He rolled his eyes at her. “Really?” he muttered.
“Who cares?” Mustache gnashed his teeth and raised his weapon. “Either way, we get money.”
“You know the rules.”
The voice was small and even-toned, the words unhurried. It came from a bundle huddled in the back of the tavern where light couldn’t reach through the grimy windows. The figure shifted, revealing half the face of a young girl with ocher skin.
Mustache frowned at the girl. “Who are ya?”
The girl stood. She was no taller than Bo butwaspainfully human. When she turned her face, a long scar became visible. It was a dark, angry thing of red tissue that slashed across her plump right cheek and marred an otherwise perfect canvas.
The girl was a mismatch of features. With a small, round face and pointed chin; large eyes upturned like a cat’s, irises the color of polished stone; a dark halo of tight black curls. When Risa stared no longer than a few seconds, the girl’s features seemed to transform; the edges turned blurry and fuzzy, as if Risa had closed her eyes and could only see an imprint of the image on the backs of her eyelids.
Mustache reared back. “You’re the Wolf.”
There was nothing wolflike about the girl. But at the sound of the moniker, several outlaws tore down their wanted posters and hurried out of the tavern with one last wild-eyed look back, their faces carved with the panic of a hunted animal.
The Wolf did not break her focus. She pulled her hood farther over her face, hiding it from view as she stalked to the doors with slow, careful steps.
“Boss,” Eyepatch called, feet shifting with worry, hurrying away from the doors to stand beside Mustache. “The sheriff’s outside.”
Stillness. The flurry of activity ceased, all eyes fixed on the swinging doors. Everyone waiting with bated breath for the sheriff to stomp in.
The Wolf continued forward, her path clearing of people and tables. Quick as a flash, she had a dagger pointed at Risa and Javi.
“Get out.” She flicked the dagger toward the doors. “You have caused enough problems.”
Needing no further instruction, Risa grabbed Javi’s hand. “Absolutely. Immediately.”
She squeezed past Mustache and his eyepatch-wearing pal, her heartbeat stuttering in her ears. Javi snatched his wanted poster from Mustache’s hands, and the man growled in response. Suddenly, Risa caught a glimpse of something etched in crimson that peeked from beneath Eyepatch’s leather vest. But then Eyepatch shifted, the sliver of skin disappeared, and Risa was at the doors.
Before she, Javi, and Brunie could hurry out, the Wolf’s one visible eye flashed as she whispered, “Midnight. The inn stables.”
Risa hardly heard. She was already stepping past the doors, blinking into harsh daylight. A stiff figure stood in the distance, silhouetted by the sun.
She had no desire to meet the sheriff.
CHAPTER TWELVEIn Which There Is Only One Bed
Having discovered the inn next to the saloon, Risa glowered at the sign nailed to the door.NO OUTLAWS ALLOWED, it read, which could have saved them from narrowly avoiding an outright tavern brawl if she’d bothered to properly explore the town and hadn’t ducked into the first building she saw. The clear outline of a stray bullet hole with wood splintered around the wound did not inspire confidence, but at least they wouldn’t have met Mustache.
The inn, much like the saloon, was old and run-down. It boasted some hints of its former glory—fancy but faded wallpaper, gaslight sconces, a beautifully stained wood counter—but it had long ago fallen into disrepair and neglect, the upkeep no doubt impossible when the clientele was more prone to violence than the average population. Still, Risa would much rather sleep there than in the Cairn mayor’s study-dungeon or a dwarf’s rickety cart.
A man with slicked-back hair stood behind the counter, shuffling through an assortment of mail and wanted posters. He paused at their arrival and raised his head to take them in. Before they could reach the counter, he held up a hand to stop them in their tracks.
“We don’t serve outlaws.”
Javi scoffed, clearly insulted at the suggestion. “My good man, could an outlaw look like this?”
“Yes,” the innkeeper said simply. He considered Risa with narrowed eyes.
“We’re not,” Risa assured him, though he didn’t look convinced.
“Prove it.”
Javi’s offense dissipated. “How?”
The innkeeper’s face turned serious. “Dance.”