Behind Bars

by Meredith Katz

  Table of Contents

  Behind Bars

  Book Details

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  About the Author

  BEHIND

  bars

  PANDEMONIUM 2

  MEREDITH KATZ

  The city of Dolana has kept itself free from demonic rule the hard way: by interrogating its citizens and sending anyone who could possibly be under demonic influence to the Inquisition. City innkeeper Pelerin is happy to help out however he can—after all, he lost his beloved wife to demons many years earlier, leaving him to raise their son on his own. If anyone deserves to have a grudge against demons, it's him.

  But when his now-adult son disagrees with his actions, he is forced to reexamine the past. Is he doing the right thing, when it could lead—has led—to the deaths of innocents? Why is his son skulking about, and what secrets is he keeping? And while Pel's hands are full with this, a stranger comes to stay at his inn... a stranger who makes the question more relevant than Pel ever imagined would be possible.

  Behind Bars

  Pandemonium 2

  By Meredith Katz

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Amanda Jean

  Cover designed by Natasha Snow

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition February 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Meredith Katz

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781620049488

  Print ISBN 9781620049754

  For Sam, for whom I made Bru at least 20% more of a hot mess. Happy Valentine's Day, baby.

  Chapter One

  The last thing Pelerin Stone wanted to do the evening after arguing with his son was work. He'd have to be ready with smiles and easy chatter that he just wasn't feeling. But it needed to be done whether or not he wanted to. It was important, and bigger than either of them.

  Strained and tired, Pel got ready for the day: polishing wine glasses, wiping down the bar, and hefting casks up the steep steps from the cellar. The cooks were working slowly today, which only made his mood worse. He tried not to show it, because they didn't exactly deserve it—not when his real problem lay elsewhere—and because they'd almost certainly work slower just to spite him if he snapped at them.

  The inn opened early in the evening and had just unlocked its doors, which meant Pel was behind. Customers didn't stop for bad days, and it wouldn't be long before people started rolling in. He imagined he'd be seeing the Villem boys soon; they were almost always the first to arrive, and they had big appetites. Normally, he'd consider that a good thing.

  And they'd be the first of many. The inn was a popular place, which was good when he was in a fine mood and everyone was getting their work done but less good right now, when he really just wanted to have a break. But Dolana was not a town with a lot of places to relax. The places the Inquisition had vetted as safe and free from demonic influence were, as a result, in demand.

  The bell over the door jingled, and Pel looked up with an automatic smile that he hoped wouldn't seem forced. Was the stew ready yet? The Villem boys would want—

  —It wasn't the Villem boys. To his even greater surprise, it wasn't anybody he knew at all.

  The stranger was a tall and lean woman, probably in her late thirties. She had no chest to speak of, but her hips were wide and her facial features delicate. Under her heavily brocaded vest, she wore a fine shirt stained with sweat and dust from the road. She'd likely been riding to get here, judging from the style of breeches and high boots she was wearing. A heavy-seeming sack was slung over her shoulder.

  Pel kept himself from frowning out of sheer force of will. Visitors to Dolana were rare. He let rooms, of course, but most of his patrons were citizens who needed a brief place to stay—youths moving out who hadn't found a place to lease, folks rebuilding after a fire, people like that. He hadn't had cause to actually rent them out to a traveler for over a year now. Anyone coming from out of the city had to pass the gate inspection, and even the innocent ones tended to steer clear of that much hassle and keep on the main road toward the next town instead.

  Still, she looked human enough. Her skin was a warm shade of light brown with a smattering of freckles, and even if her eyes were a startlingly light blue, they were well within the normal human range.

  She caught his gaze and gave him a once-over in return, blatant about it and favoring him with a smile. He straightened, surprised by how forthright she was—but then, he kept himself dressed and groomed to have a good effect on patrons. He was dressed in a clean, cream-colored shirt that he left open at the neck and rolled up at the elbows to keep himself casual, and it was perfectly fitted to his frame. His brown hair might have gone sandy as the years caught up to him, but he kept it short-trimmed and neat, and he kept himself free from facial hair. The hairless lines where his scars were made him look a bit threatening once he went to stubble.

  She headed for the bar, and her bag hit the floor with a satisfying thump as she slid onto a stool across from him, grinning. "Goodness, but am I glad to see this place." Her gaze immediately slid to the scar on his cheek, lingering on the three faded claw marks. He kept himself from raising a hand to them out of long practice only.

  Her voice had the soft husk of a smoker. He glanced her over again for other signs of that—wrinkles at the corners of the mouth or the yellowing around the fingernails—but came up with nothing.

  Pel looked up again, widening his smile a little. He knew it gave him dimples that worked well with the broad set of his jaw, and they distracted people from the scars. "A traveler?" he asked. "We don't see many of your type around here. Welcome to Dolana."

  "I imagine not, judging from the interrogation I got at the gate." The woman tossed her loose black curls back off her shoulder. She'd either not bound her hair for travel or had taken it down before entering, so he surmised that she, too, liked to make an impression. "Do you have rooms to rent? Or a meal—I'm starving." She winked at him, playful.

  "We have both." Smiling affably, he pretended he hadn't seen the hints of interest behind the wink. He might be happy to use his looks to get money and information when he needed them, but he wasn't looking to lead her on beyond that. "I'll get the cooks to bring you out a bowl of stew." Gods willing they'd actually finished making it. "Rooms are forty a night and include dinner. Can I get you a drink to help wash down the dust—"

  Of the road, he'd meant to say, but as Pel had turned to indicate the stairwell up to the rooms, his son, Bruant, appeared in the stairwell, slouching. Pel had kept Bruant's wavy brown hair short for him when he was young, but recently Bruant had wanted to grow it out, and now it seemed to go everywhere except where it was supposed to be.

  He was dressed to go out with friends, flat cap pushing his hair down in a way that only made its fall worse. The wool vest he was wearing was one he'd purchased during the winter, eager to wear it when spring came around, but he'd had the last bit of growth spurt before that could happen. It stuck to his body so tightly it could have been fixed there. Pel saw the buttons strain as he and Bruant made eye contact and Bruant sucked a breath in.

  Pel counted his blessings that wh
atever new scene was to happen between them today wouldn't happen yet. Not with a visitor here.

  It had been wishful thinking. Bruant came over, hands shoved into his pockets—still radiating tension and anger from that morning, his black eyes a little wild and his jaw clenched enough to stick out.

  "Dad." Bruant leaned on the bar right next to the stranger, not paying her a moment's attention, his hands clenched into fists. "We need to talk."

  Pel felt a muscle in his jaw jump as he tried to maintain his friendly smile. "I thought we talked enough earlier, Bru," he said, as lightly as he could manage.

  "I'm nowhere near done with you." Bruant was clearly trying for threatening but not quite making it. His fine features, so like his mother's, were tight and drawn. "Ditch work for a bit."

  "Family problems?" the traveler asked, both her brows raised. "I don't mean to interrupt, but I'm hoping to at least get a room settled and some food and drink in front of me before you two have whatever argument you've got in mind."

  "I'm so sorry," Pel told her. Bruant had been moody ever since he'd hit puberty, but their argument seemed to have set him off worse than ever. He turned back to Bruant. "Not now. We'll talk later."

  "But—"

  "Later," Pel said, letting his smile fall finally. Take the damn hint, Bru.

  For a moment, he wasn't sure Bruant would go along with it. But, eyes going darker and sulkier, Bruant turned away with a jerky motion. "Fine." He glanced aside at the stranger, his expression hidden from Pel. "You could find a better place to stay than this hole," he said, then turned, heading out. His mood was almost visible, like he could be trailing a black cloud behind him.

  Pel watched him leave, then quickly turned back to the stranger and forced the smile back onto his face, though it felt awkward now. "I'm so sorry," he repeated. "He's at a difficult age."

  "Around twenty, I'd wager," the stranger said, looking more amused than offended as she gazed after Bruant. "I could find a better place to stay, huh? He sure seems angry at you for something."

  Pel sighed. "He misses his mother and I'm a poor substitute as a parent," he said. "You have any kids?"

  "I don't think so," the woman said with a dismissive laugh. Clearly not a fan of children. She held out her hand. "I'm Tari."

  Only a first name, and an unusual one at that. He blinked but took her hand, and matched her firm grip as they shook. "I'm sorry, is that a nickname? I'm going to have to ask your full name if you want a room. We do keep records."

  "Not a problem," she assured him, flashing him what was clearly meant to be a winning smile. "Toutarelle Walker. About that stew? And an ale, if you have one. Is that why he was saying I shouldn't stay here—no beer?"

  A local name after all. She might have come from a nearby fiefdom.

  Although anyone could fake a name.

  "I assure you we have beer. I'll get that for you."

  It only took Pel a few moments to get both from the back, and he returned carrying a bowl and a pint. During that time, she had shifted around on her seat and was watching the crowd of regulars with an air of assessment, though she turned back to him as he approached and smiled as he put her meal down on the bar.

  "A welcome sight." She picked out coins from a bag she kept inside her vest and tossed them on the counter. The pile was enough for the night, and several more pints as well. "I'm starving. Oh, and I'm not sure how many days I'll be staying. My horse developed a limp and I need to resupply while I'm in town. Is that going to be a problem?"

  Likely more of a problem for you than for me, he thought. "Not so long as you've got more where that came from," he said instead, sweeping the coin behind the bar. "How long did the guard keep you?"

  "About six hours," Tari said, and groaned dramatically. "I made it to town about noon and was looking forward to a civilized meal, but once I said I wanted entry, they dragged me off and questioned me about my business for ages. I guess they finally realized I wasn't anything to be suspicious of, but I won't lie that it shook me up a little."

  She didn't look shaken up, though. She grinned at him as if her story was actually just some kind of footnote to an adventure. Then again, it might be. Demons hunted pretty freely outside the towns. If you weren't one of them, you didn't travel alone without a good way to defend yourself, and certainly not unless you were willing to face the risk.

  "So what is your business?"

  "I trade in jewels," she said easily, gesturing below the counter—probably toward her bag. "Go to the cities that have the good mines, barter and bargain, get raw gems. Then I trek back to the places where they're harder to come by, polish and cut and get them primed for sale. I usually go north to Gabion to stock up, but after the mine closure I decided to take my chances going out east to Levisham."

  Levisham? That's a demon-controlled fiefdom. He felt the familiar chill in his hands, an awareness of hearing something suspicious, something that the Inquisition might want to know.

  But so far it still fit her story. Levisham was a mining city. The gate guards would have asked about that sort of thing as well. It probably wasn't the type of information the Inquisition would be looking for.

  "Sounds like dangerous work," he said. "Where are you from?"

  "Most recently, Potfeld."

  He was pretty sure Potfeld was a demonic fiefdom, but he couldn't recall if it was one without human slavery. In the end, it didn't matter, though. Whether their dark lords like to crush or pamper them, humans are still exposed to them like a child to the plague.

  "I've heard that's a nice place," he said affably. "But Levisham's a good distance away. I'm surprised you're traveling alone."

  "Well, that's why I need to resupply." Tari spread her arms wide as if to encompass the entire town within her potential supplies. "I do all right, but being able to barter when I need to or fight when I must, that's the key to travel, isn't it?"

  He laughed, leaning on the bar. "Fair enough," he said. "No husband to bring with you?"

  Tari's eyes widened briefly. Then she laughed too, the sound a little rough. "A previous relationship of mine recently ended," she said, without any trace of regret. "I suppose I'm in the market. Why, you volunteering to accompany me?" She winked.

  "Oh, you couldn't pay me to leave." Pel kept his voice light. "I've got my home here."

  "Shame," she said with a wink. "I might consider accepting your companionship. At least, if you smile at me with those dimples again."

  He didn't mean to, but a laugh slipped out of him at how forthright that was.

  "Oh, yes, that's what I like." Her eyes seemed to brighten as she grinned at him with a flash of white teeth.

  "You," he began, but was interrupted as the Villem brothers rolled in at last, arm in arm and laughing uproariously, calling for beer. It was poor timing; she was opening up more, and he was sure he could have gotten more information out of her.

  But he could hardly ignore the other patrons. Pel turned away to do his regular job rather than the one he did on the side.

  *~*~*

  The bar became too busy for him to dwell on Tari. And it got rowdy fast, with the usuals seeming almost riled up by the presence of an outsider. He did his best to at least keep an eye on her as he chatted up others and handed out drinks—made easier by how she'd made herself the center of attention, flirting with just about anyone who'd give her the time of day.

  It embarrassed him to watch. Certainly, it wasn't something he was used to. The few women who came to the bar to flirt tended to pick tables to themselves where they could chat people up properly, not plunk themselves down right in front of him at the bar, and were easier to ignore. It was a relief when she stopped downing drinks and leaned over the counter to get the key to her room from him.

  "Can I show you upstairs?" he asked, holding the key out. "They won't break anything in the five minutes I'll step away—"

  The younger Villem brother, Loir, snatched the key before she could get it. He, along with his brother Furt, had bee
n competing for her attention all evening. "I'll take care of that for you, Stone."

  "Charming," Tari told Loir, smirking and slinging an arm around his waist. To Pel she said, "Don't worry, sir. It seems this gentleman knows the way."

  Pel watched as the two of them headed up the stairs, arm in arm. They'd almost vanished from sight when Furt slammed a hand down on the bar, yanking Pel's attention back. "Another drink," Furt snarled, visibly sulking.

  Slightly taken aback, Pel poured a drink and leaned forward. As Furt vented out his annoyance that the younger, smaller brother had pulled her when Furt had failed, Pel just nodding understandingly, paying little attention. The two of them were always incorrigible, and Pel had listened to the same refrain from both of them often enough.

  Tari didn't come down again, and at one in the morning, when Pel shooed out the last of the stragglers and began to clean, he could only assume that Loir would be staying the night with her.

  Bruant, too, hadn't returned, even though he should have been home hours earlier. Pel tried to tamp down his irritation. The cooks might clean their stations—except when they thought they could get away with a shoddy job—but the rest of the bar was left for him and Bruant to clean, and it wasn't a one-person job.

  Well, if Bruant was spending the night out, Pel would just have to do the majority of it in the morning. Tonight would just be for sopping up whatever was likely to be harder to clean when dry.

  It was a half hour later, with the worst of the spills mopped, when the sound of the key in the door let him know that Bruant was home. He came in with a gust of cold evening air, looking more tired than angry now, his jacket closed and one arm inside it.

  The exhaustion on his face seemed to burn off when he saw Pel. "Dad," he said, voice strained. His entire body almost vibrated with a sudden tension.

  "Son," Pel shot back, in the same irritable tone Bruant had used on him. "You're late."

  "I got held up." Bruant seemed to chew on the inside of his mouth, an anxious gesture more than an angry one. "About that stranger…"