Chronicles Of The Keeper - The Long Hot Summoning Part 23

"It's been three days."

"Four," Austin corrected morosely from his place on the counter. "They left Sat.u.r.day, it's now Tuesday."

"They left at nine-thirty Sat.u.r.day morning. It's only eight forty-five." Dean expertly worked the broom into a corner of the office, capturing an elusive clump of cat hair. "Technically, it hasn't been four days."

"You're amazingly a.n.a.l about a lot of things, aren't you?"

"If I'm going to do something, I'm after being accurate."

Austin sighed and dropped his chin down onto his front paws. "You missed a spot."

Dean bent to push the broom under the desk. He knew he was displacing his anxiety, but even the hand-waxed s.h.i.+ne on the old hardwood floor seemed less, well, s.h.i.+ny than it had. "I miss Claire."

"I miss her more," the cat muttered.

"I'm not arguing." Mostly because he'd finally learned there was no point in arguing with a cat but also because, in this particular instance, there really wasn't anything to argue about. Austin probably did miss Claire more than he did. The two of them had been through a lot together over the last seventeen years. In fact, given what the three of them had been through over the last nine months, Dean was willing to bet that "been through a lot" didn't even begin to start covering the highlights of the previous sixteen years.

Straightening, he glanced over at the counter. "I bet you've got a lot of great memories."

"Great memories, good memories, and a few 'holy c.r.a.p I can't believe we survived that' memories," Austin agreed. "But don't get your hopes up, broom boy; I'm not sharing stories of what a cute little Keeper Claire was. Nothing against you personally, it's just not something cats do."

"Why not?"

One black ear flicked disdainfully. "Hey, I don't write the rules."

"You don't even follow the rules," Dean pointed out, frowning down at a set of parallel scratches gouged out by the desk chair. "Before Claire went in, she said they could be in there for a couple of days. We're already past that estimate."

"True. But they could still come out yesterday."

That was enough to pull Dean's complete attention from the floor. "What?"

"Time on the Otherside runs differently: four days here isn't necessarily four days there, so they could come out at any time."

"What?"

Austin sighed and sat up. "If they can come out any time," he reiterated slowly and distinctly, "then as long as they don't come out before they left, they can come out yesterday."

"But we've already lived yesterday and part of today without them."

"Doesn't matter, we won't know that we did. This particular reality will simply disappear, a new reality with Claire and Diana and that orange thing replacing it and becoming the only reality."

"Really?"

"Nah. I'm just messing with your head." He looked significantly more cheerful than he had for days. "Once time's been used, it's done. n.o.body wants time with turned-over corners and pencil scribbles in the margins."

"Do cats get senile?" Dean asked the room at large. When the room didn't answer, which around the guest house wasn't always a given, he knelt to whisk the pile of dirt and cat hair, mostly cat hair, onto a dustpan. Still on his knees, he heard the outside door open and half a dozen people tromp in. Without wiping their feet. Wondering why Newfoundlanders seemed to be the only people in Canada who grasped the concept of not tracking dirt inside, he called, "I'll be right there." He spilled the dustpan into the garbage and stood.

A young woman waited in the lobby, half leaning on the counter and stroking Austin. Tied back off her face with a ribbon, her shoulder-length hair was so black the highlights were blue. Her skin was very pale, her fingers amazingly so against Austin's fur, and her lips were a dark red . . . red as blood. Dean looked out the window and once he was certain the sun hadn't set early and no unscheduled total eclipse had darkened the sky, he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The continuing presence of daylight came as a distinct relief. He had nothing against vampires in general, but they always drew groupies and those guys just weirded him right out.

He smiled what Claire called his innkeeper smile. "Can I help you?"

"We were wondering if you had rooms available."

We? Dean leaned forward and found himself staring down at seven muscular men in shorts and tank tops. The largest of them barely cracked four feet tall. "Uh, we only have six rooms and they're all doubles . . ."

She waved off his protest. "Not a problem. Four rooms are fine; we're not made of money, so we're used to sharing. It's just we've been on the road all night and we'd like to catch some sleep before the game."

"Game?"

"Yeah, we're basketball players," one of the men announced belligerently, weight forward on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet as though daring Dean to make something of it.

"Okay."

"They're the Southern Ontario Midget Basketball champs," the young woman announced proudly. "I'm their manager, Aurora King."

Dean shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"We have an exhibition game this evening at the community center." Leaning toward him, she dropped her voice and added, "If you can knock a little off your room rates, I'm sure I can score you some tickets."

To a midget basketball game. Were people even allowed to say midget anymore? Dean wondered. Although all things considered, he had to a.s.sume Ms. King would know the politically correct . . . label? Word? Description? Realizing she was waiting for his answer, he shrugged. "Uh, sure."

"Come on, come on, enough of the chitchat," yawned a member of the team. "I'm so tired I'm going to sack out right here."

"Low blood sugar," snorted the young man standing beside him.

"Pre-med," Aurora murmured as Dean pushed the registry toward her. "He diagnoses everything. Drives us nuts." Her voice rose back to more generally audible levels. "You guys work out who's sleeping where and with who."

A strangled cough drew everyone's attention to a redhead blus.h.i.+ng almost the exact same shade as his hair.

"Lord f.u.c.king save us, the new guy's shy," muttered the first player who'd spoken.

Teasing the new guy kept everyone amused while Dean finished the paperwork and reached for the keys. "I'd just like to point out that there's no smoking in the rooms."

The entire team turned to stare at a diminutive blond.

He pushed short dreadlocks back off his face and shrugged. "Hey, man, I'm cool. No mellow the day of a game. I know the rules."

"Strangely enough," Aurora laughed as Dean's eyebrows rose, "he's one of the best guards we ever had."

"That's because I control my own s.p.a.ce, Dude."

After a short tussle over the keys and a little more teasing of the new guy, they started up the stairs. Six steps up, one of them sneezed violently. "I think I'm allergic to the d.a.m.ned cat."

"Well, he won't be in the d.a.m.ned room," Aurora mocked, slipping her arm around the shoulders of the last man standing in the lobby. He wrapped his arm around her waist and they walked in lockstep up to the second floor.

"I'm guessing that one's happy," Austin murmured as they heard the fourth door close.