Forty-Three
Councillor Dillon, glass of wine in one hand, feet up on his desk, saluted the portrait he’d had painted of his son. He’d fled here late in the afternoon to avoid the succession of staff members clamouring for his attention with yet another boring report. Ever since the new lot of blasted wardens had taken up residence outside the town walls, the paperwork had started piling up.
The appearance of the new captain had prompted half the town to believe they were about to be punished for what they’d done to the original crop of wardens. The other half wanted these new wardens to be let in, if only to help police the sudden influx of humans once word spread Brimfield was freak free. That the town was also free of half-breeds had been another incentive for newcomers, and at first D
