Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 2) (18 page)

It happened so fast, I didn’t actually see it. One moment she was standing still and the next the chain and the blade hurtled to the side, severed, and crashed into the brush, while Sophie was running at the Sentinel. Her sword sparked with pure white, as if someone had taken a hair-thin lightning bolt and bound it to the metal edge.

The Sentinel whirled, swinging to the side, its colossal frames rotating as the machine feverishly tried to process new data. Chains, spikes, and spears shot at Sophie. She dodged them, barely moving out of the way, graceful, beautiful, and struck again. Her sword moved so fast, it was a blur, a ghost of a movement, barely perceptible, like a puff of hot air shooting up from hot pavement. The Sentinel’s weapons fell apart, as if they were made of brittle glass.

The Sentinel’s blue light pulsed. The colossal machine charged Sophie. It was a no holds barred, direct assault. It meant to crush her.

She smiled. The melancholy in her eyes vanished. They shone with pure, unbridled joy. These eyes, they belonged to someone else, someone merciless and cruel and predatory. Someone who lived for a chance to take another being’s life and revel in doing it.

The Sentinel rolled straight at her.

She struck. Her sword flashed with white, so bright it was blinding.

The machine kept rolling. Sophie had vanished. Oh no, it must’ve rolled over her…

The Sentinel fell apart. The armored frames slid apart from each other, carved into pieces, the edges of the cuts perfectly smooth. The blue sphere turned dull and drained down in a heap of loose blue powder, revealing Sophie. She grinned at the remnants of the machine, and the expression on her face sent cold shivers down my spine. Sophie had enjoyed it. She had enjoyed every moment of it.

George, who did you bring into my inn…

Sophie sheathed her sword.

“As I said, we will make all necessary reparations…” George started.

“This is enough diplomacy for today,” the Khanum said, her voice snapping like a whip. She turned and marched out of the ballroom, her otrokari at her heels.

I watched the vampires file out of the grand ballroom. The merchants followed.

Someone tugged on my robe. I turned. Cookie stood next to me, his big blue eyes filled with sadness. The corners of his fox ears drooped. He looked so pitiful, I almost reached out to pet his fluffy head.

“Mistress Innkeeper?” Even his voice was tiny.

“Yes?” He was so fluffy.

“You didn’t find the emerald, did you?”

“Not yet.”

His ears drooped more. He was killing me with cuteness. “Oh.”

“Is Nuan Cee giving you trouble?” I asked.

“It is a very expensive emerald. I am responsible to my family.”

Since the otrokari took their ball, no doubt made of skulls and wrapped in the skin of their enemies, and stomped off in a huff to their quarters, the peace summit effectively ground to a halt. That meant my afternoon was free.

“I tell you what, I’ll look for it today.”

Cookie’s eyes brightened. “Thank you!”

He scampered off, caught up with the merchant procession, and followed them out.

Nuan Cee lingered in the ballroom and approached me. “What did Nuan Couki want?”

I raised my eyebrows. “That is between me and Cookie.”

“Hmpph.” Nuan Cee peered at the retreating form of his thrice removed cousin’s seventh son.

“Rough day?” I asked.

“I do not hold much hope for these negotiations,” he said.

“It’s only day two.”

Nuan Cee glanced at me. “Trade is the oldest and most noble profession in the Galaxy and making deals is its currency. It is a rite as ancient as the cosmos and the very foundation of mathematics. Something is always equal to something else and an exchange can be made. You desire something and so you surrender something to obtain the desired result. Life is trade; we trade our labor for its fruit, we trade hours of study for knowledge, we trade pleasure for pleasure or sometimes for wealth, security, or offspring. I have made thousands of deals. I cannot deal with these people. I have nothing they want. I offer them peace, but they don’t want it. They only want war.”

He shook his head.

“Give them a chance,” I said.

“I will. But I will take steps.”

He sounded ominous.

“Also, we have some requests. I shall send my people to you with them.”

Oh goodie. “I look forward to it.”

I sealed everyone’s doors and went into the orchard. Beast ran ahead of me and sniffed at the mangled trees.

The remnants of the Sentinel were still scattered on the ground. Four of my twenty trees lay broken. I clenched my teeth. The trees were an extension of the inn, as much as everything on the inn’s grounds was a part of Gertrude Hunt. Seeing them broken like this physically hurt. I wanted to hug them and put them back together.

George would pay for this. One way or another.

I kicked a chunk of the Sentinel’s frame. Ow.

“I’m so sorry.”

The remaining trees rustled.

I nodded at the Sentinel. “Take this thing. Absorb what you can.” The inn could use all of that metal and advanced circuitry. George wasn’t getting any of it back.

The Sentinel sunk into the ground. The severed trunks of apple trees melted into the grass as well. I went back inside, got a cup of tea, and sat down in the living room in my favorite chair. Beast hopped into her dog bed, turned around three times, and flopped.

The inn recorded every minute of the summit. It should be easy enough to find out who took Cookie’s emerald. I just had to watch the some five hours of recordings and figured out where it went.

“I need a screen and the recording of the first night of the summit.”

A screen descended from the ceiling, growing on a thin stalk. The recording began. I flicked through it, fast forwarding to Cookie’s entrance… The problem was, he was throwing gems by the paw-full. It was hard to say which specific emerald he was referring to.

I became aware of someone looming at my side and paused the recording.

“Yes?”

“Mint.” Orro shook a sprig of mint at me.

“Okay?”

He stuck the sprig under my nose. “It’s wilted! I cannot be expected to cook with wilted mint.”

“I’ll go out later today and buy more mint.”

“Good!” He thrust a piece of paper in front of me. Pictures of herbs, meat, rice, milk, and eggs filled it in two neat columns with the prices in big black numbers next to them.

“What is this?”

“Other things I need.”

“Where did you get this?”

“Your markets send out lists of groceries printed on this obsolete paper.”

“You took these from an HEB flyer?”

Orro waved his claws at me. “I don’t know what it’s called. Of all the grocery market lists, that one was best. I need these things. We have to serve a banquet.”

I opened my mouth to argue and clamped it shut. He had a point. We hadn’t served a formal, sit down meal.

“Things!” Orro shook the paper at me.

“I will buy them.” I took the paper. “Thank you.”

He dropped a thin slice of lemon into my tea and disappeared into the kitchen.

I restarted the recording. Handfuls of gems scattering on the floor…

A soft chime announced an incoming request from a guest. I paused the recording and flicked the screen. It split, showing one of the members of Clan Nuan standing by the door leading to the ballroom. The demands Nuan Cee mentioned. I opened the door, sealed it again behind the guest, and rose when he walked into the living room. A grey fox flecked with spots of beautiful blue, he wore an apron and two gold hoops in his left ear. He was older than Cookire, but younger than Nuan Cee.”

“I’m Nuan Ara, Nuan Cee’s blood sister’s youngest son.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” I invited him to sit in a chair across from me and moved the screen to the left, out of the way. “What can I do to make your stay more comfortable?”

Nuan Ara folded his paws on his lap. “It is Nuan Re, the esteemed grandmother, she of great wisdom, the root from which we grow.”

“May her feet never touch the ground.” It wasn’t my first rodeo. I knew the customs. The merchant clans revered their elders. If grandmother wanted something, the entire clan would turn themselves inside out to get it. I had to honor this request or the Nuans would hate me forever. What could she possibly want?

“She wishes to obtain a small predator.”

“A small predator?”

“Yes.” Nuan Ara nodded. “The silent, stealthy, vicious killer that prowls by night and mercilessly murders its victims for food and pleasure.”

Um… What? “And she believes she can find this predator here?”

Nuan Ara nodded. “She has seen the images. They have glowing eyes and razor claws and are renowned for their cruelty.”

“Aha.” What was she talking about?

“She is in particular interested in the Ennui predator. She very much likes its demeanor and coloring in the images. She understand she may not get that particular one, but perhaps one that resembles it? A young one?”

The Ennui predator. “Where did she find these images?”

“On your planet’s holonet,” Nuan Ara said helpfully.

We didn’t have holonet. We had internet… Oh. “So, the esteemed grandmother would like a kitten that looks like Grumpy Cat?” I picked up my laptop, typed in the image search for Grumpy Cat, and showed him the picture.

“Yes!”

“I will see what I can do.”

“Wonderful!” Nuan Ara rose. “Many thanks. You have the promise of our generosity.”

I waited until he returned to his quarters and shut the door behind him. I would have to stop at a local shelter and possibly PetSmart. They had cats for adoption. Interesting how a sweet old grandmother would describe kittens as murderous beasts.

Sophie walked down the stairs and came to sit across from me. She wore soft black pants that flared at the bottom and a bright green tunic that was a cross between a hooded sweatshirt and a blouse. Her feet were bare. She was carrying her sword and her dark hair, previously arranged into a complicated knot, was pulled back into a pony tail.

“I like your floors,” she said, making small fists with her toes on the wooden boards.

“Thank you. Would you care for some tea?”

“Certainly.”

I went into the kitchen and fetched her a cup of green tea.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I restarted the recording. “Stop. Zoom.” Here it was, an emerald the size of a strawberry, the most beautiful intense green you could imagine. If Spring could cry, this would be its tear. That had to be the right emerald. “One quarter speed.”

“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.