Sanctuary

Chapter 3

Sanctuary was one of those towns that looks stuck in time – maybe to humans, the style was old and quaint and reminiscent of their ancestors. For someone like me? It looked like a silly pantomime of something that happened barely a week ago in the span of my eternal lifetime. Even the hotel I was staying at was a restored manor home – all columns and grand staircases and wrap around porches and arching ceilings.

“It’s better than some dump of a motel,” I murmured to my brother. In my head, I could almost hear his agreement.

The biggest trouble with a small town was the difficulty of blending in. With only a few thousand people, an outsider was more readily noticed – and, unfortunately, this would make my investigation more difficult. People don’t like strangers.

I stored my suitcase in my room, and monetarily debated if I needed to bring weaponry to do a precursory snoop around town. While it was daytime (and most things that go bump prefer the night), Guardian training had been obsessive about preparation. Rule number two in the handbook was never be caught off guard.

With a long suffering sigh, I heaved my guardian sword into a slightly more comfortable position on my back. Most of the Guardians wore theirs hanging off their hips, but I personally found that cumbersome. Nothing ruins the mood like a sword banging against your leg when you’re attempting to deliver a really awesome roundhouse kick to an undead monster’s face.

I checked my disguise before leaving, just to be sure that said sword wasn’t visible. A sudden feeling I couldn’t quite place, almost like my lungs threatening to burst, had me turn back towards the room before I could leave. Oren was here. That wasn’t anything new, he was always with me. But here, in Sanctuary… the feeling of my brother was so strong, it almost had me convinced I would see him if I looked in the right place.

That kind of thinking was unhealthy.

I left the hotel without looking back again.

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Belles and Boots was exactly the kind of bar I would have expected for this caricature of the good ol’ days. The inside was dark but relatively clean, aside from the sawdust strewn on the floor. The furniture was scuffed and battered wood, with the exception of the smooth and polished bar extending the length of the room. The slightly raised platform at the opposite end of the door had to be used as a stage, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the scrapes on the floor were from dancing. I selected one of the many mismatched stools and pulled up to the bar, noting that at least the furniture was sturdily made. I cracked a slight smile at the situation – only a few hours here, and this place already had me reminiscing about how back then, things were made to last.

I will say that one area civilization really has improved on over the years is the food. I remember my legion stuck eating bark and raw boar meat for days when we were on the hunt, so the idea of a juicy, seasoned, flavorful piece of chicken coated in herbs and deep fried will always have a place in my heart. Sure, eating isn’t technically necessary for someone with my lifespan, but that doesn’t make it any less fun. Or delicious. So, of course my first job after finding a seat was to flag down the bartender and order some. A girl’s gotta have priorities.

Despite it being barely lunchtime, the bar was surprisingly crowded. Rough cut laborers betrayed by the swipes of dirt across their faces and arms bonded over pitchers of beer and baskets of fries. Keeping my eyes down, I tried to exude shyness. If my estimations of the type of citizen here were correct, it wouldn’t be long before I had some company.