"The Historian is seldom easy to find."

"That's only because I've never gone looking for her."

"True enough. Meanwhile," Martha glanced up and down the hall. "You have a guest house to run."

"Run?" Claire stared at her mother in astonishment. "Have you forgotten what's in the bas.e.m.e.nt?"

"This was probably set up as a guest house because of what's in the bas.e.m.e.nt. This is a unique situation. The more you think about the site, the more attention you pay it, the stronger it becomes. You need a distraction, something to occupy your time."

"But the guests..."

"They're here two or three nights at most. Hardly long enough for a sealed site inside a dampening field to have much effect."

"But I already have a job; I'm a Keeper. I don't know the first thing about running a guest house."

"Dean does." Martha looked remarkably like Austin as she added, "And you said you didn't want him to leave."

"Because I need a cook and a caretaker," Claire explained hurriedly, picking at a wallpaper seam.

"You still do."

"If I'm really a part of what's going on," Dean broke in, "I couldn't just walk out."

"You couldn't walk out on old Augustus," Austin sn.i.g.g.e.red, "and he didn't have Claire's..."

Claire's head jerked up. "Austin!"

"... sunny personality."

"Good, that's settled." Martha smiled on them both in such a way it became obvious the problem had been solved to her satisfaction.

Since there seemed to be no point in continuing the argument, and since she wasn't entirely certain which argument to continue, Claire started down the stairs, her heels thumping against the worn carpet. Dean fell into step beside her. "I want you to know that things are not going to continue the way they were under Augustus Smythe. I am not going to watch pa.s.sively. I'm going to take action."

"Okay." When she glared at him from the corner of one eye, he smiled and added, "Sure."

"Are you laughing at me?"

"I was trying to cheer you up."

"Oh. Well, that's all right, then."

As they disappeared down the stairwell, Austin wrapped his tail around his toes and looked up at Claire's mother. "Nice to have things settled."

Smoothing down the wallpaper Claire'd been picking at, Martha frowned. "It's hard to believe that all this has been sitting here for so many years with no one aware of it."

"It was a bit of a surprise," the cat admitted. "You can't blame Claire for wanting to wrap it up and leave."

"Staying does ask a lot of her."

"Not the way she sees it. She thinks she's been declawed."

"That's only because she was looking forward to doing things, not merely waiting for all h.e.l.l to break loose."

"Oh, that's clever," Austin snorted as he stretched and stood. "Come on, just in case the world's about to end, you can feed me."

"Mr. Smythe has prog enough to last through freeze up," Dean explained, setting the supper plates on the table.

"Very rea.s.suring, or it would be if I had the slightest idea of what you meant."

"I mean he has food enough to last the entire winter."

"Then why didn't you say so." Claire moved her chicken aside and tentatively tried a forkful of the wild rice stuffing. Her eyes widened as she chewed. "This is good."

"Try not to sound so surprised, dear, it's rude." Her mother waved a laden fork in Dean's direction. "You cook, you clean, and you're gorgeous; do you have a girlfriend?"

"Mom."

"It's okay." His father'd had six older sisters and after twenty years of holiday dinners with his aunts. Dean pretty much expected both the comments and the question from any woman over forty. They didn't mean anything by it, so it no longer embarra.s.sed him. "No, ma'am, not right now," he said, sliding into his seat.

"Are you gay?"

"Mom!"

"It's a perfectly valid inquiry, Claire."

"It's a little personal, don't you think? And it's none of your business."

"It will be if you're here for any length of time. I could introduce him to your uncle."

"He's not gay."

"He most certainly is."

"I wasn't talking about Uncle Stan! I was talking about Dean."

"And why are you so certain he's not?"

"I'm a Keeper!

Ears red, Dean stared intently into his broccoli. That was not a question he'd expected, at least not from Claire's mother, although Uncle Stan did make a change from being set up with my best friend Margaret's youngest daughter, Denise. "Um, excuse me, I was wondering, who's the Historian?"

"Heavens, I'd have thought you'd had enough exposition for one day."

Claire sighed. "He's attempting to change the subject, Mom, you've embarra.s.sed him." She ignored her mother's indignant denials. "The Historian is a woman..."

"We don't know that for certain, Claire," Martha interrupted. "You may see her as a woman, but that doesn't mean everyone does."

"Do you want to tell him?"