"And since you can't access the information you need to deal with this unique situation, it seems apparent that you're the monitor needed for the site." The catechism complete, he flicked an ear back for punctuation. "If it helps, think of yourself as the world's last line of defense. A missile in a silo, hopefully never to be used. A sub..."

"That's enough," Claire told him shortly, breathing heavily through her nose. She'd always believed that the one thing she hated most was being lectured to by the cat, but she'd just discovered she hated being lectured to in front of an audience even more. "It's not helping. You want to know what will?" Whirling around, she yanked a large bag of chocolate chip cookies out of the cupboard. "This. This'll help." Tucking it under her arm, she pushed through Jacques, past Dean, and toward the dubious sanctuary of Augustus Smythe's... no, her sitting room.

"Perhaps I can see her point," Jacques mused as the distant door slammed. "Although, I am with her in this bull's pen, so at least she is not alone."

"And what am I?" Austin demanded. "Beef byproduct?"

"What is..."

"Never mind." Paws against the cupboards, he stood up on his hind legs to watch Dean check the seal on the plastic container.

"I'd better dump the rest of those onions."

"Why bother? You've been eating them for a week." He snickered at Dean's expression. "That which does not kill you makes you stronger."

"Spider parts?" Slightly green, Dean clenched his teeth and tried not to think about it.

"Never ask me what's in a hot dog." The cat dropped back onto four feet. "And if you're going to throw that out, double bag it so it doesn't leak. You'll contaminate the whole dump."

"Will the boss be all right?"

"Oh, sure. Just as soon as she comes to terms with spending the rest of her life standing guard in this hotel."

"Those are not easy terms," Jacques murmured reflectively. "To haunt this not very popular hotel is not how I myself thought to spend eternity. I will go to her."

"Hey, hold it." Dean grabbed his arm, and stubbed his fingers against the wall as his hand pa.s.sed right through the other man. "She wants to be alone."

"And what do you know of it. Anglais? You can leave."

"Yeah, but I won't."

"So that makes you better than me? That you stay but do not have to." The ghost snorted. "I know why you stay, Anglais. It is not that it is so good a job, n 'est ce pas?"

Dean's ears burned. "Austin says I'm a part of this. And Claire's mother says she needs me. And..."

"Oui?"

"And I don't run out on my friends."

The silence stretched and lengthened. Dean figured Jacques was taking his time to translate something particularly cutting but, to his surprise, the ghost smiled and nodded. "D'accord. If she must guard the world, we three will guard her."

We three.

It felt good being part of a team. It would've felt better standing back to back with Claire and taking on the world, just the two of them, but, deep down. Dean was a realist.

He hadn't ever really considered his future. He'd left Newfoundland looking for work, had fallen into this job, liked it well enough, and stayed. Because all his choices had been freely made, there seemed to be an infinite number still left to explore. He wasn't really very happy to discover that when a person reached a certain age, choices started making themselves. "The world's last line of defense, I wonder if the world knows how lucky it is," he mused.

The cat and the ghost exchanged expressions as identical as differing physiognomy could make them.

"Still, I can see her point," he continued in the same tone. "It's an awesome responsibility, but it must be some boring being on guard. Ow!" He reached down and rubbed his calf. "Why did you scratch me?"

"Never, ever say it's boring being a guard!"

"I didn't," Dean protested, checking for blood seeping through his jeans. "I said it must be some boring being on guard."

"Oh." Austin sheathed his claws. "Sorry."

Stuffing a fourth cookie into her mouth, Claire sank back into the sofa cushions and looked for something to put her feet up on. The coffee table practically bowed under the weight of the c.r.a.p it already held and the ha.s.sock was on the other side of the room. Twisting slightly sideways, she chewed and swallowed and dropped her heels down on the plaster bust of Elvis.

"Thang you. Thang you vera much."

"You're kidding, right?" She lifted her feet and let them drop again.

"Thang you. Thang you vera much."

It seemed to have a limited vocabulary. "Why would Augustus Smythe waste power, even seepage, on something like you?" Unless. She chewed thoughtfully. "You don't sing, do..."

Her last word got lost under the opening bars of "Jailhouse Rock."

"Stop."

"Thang you. Thang you vera much."

"Sing."

A few bars of "Blue Suede Shoes."

"Stop."

"Thang you. Thang you vera much."

"Sing."

"Heartbreak Hotel." The opening bars of "Heartbreak Hotel."

"That's more like it." Claire had another cookie and prepared to wallow. From this point on, the future stretched out unchanging because to hope for change was to hope for disaster and to hope for disaster would strengthen h.e.l.l. She supposed she should call her mother, let her know how things had worked out, or rather how they hadn't worked out, but she didn't feel up to hearing even the most diplomatic version of "I told you so."

And if Diana was home...

The ten-year difference in their ages and a childhood spent being rescued by Claire from toddler enthusiasm meant that Diana had always lumped Claire in with the rest of the old people. She wouldn't be at all surprised to find Claire stuck running the hotel. It was what old Keepers did, after all.

Moving down to the second layer of cookies, Claire knew she couldn't trust herself to listen to that. Better not to call until Friday evening when she always called.

"You do know Elvis is running on seepage."

Claire sighed, exhaling a fine mist of cookie crumbs. "He's using a tiny fraction of what's readily available. He's not pulling from the pit."

"I wonder if that was the first excuse Augustus Smythe made." Austin jumped up onto the back of the sofa and gingerly stretched out along the top edge of the cushion.