The Wizard Killer - Season Two

Episode 3

"Hey!" yells a deep voice, followed by a hard shove.

I stumble backwards, disoriented, knocking over the chair I must have been in. I hit the wall and slump down. My head feels two sizes too small. Where am I? Why's my heart racing?

The smell of stale and rancid beer immediately assaults my nose, clearing some of the mental fog and waking me up.

Looking down at what's on my hands, I'm distracted by the floor's shiny, orange-and-brown sheen. Half my brain tells me the stuff on my hands feels like sandpaper; the other half, like dried snot.

My eyes go from the floor to my sleeve, and then to how I'm dressed. I'm wearing matching brown pants, vest, and long coat—all neatly pressed. On the uneven table in front of me sits a brown, bowl-shaped hat.

After a momentary debate of whether to rub my eyes, I decide against it and gaze about the rest of the bar, ignoring the figure standing beside me.

The tavern has 'rock bottom' written all over it. The dingy walls and bowing ceiling don't do it any favors. There are a few high windows, though I suspect they've never been cleaned, and thankfully they're keeping most of the morning light at bay.

The man standing beside me goes to flick my ear, and I slap his hand, glaring at him.

He clears his throat and glares back at me. He's got a tall, stocky frame and a big, bushy beard that is dark brown with a white streak from lip to chin. In one of his meaty hands is a black bowl hat, his wiry hair showing that he's been wearing it for a good part of the day already.

Under his dark long coat is a red-and-silver vest with the chain of a pocket watch showing. Most importantly, he's got a two-bar, tin rectangle pinned on the outside of his coat and the scowl of authority to accompany it.

"Sheriff," I say grudgingly.

His face relaxes a touch. "I've had to look all over town for you. You've almost missed your time to meet with the librarian, and if you miss this one, there ain't going to be another. Now get up and get moving. She doesn't stay in one place long. And if a Scourge patrol finds her? You're going to be looking over both shoulders every minute of every day until you're having a dirt nap."

I put a hand out.

He reluctantly grabs it and hauls me to my feet. My head's throbbing, and the empty beer mugs on the table tell me why. Rolling my other shoulder, it barks at me painfully.

"Mother of Mercy," I say under my breath. I must have done something to it when I fell off my chair... or last night. All that remains of what happened is a vague hint, nothing more. I can't remember walking into this place or drinking a thing. All the consequences and none of the fun, that's no way to live.

"I know that look," he grumbles, a disapproving smirk on his face. "When you strolled into town yesterday, I told you to stay away from the black beer. That stuff will knock the smile off a horse. I also told you not to play cards with the three sisters who run the place. From what I heard this morning, you're lucky they left you with your dignity, never mind your clothes."

I grimace as the shoulder pain subsides a bit. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. Now put some gloves on," he says pointing at my bare hands.

I pull my sleeves up and stare at my arms. "Where are my tattoos?"

The sheriff raises an eyebrow. "I was talking about your hands." He takes one of my hands and turns it sideways. There's a blue line that runs along the edge, disappearing up my sleeve. I look at my other hand, it's there too.