"Yes, Master Welstiel currently resides here," he responded, his tone composed, his speech clear and distinct. "But he seldom receives guests and never without notifying me first. I am sorry." He turned back to the parchment on his desk, as if his words were all the dismissal she needed.
"No, I'm the one who's sorry. I may not have an appointment, but he's come to see me several times, and now I am returning his visits."
The slanted brown eyes flashed back up in surprise.
"Young mistress…" he began sternly, and then he paused a moment as if half-remembering some forgotten detail. "Are you Magiere, the new proprietor of Dunction's?"
"Yes," she answered cautiously. "It's called The Sea Lion now."
"Apologies, please." He stood up quickly. "My name is Loni. Master Welstiel did mention your name. I don't know if he's here now, but I will check. Please follow me."
This elegant elf-who basically functioned as a guard-did not even know if Welstiel was home or not? That seemed odd to Magiere, but she put it aside for the moment.
As they stepped farther into the inn, the place was even more opulent than she expected, with walls painted oyster-shell white. Red carpets, thick enough to sleep on, covered the main floors and hallways, climbing up the staircase at the entryway's far end. Large, dark-toned paintings of battles, seascapes, and tranquil landscapes hung in strategically tasteful places, and the perfect deepest shades of saltwater roses had been chosen for simple and exquisite ivory vases.
"Not bad," she remarked to Loni. "You could use a faro table."
"Well…" he said. "Yes, certainly."
Magiere almost smiled, knowing his stuffy front was carefully constructed. He was likely as good as Leesil at hand-to-hand encounters, or he wouldn't be working the front of this establishment all by himself. She followed him to the stairs, but rather than going up, he took a key out of his vest pocket and unlocked a door to the side. Opening it, Magiere faced another set of stairs leading downward.
Now came the difficult part. To Welstiel, this abrupt appearance would seem like she'd come to grovel for help. On some level, she suspected he would enjoy this. If there were any other way, any way at all, she would, have chosen some other option.
Loni descended, and Magiere followed. At the bottom, they reached a short hallway that led to a single door. Loni rapped gently on the door.
"Sir, if you are in, the young woman is here to see you."
At first there was no answer. Then Welstiel's distinctive voice said, "Enter."
Loni opened the door and stepped back.
Surprised at her own mild anxiety, Magiere swallowed once and entered the room. The door clicked shut softly behind her, and she heard Loni's soft footsteps retreating back up the stairs. Expecting to find decor which mimicked the wealthy display of the inn's main floor, she was surprised by the room's interior.
Upon a plain table, next to a narrow bed carefully made, rested a frosted-glass globe on an iron pedestal. Within the globe flickered three sparks of light, bright enough to illuminate half the room. One small travel chest sat in the corner and three leather-bound books lay on top of the table. Each book cover was marked in a language she'd never seen before and had a strap and lock holding it closed.
Welstiel sat in a simple wooden chair, reading from a fourth book. He projected such a striking appearance that no one would notice the nearly barren room if they examined him first. His well-tailored and perfectly pressed white shirt and black trousers seemed more a part of him than mere articles of cloth he'd donned. Dark hair was combed back over his ears, exposing the gray-white temples that made him look wise and noble at the same time. And if not for these, the soft light from the orb illuminating his face would make his age difficult to guess. With finely boned hands resting on the book, he seemed unconscious of the missing portion of his finger, even when she glanced down at it.
"How pleasant to see you," he said, his tone expressing neither pleasure nor wonder at her arrival.
Magiere imagined he fancied himself a rich gentleman who studied ancient lore and magic in his spare time. But why would a nobleman live in these cellar quarters when more suitable comforts were likely to be had upstairs in The Velvet Rose's standard rooms? And if he were such a self-made scholar, what was he doing in a place like Miiska? More likely he was some ne'er-do-well who thought he knew something of the dark half of the world and had simply stumbled across her path by chance. Perhaps he couldn't help her as she hoped.
"I didn't stop by for a social call," she said abruptly. "You either know something, or think you do, about the murders and disappearances in this town. My tavern was attacked last night and one of the caretakers is dead."
He nodded slightly. "I know. I have heard."
"Already?"
"Word travels quickly in Miiska, especially if you know what to listen for."
"Don't play coy with me, Welstiel," she snapped, stepping farther into the room. "I'm not in the mood."
"Then stop denying what your own eyes see and begin accepting reality," he answered back, just as harshly.
"What does that mean? What does any of this have to do with me?"
He put the book down and leaned forward, pointing at her neck.
"Those amulets hidden beneath your clothes and the falchion you usually carry are telltale signs. If I were a vampire, I'd hunt you down the moment you set foot on my territory."
She blew a breath out her nose. "Don't start all that again."
But her voice pretended a confidence she no longer felt. If she truly believed that nothing unnatural was happening in this town, then why had she come to Welstiel, who spoke of such things?
He studied her face as if it were the cover of one of his books, hoping to catch a hint of what lay behind it.
"You can't escape this. They see you as a hunter and will therefore hunt you first. Take the battle to them."
She no longer had the strength nor inclination to argue and sat down slowly on the foot of his bed.
"How? How do I find them?"
"Use what is already available to you. Use your dog and the facts you've gathered. Use the skill of your half-elf and the blacksmith's strength."
"Chap?" she said. "What can he do?"
"Do not be dense. Let him hunt. Haven't you at least figured that part by now?"
He was mocking her, and she felt a sudden edge of hate for his superior manner. How could he possibly know so many things that she did not?
"If you know so much, then why haven't you hunted these creatures down?"
"Because I am not you," he answered calmly.
She stood up again, pacing. "I don't even know where to look. How do I start?"
Without warning, his expression became closed, as if he were a living book suddenly tired of producing information. He got up, went to the door, opened it, and repeated, "Use the dog."
Her fear concerning her fate threatened to emerge once more as the tangle of coincidences grew more entwined. How did Chap fit into all this?
Welstiel's opening of the door announced the end of her visit. Besides, he was apparently strong willed, and any further pushing on her part might lead to alienating the only outside source of information she'd found so far. She stepped into the hall and then turned back to him. "How do I kill them?"
"You already know. You've practiced it for years." Without another word, he closed the door. Magiere made her way quickly back up the stairs, and hurried through the lobby, glancing once at Loni on her way out of the foyer. For all Welstiel's cryptic discussions, only two points truly bothered her. First, to the best of her knowledge, Welstiel had never even seen Chap, but he knew a great deal about the animal. And second, he either knew or pretended to know aspects of her past that she did not. Though that last issue troubled her some, she'd never really cared about her past. There was little worth remembering.