Page 18 of Disillusioned
“Bastion.”
The look he gave her was flat, almost bored, as if he were a large cat trained over and over to avoid a piece of meat. He didn’t bother bowing, only relaxing his shoulders a bit and curtly nodding once.
Then he stepped around her and gripped the handle of the inn’s door. The door opened a crack before slamming shut again. “What the devil?”
He tried again, yanked, but even with his strength it did not budge. Dust rained down upon him from the stone and framework, but the door was sealed.
“Careful,” Garin said, mouth twitching as his brother dusted himself off and whirled on them.
“What game are you playing?”
“It seems you don’t have the permission to enter. You must ask.”
“Fuck off,” he growled. “Youinvited me here.”
“Yes, but the inn is owned by the Aglovens, not I.”
Bastion sneered and gave Garin a look that said he’d get him for it later. “How do you suppose I ask for permission, then?”
Just then, there was aclick, and the window to the right of the door squeaked open with some effort. Two stunning orange-hazel eyes flicked between the three of them. A wide grin appeared, then altogether disappeared—only to reappear in the now partially open door. Although the light of the kitchen and corner hearth glowed dimly through, there were no sounds of merriment or of other inhabitants.
“You’re early!” Lorietta bobbed down, then rose again, her eyes bright but cautious. “Your Majesty, so nice to see you again.”
“It’s an honor to be here.” It was more than an honor. She felt at home.
“May I come in?”
The witch’s gaze fell on the interrupting vampire, and her smile fell slightly. “Garin’s told me all about you.”
“Great things, I’m sure.” Bastion advanced up the shallow step, and the door slammed shut, followed by a surprised yelp from Lorietta.
She opened it again, this time wide enough for them to see that the tavern was empty. Lorietta straightened her apron—light green today, with yellow and pink flowers roughly stitched in. “I haven’t given you my answer.”
Garin was behind them, watching with a bemused expression on his face. Lilac half expected his brother to lose his temper, the way he had so quickly in the Mine. But only Bastion sighed and crossed his arms, defeated.
“Look. I don’t care if I’m not wanted here. Garin was the one who dragged me along to play representative. I’ll gladly leave.”
“Not so fast.”
He was in the process of turning away, but Lorietta stuck a foot before the door, as if stopping it from closing again. “You are wanted here, Bastion. But I only need to warn you, as I do every vampire, that encroaching on unwilling donors is not allowed here.”
“Oh.” He sounded surprised, as if her stipulation should be obvious. “Fine.”
“Garin has been in and out lately helping our queen, so we had to configure a replacement of sorts, a way to keep all denizens safe from assault or mischief of any kind. This is a newer enchantment we’ve placed on the inn. After our little guest here broke one of my windows to escape,” she said, eyes flitting to Lilac. “I managed to turn it into an effective meddler chute.”
Bastion and Lilac exchanged worried glances.
“Whenever Garin takes leave, the inn now has the capability of throwing any thieves, brawlers, or blood snatchers out the second story window of its own accord. Not that Meriam and I lack the means of breaking up fights ourselves, but why not enchant the inn so that our denizens think twice? I’ve not seen it in action yet, but I look forward to the day. So”—she scowled at Bastion—“don’t tempt it.” She swung the door wide open. “And with that out of the way, please do come in, Bastion.”
Bastion slowly, carefully made his way into the inn, as if afraid it would throw him out for his personality alone. Lilac was trying to imagine what a meddler chute looked like when the aromas from the kitchen pushed everything else from her mind.
Like a child lured into a witch’s candied cottage, she let the scent of pastry and soup carry her past the threshold into the tavern, to the bar where Lorietta had instructed Bastion to sit. While the exterior of the inn had changed, the inside was the same, albeit lacking the rowdy crowd and sticky floors.
The door swung shut behind her as she approached the counter. She turned—and Garin was nowhere to be found.
“He’s helping the humans park your carriage.” Lorietta placed a mug of something dark and a clear glass of what looked to be whiskey in front of Bastion before disappearing into the scullery doorway, the curtain of stringed silver beads swinging behind her.
Bastion chuckled to himself. He sniffed at the mug and made a face, then pushed it away, downing the amber contents of the glass in one swig.
