Having vampires and Otrokars together in close proximity was like mixing glycerin with nitric acid and then hitting it with a sledgehammer. They would explode. It would be a slaughter.
I leaned forward. “So you need a neutral venue to hold the arbitration?”
“Yes. An inn on Earth is ideal. It is defined as neutral ground, and we can rely on an innkeeper’s power to keep the participants in check.”
“Let me guess: you’ve tried other inns and everyone turned you down. Am I your last stop?”
George took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“There was an attempt to broker peace between Otrokars and the Holy Cosmic Anocracy during their Ten-Year Conflict,” I said. “About fifty years ago.”
He braided his long, elegant fingers into a single fist. “Yes, I’m familiar with it.”
“Then you also know how it ended.”
“I believe the patriarch of House Jero lunged at the Otrokar Khan, and the Khan beheaded him.”
“He ripped the patriarch’s head off with his bare hands and then proceeded to beat the Marshal of House Jero to death with it.”
“Well, the venture could be viewed as risky, when taking into account their history…”
“It’s not risky, it’s suicidal.”
“Should I take that as a no?” George asked.
This was a really bad idea.
“How many people do you expect?”
“At least twelve from each party.”
Thirty-six guests. My heart sped up. Thirty-six guests, each with robust magic. This would sustain the inn for years to come. Not to mention that if I managed to pull this impossible thing off, it would raise the inn’s standing.
No. What was I thinking? It would be crazy. I would have to keep the peace between thirty-six individuals, each dying to kill the other. It would be terrible. The risk… The gamble was too great.
What did I have to lose?
George reached into his pocket, produced a small tablet about the size of a playing card and just as thin, and showed it to me. Two numbers: $500,000 and $1,000,000.
“The first is your payment in the event the arbitration fails. The second is payment if we succeed.”
Five hundred thousand. We needed the money. I could finally upgrade my books. I could buy the additional building materials for the inn.
No. I might as well set Gertrude Hunt on fire.
My gaze fell on the portrait of my parents. They were looking at me. Demilles never backed down from a challenge. But then, we didn’t take unnecessary risks either.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I could simply sit here and continue to wait for a chance traveler to happen my way…
“If I do this, I would need you to meet my conditions,” I said.
“Absolutely.”
“I want agreements of reimbursement to be drawn up and signed by all parties. I want a sum of money to be set aside in escrow from each faction and placed under your control. If they damage the inn, I want them to pay for the damages.”
“I find that reasonable.”
“I need each party to review and sign Earth’s nondisclosure policy. Ordinary citizens of this planet can’t know of their existence. For example, we may experience visits from local law enforcement, and I want it expressly understood that nobody will be crushing necks or ripping off heads.”
“Also reasonable.”
“I may think of some additional restrictions. Do you have any concerns?”
“A couple.” George leaned forward. “The nature of the relationship between the inn and its guests isn’t quite clear to me. Why does the inn require guests?”
“It’s a symbiotic relationship,” I explained. “The inn provides the guests with shelter and food. It sees to their every need. In return, it feeds on the natural energy all living beings emit. The more varied and powerful that energy, the more magic the inn is able to generate and the stronger it becomes.”
George narrowed his eyes. “So is the inn empathic?”
“No, not exactly.”
“Can it influence the mood of its guests?”
“Only in as much as we are all influenced by our surroundings.”
George frowned. “I’ve read of some cases that suggested a link can be forged between an inn and its guests.”
Oh. That’s what he was getting at. “That’s not exactly accurate. It’s possible for the inn to forge a mental link between an innkeeper and a guest, but the inn can’t influence the guest’s mental state. The linking ritual has been done only a handful of times, in rare cases when the inn or guests were in danger, for example, when a murder had occurred and discovering the identity of the killer was paramount. The guest has to be a willing participant in the process and try to forge the link. So if you’re asking me whether the inn can magically make the guests more agreeable and likely to sign the peace treaty, then no. I can make sure the peace delegates have the softest linens and the most tranquil of rooms, but I have no power to influence them. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. The privacy of my guests is sacred, and I am meant to remain as a neutral party. It would be a breach of ethics.”
“Oh well,” he said. “It was a thought.”
Considering the enormity of the task at hand, I could understand why he would reach for any possibility that could influence the outcome. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” George turned and glanced at the modest room. “I mean no disrespect, but your establishment is considerably smaller than I was led to believe. I don’t believe we have enough room.”
I rose. “Have you stayed at many inns?”
“No. I’ve visited several in connection with this summit, but I haven’t had the pleasure of being a guest. Yours is my first.”
I pulled the magic to me. What I was about to do would likely drain most of the inn’s resources and mine. If he walked away from our deal after I was done, it would take us a very long time to recover. But if we could get guests, it would all be worth it.
I picked up my broom. The magic vibrated within me, building and building, held so tight, like a giant spring compressed to its limit. George rose and stood next to me.
I raised the broom, bristles up, pictured the interior of the inn in my mind, and brought the broom down. Wood connected with floorboards with a dry knock.
Magic rolled through the inn like an avalanche, the wood and stone suddenly elastic and flowing. The interior of the inn opened like a blossoming flower. The walls moved apart. The ceiling soared. The magic kept streaming out of me, so fast I felt light-headed. Polished pink marble rolled over the floor, sheathed the walls, and surged up, forming stately columns.
Next to me, George stood very still.
Two-story-tall windows opened in the marble. I leaned on the broom for support. Vaulted ceilings turned pure white. Crystal chandeliers sprouted like bunches of exquisite blooms. Golden flourishes spiraled and curved on the floor. Lights flared among the crystal.
I cut off the magic. The power snapped inside me like a rubber band. I reeled from the impact.
The grand ballroom spread before us, grandiose, elegant, and glowing.
The Arbitrator closed his mouth with a click. “I stand corrected.”
Chapter Two
The enormous bolt of faux silk unrolled slowly at my feet, its end disappearing into the marble floor. Beast had barked at it on principle for about five minutes, until she finally decided it wasn’t that exciting and went off to explore the vastness of the ballroom. She sniffed at the corners, found a quiet spot, and lay down.
I would’ve loved nothing more than to join her, except not on the floor but in my nice soft bed. Opening the ballroom had drained me. I felt like I had run several miles. Given the choice, I would’ve retired for a nap right after the Arbitrator left, but the time line for the peace summit was tight. George wanted to get started within forty-eight hours, which meant that instead of taking a nap, I had stolen a can of Caldenia’s Mello Yello to stay awake, jumped into my car, and drove through the rain to rent a truck. Then I drove the truck two hours to Austin to the largest regional fabric distributor. There I bought an enormous roll of faux silk and another of cotton. That cost me a third of my emergency fund. Next I stopped at a stone and landscaping place and purchased bulk stone. They helped me load it, and when I came back, I dumped it in the backyard where the inn promptly ate it.