Fortunately for Jocasta she had already lost control of the spells animating her attack chairs by the time company arrived. Her scalp was sore and she rubbed her hairline resentfully. Luckily the assassin had mostly been aiming to get her out of the way rather than making a true effort to kill her. The only real risk had been when he had thrown her, and Beren had broken her fall.

 

“I’m fine,” she told Beren after patting herself down to make sure that was more or less true.

“Gods Below, he is dead!” the innkeeper gasped as he reached the door. Bonnie was close behind covering a gasp. Jocasta moved over to the assassin and lifted his head by the hair, the weight of his body pulling it to an extremely unnatural angle. Everyone collectively winced.

“What?” she asked, then dropped the head so it thudded on the floor eliciting another wince from all and sundry.

 

“It never hurts to check,” she huffed a little defensively. 

 

“You have killed a man! I must summon the ….” the Innkeeper trailed off. Clearly he was about to say watch, and then realized that meant the Mortus Leo would get involved. His face pantomimed an agony of indecision.

 

“I think,” Jocasta began, “that maybe this is just a robbery gone wrong and we can chalk it up to natural causes?”

“Natural causes?! His neck is broken!” the landlord protested.

“Well, you know, natural in his line of work,” Jocasta amended. The Innkeeper still seemed inclined to argue but Bonnie just shook her head and steered the older man out of the room, shooting a surprisingly effective ‘take care of this mess’ over her shoulder as she went.

 

“Well that was fun,” Jocasta put in, casting an appreciative glance at the shirtless Beren, the effect slightly  marred by the bruise that was spreading from where her knee had winded him during the fall.

 

“Any idea why someone would want to kill you? He said he was here to kill you specifically. Like what am I? Chopped liver?” she demanded. Beren shook his head in confusion or uncertainty she wasn’t sure.

 

“Well he is dead so we can’t ask him,” Beren said at last.

“Or can we?” Jocasta asked in a theatrically ghoulish voice.

“What?” Beren asked, brought back to attention by the tone rather than the content of her statement.

“What?” Jocasta repeated blinking her eyes innocently as though she hadn’t just suggested necromancy.

“I guess we should probably search his pockets before we toss him out into an alley? Just incase he has an valuable information on him, or better yet any money?”