"The guy with the flowers this morning."

"I knew who you meant. Are you, uh..." He waggled his fingers in the air.

"Manipulating power? No. It's just a hunch."

"A hunch. Okay." Pulling his sweatshirt sleeve down over his palm, he scrubbed the window clean.

Since she couldn't point out that he'd just mined any chance Sasha Moore might've had of picking up the intruder's scent, Claire shrugged and went back inside to find Austin waiting by his dish.

"Catch him?"

"No. I didn't know you understood dogs."

"What's the point of insulting them if they can't understand what you're saying?"

"You speak dog?"

In answer, Austin lifted his head and made a noise that could possibly be considered a bark had the listener never actually heard a dog larger than a Pekingese.

"And what does that mean?" Claire asked, trying to keep from laughing.

"Roughly translated..." Austin stared pointedly down at his dish. "... it means, feed me."

That evening, Claire was waiting at the desk when Sasha Moore came downstairs. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"

"Is it going to take long?"

"Not long, no."

"Good, 'cause I really need to eat before I go onstage or the audience is one major distraction; kind of like performing in front of a buffet table."

Since there didn't seem to be anything she could safely reply, Claire stood and silently led the way into her sitting room.

"I see old Gus didn't take much with him."

She didn't want to know the circ.u.mstances under which Sasha had been in these rooms before. It was none of her business.

"You still got his dirty pictures up in the bedroom?"

"I'm removing them as soon as I have time."

"Uh-huh." The musician dropped onto the couch and draped one crimson-spandex-covered leg over the broad arm. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

Claire perched on the edge of the ha.s.sock, it being the only piece of furniture in the room that was neither overstuffed nor covered in knickknacks. "I think you're being stalked."

Long lashes, heavy with mascara, blinked twice. "Say what?"

Editing for time, Claire recited the day's events and her interpretation of them.

"Look, I appreciate your concern, but the flowers were probably sent by a fan, and you never actually saw the guy in the lot. It could've been one of the local kids taking a shortcut."

"To his car?"

Sasha snorted. "Trust me, parking sucks in this neighborhood."

"All right, then, if it was a fan who sent the flowers, how did he know you were here? I can't believe you'd tell anyone where you spend the day."

"He must've seen me last night at one of the bars and followed the van."

"Doesn't that worry you?"

She reached out and slapped Claire on the knee. They were close enough that Claire could smell the mint toothpaste on her breath. "Why should I worry? You seem to be worrying enough for both of us." Standing, she bared her teeth. Exposed, they were too long and far, far too white. "I can take care of myself, Keeper. If a fan gets too close, I'll see that he gets just a little closer still." She paused at the door. "Oh, by the way, did you know you have mice?"

Feeling her lips press into a thin line, Claire pried them apart enough to say, "I don't think they're mice."

The musician shrugged. "They sure smell like mice."

"Told you so," Austin muttered as the door closed behind her.

Claire jumped. She hadn't noticed him tucked up like a tea cozy under the television. "If they're mice," she snapped, "why don't you catch one."

He snorted. "Please, and do what with it?"

Friday morning started badly for Claire. First h.e.l.l, by way of her mirror, suggested she invite Sasha Moore to dinner and twisted her reaction to such an extent that when she finally regained her reflection, she was edgy and irritable and had no idea of who'd won the round. Then she got completely lost looking for the Historian, was gone almost nine hours' wardrobe time, and returned absolutely famished to discover Dean had just laid down the last coat of urethane and she couldn't get to the kitchen.

"Go... I darn it!"

Thanks to the two huge, plate gla.s.s windows in the back wall, any solution had to take the possibility of Mrs. Abrams into account. Making a mental note to buy blinds as soon as possible, she grabbed power and shot into the air so quickly she cracked her head on the hall ceiling.

"Scooped up the seepage," Austin said with a snicker.

Both hands holding her head, Claire glared down at him. "I didn't mean to."

"You wanted it quick and dirty, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"That's what you got. Still, I doubt you've permanently warped your character."

"This wasn't the first time. When I tried to stop Mrs. Abrams yesterday, I got knocked to my knees."

"Once, twice; what's the harm?"

"That's probably what Augustus Smythe used to think." The faint buzz of building seepage seemed to have disappeared; it was hard to be certain given the ringing in her ears from the impact. Drawing power carefully from the middle of the possibilities, she sank down until she was about two inches off the floor and then skated slowly forward. Another time, she might've been hesitant about continuing buoyancy initiated by seepage from h.e.l.l but right now she was too hungry to care.

Breathing eau de sealant shallowly through her mouth, she sat down by the sink, poured a bowl of cereal, and began to eat. She'd started a second bowl when Jacques appeared beside her.

"I think you should know," he said, "that the man who deliver the flowers yesterday, he is just come in the front door."