Part 34 (1/2)

ON SECOND THOUGHT, DON'T LET HIM GO.

If she let him go, the odds were good she wouldn't fasten onto him again before h.e.l.l tore through the bonds holding him to the world. If she didn't let him go, she'd be dragged through the pentagram and his fate would be a minor footnote to the cataclysm as the seal broke. Her toes dug through her socks and into the imperfection in the rock floor, but that only slowed her.

Jacques or the world?

It was the sort of dilemma h.e.l.l delighted in. Claire could feel its pleasure in the certain knowledge that she'd have to sacrifice Jacques for the lives of millions.

Then strong arms wrapped around her from behind. Her toes stopped millimeters from disaster.

”Bring him in,” Dean told her, tightening his grip one arm at a time. ”And let's get out of here.”

Constrained by the pentagram. h.e.l.l stood no chance against the deeply ridged treads on a pair of winter work boots designed to get the wearer up and down the chutes of St. Johns.

Weight on his heels, Dean stepped back, once, twice, dragging Claire back with him, dragging Jacques with her. At the outside edge of the pentagram, the tension snapped and flung all three of them against the far wall of the furnace room; first Dean, then Claire, then Jacques, who slapped through them both like a cold fog to smash in turn against the rock.

Teeth gritted, Claire pried herself up off of Dean, used the wall to pull herself to her feet, and attempted to blink away the afterimages caused by impact with limestone closely followed by Jacques' left knee pa.s.sing between her eyes. ”Is everyone all right?”

”I guess.” Dean braced himself against the floor, separated himself from Jacques' right arm and shoulder, and stood.

”Jacques?”

”Won. I am not all right. Where are we?”

”The furnace room,” Dean answered, before Claire had a chance.

”What? In the hotel?” The last syllable rose to a shriek.

”Yeah. The furnace room in the hotel.” Dean shot a look both wounded and disapproving at Claire. ”But I don't think we should stay.”

Jacques glanced wide-eyed toward the pentagram. ”It is real?”

”It is,” Claire told him, holding her head in both hands. When they'd broken free, her will had retracted and she had the kind of headache that came with trying to fit approximately twelve feet of power in an eight-inch skull.

”Then we talk in the dining room.” Still flickering around the edges, he disappeared.

”The dining room,” Claire repeated. ”Good plan.” Staggering slightly, she started up the stairs.

One hand out to catch her if she fell, Dean followed, still far, far too angry to give in to the faint gibbering he could hear coming from inner bits of his brain. ”Why didn't you tell me there was a hole to h.e.l.l in the furnace room?”

”I'm a Keeper, it's my duty to protect you.”

”From what?”

”Living in terror.”

A LIE. A VERITABLE FALSEHOOD!.

Claire sighed. She couldn't believe a headache could pack so much ma.s.s; it felt as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. ”From having to bear more than I thought you could.”

”Didn't think much of me, did you? Do you?”