Sweep in Peace

The inn chimed, announcing an influx of magic behind my orchard. I picked up my broom, left my bedroom, and crossed the hallway to the wall. Beast was curiously missing in action.

“Terminal, please.”

The wall split and peeled back, revealing a large screen.

“Feed from the orchard cameras.”

The screen ignited, showing the field behind my apple trees. A dense sphere formed a foot above the grass, as if some transparent liquid twisted into a nine foot tall bubble. The bubble popped, leaving three beings and a large wheeled platform filled with bags on the grass. First was the Arbiter, tall and blond, wearing dark grey trousers, a dark grey shirt, a black vest with golden embroidery, and pirate boots.

The man to the right of him was about a foot shorter, but had to be at least a hundred pounds heavier, with broad shoulders, a massive chest, and hard, defined arms. High-tech tactical armor shielded his torso, contoured to his flat stomach, and it had to be custom made. He was simply too large for anything designed to fit average-sized people. His black hair was pulled back from his face into a rough pony tail. His body radiated strength and power. He seemed immovable like a stone colossus, but then he stepped forward, surprisingly light on his feet. There was something odd about his face. The proportions weren’t quite right for a human.

“Zoom in, please.”

The man’s face filled the screen. His skin had an olive tint, but his eyes, deep set under thick black eyebrows, were startling light grey, the kind of silver hue most people could only achieve with contact lenses. His jaw was too heavy and too well muscled, the kind of jaw I usually saw on old grizzled vampires, except he definitely wasn’t a vampire. I’d seen all sorts of beings, but this was a new one for me.

The grey-eyed man grabbed the platform’s handle and the visitors started toward the house.

The third man was almost as tall as the Arbiter, but where George was lean, with elegant, sophisticated grace of a trained swordsman, this man communicated tightly controlled aggression. He didn’t walk, he stalked, deliberate, quiet, watchful. His hair, a deep russet shade, was tousled. He wore black, and while the dark pants and black doublet obscured the exact lines of his body, it was very clear that he was corded with hard muscle. A ragged scar crossed his left cheek, like a small pale star burst on his skin. He looked hard, the way veteran soldiers sometimes look hard without trying.

The scar looked so familiar… I had seen him and the Arbiter before. I just couldn’t quite recall where.

“Show time,” I murmured and went downstairs.

As I walked down, the delicious scent of cooked bacon swirled around me, laced with some spices. Beast shot out of the kitchen, like black and white furry lightning, carrying a small strip of bacon in her teeth. There you are. Mystery solved.

I stuck my head into the kitchen. Orro stood by the stove, holding a spoon. Three different pans sizzled on the fire and various ingredients filled the island.

“The Arbiter is here. Three extra guests, male, probably human.”

He growled and went to stirring whatever he was cooking. Okay then.

I went to the back door, waited until someone knocked and swung it open. “Welcome.”

George nodded. “Hello, Dina. I hope we’re not too early.”

“Not at all. Just in time for breakfast. Come in.”

George walked inside. The auburn-haired man followed. The third man glanced at the platform, which was too wide to go through the door.

I smiled. “Please leave it. I’ll take care of it.”

The man turned back to me. Behind him the platform sank soundlessly into the ground. The inn would move the bags into their quarters.

“It’s heavy,” he said, his voice deep. “I can just take the bags in one by one.”

“It’s okay,” I assured him. Behind him the grass flowed closed, as if the platform never existed.

He glanced back and did a double take.

“Gaston?” George called from inside.

The big man shrugged and entered the inn.

I led them to front room. George took a chair to the left, Gaston landed on the couch, and the auburn-haired man leaned against the wall, inhaling deeply. Sean used to do that. This man was a shapeshfiter. Not a werewolf or a werecat of the Sun Horde, but something else.

“Breakfast will be served at seven,” I said.

“It smells divine,” George said. “I hoped to take this opportunity to go over some of our strategy.”

I sat in my favorite chair. Beast ran into the room, saw the auburn-haired man, and growled. He glanced at her. His upper lip rose slightly, betraying a flash of his teeth. Yes, definitely a shapeshifter.

“Please don’t try to intimidate my dog,” I said.

“I’m not,” the russet-haired man said. “When I decide to intimidate…”

“I will know.” I finished for him. “She isn’t an ordinary dog. If she bites you, she will cause real damage.”

The shapeshifter studied Beast. “Mhm.”

George smiled. “This is my brother, Jack. That over there is Gaston, our cousin.”

Interesting family. “You must realize that both the otrokar and the vampires will see Gaston as a challenge.”

“I’m counting on it. To put it plainly, I’m the planner,” George said. “Gaston is the muscle. His job is to attract attention and appear to be a threat. He is very good at it.”

Gaston grinned, displaying serrated teeth.

“Jack is the killer,” George continued. “He knows other killers, he understands them, and if necessary, he will remove a physical threat before it has a chance to cause any damage.”