“The cat said…”
“He says a lot of things.”
“You said you’d explain.”
“After I’d dealt with her. And I haven’t.”
“I could help you with her.”
“You don’t know what’s going on.”
“I would if you explained.”
“I’ve had as much as I can take of this,” Austin grumbled. “I’ll explain.” Wriggling out of Claire’s arms, he crossed the hall and locked a pale green stare on Dean’s face. “Do you believe in magic?”
“That’s an explanation?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Sure.”
“Sure? What kind of an answer is sure? Do you or don’t you?”
Dean shrugged. “I guess I do.”
“Good.” Stretching out, Austin ripped at the carpet. “Because that’s what we’re dealing with.”
“Magic?”
“That’s right. The woman in the room behind you was put to sleep by magic.”
Dean shifted a little farther down the hall. Drawing his knees up, he laid his forearms across them and frowned. “Like Sleeping Beauty?”
Austin’s ears went back. “The opposite. This time the bad guy—her—got put to sleep by the good guys.”
“Why?”
“How should I know?”
“I just thought…”
“At this point we don’t know much more than you do.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Actually, we know a whole lot more than you, but we don’t know that. The important thing for you to remember is that, if you’re lucky, the woman in there is the worst thing you’re ever going to come in contact with. She’s evil sleeping in size eight pumps.”
Dean’s eyes widened. “How do you know her shoe size?”
“I don’t.”
“But you said…”
“I was making a point,” Austin sighed. “Which obviously didn’t make it through your thick head.”
Watching the cat stalk back across the hall and rub his head against a denim-clad hip, Dean suddenly remembered the feel of a body clutched tightly against his. Under normal circumstances, it wasn’t a feeling he’d have forgotten. His ears turned red as he realized just which bits had gone where and he suspected he should apologize for something. “Uh, Ms. Hansen…”
“You might as well call me Claire,” she interrupted wearily, picking at a loose thread in the cleanest carpet she’d ever seen. “If Austin’s right…”
“And I am,” Austin put in, not bothering to glance up from an important bit of grooming.
“…we’re going to be working together. That is,” she added after a moment’s pause, “if you still want to keep your job.”
Austin snorted. “Weren’t you listening to me?”
“Dean has to decide for himself if he’s going to stay.”
Dean shifted nervously under the weight of their combined attention. “What is it we’ll be doing together?”
Claire put her cupped hand over the cat’s muzzle before she answered. “Fighting evil.”
“You’re a superhero?”
Austin jerked free. “Don’t,” he suggested sternly, “give her ideas.”
“No, I’m not a superhero. I don’t even own a pair of tights. Are you blushing again?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good.”
“I am one of the good guys. And this is a bad situation. The woman in there…” Claire nodded toward the broken door. “…is only half the problem. Somewhere in this building is a hole in the fabric of the universe.”
About to protest that there were some stories even a dumb Newfie wouldn’t believe, Dean hesitated. They’d found a dust-covered woman, dressed in 1940s clothing, asleep in room six and he’d just had the situation more or less—mostly less—explained to him by a talking cat. Evidence suggested it wasn’t a bam. “A hole in the fabric of the universe,” he repeated. “Okay.”
“We refer to it as an accident site. At some time, somebody did something they shouldn’t have. The energy coming through the hole is keeping the woman asleep.” Crossing her legs at the ankle, Claire rocked up onto her feet. “That’s how I know there is a hole and Augustus Smythe wasn’t here merely to monitor her.” As Dean opened his mouth, the next question obvious on his face, she held up a silencing hand. “It’s nothing personal, but right at the moment, my questions are more important than yours. Since I’m not going back in there to find the answers…”
“You don’t want her to wake up,” Austin muttered at Dean. “You really don’t want her to wake up.”
“…I’ve got to find the accident site. Unfortunately, it seems to be at least as well shielded as she is and we’re going to have to search every threadbare inch of this place, unless…you know where it is?”
“The accident site?” He stood. “The hole in the fabric of the universe?”
“That’s right.” She’d never had to explain herself to a bystander before. It was hard not to sound patronizing.
“Sorry. I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about.” Squaring his shoulders, he hiked the tool belt up on his hips. His world had always included a number of things he’d had to take on faith. He added one more. “But I’d like to help.”
“So you’re staying?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Claire.” When he looked dubious, she sighed. “What?”
“You own the hotel, you’re my boss; I can’t call you by your first name. It wouldn’t be right.”
About to tell him that he was being an idiot, Claire suddenly remembered the feel of his arms and the warm scent of fabric softener and decided it might be better to maintain some distance. “What did you call Augustus Smythe?”
“To his face?”
Austin snickered.
“Yes. To his face.”
“I called him Boss.” Dean considered the possibility of calling an attractive woman the same thing he’d called a cranky old man and wasn’t entirely convinced it would work. “I guess I could call you Boss.”
“Good. Glad we’ve got that cleared up.”
“Should I wire this door shut before we start searching, um, Boss?”
Although Dean don’t seem quite comfortable using the title, Claire found she liked it. It made her feel like the lead in an old gangster movie. “You might as well.” It would be a useless precaution since it was unlikely any of them would now wander into room six by accident, but it would give Dean something to do that he understood. “Just let me turn out the light first.”
The remainder of the third floor, two double rooms and a single, was empty of everything except the lingering smell of disinfectant. Inside the storage cupboard across from room six, Claire emptied the shelves of toilet paper and cleaning supplies, then peered down the laundry chute.
“Don’t even think about it!” Austin spat as she turned and studied him measuringly.
“Suppose it’s between floors?”
“Then it’ll just have to stay there.”
“I’ll keep you from falling.”
“Oh, sure.” He squeezed in behind a bucket of sponges and peered balefully at her over the edge, ears flat against his head. “That’s what you said the last time.”
“Those were extraordinary circumstances. Never happen again.”
“I said no.”
“Okay, okay.” She tried and failed to open the narrow door next to the chute. “What’s in here?”
“Stairs to the attic.” Dean eyeballed the opening of the laundry chute, was relieved to find he wouldn’t fit, and found the required key on his master ring.
Filling an area barely five feet square, a narrow set of metal stairs spiraled upward toward an uninviting square hole cut out of the ceiling.
“Are there lights?”
“Don’t think so. You stay where you’re at, girl, and let me…” At the look on her face, his voice trailed off. “Never mind, then.”