Now what? If Jack attacked, Marais would fire, I had no doubt of it. “Your brother might get shot,” I warned.
“Jack is a man of many talents,” George said.
Well, that didn’t answer anything.
The lynx stretched, his paws out in front of him, turned, and flopped on the road on his back, like a playful house cat.
Some tension left Officer Marais’ stance. The line of his shoulders softened.
Jack rubbed his big head on the pavement and batted at the empty air with his paws.
“Hey there,” Marais said, his voice hesitant. “Who is a good cat?”
Jack rolled over, sauntered over to the nearest bush and rubbed his head on it.
“Good cat. You’re a big guy, huh. Did you escape from someone’s yard? People should have more sense than to own wild animals like that.” Officer Marais took a careful step back.
Jack whipped about. His furry butt pointed at Officer Marais, hit tail went up, and a jet of pressurized cat spray drenched Marais’ chest.
Oh no.
“Aaa!” Marais leaped back and jerked his gun up, but Jack had vanished as if he never was there.
“Sonovabitch!” Marais shook his left hand dripping with cat urine. “Damn it all to hell.”
His face stretched, as if he had just taken a gulp of sour milk.
He looked down on his chest and gagged. “Oh Jesus.”
Next to me Sophie clamped her hand over her mouth and made some strangled noises.
Marais tried to hold on to his composure.
His chin quivered. He gagged again, bent over, and dry heaved.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or to feel bad.
“Oh sweet Jesus.”
Officer Marais straightened and marched to his car, his face contorted. The cruiser’s lights came on as the engine roared into life and the big car tore out of the neighborhood.
George smiled. “I told you – many talents.”
I stood on the edge of the landing field as a crimson drop fell from the sky and melted into thin air, leaving three vampires in its wake. Vampires got bigger and more grizzled with age, not taller or fatter, but bulkier, as their muscle gained more and more hard mass. The three knights before me were massive. Where Arland’s and Robart’s armors were works of art, the newcomers’ armor was a work of art designed to communicate the fact that its owner had a nearly unlimited budget. Ornate, customized to fit, it turned each of them from a living being into a mobile, lethal fortress. They stood there scowling and showing their fangs, and I had a strong feeling that this would not end well. The one in the front carried a huge axe. Behind him, on the left, a vampire with an old scar across his face brandished a blood mace, and his friend on the right, with hair so pale it looked almost white, had equipped himself with a sword that had a wickedly sharp, wide blade.
“Greetings to House Meer,” I said.
Next to me Robart had a deeply pleased look on his face. He was the only Marshall who’d come to meet them. Two of his knights waited nearby, their faces grim, looking like they were ready to repel an attack at a moment’s notice. Apparently, Lord Robart’s affinity for House Meer wasn’t shared by those under his command.
The oldest knight opened his mouth. The biggest of the three, his mane of jet black hair streaked with grey, was clearly the leader. It was strange to think that in a few decades, Arland would look like that.
“Greetings, Innkeeper,” he said, his voice a deep growl.
“Lord Beneger,” Robart said.
“Lord Robart,” the leader answered.
No standard, no display, no ceremony. The vampires thrived on ceremony. The House Meer was here, but they were making it clear they weren’t visiting in an official capacity. I had only seen vampire delegations do this four times, and every single time it was done so the House could deny it sanctioned the actions of its members.
“Follow me.” I led them through the back of the house to the balcony overlooking the festival grounds. Arland, Lady Isur, and the rest of their vampires occupied the far right side of the balcony, House Vorga the middle, and the Nuan Cee’s clan took up the far left.
Below us the otrokari were checking piles of wood. They had arranged the logs I provided into a circular bonfire at the south end of the circle created by my stream and made four smaller piles along the water. The bark on some of the logs was red and purple. They must’ve brought some of their own wood.
The scarred knight from House Meer looked down on them, and spat on the balcony. “Blasphemy.”
He spat on my inn.
I smiled as sweetly as I could. “Next time you choose to spit, my lord, the stones under your feet will part.”
The scarred knight glared at me.
“We are guests here, Uriel,” Lord Berenger said. “My apologies, Innkeeper.”