Smoke and Shadow: The Fireweaver, Book 1

Chapter 13. STAYHOUSE

CHAPTER 13. STAYHOUSE

"We need a place to stay. My niece and I."

Mona's contact at the Stayhouse, Lehran Giovah, was a man of commanding height, with white-blond hair smoothed back and plaited over his shoulder.

Dimarrah stole a quick glance back to Mehlie, who was just through the glass doors, sitting next to Fiona Contiesee. Fiona was Lehran's lead Beneiah, and at the moment looked none too pleased to have been given temporary role of kid-wrangler. The older woman who'd first led them through the front doors had at least the maternal foresight to bring cookies and a glass of milk.

Lehran looked from her to the girl outside the door, who was stuffing the last cookie into her mouth like it might be taken from her if she didn't make it quickly disappear. 

"Mona thinks I run a refugee camp." His eyes flicked to Mehlie, still outside, swiping a hand across her milk-mustached mouth. "And a daycare."

"I can pay." Dimarrah brought out her slightly crumpled lezions and smoothed them out on the table, along with a little stray dust from the road. She brought out the worn, but well made mandolin that Mona had given her. "I can play," she said, even though the mandolin had no strings on it. "I'm not asking for charity."

He flicked the dust off his thick lacquered desk and folded his hands. "I have singers and guitar players enough to fill my halls." He gazed over Dimarrah and she was suddenly very aware of her gaunt and hollowed cheeks.

"You've been been rehabbed?" It wasn't really a question, more of a condescending statement.

"Yes," Dimarrah whispered, and couldn't help but think about the sparks that had popped in the alleyway just a couple hours before.

"What was your Anomaly?"

"My hearing," she lied, telling him exactly what Mona had told her to say. "My parents rehabbed me when I was too young to remember." Innocuous enough. So many of the Anomalies were like that, their enhanced ability limited to one of the five senses. He could never know about hers.

"A pity," he said. "It gives our Beneiahs an edge over other—"

"No," she said quite firmly, then softened her tone. "I'm here to perform only on a stage." She tread lightly on that line of conversation. The Stayhouse was many things, but it was also definitely a brothel, though no one would call it that any more. At least not out loud.

She refolded her gloved hands, feeling sure that somehow he could see the scarring through them. Feeling that he could see through her veneer of lies. But he also seemed ready to just be done with her for now. And the girl.

"First floor pub," he said, abruptly. "The Glasgow. Ask for Jarvis tomorrow at noon."

He pushed the pile of cash back to her.

"I said I wasn't asking for charity." Dimarrah made a move to push it back.

"You can't play that thing without strings." He laid a hand over the stack, pushed it further her way. "Get what you need. When rent is due, I'll expect payment. The girl may attend the Academy tomorrow. I'll see to it she's secured a spot."

Before Dimarrah could thank him, he called for the woman, Fiona, and she came in with Mehlie, who wore a smile and evidence of cookie stuck to her chin. "Give them a first floor room."

* * * * * *

It wasn't the best lodging. It wasn't the worst either. Not far down from the Glasgow, it was pretty noisy. And small. She could travel across the room in about five paces and barely turn around in the bathroom. But it was clean and safe. Or at least safer than roaming the streets of Chanette. Safer than any place she'd been in a while.