Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles, #2)

by Ilona Andrews

The spymaster held out his hand, and the dark-haired man clasped it in a firm handshake. “Welcome to the service, George Camarine. My name is Klaus Demille. I will be your guide for this orientation.”

Her Grace, Caldenia ka ret Magren, was indeed high society, except she preferred world domination to friendly brunches and mass murder to charity.

About five months ago, I watched Sean Evans open a door and step through it to the greater universe beyond.

“And the final faction?” George set his cup down. “The Otrokars.” I blinked. Silence stretched. “The Hope-Crushing Horde?” George looked slightly uncomfortable. “That’s the official name, yes.”

My future chef was an oversized, hysterical hedgehog with a martyr complex.

I wondered what he would say if he knew the owner of that refined palate frequently indulged in bingeing on Mello Yello and Funyuns.

Finally. I shall be dining in a style to which I am suited. Fantastic. Does he have moral scruples? I am reasonably sure this summit will result in at least one murder, and I have never tasted an otrokar.”

Orro stalked out of the kitchen and grabbed the head with his long claws. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to cook that,” I said. “Of course I’m going to cook it.” He waved the head around for emphasis. “Might I remind you that you’re on a limited budget?” “What if it’s poisonous?” Jack asked. “Preposterous!” Orro growled. “This is clearly a Morean water drake.” He tucked the severed head under his arm and walked into the kitchen, dragging the neck across the floor behind him.

How to ruin the peace talks in two minutes or less. That had to be some sort of record.

Dressing Arland in Earth clothes was like putting bunny ears on a tiger. The ears were cute, but the tiger was still scary.

“Dare to take that step and I will show you wonders beyond your imagination. I will give you a chance to make a difference. Come with me.” George offered his hand to her. “Live. Join me or not, but live, gods damn you, because I cannot stand the thought of you slowly aging here like some dusty fossil under glass. Take my hand and bring your sword. The universe is waiting.”

Life is trade; we trade our labor for its fruit, we trade hours of study for knowledge, we trade pleasure for pleasure or sometimes for wealth, security, or offspring.

“Greetings,” I said. “House Krahr, House Sabla, and House Vorga, may I present Call of Duty.”

“Football is a war game of land acquisition…,” I began.

“This is blasphemy!” Odalon declared in the same way Gerard Butler had once roared “This is Sparta.” Sadly, Odalon had nobody to kick into a bottomless hole for emphasis, so he settled for looking extremely put out.

“I’m inclined to be generous.” Out of the mouth of a Merchant, there were no more dangerous words.

Judging by the small smile on her lips, Caldenia was reading something with a lot of smut or a lot of murder.

He said he’d met a girl with stardust on her robe, and when he looked into her eyes, he saw the universe looking back.”

“If I leave, you would ruin this kitchen.” He raised his chin. “I have spoken.” He turned, went inside, and slammed the screen door behind him. I remembered to close my mouth. “Oh thank the stars.” Caldenia exhaled. “No offense to your cooking, but the thought of going back to it was causing me actual anxiety.”