“Did I scare you?” Sophie asked.
The emerald bounced off the floor in slow motion.
“You alarmed me. The safety of my guests is my first priority.”
“I’m not a psychopath,” Sophie said. “Nor am I psychotic.”
The emerald landed in the path of the other Nuan merchants.
“What’s the difference?” I asked.
“A psychotic suffers a break from reality, often accompanied by hallucinations and delusions. They are not aware of their own illness. I’m quite aware of my reality.”
One of the foxes kicked the emerald in passing, and the big jewel slid across the floor, spinning.
“A psychopath is unable to experience empathy. He can murder without remorse. His existence is free of guilt. His victim has no more significance to him than a used tissue he has discarded into a waste basket. I’m able to empathize. I feel guilt and sadness, and I am capable of acts of genuine kindness.”
She described it so clinically, almost as if talking about someone else.
“However, I am a serial killer.”
“Pause.”
I nudged the screen to the side and looked at her. She sat in my chair, her legs tucked under her. Her sword rested on the floor next to her.
“When I was younger, I experienced some of the worst things adults could do to a child,” she said. “It caused damage and I realize now that this damage is irreversible.”
“I’m sorry,” I said and meant it.
“I spent most of the last ten years at Ganer College, where the best mind-healers of my world tried to mend my scars. I’ve read countless books. I’ve undergone many therapies and meditations. Yet here we are.” She smiled. “There comes a point where you have to stop trying to repair yourself and accept the fact that you’re broken. George is right. I hate him for it, but he is right. Today was the first time I truly lived in over a year, if only for a few moments. I’ve decided that I would rather live for a few moments every few weeks than try to deny my nature.”
As long as her nature didn’t interfere with the safety of my guests, we would be just fine.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Dina. Murder doesn’t interest me. I am addicted to winning fights. I love it, the thrill of it, the rush of testing my skill against my opponent, the sharp finality of it, but I control my sword. My sword doesn’t control me.”
“I am not afraid of you,” I told her. “But if you attack a guest in my inn, I will contain you.”
“We understand each other then.”
“Yes, we do.”
My screen chimed. I reached to my left and flicked it. George’s face appeared on the screen. His damp blond hair fell on his shoulders, framing his elegant face. He was wearing some sort of light white robe… The man was ridiculously handsome. That’s all there was to it.
Something in Sophie’s cup must’ve been incredibly interesting, because she was studying it with cool detachment.
“What can I do for you, Arbiter?” I asked.
“George, please. There is no hot water in my bathroom.”
“Oh really?” You don’t say.
“Yes. In fact, it’s ice cold.” He raised a half-filled glass. Thin slivers of ice floated on its surface. “I drew this from the tap in my sink.”
“How unfortunate. When did this happen?”
“About two minutes ago. “
“While you were in the shower?”
“Yes.”
“My apologies. I will get right on that.”
George squinted at me, his face thoughtful, and waved the call off.
Sophie leaned back and laughed. “You really love those trees.”
I restarted the recording. “When I came here, Gertrude Hunt lay dormant. The inn hadn’t been active for years. Without visitors it slowly starved and fell into a deep death-like sleep. I was told it would be so, but I didn’t realize what that actually meant.”
The memories of that day surfaced and took over, bringing with it a sharp intense dread.
“It was an overcast spring day. The yard was an overgrown tangle of brush that looked like it hadn’t been looked after for years, all old leaves and dead grass, and in the middle of this mess sat a ruin of a house with rotting siding and dark windows. I felt no magic. No presence. There are not many dormant inns left. This was my only chance at becoming an innkeeper. If I couldn’t awaken Gertrude Hunt, I would have to grow a new inn from the seed and that takes years. I was so terrified that the inn was dead, that I couldn’t bring myself to go inside the house, so I picked my way around the house to the back and then I saw the trees. There were twenty of them, and all of them were blooming with these delicate white flowers with a gentle touch of pink. That’s when I realized that the inn was still alive.”
Sophie nodded. “I understand. George understands as well.”
“I doubt it.”
“Do you know what George did before he became an Arbiter?”
“No.” And I didn’t care.
“He was the head of the intelligence for our country. Every spy and counter-spy answered to him. Among dozens who have held this position, he was the best. The most cunning and the most ruthless. When we were growing up, he was the kindest, gentlest person I knew. Now he has the blood of hundreds on his hands. I know it came at a great personal cost to him.”
“Then why did he do it?”
“Duty,” Sophie said. “George will do everything in his power to fulfill his obligations, even if he has to sacrifice a piece of his soul for it.”
My screen chimed again. What is it? What? I flicked at it. Arland’s face came into view.
“My lady.”
Oh spare me. “How may I assist you?”
“I do apologize. My knights are warriors. They are creatures of the battlefield. They came here anticipating a fight…”
“Lord Arland, it would help if you spoke plainly.”
“They are bored,” he said. “Completely bored. I was hoping to prevail on you for some form of entertainment.”
“I will make sure to provide you with something by tonight.”
“Thank you.”
I looked at Sophie. She grinned at me.
I dismissed the screen, letting it sink into the ceiling. The emerald would have to wait. I had to purchase enough groceries for a small army, review the kittens at the shelter, and find some sort of entertainment to occupy a detachment of trained killers, or they would never leave me alone. Piece of cake.
Chapter 8
I bought mint first. I didn’t even mess around with grocery stores. I took a pair of dog biscuits from the pantry and drove straight to Mindy’s Mud and Weeds. Mindy raised English Springer Spaniels and ran the town’s most successful nursery. The woman could plant a wooden skewer into the ground and it would grow into a gorgeous orchid in two weeks. Beak, Mud’s latest prize-winning dog, greeted me at the door with a look of canine despair. Mud swore that in private Beak was an accomplished thief of socks and spoons, who knew no shame, but whenever I saw her, the black and white spaniel looked like she was the saddest, most long-suffering canine in the whole wide world. I gave her two dog biscuits – one just didn’t seem enough to snap her out of world-weary despair – chatted with Mindy, bought four big buckets of living mint and basil, loaded them into the back of the car and headed for the grocery store.
Orro’s list burned through five hundred dollars’ worth of groceries and forty five minutes of my time. I probably could’ve gotten at least some of it cheaper and faster at Costco, but last time I went there, I was attacked by some alien monsters. Unfortunately a woman saw me and even helped me. When she went to report it, I hid the evidence and it took all of my power to do it. I escaped before she came back with a manager, but it probably made her look like a crazy person. I had no wish to run into her, so I only went to Costco during dinner hours. I’d met her in the morning and she seemed like she might have a family, so I thought dinner time would be least likely for her to be
out.
Gamestop was next. I bought a Playstation 4 and a couple of games. The vampires would be able to synthesize additional gaming consoles and software. Another eight hundred dollars gone. I was burning through my operational budget so fast, if this summit went on for longer than a week, I would have to start panhandling to keep the lights on.
I saved PetSmart for last. I got my cart and turned left, past the tanks filled with schools of colorful fish to the row of glass cages holding cats from local pet shelters. The first cage held an older fat calico cat sleeping with its butt pressed against the glass. No. Too old, too mellow, and completely different look.
The second cage held a small light brown ball of fur. Dark brown rosettes spattered the thick coat. I checked the card. Feistykins, three months old, female, friendly… From this angle she almost looked like a Bengal. I leaned closer.
The ball of fur sprung like a tiny tabby cannonball shot out of a canon and pounced on the glass. Big yellow eyes looked at me and fluoresced with brighter amber, catching the light. I put my finger against the glass and moved it back and forth. Feistykins batted at it with her paws. She didn’t look like Grumpy Cat, but she definitely fit the bill on the adorable factor.
I moved to the only other unoccupied cage. A large gray cat looked back at me with big green eyes. His fur, thick and long, flared about his head in a Maine Coon mane. There was something elegant, almost aristocratic about him, as if he were really a lion somehow condensed to the house cat size. I checked the card. Count. Three years old, male, neutered.
The cat gazed at me. He didn’t move. He didn’t walk to the glass, but he definitely knew I was there, and he studied me carefully. His big eyes were mesmerizing. When I was younger, I used to read too much poetry. The lines from Byron’s poem came to mind.
SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Byron wasn’t writing about a cat, he was writing about his widowed cousin who had been in mourning when he met her. This cat wasn’t black. It wasn’t even female, but when I looked into those eyes, they made me think of the night and starry sky. There was something witchy about him. Something hinting at a hidden mystery. That he sat there, confined in a small glass box, seemed wrong and unnatural, like a bird with its wings tied.
“Looking for a cat?”
I almost jumped.
A middle-aged balding man in the PetSmart uniform khaki pants and blue polo shirt stopped by me.
The grey cat watched me. I almost asked for him. No, too old. “Can I see the kitten?” I asked.
“Sure.” He unlocked the glass door, letting me into a private area that permitted access to the back of the cages.
Feistykins proved to be everything a kitten could be. She pounced on the feather toy, she pounced on the little kitten ball, she pounced on my leg, and when I put her on my lap, she purred and preened. Two minutes into petting, she decided she had enough and bit me. She didn’t draw blood, but I felt the teeth. Well, if Grandmother Nuan wanted a cute merciless hunter, this was probably the best we could do.
“I’ll take her.”
“Okay.” The man handed me some papers to fill out. Five minutes later Feistykins was safely contained in a small cardboard carrier.
“What about him?” I asked, pointing to the grey cat.
“Count? He’s been here awhile. He isn’t what you would call an affectionate cat. He doesn’t suck up.”
No, he didn’t look like he’d suck up.
“He’s got till tomorrow and then the shelter is taking him back. They’ve got to rotate the cats. If they replace him with someone less boring, that cat might get adopted.”
“Thank you.” I loaded Feistykins into the cart and moved on to the cat aisle. Cat litter, cat litter scoop, cat food, cat dish…
I never considered myself a cat person. I didn’t really care for them. My mother had one, a big black fluffy cat called Snuggles. When I left the room for five minutes and came back, our dogs acted as if I was gone for ages. Snuggles mostly ignored us, including my mom who took care of him. The only time he deemed it necessary to notice our existence was when he was hungry.
Let’s see, she would need a kitten collar too. And some toys. I plucked a long plastic stick with a feather on top. Before the summit pulled me out of my bored stupor, I’ve read an article – you can really find out a lot of weird stuff when you spend your day surfing Facebook – that claimed that cats didn’t really love their owners, only manipulated them. They recognized their owner’s voices and ignored them. They rubbed on their legs because they marked a new “object” in the room with their scent. And most of them didn’t actually like getting petted. Besides, Beast probably didn’t like cats.
Nobody would adopt him. He would just sit there in that cage with his starry sky eyes. And tomorrow someone would come and take him back to the shelter.
This was a stupid idea.
I turned the cart around. The man who had helped me was feeding the fish.
“I’ll take him.”
“Who?” he asked.
“The grey cat. I’m taking him home with me.”
I got home without further incident. I let the inn unpack the groceries from the car. I had errands to run. First I took the grey cat to my room and left him there in the carrier. He didn’t look too freaked out but I didn’t want to take chances. I would have to think of a name for him at some point, but right now I had nothing. Then I put on my robe, borrowed Arland’s engineers and set him to duplicating gaming consoles and controllers. Finally, I took Feistykins to the Nuan Clan.
I was greeted by Nuan Ara who ushered me into their quarters. The entire Nuan clan assembled in the room in a small semicircle with Grandmother resting on a luxurious divan.
“This is a kitten,” I explained. “A very young predator. She doesn’t look like Ennuis predator, but she has a playful spirit. Right now she might be frightened, so when I open this carrier, she might escape. Do not chase her. She will hide and come out when she is ready.”
I pried the carrier open, expecting Feistykins to take off like a bullet.
Seconds crawled by.
What if she died somehow in the carrier? Okay, where did that thought even come from?
The carrier shuddered. Feistykins stepped out and looked over the clan of bipedal foxes. The expression on her face said she was not impressed. She gave the gathering another derisive once over, let out an imperious meow, and headed straight for the divan.
The merchants formed a circle around the kitten, making cooing noises. I let out a breath, handed toys and the litter box to Nuan Ara with quick instructions and went to see the noble knights of Holy Anocracy.
By the time they assembled, the inn finished assimilating the new gaming consoles. I waved my hand and three huge flat screen opened in the stone walls of the vampire quarters. Wall spat out sets of controllers.
“Greetings,” I said. “House Krah, House Sabla and House Vorga, may I present Call of Duty.”
The three screens ignited simultaneously, playing the opening of the Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare. Soldiers in high tech armor shot at target, flew across the screen from bomb impacts, and walked dramatically in slow motion. Vehicles roared, Marines roared louder, and Kevin Spacey informed us that politicians didn’t know how to solve problems but he did.
The vampires stared at the screens.
“This is a game of cooperative action,” I said, “Where a small elite force can triumph against overwhelming odds.”
At the word elite, they perked up like wild dogs who heard a rabbit cry.
“The game will teach you how to play it. May the best House triumph over their opponents.”
Arland reached for the first controller. I turned around and walked out, sealing the door behind me. Now their pride was involved. That should occupy them for a few days. Hopefully they wouldn’t kill ea
ch other over it.
I made my way to the otrokari headquarters and asked Dagorkun to assemble everyone in the common hall. Most of them were already there, lounging around the fire in the center of the room and drinking tea. Even the Khanum was there, brooding on her pillows strewn on the floor.
“Everyone is here,” Dagorkun announced.
I flicked my fingers. An enormous screen slid out of the wall and turned black. A song started, softly. A football team burst into a stadium. The song picked up steam. Football teams clashed like two armies. Running backs streaked across the field. Receivers flew off the grass to catch impossible passes, while defensive backs dove at them. Enormous linebackers tore at bodies, trying to crush the quarterback. Coaches screamed. Quarterbacks threw passes defying laws of physics. The very essence of the game was in that video, with all of its failures, its brutality, and pure unrestrained elation of victory, and the song rose with it, loud and triumphant.
The otrokari stared, mesmerized.
“What is this?” Dagorkun asked quietly.
“This is football,” I said.
Smaller screens opened in the side of the room, as the walls under it released controllers.
“You can watch it on the big screen. Or,” I paused to makes sure I had their attention. “You can play it.”
Madden’s logo ignited on the two smaller screens.
“Football is a wargame of land acquisition,” I began.
When I finally made it to my room, it was past six. Orro had yelled at me, as I walked up to my room. Apparently everyone spontaneously decided to reschedule the formal dinner to tomorrow night. There were kittens to play with, enemies to shoot, and footballs to be passed. That meant I could at least take a shower in peace.
Beast sat by the crate in my bedroom, looking scandalized.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “It’s just an extra permanent guest.”
I gently pried the carrier open. The grey cat stepped out on soft paws, looked about and hid under the bed.
Sweep in Peace Page 14
