Part 67 (1/2)

”It's simple.” Dean flashed her a confident grin. ”All you do is turn this level from the off position to either the right or the left. Right takes us up, and left takes us down.”

Claire sighed. ”That's probably why they labeled it that way. I was asking on a more esoteric level, but never mind. Let's get this ride over with, shall we?”

”Anything you say, Boss.” Feet braced, Dean wrapped both hands around the gleaming bra.s.s lever and swung it to the right.

Up in the attic, ancient machinery gave a startled jerk and wheezed into life, sending wave after wave of vibration through the stored furniture. The small, multicolored creature removing the last of the most recent marshmallows from the imp traps whirled around and fell to what served it for knees. In all of its short existence, it had never heard such a sound. Extrapolating from limited experience, it created a wild and metaphysical explanation that changed its life forever.

But that's another story.

Claire pressed one hand flat against the wall as the elevator lurched upward. ”It works.”

”I never doubted it.” Looking like the captain at the wheel of a very small s.h.i.+p. Dean kept his eyes locked on the edge of the floor joists moving down on the other side of the iron gate. When the top edge of the first floor was almost even with the floor of the elevator, he lifted the switch back up into the off position. In the few seconds it took for the machinery to stop, the floors came level.

”Good eye, Anglais.” Jacques muttered. ”Such a pity you were born too late to make this a career.”

”Yeah?” Stepping left, Dean hooked up the gate and reached for the latch on the outer door. ”Well, it's a pity you died too early for me to...”

”To what, Angla...”

Careful not to step over the threshold, Claire leaned out of the elevator and peered up and down the beach, eyes squinted against the ruddy light of the setting sun. ”This doesn't look like the lobby.” The touch of the breeze on her cheek, the sound of the waves curling and slapping into pieces against the fine, white sand, the smell of the rotting fish they appeared to have cut in half worked together to convince her it wasn't illusion either. ”I'm beginning to see why Augustus Smythe closed this thing up.”

”Because he does not like to take the vacation? Perhaps because he did not have a beautiful woman to walk with by the sea.” Wafting past her, Jacques turned and held out his hand.

Claire stared at him, horrified. ”What are you doing out there? In fact, how can you be out there?” A quick glance showed that a doily taken from his old room remained crumpled in the back corner. ”Your anchor's in here!”

”As to how, I do not know. As to what, I am inviting you to go for the walk.”

”The walk? Jacques, I don't think you quite realize where you are.” Had she been able to hold him, she'd have grabbed his hand and yanked him back into the relative safety of the elevator.

”And where am I, cherie? Where is this place that gives me such freedom?”

”I don't know. And that's my point!”

”Ah, you are frightened of the unexpected. I understand, cherie, you are a woman, after all.” Lit from behind by the sun, his eyes gleamed.

She folded her arms. ”If you're implying I'm not taking the same stupid chance you are because I'm only a woman, go ahead. I'm not going to fall for it.”

”You wound me, cherie. I said I understood why you are frightened.”

Dean moved out of the elevator too fast for Claire to grab him. ”Are you saying I'm a coward?”

”Am I saying that?” Jacques drifted backward, toward the edge of the water. ”Anon. I would never think of such a thing.”

”You better not be,” Dean muttered. He drew in a deep lungful of air and smiled contentedly. ”Man, this place smells just like home.”

The ghost snorted. ”If your home smells like this, Anglais, it is no wonder you clean so much.”

The familiar salt air had put Dean in too good a mood to continue the argument. Shaking his head, he wandered down to meet the next wave coming in.

”Excuse me!”