Sweep in Peace

Chapter Sixteen

I stood just beyond the door, watching the grand ballroom through a one-way mirror the inn had made for me. The hall shone tonight, the constellations on its ceiling bright, the floor all but glowing. The Holy Anocracy stood on the right in full armor, shoulder to shoulder, like a phalanx of ancient warriors using their bodies as shields. Across from them the Horde waited grim-faced, arranged in a wedge formation with the Khanum in front, a huge basher on her left, and Dagorkun on her right. Clan Nuan crowded on the left as well, some distance from the otrokars, shielding their matriarch with their bodies. Turan Adin in full armor stood between them and the Horde.

The wagons were circled, the weapons were primed, and the faces were grim. They eyed each other, ready for the violence to erupt, and they glanced at the four-foot-high bud growing from the center of the floor. The bud’s thick green sepals remained firmly shut.

My parents would be ashamed of me. Here were the guests of my inn. They had stayed at Gertrude Hunt for almost two weeks, a place where they were supposed to be protected and safe, yet they expected to be attacked at any moment. If the Innkeeper Assembly ever saw this, Gertrude Hunt would lose all her stars. There was no helping it now.

George stood by the bud, his handsome face solemn. The gold embroidery on his soft brown vest, the color of whiskey, glinted weakly in the light. His people had taken positions behind each of the factions: Jack stood behind the vampires, Sophie behind the Horde, and Gaston behind the Merchants. He had discussed it with me prior to the meeting, and when I asked for his reasoning, he told me that Gaston had natural resistance to poisons, Sophie had a strong psychological impact on the Horde, and Jack apparently had a lot of practice fighting soldiers in armor.

I ran through my mental checklist: Beast and the cat securely locked in my bedroom and the inn wouldn’t let them out, the sound dampeners activated, the street-facing facade reinforced. Yes, that was everything. You could set off an explosion in the grand ballroom now, and nobody outside the inn would hear a single sound.

A rustle of fabric announced Her Grace’s arrival to the bottom of the stairs. She wore a dark green dress with a silklike sheen, cinched to one side at her waist with a jeweled clasp and spilling down into a long skirt with a train embellished by glittering embroidery. Long, matching gloves covered her hands and arms. A luxurious fur collar, dark hunter green with individual hairs gradually changing color to bloodred at their tips, framed her shoulders. Black and green eight-inch spikes protruded from the collar, biological weapons of some long-dead alien predator. Matching small spikes decorated her elaborate bejeweled hair brooch. A necklace of emeralds, each the size of my thumbnail and framed in small fiery diamonds, graced her neck. She looked every inch exactly what she was: a ruthless, cunning animal of prey, armed with razor-sharp intelligence and unhindered by morals.

Caldenia saw my robe. Her eyebrows crept up.

Under ordinary circumstances, an innkeeper was an unobtrusive shadow, readily identifiable if the guests looked for her yet drawing no attention to herself. Our robes reflected that: gray, brown, dark blue, or hunter green, they served as our uniform. We had no need to impress. A bit of embroidery along the hem was as far as embellishment went. Yet once in a while, an occasion required that the full extent of our power had to be communicated. Today was that kind of day. I wore my judgment robe. Solid black, it swallowed the light. It pulled you in, and if you looked directly at it for too long, you would get the strange sensation that you were plunging into a bottomless dark well, as if someone had reached deep into the abyss, scooped out primordial darkness, then spun and wove it into a fabric. Lightweight and voluminous, the material of the robe was so thin that the slightest air current stirred it, and even now, without any perceptible draft, its hem moved and shifted as if some mystic power fanned it. The robe was impenetrable. No matter what sophisticated scanner a being might employ to augment their vision, I would appear the same, a specter, a chilling cousin of the Grim Reaper, my face hidden by my hood so only my mouth and chin remained visible. The broom in my hand had turned into a staff, its shaft the color of obsidian. I was no longer a person. I was an embodiment of the inns and innkeepers.

There were few universal principles in this world. That most water-based lifeforms drank tea was one. That we fear what we cannot see was the other. They would look at my robe, trying to discern the contours of my body, and when the abyss forced them to look away, they would search for my eyes trying to convince themselves I wasn’t a threat. They would find no reassurance.

“Well,” Caldenia said. “This should prove interesting.”

“Stay by my side, Your Grace.”

“I shall, my dear.”

The wall parted before me and I strode into my ballroom. They’d all had their show. It was time for mine.

The weak murmurs died. Silence claimed the hall, and within it I glided across the floor without a sound. As I moved, darkness rolled across the floor, walls, and ceiling, a menacing shadow of my power. The light dimmed. The constellations died, snuffed out by my presence. Watch me as I end your universe.

I reached the bulb. George didn’t step back, but he thought about it, because he unconsciously leaned back, trying to widen the distance between me and him. The darkness rolled behind me and remained there, an antisunrise blocking out the stars. Caldenia took a spot behind me on my left.

Nobody said a thing.

The floor parted in front of me, and a thin stalk of the inn lifted a platter supporting a glass teakettle half-filled with wassa tea. The light within the platter set the teakettle aglow, making the tea sparkle like a precious ruby. Or like blood.

The Horde stiffened. Nuan Cee visibly braced himself.

“There is a killer in this inn.” My voice rolled through the grand ballroom, a too-loud whisper charged with power. “A killer I will now punish.”

“By what right?” The question came from the vampire side. I had ratcheted the pressure to the limit. All of them were already on edge. If I weren’t careful, they would erupt.

“By the right of the treaty your governments signed. Those who attack guests within an inn lose all protections of their homeland. Your status, your wealth, and your position do not matter. You are in my domain. Here, I alone am the judge, the jury, and the executioner.”

I turned, my robe moving lightly along the floor, and began to circle the teakettle. A projection spilled out of the ceiling: me sitting on the divan, Dagorkun serving the tea, Caldenia picking up her cup.

“One of you made an effort to move through the inn unseen. One of you employed a device that hid his or her image.”

The tension was thick; I kept waiting for it to crack like a thunderclap.

“This device was stolen and duplicated. The original was returned to its owner. The duplicate was used to allow someone to poison the tea in this kettle.”

The ruby-red tea shone once, responding to the light.

“Who?” Arland demanded. “Who brought the device?”

“I did,” Nuan Cee said.

“You!” the Khanum snarled.

The darkness flared behind me like a hungry beast ready to devour. They fell silent.

“There are only three motives for murder. Sex. Revenge.” I paused. “And greed.”

A contract appeared on the projection, huge, almost nine feet tall, hanging like a banner from the ceiling. On it odd symbols lined up into words next to an image of Caldenia.

“Less than a day after the location of this peace summit became known, this contract went off the market,” I said. “Someone had taken the job.”

The symbols mutated into general galactic script, showing a number large enough to buy a small planet. Jack whistled in the back.

“Cai Pa?” Caldenia blinked. “You mean to tell me this comes from that sniveling worm of a magnate who decorated his palace with jewel-eyed portraits of his horrid family? After two decades, he still wants me dead over a casual remark?”

“Yes.”

Caldenia put her hand over her chest, her gloved fingertips barely touching her skin, leaned back, and laughed. It was a rich, throaty laugh, showing off the forest of triangular, sharp teeth inside her mouth.

Everyone stared.

“After all these years, I’ve still got it.” She chuckled.

“The question is, why poison the entire kettle?” I said. “Three people would have drunk from it, and all three would have died. The consequences for all factions involved would’ve been dire.”

I paced back, passing my hand above the kettle. It pulsed with a bright spark in response.

“An experienced assassin would’ve selected the time and place of his strike carefully. An experienced assassin would’ve weighed the risks and realized that such a crime wouldn’t go undiscovered or unpunished. The esteemed Nuan Cee is an experienced assassin, cunning, smart, and disciplined. He wouldn’t have taken that risk.”

I turned back. The motion of my walking was enough to keep my robe shifting, as if stirred by some mystical power, and I needed as much impact as I could get.

“No, this assassin was someone who hadn’t had a lot of practice. Someone inexperienced. Someone young. Someone desperate and easily tempted.”

Nuan Cee’s lips trembled, baring a hint of his teeth. He just put it all together.

“Tell us, esteemed Merchant, what is the unspoken custom of your clan when a bright member of your family is about to reach adulthood?”

“The clan takes measures to make sure that the young one stays bound to the family for a while longer,” Nuan Cee said through clenched teeth. “It is done to preserve the family’s wealth.”

“Just like you have done with Cookie?”

The projection showed a close-up of the emerald vanishing into thin air.

Cookie gasped.

“Yes,” Nuan Cee said.

“You arrange for a child approaching adulthood to make a mistake, a mistake that puts them in debt to the clan, which they then have to repay?” I had to really break it down so everyone got it.

“Yes.”

“And how many years of service does Nuan Sama owe you?”

The Nuan Clan parted as every member simultaneously stepped aside. Nuan Cee’s niece stood alone in the circle of her family members.

“Nuan Sama had made some additional mistakes,” Nuan Cee ground out. “Her debt to the clan is substantial.”

“It wasn’t me.” Nuan Sama smiled. “Why would I do such a foolish thing? I love my clan. I have no desire to leave.”

Wow. That was some serious chutzpah.

“When Hardwir repaired the vehicle with the molecular synthesizer, you were asked to assist him. You’re an expert in age sequencing.”

I turned to the vampires. I had already interrogated the engineer before the gathering. I knew the answers to the questions I was asking.

“What did Nuan Sama suggest before you began the repairs?”

“She said that we should try it on a complex piece of equipment to make sure the results were optimal,” Hardwir answered.

“Did she provide such a piece of equipment?”

“Yes.”

“The esteemed engineer misunderstood,” Nuan Sama said. “I brought him a part from our ship.”

“You brought me an image disruptor,” Hardwir said. “We duplicated it, and then you took both of them away.”

“It is his word against mine,” Nuan Sama said.

“There were only three people besides the otrokars who knew the Khanum had invited me to her tea,” I continued. “Me, Her Grace, whom I called directly after I received the invitation, and you.”

“The honored innkeeper has no way of knowing I was the only one,” Nuan Sama said. “After all, the honored innkeeper couldn’t even tell her tea was poisoned.”

Nice. “When you dropped the poison into the kettle, you felt a puff of wind. Did you not wonder what that puff might have been?”

Nuan Sama shook her furry head, the many silver hoops in her ears gently clinking against each other. “I was never there.”

“That puff was a dye,” I said. “The inn marked you. Shall we see if your fur is stained?”

A lamp sprouted from the ceiling. She didn’t wait for the light. Nuan Sama leapt straight up, flipping in the air as she tried to clear the crowd of her clansmen. A furry blur shot toward her. They collided in midair and landed back in the circle of the clansmen, her uncle next to her.

Pawed hands grabbed her as her relatives rushed to restrain her.

“You took a contract not sanctioned by the family?” Nuan Cee’s voice was mournful.

“I did,” she snarled.

“Why?”

“Why?” Nuan Sama’s voice rose, shaking. “Why? Do you need me to tell you why? I’ve been an adult for four years. I want my freedom. I want my money, the money that was rightfully due to me on my majority, the money you and the rest of them stole from me. You’ve trapped me and you work me like I’m some indentured servant. Can’t you see you’re suffocating me? I can’t even breathe the same air as you. It’s poison to me, Uncle.”

The floor under Nuan Sama’s feet turned liquid. She began to sink. The foxes frantically tried to pull her out. Panic broke what little composure Nuan Sama had left.

“Uncle!” she cried out.

Nuan Cee spun toward me. “No!”

“She belongs to me,” I said, loading all my magic into my creepy voice.

Nuan Sama had sunk to her knees. She was screaming and whimpering now, making sharp fox noises as her family tried desperately to pull her free.

“She will be punished!” Nuan Cee cried out.

“I know,” I told him. “It won’t be quick or easy.”

“A favor from the Merchants is worth more than the life of one unskilled assassin.” Caldenia murmured next to me. “I assume you have a plan, dear?”

“Yes.”

Nuan Cee pivoted to Sean. Turan Adin shook his head. Yep. I didn’t think so. According to Wilmos, nothing in Sean’s contract obligated him to serve as a bodyguard to spoiled rich girl assassins.

The floor reached Nuan Sama’s hips. Desperation vibrated in her voice. “Help me, Uncle! Help me!”

Nuan Cee turned to me. “Yes. Whatever it is you want, yes.”

I flicked my fingers. The floor solidified, trapping the fox in place. I needed a visual aid in case Nuan Cee developed second thoughts.

“What is this?” The Khanum’s eyes narrowed.

I heard the buzzing sound of a blood weapon being primed. The vampires were ready to rumble.

“The Holy Anocracy, the Horde, and the Merchants. All of you are responsible for spilling blood within these walls. All of you owe me a debt. I am calling it in. It’s time to settle your accounts.”

“What do you want?” Lady Isur asked.

“Your memories.” I touched my staff to the bulb. The fuzzy green sepals peeled back. Delicate, translucent flower petals unfurled, hair-thin and glowing with pale green near their base, then turning transparent, and finally darkening to a magenta toward the tips. Long, whiplike stamens, coated in soft blue light, stretched from within the flower, reaching and twisting, and inside, in the whorl of petals, the psy-booster glittered.

“You want to take our memories?” Dagorkun asked.

“Not take. I want you to share them with me.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” the Khanum snarled.

“I do.” You know why I am asking it. Your reason is standing right there next to you.

George stepped forward, undid the clasp on his wrist cuff, and rolled the sleeve back, exposing a scarred, muscular arm.

“You do not want this,” Robart said, his voice suffused with so much sadness. “You do not want to experience my memories, Innkeeper.”

“Yes, I do. This is my price. Your honor demands you pay it. If you do not, there will be consequences.”

I had no idea what those consequences would be, but it sounded impressive.

George rolled back his other sleeve.

“Very well.” The Khanum’s face was terrible. She stepped forward.

I shook my head. “No. Him.” I pointed my staff at the shaman.

Ruga’s eyebrows crept together. He walked forward and stopped before me, corded with dry muscle, his charms and totems hanging from the belt of his kilt. Odalon shouldered his way through the vampires and came to stand next to Ruga, resplendent in his crimson battle vestments.

I looked at the Merchants. Nuan Cee started forward.

Grandmother made a quiet noise. He stopped almost in midstep. Grandmother turned in her palanquin. The foxes carrying it lowered it to the ground. She rose within it and stepped out onto the floor.

Clan Nuan let out a collective gasp.

The elder fox crossed the floor and stood next to Odalon. I had the spiritual leaders of every faction.

“Form a line behind your faction,” I said. “Leaders at the very end.”

The grand ballroom rippled as vampires, otrokars, and Clan Nuan formed three lines behind their spiritual representatives.

“Hold out your hands and take the hand of the person in front of you and behind you. Skin to skin.”

Metal slid as high-tech gauntlets fell away. Grudgingly they obeyed.

I looked to the back where the Khanum, Arland, and Nuan Cee stood, each the end of their line. “Complete the circuit.”

The muscles on the Khanum’s jaw stood out as she clenched her teeth. Arland’s face might have been made of stone. The gauntlet slid off his hands. He held out his hands, one to Khanum and the other to the Merchants. The Khanum gripped his fingers. Her expression was terrible. On the other side, Nuan Cee took Arland’s hand. Robart, the next in line behind Arland, turned and clasped his left hand on Arland’s bare forearm, locking his fingers on Arland’s wrist.

“Sorry, my friend,” he said.

Arland braced himself. They thought they knew what was coming. They had no idea.

George held out his arms.

I pushed with my magic. The glowing stamens reached out, fastening around his arms. A muscle in his face jerked. He would feel the pain immediately. When the booster actually began drawing on his magic reserve, the agony would be excruciating. I glanced at Sophie. She nodded. We had made a deal, and I was counting on her to stick to it.

I planted my staff into the floor. It opened, unfurling into three long flexible metal branches. The branches shot to the three beings standing in front of me and clasped their free hands.

This would hurt. This would hurt so much.

I looked up, past the people gathered behind me to where Turan Adin stood alone on the floor. He walked toward me and grasped my shoulder with his clawed hand. We stood together, locked into a single living circuit.

“Do not let go,” I said, speaking to all of them. “If you do, you may not survive.”

I thrust my hand into the flower and pressed my palm against the psy-booster. Obeying my command, the inn reached out with a tendril and anchored my hand.

The magic of the inn swelled behind the flower and ripped through me like a gust of incredibly powerful, painful wind. It dashed down the chain, splashed against the leaders, and dissipated.

Was that it? That wasn’t so bad, but now nothing was happening…

I felt magic swelling behind the flower, like a tsunami, rising higher and higher. Before I had a chance to prepare myself, it crested and tore into me.

Pain exploded inside me, erupting into a starburst of red-hot needles. Tears wet my eyes. I tried to take a breath and a cascade of memories hit me. Robart screaming at the top of his lungs, screaming and screaming as he looked across the battlefield and watched the otrokar’s axe carve into the woman he loved. I saw her arm fall from her body, saw the bloody stump where it had been, and at the same time I saw her kissing Robart in a garden, her eyes luminescent with love. I felt it. I felt her love; I felt how much she cared. She would do anything for me. I would do anything for her. In my darkest moments, she was there. She would… They were cutting her apart and there were too many between me and her, and I was reaping and slicing, but she was too far. She was screaming for me. She was screaming for my help, and I could do nothing. Her face… Oh stars, her face… Please, please Divine, I will do anything. Anything. Take me. Take me instead. Take me instead, you fucking bitch! The axe carved into her neck and I screamed. I screamed, because the pain burst out of me and if I didn’t let it out, it would tear me apart.

The memories kept hammering into me like nails into a coffin. Nuan Cee weeping over the small furry body of a fox baby in his arms, bent over and wracked with grief. Sean in his rooms alone, visions of blood and death… Odalon comforting the dying; Ruga walking through a makeshift morgue, hand over his mouth; Grandmother Nuan weeping… We were screaming. We were crying and wailing in one voice, battered by the pain and loss.

Another memory punched me like a bullet to the heart. A little otrokar boy trying to walk, unsteady on his feet, teetering, a very serious expression on his little face as behind him a huge otrokar got down on his hands and knees. The boy, my boy, was walking toward me. Big round eyes. That’s right. Oh! He fell right on his butt. Pick yourself up. That’s right. That’s my boy. You will grow up big and strong. You will grow. The little boy morphed into a slender adolescent with the same round eyes, full of laughter. He dashed across the yard, leapt onto a rukar’s back, and kicked his mount into a sudden gallop. Come back here! Clean your room! His father laughing in the corner. Are you going to let him get away with this? The little boy morphed again and here he was my son, strong broad shoulders, proud face, and still those eyes, those big green eyes amused at the world, looking outward and seeing only the promise of adventure. He wore the leathers of our people, and he was looking at me over his shoulder. Don’t go. Take off your armor and come back. Come back to me, my precious one, my son, my little one. He vanished, jerked out of existence. No longer there, as if all those years never happened. There was a gauntlet in my lap. A bloody gauntlet. That is all I have left of my son.

The memories kept coming. Lovers, brothers, sisters, children, parents, I lost them over and over, I mourned them, my grief so raw it cut me from the inside. The waterfall of memories pounded against my soul, shredding it.

I can’t. Too much. Too much. I can’t.

How can you live through this? How can anyone live through this?

I can’t!

Make it stop. Make it stop, please.

Please. I beg you.

Stop!

The magic vanished. A single image burned before me, a field of bodies under a bloody sky, and then it too dimmed to nothing.

The inn released my hand, and I collapsed to the floor. Next to me George was panting. His nose and eyes bled. Sophie stood by him, her sword in her hands, the severed stamens of the flower melting into nothing on the floor. We’d agreed that when George neared his limit, she would end it.

All around me people curled on the floor. Some wept, some buried their faces in their hands. A huge otrokar was rocking back and forth.

I licked my dry lips. My voice came out rusty. “Stop it.”

Across the room the Khanum stared at me with haunted eyes.

“You can stop it. You can do it today. Right now. No more. Please, no more.”

I stood on my back porch, smiled, and watched the long line of the otrokars depart into the night. The Merchants and the Holy Anocracy would follow. Half an hour later and the inn would be almost empty.

It took the three factions less than an hour to hammer out a peace agreement. Nexus had been split along the existing boundaries, with both Horde and the Holy Anocracy surrendering a stretch of territory to create a demilitarized demarcation zone, a no-man’s-land that would keep them separated and hopefully minimize the incidents. Clan Nuan’s territory had been expanded at the cost of the otrokars and vampires. In return, Clan Nuan cut its export and import prices by sixty percent. The agreements had been signed, spat upon, and marked with blood. Everyone had made painful concessions. Everyone stood to reap great benefits. Everyone would have a hell of a time trying to sell the treaty back home, but at least all those present were united in their satisfaction with the arrangement.

Now they were leaving. Such was the way of an innkeeper. Guests came. Guests left. I remained.

The otrokars were moving fast. I couldn’t blame them. Everyone had been traumatized by the joining, but at least nobody went mad. Sophie had severed the link just in time. I didn’t want to contemplate what would’ve happened if she let it go on for another minute or two. I would have nightmares for weeks as it was. George was standing to the left of me, pale as a sheet, and both his brother and Gaston hovered near him. He’d almost fallen twice already, and they were ready to catch him. I had offered him a chair, but he refused.

The Khanum and Dagorkun were the last in the line. They halted before me.

“Your parents,” Dagorkun said quietly. “We saw your memories.”

Oh no. I’d hoped that wouldn’t happen. I had directed the inn to search for the most traumatic experiences connected to Nexus. The only experience I had connected to that planet was when my brother Klaus and I landed there six months after our parents disappeared. We were combing the galaxy trying to find them, and the pain of their disappearances had been so raw. I couldn’t recall thinking of them during the link, but I must’ve done so, and now every guest in the inn who had been connected to Gertrude Hunt had seen deep into a private place in my soul.

Well, I did it to them. It was only fair.

“We will keep our eyes and ears open,” Dagorkun said.

“Thank you,” I said.

The Khanum looked at me, reached out, and crushed me to her in a bear hug. My bones groaned. She let go and they went off, through the orchard toward the shimmering tunnel leading to a faraway place.

The Merchants followed, including Nuan Sama, who was wrapped in what looked like a space-age straitjacket. I had given her back to Nuan Cee. The Merchants could deal with her crime. I had a feeling taking a contract unsanctioned by the family was going to cost her much more than whatever tortures I could level on her.

Clan Nuan departed one by one, heading toward their ship in the field. Cookie walked by me, grinned, and showed me a big green gem clutched in his paw. So, the emerald was returned. Clan Nuan would have to find some other way to entrap their young adults. I had no doubt they would think of something.

Grandmother passed me in her palanquin, favoring me with a nod. Nuan Cee nodded to me as well, and I nodded back. The next time I went to Baha-char to seek a Merchant, I would have a rough time bargaining, but some things couldn’t be helped. Maybe I would shop at his competitors. Stranger things had happened.

The Holy Anocracy was the last. They moved past me, huge in their armor. Lady Isur and Lord Robart walked together, side by side. As they passed me, Lady Isur gently touched Robart’s forearm. He glanced at her and put his hand over hers. Maybe there would be something there in the future. Who knew?

Arland was the last of the line. He lingered by me.

“Here we are again,” he said. “I’m leaving.”

“And I’m staying.”

“Lady Dina…”

“Your people are waiting for you, Lord Arland.”

He smiled, showing me his fangs. “Until next time then.”

“Until next time.”

“He has feelings for you,” Sophie said softly.

“He likes the idea of me,” I told her. “In practice, both he and I know this would never work.”

I turned to George.

“It is our turn,” he said.

“Yes. Congratulations on your first successful arbitration.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible without you,” he said.

“You’re right. It wouldn’t have been.”

George offered me a smile. The impact was staggering, but I was now immune.

“I suppose I am now banned from the inn.”

“Well, you’ve broken my apple trees, deliberately inflicted emotional distress on me and my guests, and manipulated me into a dangerous magical ritual that could’ve cost my sanity. Unfortunately, as much as I would like to ban you, the Office of Arbitration is a valuable ally. So Gertrude Hunt will welcome you again, should you need our hospitality. At triple your current rate and an ironclad contract that you will sign before I let you set one foot into my inn.”

George laughed. “Very well. Our bill has been settled.”

I had checked the account an hour ago. My account showed a lovely new balance, complete with a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus marked as “apple trees.” The payment had been processed through a complicated system of the innkeeper network. It would stand up to scrutiny as long as all my taxes were filed properly.

“To borrow from the Marshal of House Krahr, until next time,” George said.

Yeah. Hopefully not too soon.

The top of his cane shone with bright light, and the Arbitrator’s people vanished.

I sank into my patio chair and sighed. The inn had sprouted lights shaped like grape clusters from the roof of the porch, and they bathed the space in a soft light. Finally. Everyone was gone.

The door swung open and Caldenia emerged onto the porch. Her Grace wore a light green kimono-style robe. She took the chair next to me. Orro followed and loomed over me, a seven-foot-tall, spiky shadow.

Oh. Right. He had to leave too. The kitchen would feel so empty and quiet without him. But there was no way I could afford him.

“I do believe you let the Arbitrator off too lightly,” Caldenia said.

I smiled.

Her Grace raised her eyebrows.

“I entered his name into the Problem Guests database, complete with the description of the apple incident. The next time he attempts to find an inn on Earth, he will find it exceedingly difficult. In fact, I’m pretty sure that he will have to return here. It’s frightening how high you can raise a price of a room when you are the only Innkeeper willing to take the guest in.”

Caldenia grinned.

I turned to Orro smiled at him. “Thank you so much for your help, Orro. I couldn’t have done it without you. You managed the impossible.”

He continued to stand over me without saying a word.

I raised my hand. The brick wall of the inn parted and a small datacard popped into my hand. I offered it to him. “This is your payment and some endorsements for you. It’s not much, but it is the least I can do.”

“Please, dear.” Caldenia glanced at Orro. “She obtained testimonials from the Khanum of the Horde, three Houses of the Holy Anocracy, Clan Nuan, and myself. That is enough recommendations to rejuvenate your career.”

Orro moved. His hand shot out, blur-fast. A tiny cupcake landed on the table in front of me, decorated with a swirl of bright yellow cream and a tiny flower made from fondant. The delicate aroma of mango filled the air.

“For me?”

He nodded.

“Thank you.”

He made a harrumph-like noise and moved again. I looked down at the grocery-store flier deposited on the table. He’d circled a sale on strawberries and cherries.

“I need these things. I cannot make breakfast with thin air.”

I blinked.

“And dinner. I will need these.” He flipped the page and pointed to pork chops.

“Orro, I can’t afford to keep you. You’re a Red Cleaver chef. I barely even have guests…”

His chest swelled. His needles stood up, making him even larger. “This is an inn. An inn needs a chef. You can’t afford not to keep me. You don’t even have a gastronomic coagulator!”

“Orro…”

“If I leave, you would ruin this kitchen.” He raised his chin. “I have spoken.”

He turned, went inside, and slammed the screen door behind him.

I remembered to close my mouth.

“Oh thank the stars.” Caldenia exhaled. “No offense to your cooking, but the thought of going back to it was causing me actual anxiety.”

I licked the icing on my cupcake. It was delicious. Mmmm, mango.

“Where is your werewolf?” Caldenia arched her eyebrows.

An hour ago Sean and Nuan Cee had walked out into the dark night. I watched as the armor melted off Sean Evans and his body slimmed down to his human form. He took a deep breath, looked at the moon, handed his armor to the Merchant, and walked away.

“He’ll come around,” I told her and licked my cupcake again, savoring the taste. “I’m sure of it.”

“Things he has seen. Things he has been through. I’ve had affairs with men damaged by war. It is an uphill battle. You do realize this will be exceedingly difficult?”

“I know,” I told her.

“Very well.” Her Grace leaned back. “At least this will be interesting to watch. One must do something for entertainment around here.”

I laughed and ate my cupcake.