Pel stared at them, mind going blank with shock.
"I'm just wondering what my options are here," Tari said evenly, "given that you've told me you don't know what you'd do to a demon you caught."
How had I let myself like this person, this demon? How had he let himself become so weak to someone he already suspected?
There was only one option. Only one way to protect Bruant. The same answer he'd come to in an earlier discussion with Tari.
"Get out," he hissed.
Their eyes widened. "What—?"
"Get out. I won't tell the Inquisition anything," he said. His throat ached, like the words were clawing it up as they came out. "And in return, you don't breathe a word about my son to anyone. I don't hurt you, you don't hurt us. Fine?"
Tari's brows drew down. "Pel, calm down. Honestly, I haven't done anything to Bru and I don't want to. I just don't like being threatened. Look, I'm not going to—"
"Get out," he said louder. "Take your stuff. Find a new place to stay. I won't say anything about you, I won't hamper you in doing whatever you really want to do here. You just leave my family alone."
Slowly, still holding the amulet tightly just in case the decision gave Tari an opening to attack, he let go of their wrist and sat back. Tari lay on his bed a moment longer, breathing hard, then pushed their palms against the bed, shuffling backward, away from him.
They finally seemed visibly upset, face tight, brows still twisted. "Honestly, Pel. I wasn't going to do anything. I like—"
He didn't wait to hear the end of that, didn't wait to hear if it was his own name or Bruant's or humans or something worse. "Get out! I won't give you access to my son any more. The rest of the city can be damned, but you need to leave!"
Tari rolled to the side, hauling themself off the bed, dragging their shirt with them. They kept their hands raised, one palm out, shirt hanging from the other in a fist, as if indicating they were unarmed. As though that meant anything to a demon. "Okay. I'm going, Pel. I'm—sorry."
He felt, for a moment, that they meant it—which made it even worse.
Shaking off that thought, he followed them to the door, breathing hard, his throat tight. "And if you try anything against Bruant," he said, a hoarse whisper, "if you hurt him—I'll tell the Inquisition everything. Even if they drag me down, too, I won't give a damn so long as I get my revenge. You understand?"
"I understand," Tari said coolly. "I'm getting my things and leaving now."
"Go," he said.
He didn't follow them any further, just waited until he heard Tari's door further down the hall open before he stumbled back a few steps to sit on his bed.
It was done. The demon was leaving.
His family was free.
*~*~*
He was still there several hours later—though now lying on his back, gazing up at the ceiling and barely keeping his head above the poisonous cloud of his thoughts—when the bar closed for the night and Bruant rapped on the door.
"Dad?" His voice was muffled, tone indistinct.
Pel hadn't locked the door since sending Tari out of it. "Come in."
He heard the door handle turn. Pel didn't sit up or look over, just saw Bruant approach in his peripheral vision, stopping at the side of the bed.
Something landed on the pillow next to him, then slid off. He turned his head.
A room key.
Tari's room key.
"Tari left in a hurry earlier," Bruant said, accusatory. "She was carrying all her stuff. She gave me her key back and said she had to go."
"Mm," Pel said.
"What did you do to her?" Bruant asked, voice tight with a restrained anger.
Pel groaned. He rubbed hard at his forehead with the heel of his hand, as though he could somehow shove away the thoughts and feelings through physical effort alone. "I did what I had to do."
"Bullshit," Bruant said, and kicked the side of the bed with a thump.
That finally forced Pel to look at him, sighing as he sat up, running fingers through his hair. I'm too tired for this. "Did Tari do anything to you?"
"She ruffled my hair and said 'I'll miss you, kiddo'." Bruant spat it venomously, but he looked more hurt than angry.
Pel forced himself to not close his eyes again despite the jab of pain. "No. Before that. Did you sleep together?"
Bruant choked. "Uh, I wouldn't have encouraged you to go after her if we had!"
He'd thought not. He'd hoped not. But you never knew with demons how they might twist you around what they wanted, how they might convince you to shrug off your concerns. "Good," he said, sighing. "Bruant, she—they—Tari's a demon."
"So?" Bruant said. His eyes were strained, braced for confrontation, and he set his jaw in a way that reminded Pel so much of Phalene that she could have been standing there in his place.
He braced himself for a hard fight. Phalene had been one of the most stubborn people he'd ever met.
"What do you mean, so?" Pel protested. "They're dangerous. Tari's been using this inn as a base of operations since they got here. Taking people to bed every night and feeding on them—"
Bruant scoffed aloud, gesturing wildly with one hand. "It's not like Tari hurt them! I'm pretty sure anyone who got with Tari would kinda enjoy it! So who cares? Everyone has to eat—"
Pel drew in a sudden shocked breath of realization. "You aren't surprised."
"Dad…"
"You knew," Pel accused. He clenched his hands on the bed, trying to keep himself from getting up. Their proximity, his height, would guarantee he'd loom over Bruant, and as angry as he was, he didn't want to turn this into an intimidation match. "You knew Tari was a demon."
And you didn't warn me, the thought followed, unbidden. Not even when you knew I was pursuing them.
Bruant flung his hands up, too frustrated to stay still, his long fingers crooked into claws with tension. "Yeah, I knew! They told me!"
"They told you?" Pel asked, almost more stunned than angry. "When? How? And you didn't tell me?!"
"Why would I tell you?" Bruant fired back. "You made it perfectly clear to me about what you'd do with demons or people who consort with them. But you know what I think?"
Exhaustion was coming in waves again between the pulses of anger, dragging Pel around like snow in a storm. "What do you think, Bru?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice even.
"I think Tari's a good demon," Bruant said, voice rising. "Tari was fine. What does it matter if they're a demon? I know how you feel about them, and yeah, Mom died. Some demons are awful. And they all feed on humans, but why is that… why are you so sure it's always just that? Can't it be something both parties get something from? Can't it be some kind of give and take? Tari liked to laugh and help me and just enjoy things." His tone had turned pleading. "How's that so bad? Can't we find a balance?"
Could they have? Tari had thought so, or, at least, had said so. But—
"Tari threatened you, Bru!" he yelled, hands tight on the edge of the mattress to keep himself from moving, to keep Bruant the one over him rather than the other way around. "When I confronted them, Tari threatened to turn you over to the Inquisition to keep themself safe! Does that sound like someone you can trust? Someone fine, someone good?"
Bruant recoiled, wild-eyed. "What? No—you're lying," he said. And then, because he knew, even upset, that Pel wouldn't lie to him about this, "You probably made them!"
That was it. Pel rose. "Get out of my room, Bru!" he bellowed. "You can laugh it off, but I can't. I love you! You're my son. I didn't do anything to them—I let them go, I let them leave, because if I didn't—" He cut himself off. There was no point in being cruel and going into the details of Tari's threats on Bruant. "Just lay off and—and go to your room!"
Bruant went pale, though with anger rather than fear. It looked like he was going to scream something back, and Pel prepared himself for some kind of verbal jab, something terrible he'd never unhear.
But Bruant just said, "Fine," and st
omped out, slamming Pel's door behind him.
Pel listened, concerned when he didn't hear an echoing slam from Bruant's room. But there was no way he could follow Bruant now to see if his anger had switched to despair. No way to try to make things right.
He just sat heavily on the bed and buried his face in his hands again as tears welled up.
Chapter Six
Pel didn't get much sleep that night, and what little he got was awful. To make matters worse, when he came down late the next morning, he found—unsurprisingly—that none of the cleanup from the night before had been done.
That's fair, he decided, staring at the mess in exhaustion. Bruant had come to talk as soon as work ended, and then Pel had told him to go to his room. There wasn't exactly a chance for Bruant to have gotten to it even if he'd wanted.
He considered, briefly, going up to Bru's room and calling him down to clean. Maybe they could talk more while they worked together—
But what more was there to say? They both had their opinions on how things should go, and neither could meet in the middle. So he did the cleaning himself, spending a few hours mopping and sweeping and putting things away as morning turned into afternoon.
When he was done, Bruant still hadn't come down. Was he just staying up there to spite Pel at this point? Like he wouldn't come out until Pel gave him permission? Pel scrubbed his hand over his face. He did need to talk to Bruant, if only to apologize for yelling. He knew that. I'll tell him we have to agree to disagree. Bruant should at least understand that he did it out of love, not hate. Surely that would matter.
Not wanting to give himself time to change his mind, Pel went up to Bruant's room, but he found it empty. In fact, it looked like Bruant hadn't slept there—though he couldn't be sure, not with how rarely Bruant actually made his bed. The cat wasn't there either, and the window was closed.
It disturbed him to think that perhaps Bruant hadn't gone back to his room at all. Had he gone right out and tried to track Tari down? Hopefully not. If he had tried, hopefully he hadn't succeeded.
Perhaps, Pel thought tiredly, he just had gone to stay with a friend, get some space between them so he could cool down.
It wouldn't be the first time that had happened, even before all this.
After dithering around a little longer, Pel gave up on being productive and made himself lunch. Wanting to be at home just in case Bruant came back, he skipped his pre-meal workout, substituting it by mixing himself a strong drink to wash it down with. Little early to start, he thought with grim humor, but it feels like the occasion calls for it.
He was mid-meal and on his second drink when Bruant finally walked in, slow and exhausted-looking, cat winding between his feet as he walked.
Pel finished chewing his bite and put his meat bun back down on the plate. "Bru," he said, rough.
Bruant jumped; he apparently hadn't seen Pel there until he spoke. "Father," he said finally.
Whether he'd cooled his head or was simply too tired to be angry, Bruant seemed much more subdued, the circles under his eyes both dark and ashen. Kip, apparently anxious from hearing the yelling the night before, sat behind Bruant's legs and peeked out around them, ears pinned.
"Where did you go?" Pel asked evenly.
"Just out," Bruant said, and looked away from him. "Went for a walk. Stayed out with a friend. I didn't go try to find Tari, if that's what you're thinking."
"Mm," Pel said, noncommittally. Bruant was obviously lying about some part of that, if not all of it. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."
Bruant scrubbed both hands through his hair, leaving it more of a mess than before. "Yeah, well. Nothing to do about it now. You've made your choice."
"I'm not happy about it either," Pel said.
After a moment of just watching him with sunken eyes, Bruant shrugged. "This isn't really about being happy. Not for you. I get that. But maybe you can consider my happiness sometime."
To keep himself from saying the wrong thing by speaking too soon, Pel picked up his bun and took a bite. He forced himself to chew and swallow it before continuing. "Well. Maybe not where it involves demons. I've got to think of what's best for you."
A fight seemed to hang in the air between them. He could see Bruant starting to wind up for it, that anger pouring through him in the narrowing of his eyes and the hunching of his shoulders—and then vanishing. Bruant crouched, petting Kip a few times and avoiding Pel's eyes. "I've got to think of what's best for me too," Bruant said dully, scooping Kip into his arms. "I'm going to go sleep. I'm tired. Wake me up when it's time to set up tonight."
Something in Pel, something that had been tense since that morning, relaxed.
"I'll do that," he said.
*~*~*
Over the next half-week, they fell into an odd routine. Bruant used to wake up as early as he could and go out, denying himself sleep with the youthful ability to run off food and determination alone. Now, he slept through most of the day, getting up in the afternoon and helping Pel prepare the inn. After dinner, he would head out for a while with Kip padding along after him, both of them returning in time for Bruant to help with closing. After they'd finished cleaning, Bru would usually head back out.
Pel desperately wanted to know where he was going at night and, with equal desperation, didn't dare ask. It's fine. He threw his sleep schedule off, is frustrated, doesn't want to stay at home with me. At least he's still helping out—he still cares.
But Pel worried. He worried about what was going on, if Bruant was chasing after Tari, and he worried too about what people might think if they saw Bruant acting strangely. But he didn't dare follow him either. If he did and Bruant found out, it really would wreck what faith remained between them. It was impossible to trust him when he was this afraid, but he had no choice.
He didn't ask for details, either, afraid of how much worse it could get if Bruant felt put on the spot—but avoidance didn't help his mood. He exercised, climbing and sparring and running, all his usual techniques to distract himself, but with no success. He even balanced the bar's ledgers and still wasn't able to stop thinking about Bruant.
At night he sat on the roof and looked at the stars and felt no comfort at all about knowing the rooms beneath him were empty.
Bruant was a man now, Pel told himself. He could manage his own affairs, and the least Pel could do was to try to respect it.
So he tried to focus on his own business. The inn—and the demon who'd stayed there.
It was easy enough to get information on Tari's whereabouts—there was already enough gossip about why he might have kicked Tari out that people were basically updating him without being asked, hoping to learn something interesting in return. Pel kept his own answers to others' questions vague. A disagreement, he told them, but nothing else. It was simply more comfortable for Tari to be elsewhere.
He didn't specify whom it was more comfortable for.
Pel had hoped Tari would leave the city, but it seemed he had no such luck. They had settled in with one of his rivals for housing, Orphie, a widower who rented rooms in a tenement building.
Just as well, Pel thought, a bit vindictively. The walls in Orphie's place were thin and Orphie was strict with her renters, out of determination to not end up accidentally running a whorehouse. In other words, prey would be less available for Tari than it had been in a rowdy pub, and if Tari fed, they would have to do so elsewhere.
The town would, he was sure, be a lot less interesting to Tari when it was starving them.
And so things continued, too soon yet to be considered a habit, while Pel waited for them to change and hoped he wouldn't have to be the one to change it.
*~*~*
A frantic knocking came at the door one evening later that week, as he wiped down glasses and waited for Bruant to return to help set up for the night.
His first thought was that Bruant had forgotten his key—it wouldn't be the first time, and probably wouldn't be the last. But the knocking was too urgent. Concerned, h
e went over and opened the door, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Yes—?"
He'd barely gotten the word out before he was almost bowled over by someone he'd never seen before in his life.
The young man shoved Pel inside and kicked the door shut behind him, his fists tight in Pel's shirt. Pel staggered under the sudden weight, then snapped his arms up, grabbing the other's wrists and slamming them downward and apart to break the grip.
His immediate panicked assumption was that someone was trying to rob him, but no sooner had he broken the intruder's grip than he realized he was wrong—the boy, no older than Bruant himself, was shaking, sobbing and wailing with great heaving breaths.
Pel stared blankly at him, still gripping his wrists. Maybe he was robbed and came to the nearest friendly place to get away? "Are… are you all right?"
The young man sobbed harder, nearly incoherent with it. "Bru—Bru—"
An icy chill ran down Pel's spine. He led the unresisting stranger by the wrists to a stool and sat him down at it, pumping him a glass of water and pressing it into his grip. He had to wrap the young man's shaking fingers around it to force him to hold it securely before he could let go. "What is it? What's happened to Bru? Drink first. Take a deep breath." One of them had to remain calm.
The boy folded his hands around the cup and raised it. Trembling made him a sloppy drinker, water trickling down his chin and darkening the already-dark front of his shirt. He lapped at it with his tongue, tried to take a deep breath, and let out a wet, warbling sound as he sniffled and almost choked on his next sip.
What a weird kid, Pel thought, both his impatience and fear growing as he waited for the young man to finish gulping his water. He looked him over in the meantime. Even though the young man was around Bru's age, he appeared smaller and even more delicate, with a pretty and angular face. He had a puff of short black hair, thick and soft-seeming, and charcoal black skin. Between that and his solid black clothes, he must have blended into the night entirely out there.
Behind Bars Page 7
