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«Go ahead, come in,» his voice sounded hoarser than usual. He craned his neck and coughed.

Two men entered the house: sheriff Hunter and his eldest son. The heir and his shift are dragging him everywhere. Wolfe smirked, baring strong white teeth.

«Greetings, Mage-Commissar,» the visitors bowed, not too flatteringly, though.

Wolfe only gave a brief nod in response.

«There’s a rumor going around,» the sheriff hesitated, «you know. We’d like to know if it’s true.»

«I don’t know what people are talking about,» the man muttered between spoonfuls of food. «Ask me straight out, Hunter, don’t be a pussy. I don’t like it.»

«Ahem. Ahem. Mage-Commissar Wolfe, is it true that you destroyed two witches who were plaguing the surrounding villages?» he swallowed and stared expectantly at his inhospitable host.

«Ha!» Wolfe smirked again, his face creased so that it looked like crumpled paper – his deep wrinkles had long been his companions, only his yellow eyes still looked young. «See for yourself,» he nodded to the far corner of the room, hidden by the shadows.