Clean Sweep (Innkeeper Chronicles, #1)(16)

Yes, his inn was doing well and mine wasn't. I was painfully aware of that fact. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"When Gertrude Hunt was built all those years ago, it stood on a road crossing. But now the roads have moved on, the inn stood abandoned, and I would guess that even with proximity to Austin and Houston, you still don't get many visitors. My point is that there are different kinds of inns. Some inns are like Casa Feliz and cater to a wide variety of patrons. Some cater only to few, select customers. The guests with special needs. Don't fight your remote location --turn it to your advantage. If you succeed in that, you'll build a quiet reputation that will speak volumes. Your exclusivity could be an asset, the way it was for Blue Falls."

"Thank you." It was sound advice. I just had no idea how to follow it. "May I trouble you for an introduction to the Blue Falls innkeeper? Perhaps I could call him and ask him for more information about dahakas?"

Mr. Rodriguez shook his head. "I'm sorry, but Blue Falls was destroyed seventeen years ago. One of the guests went on a rampage and murdered the innkeeper and her family. A terrible tragedy."

Umm. So I could be just like that other innkeeper who'd died in a horrible way.

I rose off the bench. "Thank you so much for all your help. I must be going."

"You've driven a long way. Would you like some lunch?"

"No, thank you. I want to get back as soon as possible."

Mr. Rodriguez nodded. "I understand. If there is anything else I can do, don't hesitate to call. I'll help in any way I can."

I started down the path. Oh, shoot, Sean. "Mr. Rodriguez?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know why a particular werewolf would be much stronger than others?"

Mr. Rodriguez smiled and said in the patient voice he'd used with Isabella, "Have you consulted your Creature Guide?"

"I have. It doesn't mention anything relevant."

"Did you inherit it with the inn?"

"Yes. All my books and possessions disappeared with my parents."

Mr. Rodriguez nodded. "It's probably out of date. Before the werewolves blew themselves up, they bred a second generation of combat operatives to hold the gates against the Sun Horde while the population evacuated. They're just like the usual werewolves, except more: stronger, faster, harder to kill, more aggressive, more everything. They aren't too stable, but nobody worried about that at the time since they weren't expected to live. The funny thing is, their makers bred them to survive against overwhelming odds, holding the gates against superior firepower often by pure will, and then were extremely surprised when their creations refused to give up and die at the end. Most of the second generation did perish in the final blast, but several units made it through the gates. They are rare and other werewolves stay away from them. Some would say that they are ostracized or even shunned, others argue that we simply give them the distance and respect that their sacrifice and heroic combat performance demanded. It all depends on who you talk to. If you encounter one, I'd treat them with kid gloves. If they decide you're a threat, they react with sudden and extreme violence and they're very difficult to kill."

*** *** ***

I drove straight home. Of course, I hit a traffic jam on 45. A semi had overturned, clogging both lanes. The radio said no one was seriously hurt, but by the time I finally rolled into the garage, it was dark. The street was empty. Not a single leaf shivered on the old oak in the yard, its branches dripping midnight gloom onto the grass.

The house clanged at my approach, sliding the shutters and locks open. Beast shot out at my feet, dashed left, right, left, and overcome with excitement, zoomed around me in a circle, tucking her hind legs under her as she ran.

"I love you, too, you silly dog."

The doors opened and I stepped inside. The familiar smell of cinnamon floated around me, as the soft lamps came on one by one. I nodded at the portrait of my parents. The pressure that had accreted on my shoulders during the trip vanished. I was home.

I made a cup of coffee and sat in my chair in the lobby. Beast hopped onto my lap.

"Terminal, please."

The wall in front of me fractured, folded back on itself, and revealed the smooth surface of a screen.

"Audio."

Two long speakers emerged from the wall next to the screen.

"Camera footage since I've been gone."

The screen split into four different images. Cars. Two kids on bikes. Wind moving the oak branches. An older woman jogging past --I'd seen her before. She jogged by the house every afternoon, rain or shine. "Fast forward to activity."

The day turned into evening, rather than night. An image on the top left showed a dark figure at the edge of the inn. The timer said eleven twenty-two p.m.

"Enlarge."

The image expanded, taking over most of the screen. The inner camera took up the one third on the right. Sean Evans. He wore a gray T-shirt and loose jeans. He sniffed the air, turned, and looked straight at the camera. His eyes shone like two embers. Very deliberately he took a step forward onto the inn's grounds.

Just what I needed. I sat back and watched the video.

The recording from the inner camera produced a faint sound, a sigh, as the house creaked, preparing to defend itself.

Sean padded around the building, moving lightly on his toes.