"Ah," Tari said, unsmiling. "I begin to see."
"If she wanted a power like that… if she had the potential for magic, she could become a magician." He hesitated, then corrected himself. "Or she'd pretty much need to become one eventually, is what I've heard—it's like they can't help themselves. And even if she didn't have that power, she could still sell her soul. Either way, though, she'd be looking for ways to consort with demons. Once that became a reasonable fear and the Inquisition heard about it, she got taken away. I heard they had to drag her down the street screaming. People talked more about the scene she caused than the lady herself."
Tari was silent. She closed her eyes, resting her chin on her closed fist, as if imagining the scenario, playing it out in her mind. He studied her face, finding it odd to see her without that constant smirk. "And what will they do to her?" she asked finally. "To some old lady whose worst crime was to be afraid of dying. Probably harmless. You know, that, right?"
Pel suddenly found himself glad their eye contact had broken. "Probably," he agreed. "I don't know what'll happen," he added shortly, though he suspected he was lying. "If she confesses, it'll be a quick death. If she doesn't, they'll try to find proof before running her out."
"Torture."
"Interrogation. She could be proven innocent," he said, though his tone sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. "That doesn't tend to happen, though. The Inquisition is confident in who they take before they snatch them up."
Tari's eyes opened again. What he saw in them took him aback: she was still amused. Why? By my reaction to her? Or was it just some kind of black humor to deal with the situation?
"Lovely," Tari said dryly. "She was afraid of dying so she gets a choice between a quick death or an agonizing one? That's not really my scene, just so you know, torture and death."
The conversation felt stifling, a sharp reminder of the way Bruant had looked at him after they'd had the same one. "It's ultimately to protect the city. Demons do try to get in here sometimes, because there's so many humans. To them, it's an insult. A safe zone for prey. So of course they want to sneak in, feast, and then sneak back out after glutting themselves."
"Wow." Tari's eyes widened with faux concern. "You seem to have a real clear idea of what demons are thinking and feeling. Careful that the Inquisition doesn't target you for that one."
"That's—"
The door opened again, and he turned, relieved by the interruption of what surely must be the cooks finally arriving. The feeling vanished at once as Bruant entered the hall, though he seemed in a tamer mood today, quiet and slightly guilty as he met Pel's eyes. His hair, wind tangled, hid part of his expression.
Tari, seeing Pel's attention shift, turned as well. They both watched as Bruant ducked his head to avoid eye contact and headed up to his room in silence. The little black cat trotted close at his heels, vanishing with Bruant.
"Interesting," Tari said, once Bruant was out of earshot. "There's something you don't see every day."
Pel sighed. "Yeah," he said, and scrubbed a hand through his short-cropped hair. The change of subject was a relief. "I don't know how he got that cat to like him so much. Strays are usually pretty skittish."
"Well, if he fed it often enough," Tari said, "I think it'd get attached. Most creatures feel that way."
"You mean it knows where its next meal is coming from," Pel said. "Cats aren't exactly known for getting attached."
Tari laughed, low and soft. "You think that makes a difference?" She tilted her head as if she were stretching her neck, like she needed to buy time to figure out how to put something. "If it's coming indoors this easily, it's not feral. It was probably abandoned by someone who used to take care of it, right?"
"I guess?"
"So it doesn't have a colony. Which means it's lonely. It's probably scared. Even if it's surviving fine on its own—" it had looked healthy enough, after all, with clear eyes and sleek black coat, "—the rules it used to live by changed in some way. It needs people, or at least company, but it doesn't have a sense of who's safe." She chuckled, resting her chin on her fist. "Cats aren't actually as solitary as people think, you know. They're quite social. The fact they're predators, or that they hunt alone, doesn't change that."
Pel shrugged. "I guess," he repeated awkwardly. "It's not like I know that much about cats."
"Well, that's why most ferals have colonies. And why pet cats do bond," she said lightly. "It's not just food. There's a social need there that needs to be met. So assume someone came along and started caring for it and paying it attention. Even a scared stray cat might come indoors for that."
It did all sound reasonable. "Following at his heels, though?" Pel asked. "That's some needy cat."
"Sure is," Tari said, and laughed again, quiet. "Sort of nice to see, though, especially when you start going on about how dangerous this place is. Warms the heart."
"It's not dangerous to cats."
"Sweetheart," Tari said, "any place that's dangerous to people is dangerous to pets."
Fair enough. People who vanished might have pets that ended up on the streets. Paranoia over familiars might put any stray at risk. It wasn't something he heard of happening generally, but he could see how it might arise.
"Well," Pel confessed, "as long as it makes Bruant happier, he could adopt half the strays around here and I wouldn't complain."
"Mmm. He did seem kind of upset yesterday," Tari said, prompting.
He opened his mouth to respond, then felt a shock run through him at how easily he'd reacted to her. He felt himself on the edge of slipping, saying too much—that maybe he'd already said too much in the aftermath of fighting with Bruant, of remembering Phalene, of all the rest. "He did," he said flatly.
For a moment, Tari just looked at him.
Then she grinned again, a rakish look at odds with her delicate face. "I think I'll talk to him," she said. As Pel began to bristle and opened his mouth to protest, she added, "Not about you, don't worry about that. But if you've never had a cat, he won't know how to take care of them. I can give him some tips. Maybe it'll cheer him up."
Pel let his breath out slowly. Why does it feel like some kind of trap? The thought was absurd. He couldn't just forbid her from talking to his son, not without seeming suspicious about it. And Bruant wouldn't tell her anything about him. Even angry, he'd put his father first, Pel was sure of that.
Still. "You could tell me, too," Pel said. "If the cat's going to be part of my household now, I should know—"
Tari held up a hand. "You know, I'm going to stop you there, sweetheart," she said, ignoring the flat look he gave her at the pet name. Maybe she could tell he was a little flattered despite himself. "If the kiddo and you are fighting, he's not going to be happy about you stepping in to take his responsibilities away from him. He picked that cat up, right? If he wants to tell you how to help take care of his cat, that's one thing. Not my place to start giving you tips."
Irritation welled up. It was just a damn cat. Anyone could take care of it, and it was more than a little likely that he'd have to some days. And Bruant had always shared everything with him, always told him everything.
But—
She was right. Bruant had learned something that made him have to reevaluate his father. Bruant was old enough to strike out on his own in little ways. Bruant was struggling in a way that Pel couldn't take part in. Maybe Bruant needed things of his own now he could keep secret, the same way he'd started needed his space as he got older.
All he could do was try to help Bruant understand him, and offer whatever understanding he could in return.
"All right," he said finally. "But only about the cat, you hear? Don't get into my argument with him, even if he brings it up. That's something I have to work out with him."
"Me?" she asked, smiling winningly and flattening a hand on her chest. "I would never."
*~*~*
It was hard to fight the urge to eavesdrop, but that would definitely be cross
ing his son's boundaries. He fought the unkind urge as best as he could, put his head down, and focused on his work. He had a damn business to run, and he was determined to stick to just that—his business.
He soon found that it was easy enough to do. The cooks showed up only a little while later, he got the bar ready for the day, and he kept himself as focused as he could on the work in front of him instead of what was going on overhead.
To his surprise, only Furt showed up, sulking his way down to his usual bar stool.
"Your brother busy today?" Pel asked.
"Spent too much time with booze and sex yesterday," Furt said. "Rolled home exhausted after dawn. Even he decided to take a break for tonight."
Pel snorted. "Good news for you, hm?"
"I'm not here for my brother's sloppy seconds," Furt said, but interest sparked in his eyes regardless. "She not here today?"
"She's here, but not down yet."
That was, of course, the moment Tari decided to make her reappearance. She exited the stairwell with more energy than elegance, thumping down the stairs and grinning widely.
"Hey!" she called to the crowd. "Who missed me?"
The question got several cheers in response; it seemed that she didn't need elegance. She bowed dramatically to the couple of people already in the bar, then made a beeline for Furt's table and laughed as she sank down across from him.
Guess that's just what she's like. He kept expecting something more refined and stately out of her, and couldn't say why. Tari was rowdy and ready for excitement. It was Phalene who would have swept down quietly and comfortably, nodding to everyone in familiar fondness—
I really wish I could unthink that.
He threw himself into his work again.
*~*~*
Halfway through the evening, Tari went up to her room with Furt. She didn't come back down until after closing, and she did so alone, but the evidence of their activities was clear. She was barefoot, her pants hanging loose around her hips, and her plain men's shirt, normally tucked in and styled up with her vest, was untucked and unbuttoned past her collarbone. Pel was sure he would be seeing the swell of a breast if she had any swell to speak of.
"Need any help?" she asked, her voice soft.
Well, she sure seems satisfied, he thought with some unexpected bitterness. Her eyes were hazy, lips plumper than he remembered them being. "No," he said shortly. And then, relenting a little—she was a guest, and the offer had seemed to be in a good enough spirit—he added, "I couldn't ask a patron to help clean. Usually Bruant does, but…" He trailed off. She'd seen too much of their family drama already.
"Well. Children who have become adults have their own set of concerns," Tari said. She seemed lazily pleased somehow. "I doubt that right now he wants things to continue like they always have."
"You're probably right," he admitted. "I guess I'll have to look into hiring help."
She snorted indelicately. "Talk to him first, or you'll offend him by not giving him the option."
"Ah, but is there any way not to offend him these days?" he asked dryly.
For some reason, Tari seemed to take that seriously. She watched him with curious eyes for long enough he grew uncomfortable and turned back to his work.
From behind him, she said, belatedly, "You're probably caught up in what he means to you. Perhaps spend some time thinking of what he means to himself."
He clenched his jaw a little. Of course he was thinking of Bruant. Nobody thought about Bruant as much as he did. "Right," he said.
When he didn't say anything else, she sighed. "I'll be heading back upstairs, then," she said. She moved to the stairs, then hesitated. "I'll be staying here longer than a few days, I think. I have enough to pay for my room, but I'm having trouble making enough on top of that to manage traveling without, as you said, earning the townsfolks' trust. All right?"
"However long you need the room," he muttered.
"Thanks, sweetheart," Tari said.
Pel didn't relax until the sound of bare feet on the stairs receded.
Chapter Three
Almost a week passed and Tari's declaration of "longer than a few days" didn't become more specific in that time. She seemed fine with it—maybe too fine, Pel thought, given the circumstances. But she was having fun. She fell somewhere between sleazy and easy, but not in a bad way; if she were a man, he'd consider her a rake. She clearly enjoyed both the crowds of the public room and the privacy of a bedroom, but she was also genuinely good company. He could understand why people were so drawn to her.
He liked having her there. And her money was good. But it was a situation that couldn't go on indefinitely, and the thought preyed more on his mind as each day passed.
Hoping to talk with her, he knocked on Tari's door midday and was a little surprised when she was actually inside to accept.
"Come in!" she called.
She was dressed down again, breeches and partially unbuttoned shirt, but it was considerably less uncomfortable to see when she wasn't immediately post-coital. She sat on the bed and looked attentive as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.
"Is there a problem?" she asked.
Pel realized how he must look and tried to relax. "No, it's fine," he said. "It's about your stay here, but I'm not going to kick you out—"
Tari let out an exaggerated breath of relief, then laughed. "You looked so serious."
"Not on—my behalf," he stammered, finding himself going a little red. Flustered, not sure why his pulse was racing, he pushed on. "I was thinking about your situation. Your goal is to make enough money trading in gems for cash that you can restock your supplies properly, correct?"
"Correct," she said. "And that hasn't happened. But I do still have enough keep paying you."
He nodded slowly. "I don't want you to arrive in a new town broke," he said finally. "If you need to restock there and are out of jewels, what then?"
"Usually I don't need to restock that often," she began. Her shoulders rose as she seemed to get a little defensive.
He considered that. Her gaze was lowered, and for once her expression had gone stiff. It was hard to say how much of the defensiveness might be for a reason, how much her lack of care for how this situation was dragging on could be due to no actual need for money. A demonic contract, or something similar.
It was easy to think that way. It was habit to think that way. But he was well aware of how hard he'd worked to get through to her so she'd have some fear of strangers in this place. It was much, much more likely that her defensiveness was simply from being called out in any way after that discussion. The fact that she knew that something that small could be suspicious.
Pel let out a breath through his nose. "I have a long-term rate," he said, hearing it come out too abrupt. "Normally I wouldn't offer it to someone who was here for as short a time as you, but 'indefinite' is a pretty long time."
Her pale eyes widened. It was, he thought abruptly, the first time he'd caught her off guard. That by itself was a strange realization. Pel wasn't used to seeing someone who was that confident almost all the time, even if it made sense—in her line of business, and with the risks she took traveling around and visiting demon-occupied cities, she'd have to be sure of herself.
"I… are you certain?" she asked finally. "I don't want your business to hurt because I'm here."
"I'm sure," he said firmly, trying to absorb that usual confidence and reflect it back at her until she picked it up again. "Consider it an exchange for you helping with Bru."
That in itself was worth more than the extra income would bring in. Shit, it's priceless. As much as he hated to admit it, a near-stranger had helped his son more than he could. Things had been different since she'd gone in and talked to him about the cat—
Kip, Bruant had told him. He'd named it Kip.
And she hadn't just talked to him the once. She'd gone in to see him a few times, short chats and casual visits. Pel suspected they were talking about more than the
cat in there, that they were discussing some part of the real thing that was bothering Bruant. Pel could only hope, only believe, that if it had to do with him, Bruant was deliberately unspecific. He didn't think his son would say anything about his role with the Inquisition. He hoped, too, that Tari honored the request he'd made, didn't ask and refused to hear talk of Pel.
Well, whatever they're talking about, it seems to be doing the trick. He was sure, too, that they were just talking. Tari's exuberance for intimacy aside, he didn't believe she'd sleep with his son. She seemed to respect the difficulties between them and he couldn't imagine her doing anything that might deliberately make it worse.
Bruant seemed calmer, if that was the proper word for the secretive happiness that Pel kept seeing on his face. It didn't seem quite right; there was still a constant energy, a constant tension, around him. But neither that angry air nor the cloud of guilt seemed to follow him around anymore. Actually, the only thing following him these days was Kip, tagging along more like a baby duck or a love-struck suitor than a cat.
Bruant still went out for most of the day, and still wasn't really talking to Pel about much of anything, but even if he seemed to enjoy having secrets from Pel, he was helping with chores again. Being around him.
Not picking a fight at every opportunity.
Tari had been considering the offer, still looking down. Her face had softened in some indefinable way. "I haven't done much."
"Well, whatever you've done," Pel said, still firm, "it's made a difference to him. Besides, it's nice to have a woman around the place again."
He regretted saying that immediately.
The comment startled her out of the strange, vulnerable mood she'd been in. Her head jerked up, expression almost incredulous before she burst into a laugh. "Is that how you feel?" she said. "I got the impression from Bruant that it had been a long time since your wife passed. You asked me a while ago if I were looking for a husband. I hope that doesn't mean you were looking for a wife."
Behind Bars Page 3
