Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 2) (9 page)

“Otrokar,” I murmured to the inn. The screen expanded to show an enormous male otrokar. He had to be over seven feet tall and at least three hundred and fifty pounds. Muscles bulged on his frame. The image faded and a new one slid in its place: another otrokar, but this one under six feet tall, lean, spinning two axes impossibly fast.

“You’re probably wondering why there is such discrepancy,” George told me.

“At puberty, the otrokar bodies begin producing a certain hormone,” I said. “The hormone has a great ability to reshape their bodies. If they begin lifting weights, the hormone bulks them up and makes them larger. If they train in gymnastics, it makes them more compact and lean. It’s part of their evolutionary adaptation, designed to let them survive in a wide variety of climates. Children who mature during the times of drought are smaller, children who mature in cold climates are larger.”

Jack grinned. “He occasionally forgets that the rest of us are not idiots.”

George ignored him. “You’re completely correct. The otrokar are highly specialized. The hormone production stops after they reach maturity, and they are locked into the choices they had made in adolescence. They learn to do one profession, but they do it exceedingly well.”

“So if you need someone to blow up a bridge in enemy territory…” Gaston said.

“Vampires would send a team of five,” Jack said. “All five will know how to arm and disarm the bomb.”

“The Otrokar will send a group of twenty,” George continued. “Five will know how to operate the bomb and the rest will keep them alive until they get there. Otrokar have large families and outnumber vampires roughly three to one. Individually vampires are better soldiers, which is why otrokar prefer to conquer in a horde. Vampires are led by hereditary aristocracy, while promotion within otrokar ranks is a meritocracy influenced by a popularity contest. The differences between their ideologies are so vast, the two civilizations have great contempt for each other, not to mention that they are currently engaged in a bloody war. If the members of the two delegations come in direct contact, we can expect fireworks.”

“They won’t have a lot of opportunities for unsupervised contact,” I said. “They will be housed in separate sets of rooms with individual access to the common dining room and ballroom. If they attempt to get at each other, they will be strongly discouraged.”

“Exactly how are you planning on doing that?” Jack asked. “We really need to discuss the security measures with your team.”

Really? “I’m an innkeeper. I don’t require a security team.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you’re planning on keeping them apart all by yourself?”

“Yes.”

Gaston rubbed his chin.

“You do realize that they are professional soldiers,” Jack said.

“Yes.”

Jack looked at his brother. George smiled.

Jack wouldn’t stop. I recognized his type. He might not have been part of the Sun Horde, but he was a shapeshifter and he was likely a cat. Cats trusted in themselves and chafed at any authority. Sean at least gave me the benefit of the doubt, but Jack wouldn’t. Not until I swatted him on the nose.

“Are you a professional soldier?” I asked.

“I was for a while,” Jack said.

Aha. “And I assume that you’re fast and deadly?”

Jack furrowed his eyebrows. “Sure.”

I glanced at Gaston. “Are you also a professional soldier?

He grinned. “I’m more of a gentleman of adventure.”

George laughed under his breath.

“I save these two from themselves,” Gaston continued. “Occasionally I do a bit of skulduggery.”

What? “Skulduggery?”

“Scale a ten foot wall, jump out of the shadows, break a diplomat’s neck, plant false documents on his body, and prevent an international incident type of thing to keep the war from breaking out,” Gaston said helpfully. “Dreadful stuff, but quite necessary.”

That was a really specific description of skulduggery. I smiled at the two of them. “Since you’re both men of action, this should be an easy challenge. Take my broom away from me.”

The two men measured the distance between me and them.

Jack glanced at his brother. “Are you going to say anything?”

George shook his head. “No, I’m just going to let you walk into this noose. You’re doing a fine job.”

Jack shrugged.

Gaston leaped into the air. It was an incredibly powerful jump. He shot off the floor as if he’d been fired out of a cannon, flying through the air straight for me. The inn’s wall split. Thick flexible roots, smooth with wood grain but agile like whips, exploded from the wall, jerking Gaston out of the air and wrapping him into a cocoon.

Jack dashed underneath Gaston. The inn’s tendrils snapped at him, but he dodged, gliding out of their reach as if his joints were liquid. It was a beautiful thing to watch. I let him get within three feet of me and taped the broom on the floor. The broom handle split, fracturing. Brilliant electric blue shot out and hit Jack’s skin. He convulsed and crashed down like a log.

George threw something. The hand movement was so fast, it was a blur. The tendrils shot out to block and a four-inch dart fell harmlessly to the floor.

The floor of the inn parted like water and Jack sank into it up to his neck. Around me the room stretched slightly, waiting. The broom reformed in my hand. I flicked my fingers and the floor surged up, twisting, raising Jack to my eye level. Above him Gaston hung, suspended upside down. Only his face was visible.

The grey-eyed man unhinged his massive jaws. “Well. This is a bit of a predicament.”

I faced the far wall and pushed with my magic. The wood disintegrated. A vast shallow sea, pale orange, stretched before us under pearl-grey sky. In the distance jagged peaks tore through the water, silhouetted against a scattering of reddish planets. The wind bathed me, bringing with it scent of salt and algae. Yes, this will do nicely.

Ripples troubled the surface. An enormous triangular fin with long spikes carved the water like a knife, speeding toward us.

“The inn is my domain,” I said. “Here I am supreme. If you keep making yourself into a nuisance, I’ll banish you to that ocean and leave you in there overnight.”

The fin was barely twenty five yards away.

Twenty.

Fifteen. A glistening blue hide rose out of the water.

The wall rebuilt itself just before an enormous mouth studded with dagger teeth thrust out of the ocean.

Caldenia descended the stairs. “Ooo. Bondage so early in the morning, dear?”

If only. “May I present Caldenia ka ret Magren,” I said. “Her Grace is a permanent guest of the inn.”

George got off the couch and executed a flawless bow with a flourish. I let the tendrils unravel around Gaston and he dropped to the floor softly and bowed as well.

“Are you going to let me go?” Jack asked quietly.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“So Gaston gets to go but I don’t?”

“I like him more than I like you.”

Jack looked at me and grinned. “Fair enough. I’ve got what I asked for.”

I dissolved the floor and let Jack go make his introductions.

George drifted over to me. “I didn’t know you can open dimensional gates.”

“I can’t, but Gertrude Hunt can.”

A cough made me turn. Orro stood in the doorway of the small dining room.

“I think breakfast is ready,” I announced.

The three men, Caldenia, and I walked into the dining room and we sat around the heavy old table. Tendrils slid from the wall and a plate gently slid in place in front of me. I blinked. An egg, cooked paper thin, like a crepe and folded into an elaborate purse filled with small chips of potatoes fried to golden perfection, crumbled sausage, and tiny pieces of mushrooms. A thin green stalk sprouted from the center of the mix, bearing delicate pink flowers, carved from a strawberry. A small basket woven of narrow strips of bacon sat next to the egg purse, holding a sunny side up egg sprinkled with spices and next to it a flower of cucumber petals bloomed with a center of egg yolk that had been piped onto it with a surgical precision. It was so pretty, I didn’t know to eat it or too frame it. The aroma alone made my mouth water.

“Eggs three ways!” Orro announced and retreated into the kitchen.

Eggs three ways were unbelievably delicious. Watching Caldenia sample them was an experience in itself. Her Grace daintily tried the filling of the egg purse, swiped the tines of her fork across the piped egg yolk, picked up the tiny bacon basket and delicately slurped the entire thing into her mouth. Sharp carnivore teeth flashed, bacon crunched, and she dabbed her lips with a napkin.

My seat let me glimpse a narrow slice of the kitchen from the doorway. Inside it Orro paused at the island, a kitchen towel in his hand.

Her Grace put down her napkin. “Exquisite.”

All of Orro’s needles stood on end. For a second he looked like one of those neon-colored spikey balls you can buy in the toy section. A moment later his needles lowered back into place and he continued to wipe down the island.

Lunch was served at twelve and featured something called “Simple Creme Fraiche Chicken and vegetables,” which turned out to be roasted chicken with crispy skin and meat so tender, it fell apart under the pressure of my fork, served with fresh spinach, citrus, almonds and some sort of unbelievably delicious dressing. I couldn’t possibly keep Orro. He was too expensive, but I’d be a fool not to enjoy it while it lasted.

By six thirty everything was ready and I waited on the back porch, wearing my robe. The designated point of entry was in the field behind my orchard, out of the way of the front road, and the brush and trees would block most of the flashy side effects of the guests’ arrival. I had gently encouraged six apples trees to move a few yards to the side, so we had a clear path through the orchard and from where I stood, I could see the field, its grass freshly mowed. The sky was overcast, promising an early, moody evening. A cold breeze came, swirling through the trees.

Almost forty guests, most of them high-ranking. One misstep and my reputation and the inn’s ranking wouldn’t recover. My mind kept cycling through the preparations: quarters, ballroom, instructions to Orro. At the last moment I had reactivated the stables. The inn had already formed the stables once, many decades ago, so all I had to do was move it out of the inn’s underground storage. Unearthing them strained the inn and me both, but it was better to have the stables and not need them than letting someone’s prized racing dinosaur soak in the cold rain while you made them available.

I’d thought of everything. I went down my check list and crossed off every item. Still I felt keyed up. If I was an engine, I would be idling too high. I could handle forty guests. I had handled more than that at my parents’ inn, but only for short time and none of them were actively at war with each other.

It would be fine. This was my inn and no amount of guests could change that.

I reached out and touched the post supporting the roof over the back porch. The magic of the inn connected with mine, restless. The inn was nervous, too.

The posts and the roof were a new addition the inn had grown on its own. I hadn’t realized this, but I had developed a habit of walking out onto the back patio, which used to be a concrete slab, and watching the trees. Sometimes I would bring a folding chair out and read. The Texas sun knew no mercy and after I burned for the second time by staying out a minute or two too long, the inn took the matters into its own hands and sprouted stone and wood porch posts and a roof. It also replaced the concrete slab with some flagstone and I wasn’t sure where the inn had gotten it.

“It will be fine,” I murmured to the house, stroking the wood with the tips of my fingers. The inn’s magic leaned against me, reassured.

“It will,” George said. He stood next to me wearing the same outfit as this morning, but now he also held a cane with an ornate top, a dark wood inlaid with twisted swirls of silver. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a knife in it. He also developed a mysterious limp. It appeared the Arbiter liked to be underestimated.

Behind us Gaston and Orro carried on a quiet conversation. The window was open and the sound of their voices carried to us.

“So if it was your first meal, why eggs?” Gaston asked. “Why not caviar or truffles or something complicated?”

“Consider Coq au Vin,” Orro answered. “Even the simplest recipe requires is a long process. One has to have a mature bird and marinade it in burgundy for two days. Once marinated, thick slices of bacon must be sauteed in a pan. Then the chicken must be browned, smothered in Cognac, which is then to be set on fire.”

This was definitely an Earth recipe, specifically French. Where in the world did he learn it?

“Then the chicken must be seasoned. Salt, pepper, bay leaf and thyme. Onion must be added, chicken must simmer, flour is to be sprinkled onto the whole endeavor, and then it will be simmered. More ingredients are added, bacon, garlic, chicken stock, mushrooms, until it all blends into a delicious harmonized whole.”

“You’re making me hungry,” Gaston said, “But I still don’t see the point.”