In my mind, I pushed the Grand Ballroom back. It slid deeper into the expanse of the inn, the hallways leading to it stretching to maintain the structure of entrances and exits. Ten feet, twenty, fifty… Good enough. I reached deep below me. The core of the room pulsed and I pulled it up. A deep rumble shuddered through the inn as the chamber slid into its new place directly behind my parents’ portrait. I felt the cables sliver through the walls, anchoring the room’s equipment. The wall under the portrait split, pulling apart as if it were liquid to form a doorway. A wooden tendril caught the portrait before it had a chance to fall and carried it into the new chamber. I followed it.

The new space was a perfect sphere, its walls a smooth beige. In a time of need, the inn would send the feed from the outer cameras to it, giving me a 360-degree view of the inn’s grounds. In the center of the room, a section of the wood lay exposed, its telltale striped texture reminiscent of mahogany and bristlecone pine. A living branch of the inn, an artery to its heart. This was the war room, the heart of the inn’s defenses.

I stepped onto the wood. Magic waited, expectant. I closed my eyes and let it permeate my senses. My power stretched, connecting, flowing to the furthest branches of Gertrude Hunt. If I had wings, that’s what it would be like to spread them.

The bond between the inn and the innkeeper was far greater than the bond between a servant and master or pet and its owner. We existed in symbiosis. When an innkeeper died, the inn went dormant, falling into a deep sleep. With each passing year without a bond, the inn would slip further and further away, until finally it petrified and died. When I had found Gertrude Hunt, its sleep was so deep and it had gone so far, I wasn’t sure I could wake it.

The bond went both ways. Few innkeepers survived the destruction of their inn. Some died. Others lost their minds. The inn would do anything for the innkeeper, and the innkeeper had to protect the inn with their life. And that’s exactly what I would do.

The inn’s defenses shifted, as I realigned them. The last time I’d used the war room, I had configured Gertrude Hunt to repel a small army of bounty hunters after Caldenia arrived at the inn. The bounty hunters were truly an army of one – despite their number, every one of them was in it for themselves. They didn’t trust each other and hadn’t been interested in coordinating their efforts. The metal inlay on the Draziri leader's forehead meant he likely led his own flock, a clan. Flocks were highly organized and disciplined. The Draziri would attack as a team. And they likely wouldn’t try to snipe the Hiru the way the bounty hunters tried to snipe Caldenia. Murdering the Hiru would be a religious triumph for them. They would try to breach the inn’s defenses and close in for the kill.

I tested the feeds from the cameras, turning slowly. Night had fallen, but the inn’s tech needed only a hint of light to present a clear image. The view of the orchard, the lawn, the oaks, the street, Sean’s Ford F-150 truck…

Sean’s truck. He’d said something about getting an overnight bag and left shortly before Mr. Rodriguez and Tony had taken off.

It was a short move, since his house was just down the street, but the truck was fully loaded and covered with a tarp. The truck springs creaked as he maneuvered it up the driveway and behind the inn.

Sean got out of the truck. He wore black pants and a skintight ballistic silk shirt, dark gray and black, designed to stop both a kinetic impact from a bullet and a low-power shot from an energy weapon. This was worth a closer look.

I waved my fingers half an inch and the inn zoomed in, expanding the image to the entire wall in front of me. The ballistic silk clung to Sean like a glove, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders and powerful back. Some men had muscular backs but a wider waist so they looked almost rectangular. The difference between Sean’s shoulders and his narrow waist was so pronounced, his back tapered into an almost triangular shape. His legs were long, his arms muscular. I liked the way he moved, fast, sure, but with a natural grace that very strong men sometimes had. There was something dangerous about him and his spare, economical movements. Something that said that if violence occurred, his response would be instant and lethal, and idiot that I was, I could stare at him all day…

“So what’s with you and the werewolf?” My sister asked next to my ear.

I jumped.

I didn’t hear her come in. I didn’t feel her come in, which was so much worse.

“Nothing.”

“Mhm,” Maud said. “That’s why you’re ogling him here on a giant screen.”

“I wasn’t ogling.” Yes, yes I was.

“You were holding your breath, Dina.”

“I wasn’t.”

Maud studied the screen. “He is kind of hot.”

“Kind of?” There was no kind of about it.

“There needs to be more…” Maud held her hands wide apart.

“More what?”

“Muscle. Bulk. I like them… oversized.”

“He’s big enough.” He was over six feet tall. “And he’s very strong.”

“Oh I don’t doubt that he’s strong and really fast, too. But… bigger.”

I squinted at her. “I thought you were over your vampire fixation.”

“I didn’t say anything about vampires. I just like larger men.”

“Sure, aha.”

Sean pulled back the tarp, revealing crates and weapons. He swung a long slender weapon onto his shoulder and picked up a black crate that seemed to swallow the light.