No, he cracked the door open with his midnight marking expedition. I petted Beast. "Have you ever heard of Arthur C. Clarke's third law of prediction? It states that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Take a smart phone and hand it to an ancient Roman. He'll think it's a magic window into the world of the gods and that the Beyoncé video playing on it is showing him Venus. The broom is magic. The inn is magic. I'm magic. I can feel it, I can manipulate it, but I can't explain it. You've transformed hundreds of times in your life under the belief that it's magic. Why does it matter now that it's not?"
Sean drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "So this place is supposed to be a sanctuary?"
"Yes and no. It's an inn, a neutral ground. An abnormality in the ordinary reality of this planet or whatever passes for it. I'm an innkeeper. Here I'm supreme. If you are accepted as a guest, you fall under my protection and as long as you stay here, you will enjoy the right of sanctuary. For various reasons, Earth is a way station for many travelers. We're the Atlanta of the galaxy: many beings stop here for a layover. Some are alien and some are not. The innkeepers maintain the order, provide them with a safe place to stay, and minimize the population exposure and the bloodbath that could result. Nobody wants a worldwide panic. It has been so for hundreds of years."
"So the old lady is a guest?"
"Yes."
"How long will she be staying?"
"She paid for a lifetime stay."
"Clever." Sean leaned forward. "So she stays in your inn and nobody can get her out. What did she do?"
"You don't want to know."
"You're not going to tell me."
I shook my head. "No." I protected my guests and that included safeguarding their privacy.
Sean pondered me. I could almost feel the wheels turning in his head. He was disturbingly quick on the uptake.
"My father told me that, as an innkeeper, you're supposed to remain neutral."
"It's customary that I do. There is no compulsion or law that forces me to maintain my neutrality."
"And you can't ask for help."
"Your father is wrong. It's up to each innkeeper's discretion whether or not to ask a guest or a third party for assistance. Most innkeepers never resort to such requests because we don't want to put others in danger. The safety of our guests is our first priority."
Sean smiled. Under ordinary circumstances, I might have enjoyed seeing it --he was really handsome --but the way he was smiling now made me want to turn my broom into a shield, preferably with spikes, and brace myself.
"So you asked me for help and now I'm in danger because of it."
What? "I did no such thing. At no point did the words 'Help me, Sean Evans' come out of my mouth."
Beast barked to underscore my point.
"You approached me" --he counted off on his fingers --"you admonished me for my inaction, you tried to elicit an assurance that I would do something about the situation, and then, after I assured you I would, you still involved yourself in a violent action, escalating the level of danger for both of us. All of this can be construed as a plea for assistance and cooperation, and now because of you, my life is in jeopardy."
"No." This was crazy. There were so many things I wanted to say at once if the words would just get out of each other's way.
"Fine." He grinned again, flashing white teeth. "Is there someone we can contact and settle this dispute? Somebody with the power of oversight, perhaps?"
The Innkeeper Assembly. Oh, you bastard. His father must've told him about it. "Are you threatening me?"
"I don't make threats. I solve problems."
"And that didn't sound conceited. Not at all."
He spread his arms. "I'm simply stating facts."
The Assembly was an informal self-governing organization of innkeepers. If Sean went to them, their investigation would begin and end with one question: "Was the inn directly threatened?" I would have to answer no. Technically I hadn't broken any written laws because we didn't have any, but I'd broken the unspoken canon of neutrality. They would view it as unwise, advise me to not do it again, and bump the rating of the inn down to one mark, which would broadcast to everyone that staying at Gertrude Hunt equaled gambling with your safety. The inn was at already at two marks due to having been abandoned and me being an unknown commodity. My parents' inn had been rated at five. Getting branded with one mark would kill any chances of reviving Gertrude Hunt. We would not recover.
Argh. He had me and he knew it. "Just what exactly did your parents do in the military?"
"My dad was arrested once because he didn't know the laws, so he decided he would learn all of them. He went green to gold, which means he became an officer and worked as a JAG Corps attorney. My mother really enjoyed watching people's heads explode from far away, so she served as a countersniper."
Great. "What do you want?"
"I want us to work together."
"So let me get this straight. First, I ask you to work together and you refuse, then you invade my property, make fun of me, attempt to intimidate me, attack my dog..."
"I think calling her a dog is a stretch."
"Her ancestors were Shih Tzus, so technically she's a canine derivative. You attack my dog..."
"She chased me up a tree!"
Beast growled.
"You deserved it. Where was I?"
"Dog," he said helpfully.
"Yes. You attack my dog, then you attack me in the yard, and now you're blackmailing me into cooperating. Wouldn't it have been easier to just work with me when I asked you to?"
He pointed at himself. "First, lone wolf. I work alone. That's my natural setting. Second, I thought you were just a normal person who somehow knew about werewolves. I didn't have all the relevant information. Had I known you had a haunted house, a magic broom, and a devil dog on your side, my initial response would've been different."
I crossed my arms.
"I'm sorry for intimidating you," he said. "I'm sorry if I scared you."
"You didn't."
"Well, I'm sorry in any case. Like it or not, you asked me for help, and now we're in this together. It's in your best interest and mine to nuke these assholes as soon as possible. You know more about what's going on, but I can kill them faster and cleaner than you can."
That was true, but I didn't have to like it.
"If you work with me, I promise I won't keep secrets from you, and I will take your opinion into consideration before I act. I also promise not to seek revenge on the small demon in your lap for a completely unprovoked attack."
Beast growled and he smiled. It was a disarming, boyish smile. The wolf was still in his eyes, but now he pretended very hard that he was just a small fluffy puppy. "What do you say?"
I didn't want him going to the Assembly. I had a feeling he wouldn't, but the risk was there and I couldn't ignore it. And, setting that aside, I needed help. Werewolf kind of help. Which is why I had approached him in the first place.
"Dina?"
And he had to stop saying my name in that voice. "I'm wondering if I should make you grovel more."
"That's probably all the groveling you're going to get. If you say no, I'll go for it by myself. It will be messy and ugly."
I exhaled. There was no point in fighting with him anymore. "How's your sense of smell?"
"Acute."
"Do you think you could smell a foreign object inside one of these creatures?"
Sean blinked. "I'll give it a shot."
"Okay. We work together. But only until this is over. And if you betray my trust, I will banish you out of this inn. I mean it, Sean. You have my word that it won't be gentle. You won't like it, and it will take you a long time to find your way back to your house."
*** *** ***
I had two options. I could bring Sean into my lab under the house or I could bring the body of the stalker to him. The first involved letting him into my private place where I stored books and other things. Typically guests were not allowed in the lab and for a good reason. The second involved rearranging the architecture of the inn.
I wasn't ready to let him into the lab. I wasn't ready to let him see what I could really do inside the inn either, but that seemed like a lesser evil at this point.
I tapped the floor with the broom, letting my magic stream through it and down into the floor, into the walls, into the laboratory table below us. I pushed. Wood and metal flowed like molten wax. A long, narrow fissure formed in the floor of the living room. The wood dripped down, the hole widened, and the lab table emerged, complete with the body of the stalker on it, still secured with metal restraints. I had tried to autopsy it, and the front of it lay open, the skin pinned aside with surgical clamps. I wasn't quite sure what the stalker's inner organs were supposed to look like, but my spear had done a number on its insides, and currently it was a mess of torn tissue. Dry tissue. Its blood had evaporated despite me sealing it in plastic.
"Son of a bitch." Sean stared at the table. "What else can this place do?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Yes, I would."
"How about you sniff out the tracker instead?"
Sean circled the body. "I know you stabbed it at least twenty times."
"How?"
"Well, the fact that its internal organs are a mess is a clue, but I went down to the Quirks' place once the cops left. There are scratches on the brick of the eastern wall, the kind a bladed weapon makes. So what did you use?"
He didn't miss much. "A spear."
Sean bent closer to the body. His nostrils flared.
"Well? What's your professional opinion?"
"A few years ago, our unit came home from a tour of duty in an ugly place. For the whole last month of that tour, a buddy of mine, Jason Thomas, was talking about how he would get home and eat a hotdog. He wanted a hotdog with everything on it. So we get home, we go out that night, and he gets himself two hotdogs with everything on them. Then we hit the bars and he goes straight for Jose Cuervo. Long story short, two hours later he threw up in an alley."