Chronicles Of The Keeper - Summon The Keeper Part 54

"Oui. You are like mushy white bread and mayonnaise. And..." He folded his arms triumphantly. "... you are always cleaning things. If I could, I would leave also."

"Then leave. Claire said she could send you on."

"And leave her with you? She would be too bored in a week."

"Lecher."

"Monk."

"Bottom feeder."

"Betty Crocker."

"Stereotype!"

Before Jacques, reeling under a direct hit, could come up with a response, the ka-thud, ka-thud of a galloping animal filled the house, growing overwhelmingly louder the closer it came. The gla.s.ses in the cupboard began to chime as the vibrations brought their edges together. "Something is out of the pit," he moaned as Austin threw himself around the comer and into the kitchen.

The noise stopped.

He glared down at the cat. "That was you? But you weigh only what, two kilos?"

"Can we discuss my weight another time," Austin snapped. "Claire's in trouble!"

TROUBLE IS GOOD.

BUT WE DIDN'T CAUSE IT.

SO?.

h.e.l.l sounded sulky. IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING.

WE DON'T HAVE PRINCIPLES!.

OH, YEAH.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Jacques slammed into an invisible barrier at the door to Claire's room. The impact flung him backward into the sitting room, past Dean, past Austin, right through the bust of Elvis.

"Thang you, thang you vera much."

"n.o.body asked you," he snarled at the plaster head. "Anglais.' I cannot follow you without an anchor."

Just on the far side of the threshold, Dean rocked to a halt and spun around. "An anchor?"

"Oui. Come and get la coussin, the cushion." His fingers swept through the horsehair stuffing. "Take it with you to Claire's room."

"You don't have an anchor in here?"

"Did I not just say that? And wipe that stupide grin off your face! You think I would not allow Claire her privacy?"

Actually, he did. But he was too nice a guy to say so. And the stupid grin seemed to want to stay where it was. Three long strides and he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the cushion. Three more and he was back in Claire's room, Jacques by his side.

"About time you goons got here," Austin growled, pacing back and forth in front of the wardrobe.

Except for the cat and the furniture, the room was empty.

"Where's the boss?" Dean demanded, throwing the cushion down on the bed.

"Where do you think?"

Three heads, one living, one dead, one feline, turned toward the wardrobe.

"How do you know she is in trouble?" Jacques asked. "She goes every morning to search for the Historian. Why is this morning different?"

"She's been gone too long," Austin told them. "No matter how long she's in there, she's never gone more than half an hour out here."

Dean checked his watch. It was almost nine-fifteen. Which didn't tell him anything except the time. "Maybe she's taking longer because she found something."

"Sure, look on the bright side." He shoved a paw under the bottom of the wardrobe door and hooked it open an inch or two. "Listen."

"Oui? I hear nothing."

"That," growled the cat, "is because you're talking."

A moment later, the ghost shrugged. "I still hear nothing."

Then faintly, very faintly, just barely audible over the sound of Austin's tail hitting the floor, came the roar of a large and very angry animal.

The two men exchanged an identical glance.

"You are sure that is not Claire?" Jacques asked.

"Yes! Mostly," Austin amended after a moment's thought. "Either way, it can't be good. Dean has to go in and get her."

"Okay." Dean settled his gla.s.ses more firmly on his face and took a step forward.

"Un moment. You do not go alone, Anglais."

"Yes, he does." Austin interrupted. "You have to weigh more than forty kilos to go on this ride; it's one of those stupid child safety features. Unfortunately, it also bars cats and ghosts, so I'm afraid Dean's it."

Jacques drew himself up to his full height, plus about four inches of air s.p.a.ce. "If he carries the cushion, I go through with him."

"It doesn't work that way!" Austin directed a couple of angry licks in the direction of his shoulder. "And if it did, I'd be going through with him."

Dean reached past the cat and opened the wardrobe door. It was dark inside, much darker than it should have been. Another distant roar drifted out into the room. He squared his shoulders, flexing the muscles across his back, and bounced a time or two on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. Claire needed his help. Cool. "What do I do?"