Now he was dead and his body was a host for something too terrible to describe.
“Did he say anything? Did he recognize you?” Maud asked.
“If he did, he sure had a funny way of showing it.”
“Is it related to the Archivarius? Is it the Draziri?”
“I don’t know.”
Maud stopped and stared at me. “What’s next?”
“Next we report this to the Assembly.” That part was easy.
Maud resumed her pacing. “And they come and get it? Please tell me they come and get it.”
“They will eventually.”
My sister paused again. “How long is eventually?”
“I don’t know. I can’t contact the Assembly until tonight.” The rules for emergency contact weren’t just strict; they were draconian. A stray transmission could give away the existence of the inns, so the session had to be no more than thirty seconds and transmission had to be sent according to the time chart provided to every inn in the beginning of the year. I had checked it before, when thinking of accepting the Hiru’s bargain. My emergency session time was at 11:07 pm Central time.
“It’s still alive,” I said.
“What?”
“We have to store it and there is something… corrupt that’s still alive inside the body. Something that wants out.”
“How? Is it a creature? A parasite?”
“I don’t know. It attacked me when I got the sample. I had to stab it several times to get it to retreat. That’s the screech Helen heard.”
Maud swore. She and I looked at the resin coffin.
“What would it be afraid of?” she asked.
I rubbed my face. “There is no way to tell unless we analyze it and Gertrude Hunt won’t let me do that. Forcing the inn to take further samples is out of the question. We’re not set up to do this sort of analysis safely, and I won’t let this corruption infect us.”
“Fire?” Maud mused.
“Too difficult. It would have to be very hot and sustainable over time, and the inn doesn’t like open flames. It can deal with a small fire or even a bonfire outside, but flames of that intensity inside are a bad idea. No, we need something strong but viable long-term.”
We looked at the tube again.
“Acid,” we said at the same time.
It took me twenty minutes to build the chamber out of stone and fill our largest anchor tube with hydrochloric acid. We sealed the resin coffin inside another smaller tube, and suspended it in the acid. It wasn’t perfect. I would’ve preferred dumping it on some unknown planet, but one was responsible for what one set loose, and I didn’t want to shoulder the burden of unleashing this horror on anyone.
Once the tube was suspended, I set the alarms. If the plastic moved a fraction of an inch, the inn would scream in my head. We retreated to the lab, where I made the inn show me the chamber on the big screen. I sat and watched it. If it tried to break out after we left, I wanted to see it. Maud sat next to me.
Neither of us said anything.
“The Assembly will notify the family,” I said.
Thinking about looking at Mrs. Braswell as I struggled to explain what her son had turned into made me nauseous.
“They should,” Maud said.
We looked at the tank some more. Nothing moved. The Assembly had a lot of resources at its disposal. Some innkeepers specialized in research, and their inns had state of the art labs. And of course, there were ad-hal. When innkeeper children grew up, they had three paths open to them. A lot of us left the planet and became Travelers, bumming around the great beyond. Of those who stayed, some gave up on the innkeeper life altogether and rejoined human society, leading normal lives. But if you wanted to remain in our world, you could become an innkeeper by inheriting the inn from your parents or, very rarely, being transferred to a new inn. Or you became an ad-hal. An ancient word for secret, the ad-hal served as the Assembly’s, and by extension, the Galactic Senate’s, enforcers on Earth. My power was tied to the inn. The power of an ad-hal came from within them. When things went bad, terribly, catastrophically bad, an ad-hal would come and deal with it. The ad-hal knew no mercy. They would assess the situation and deliver the punishment. Seeing one was never a good sign.
Maybe the Assembly would send an ad-hal to retrieve Michael’s body.
“I will stand vigil for his soul tonight,” Maud said.
“I killed him.”
“No, you freed him. You need your strength,” she said. “He deserves a vigil.”
“Okay.”
Minutes crept past.
Maud finally spoke. “How are things between you and Sean?”
“Fine.”
“Aha. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Because I’m right here.”
“Maud…” I started, but caught myself.
“That’s my name. Don’t be afraid, you won’t wear it out.”
“You have just been through… a lot of things. You buried your husband. I don’t want to dump my romantic problems on you.”
“I never thought you would find someone who was in,” Maud said.
“In?”
“In our world. In our little innkeeper circle. I always thought that you would go off and have a normal life with someone, I don’t know, someone named Phil.”
“Phil?” I blinked.
“Yes. He would be an accountant or a lawyer. You would have a perfectly normal marriage and perfectly normal children. Your biggest worry would be making sure the other PTA moms didn’t outshine you at faculty appreciation day.”
I blinked. “First, how do you even know about faculty appreciation day? You attended school for what, a year in high school?”
She sighed. “Would you believe me if I told you that vampires have them?”
“What do you bring to a vampire faculty appreciation day?”
“Weapons,” Maud said. “Usually small knives. Ornate and pricey.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“No. There is a lot of etiquette involved in deciding the exact value of a knife to bring… Okay, yes, I’m pulling your leg. Snacks. You bring snacks to a vampire faculty appreciation day. And extra school supplies are very much appreciated. I don’t care how advanced your civilization is, children still want to draw on the rocks with colored chalk.”
“Why did you think I would go off and marry someone normal?”
“Because you were so whiny before I left.”
I stared at her.
“You were,” Maud said. “It was all me, me, me. Oh I am so put upon that I have to live in this magic house and nobody understands. You didn’t want anything to do with the inn. Making you do chores was like pulling teeth. All you wanted to do was leave the inn and hang out with your high school friends.”
“I was barely eighteen. And they weren’t friends; they were frenemies.”
Maud grinned. “I always thought I would end up being an innkeeper.”
“I always thought you’d be an ad-hal.” I smiled, but I wasn’t joking. She would’ve made an excellent ad-hal.
“You think I’m ruthless enough.”
“Mhm. You have ruthlessness to spare.”
She sighed. “Instead, I’m the widow of a dishonored knight, while you have an inn and are trying to date a complicated homicidal werewolf.”
“You could get your own inn.” It wouldn’t be easy, but Maud never quit because things were a challenge.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think that’s in the cards, Dina. I’m proud of you and of everything you did to get this far, but it’s not for me. I was Melizard’s wife for six years. I’m good at fighting. I’ve learned to be good at political maneuvering. If you give me a battlefield or a ballroom filled with people who want to slit my throat, I know what to do. But sitting in the inn, trying to juggle the needs of a dozen guests, with all of them wanting something at once, while keeping the whole thing a secret from the outside world isn’t in me
. It’s going into a fight with your arms tied.”
My heart sank. “Does this mean you won’t stay with me here, at Gertrude Hunt?”
“It means I don’t want my own inn. I’ll stay with you, Dina. As long as you will have me here.”
“Good. Because otherwise I’d have to kick your ass.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Mom and Dad disappeared, and you came to me, and I was too wrapped up in my own problems. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Emotion trembled in her voice.
“You were married and just had a baby.”
“It’s not an excuse. You’re my little sister. You needed me and I wasn’t there. That’s not what big sisters do.”
“I wasn’t by myself. I had Klaus.”
She swiped moisture from her eyes. “Where is he now?”
“Who knows.” I sighed.
“Do you think he’s in trouble?”
“Klaus? Our Klaus? No. But before he left, he promised me he would come back when he found out something about Mom and Dad. You know how he is.”
“He won’t come back unless he has something.” Maud looked resigned. “Men.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m here now. Tell me about your werewolf.”
She didn’t say it, but I heard it in her voice. Maud hated to be treated as a victim. She didn’t want any allowances to be made for her. She wanted to be the big sister again. I would meet her halfway.
“I’m… conflicted. And we had a fight.”
“What was the fight about?”
“I expended too much magic shielding myself and him from that thing.” I nodded at the screen. “Afterward Sean wanted to take me straight to the inn and I made him go and get the tank with the Archivarian in it.”
“Define ‘made him.’”
“I cried and asked him to get it.”
“You cried? You?”
“I think I did. I also might have implied that I wouldn’t open the door to the inn without it. At least I intended to imply that. It’s a bit fuzzy. So we went and got the Archivarian from Wilmos’ shop. Now he is upset. He gave me an ultimatum: either I let him do his job or he will take his ball and go. He says he’s a trained killer and I’m not.”
“He has a point. Do you know how he got his training?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“No. It’s not my place to tell.”
She sighed. “Fair enough. I can tell you what I saw tonight. I’ve spent the last few years among professional soldiers, who go to the battlefield because it’s their job. When they kill, they do it efficiently and quickly. When they gather enough training and experience, they do it instinctually, like breathing. They see things in black and white, because shades of gray would kill them, and eventually they no longer agonize over it. They start out from different backgrounds, they have different personalities, they may be human, or vampire, or Otrokar, but sooner or later they all end up in a place where detachment rules. It’s a way for them to survive, because we’re not meant to slaughter other beings week after week.”
She paused.
“Okay,” I said, to say something.
“Your wolf isn’t like these soldiers. He kills, because a part of him needs it. He’s a predator, Dina.”
“You make him sound like a maniac. He doesn’t revel in it.”
“I didn’t say he did. He isn’t cruel. But when he comes to the battlefield, he doesn’t see the enemy. He sees prey. He isn’t detached. He’s all in. Tonight, he punished. He broke their bones, he made them scream, and then he cut off their heads and put them on a pike.”
“He’s been through a lot.”
Maud nodded. “I know. I’m trying to explain something that I feel, and it’s difficult. Despite the way the movies and books make it seem, when you’re out there and someone is trying to kill you, you don’t think. You just act. You kill the enemy as quickly as you can, because that’s your only option. He’s… Not like that. He’s active. He doesn’t surrender to that fight or flight response. I watched him mow through the Draziri. He looked at them for half a second, formulated a plan, and followed it. All of him is fully engaged, even the part that most people shut off.”
“What are you trying to say?”
Maud sighed. “When you came to find me, you picked up Helen. Why?”
“It seemed like a natural thing to do. I could run faster carrying her than she could run alone. I could shield her.”
“The moment you picked her up, neither you nor she could effectively respond to threats. You added fifty pounds to your load. You also robbed her of the only advantage she had: mobility. Helen is fast and good at dodging. She couldn’t dodge while you were carrying her.”
“Well…”
“Yeah.”
She had a point. I didn’t like it, but she was right.
“You made it to the door because, when Sean saw you scooping her up, he started cutting a way for you to get there. He didn’t say anything. He just compensated. Your instincts aren’t always right in a fight, Dina. But his are. Put him into any army, and in a few weeks he’ll be leading it, because professional soldiers would see him fight and know that he would survive. It’s something you feel. It’s a lizard brain thing. If I had a strategy planned and it was the best plan in the world, and he told me to change it, I would, because he has something I don’t. So when you’re in danger and he tells you to follow his lead, you should.”
“I don’t like ultimatums.”
“Neither do I. But he had a reason to give you one. I think he loves you, Dina. He’s afraid of losing you.”
I stared at her.
“If you’re in danger and you hobble him, both of you might die. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. That’s why you gave him that dollar. What is this fight really about?”
I closed my eyes.
She waited.
“I’m afraid he’ll leave.” There. It came out. “I hate this.”
“Why?”
“Because I sound needy and desperate.”
Maud snorted. “You’re the least needy person I know.”
“I want him to stay here with me and run the inn. I want to wake up every day and see him there in bed with me. And I barely know him. We had one date. Am I that lonely, Maud? Because I’m all in and I don’t know if he is, and I have no right to ask for that much. You know what it means to be an innkeeper. We are bound to our inns.”
“If you were just lonely, you would clutch on to anybody who came along,” she said. “Would you take Arland instead of Sean?”
“No.”
“See?”
“You took two years to decide you loved Melizard.”
She snorted again. “And look how much good it did me. I don’t regret it, because I have Helen now. But it wasn’t the best move. Who cares about dates? It’s when you’re under pressure together, that’s what counts. He risked his life for you. He was ready to fight for the Hiru, because he saw an injustice. Is he kind when it’s difficult? Does he still do the right thing when everything turns to shit?”
He sold himself to the Merchants for a lifetime contract to keep me from dying. “Yes.”
“Then talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Nothing kills it faster than not talking. Trust me, I know. That’s how my marriage died.”
Her face was flat. No emotion. No tremor in her voice. She’d loved Melizard so much, she followed him across the galaxy to an alien planet, where she molded herself into a perfect vampire knight’s spouse. And it ended so badly.
I wanted to hug her, but she sat stiff, her back straight. No weakness.
A screen opened in the wall. The Hiru’s odd features filled it.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
“The third Archivarian is arriving to the inn in five minutes,” the Hiru said. “Please remove the void field.”
* * *
I reached through the inn with my senses. Sean waited by the back por
ch.
“Sean,” I whispered. “I need your help.”
I felt him move toward me.
“Oh Sean…” Maud whispered in a sing-song voice, rolling her eyes.
I squinted at her. “Do you want to call Arland or should I?”
“You do it,” she said.
I reached through the inn. Arland was in the kitchen, with Helen. Probably fixing his armor again.
“Lord Marshal,” I said. “Could I please see you in the war room?”
Less than a minute later Sean came striding through the door. Arland was only a few steps behind. Helen rode on his shoulder like a parrot. Maud opened her mouth and clicked it shut.
“The third Archivarian is arriving to the inn in four minutes and ten seconds,” I said. “I have to drop the void field. Are you in?”
“Of course.” Arland gently set Helen on the floor.
“Yes,” Sean said.
So much for his ultimatums.
“For the Archivarian to get here, the other side must open a door,” Maud said. “A portal. If I were the Draziri, I’d try to detonate it the moment I saw it.”
“The portal will open in the back field,” I said. Each inn listed the official coordinates for the designated arrivals. Ours were in the back, where the house would block the view. “We must preserve the Archivarian at all costs. We need a plan. Sean?”
A calculation took place in Sean’s eyes. “The Draziri are positioned all around the inn on the wooded side. They’re watching the grounds.”
“You want to structure our defense around the portal?” Arland asked.
“No,” Sean said. “I don’t want to defend it at all.”
Arland mulled it over. His blond eyebrows edged together. Maud grinned like a wolf and pulled her new blood sword out.
“If they see you, they will key in on you,” Sean said to me.