"Why? Le cochon maudit, he started it."

As Claire turned to face him, Dean bit back an answering insult.

"Well?" she prodded.

"He accused me of picking up his anchors. Of keeping him from walking around the hotel."

"Were you?"

"No!" When he saw Jacques' mouth open, he shifted his weight forward and said, "Okay, I picked up that picture there, but I didn't know it was one of his anchors."

"You accuse me of hiding behind Claire."

"And look where you are."

"Fini! Je suis a bout! I have had it up to here!"

"FREEZE!".

Jacques stopped his forward advance, and Dean rocked back on his heels.

Arms folded, Claire turned slowly to face Dean. "Did you really say that?"

Dean nodded sheepishly, gaze locked on the carpet.

"Why?"

Ears red, he shrugged without looking up. "I don't know."

Since he was telling the truth, Claire ignored the rude noises coming from behind her. "All right, then, I suggest, no, this needs something stronger than a mere suggestion, I insist that we continue this, whatever this is, downstairs. We're uncomfortably close to her."

"Her?" Jacques repeated, coming between Claire and the stairs. "By her, I am wondering, do you mean, her?"

"She's in room six," Claire told him, pointing with broad emphasis at the splintered door. She opened her mouth to demand he get out of her way when she realized all his attention was on Dean. The air crackled as he moved past her.

"You thought that I, Jacques Labaet, did want to wake her?"

Several hundred childhood stories of vengeful spirits pa.s.sed through Dean's head, but he held his ground, wondering why adults thought it necessary to scare the snot out of kids. "I only thought it at first."

"You dare to give me this insult!"

"The picture was right by her door."

"And so were you!"

"I was vacuuming!"

"The carpet," Jacques spat, drifting up so they were nose-to-nose, "is clean! Perhaps you mean to wake her, and I come in time to stop you!"

It was only twenty after eight, but Dean had already had a bad morning. The carpet was not clean, it hadn't been vacuumed in a week and it didn't look as though it was going to get vacuumed any time soon. Sure, he'd discovered a suspicious side of himself he didn't much like, but he didn't think he deserved to be accused of treachery by someone intent on necrophilia. Of a sort. "You go to h.e.l.l," he said with feeling.

Jacques disappeared.

"Oh, s.h.i.t!" Claire clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

Dean's eyes widened and, fumbling for his keys, he raced for room five.

With no time to explain, Claire flung herself down the stairs. How could he have done that? She missed a step, fell five, caught her balance, and picked up speed. There's no way he should've been able to do that. By the time she turned onto the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs, her sock-covered feet barely touched the wood. One more floor and she'd have been the first Keeper to fly without an appliance.

She turned the chains and padlocks to rice and then kicked piles of it out of the way as she dragged open the furnace room door.

"Claire!" Suspended over the pit, Jacques flickered like a bulb about to go out. "Help me!"

Skidding to a halt at the edge of the pentagram, Claire hadn't the faintest idea of what to do. Because of the seal, Jacques hadn't gone directly to h.e.l.l, but there was sufficient power in the area directly over the pit to shred his ties to the physical world. When the last strand ripped free, his soul would be absorbed, seal or no seal.

"Claaaaaaaaire!"

She could barely hear her name in the panicked wail. Making it up as she went along, she reached out with her will.

HE WAS GIVEN TO US!.

"It doesn't work that way." Slowly, she wrapped possibilities around the thrashing, flickering ghost. "You know the rules."

RULES DO NOT APPLY TO US.

"You wish. Souls come to you by their own actions. They can't be given to you."

BUT HE'S DEAD.

"So?" It was like scooping a flopping fish out of a tidal pool with a net made of wet toilet paper.

WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO JUDGE HIS ACTIONS.

"Not on this side you don't."

WE'RE HELPING HIM Pa.s.s OVER.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Holding him as securely as possible, Claire began to pull Jacques toward the edge of the pit. His struggles made it difficult to tell how quickly he was moving, but after a few tense moments he was definitely closer to the side than the middle.

When eldritch power crawled like a bloated fly over the part of her will extending over the edge of the pentagram, she realized h.e.l.l was a.n.a.lyzing the rescue attempt. She felt it remove its attention from Jacques and gather its resources. There was barely time to brace herself before an energy spike thrust up out of the depths, dragging both her will and Jacques back toward the center of the pit.

LET HIM GO. HE IS NOTHING TO YOU.

"That's not what your recent temptation implied."

WE'RE BIG ENOUGH TO ADMIT WHEN WE'RE WRONG.

Sock feet slid closer to the edge of the pentagram.