"Why?"

Although the young woman's expression made a rude comment, she kept her tone professional. "I got a package for you."

"You want me to sign for it, then. Boss?"

"You Claire Hansen?" the courier demanded.

"No, but..."

"Then she's got to sign it."

In return for her signature, Claire was handed a large, bulging manila envelope and an illegible receipt.

"Who's it from?" Dean asked as the courier carried her bike back down the front steps and rode away.

"More important," Jacques murmured appreciatively, rematerializing by the window, "what does she wear? Her legs, they look like they are painted black."

"They're tights."

"Oui, they are tight. Me, I do not complain, but they are allowed?"

"Sure."

He heaved a heavy if ethereal sigh. "I died too soon."

"The package is from Hermes," Claire interrupted with heavy emphasis.

Austin snickered. "Someone doesn't like not being the center of attention."

Ignoring him, she pulled a folded towel from the envelope and frowned. "Why would Hermes send us a towel?"

"It's one of ours," Dean declared, fingering the fabric. "It must've gotten accidentally mixed in with his stuff."

"He's the G.o.d of Thieves, Dean. I doubt it was an accident, and since I also doubt his conscience got the better of him, I wonder why he sent it back." A piece of paper, both sides filled with line after line of script, fell from a fold. "Maybe this explains it. Dear Keeper," she read. "Three days ago, I left your establishment with one of the items traditionally liberated from hotel rooms. Since that time, two ferries have attempted to sink out from under us and would have sunk had Poseidon not been on board to command the waves to carry us to sh.o.r.e. Our vehicle has broken down seven times, Hephaestus is happy, no one else is. For the first time since we began traveling, the border guards asked to see identification and then, when I informed them we were heading to Rochester, searched the van. The pocket in the s.p.a.ce-time continuum didn't bother them as much as the cameras Zeus bought in Toronto but lost the receipts for. When we were finally allowed into the United States but warned by the most officious person it has ever been my displeasure to meet that we wouldn't be able to return to Canada, and, I might add, your admirable system of socialized medicine, Aphrodite had a flare up of an old complaint, and the clinic visit maxed out her credit card. While we were waiting for her, someone stole our travelers' checks. They were not American Express.

The list continued for the rest of the front and onto the back of the paper and ended with: So I return to you the item divination has determined is the cause of our recent difficulties. Please excuse the small scorch mark. Your security system is admirable if excessive.

-Yours in mythology, Hermes.

"What security system?" Dean asked.

"I suspect that after all these years with an active accident site, the hotel's capable of providing its own security." Claire patted the terry cloth fondly. "Offhand, I'd say it's a really bad idea to steal our towels."

STOPPING THE SEEPAGE WON'T WEAKEN THE SHIELD, h.e.l.l told itself sulkily.

I'M NOT STOPPING THE SEEPAGE. I'M GATHERING IT.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Professor Jackson was a man of medium height trying to be tall. Under a hat last fashionable in the forties, he carried his chin high and his weight forward on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. Something about him suggested carpetbags to Claire although a quick glance over the counter showed only a perfectly normal, gray nylon suitcase.

"Am I your only guest?" he asked, signing the register with a precise flourish.

"At the moment." Claire dropped the key to room one into his outstretched hand. "Next floor up, turn left at the top of the stairs."

An expectant gaze drifted down to his luggage and then around the lobby, slid over Austin but rested for a moment on Claire. When she made no response, he sighed dramatically, picked up the suitcase, and started up the stairs.

At the sound of the professor's door closing, Austin opened his eyes. "Why don't you like him?"

"I don't know. Maybe because Baby's taken a strange dislike to him."

"That would only be strange if Baby actually liked anyone."

"Good point." Staring down at Professor Jackson's signature, Claire traced the loop of the "J" with one finger. Unless he was one of those rare nonpoliticians who believed their own lies, it was his real name and occupation. "I can't help thinking he's dangerous."

"How?"

"You're the cat, you tell me."

Austin thoughtfully washed his shoulder. "He looks like he's in his late fifties."

"So?"

"Ten years younger than Mrs. Abrams."

"Your point?"

"Do I have to spell it out? He's ten years younger than she is. He's younger. She's older. They're..."

Claire's eyes narrowed. "I don't care."

"Do you want to be a lonely old recluse?" Austin demanded, tail tip flipping back and forth.

"All right. Let's just get this settled once and for all." She drummed her fingernails against the counter. "I like Dean. He's a nice man and he's very attractive. Under normal circ.u.mstances, where I'd be moving in then moving out when the job was done, I might consider, were he willing, a short physical dalliance."

"Dalliance?"

Ignoring feline amus.e.m.e.nt, Claire went on. "However, I'm not going anywhere, and he's barely twenty. He's not going to be content staying here as chief cook and bottle washer forever."

"So you're going to give up now because you can't have forever?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you'd be willing to sleep with him and then move on, but you're not willing to extend the same courtesy to him?"

"I really didn't say that."