Claire couldn't remember hearing about any earthquakes or train derailments, and since Chicago seemed to be Functioning at least as well as it ever did, she breathed a sigh of relief. "What about school?"

"I'll catch up." Dropping into an ancient beanbag chair that she'd long outgrown but refused to get rid of, Diana leaned left until she had to brace herself against the floor, then repeated the movement to the right.

"What are you doing?"

The younger woman straightened. "I was trying to get a better angle on your room. Mom says Dean's a major babe, so I was looking for him."

"Mom said Dean was a major babe?"

"Not exactly; she said he was 'quite an attractive young man' and I translated."

"This is my bedroom."

Diana snorted. "So that's why you have a bed in it."

"I don't even want to know why you think Dean might be in here."

"Well, jeez, Claire, I hope I don't have to explain it to you. At your age." After a self-appreciative snicker, she crossed her legs and settled back until it looked as though she'd perched on the crushed remains of a red vinyl flower. "Go and get him, please."

Even through the postcard, Claire felt the pull of power her younger sister laid on the magic word. "No," she said, folding her arms. "I am not putting Dean on display to fulfill your prurient interests."

"Ooo, prurient. Big word. So are you guys getting it on?"

"Diana!" Righteous indignation propelled her onto her feet. "Dean's a nice guy who does most..." Diana's left eyebrow rose. There was as little point in lying to her as there would have been in her lying. "... almost all... okay, all of the work around here. A nice guy. Do you even know what that means?"

"Sure, I know. It means he's not getting any."

"Diana!"

"Relax, I'm just yanking your chain." Lips pursed, she made a disgusted face. "Man I hope I'm not as big a prude when I'm almost thirty. I told One Bruce and Mich.e.l.le about you getting stuck on an unsealable site and they both said that Keepers are sent where they're needed. Not very helpful, I thought. Anyway, since you're settled, I gave them both the phone number. They seemed to think that with you in one place and me still in training and us in contact because we're family, we have a chance to actually lay some lines of communication between Keepers. Which reminds me, the Apothecary is thinking of setting up as an online server so we can start using e-mail to stay in touch. Here we are, joining the twentieth century in time for the twenty-first."

Carrying on a conversation with Diana was often like shopping in a discount store: piles of topics crowded the aisles, stacked ceiling high in barely discernible order. The trick was pulling one single thing out to respond to. "The Apothecary doesn't even have electricity."

"I know. He says he can work around it. So what about you and this Jacques guy Mom mentioned?"

Claire signed. "Jacques is dead."

"I know. But if the Apothecary can run e-mail without electricity..." She let her voice trail off but her eyebrows waggled suggestively up and down. "It sounds like what you really need is Jacques possessing Dean's body."

h.e.l.lO.

"That is never going to happen." Although Claire directed her response as much at h.e.l.l as at her sister, only her sister acknowledged it.

"I know."

"You know, you know, you know; you're beginning to sound like Austin."

Diana fixed Claire with an exasperated stare. "Keeping the peace, fulfilling destiny, that doesn't mean we can't be happy."

"I am as happy as I can be under the circ.u.mstances."

"Now who's sounding like Austin. What makes you think I'm talking about you?"

Claire winced. That had been incredibly insensitive of her. "I'm sorry, Diana. Did you have a problem you want me to help with?"

She grinned and shook her head. "No. But if you want, I'll come by and figure out how to deal with Sara, seal the pit, and get your b.u.t.t on the road again."

"Diana!"

"Oh, chill, Claire." Dark brows dipped into a disdainful frown. "I'm five hundred and forty-one kilometers away, she's not going to hear me."

"Your b.u.t.t is in a sling if she has!" Claire could feel nothing through the shield. Unfortunately, that only meant she hadn't yet gone through the shield. "If you'll excuse me, and even if you won't, I'm going to go check and see if you've started Armageddon." Ignoring protests, she closed the curtain with one hand and pulled at the neck of her cotton turtleneck with the other, telling herself that the room hadn't suddenly gotten warmer. She wasn't quite running as she crossed the sitting room.

"Can I a.s.sume you're not hurrying out to feed me?" Austin asked. "Who were you talking to?"

"Diana."

"Subverting a powerless postcard? Typical. What did she have to say for herself?"

"Nothing much. Her name. Out loud. Through a power link. If she's woken her up..."

Austin caught up to Claire at the door. "What are you going to do."

"Beats me. You know any good lullabies?"

Out in the lobby, Dean looked up from prying open a new gallon of paint as Keeper and cat raced for the stairs. "Problem, Boss?"

"I don't know."

"Need my help?"

Five weeks ago, even three weeks ago, she'd have snapped off an impatient "No." What good would a bystander be against a Keeper who'd attempted to control h.e.l.l? Today she paused and actually considered the possibilities before answering. "There's nothing you can do."

"Is it her?" Jacques asked, materializing as they started up the second flight of stairs.

"It could be," Claire panted, silently cursing the circ.u.mstances that made the elevator inoperative. It seemed to take forever to open the padlock, and the lack of noise from inside room six was surprisingly uncomforting.

The shield was intact. Aunt Sara lay, as she had, on the bed. The only footprints in the dust were Claire's, laid over her mother's, laid over her own and Dean's. She stepped forward, following the path, and studied the sleeping woman's face with narrowed eyes.

No change.

Sighing deeply, she took what felt like her first unconstricted breath since Diana had called Aunt Sara's name.

And sneezed.

Nose running, eyeb.a.l.l.s beginning to itch, she backed out of the room and relocked the door.

"We are safe?" Jacques demanded from the top of the stairs. "She sleeps?"