"It's a t.i.tle, not a relationship," Claire snapped. He looked so abashed she couldn't help adding, "But, essentially, yes. We found her name written in the furnace room. For safety's sake, we can't tell you what it is."

Replacing his gla.s.ses, Dean straightened in his chair, shoulders squared, both feet flat on the spotless linoleum. "Written in the furnace room? On the wall?"

"The floor actually." It was very nearly the strongest reaction he'd had all morning. Claire wasn't entirely certain how she felt about that.

"Okay. As soon as you're done, I'll get right on it."

"On it? And do what?"

"Get rid of it. I've got an industrial cleanser designed for graffiti," he told her with the kind of reverence in his voice most males his age reserved for less cleansing pleasures. "Last spring, some kids decorated the side wall, the one facing the driveway, and this stuff took it right off the brick. Took off a bit of the mortar, too, but I fixed that."

"You'll just stay out of the furnace room, thank you very much." Although it would be a unique solution, it wasn't likely to be a successful one. Fortunately, the dampening field would keep him from attempting it on his own.

Brow creased, he shook his head. "I hate to leave a mess..."

"I don't care." Claire smiled tightly across the table at him. "This time, you're going to."

"Okay. You're the boss," he sighed, slumping back into his chair. "But why can't you tell me her name?"

"Because Austin was right..."

"I usually am," the cat muttered.

"... and we really don't want to wake her."

Dean nodded. "Because she's evil. What did she do? Try to use the power coming out of the hole for her own ends?"

Claire felt her jaw drop. "That's exactly what she tried to do? How did you know?"

"I just thought it was obvious. I mean, she was corrupted by the dark side of the force, but another Keeper showed up to stop her just in time, and although she was beaten in a fair fight, she couldn't be killed because that would bring the good guys down to her level, so they put her to sleep instead as kind of a temporary solution."

Mouth open, Claire stared across the table at him.

Dean felt his cheeks grow warm. "But I'm just guessing." When she didn't respond, he squirmed uneasily in his chair. "It's what they'd do in the movie."

"What movie?" The question slipped out an octave higher than usual.

"Not an actual movie," Dean protested hurriedly, not entirely certain what he'd done wrong. "It's just what they'd do in a movie. If they did a movie. But they wouldn't." He'd never actually heard a cat laugh before. "I still don't know why her name would wake her."

Ignoring Austin, who seemed in danger of falling off the chair, Claire wrapped the tattered remains of her dignity around her, well aware that this bystander seven years her junior had offered his last statement out of kindness, deliberately handing back control of the conversation. "Names," she said, coolly, "are more than mere labels; they're one of the things that connect us to each other and to the world." Which was one of the reasons she wasn't planning on identifying the hole in the furnace room. If Dean thought of h.e.l.l by name, it could give the darkness a connection and easier access.

One of the reasons.

What they'd do in the movie, indeed.

"If she does get woken up," Dean wondered, frowning slightly, "is she able for you?"

"Say what?"

He hurriedly translated his question into something a mainlander could understand. "Is she stronger than you?"

"No!"

Austin snorted.

"All right. I don't know." Claire glared at the cat. "She's a powerful Keeper, or she wouldn't have been able to seal the hole, not to mention attempting to use it. But..." Her eyes narrowed. "I am also a powerful Keeper, or I wouldn't have been summoned here. Waking her would be the only way to find out which of us is stronger, and I'm not willing to risk the destruction of this immediate area on a point of ego."

"So she's still sealing the hole? Like a cork in a bottle?"

"Essentially."

"You're here to pop her out and close the hole?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"And that's why you called your mother?"

"Yes."

"Okay." He took a deep breath, and laid both hands flat on the table. "The woman in room six is an evil Keeper."

"That's right."

"And you're a good Keeper?"

Claire leaned back and pulled a vinyl business card case out of her blazer pocket. "My sister made these for me. She meant them as a joke, but they're accurate enough."

Aunt Claire, Keeper your Accident is my Opportunity (abilities dependent on situation)

The card stock felt handmade and the words had the smudgy edges of rubber stamp printing. "Should I call you Aunt Claire?"

"No."

He'd never heard such a definitive no before. There were no shades of maybe, no possibility of compromise. When she indicated he could keep the card, he slipped it into the pocket of his T-shirt. "I've always wanted to see real magic."

Claire leaned forward, eyes half lidded, palms flat on the table. "You should hope you don't get the chance."

It would've been more dramatic as a warning had she not placed one palm squarely on a bit of spilled jam.

Dean handed her a napkin and managed not to laugh although he couldn't quite control a slight twitch in the outer corners of his mouth. "So was Mr. Smythe a Keeper, too?"

Claire showed her teeth in what wasn't quite a smile. "Augustus Smythe was, and is, a despicable little worm who walked out and left me holding the bag. He's also a Cousin."

"Did he put her to sleep?"

"No, a Cousin can't manipulate that kind of power." As much as it irritated her to admit it, Dean's little synopsis had to have been essentially correct. "At some point, there was another Keeper involved."

"But Mr. Smythe is a Cousin, and you said Cousins monitor unsealed sites."