“Yes.”
“Isn’t she a middle school teacher?”
“And he works for FedEx.” Caldenia grinned, showing her sharp teeth. “It gets better. The one unbreakable rule of the swinger’s club is that nobody can fall in love and Elena, what is the term the kids use, caught feelings for the club’s manager. Tom discovered this, moved out, and took the children. Now there is a divorce and a nasty custody battle.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Elena and her new beau are living in the house and there are odd cars in their driveway at all times. And a van from Digital World came by and Margaret thinks she saw them bring in a bunch of cameras. She is sure that they are filming pornography.”
“Shocking.” Margaret lived across the street from the Laurents, and since she worked out of her house, she was always home.
“I know. A den of iniquity right under our noses. The best part is, Tom talked Margaret into letting him install cameras on her house. He is filming his old house twenty-four seven hoping to get enough ammunition to win sole custody. Margaret gave me her password and I can pop right into her computer through the Wi-Fi and watch it whenever I want. It’s delightful.”
I hid a groan. “So, you and Margaret are cataloging everyone who comes and goes from that house?”
“Of course we are. One must find diversions where one can, dear. We have devised a ranking system for the visitors. Would you like to see?”
I opened my mouth to answer. The inn chimed, projecting an image of Thek. The First Scholar’s headdress sat askew, and his feathers stuck out in all directions, fully erect and making him look twice his size. Outraged squawking, screeching, and thudding filled the room. Feathers flew over the blood-smeared floor. A koo-ko body hurtled through the air behind Thek with a piercing battle screech. Thek clutched his headdress and ducked, screaming over the clamor, “I require assistance!”
I waved an apology at Caldenia and took off running.
It was amazing how fast an innkeeper could move through the inn when properly motivated. It took me three seconds to land in the middle of the koo-ko fray and half a second to snap my fingers. Holes burst in the ceiling, releasing five-foot-tall metal claws on flexible metal tails. Each of the claws had six prongs coated in a thick layer of a rubber-like polymer, rendering them smooth and slightly springy. The claws dove into the melee, snapping up the koo-ko. Once the targets were caught, the claw’s prongs locked, forming a cage around the koo-ko and retracting back to the ceiling. The philosophers ran, but my claws were faster.
The final koo-ko dashed toward the left channel in a desperate attempt to glide away, but the last claw swept under him, neatly scooping him up.
The First Scholar stared at the row of cages suspended just below the ceiling. “Well. I have never seen this arrangement before. Very effective.”
“Thank you.”
Most of the combatants had given up, but a few koo-ko still hurled themselves against the bars of their cages, still overcome by battle madness. I had designed the bars very carefully. They flexed outward with each blow, preventing the koo-ko from injuring themselves.
“The last inn I visited flooded the chamber with glue,” Thek confessed.
“I’m familiar with that method, but the last time it was used, one of the guests panicked and bit through his own leg with his beak trying to escape.”
“I have heard of this. Indeed, your method is far superior.”
The koo-ko were small and plump but very agile, and when agitated, they darted around like a wide receiver with a football in his hands. The innkeepers had attempted to solve the problem of restraining them for centuries. Everything from a pulse of blinding light to knockout gas had been tried. Unfortunately, the light had caused partial blindness, knockout gas resulted in at least one fatality, and trapping them in their own tiny chambers caused deep psychological damage. Koo-kos lived in flocks. Separating them from each other led to an immediate and acute spike of anxiety, especially if light and sound deprivation methods were utilized. The cages were my answer. They could still see each other, they could scream at each other, their movement wasn’t restrained, but they couldn’t hurt themselves or each other.
The center of each cage’s ceiling lit up, scanning the beings within. A thin stalk sprouted from the floor in front of me and bloomed into a screen. I scrolled through the scan’s results. “Two broken bones, three dislocated wings, and a dozen minor lacerations. My congratulations, First Scholar. No fatalities and no eyes were lost.”
“That’s a relief.” Thek sighed.
The inn’s floor bristled with nozzles. A disinfecting mist erupted over the amphitheater, washing blood and smears of feces off the floor, seats, and the podium.
“If I may ask, what is the purpose of the small tiger?” Thek asked.
I turned around. Olasard, otherwise known as the Ripper of Souls, sat by the door.
“What are you doing here?”
The large Maine Coon cat looked at me with his big green eyes. I had rescued him from a glass box in the nearby PetSmart about a year ago. Now he moved through the inn as he pleased, and for some mysterious reason, Gertrude Hunt accommodated his wanderings.
“He’s a pet,” I explained.
Olasard chose that moment to walk over and rub on my legs. I picked him up and he sprawled in my arms, purring up a storm. I kept a good hold on him. Thek was on the larger side as far as koo-ko went, technically too large to be considered house cat prey, but it never hurt to be careful.
“Is the debate over for today?” I asked.
Thek surveyed the dangling cages. “Regrettably, a period of meditation is in order.”
I waved my hand. The cages slid to opposite sides of the chamber. The bridges retracted, and the claws released their captives, who glided to the floor by their respective coops. The philosophers stumbled about, trying to regain some measure of dignity. Two automated medical chambers slid out of the floor, looking like six-foot-tall glossy metal spheres. The spheres slid open and the first of the injured combatants ambled over to them.
“All is well that ends well,” the First Scholar declared.
Magic tugged on me. Someone had parked by the inn.
“In that case, please excuse me,” I said. “I’m needed elsewhere.”
“Thank you for your timely assistance,” Thek said.
I nodded, walked out into the hallway, and set Olasard on the floor. “Stay away from the koo-ko.”
Olasard purred.
“I’m serious. They will kill you, and it’s not a euphemism.”
Olasard stretched. Why I was having this conversation with a cat was beyond me.
Beast tore down the corridor toward me, exploding into barks. She must have gone outside through the doggy door and she didn’t like what she’d found out there.
“Front camera feed.”
I marched down the hallway. The feed from the inn’s front cameras slid on the wall in front of me, trying to keep up. On it, a fit man in a black suit got out of the back seat of a black SUV, looked around, and opened the front passenger door. An older man wearing an expensive trench coat and sunglasses got out and stared at Gertrude Hunt.
For some reason, Sean’s description of him made me expect a good ole boy or a version of a human buzzard with a bald head and beady eyes. This man wasn’t that. Tall, trim, he would have been at home on the streets of London or New York. His skin was a golden bronze, the kind fashion magazines photoshop onto the models when they want to convey health, wealth, and vacations in tropical places. His features were universally handsome: defined, dimpled chin, a square jaw, a wide mouth, a strong nose, carved cheek bones, and a broad forehead. His thick wavy hair, once dark and now salted with distinguished silver, was on the longer side of a short male haircut, shorter on his temples, and long enough to style on top.
He could have been from the Mediterranean, the Middle East, or Latin America, or he could have been an Englishman with a serious tan. Without seeing his eyes, it was hard to tell.
The man started up my driveway, his bodyguard shadowing him. They didn’t pull up onto the property. Interesting.
I reached the front room, shrugged off my robe, and hung it on the side hook. Beast let out a slow deep rumble by my feet. I picked her up, just in case.
The pair approached the front door. The older man looked for a bell, didn’t find one, and settled for knocking on the screen door. I let him knock for a few seconds and answered.
“Good afternoon. Can I help you?”
The older man took off his sunglasses. His eyes were solid black and piercing, like two chunks of shiny coal set into his face.
“Is she here?” His voice was deep and powerful, and he sounded like a man used to issuing commands.
I could play dumb, or I could acknowledge the meeting. Playing dumb seemed pointless, since I would have to let him in at the appointed time.
“You are too early, Mr. Peterson,” I told him.
He looked over my shoulder at the front room. “I want a room.”
“We have no vacancy. There are two hotels down the street within two miles of here.”
“I’ll pay you a thousand dollars per night.”
“No, you won’t. We have no vacancy.”
“Ten thousand dollars per night.”