Dhampir - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,131
Constable Ellinwood had vanished. One of Ellinwood's guards had gone to notify him after the bodies of the sailors were discovered. His office was empty, and so were his rooms at The Velvet Rose. According to rumors—which Caleb heard through friends among the guards—nothing in either place appeared to have been packed or removed. An urn of yellow powder and a bottle of whiskey were found near a used glass, though no one seemed to know the nature of the strange powder. Loni reported that Ellinwood had left with a companion quite late in the night, or perhaps quite early in the morning, and had not returned. The constable simply disappeared.
Magiere puzzled over this. Where had he gone? In spite of the man's possessions being left behind, Magiere certainly considered Ellinwood capable of flight.
"Are the guards still looking for him?" she asked. "Perhaps he simply spent the night with a lady friend?"
Caleb nodded. "Yes, they've combed Miiska. No one has seen him since last night."
It was likely something would turn up sooner or later, and Magiere had other worries. Although the constable's disappearance was puzzling, she didn't exactly find it unwelcome. Convincing the townsfolk they must defend themselves might be even easier for Leesil with their authority figurehead unexplainably missing.
The last bit of news Caleb related bothered Magiere for several reasons. Apparently, he'd asked several of the market shopkeepers to carry Brenden's body into The Sea Lion's kitchen for visitation before burial.
"He has no family left," Caleb said. "This is a decent act."
Of course, it was decent. She had no argument with that. But was it wise? Leesil's current state of mind was fragile enough without Brenden's dead body lying on the kitchen table. And she mourned for Brenden, too. He was a brave man who would still be alive were it not for her. But he was beyond help now. She had to protect the living.
However, Caleb did not ask her permission. He simply announced his decision and let the matter drop. She decided to do the same.
"How soon can we expect people to arrive for the meeting?" she asked.
"Any time now."
When she looked at him, it seemed his walk was a little more stooped and his hair a little more gray than when she had met him. Poor man. So much had happened in the past few days.
"Where's Rose?" she asked.
"I think she's sitting with Leesil. I'd better get them."
"No, I'll do it. Why don't you find some tea mugs?"
For some reason, she didn't want Caleb to know how badly Leesil was injured. The half-elf couldn't even walk without help.
She jogged up the stairs and found Rose sitting next to him on his bed, showing him some pictures she'd drawn with charcoal on old paper. The scene struck her as too calm, too normal for their present circumstances.
"I like the one with the flowers," he said.
Rose's muslin dress was clean, but no one had bothered to brush her hair since Beth-rae's death. It was beginning to look quite tangled. Her small face glowed with a rosy tinge. In the way of children, she accepted change and appeared to be turning to Leesil for company. The purple color of his jaw was nearly black in hue, and although the scratches on his face were healing, the savage nature behind those long claw marks was obvious.
Magiere wavered. Perhaps she should keep him up here and try to convince the townsfolk herself. But he was the talker, not her.
"Are you ready?" Magiere asked quietly.
"Yes, just help me up."
"Come on, Rose," Magiere said. "We're going downstairs. You can sit with Chap by the fire."
By the guarded wince he made, she knew the effort to stand caused Leesil more pain than he would ever admit. She pulled his arm over her shoulder and supported him as best she could.
"I know you're injured," she said, "but try to hurry. I want to get you settled in a chair before anyone arrives. Do you have any ideas yet?"
"Yes," he answered. "I know what to do."
* * *
Not long after that, Leesil found himself in a chair by the fire, feigning comfort. He did not blame Magiere for pulling him downstairs like this to face a mass of townspeople. On the contrary, he admired her strength and clarity of thought. But at least three of his ribs were broken, and he feared that when Ratboy had thrown him against the fir tree, the action caused more damage than simply bruising his back. Sitting up was agony.