Part 35 (1/2)

”Too late.”

”Dean?”

He took a step away from the furnace room. He wanted to ask her if she really thought she could close up h.e.l.l, but the sound of a hundred grains of rice being ground to powder drew his gaze to the floor. ”What's with all the rice?”

”Conservation of ma.s.s,” Claire explained wearily. ”It used to be the chains.”

”You changed the chains into rice?”

”It had to be something I could get through even though it weighed the same as the chains.”

The area immediately in front of the furnace room door looked as though a small blizzard had wandered through on its way to Rochester. Crouching, Dean scooped up a handful of the tiny white grains and frowned as they spilled through his fingers. ”Instant rice?”

”What's wrong with instant?”

”Nothing. I mean, it's not like you're cooking with it.” He straightened, dusting his hand against his thigh. ”Are you after changing it back?”

Claire shook her head and regretted the motion. ”I can't. I couldn't change my mind right now.”

”Then should I replace the chains? Mr. Smythe kept a box of extras,” he added in response to her expression.

Claire glanced at the door. The chains, like the locks on room six, were wishful thinking. If h.e.l.l got loose, chains wouldn't stop it. ”Why not.”

Picking rice off her socks, she watched him walk to a storage cupboard at the far end of the bas.e.m.e.nt, return, and efficiently secure the door. When he turned to face her, she realized there was a reserve in his expression, a new wariness in his gaze, that made her feel as though, somehow, she'd failed him. She didn't like the feeling.

Keepers weren't in the habit of apologizing to bystanders. But then, Keepers didn't usually have to look Dean McIssac in the eye, knowing they were wrong. ”All right.” She tried to keep her nostrils from flaring and didn't quite manage it. ”I'm sorry that I didn't tell you.”

”I told you so.” Enjoying the startled reaction his unexpected declaration had evoked, Austin picked his way across the laundry room. ”What's with the rice?”

”It used to be the chains and locks,” Claire told him.

”I see. Well, the mice will certainly be pleased.”

”How many times do I have to tell you, I don't think they're mice!” The need to vent at something pushed the volume up until she was almost shouting.

Austin snorted. ”Oh, that's right; you're the Keeper and I'm just a cat. What do I know about mice?”

She smiled tightly down at him. ”You should know they don't come in primary colors. Were you looking for us?”

”No. But I was wondering why Jacques is having hysterics in the dining room while you two are hiding out down here.” Fastidiously finding a clean bit of floor, he sat down, wrapping his tail around his toes. ”After what I overheard, I'm not wondering any more, but I was.

”This is only a guess,” he continued as Claire raced for the stairs, ”based on the really p.i.s.sed-off ravings of a dead man, but did someone use the h-word out of context and almost condemn his soul to everlasting torment?”

Dean blanched as he realized that was exactly what had happened. ”If you'd told me,” he called, hurrying to catch up, ”I wouldn't have done it!”

”Her mother wanted her to tell you.”

”Shut up, Austin.”

When they reached the dining room, a plastic salt shaker, a box of toothpicks, and six grapes flew out of the kitchen. Claire ducked and Dean took the full impact.