I’m ready to toss her onto the nearest surface I can find. My eyes flicker down to hers as we approach Whisper Inn, and I can see the aggravation in her eyes, feel the irritation spilling off her skin. It’s electric, feeling her this way. I never thought I’d be able to feel a person’s temper, yet I can feel hers like heavy weights, and it doesn’t help that I can also hear every thought and name she’s calling me. Asshole this, and jackass that. She’s ridiculous.
The rustic building of the inn stands bold in the night, it’s arched windows revealing silhouettes behind sheer curtains as people move about in their rooms. As I approach, I hear laughter from inside, a foreign sound to me. Where I’m from, people hardly laugh unless they’re drunk or high. They’re all so hardened and cold. Like myself, I suppose.
I make my way up the stoop and drop Willow into one of the two chairs beneath the awning. “Wait here,” I order. She grunts, then scowls at me as she adjusts herself as best as she can with her injured leg. I dust off my hands and jacket before entering the inn.
The laughter is louder, as well as the music from the three-man band in the corner. Men and women sit at two- to three-top tables, sharing drinks of what I’m sure are gin, because that’s all they drink in Whisper Grove. Gin and water. Such purists.
A man behind the bar—wearing a white shirt made of linen, with dark, long hair—eyes me as he dries out a glass and places it on the counter. The lobby falls silent as I walk deeper into it, and as I approach the counter, eyeing the barman, he stands tall and looks me hard in the eyes.
“Doctor Manx. Where can I find him?” I ask.
The man glares at me with stormy teal eyes. “I don’t think that’s how you ask for someone to come to you, mate.”
“I need him.”
The man glances over his shoulder at a round-topped black door, then back at me. “Haven’t seen him.”
“Is he behind that door?” I ask, pointing at it. “And don’t lie to me because if you lie, I’ll know, and it won’t be pretty for you.”
“Listen, mate, don’t come into my place of work starting trouble with me, all right?”
“There won’t be any trouble if you lend me Doctor Manx.”
“What do you need him for anyway?”
Just as he asks that, the front door of the inn opens and Willow limps inside. Everyone in the room stares at her, and when they notice the blood on her clothes and the metal in her leg, some of the women gasp while the men mumble. Even the band’s music comes to a pause.
She swallows hard as she peers around the lobby, then she limps her way toward me, her eyes hot on mine. “I’ll bleed to death by the time you come back,” she snaps, and I turn to face the barman again.
“This is why I need him,” I mutter.
The man looks between me and Willow, who clings to the counter with bloody fingers. “Tell me what happened first. I’m sure if you know Manx, then you know the rules. Bringing violence is a violation in Whisper Grove.”
“This happened outside of Whisper Grove, back in Vanora. Right in your backwoods, actually.”
The man makes a face like he wants to frown but is more intrigued by what I have to say next.
“I don’t come with violence, otherwise I would’ve been blown to bits. I’ve only come so Manx can take a look at her leg, and then we’ll be on our merry way. Now do me a solid and go behind that door of yours and tell him Caz is here, and that I need to see him right now.”
