Jasper Wood's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The wolf did not move, and neither did Jasper. Frost climbed his boots. Nora stood frozen behind him. He had found free ground and a keeper on it in the same breath. Now he had to get past the beast to reach the door, or the haven would die on this porch. Jasper knelt slow. He did not reach for a weapon. He kept his hands open. "You're guarding something," he said to the wolf. "So am I. I'm trying to." The wolf's blue eyes held him. The frost stopped short of his knees. It did not retreat, but it did not bite. Then the door creaked open behind the animal. A pale man stepped out. His hair was black as spilled ink. A ring of keys hung at his belt and clinked when he walked. He looked young, but his eyes were old and tired. He set one hand on the wolf's head, and the beast sat. "You've been shouting at my guard for an hour," the man said. "Most turn back. You knelt." He studied Jasper. "Oryn Thatch. I keep this inn." "There's an innkeeper?" Nora whispered. "Both courts forgot this place." "They forgot me too," Oryn said. His voice stayed flat. "I keep every room made. No one comes. The wolf keeps out those who would strip the timbers." He looked at Jasper's open hands. "You don't want the wood. What do you want?" Jasper stood. "A place where mortals and fae sit at one fire. No Winter court. No Summer court. Just people." He nodded at the sagging porch. "This ground answers to neither. That's why I need it." Oryn was quiet. The wolf watched. At last the innkeeper turned and walked inside. "Come. Careful of the frost." The wolf rose and stepped aside from the door. Jasper crossed the threshold. His pulse hammered. The hall inside was dark and grand. Old chandeliers hung from a high ceiling, their candles somehow still burning. Dust lay thick on the floor, but the walls stood straight. Against one wall sat a dark oak desk. Above it hung rows of old keys, each on its own hook, bright against the gloom. "Every lock in this inn has a key here," Oryn said. He touched the desk. "I have kept them all for longer than your grandmother's grandmother lived." He turned to Jasper. "You may stay the night. You may talk your talk. But the inn is mine, and it stays mine. A guest is not an owner." Jasper looked at the warm hall, the made rooms he could not yet see, the keys he could not touch. He was inside. The wolf no longer blocked him. But the walls, the doors, and every lock belonged to a fae who had guarded emptiness for centuries. "Then I'll earn it," Jasper said. Oryn almost smiled. "Many have tried to earn nothing. You're the first to try for everything."