Clean Sweep (Innkeeper Chronicles, #1)(30)

Chapter Eight


I stepped outside and walked along the curving path toward the edge of the lawn, where six vampires waited. Sean followed me. The men-at-arms watched us. All above six feet tall, all with identical square bulges under their trench coats, which made them look like football players with their pads on. Syn-armor. They weren't playing around.

No banners. Odd. Usually they had a banner.

"Protocol ARMED," I murmured. "Maximum threat level."

Behind me things slid as the house prepared for battle.

It'd been a long time since I'd dealt with the Holy Cosmic Anocracy and back then I always had my parents to back me up. Now my backup was an unpredictable werewolf who was prone to making snap judgments and acting on them with maximum force.

The largest vampire stood in front of the others. He was big with broad shoulders, a great wealth of brown and gray hair cascading down his back. A short beard traced his square jaw. Human males tended to bulk up with age. For vampires that process was even more pronounced: they grew more muscular and grizzled. The one looking at me now had to be close to sixty. And because he stood with his back to the streetlight, I couldn't see him clearly.

I sent a pulse of magic into the broom. The top of the handle glowed a gentle blue. The vampire's eyes caught the light and reflected it back, glowing pale red like the irises of a tiger. The blue light of the broom played on his syn-armor, molded to the lines of his powerful chest. I covertly looked for the glyphs glowing with dark red. His rank translated roughly to Knight Sergeant. Bad news.

I stopped about six inches from the boundary of the inn.

Another vampire stepped forward and snapped a tube up, holding it horizontally in his hand at about eye level. A dark red cloth unfurled, almost touching the grass. Ah. Here was the banner.

A predator's head with large fangs and vicious eyes was embroidered in gold on the red fabric. It looked like a cross between a bear and a sabertooth.

"House of Krahr!" the vampire with the banner barked quietly.

"Krahr," the other four vampires exhaled and glared at me.

Usually they roared their house name at the top of their lungs, trying to intimidate... Oh. They were trying to be inconspicuous. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. I'd never had an attempt at intimidation whispered at me before.

"Gertrude Hunt greets the House of Krahr and offers her hospitality to its brave warriors," I said. Protocol was important. It kept everyone civil and limited the disembowelment to a bare minimum.

"House of Krahr greets the innkeeper," the older vampire said. "We wish you no ill will."

"Would you like to come in?" I asked.

"We must regretfully decline," the older vampire said. "I'm Lord Soren, son of Rok, son of Gartena, Baron of Nur Castle."

"Dina Demille, daughter of Gerard and Helen. My lord, why are you wearing trench coats?"

"We must blend in," he said. "This is a covert operation."

Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh... "It's very hot," I said. "Trench coats are a cold-weather garment."

Sean cleared his throat. "Half a dozen big guys in ill-fitting trench coats pouring out of black Hummers into the Texas heat? Are you sure you meant covert and not showy?"

Lord Soren's bushy eyebrows came together. "Is there a warm-weather alternative?"

"Rain ponchos," Sean said. "If it's raining. Otherwise, oversize football jerseys and helmets are your best bet."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to come in?" I asked.

"No. I'll come straight to the point: we've come for one of your guests."

It's like this then, huh. "My lord, if the House of Krahr feels entitled to threaten the safety of my guests, I'm afraid you simply haven't brought enough manpower."

The vampires snapped up guns, swords, and axes. A quiet buzz announced blood blades being primed. When activated, a blood blade could chop down a wooden telephone pole. I'd seen it happen.

I plunged the broom into the lawn. Blast shutters clanged into place, guns swung into view, and magic churned around me, stirring my robe. Next to me Sean tensed, his eyes predatory, his face hard.

"Wait." Lord Soren raised his arms. "Will you walk with me?"

"As you wish." Walking away didn't diminish my ability to target them.

We strolled along the boundary, he on his side and I on mine.

"We seek the dahaka," he said.

"Why?"

"It's a private House matter. A matter of honor. We owe him a blood debt and we always settle our accounts."

The dahaka had killed someone. Someone important. "Is this a mission of revenge?"

"It is a private matter," Lord Soren repeated. "He is a monstrous creature. Produce him and this is over."

"I can't do that." Come on, tell me why you want him.

"I do not wish to resort to violence."

"Lord Soren, you come from a predatory species whose members bring down their victims by biting through their necks. At any given time there are at least five ongoing military conflicts between the Houses of the Holy Anocracy. You come to me wearing syn-armor and I've heard you prime your axe. I would argue that you don't have to consciously resort to violence. It's your default response."