically. Also on the porch was the biggest black-and-tan Doberman Claire had ever seen.