Sweep in Peace

by Ilona Andrews

  I realized we had stopped under an oak by some house. The night was suddenly very small and Arland had filled it completely.

  I had left my broom at the inn. It was just me, the darkness, and the vampire knight.

  He held my hand, running his thumb over my fingers. “I want to know what I have done to offend you. Whatever blunder I committed, I will strive to remedy it.”

  It would help so much if I knew what he was talking about. The way he looked at me made it difficult to concentrate.

  “Tell me,” he asked. He was standing too close. His voice was too intimate. And he was still looking at me with that warmth, as if I were someone special.

  “What may I do to get back into your good graces?”

  He stroked my hand. For some reason it felt more intimate than a kiss. My pulse sped up. This was ridiculous. If I didn’t put some distance between us, I might do something I would regret. If you said yes to a vampire, he heard “I surrender” and I had no intention of surrendering.

  “You’ve done nothing to offend me.”

  “Then why did you acknowledge Robart before me?”

  What?

  “You addressed him before you addressed me.”

  I cleared my throat. “Just to be clear, you’re upset because I spoke to Robart before I spoke to you? In the ballroom just before we went to check on the car?”

  “I understand that the circumstances of the summit prevent frank exchanges,” Arland said. “An appearance of propriety must be maintained and any hint of favoritism is to be avoided at all costs. But when one travels so far, one looks for the small things. A chance glance. A brief kindness, freely offered and gone unnoticed by all except its intended recipient. Some hint, some indication that he has not been forgotten. One might take an acknowledgment of a bitter rival before him, in public, as an indication of certain things.”

  It dawned on me. His feelings were actually hurt.

  “You haven’t been forgotten,” I told him and meant it. “I looked forward to seeing you. I spoke to Robart before I spoke to you, so I could get him to leave. If I didn’t, he would still be in the ballroom waiting for me to return.”

  Arland smiled at me.

  When they said a smile could launch a thousand ships, they had Arland in mind. Except in his case, that thousand ships would be an armada carrying an army of some of the best humanoid predators the Galaxy had managed to spawn ready to slaughter their enemy on the battlefield.

  I wanted to exhale and back away slowly. But he was still holding my hand.

  I pulled whatever will I could scrape together and made my voice sound casual. “Arland? Can I have my hand back?”

  “My apologies.” He opened his fingers and let my hand slip back through. “It was quite forward of me.”

  Judging by his self-satisfied smile, he didn’t have any regrets. He had wanted a reaction and he got one.

  I made a mistake. I’d dealt with plenty of vampires before. Few months ago, when he helped Sean and me destroy the dahaka assassin, he’d all but said that he was interested in me. I hadn’t heard from him in months, but that changed nothing. Vampires tended to be infuriatingly single-minded.

  I should’ve never invited him to come with me. I should’ve never left the inn with him. I kept making these rookie blunders. I had to get some sleep. It was a necessity at this point.

  I began walking. The sooner we got to the inn, the better.

  The street turned. The last house had no fence. It fell down about three weeks ago and the owners hadn’t gotten around to replacing it. We quietly slipped through the yard, crossed the main road to the wooded area, and started down the narrow trail that would open to the back of the inn.

  “I’m glad you relied on me for assistance,” Arland said. “I once told you to call on me. I meant it. Any time you require it, I will be your shield.”

  “Thank you. It’s very kind of you.”

  I stepped onto the inn grounds. The magic flowed through me and I let out a quiet breath.

  Ten minutes later I let Arland, Hardwir, and Nuan Cee’s niece into the ballroom. The inn had dimmed the lights and the big room was filled with a soothing warm glow. I opened the doorways and closed them after they passed through.

  The floor of the ballroom was clean. No hint of gold and jewels remained. Where was Cookie?

  I closed my eyes, concentrating. There he was, slumped in the corner. I walked over. The small fox curled into a ball on the floor, his bag under his head like a pillow. I nudged him gently.

  “Cookie? Cookie?”

  He opened his turquoise eyes and blinked, his face drowsy.

  “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

  “I can’t,” he yawned. “I have to find the emerald.”

  “What kind of emerald?”

  “A big one. The Green Eye. Very expensive.” His nose drooped. He looked exhausted. “If I don’t find it, I’ll be in trouble.”

  I nudged the inn to check the floor. Nothing. The emerald wasn’t here.

  “We’ll find it in the morning.” I took him by the hand and carefully helped him to his feet. “Come on. Off to bed.”

  I led him to the door and watched him go up the stairs. He knocked on the upstairs door. Someone opened it and another fox ushered him inside.

  I sealed the ballroom and dragged myself upstairs. I needed to take a shower, but the bed looked so comfortable.

  Gertrude Hunt and I survived the first day. We dealt with a major crisis, we got through a big ceremony, and we managed to get everyone to bed without bloodshed. I patted the inn’s wall. “I’m so proud of you.”

  The inn creaked slightly, the wood warm under my fingers.

  I meant to sit down on my bed, but my legs must’ve been tired, because they decided to stop supporting my weight. I fell onto the covers, yawned, and passed out.

  The inn woke me up at six thirty. I dreamed that Sean Evans came back. We were having a barbecue and he kept fighting with Orro over how to season the ribs. I lay in bed with my eyes open and looked at the wooden beams crossing over my ceiling, taking a mental tally of all my guests. Everyone was where they were supposed to be, except for George who was in the kitchen with Orro. The Arbiter and his people had the freedom of movement in the inn, with the exception of the guests’ private quarters. Each faction was secured by two doors. The outer doors opened to the ballroom. I had sealed those, but they would open at George’s request. The inner doors were controlled by the guests. George and his people would have to knock and ask permission to enter. Even though he was the Arbiter and paid my bills, I wouldn’t let him have complete access. The privacy of my guests was sacred.

  I closed my eyes. The barbecue dream had been so vivid, in the few seconds it took me to wake up, I was almost convinced that it was real.

  This strange obsession with Sean Evans had to stop. It would’ve made sense if there was a relationship there, but I even if I tried to lie to myself and say there was one, he had left. They all left. That was the basic truth of the life of an innkeeper: guests arrived, walked into your life, and departed, while you stayed behind never knowing if you would see them again. I had plenty of conversations with my neighbors and Caldenia, but I had few friends. Sean learned who I was and accepted it. I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else.

  I tapped the covers with my palm. Beast jumped on and scooted toward me, caught in complete ecstasy of being invited on the bed. I hugged her to me and petted her fur.

  I needed to get my emotions in order. Yesterday was the first day, but today the real work would begin.

  “Reiki music,” I murmured.

  A quiet, soothing melody of flutes and drums filled the room, floating against the sounds of a distant thunderstorm. I had found the soundtrack on sale in a bargain bin and it proved surprisingly relaxing. I sat quietly on my bed with my eyes closed. Just let it go. Sink into the music, listen to the soothing sound and let things go…

  The inn’s magic tugged on me.

 
I opened my eyes. A screen formed in the wall. On the screen Officer Marais jumped out of his car. Red welts marked his face – the reminders of falling on the pavement last night. Beast saw him and barked once, baring her teeth.

  This was going to be interesting.

  Officer Marais ran to the front of the vehicle and stared at it in shock. The Reiki soundtrack kept playing. Trilling bird cries added a pleasant high note to the sound of flutes.

  Officer Marais dashed back to the driver seat, popped the release on the hood, ran back, and jerked the hood open.

  “What do you think I am, an amateur?” I murmured.

  Officer Marais stumbled back from the hood, his face pale, and began to pace back and forth in front of the cruiser, glancing at the hood once in a while.

  I felt bad. I’d met some bad cops before. Sometimes when a person got a little bit of power and especially if the rest of their life made them feel powerless, they went to a dark place with it. Marais wasn’t one of those cops. He calmly followed the rules and was dedicated to his job. He wasn’t on a power trip, nor did he get off on screaming at people and bullying them. He was an Andy Griffith kind of cop, one who relied on his authority more than his gun. He probably wanted to be respected rather than feared. His sense told him that something about Gertrude Hunt was off and he genuinely wanted to get to the bottom of it. If I was running a meth lab or a ring of car thieves, he would’ve dealt with me in no time, but the inn was so far outside of his frame of reference, he couldn’t even begin to guess at the truth and if he somehow managed it, he wouldn’t believe it.

  Marais pivoted and stared at the house.

  “That’s right. You’ve been had.”

  Officer Marais clenched his teeth, making the muscles on his jaw bulge, marched to the car, and got in.

  “Zoom closer,” I asked.

  The inn zoomed in. Officer Marais was looking at his dashcam. His face was grim.

  “No, there is nothing on there either. You lost. Go home.”

  Now he would start his cruiser and drive away and I would get on with my day.

  Officer Marais stepped out of the car, slapped the door closed, and marched to the inn.

  Oh crap.

  I jumped off the bed, pulled on a fresh pair of sweatpants. I needed a bra. Where the hell did I put my laundry? I yanked the laundry basket out of the closet and dug through it. If only I would put away my laundry after I washed it, I wouldn’t be in this mess… Got it.

  I slipped the bra on, threw a white T-shirt over it, and dashed out of my bedroom down a long hallway. The Reiki music followed me. “Turn it off,” I breathed. The music died. Beast shot ahead of me, barking her head off. I ran down the staircase two steps at the time and burst into the front room just as the doorbell rang.

  I ran into the kitchen, past Orro and George, grabbed a cup from the cabinet, stuck it under the coffee maker, and popped the first pod I touched into it.

  The bell rang again. Beast barked in the other room.

  I grabbed the coffee, dumped a whole bunch of creamer into it to cool it enough to drink, and went to the door.

  The bell rang, insistent.

  I swung the door open and stared at Officer Marais’s furious face.

  “Officer Marais! Good morning. What can I do for you? What’s happened now? Has a chupacabra been spotted in the neighborhood? Or was it a Bigfoot? Maybe someone saw a UFO? I can’t wait to hear how it’s all my fault.”

  I sipped my coffee to appear extra casual.

  “You…” Officer Marais pulled himself together through an obviously huge effort of will. “I know what happened.”

  “What happened when? Where?”

  “Here.” He stabbed his finger toward the floor.

  I glanced at the floor. “I don’t follow…”

  “I saw a group of men appear on the road.”

  “What do you mean, appear?” George said behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder. He was wearing loose gray slacks and a fisherman’s sweater of natural beige wool.

  Officer Marais looked at him for a long moment, no doubt committing his face to memory. “When I attempted to question them, a large male suspect swung a bladed weapon and cut through the hood of my vehicle. Then you used an unknown device to restrain me. I was dragged through a tunnel to the stables, where I lay on the floor while you and the others discussed what to do with me. Then you gave me an injection and I lost consciousness.”

  I sighed and sipped my coffee. “If everything happened the way you say it did, there should be evidence. There must be damage to your car and your dashcam would show a record of these events. Do you have any evidence, Officer Marais?”

  His face turned red. “You repaired it.”

  “I repaired your vehicle? Setting aside that I am not a mechanic and wouldn’t know the first thing about repairing a car, if I had tampered with your vehicle, there would some indication of it. Are there any signs of repair?”

  Officer Marais clenched his teeth together again.

  “I think that you work very long hours,” I said. “I saw you this morning sleeping in your cruiser. I think you had a very vivid dream. Your dreams do not give you the right to come here and harass me and my business. I don’t know what I have done to make you dislike me, but this isn’t right and it’s not fair. You are now interfering with my ability to make a living. I didn’t break any laws. I’m not a criminal. Does it seem okay to you that you are continuously coming here and accusing me of random things just because you don’t like me?”

  He looked taken aback.

  “Go home, Officer. I’m sure you must have a family who probably misses you. I am not going to file a complaint, but I do wish you would stop coming here every time something odd happens or doesn’t happen.”

  I closed the door and leaned against it.

  A moment later the magic of the inn chimed in my head, letting me know Officer Marais had left the grounds. George stepped to the window. “He’s leaving. Nicely done.”

  “If I argued with him, he would continue to attack. Instead I acted like a victim and Officer Marais has been trained to be considerate of victims.” I still felt bad for manipulating him.

  “The summit is set to begin in two hours,” George said. “I’m afraid I have to ask you for a favor. I need your help.”

  I looked at my cup of coffee. I didn’t want to do anyone any favors. I wanted fifteen minutes of uninterrupted time with my refrigerator. I barely ate last night and I had just downed a whole cup of coffee on an empty stomach. But I had a job to do. Maybe it would be something simple.

  I smiled at the Arbiter. “How can I help you?”

  “If I give you coordinates to a particular world, could you open a door to it?” George asked.

  “Which world?”

  He raised his cane. A set of numbers ignited in mid-air written in crimson. The first two digits told me everything I needed to know.

  “No,” I said.

  “But I have seen you open doors,” he said.

  “It’s not that simple.” It never was. “Why don’t we sit down?”

  We walked back into the kitchen and sat at the table. Orro swept by me like a silent blur of brown and suddenly a plate holding two tiny crepes filled with cream and sliced strawberries materialized in front of me. I didn’t even see him slide it there. Our kitchen was staffed by a ninja.

  “Thank you,” I said. Orro nodded and went to the stove.

  George quietly waited.

  “The inns are not well understood,” I cut a small piece of crepe and tried it. It practically melted on my tongue. “Orro, this is heavenly.”

  Orro’s needles quivered slightly.

  “We live within them, we use them, but even we, the innkeepers, are unsure about why they function the way they do.”

  Jack and Gaston walked into the kitchen.

  “It is easiest to imagine them as trees. An inn, like Gertrude Hunt, begins with a seed. The seed is weak and fragile, but if prope
rly tended, it sprouts. It sends roots deep into the ground. What we see,” I made a small circle with my fork, encompassing the kitchen, “is but a small fraction of the inn’s form. As it grows, it begins to spread branches through the Universe. These branches don’t obey our physics. Some puncture our reality. Some transform and evolve beyond our understanding. A single inn of some age, like Gertrude Hunt, may reach into other worlds.”

  “Like Yggdrasil,” George said.

  “Yes, like that.”

  “What’s Yggdrasil?” Jack asked.

  “A holy tree of the ancient Norse,” George said. “It extends into all nine realms of their mythology.”

  “The problem is that innkeepers have no control over the direction of the branches,” I said. “We know when the inn extends into a particular world and after a while we can access it, but we can’t make the inns open a particular door. Most inns instinctively seek out Baha-char. That’s usually the first world that opens to us. But we don’t know why. People sometimes say that the seed of the very first inn was brought to us from Baha-char and that all of its descendants instinctively seek the connection to their homeland the way salmon travel hundreds of miles to reach their spawning grounds. We simply don’t know. I can tell you that I know every world this inn has reached so far and your coordinates are not among them. Furthermore, you are asking for a portal to a world that is very similar to ours. That world exists in its own tiny reality, splintered from majority of the cosmos. It’s like reaching into a pocket on the Universe’s coat. I don’t know the capabilities of every inn on Earth, but I can tell you that my father always told me that creating a door to an alternative dimension like that could not be done. It would collapse the inn.”

  George leaned back in his chair. I ate my crepes, enjoying every single bite.

  “But you can open a portal to Baha-char?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you get caught, there will be hell to pay,” Gaston said.