Fingers wrapped around the doork.n.o.b, she paused, expecting Jacques to put in one final plea for flesh. When he didn't, she left the room feeling vaguely cheated.

"What're you doing, Boss?"

Claire set the silver marking pen on the desk and worked the cramp out of her right hand. "I'm justifying tonight's potential danger. Trying to be a Keeper in spite of the situation." She nodded toward the huge wooden salad bowl half full of miniature chocolate bars, eyeball gum, and spider suckers. "Every piece of that candy has a rune written on the wrapper that'll nullify anything bad the kids might pick up."

"Like fruit and nuts instead of candy? Kidding," he added hastily as Claire's brows drew in. "I mean, I know there's sickos out there and I think it's great you're doing something about it."

"Thank you. Every time one of those sickos slips a doctored treat past street-proofing and parents, there's another hole ripped in the fabric of the universe and, given the metaphysical baggage carried by this time of the year, anything could slip through. Early November is a busy season for the lineage."

The chocolate bar he picked up looked ludicrously tiny as he tossed it from hand to hand. "Can I ask you something? Why don't you stop them before the kids get hurt?"

"You mean why don't we make everybody behave themselves instead of just cleaning up the mess once it's over? My sister used to ask that all the time." She'd stopped, but Claire suspected Diana still believed the world would be a better place if she were in charge. So did most teenagers; trouble was, Diana had power enough to take a shot at it. "It's that whole free-will thing; we're no more allowed to make choices for people than you are. We're just here to deal with the metaphysical consequences."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You can stand in the doorway and hand this stuff out."

"I meant..."

"I know." There were times, Claire reflected, when a facetious comment just wasn't enough. "You're good people, Dean. That helps strengthen the universe all by itself."

"Kind of like moral Scotchgarding," Austin told him, unfolding on one of the upper bookshelves. "Now could one of you, preferably the taller one, help me down."

After the cat had settled on the monitor and Dean had returned to the kitchen to fetch the pumpkin, Claire tossed another chocolate bar into the bowl and said, "Thanks."

"No problem. You were having an honest, in-depth conversation, so I figured you'd soon run out of things to say."

"You know..." She poked him with a sucker stick. "... you can be really irritating."

"Only because I'm right."

The candy hit the bowl with more force than necessary.

"I'm right again, aren't I?"

"Shut up."

Dusk settled over the city, the streetlights came on, and clumps of children, many with bored adults in tow, began moving from door to door.

In the furnace room, the bits of h.e.l.l left off the newly formed personality, sent out invitations.

As the first group of kids climbed the stairs, the wards incised into the threshold with a salad fork...

"Why a salad fork?"

Claire shrugged. "It was the first thing I grabbed."

... remained dark.

Only two of the four wore anything recognizable as a costume. One of the others had rubbed a bit of dirt on his face although it might not have been intentional. They stood silently holding out pillowcases as Dean offered the bowl.

"Do you want to take a handful or should I do it?" he asked enthusiastically.

After a silent consultation, the largest of the four jerked her head toward the bowl. "You do it. You got bigger hands."

"Aren't you guys supposed to say 'trick or treat'?" Claire wondered as Dean dropped the runed candy into the bags.

A little boy, dressed vaguely like Luke Skywalker, giggled.

"What's so funny?"

Their spokesman rolled her eyes. Trick or treat is way un-cool." Clutching their pillowcases, they turned as one, pounded back to the sidewalk, and raced away.

"When I was a kid, I'm sure we worked harder at this," Claire muttered as she closed the door.

Cross-legged on the countertop, Jacques rematerialized. "When me, I was a kid, we knock over Monsieur Bouchard's... How do you say, outside house?"

"Ouihouse. Privy."

"Oui. We knock it over, but we do not know Monsieur Bouchard is inside."

They turned to look at Dean.

He shrugged. "I don't really notice any difference."

One princess, one pirate, and four sets of street clothes later, the wards on the threshold blazed red.

Claire opened the door.

The Bogart grinned, showing broken stubs of yellow teeth. Trick or treat."

She dropped a handful of unruned candy on its outstretched hand. "Treat."

"You sure?" It looked disappointed at her choice. "I gots some good tricks me."

"I'm sure."

Without bothering to rip off the wrappers, it popped a pair of chocolate bars into its mouth. "Good treat," it announced after a moment of vigorous masticating and an audible swallow. "Same times next year?"

"No promises."

The Bogart nodded. "Smart Keeper." A backward leap took it to the sidewalk where it paused, almost invisible in the increasing dark. "Biggers coming," it called and vanished.

"That wasn't a kid in a really good costume, was it?" Dean asked as Claire stepped back and closed the door.

She checked the wards. "No. And on any other night you probably wouldn't have seen it."

"What was it, then?"