"So," he said at last, "you're up early. Where's Jacques?"

Before Claire could answer, he blushed and held up both hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to come out the way it sounded."

"What way?"

"Like I had a right to know." He took a deep breath, adjusted his gla.s.ses, and said, "Did you want some coffee, then?"

"Sure." When Dean shot her a surprised glance before reaching for a mug, she hoped she'd got the nuance right. She'd intended sure to mean, nothing's changed between you and me. Dean could continue feeling how he felt about her, a little unrequited whatever it was he felt wouldn't hurt him, and she'd continue thinking of him as an incredibly nice, gorgeous kid who just happened to do windows. She'd come to that conclusion while dressing, wondering why she was making such a big deal out of Dean's reaction. "Jacques went back to the attic. He said he needed some time to think."

"Ah."

The silence fell again.

"Professor Jackson's not down yet."

Dean gratefully looked at his watch. "No, but then it's just turned eight."

"Ah."

Before the silence extended far enough to elicit a conversation about the warmer than seasonal weather, the front door opened. And closed.

Dean frowned. "Stay where you're at," he muttered, untying his ap.r.o.n, "I'll get it."

Sighing, Claire started walking toward the lobby. "What have I told you about this kind of thing?"

"Specifically?"

"Generally."

"You're a Keeper and you can take care of yourself?"

"Bingo."

Bent nearly double, stroking Austin as he wound around black leggings and chunky ankle boots, the young woman in the lobby seemed to be neither a threat nor a guest. When she straightened, one hand rising to try and brush disheveled blonde curls down over the purple-and-green swelling on her forehead, Claire got the impression of a person just barely hanging on to the end of her rope.

A quick glance at Dean showed him ready to pound whoever, or whatever, had brought such a fragile beauty to such a state.

The delicate jaw moved slowly up and down on a piece of gum. The weary motion seemed so involuntary it came as a bit of a shock when she stopped chewing to speak. "I've been walking all night," she offered tentatively, "and I need, um..."

"A room?" Claire asked.

She glanced back over her shoulder before answering. "I haven't any money."

"That's all right." Keepers went where they were needed; sometimes, need came to them. Without turning, Claire lightly touched Dean's arm. "Go make up room three."

"Sure, Boss."

No one spoke again until he'd disappeared up the stairs.

"This is a beautiful cat." A trembling hand ran down the black fur from head to tail. "Is he yours."

"Not exactly."

"I had a cat once." She closed shadowed eyes. When she opened them again, she stared around the lobby as if wondering where she was.

Austin nudged her.

"I saw your sign. I thought, if I could lie down for a few hours, I could figure out what to do. But I can't pay you..."

"The room's there and it's empty," Claire told her, stepping forward. "You might as well use it."

Clearly too tired to think straight, she shook her head. "That's not how it works."

"That's how it works here."

"Oh." She looked up the stairs and thin shoulders sagged. "I don't think I can."

"I'll help." By the third step, Claire had wrapped the girl's weight in power. Reaching the first floor hall, hoping the professor wouldn't chose this moment to head downstairs for breakfast, she led the way to room three, pausing outside the door to allow Dean to leave.

When he opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head and pushed past him. He couldn't help until they knew what was going on.

Settling the girl on the edge of the bed, Claire stepped back and watched Austin make himself comfortable beside her. "Do you mind if he stays?"

"Oh, no." Her hand reached out to stroke him again. "You and that big man, are you happy?"

Claire blinked, completely taken aback. "There's nothing between me and Dean."

The ugly bruise on the girl's forehead darkened, surrounded by an embarra.s.sed flush. "I'm so sorry. It's just that you looked..."

"Postcoital," Austin murmured when she paused.

"Ignore that, please," Claire suggested, spitting the magic word through clenched teeth, "I'll leave you now, get some sleep. We'll talk later."

h.e.l.lO....

NOT NOW. I DON'T WANT THE p.i.s.sANT LITTLE ENERGY WE CAN PUSH OUT OF HERE WASTED ON TRIFLES.

YOU DON'T WANT? WHAT ABOUT WHAT WE WANT?.

Time pa.s.sing suddenly became the loudest sound in the furnace room. After a moment, the rest of h.e.l.l answered their own question.

NEVER MIND.

By the time Claire got back to the kitchen, Professor Jackson had descended for breakfast. He seemed extraordinarily pleased with himself as he ate his bacon and eggs. He hummed slightly as he spread jam on his toast, and he stirred his coffee with the air of a man who'd lived up to his own extraordinary expectations. Fortunately, he'd lifted himself to such exalted heights, he was far beyond making casual conversation with mere hotel staff.

Wiping his mouth, he rose from the table and graciously informed both Dean and Claire that he'd be leaving as soon as he packed.

"Well?" Dean demanded the moment the professor was out of earshot. "Who is she? What happened? Does she want us to call the police?"