Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles 2)
“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.