“Good!” He thrust a piece of paper in front of me. Pictures of herbs, meat, rice, milk, and eggs filled it in two neat columns with the prices in big black numbers next to them.
“What is this?”
“Other things I need.”
“Where did you get this?”
“Your markets send out lists of groceries printed on this obsolete paper.”
“You took these from an HEB flyer?”
Orro waved his claws at me. “I don’t know what it’s called. Of all the grocery-market lists, that one was best. I need these things. We have to serve a banquet.”
I opened my mouth to argue and clamped it shut. He had a point. We hadn’t served a formal sit-down meal.
“Things!” Orro shook the paper at me.
“I will buy them.” I took the paper. “Thank you.”
He dropped a thin slice of lemon into my tea and disappeared into the kitchen.
I restarted the recording. Handfuls of gems scattering on the floor…
A soft chime announced an incoming request from a guest. I paused the recording and flicked the screen. It split, showing one of the members of Clan Nuan standing by the door leading to the ballroom. The demands Nuan Cee mentioned. I opened the door, sealed it again behind the guest, and rose when he walked into the living room. A gray fox flecked with spots of beautiful blue, he wore two gold hoops in his left ear and an apron. He was older than Cookie but younger than Nuan Cee.
“I’m Nuan Ara, Nuan Cee’s blood sister’s youngest son.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you.” I invited him to sit in a chair across from me and moved the screen to the left, out of the way. “What can I do to make your stay more comfortable?”
Nuan Ara folded his paws on his lap. “It is Nuan Re, the esteemed grandmother, she of great wisdom, the root from which we grow.”
“May her feet never touch the ground.” It wasn’t my first rodeo. I knew the customs. The Merchant clans revered their elders. If Grandmother wanted something, the entire clan would turn themselves inside out to get it. I had to honor this request or the Nuans would hate me forever. What could she possibly want?
“She wishes to obtain a small predator.”
“A small predator?”
“Yes.” Nuan Ara nodded. “The silent, stealthy, vicious killer that prowls by night and mercilessly murders its victims for food and pleasure.”
Um… What? “And she believes she can find this predator here?”
Nuan Ara nodded. “She has seen the images. They have glowing eyes and razor claws and are renowned for their cruelty.”
“Aha.” What was she talking about?
“She is in particular interested in the Ennui predator. She very much likes its demeanor and coloring in the images. She understands she may not get that particular one, but perhaps one that resembles it? A young one?”
The Ennui predator. “Where did she find these images?”
“On your planet’s holonet,” Nuan Ara said helpfully.
We didn’t have holonet. We had Internet… Oh. “So, the esteemed grandmother would like a kitten that looks like Grumpy Cat?” I picked up my laptop, typed in the image search for Grumpy Cat, and showed him the picture.
“Yes!”
“I will see what I can do.”
“Wonderful!” Nuan Ara rose. “Many thanks. You have the promise of our generosity.”
I waited until he returned to his quarters and shut the door behind him. I would have to stop at a local shelter and possibly PetSmart. They had silent, stealthy, vicious predators available for adoption.
Sophie walked down the stairs and came to sit across from me. She wore soft black pants that flared at the bottom and a bright green tunic that was a cross between a hooded sweatshirt and a blouse. Her feet were bare. She was carrying her sword, and her dark hair, previously arranged into a complicated knot, was pulled back into a ponytail.
“I like your floors,” she said, making small fists with her toes on the wooden boards.
“Thank you. Would you care for some tea?”
“Certainly.”
I went into the kitchen and fetched her a cup of green tea.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I restarted the recording. “Stop. Zoom.” There it was, an emerald the size of a strawberry, the most beautiful, intense green you could imagine. If spring could cry, that would be its tear. That had to be the right emerald. “One-quarter speed.”
“Did I scare you?” Sophie asked.
The emerald bounced off the floor in slow motion.
“You alarmed me. The safety of my guests is my first priority.”
“I’m not a psychopath,” Sophie said. “Nor am I psychotic.”
The emerald landed in the path of the other Nuan Merchants.
“What’s the difference?” I asked.
“A psychotic suffers a break from reality, often accompanied by hallucinations and delusions. They are not aware of their own illness. I’m quite aware of my reality.”
One of the foxes kicked the emerald in passing, and the big jewel slid across the floor, spinning.
“A psychopath is unable to experience empathy. He can murder without remorse. His existence is free of guilt. His victim has no more significance to him than a used tissue he has discarded into a wastebasket. I’m able to empathize. I feel guilt and sadness, and I’m capable of acts of genuine kindness.”
She described it so clinically, almost as if talking about someone else.
“However, I’m a serial killer.”
“Pause.”
I nudged the screen to the side and looked at her. She sat in my chair, her legs tucked under her. Her sword rested on the floor next to her.
“When I was younger, I experienced some of the worst things adults could do to a child,” she said. “It caused damage, and I realize now that this damage is irreversible.”
“I’m sorry,” I said and meant it.
“When I was an adolescent, my uncle married a woman who became my second mother. She recognized that something was wrong with me, and she took me to Ganer College where the best mind-healers of my world tried to mend my scars. I made an honest effort to get better, but then an opportunity appeared to do what I do best in the interests of my country, and so I indulged. I returned to Ganer when I spilled too much blood, then left again, then came back and finally stayed for almost three years. I’ve read countless books. I’ve undergone many therapies and meditations. Yet here we are.” She smiled. “There comes a point where you have to stop trying to repair yourself and accept the fact that you’re broken. George is right. I hate him for it, but he is right. Today was the first time I truly lived in months, if only for a few moments. I’ve decided that I would rather live for a few moments every few weeks than try to deny my nature.”
As long as her nature didn’t interfere with the safety of my guests, we would be just fine.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Dina. Murder doesn’t interest me. I’m addicted to winning fights. I love it, the thrill of it, the rush of testing my skill against my opponent, the sharp finality of it, but I control my sword. My sword doesn’t control me.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I told her. “But if you attack a guest in my inn, I will contain you.”
“We understand each other then.”
“Yes, we do.”
“That makes me happy.” She smiled and drank her tea.
My screen chimed. I reached to my left and flicked it. George’s face appeared on the screen. His damp blond hair fell to his shoulders, framing his elegant face. He was wearing some sort of light white robe… The man was ridiculously handsome. That’s all there was to it.
I still wanted to punch him.
Something in Sophie’s cup must’ve been incredibly interesting, because she was studying it with cool detachment.
“What can I do for you, Arbitrator?” I asked.
“George, please. There is no hot water in my bathroom.”
“Oh really?” You don’t say.
“Yes. In fact, it’s ice-cold.” He raised a half-filled glass. Thin slivers of ice floated on its surface. “I drew this from the tap in my sink.”