shirt. Magiere might not agree with this action, but he would handle that if and when it came up. He stepped around the bar into the open room, surveying the ruins of broken tables and chairs, fresh scars in the bar top, and dried pools of blood.
Magiere's words made sense—everything needed to be left as it was to make Ellinwood believe what had happened, but he hated the thought of doing nothing. The bloodstained floor kept drawing his attention. Why hadn't he initially held his ground and reloaded the crossbow? Why hadn't he rushed the creature as soon as Beth-rae threw the garlic water? The scene played over and over in his mind as he examined every move he could have made differently. Scenarios taught long ago by his mother and father crept back into his conscious thoughts from places where he'd hidden them. He'd made so many mistakes, and now Caleb was a widower and little Rose had no grandmother.
Chap's chest was almost healed, which in itself seemed too much for Leesil to think about, in addition to everything else that made no sense in their lives of late. Magiere's facial wound looked days instead of hours old. Whenever Chap or Magiere fought these strange attackers, they healed with an unnatural quickness. Or had they always been quick to mend? It occurred to him that in their years together he'd never before been in such situations with either of them, so there was no way to be sure. He didn't want to talk about any of it, but how much were they going to tell the constable?
"Magiere?"
"What?"
"Last night… your teeth," he began. "Do you know what happened?"
She walked closer to him, her black hair still a tangled mess of long waves and strands around her face. Scant light that filtered in through the windows hit her from behind, and the highlights in her hair turned their usual red, almost a blood red, and that comparison made Leesil uneasy. Her expression was earnest, as if she wanted—had been waiting, even—for some reason or moment or encouragement to tell him something.
"I don't know. Not really," she answered. Her eyes closed tight and she shook her head slowly.
Leesil noted her jaw shift, perhaps as she checked her teeth with her tongue yet again for the return of what he'd seen there. Her voice dropped low, near a whisper, though there was no one else nearby to hear her.
"I was so angry, worse than I've ever felt in my life. I couldn't think of anything but killing him. I hated him so—"
A knock on the inn's door interrupted her. She frowned in a mix of frustration and distaste, letting out a sigh.
"That must be Ellinwood. Let's get this over with."
With a quick glance and nod to Magiere, Leesil went to open the door, but to his surprise it was not Constable Ellinwood on the other side but Brenden.
"What are you doing here?" Magiere demanded.
"I told him he could come by," Leesil interjected, having actually forgotten about it until this moment.
"I heard what happened," the blacksmith said sadly. "I came to help."
Leesil had never seen anyone with such vivid red hair as Brenden, and with his matching beard, he seemed like a broad head of fire in the doorway. His black leather vest was oddly clean for someone who worked with iron and horses all day. Magiere just looked at the blacksmith as if she honestly didn't care whether he stayed or not.
"Ellinwood's useless," Brenden went on in the same sad voice. "If you tell him what really happened, he'll bury the case and never discuss it unless you force him to. Nothing will be done."
"Fine," Magiere said, turning away. "Stay if you like, go if you like. We aren't expecting any assistance from the constable anyway. Beth-rae was murdered last night, and the law requires us to inform the authorities."
Leesil remained quiet through this exchange in the hope that Brenden and Magiere might actually speak to each other, see one another as individuals. The blacksmith was one of the few people in town they'd met so far who was willing to speak about anything related to the attack on the road or what had happened last night. The result of his presence wasn't all Leesil had hoped for, but at least Magiere hadn't ordered him off the premises. Leesil stepped back and urged him inside.
"I'll make us some tea," he said.
"How's Caleb?" Brenden asked, staring at the bloodstained floor by the bar.
"I don't