Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 2) (2 page)

The man turned to her. “They have no vacancy.”

The woman looked at me. “We drove six hours in this rain from Little Rock. We won’t be any trouble. We just need a couple of rooms.”

“There is a very nice Holiday Inn only two miles from here,” I said.

The woman pointed at the Avalon subdivision. “My sister lives in that subdivision. She said the only person who ever stays here is some old lady.”

Ah. Mystery solved. The neighbors knew I ran a Bed & Breakfast, because that was the only way I could explain the occasional guests.

“Is it because we have kids?” The woman asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “Would you like directions to the Holiday Inn?”

The man grimaced. “No, thanks. Come on, Louise.”

The turned and went to their car. The woman was mumbling something. “….outrageous.”

I watched them get into the car, reverse down the driveway, and leave. The inn chimed softly, punctuating their departure.

“I thought we had guests!” Caldenia called from the stairs.

“Not the right kind,” I said.

The inn creaked. I petted the door frame. “Don’t worry. It will get better.”

Caldenia sighed. “Perhaps you should go on a date, dear. Men are so attentive when they think there is a chance you will let them into your bed. It does wonderful things to lift your spirits.”

A date. Right.

“What about Sean Evans?”

“He isn’t home,” I said quietly.

“Too bad. It was so much fun when he and the other fellow were around.” Caldenia shrugged and went up the stairs.

About five months ago, I watched Sean Evans open a door and step through it to the greater universe beyond. I hadn’t heard from him since. Not that he owed me anything. Sharing a single kiss could hardly be called a relationship, no matter how memorable it was. I knew from experience that the universe was very large. It was difficult for a single woman to compete with all its wonders. Besides, I was an innkeeper. Guests left to have exciting adventures and our kind stayed behind. Such was the nature of our profession.

And telling myself all those things over and over didn’t make me feel better. When I thought about Sean Evans, I felt the way a business traveler from Canada might feel about an overnight trip to Miami in the middle of February. It was like seeing the sea and the beach from a car window. It might have been great, if only we had more time and now we would likely never know if that beach would’ve turned out to be paradise or if we would’ve found jellyfish in the water and sand in our food.

It was for probably for the best. Werewolves were nothing but trouble anyway.

I was about to close the door, when magic tugged on me, like ripples from a stone cast into a calm pond. This tug had a completely different flavor. Someone had entered the inn’s grounds. Someone powerful and dangerous.

I reached for my broom, resting in the corner by the door and stepped out onto the front porch. A figure in a grey rain poncho stood by the hedges, just on the edge of the inn’s grounds, politely waiting to be invited inside.

We had a visitor. Maybe even a guest, the right kind this time. I inclined my head, more of a very shallow bow than a nod.

The two doors behind me opened on their own. The figure approached slowly. The visitor was tall, almost a foot taller than me, which put him around six two, maybe six three. He walked into the inn. I followed him in and the doors closed behind me.

The figure pulled the cord securing his hood and shrugged off his rain poncho. A tall man stood in front of me. He was muscular, but lean, his shoulders straining his white shirt with flaring sleeves. An embroidered vest hugged his frame, black accented with blue. His long legs were clad into dark grey trousers. He wore supple black boots that came midway up his calf. A leather sword belt graced his narrow hips, supporting a long slender scabbard with an elaborate basket hilt protruding from it. He looked like he probably owned a wide-brimmed hat with some fluffy white feathers and possibly a cloak or two.

The man looked at me. His shoulder-length blond hair was pulled back haphazardly into a horse tail at the nape of his neck. His face was shocking. Masculine, well-cut, but not at all brutish, with strong elegant lines people usually called aristocratic: broad high forehead, straight nose, high cheekbones, square jaw and a full mouth. His eyes, wide and tinted with a hint of quiet humor, were pale blue. He wasn’t at all feminine, yet most people would describe him as beautiful rather than handsome. His was a face that spoke of intelligence, confidence, and calculation. He didn’t look – he watched, he noticed, he evaluated, and I had a feeling that even when his mouth and his eyes smiled, his mind remained alert and razor sharp.

I had seen him before. I remembered that face. But where?

“I’m looking for Dina Demille,” he said. His voice suited him well: warm and confident. He had a light accent, not really British, not really Southern US, but an odd, melodious meld of both.

“You found her,” I said. “Welcome to Gertrude Hunt Inn. Your poncho?”

“Thank you.” He handed me the poncho and I hung it on the hook by the door.

“Will you be staying with us?”

“I’m afraid not.” He offered me an apologetic smile.

Figured. “What can I do for you?”

He raised his hand and traced a pattern between us. The air in the wake of his finger glowed with pale blue. A stylized symbol of scales: two weights in the balance, flared between us, held for a second and vanished. He was an Arbiter. Oh crap. My heart sped up. Who could possibly be suing us? Gertrude Hunt didn’t have the finances to fight an arbitration.

I leaned on my broom. “I’ve received no notice of arbitration.”

He smiled. His face lit up. Wow.

“My apologies. I’m afraid I’ve given you the wrong impression. You’re not a party to an arbitration. I came to you to discuss a business proposition.”

Business was so much better than arbitration. I pointed at the couches in the front room. “Please sit down. May I get you something to drink, Arbiter?”

“Hot tea would be fantastic,” he said. “And please, call me George.”

We sat in my comfortable chairs and sipped out tea. George frowned, obviously collecting his thoughts. He seemed so… pleasant. Cultured and genteel. But in my line of work, you quickly learned that appearances were deceiving. Beast jumped on my lap and positioned herself so she could lunge off my knees in an instant. Being cautious never hurt.

“Have you heard of Nexus?” George asked.

“Yes.” I had visited Nexus. It was one of those bizarre places in the Galaxy where reality bent into a pretzel. “But please continue. I would rather have all of the information I need than assume I know something I don’t.”

“Very well. Nexus is a colloquial name for Onetrikvasth IV, a star system with a single habitable planet.”

He didn’t stumble over the name. It must’ve taken some practice.

“I understand that Nexus is what’s called a temporal anomaly. Time flows faster there. A month on Earth is roughly equivalent to over three months on Nexus. However, biological aging proceeds at the same pace.”

My brother, Klaus, once explained the Nexus paradox to me, complete with formulas. We were trying to find our parents at the time, and the complex explanation had flown right over my head. I chucked it up to magic. The Universe was full of wonders. Some of them would drive you insane if you thought about it too long.

“Nexus also contains large subterranean reserves of Kuyo, a naturally occurring viscous liquid, which, when refined, is used in production of what my background file calls “pharmaceutical assets of significant strategic value.’”

“It’s used to manufacture military stimulants,” I said. “They affect a wide variety of species in slightly different ways, but typically they boost strength and speed, while suppressing fatigue and fear. They turn humans into berserkers, for example.”

George smiled. “I should probably speak plainly.”

“If you so choose. It would save us some time.”

“Very well.” George sipped his tea. “Kuyo occurs throughout Galaxy but only in small quantities, which makes Nexus extremely valuable. Currently there are three factions fighting for the control of the planet. Each claims the rights to the entirety of Nexus’ mineral wealth and none are willing to compromise. They’re engaged in a bloody war. It’s been going on for roughly eight years in Earth’s terms and almost twenty years in Nexus’ time. The war is brutal and has cost all sides a great deal. The cooler minds on all sides agree it can’t continue. The matter has been referred for Arbitration by one of the interested factions, the other two agreed, and here we are.”

“I’m guessing one of the factions are the Merchants?” When we had landed on Nexus, we ended up in a Merchant spaceport. Merchants facilitated trade throughout Galaxy and its many dimensions. When you needed rare goods or a large quantity of goods, you went to see the Merchant. They were motivated by profit and prestige.

George nodded. “Yes. The war is cutting into their profits.”

“Which family? The Ama?”

“The Nuan. The Ama family cut their losses and sold its holdings on Nexus to Nuan two years ago.”

Suddenly his presence here made a lot of sense. “Is Nuan Cee involved?”

“Yes. In fact, he was the one who recommended your establishment.”

Before my parents disappeared, they did a lot of business with Nuan Cee. Running an inn sometimes required exotic goods. Even I had done a deal with Nuan Cee. I’d bartered the world’s rarest honey for the eggs of the deadly giant spider.

“Your tea is delicious,” George said.

“Thank you. Who are the other two factions?”

“House Krahr of Holy Cosmic Anocracy.”

Six months ago I had sheltered a vampire of House Krahr, after he were injured trying to apprehend an alien assassin. His nephew had come to rescue him. The nephew’s name was Arland, he was the Marshal of his House, and he had flirted with me. At least flirted in vampire terms. He’d assured me that he would be ecstatic to be my shield and I shouldn’t hesitate to rely upon his warrior’s prowess. He also got drunk on coffee and ran through my orchard naked.

Good God, who could hold the vampires of Krahr off for twenty years? They were one of the most ferocious sentient species in the Galaxy. They were predators, who lived to war. Their entire civilization was dedicated to it.

“Who is the final faction?”

George set his cup down. “Otrokar.”

I blinked.

Silence stretched.

“Otrokar? The Hope-crushing Horde?”

George looked slightly uncomfortable. “That’s the official name, yes.”

Otrokar were the scourge of the Galaxy. They were huge and violent and they lived to conquer. They’d started with one planet and now they had nine. Their feud with Holy Anocracry was older than anyone cared to remember. Their name literally meant the Hope-crushing, because once you saw them, all of your hopes died.

Having vampires and Otrokar together in close proximity was like mixing glycerin with nitric acid and then hitting it with a sledgehammer. They would explode. It would be a slaughter.

I leaned forward. “So you need a neutral venue to hold the Arbitration?”

“Yes. An inn on Earth is ideal. It is defined as neutral ground and we can rely on an innkeeper’s power to keep the participants in check.”

“Let me guess: you’ve tried other inns and everyone turned you down. Am I your last stop?”

George took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“There was an attempt to broker peace between Otrokar and Holy Cosmic Anocracy,” I said. “About fifty years ago.”

He braided his long elegant fingers into a single. “Yes, I’m familiar with it.”

“Then you also know how it ended.”

“I believe the Patriarch of House Jero lunged at the Otrokar Korum, and Korum beheaded him.”

“He ripped the Patrirach’s head off with his bare hands and then proceed to beat the Marshall of House Jero to death with it.”

“Well, it does sound risky when you put it that way…”

“It’s not risky, it’s suicidal.”

“Should I take it as a no?” George asked.

This was a really bad idea.

“How many people do you expect?”

“At least twelve from each party.”

Thirty six guests. My heart sped up. Thirty six guests, each with robust magic. This would sustain the inn for years to come. Not to mention that if I managed to pull it off, it would raise the inn’s standing.

No, what was I thinking? It would be crazy. I would have to keep peace between thirty six individuals, each dying to kill the other. It would be terrible. The risk… The gamble was too great.

What did I have to lose?

George reached into his pocket, produced a small tablet about the size of a playing car and just as thin and showed it to me. Two numbers: $500,000 and $1,000,000.

“The first is your payment in the event the arbitration fails. The second is payment if we succeed.”

Five hundred thousand. We needed the money. I could finally upgrade my books. I could buy the additional building materials for the inn.

No. I might as well set Gertrude Hunt on fire.

My gaze fell on the portrait of my parents. They were looking at me. Demilles never backed down from a challenge. Neither did they take unnecessary risks.