Almost a week passed and Tari's declaration of "longer than a few days" didn't become more specific in that time. She seemed fine with it—maybe too fine, Pel thought, given the circumstances. But she was having fun. She fell somewhere between sleazy and easy, but not in a bad way; if she were a man, he'd consider her a rake. She clearly enjoyed both the crowds of the public room and the privacy of a bedroom, but she was also genuinely good company. He could understand why people were so drawn to her.
He liked having her there. And her money was good. But it was a situation that couldn't go on indefinitely, and the thought preyed more on his mind as each day passed.
Hoping to talk with her, he knocked on Tari's door midday and was a little surprised when she was actually inside to accept.
"Come in!" she called.
She was dressed down again, breeches and partially unbuttoned shirt, but it was considerably less uncomfortable to see when she wasn't immediately post-coital. She sat on the bed and looked attentive as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.
"Is there a problem?" she asked.
Pel realized how he must look and tried to relax. "No, it's fine," he said. "It's about your stay here, but I'm not going to kick you out—"
Tari let out an exaggerated breath of relief, then laughed. "You looked so serious."
"Not on—my behalf," he stammered, finding himself going a little red. Flustered, not sure why his pulse was racing, he pushed on. "I was thinking about your situation. Your goal is to make enough money trading in gems for cash that you can restock your supplies properly, correct?"
"Correct," she said. "And that hasn't happened. But I do still have enough keep paying you."
He nodded slowly. "I don't want you to arrive in a new town broke," he said finally. "If you need to restock there and are out of jewels, what then?"
"Usually I don't need to restock that often," she began. Her shoulders rose as she seemed to get a little defensive.
He considered that. Her gaze was lowered, and for once her expression had gone stiff. It was hard to say how much of the defensiveness might be for a reason, how much her lack of care for how this situation was dragging on could be due to no actual need for money. A demonic contract, or something similar.
It was easy to think that way. It was habit to think that way. But he was well aware of how hard he'd worked to get through to her so she'd have some fear of strangers in this place. It was much, much more likely that her defensiveness was simply from being called out in any way after that discussion. The fact that she knew that something that small could be suspicious.
Pel let out a breath through his nose. "I have a long-term rate," he said, hearing it come out too abrupt. "Normally I wouldn't offer it to someone who was here for as short a time as you, but 'indefinite' is a pretty long time."
Her pale eyes widened. It was, he thought abruptly, the first time he'd caught her off guard. That by itself was a strange realization. Pel wasn't used to seeing someone who was that confident almost all the time, even if it made sense—in her line of business, and with the risks she took traveling around and visiting demon-occupied cities, she'd have to be sure of herself.
"I… are you certain?" she asked finally. "I don't want your business to hurt because I'm here."
"I'm sure," he said firmly, trying to absorb that usual confidence and reflect it back at her until she picked it up again. "Consider it an exchange for you helping with Bru."
That in itself was worth more than the extra income would bring in. Shit, it's priceless. As much as he hated to admit it, a near-stranger had helped his son more than he could. Things had been different since she'd gone in and talked to him about the cat—
Kip, Bruant had told him. He'd named it Kip.
And she hadn't just talked to him the once. She'd gone in to see him a few times, short chats and casual visits. Pel suspected they were talking about more than the cat in there, that they were discussing some part of the real thing that was bothering Bruant. Pel could only hope, only believe, that if it had to do with him, Bruant was deliberately unspecific. He didn't think his son would say anything about his role with the Inquisition. He hoped, too, that Tari honored the request he'd made, didn't ask and refused to hear talk of Pel.
Well, whatever they're talking about, it seems to be doing the trick. He was sure, too, that they were just talking. Tari's exuberance for intimacy aside, he didn't believe she'd sleep with his son. She seemed to respect the difficulties between them and he couldn't imagine her doing anything that might deliberately make it worse.
Bruant seemed calmer, if that was the proper word for the secretive happiness that Pel kept seeing on his face. It didn't seem quite right; there was still a constant energy, a constant tension, around him. But neither that angry air nor the cloud of guilt seemed to follow him around anymore. Actually, the only thing following him these days was Kip, tagging along more like a baby duck or a love-struck suitor than a cat.
Bruant still went out for most of the day, and still wasn't really talking to Pel about much of anything, but even if he seemed to enjoy having secrets from Pel, he was helping with chores again. Being around him.
Not picking a fight at every opportunity.
Tari had been considering the offer, still looking down. Her face had softened in some indefinable way. "I haven't done much."
"Well, whatever you've done," Pel said, still firm, "it's made a difference to him. Besides, it's nice to have a woman around the place again."
He regretted saying that immediately.
The comment startled her out of the strange, vulnerable mood she'd been in. Her head jerked up, expression almost incredulous before she burst into a laugh. "Is that how you feel?" she said. "I got the impression from Bruant that it had been a long time since your wife passed. You asked me a while ago if I were looking for a husband. I hope that doesn't mean you were looking for a wife."
That struck a nerve that he hadn't even realized was still raw. It hit him with such intensity that he felt dizzy rather than any specific emotion—not angry, not hurt, just off guard. He drew a breath in, unsteady. "No, I—no."
"I'm sorry to say, but I'm not marriageable material. I know that well enough."
Well, she was open enough about her habits, and there was no way she'd think he was unaware of them. It was almost a relief to think about that than the rest of it. Is she turning tricks in the room? he wondered. Is that why she's so sure she won't run out of money, or why she brings so many people up? The thought did make some sense, but he dismissed it almost at once. He would have noticed if any business were being conducted at the bar, and neither the regulars nor Tari seemed the sort to expect that sort of thing to get worked out after the fact.
It was simply pleasure.
He floundered to find the line of conversation again. "It's not—I wasn't looking to marry you for it. I just meant that you're helping Bru in a way I can't. He hasn't had a feminine influence in his life for a very long time."
"I don't think that's gender," Tari said gently. "I think you're just too close to the situation. But that's to be expected. You two have spent all your time together as your only family for just as long."
"Well—" He raised his eyes to hers again and found her watching him with an almost coy look, eyelids half-lowered. The expression sent a rush of heat through him and made his words dry up.
Tari noticed. "But you're reacting to me with that sense of 'having a woman around the place', whether or not he is," she said, still coy. "Am I being a feminine influence on you?"
And if the earlier comment had struck a nerve, that was like a bucket of ice water. "If you're asking if you're like my wife—no," he said, hoarse. She was still attractive, still appealing, but… "Nothing like."
"Tell me about her," Tari said. She grabbed a pillow from the bed and hugged it, grinning up at him like a child waiting for story time.
He drew a sharp breath to refuse, hurt and off-kilter, and something he'd told Bruant came back to mind: the more people remember her, the longer her memory will live. He let his breath out between his teeth in a slow hiss of air. "Not much to say," he said, hesitating.
"How did you two meet?" Tari asked, still smiling at him, heavy-eyed.
Pelerin closed his eyes, like he could redefine the space around them by doing so. The room itself was his, of course. His building, his rooms. But it felt heavy with Tari's overwhelming presence, like he was the stranger who didn't belong there.
When he opened them, nothing had changed.
"I used to be a city guard," he said slowly. "When I was younger, I mean. I joined in my teens. It's mostly the older guards who work the gates so I never ended up on that kind of interrogation duty. Since I was younger and fit, I mostly worked in the city streets, doing patrols."
Tari gave him an obvious once-over. "I could see that."
Strangely embarrassed, he made a face. How long had it been since anyone had properly flirted with him, even if just to tease? He didn't know how to respond, and pushed on. "It wasn't a dramatic story, how we met. Phalene's father ran the inn. I drank here often enough after work, and she served a lot of the food. We hit it off, got together, and I withdrew from the guard and took over running the inn when her father passed. She taught me how the business worked. We'd been together a couple of years when she had Bruant."
"What was she like?"
"That's the part that's nothing like you," he said, trying not to be unkind about it and hearing his voice come out maybe too soft instead. It was impossible to excise the fond tone though, as memories came so clearly that Pel expected Phalene could open the door and walk in right then. The shape of her face, the way the light caught her dark eyes, her ever-smiling soft mouth, the scent of her hair.
"She was a lot less down-to-earth," he went on. "She liked to dream about life outside the city. She was kind of… fascinated, I suppose, with what it would be like to be a human living among demons. The fantasy thrilled her. She was like that in every way, though—driven by fantasy, I mean. She was always wanting to try something new, experience the world. It's why she loved the inn so much, getting to hear all kinds of people's stories."
"Sounds more like me than you realize," Tari said, and laughed.
He smiled at the clear tone of it but could feel a chill settling into his stomach. "I…" he began, then quieted, helpless as the memories became darker.
"Pel?"
"She died," he said finally. Then, knowing Tari already knew that, he added, "It was because of that curiosity. The city watch relaxed over the years due to a lack of incidents. Nothing had happened since long before either of us were born, so it was easy to go in and out of Dolana, back then. She went out of the city to gather some wildflowers for the tables and met a… person out there. It would later turn out to be an aluga. She told me about the stranger she had met, a friendly woman with eyes that were black even where the whites should be. Talked to her about the weather, nothing important. I didn't think it was worth mentioning to anyone."
"And?" It didn't seem like Tari needed an explanation as to what an aluga was. Pel had, back then, even if he'd never forget now. They passed for human in everything but their solid black eyes, until they attacked and their natures became clearer: demons who fed on human pain and fear.
"What do you think?" Pel said flatly. "The third time they met, it fed. Her scream was too late to bring the guards in time to save her from the attack. She died slowly over hours, in terror and agony." He forced himself to draw a breath despite how tight his lungs felt. "We did a hunt and caught the demon, though."
"I imagine that did not go well for the demon," Tari said, her tone light but expression serious.
"Who the hell cares about the demon? It kept the rest of the village safe," Pel said roughly. An outsider couldn't understand. "It helped us test some of the methods the Inquisition had studied to try to trap or harm demons. They gave me the honor of using it to kill her."
"Ah," Tari breathed, watching him almost with caution now.
That's a normal response, he thought, depressed and hurting. Normal to be cautious of someone whose grief ended in vengeance. Normal to be wary of someone who admitted to having tortured and killed something, even if it was a demon, the demon that had killed his wife.
He looked back up at Tari, and was surprised to see that her expression was still odd. Sympathetic, but with something underlying it. Interest still, maybe. Some kind of fascination. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said softly.
Suddenly, facing her was too painful. "I should… I should go," he said, clearing his throat and pushing away from the wall. "I've brought the mood down far enough. I'll charge you the long-term rate from now on."
"Thank you," Tari said. And then, in a strange, pleased tone, "And thank you for sharing that with me. I know it must have been hard. I appreciate it."
He glanced back at her, saw that bright-eyed look still on her face, and just shook his head as he left the room.
The expression was familiar—too familiar. It was how Phalene had gotten about people's stories, even the tragic ones.
Just hearing about the wide range of experiences in human life had interested her so much. Someone else's horrible adventures, stories that had nothing to do with her.
*~*~*
The next afternoon, Pel heard voices coming from Bruant's room and assumed that Tari was in there—but five steps past Bruant's door, he stopped cold.
Tari had gone out earlier to keep pushing a business deal. He was sure she hadn't come back yet.
Pel stood tense where he was, trapped in a parent's indecisive horror. Bruant's an adult now. If he had a girl over, that was his right—or, for that matter, a boy; Pel himself had dated a few when he was younger.
But Bruant hadn't mentioned being interested in anyone to him before, and when he'd passed by Pel on his way upstairs earlier, he'd been alone. The front door was still shut to anyone who didn't have a key, so either he'd somehow missed Bruant smuggling someone past him, which would already be a concern, because why, or someone had come in through the window.
And that sort of behavior, happening on the second floor, still in (albeit dimming) daylight, was more likely to be demonic than human. Sure, it was possibly normal—he'd done it himself, after all—but cubants like incubi and succubi were famous for it. And surely there were other types of demons who could do likewise. There seemed to be more variety of the monsters out there than names he knew for them.
It's probably fine, he told himself. It's probably nothing.
But he'd be fucked if he'd let something happen to someone he loved a second time. Anxious, fretting, he turned and walked back to Bruant's room. The sound was still there, muffled and indistinct. He'd have to put his ear up to the door to hear details, and if it were just a lover, that'd be a horrible violation of Bruant's privacy.
Indecision gripped him briefly, and then he forced himself to make a decision. He wouldn't listen. He wouldn't throw the door open. He wouldn't do anything that he wouldn't have wanted done to him back in the day.
But he still needed to know.
So he knocked.
Immediately the sound stopped. There was a silence, as if Bruant—and perhaps, whoever was in there with him—was waiting to see if he'd leave.
Shit. He knocked again. "Bru—?"
This time, he could hear Bruant's voice through the door, raised to carry: "One minute, Dad!"
He strained to hear what was happening, but didn't hear anything now. What should I do?
Bruant's locked turned with an audible click. It was too soon for his window to have been opened and closed to let someone out; he must have got up from wherever he was and come right over. It didn't entirely reassure Pel—he still had no idea what exactly he was going to see when the door opened—but it was still a damn sight better than the alternative.
But when it creaked open, Bruant not bothering to keep it closed but pulling it wide, all he saw was Bruant himself, shirtless and staring out at him in wide-eyed alarm from his perfectly normal messy room with its unmade bed and its unfortunate pile of laundry on the floor. "Dad? What is it?"
Pel looked past him, searching the room for anything unusual, but there didn't seem to be anyone or anything there except Kip, sitting up on Bruant's bed and looking curious about the commotion.
"Dad?" Bruant prompted again, brows furrowed.
Maybe I'm losing it. "I thought I heard… I thought I heard you talking to someone."
Bruant stared at him, keeping himself almost unnaturally still, then abruptly stepped aside, holding his door open. "I was talking to Kip," he said slowly and strained, like he wasn't sure when his father had turned into a madman.
"To Kip," Pel repeated blankly. He looked at the cat, who blinked back slowly, then flopped down as if it had tired of these shenanigans. "And… was the cat answering back?"
"What?" Bruant's voice pitched up a bit, cracking. "That's crazy, Dad. What the hell? He's a cat! Cats can't talk."
Pel found himself embarrassed at the incredulity in Bruant's tone. "That's—no. I know that. I mean, I thought I heard two voices. Is that something you can explain, Bru?"
"Maybe you heard his meowing as another voice?" Bruant asked slowly, tense and uncomfortable, staring at Pel with the near panic of talking to someone who was acting completely unreasonable. "I was trying to teach him tricks. You didn't hear any words, did you…?"
"No," Pel admitted, hearing his voice come out just as embarrassed as he felt. "Just two different tones."
Bruant let out a short, sharp breath. He blinked rapidly, looking down as relief washed over his features. "Way to freak me out, Dad," he said. Then, seeming to perk up instantly in a surprising mood swing, "Look, it's normal with him. I'll show you. Kip. Hey, Kip."
The cat flicked an ear in their direction but didn't move.
"Kip."
Finally, Kip lifted his head, letting out a low-voiced complaint. "Mow."
The smile Bruant gave Pel was almost eager, like he thought he was in trouble and wanted to please. "He does that if I talk to him. He likes to chat back. Kip, who's a good cat?"
Kip's tail thumped on the bed a few times in agitation. "Mooooow," he whined back.
"Kip, will you sit? Sit, Kip!"
"Meeeeeeeeeehh." The cat was answering again but very definitely was not sitting, still flopped bonelessly on his side.
Bruant grinned at Kip, then turned the smile on Pel. Bruant's anxiety had faded into something softer and more genuine, and Pel had to admit that it had been a while since he'd seen his son look at him with that kind of happiness. "Getting him to actually do the trick is the hard part," Bruant admitted. "Anyway, you think that might be what you heard?"
It had been pretty muffled. It really could have been something as simple and stupid as a cat meowing back. Pel put his face in his hands, groaning. "I don't even know what I was thinking."
"You've been stressed lately," Bruant said consolingly. He seemed to hesitate, then took two quick steps over, put a hand on Pel's back, and patted it awkwardly a few times. "My fault."
"No, you… like you said, you had the right to be angry," Pel muttered into his hands. He scrubbed at his face, trying to will his embarrassment down. His protectiveness and fear had been suffocating; what they had turned into almost felt more so. "It's all right if you're angry with me. I mean, I don't like it, but…"
Bruant's hand paused in its movement on his back. "Thanks," he said, and there was a guilty tone in his voice again that was horrible to hear. "I appreciate that."