ã€ŠBlack Badge: Tales of a Demon Hunterã€‹


 Chapter 1

    Ash fluttered through the air of Lonely Hill, like someone left a candle burning and the cat knocked it over while they slept. But this wasn''t a house fire. You''d see that plume of black for miles and miles.

    This was different.

    A fleck landed on my cheek before quickly melting. Not ash, but snow flurries.

    A bit of good fortune for a place like Lonely Hill, I suppose, set smack dab in the middle of Satan''s asshole. It was usually hot and dry in these parts. No real reason for man to be here at all, really.

    Lonely Hill was just another blot on an old, weathered map. Nothing special in the natural sense of the word, but I don''t get dispatched by the White Throne unless there''s a ''super'' before the ''natural.'' And snow in the middle of summer when the air barely had a chill on it? Ain''t nothing natural about that.

    So as my tawny mare, Timperina, kicked up dried mud, my proverbial hackles were right there too, waiting, expecting at any moment for some ghoul or devil to come popping out from behind the apothecary or the butcher shop, trying to make a meal of me.

    Prepared as I might''ve been, nothing of the sort looked like it was gonna happen. I did, however, get the typical stares from locals, poking their heads from their shutters and doors and their noses where they don''t belong. No matter where I went, folks mistook my unique brand of authority for that of a federal marshal. I¡¯m not, but some people¡ª''specially kids, animals, and anyone ultra-sensitive to the spiritual realm¡ªcan sense that something ain''t right about me.

    Wasn''t my appearance. That''s pretty damn normal for a man out here. Bearded. Rugged. Too many scars to count on two hands. Nothing of my outward visage to tell the general public that I was, technically, dead. Or undead. I''m hazy on the exact details besides having been shot up, left for the worms, and brought back years later to find myself stuck on this side of eternity, serving the whims and fancies of angels.

    I took a corner onto Lonely Hill''s main avenue and saw a crowd gathered at the end of the road. More peculiar flurries swirled betwixt them on the breeze like fireflies. Judging by their faces, I knew I''d found it. Whatever it was.

    I hitched Timp at the saloon a few doors down, choosing to take the remainder of the distance by foot. Better not to act like I was above anybody, yet. As I got closer, I realized I didn''t need the expressions to tell me something disturbing had gone down.

    "By all the saints and elders," I said under my breath. Had I still been alive, the smell alone would have probably knocked me on my ass. Death is a sickly sweat aroma. Even in its early stages, it''s enough to overwhelm and stir up bile at the very least.

    Parked along the street''s edge, a few men were seated or lying down, being cared for while sucking down whiskey to drown out the pain of bullet wounds. Got a few more stares as I shoved through the rabble, hoping to get a clearer picture. To their credit, no one tried to stop me. If there was a lawman in town, he wasn''t showing face yet, neither.

    Parts of the west were being tamed these days, even had their hired band of Pinkertons¡ªoutlaw hunters, bounty hunters, and the like¡ªbut small towns like this would be the last to fall to complete law and order. Places like Lonely Hill relied upon small crews of barely-trained gunmen. How would I know? These were the exact types of places where the old me would''ve ridden through with his rowdy pals, put our boots up on a saloon table, and drank for free so long as we flashed our iron.

    Yeah, I took what I wanted without asking in my day, but I¡¯d never shot up a town like this.

    The word massacre usually speaks of dozens or hundreds dead, but there wasn''t a better word for the two corpses I spotted, bloodied and broken remains strewn across the red clay streets.

    Beyond them, a two-story building stood caddy-corner to the others. The facade was painted a bright cherry red and in big, gold letters. Frost dappled the words and made them hard to read but I got it, eventually: dufaux bank and trust.

    So, what was this, then? A robbery gone awry? That felt too normal for my particular talents. Angels care about many things, but the wealth of men ain''t one of them.

    I let my eyes wander a bit, but no one else was moving. Not an inch. Looked as if someone had snapped a photograph like them rich folk in the city are fond of, still as statues.

    "Who''s the stranger?" an older man finally croaked, talking about me but not to me.

    "A marshal, clearly," his wife added, nudging him in the side.

    "Oh, thank heavens," said another, a younger man with a clean face and a lazy eye. "Mr. Marshal, I ain''t never seen anything like this."

    I didn''t respond¡ªnot even at the accusation of being called a fed. Just let my glare pass across them, instilling silence. I always found it better to examine a situation before hearing from those around it, either their opinions or the things they pretend to have seen. Everyone always wants to feel a part of having solved a mystery.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    With a sigh, I made my way to the first body. The poor bastard lay face down in a puddle of his own blood. His dark-colored vest was so soaked in, I couldn¡¯t determine its original color. Black? Dark blue? Some kind of maroon even? But pinned to his left breast was a silver star.

    It''s unclear to me how the star became the universal symbol for authority. But when I was brought back to life, it included a branding of sorts on my bare chest. Often, I consider its five-points to be that of hand having had its part in my resuscitation. But I can¡¯t deny, it looks like a black star or badge.

    Amongst us Hands of God, we often call ourselves just that¡ªthe Black Badges. Sounds Earthlier that way. Makes it a bit easier to forget that we ain''t normal.

    And here it was again, a star to signify this man''s position as Lonely Hill''s protector. The sheriff. Dead as a doornail.

    Didn''t do a very good job at it, protecting. Or, I suppose, he did a fine one by some estimations. One of his deputies was the other corpse, lying across the square in a similar outfit, body bent backward over a bale of hay so I couldn''t see his head. If he still had one.

    "So, what is it? You some kind of marshal?" a voice asked from behind me.

    Still, I didn''t look or answer. Just kept my eyes trained upon the former sheriff. He was young. Younger than I''d been when I bit the dust, at least. Had a beard, but barely.

    "What the hell happened here, Sheriff?" I whispered before getting to work.

    As one could expect, upon my resurrection I was imbued with otherworldly abilities of my own¡ªpowers, some would say, and they wouldn''t be wrong. Among those is the ability to see the final moments of a person''s life, assuming they''re fresh enough.

    It''s not as glamorous as it sounds. Some things I''ve seen simply can''t be unseen, no matter how much I wish it so. I''ve watched as husbands strangled their wives to death through the very eyes of the woman in question. Felt his hands around my throat. Choked as those final gasps for life left my lungs.

    Myself? I was shot and killed by a fellow named Ace Ryker, a man I called friend.

    Each time I Divine someone whose life ended violently, I not only experience their pain but mine all over again.

    That''s why I wasn''t so eager to do what I knew needed doing.

    But hell, nothing''s ever easy for a Black Badge.

    I dipped my finger into some of the blood, drew a wet line across my forehead, and spoke a few words in Latin. It wasn''t necessary to the process, but I''d gotten used to doing it. Somehow made me feel closer to the deceased before violating the sanctity of their minds.

    "A tenebris ad lucem.¡± From darkness to light, or close enough for a rough translation. Far as I knew, no one was grading me on my language skills.

    I''ve encountered other Black Badges who do no ritual of the sort, but Divining is a deeply personal thing to each of us. To intrude on last moments? It ain''t for the faint of heart.

    I took a steadying breath, then reached out and placed my hand against the sheriff''s sallow flesh.

    A jolt of power coursed through me. My head snapped back, and my eyes shone with what I could only assume to be the light of Heaven''s gate.

    Everything around me faded¡ªthe street, the buildings, all of Lonely Hill vanished into searing bright white and my vision settled into the mind of the deceased¡­

    * * *

    My ears registered the tumult of gunfire. Screams. Terror. A bullet whizzed past my head, and I cried out in a deep voice. Though it wasn''t me speaking.

    "Watch your fire, Deputy!" I¡ªand, by that, I mean my sheriff host¡ªglanced back at a terrified, scrawny Deputy shooting blindly from behind a barrel.

    Then I looked around the town square, frantic. I knew by some insight or intuition that my host was searching for cover while more and more bullets thudded the ground around me. My hand trembled, barely able to keep my six-shooter level.

    No matter how brave, burly, or manly one might be, nothing tests your mettle like a gunfight.

    "Best st-st-stand down, outlaws!" my host shouted, wielding absolutely none of the bravado he hoped to convey.

    Dirt sprayed up. A bird screeched¡ªfunny little detail to note in the midst of this chaos. Splinters spit outward from buildings, hitching posts, barrels, and everything else.

    However, so far, I had seen no sign of said outlaws, just the twig-thick deputy, twenty paces behind me, shooting wild at something leaping and diving near the bank.

    That''s when I realized that that something was, in fact, someone.

    She¡ªfor I believe it to have been a woman¡ªmoved like nothing I''ve ever seen. The only feet I''d seen that carried such catlike grace belonged to vampires, and the sun was far too high for this to be any such creature.

    Rounds fired in her direction, every single one missing by what might as well''ve been miles. I couldn''t tell if everyone in this town with a gun was a shit shot or she was just that good. Then, I watched as what appeared to be a small ax flew end over end a distance of at least thirty feet before slamming home in the center of one deputy''s forehead. He dropped back and into a bale of hay.

    Several folks screamed, including me. "Theo!"

    Before anyone could get to Theo¡ªand truth was, it wouldn''t have done a damn bit of good¡ªthe doors of the bank burst open from the inside. A gust of freezing air and flecks of ice whipped out, stinging my host''s cheeks like tiny knives.

    From that hellish shroud emerged a towering man. He was wearing the skin of a polar bear or some white wolf over his shoulders and chest and most of his face was covered by a mask, leaving just tanned skin and dark eyes to be seen. Shards of ice swirled around his arms.

    That was all I had the chance to see, before blistering, white-hot pain reverberated through me, starting in my back and spreading outward. I''d felt this pain before.

    A bullet straight through my heart. Only, this time, it entered from the back¡­

    * * *

    My eyes shot open¡ªor perhaps they''d never been closed at all. Divining a death that frenzied took a lot out of me. Often it left me on my knees, panting, making sense of it all as a flood of feeling and emotion came and went in a flash.

    I blinked to settle my vision.

    Standing before me was the scrawny deputy who''d survived the battle by hiding and shooting blindly. He had the same revolver pointed directly at my skull.

 Chapter 2

    "Whatchu think you''re doing, mister?" the deputy asked.

    He looked like a loose thread pulled at the edge of a worn vest, or the runt of an already small litter.

    As he held that gun, swaying just inches from my face, I thought about letting him shoot me. Nothing makes a man stop and listen like watching as the person whose head you just blew a hole through starts talking like nothing even happened.

    Instead, I kept my peace and waited for him to lose nerve. They always do. Not like what was left of Lonely Hill''s law and order was gonna open fire and shoot a stranger on his knees in front of the whole damn town.

    "We don''t take kindly to defecating the dead," he said.

    He meant desecrating, but I let it go. He''d had a bad enough day. So, I just glared up at him like I knew a secret. Fact was, I did. His bullet in the back had killed the Sheriff, and that most likely meant friendly fire. And only one frightened deputy was shooting blindly in the Sheriff''s direction.

    I spoke softly as to not let anyone else hear me. "Feeling guilty, Deputy?"

    His eyes went wide as saucepans, and his face turned red.

    "Leave the fella alone, Dale," said another voice. "Can''t do worse keeping us safe than y''all done."

    This one belonged to one of the townsmen. By the sound of him, he was twice Deputy Dale''s age, at least.

    "What''d you say?" Deputy Dale asked.

    Wasn''t clear if he was speaking to me or the other guy, but either way, he received no replies.

    I rose, sure Dale was harmless as a dove. I brushed myself off and ignored the shaking gun. It followed me, so I gently pushed back my duster.

    They say a man looking to protect himself carries a single gun, but a man looking to kill carries two. Don''t know what it says about me, but I got a third strapped across my back¡ªa Winchester repeater to complement my twin pearl-handled Peacemakers. Not to mention a silver-dusted hunting knife hidden in my boot. If things get hairy, I¡¯ve also got an onyx-black lasso¡ªwhich I promise you is more terrifying to monsters than the guns.

    "Mind putting that thing down?" I said. "I ain''t here to stir up trouble."

    Deputy Dale looked me over. I know where his eyes were roaming. He was wondering if he could shoot faster than I could pull. Probably could. He just didn''t know it wouldn''t matter.

    By now, the crowd had backed up a respectable distance, likely fearing they''d get sprayed with brain matter should Deputy Dale decide to take his second life of the day. Matter of fact, it looked like even more had now come out of their hidey-holes to watch.

    "Please?" I said with very little emotion.

    Dale lowered his weapon halfway. "You a fed?"

    "No, sir," I replied.

    "Then what? Some kind of bounty hunter?"

    "Of a sorts."

    "Well, they long gone," Deputy Dale said, looking over my shoulder at the mob behind us. He was sweating bullets. "And you should be, too. Look at Theo, over there."

    I did as he asked, not making a show of it. But just as I''d seen in my Divining with the sheriff, Theo lay baking in the sun. From here, I could now see the tomahawk sticking out his face. Only difference was, now the haze had fallen, and flies buzzed around his split skull. I could''ve Divined him too, but I saw him die. He saw much of the same. And honestly, an hatchet to the head was the last thing I needed to experience.

    "These people need to grieve without any more hullaballoo," Dale said.

    "Hullaballoo?"

    "You know. Another stranger, coming in here, mucking up the place."

    I grunted and turned my back on him, moving toward the entrance to the bank.

    "Marshal, I''m warning you," he said.

    I almost laughed.

    My job as a Black Badge is a difficult one to explain. Though I have no earthly authority in the traditional sense of the word¡ªno writs or warrants¡ªthere ain''t a lawman alive who''s gonna keep me from fulfilling my duties. Besides, I¡¯ve been given no choice in that matter. I got debts to pay.

    The White Throne sent me to Lonely Hill for a reason. I don''t know what it is yet, but the Lord works in mysterious ways, and all that bullshit people say when they don''t understand stuff. All I know is that whatever reason I''m here, it means this is a task for someone with a bit more experience than Deputy Dale.

    And before anyone gets themselves in a state of confusion, allow me to set the record straight. I wasn''t a good man in life. There was barely a sin I hadn''t ticked the box off of in my day. In fact, I''d always figured I''d rub elbows with the devil himself when I parted this Earth. Probably did during those years before I was brought back.

    Yet here I am. I think even the White Throne knows well enough that good men falter when it comes time for pulling the trigger. You need a special kind of someone to shoot first and ask questions later. Or choose never to ask at all.

    That fella is me.

    The name''s James Crowley, but most days, I''m just a goddamned Hand of God.

    You might say, "My word, Mr. Crowley, that language ain''t appropriate for a sentence also including the Lord''s name." And hell, you might even be right. After all, the Almighty did see fit to give me another lot in life.

    Revived by angels. That''s a gift!

    Bullshit.

    This is a curse if there ever was one. I may serve Heaven as penance for a life of crime, but Heaven ain''t at the end of the rainbow road for me. When¡ªand if¡ªthe White Throne decides it''s had its fill of me, I don''t get Paradise. No, sir. No golden streets, pearly gates, or mansions in the sky.

    The only promise is me getting spared the icy depths of Hell.

    And when you find out eternal damnation¡ªthere''s that ''damn'' word again¡ªwhen you find out it''s a real thing, you learn to play nice with angels. Trust me.

    Deputy Dale was still spitting threats at my back as I trudged toward the bank. Puddles of what looked like blood pooled around its foundation. A lady huffed and threw a long-gloved hand over her lips when I reached down and dipped my finger in it. Heard some muttering behind me, too, like I''d just dug up the dead.

    To my surprise¡ªand dare I say relief¡ªit appeared like nothing more than water mixing with the red clay that was so prevalent in this region. It wasn''t from rain, that''s for sure. This region hadn''t seen rain in too many months. Might''ve been melted snow but those flurries couldn''t have done this much. It was just too much water streaming out of the bank like a springtime creek.

    A paper flier lay in the wetness. I picked it up and squinted. Something about a Founder¡¯s Day Festival up at Revelation Springs in a week or so, hosted by Dufaux Bank and Trust. They¡¯d be a little short on spending money, all things considered.

    Leather groaned after I flicked the paper aside and stood.

    I made my way up the front porch. It was dead silent but for the sound of my spurs jingling and my boots thudding. I reached for the door handle. That''s when Dale''s protests grew to a degree that could no longer be ignored.

    "Now wait right there, Marshal!"

    I spun, quick as a whip, pulling my pistol.

    "I ain''t a goddamned marshal!" I barked, firing two bullets at the kid''s feet. Wasn''t trying to hurt him, just trying to put a little bit of that fear of God in him. He danced like I wanted. Then, he dropped to his knees like his skinny legs wouldn''t hold him any longer. Probably couldn''t.

    Bringing my arm down halfway to straight, I turned to the rest of the townsfolk who weren''t already running. The injured men outside the saloon went pale, likely fearing another shootout that this time they wouldn''t be lucky enough to survive.

    "Now, I already said I ain''t here to hurt nobody," I stated. "I''m here to find out what happened to your town. Y''all go home and let me work."

    The faces staring back at me held terror in their features. Some retreated slowly. Others whispered. I raised my gun again, and they all scattered like startled crows.

    When they were gone, only Deputy Dale remained nearby. He stared at me, his soft jaw set in as hard a line as it could go, trying and failing to conceal his many emotions. Anger and fear were likely to be chief among those.

    "You need more convincing, Deputy?" I asked.

    To my astonishment, he approached me, stopping when he saw my shooting arm twitch, and then pressed forward again. Even I had to admit the guy had some cojones on him.

    He slowed his pace when he reached the porch but still climbed. A pace or two from me, he said, "Don''t know who you are, mister, but I¡­ I can''t let you go in there unaccompanied. It''s a crime scene, and if you ain''t a marshal like you says you ain''t, then you got no right being there."

    I kept my gaze fixed squarely upon him. Then, I spun my pistol once and shoved it into its holster.

    "Unaccompanied, eh?"This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    I shouldered my way past him and down the porch stairs. I couldn''t see him with my back turned as it was, but I knew he was watching, wondering what it was I was doing. Was I leaving? Was I walking ten paces before turning to send him following after the sheriff he''d likely accidentally murdered?

    I stopped when I reached said former sheriff. Dale made a monosyllabic sound like a whimper or a puff. Reaching down, I snatched the star from the sheriff''s jacket and returned to Dale.

    "Fine," I said, palming it against his chest. "Lead the way. Looks like you''re the new sheriff anyway."

    Dale grabbed it before it fell to the ground. He stuttered through an unintelligible response and then promptly plunged it into his pocket. Confused as he might''ve been, his back straightened, and he nodded.

    "It ain''t pretty in there," he said, head shaking.

    "Never is."

    Dale led the way toward double doors that had already been busted open. He pushed them wider, and the frost-coated brass hinges squealed in displeasure.

    The moment I passed the threshold I could sense the increased frigidity in the air as if out of habit, though there was no gooseflesh on my skin. Part of my¡­ condition is that I don''t feel the same way as everyone else. You can shoot me, stab me, kick me¡ªnothing.

    Sounds pretty damn good, don''t it? Well, it ain''t exactly. That numbness extends to the bedroom too. And the bar. And just about anywhere else pleasure can be found.

    The bank''s antechamber looked like it had been nice for such a quaint town, more like the lobby of a playhouse than a bank. But now, the walls and floor were peppered with bullet holes. On the back wall, by the teller''s booth, an aperture the size of a cannonball told the story of a shotgun being involved. Fragments of chewed-up wood mingled amidst the chaos, soaking in meltwater with chunks of ice still floating in it.

    A high, arched ceiling proved the building''s external facade was just that¡ªnot two stories, just a tall one and beautifully crafted. On that ceiling was painted some exaggerated scene of a man finding what appeared to be gold in a spring and hoisting it high above his head as a geyser shot up behind him¡ªtough to tell, coated in ice as it was. Blades of light emanated from the gold as if it were holy. To some men, I suppose it is.

    "Lot of money put into this place," I remarked.

    "Mr. Dufaux has a dream of having a bank in every town across the nation, he does," Dale said.

    ¡°Mr. Dufaux,¡± I said. ¡°And who might that be?"

    Dale looked as if I''d slapped him. Then, his face shone like he was telling a bedtime tale to his children.

    "Why, Mr. Crowley, Reginald Dufaux is a legend! The man started with just the boots on his feet and the hat on his pate. Built¡ªfrom the ground up, I might add¡ªthe premier banking institution in this here region starting in Revelation Springs. Lonely Hill has never been prouder than the day Mr. Dufaux brought his bank and trust to our humble, little old abode."

    "Never heard of him." I shrugged. It wasn''t entirely true. The name was familiar from my passings through the region, but never met the man. I''ve never been too fond of money-baggers who made their fortunes off someone else¡¯s hard earnings.

    I know that sounds funny from a former outlaw and thief, but what we did¡ªme and my old bandit crew the ¡®Scuttlers¡¯ led by Ace Ryker¡ªwas an art form. Took more work than an honest day of hard work.

    "He live around here?" I asked.

    Dale laughed, sharp and short. "Golly, no. He''s got an estate outside Revelation Springs.

    He''s gonna be like a bull on fire when he finds out about this.¡±

    Despite it being midday, it was eerily dark inside. Flurries and dust flittered here and there like ash. Any window that hadn''t been shot out remained fogged up by the thick film of rime that cast an unholy darkness throughout the place. Which answered the question: Is this why I was sent here?

    The White Throne was stingy with details, expecting me to decipher things on my own. Most times, that was simple. Others, not so much. But here, standing inside this dark, wintry, cold bank, I could feel the touch of Hell on it. The hulking outlaw I''d seen wielding ice? Whoever he was, however he got those powers, those sort of abilities come only one way¡ªcommuning with demons.

    Most times, when folks think about Hell, images of fire and brimstone come to mind. But what filled the bank, cold and ice, those are the true signs of Hell.And cold can be just as unforgiving as any flame. It''s really quite simpler than people think. The Almighty, Heaven, they''re light. The sun¡­ that''s fire. Old Lucifer, the Devil, Satan, the Adversary, the Morningstar¡ªdon''t matter what you call him¡ªhis heart is cold as the darkness in which he dwells.

    Whatever happened in this bank, it was Hellish to the core.

    "What happened here, Sheriff?" Steam swirled around my breath.

    For a second, I don''t think Dale knew I was talking to him, being the first time anyone ever called him by that title.

    I realized my words might have sounded like an accusation by the way he responded.

    "Oh. I. Uhm¡­" He turned toward me and continued. "Listen, I don''t know what you think you saw or know¡­" His voice got low even though there was no one living to hear him. "But Sheriff Daniels, he¡¯s a¡ªwas¡ªa good man. He died protecting us like he always did. That¡¯s it, clear and simple.¡±

    Whether or not he accidentally killed the Sheriff in the firefight was irrelevant to me. Bad things happen when bullets start getting flung around willy-nilly.

    "Just tell me what happened here and I¡¯ll be happy to pry no further," I said. After the chaos I witnessed through the sheriff''s eyes, a fresh perspective seemed necessary.

    Dale swallowed the lump in his throat. "Thank you, marshal.¡±

    "Name''s Crowley. And I ain''t a marshal. We clear on that?"

    Dale nodded.

    "What. Happened. Here?" I said each word pointedly like I wasn''t gonna ask again.

    "Wish I understood," Dale said, his gaze growing distant. "Never seen them before, and they came in like a twister and left just as quick. Or, like a blizzard, I reckon."

    "Just took the money and split, huh?"

    "Like nothing I''ve ever seen. Before anyone in town knew what happened, they''d already broke the safe open. Barely time to mount a defense. Look."

    He gestured to the teller¡¯s desk, the bars from the counter to the ceiling offering extra protection and making it hard to see the vault beyond. So many snow eddies filled the other side, I felt like we''d entered one of those toy snow globes.

    Our boots sloshed through an inch of water while he led me around. The grated door leading behind the bars lay in shards on the floor, shattered like glass. Water rippled through from my steps, and my foot hit a chunk of ice. And not just ice.

    A man was frozen solid on his knees, eyes open, staring in horror at whatever had done this to him. He looked as if an avalanche had buried him. The shotgun in his hand had been stuck with him, seemingly the culprit responsible for blowing that hole in the wall.

    The vault door behind him was snapped open, unnatural tendrils of ice snaking through the crank. Even from here, I could tell the inside was completely empty. A bank branch in a small town like this wouldn''t house too much, but money''s money, and it was gone.

    "Harvey ran this branch," Dale said, barely above a whisper. "Nice fella. Bit of a drinker, though."

    "No warmth in the belly could have saved him from this." I lay my hand upon the bank manager''s shoulder, the ice slick as it slowly melted. Enough that some frostbit flesh poked through. While Dale was busy peeking around corners as if anyone was still around, I tried to Divine the poor sap.

    Nothing happened. Well, that''s not entirely accurate. But, seeing as I only get to witness the final half-a-minute or so of a life, all I saw was a dark blur¡ªthe nothingness Harvey here saw from within the ice. I felt the Hellish bitter cold seeping through to his bones before numbness set in. Heard the slow thump, thump, thumping of his heart before it all went black.

    When I came too, even my feelingless body gave off a shiver. What a way to go. I got thirty seconds. Only God knows how long he lived inside his frozen tomb, wondering where it all went wrong.

    "That safe was supposed to be impenetrable," Dale said, poking around the thick metal entry.

    "Apparently not," I said, rising.

    Incredulity wracked his features. "What kind of weapon could freeze it like that? And Harvey¡­ It''s almost like¡ª"

    "How many were there, Sheriff?" I interrupted. I didn''t want him to finish the sentence and say the word I knew was coming. The all-powerful word that can give cause for snow in a place where it doesn''t snow.

    Magic.

    When normal people start throwing around that word, well, let''s just say my job gets tougher.

    "Please stop calling me that," Dale said. "I ain''t proud of what happened."

    "Proud or not, you''re all this town''s got now, son. So, tell me what you know."

    It was time to pry the mind of the crime''s chief witness. The dead weren''t gonna show me any more secrets. But one thing was certain¡ªthings didn''t add up. Not one damn bit. Demons and the like, things I usually chased after, didn''t have much need for cash. And these outlaws didn''t seem to be making it a goal of killing like possessed or demon hosts typically did. Sure, three were dead, but only lawmen and the teller who''d pulled a boomstick.

    "Sheriff," I said. "You plan on answering?"

    Dale looked like he was having a conniption. He was sweating before. Now? It was like a dam burst, and a whole ocean was pouring off him.

    "It was pretty wild, Mr. Crowley."

    "That ain''t what I asked."

    He peered out the window as if the outlaws might come back. "I counted two. Maybe three."

    "Well, which was it?"

    "I-I¡ª"

    "It don''t matter. A crew that small robbed your town blind and got out unscathed?"

    Again, Dale looked dejected. "It''s a small town, Mr. Crowley. Only about a hundred or so, not counting those living close enough to use our services."

    "The people of Lonely Hill ain''t armed?"

    "Half of us are women and children," he said.

    "Still, seems easy enough to take down two or three outlaws who get themselves boxed in here when there''s a dozen or more armed and knowing how to shoot."

    He closed his eyes and shook his head. "You didn''t see them."

    Fact was, I had. Or at least two of them. But he didn''t need to know the extent of it.

    "One was big," he continued. "Real big, with crazy hair like¡­ like snow. The other moved so fast she was a blur to my eyes. I think her skin was painted. I¡­ I just kept shooting and¡­"

    He paused for a moment, no doubt thinking about that stray bullet which claimed his sheriff¡¯s life.

    "And the third you maybe saw?" I asked, hoping to break that train of thought.

    "Just felt the wind when bullets whipped past from somewhere on the rooftops."

    "Sharpshooter, huh?"

    "Maybe. Sharpest I''ve ever seen."

    "More would be dead if that were true," I said.

    ¡°It was probably his bullet killed Sheriff Daniels.¡±

    Dale sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than me. So, I just gave him a sidelong glare and waited for him to continue. He blinked fast a few times before he did.

    "Anyway, he scared everyone away like he was herding us,¡± he said. ¡°Like we was sheep. Carved a path right out of the square after they broke open the vault. Sent most of us running."

    I felt like that last sentence was a slip of his tongue, and his red face agreed. Then, his words did too.

    "Wasn''t like I ran," he said, quick. "Stayed down right outside, and I think they thought I was dead. Heard every word they said on the way out. Surviving''s got to count for something."

    I glared so hard at him he stopped to swallow the rock forming in his throat.

    "Didn''t think that was a good bit to start with?" I said.

    "Forgive me, Mr. Crowley, but I still don''t know who you is."

    "I is the only damn bastard around here that ain''t hiding out. I¡¯m here to help and you need to cooperate.¡±

    He nodded, slow.

    "Well, I heard them all, but it was loud. So loud with the screaming, horses, gunshots¡­ I ain''t even sure it was English."

    I threw my hands up in frustration.

    "Wait. Wait," he said, raising his own to placate me. "I think I heard the big one say it was time to hit the next one."

    "You think?"

    "He did. He said it was time to get on."

    "Which way did they leave?¡± I asked.

    "Huh?"

    I slapped his arm. "When they left, which way did they go?¡±

    He bit his lip, and I could see the gears of his mind turning.

    "West," he decided, finally.

    "You sure?"

    He nodded. "Yeah, after they loaded everything onto a wagon, they headed west."

    "What''s the nearest town in that direction big enough to have a bank?"

    "Well, it''s Elkhart, I reckon. You don''t think¡ª"

    "Of course, I think. If they''re going on a spree, they''ll be moving fast."

    "We gotta warn them."

    "I plan to do a lot more than warn." I swept out from behind the teller''s station, blowing by him.

    I stopped by the bank''s entrance. Turning to him, I tipped my hat. "Good luck with Mr. Dufaux," I told him. Then, I headed out and back toward Timperina. She was busy nipping at a young boy trying to give her a pat. She didn''t have much tolerance for anybody but me.

    Shooing him off, I walked her by the saloon to see if I could get any of the injured men talking. Nobody had seen any more than I already had. Same ghost stories of a shooter on the roof, an impossibly fast woman that some were sure was a man. And a big brute with some kind of dynamite that blew ice instead of fire.

    Nothing that helped more than what Dale spoke of.

    Not keen on wasting any more time, I decided to leave Lonely Hill in my dust. At least I wasn''t riding blind anymore. There were many ways it could come about, but someone had been entrusted with the frigid powers of Hell and was using them to get rich.

    I can''t say I wouldn''t have done the same if I''d been so lucky back when I was an outlaw. But I wasn''t anymore. And if all these years serving the White Throne had taught me anything, it was that any man or thing with abilities like this didn''t usually stop at robbing and fending off lawmen.

    They escalated. Innocents died.

    That is, unless I stopped them first. Frozen corpses, icy black magic, Hellish murder¡ªall in a day''s work.

 Chapter 3

    It''s hard to remember the days, crossing the wild, when I was a normal man. Not sure how people do it. Bad enough with bandits, outlaws, brigands, and loons out here¡ªmen depraved either from birth or gone nuts with their brains baking in the hot sun. Worse knowing what other monsters lurk in the forgotten corners of the world. Guess that''s what makes it simple, though, ain''t it? Most folks don''t know any better.

    But when the sun goes down in the West, and the wolves start their song, it''s hard not to clench a bit tighter on the reins. People aren¡¯t afraid of being alone in the dark. They''re afraid of not being alone in the dark.

    And friend, I''ll tell you one thing: you ain''t never alone. Not ever.

    One of my many blessings from on High is the ability to see as well at midnight as at noon. Good for spotting wicked beings that may be after me. And wicked things are always after the Black Badges. They ain¡¯t happy we escaped our fate. Ain¡¯t happy we got the second chance they never did.

    So, I stick to the worn paths.

    Just easier that way. And poor Timperina is getting on in years. She may be sturdy as an ox, but I feel better not pushing her to gallop unless I''ve got no better choice. And her ears ain''t what they used to be, either. Sometimes, I feel her muscles tense over threats so distant, she need not worry her at all.

    Maybe it isn¡¯t age. Maybe she and I have run into one too many werewolves or shapeshifters. Hard to know the mind of a horse. Could be, she thinks every living thing her weary eyes behold might transform into something rabid and terrifying.

    Shit, she¡¯s not all wrong about that. The meditation of wise men ain''t always sound¡­ but horses and simple things? Humans should be so lucky.

    ¡°Crooowleeey.¡±

    I heard the voice of my angelic handler, Shargrafein, but it was really more like a nagging tingle in the back of my mind. I wasn''t in the mood, not often I am.

    "What do you think, girl?" I leaned over and whispered into Timp''s ear. "Should I answer?"

    Timp''s ear twitched in response, and she released a low snort. I patted the side of her neck and snickered. "Yeah. You can say that again."

    "Crowleeey." My name rang again, a pinprick in my brain.

    I clicked my tongue, and Timp¡ªever the obedient girl¡ªslowed to a meander. I rustled through my pocket and pulled out an old shaving mirror. A pretty thing, once, with an intricate design of flowers and birds¡ªdoves, I think¡ªdecorating its iron case. The symbol of the Holy Trinity centered the piece, three ovals interconnecting in the center. Used to look silver¡ªthough it wasn''t. None of us supernatural types could touch the stuff, which is why I always wear gloves. But even so, now it appeared more made of dirt than anything else. Pitted and black, in need of a good polish.

    There was a time when my angelic benefactor Shargrafein would need to wait for me to find a reflective surface, be it looking glass or still water before she could badger me about what I was or wasn''t doing. But I guess I''d pissed her off one too many times. She''d forced this little trinket upon me, and now it was always right there in my pocket to give me a metaphorical headache.

    I flipped open the clasp and found myself accosted by her reflection instead of my own.

    "Sorry to keep you waiting, Sweetheart," I said.

    "Do not call me that," she replied, in a voice like velvet and sweet as white cake. It was something, hearing words from coming from the mirror. There were no lips to move, only the vague form of a woman''s face, though she appeared more like swirling smoke. I think I get under her skin¡ªrather, I know I do¡ªbut she gets under mine, too. Fair is fair, in my book. Tit for proverbial tat.

    "Apologies, oh, Illustrious Shar of the pearly gates," I said, bowing my head slightly. "What can your humble servant do you for today?"

    "I am in no mood for games, Crowley," she snapped.

    "Pretty sure you say that every time."

    "Then perhaps you should adjust your attitude."

    "What''s the matter, Shar¡ªParadise ain''t comfy?"

    "You know nothing of Paradise."

    "Never professed to, you keeping me stuck here and all."

    The mirror shuddered ever so slightly. Such a frail little thing to contain the immortal being within its reflection. But the Hand of God is steady, and I kept my grip.

    "You are insufferable," Shar said.

    "Just a bit rattled from what I walked into back there," I replied. "How is it that you always seem to send me stumbling upon death and destruction after it''s over with? Just occasionally, it''d be nice to stop some."

    "If only the agents of Hell warned us before they struck."

    I smirked. "Was that sarcasm, Shar?" I grabbed the cuff of my shirt between my fingers and the heel of my hand and rubbed the mirror''s surface. "Seems I''m rubbing off on you."

    "Enough."

    The way she said it shut my trap tighter than a nun''s thighs. Shargrafein is a pain in my ass, but she''s my handler in the shadow war between Heaven and Hell that I was unwittingly thrust into. And an angel. There''s a ton of things about what I am and who I serve that I don''t reckon I''ll ever understand, but she''s guided me on this here mortal plan since the day I awoke in Cathedral Rock with a burn mark on my chest.

    ¡°He giveth and taketh away,¡± the good book says, and I know if I became too much of a hassle, she''d do just that and take this¡­ gift away. Punch me straight to the icy pits of Hell.

    I guess that''s a lesson we all need reminding of now and again: not every gift comes with ribbons and a bow. Thing is, you survive long enough, the only thing left to fear is not surviving any longer.

    "What is it you need?" I asked again, a little more pointed this time. "I saw what I saw in Lonely Hill. Confusing way to rob a bank, you ask me. If they''re fixing to keep this spree going, then Elkhart''s the most likely place to be, ain''t it?"

    "As always, you see nothing," Shar rebuked.

    "I saw an evil son of a bitch, plain as day. Throwing Hellish magic and leaving corpses."

    "No. What you witnessed was a flagrant disregard for the lesser kingdom¡ªthat of mankind. One of Lucifer''s kin empowered one of the Children within that bank. This isn''t the spawn of demons misplaced in your world as it was in Dead Acre or a mere monster surviving off its call to the darkness. Those powers were bestowed upon that man, same as yours. This is an act of war."Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    "Against whom?"

    "Against the Throne you serve until we deem otherwise."

    I sniffed a little laugh. "What''s Heaven care about cash?"

    "It''s not¡ª"

    "Well, I suppose I''ve seen more than a fair share doled out to the priests during mass. Guess it makes sense they got banks up there."

    "Crowley!" Shargrafein''s voice boomed, interrupted my rant. "It''s not about money." This time, the mirror whistled like the glass was right on the precipice of becoming a thousand little chips.

    A raven flapped out of the nearby brush. Timp whinnied, but I gave her mane a tug to remind her I was still there.

    "It''s about chaos," she continued, more calmly. "I sense Abbadon, or even Chokoketh behind this."

    "Remind me which evil bastard that is again?" I asked.

    I recognized the name Abbadon. We all did, us Hands of God. But sometimes, my memory goes a little fuzzy with all these wacky names. The last book says Abbadon is "a king, the angel of the bottomless pit" and describes him like a plague of locusts resembling horses with crowned human faces, women''s hair, lions'' teeth, wings, iron breast-plates, and a tail with a scorpion''s stinger. Sounded downright charming.

    But Chokoketh?

    "He goes by many names as he appears to Earth''s many peoples,¡± Shar explained. ¡°Among the most notable, Loki, Prometheus, Anansi¡ªbut here, he is most commonly called Coyote."

    Right. Now his name rang a bell, and it unsettled me. I thought about the raven who''d just flown the coop when Shar called my name. It was no secret that the Native American people in these parts often spoke of a trickster god who often masqueraded as a raven. Abaddon was Hell''s lord of destruction, but at least he was honest about his role. This Chokoketh would just as soon bed you then kill you, and you''d never know his true intent until the knife slid between your ribs.

    "The job¡¯s the job," I said, hiding my very real concern. "What''s it matter to me?"

    "It means, be wary, Crowley. Hell grows bolder. The Fallen Ones scheme. The Throne fears it won''t be long until they try and open another Hellmouth."

    ¡°Huh. Ain''t like your kind to fear," I said.

    According to my knowledge¡ªlimited as it might''ve been¡ªa new Hellmouth hasn''t been raised in centuries, back when the American Frontier was no more than a few wood houses and a brothel. Before America was anything, really. There''re dormant ones here and there, from old times, that occasionally leak something Hellish through, but the Hands of God keep them under control¡­ mostly.

    We''re spread out all over this fine planet, I''ve been told. I''ve only met a few, but I reckon by the things I hear, there''s gotta be at least a hundred of us from here in the West to the Orient.

    "You think this bank robber was what¡ªone of the Fallen?" I asked.

    "It is impossible to know yet," Shar said. "You saw very little."

    Admittedly, by then I''d gone soft on Shar''s warnings. Every time we talk, it''s "Hell this" and "Hell that." Constantly, warning me that Lucifer¡¯s minions are after me at every turn. Eventually, you just get used to being ready for anything.

    However, if this was truly the work of one of the Fallen Ones, eager to open a Hellmouth¡­

    "Of course," I groaned. "Tell me again, what''s the benefit of being up there in the clouds, looking down on us? You''re telling me what I saw¡ªwell, it wasn''t you or the White Throne who told me where they were headed next. And considering you ain''t turning me around, my guess is I¡¯m right."

    "Do not presume to understand what is beyond you, Crowley."

    "Oh, I wouldn''t dare. But it ain''t angels these bastards are killing. Sometimes, I worry you forget that."

    "The White Throne takes the deaths of the Children very seriously," she said. I started to protest, but she cut me off. "Just focus on the task at hand. You do not have the luxury of worries."

    "Sure, Shar. I''ll take your notes to heart."

    "I mean it, Crowley. No dawdling. No veering from the path. And for the final time, my name is not Shar."

    "And what should I¡ª" Just like that, she was gone. No clap of thunder or beam of light, just my little mirror flickering back to reflecting my weathered face and the pale old moon behind me.

    I sighed and clacked it shut. More riddles and skittles. I swear, sometimes I think I''m right and the beings above and below, they only involve humanity because they''ve got nothing better to do. That they created us needy creatures, and then we grew beyond needing them so much.

    It''s like the West is a big old chessboard, and there''s demons and angels trading rooks with pawns. Was this checkmate? Doubt it. Probably just more of the same.

    That raven crowed somewhere overhead, reminding me of what Shar had said of Chokoketh. All I could do was hope this current situation didn¡¯t actually involve him. When actual demons start getting involved, things get dicey. I prefer simple assignments, with simple answers.

    "What do you think, Timp?" I asked. "Is it time for Kingdom Come?"

    She gave a deep snort, then a whinny as she shook her tawny mane.

    "Yeah, I doubt it too. Hell can''t have nearly as much fun if they break this old world open."

    Timperina pushed through a field, brown with summer. Hell, it''s always brown around these parts, and worse the farther West you go. Green becomes as rare as decent, honorable men.

    My gaze lifted toward the path, snaking through dry brush. I hadn''t even realized how quiet it was. Peaceful even.

    That notion went to Hell in hand-basket.

    "Help!" someone shrieked.

    Timp reared up on her hind legs and neighed. She might have darted if I hadn''t steadied her.

    A woman came stumbling out of a thicket, doing her best to run.

    She wore a fine dress made of some kind of rich cotton, but its bottom was muddied and torn. If she''d been wearing shoes, they were nowhere in sight, and I could only imagine how many stickers and prickers would be digging into her bare flesh.

    She saw me a second later and threw herself onto the dirt right in my path, not caring that her knees scraped against rocks and Lord knows what else in the darkness.

    "P-please, you have to help me¡­" she whimpered.

    I squinted at her, out in the middle of nowhere, with not even the glow of a campfire in sight. There was no blood on her that I could see. That was a good sign, at least. But tears aplenty streamed down her dirt-caked cheeks. Something put the fear of God in her; of that, there was no doubt. Enough for her to throw herself at the mercy of a traveler at night who looked, well, if I''m being honest, as dangerous as me.

    Can''t say I approved. What if I was anybody else?

    She pled more, grasping at Timp''s hooves. My girl was careful not to hurt her as she clopped away from the lady''s touch. I watched the woman, then looked to the road.

    "No veering from the path," Shar had said, as if she knew this was coming around the bend.

    Of course, I stopped. Undead Hand of God, I may be. Ex-outlaw with enough blood on his hands to make a priest blanch, sure. But one thing I am that even the White Throne can''t take away is me being a gentleman.

    And so, giving Timp''s reins a light tug, I did what any gentleman should.

    "What''s got you ruffled, miss?" I asked.

    Gazing down on her from atop a horse Timp''s size, I must''ve looked damn intimidating. Hair down to my shoulders, a big black duster, and hat to match. A shaggy beard¡ªnot that I needed to shave. Since the day the White Throne brought me back to life, I hadn''t touched my beard, and it hadn''t grown a hair longer nor any more flecked with gray. Who was I to know if the hairs were as dead as me? If I shaved them off, would my face remain smooth as silk for all of time?

    Just the thought of it makes me shudder more than old Lucifer ever could. Not a risk I was willing to take. You expect a baby-faced demon hunter to shake the hearts of the wicked? Not likely.

    All this and still, the woman came right up beside me and clutched the sole of my boot.

    "My Lyle, he¡­ he¡­" she sniveled. She kept going like that for a few seconds before I put an end to it.

    "Slow down," I told her gently.

    I clicked my tongue, warning Timp not to get all rambunctious if I strayed too far. Swinging my right leg over the saddle, I nudged a bit of distance between her and me before sliding down. The echoes of my spurs clanked like an angry rattler.

    I was no fool, and I certainly wasn''t a virgin to the wild. First thing I did was check from side to side. Bandits loved to prey on backwater roads like this. There''s this old saying that there''s honor amongst thieves, and I reckon that''s as much myth as half the creatures I find myself battling. Wasn''t above those types to throw a pretty lass out like a fishing lure and see what hapless traveler went to biting.

    My hearing was good before the Almighty brought me back. Now, it was keen as a hawk. We were surrounded by nothing but the soft rustle of wind against the brush. No men lurking in the shadows. Nothing.

    The woman clasped her chest, stuck between crying and hyperventilating.

    "Take a breath, slow and easy," I said as I took her by the shoulders. "What''s your name, miss?"

    I couldn''t see the color of her eyes in the night, but I held her gaze until she found the wherewithal to focus. Her arms lifted as her chest heaved.

    "Agatha¡­"

    "There you go, Agatha. Breathe. All right. Now, start slow and tell me what in God''s name you''re doing out here? Haven''t you heard there''s outlaws about?"

    "My Lyle and I¡­" She inhaled sharply. "He brought me out here to show me his favorite spot down by the gorge. But something¡­ something grabbed him, and¡­"

    "Some-thing?"

    She blinked. ¡°Or someone. I don''t know, but I heard screaming and growling and¡­ Oh, please."

    She fell against me, arms around my neck. All the things I''ve seen and done, this caught me by surprise, my being unapproachable and all that.

    Unable to feel by human definitions, I still sensed Shar''s vexation with me for even stopping, like a bee zipping around in my chest. I could almost hear echoes of her shouting "Stay on the path!"

    I told myself it was just a night dog, then told Agatha to "Show me the way.¡±

 Chapter 4

    Shargrafein¡¯s mirror rattled around in my duster pocket, so I shoved that son of a bitch into one of Timp''s saddlebags before moving on.

    Even as Agatha took my hand to lead me into the brush, I asked the question I often found upon my mind in those waking hours when sleep escaped me. Why not curse more like me? Make an army of Black Badges. That way, it ain''t no damn hitch when one of us decides to roam a bit and help someone in need?

    I suppose it''s a staffing issue. Imagine trying to run a railroad from across the Atlantic, let alone between worldly realms. And trust me, among ruffians like me, I''m damn pliable. Always was the type to join a crew of outlaws, not start one. Knowing when and how to take orders is just part of the game. Hell, sometimes it''s harder than leading.

    But occasionally, in this endless cycle of unlife, I can''t help but do something for me. I¡¯d spent my past lifetime doing wrong by a lot of people. Serving the White Throne feels good sometimes, but I couldn¡¯t just ignore a lady in peril because Shar needed me. An angel should understand my need to atone, shouldn¡¯t she? Shouldn¡¯t she give a damn about Agatha too?

    "It''s just this way," Agatha said, freeing the grimy hem of her flowered dress from some thicket before pushing onward. The moonlight caught her freckled cheek as she glanced back, glinting across sticky tears.

    I paused and let go of her hand. Something had changed from the road. No tremor in her tone, no wobbly knees or hands itching to grab onto anything for support. She grew steady as a field surgeon, her every step composed despite bare and bloodied-up feet.

    Meanwhile, dried stems snapped under my boots. Hardened dirt crunched. Each sound drew my right hand freshly to the pearl grip of my pistol. And the¡ªthis time¡ªunmistakable howling of a wolf. Maybe a whole band? That got my left hand down too.

    Wasn''t a werewolf pack, I didn''t think. They were usually in more mountainous regions where hiding was easy. Here, it would be all too simple to get caught feeding. However, in these times, you never know. More years I''m around, the more Americans and immigrants flock to these previously wild parts¡ªthe weirder things seemed to get.

    "You sure this is the way, Agatha?" I asked, more as a way to gauge her level of self-possession.

    Naturally, those words brought a swell of Shar''s displeasure to me.

    Imagine having an itch on your bones, impossible to reach but you¡¯d still scratch off all your skin trying.

    That''s basically it¡ªwhat it feels like when Shar''s angry. I¡¯d sensed it all across the searing star burned into my chest. Problem is, I also tended to feel it when when something Hellish was about. Makes it damn difficult to decipher one from another. On the one hand, Shar''s pretty much always pissed at me. On the other, there''s often demons and the like lurking around.

    Robbed of nearly all feeling, a burning on my chest was the one Heaven saw fit to leave me with. Not the touch of Agatha¡¯s hand. Or the kiss of a cool breeze. No.

    So, in my humble opinion, Shar and her masters could wait a goddamn second.

    Agatha reached the crest of a ridge before turning to wave me on. No words, just the beckoning. I picked up my pace, but I kept my wherewithal, checking the shadowy places before, finally, tugging on her back collar. She didn''t stop. Didn''t react. So, I moved ahead of her and stuck out my arm.

    "Sorry, miss, but I''m thinking I should go first." She stared at me blankly, but she stopped this time. "And no, it ain''t ¡¯cause I think you can''t handle yourself. But only one of us is armed."

    I gave my holsters an audible tap. It was as much to remind her I was packing than to ease any of her fears. Something wasn''t right, and I still wasn''t sure she wasn''t luring me right into the waiting arms of some bandits. Ace Ryker and my Scuttlers were never above or afraid of using damsels to trap wannabe heroes after all.

    Agatha simply kept staring. Finally, a fly landed on her cheek to sip the salt of her tears. I thought for sure it would stir her to action, but nothing. Didn''t even swat it away. Maybe she was being sincere, after all.

    Poor girl. In total shock. As if no parent or teacher had ever thought to warn her what happens when you go off adventuring into the wilderness with some boy.

    No matter. No use in looking back. Too late for could-haves. So, I went forward, her following close behind.

    I scampered down an incline littered with sharp rocks and brambles. My foot twisted on one, and I grabbed a thorny vine to slow my descent. It kept me from sliding off into a ravine, but those suckers filled the fingers of my glove, and, for a rare occasion, I was thankful to feel nothing.

    Once steady, I turned to lend her a hand, knowing that if my boots and gloves were so susceptible, she''d be in dire straits. Except, Agatha didn''t seem to have any trouble at all. I suspected she''d just been this way before and knew what to expect.

    I skirted along a thin ledge, a narrow stream gurgling below. Again, the canine howled, and I searched the ridge across the way.

    Then it hit me. Not a wolf or a coyote. A recent dustup with werewolves back in Dead Acre must''ve had me on edge, hearing things that weren''t. That howl belonged to a train whistle¡ªa couple of miles out, by the sound of it.

    "There''s a fall right where the tracks cross," Agatha said. She''d been silent so long, I nearly slipped from the jolt of it. "Lyle said it was ''his spot.'' Loved listening to the water."

    "Don''t they all.¡± I chuckled mirthlessly. All these decades later, young men were still up to the same tricks. "How far down?"

    "Can''t miss it."

    "That ain''t why I ask. You hear that?" I closed my eyes and took a whiff of the brisk evening air. The water. The wind. Dead branches rustling.

    "Nothing," I answered for her, taking her lack of response as understanding my meaning. "If something got him. Well¡­"

    "Oh, please, don''t say that!"

    Agatha started crying anew and very nearly hurled herself at me. I was lucky to catch her before we both found ourselves tumbling down the steep slope to what was sure to be her death and my inconvenience. I could still break bones, though they tended to not stay broke long. Gets tiresome, snapping the pieces inside my flesh suit back into place and waiting to heal, but all-in-all, it beats death.

    "Careful, now, miss," I said.

    "I''m sorry." She sunk back, wiping her eyes and smearing dirt. "I just¡­ I don''t¡ªI can''t think it. That Lyle¡­ We''re going to be married, him and me. He said so."

    It took ample effort to hold back a grin. Oh, to be young and na?ve again.

    "Just try and be careful," I said. "The pass narrows up along here¡ª"

    A groan echoed, soft and reeking of pain and fear. The sound of a man in trouble.

    "Stay here!" I ordered.

    Within a step, I had both my pistols out, hammers pulled back. When you ain''t afraid of dying, moving along ledges like these is a cinch. So much error in balancing is caused by fear. Without Agatha as a concern, I barely thought about it, and I was on the other side in moments.

    Another groan. I skipped an incline, leaping down and holding my Stetson atop my head with the barrel of my pistol¡ªanother thing I wouldn''t suggest to those fearful of a bullet to the brain. I touched down on the landing of a small cave halfway down. The ravine ran to my left. Above, train tracks crossed a short bridge. I had trouble believing it could support the weight of a locomotive, but I''ve been wrong before.

    And wouldn''t you know, just like Agatha had said, on the other side of the pass was a thin waterfall feeding the stream.

    As I gained my bearings, Shar''s judgment stung at me worse yet.

    "Oh, quiet, you," I told her aloud, knowing somehow, some way, she was listening.

    I whipped around with my pistols raised and edged slowly into the cave''s open maw. A kerosene lamp burned nearby, running low and barely casting more than a hazy orange glow.

    That whimper came louder now from within the darkness.

    "You Lyle?" I asked the night.

    I got no immediate reply, so I asked again.

    The agony he was in became evident with his next moan.

    "Hold on," I said, pushing in deeper, following the sound of his voice. "Keep making noise so I can find you."

    He listened, but the shape of the cavern made it hard to tell where his voice was coming from, sending echoes every-which-way. I carefully made my way to the lamp first and lifted it. When my pupils adjusted, the first thing I saw was blood. So much blood, fresh as a baby''s breath.

    Amidst it all lay a pathetic-looking man, hunched up against the wall. His flesh was sallow and his cheeks gaunt. Through the tears in his shirt, his ribs bulged like the ebony keys on a piano. He looked completely starved.

    He''d clearly been here a while. Longer than a while. This man was on sitting on death''s doorstep, and something was purposefully keeping him alive. His right leg was a stump above the kneecap, wrapped with rags to stem the bleeding. Was that to keep him from running?

    "Christ in a handbasket,¡± I whispered

    I hurried to his side and knelt there. Despite his pained groans, he didn''t seem panicked. Just like Agatha, he seemed to be in a state of shock. Then his head swiveled slowly, and he affected a thin smile.

    Blood all around us, missing limbs, and darkness¡­ that smile was more terrifying than any of it.

    "You made it," he said, teeth coated in blood.

    He reached out to touch my cheek, fingers so frail that the skin seemed pointless. I grasped his wrist.

    "Who did this to you?"

    "We''re going to be married, Agatha and me,¡± he said. ¡°Didn''t you hear?"

    "Yeah, I heard.¡±

    Talking to him wouldn''t get me anywhere. Starvation clearly had him hallucinating. Awful thing to say, but he''d be better off dead. Even considered delivering the blow myself.

    The strangest part was that the rest of the cavern appeared to be vacant. All this blood, it couldn''t have come from only him. His leg was gone. No bones. No weapons. No chest of belongings if some manner of bandit holed up here.

    "Isn''t it pretty here?" My gaze snapped up to spot Agatha by the mouth of the cavern, walking slowly my way.

    I raised both pistols at her.

    "Have you lost your ever-loving mind, Missy?" I pointed one of my Peacemakers Lyle''s way and said, "You said he was in danger."

    If she heard me at all, she ignored.

    "Our parents said we couldn''t be together." Agatha¡¯s voice was barely above a whisper. "We were going to be married¡­ here. In secret."

    "Our secret," Lyle added from behind me.

    I eyed her warily as she closed the distance between us. Was that menace in her eyes? Was she not what she appeared?

    "They say if you listen closely to the water, it''s like God''s playing a song just for you." She closed her eyes and hummed and short, sweet melody.

    "There ain''t no God here," I said, ready to blow a couple holes through her if I needed to. Looking back at Lyle, I yelled, "What the hell did you do!"

    Agatha continued humming, and that same melody grew louder from elsewhere, picked up by what sounded like a harmonica. Now, I can''t feel much outside Shar¡¯s nagging, but those notes, they resonated with me, down deep into my bones. I found myself unable to move, halfway between crouching and standing. Mesmerized.

    The train whistle sounded again, temporarily drawing my attention upward but just as quickly, I felt entranced again.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    Behind Agatha, a shadow unfurled from within the crisscrossing beams of the railroad bridge. I witnessed the curved horns atop its head first, big as wagon wheels. Long, sharp claws scraped along the wood before the creature dropped, landing on two cloven hooves. Moonlight illuminated a face that was half-man-half-beast. At least what I could see of it through the tussles of my straggly hair.

    Gun to my head, I''d call it a giant goat-man, but that''d be a disservice to most goats. And this thing¡­ intimidating wasn''t even the word. A mortal man would likely have soiled himself then and there from the horror.

    Situations like this are why I keep my weapons loaded with silver bullets. They put men down fine enough, and that particular metal has a nasty effect on creatures not meant for this world.

    I once heard a rumor it was because Judas Iscariot took silver in exchange for the betrayal of his Lord. Don''t know if it''s true, don''t even really care. Like I said, I''m happy to follow the lead rather than take it. Do my job, keep my head down. Right now, that meant blowing holes in Billy Goat Gruff.

    Only problem was, presently, despite my best efforts, I couldn''t pull the triggers.

    The ugly beast had a harmonica made of what looked like bone pressed to its lips and played music sweet as an angel''s harp. Like my hands, the rest of me was seized up. All I could do was stare as it clomped closer.

    With it so near, I could see now that it bore even less a likeness to a goat than I''d originally thought. In the center of its face, it had a single eye as big as my whole damn head. It shone like moonlight, bright yellow, a dark slit for a pupil.

    "What are you?" Lyle asked me.

    My eyes shifted enough to see Lyle still on his rump. Wasn''t like he was going anywhere with only one leg. Except, now, he eyed me in a way similar to the beast. Like he wanted to eat me.

    "Many humans have come here to die. To feed me their fear. Their souls. The essence of their lives."

    It was evident now that he was speaking in the creature''s stead. Even his voice had dropped an octave or two. The beast was using Lyle and his would-be fianc¨¦ like mouthpieces while his own played that incessant tune. If I hadn''t already hated the screeching instrument, I did now.

    "You are afraid, even if you tell yourself you aren''t," Agatha said. Her voice, like Lyle''s, had gained a cavernous quality.

    I found myself unable to respond, as if my lips were sewn together by some eldritch force. In a few long strides, the creature was upon me. But then, it stopped. That big ass eye looked me over, up and down. The creature knelt, studying me. I could feel it in my head, scratching around.

    My chest itched something fierce, too, and it wasn¡¯t just Shar¡¯s ire.

    This was a Nephilim¡ªthe result of the heinous act of Lucifer''s Fallen sticking their vile little peckers where they don''t belong. In this case, thousands of years ago, that meant the Early Children, as Shar likes to call them¡ªhuman women. I can''t imagine the scene at those births. Though, they don¡¯t all come out looking as bad as this goat beast.

    In fact, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to what those foul fornications created, or what their creations then conjured. Everything from vampires to fairies and every wretched thing in between.

    All I know is they keep me busy. Job security. As long as Nephilim remain on Earth, it keeps me out of Hell a bit longer, even if demons like Chekokath decide to stop causing grief.

    What precise kind this one was, I wasn''t sure, but it one was one of the lesser Nephilim. Thankfully. The more sophisticated ones usually closer resemble humans, able to blend in. But that don¡¯t make these more monstrous, brutish types any less worthy of fear.

    Fear can be like drowning in ice water. You just suck down a little bit, and it fills your lungs, ever-expanding until you can''t take it anymore. Even if you¡¯re dead like me.

    Before I¡¯d kicked the bucket, I couldn''t spell faith. But once you come to terms with being brought back to life, you got no choice but to have a little.

    I finally forced my mouth to form words, and with great effort, began reciting one of the few things I recalled from studying under Father Osgood as a kid growing up in Granger''s Outlook.

    "And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul¡ª"

    "You have a body," Lyle cut me off in the voice of the lesser Nephilim, "though no life runs within." The beast cocked its head at me like a curious hound while Lyle spoke. "Where is your soul? You are empty."

    With its free hand, the beast lowered my arms. It spread its fingers across my entire torso as if tracing the points of my star-shaped brand. Long, sharp nails raked across my chest. It drew gashes but no blood¡ªjust a sort of flaky dead flesh.

    It circled me, and a sickly greenish hand curled over my shoulder and crawled up my neck.

    "Where is your soul?" Agatha said, repeating her lover''s words.

    Soul is never a word you want to hear from a Hellish being. They feed on souls, and this one¡­ well, it seemed to have developed a liking for playing with its food. Hard to believe somewhere down the line, this thing had human ancestors. Or at least one.

    Or maybe it ain''t. Whatever anything from Hell is capable of, men have done just as bad or worse. Only difference is men are born weaker.

    Nephilim have all sorts of twisted, unique abilities, and apparently this one¡¯s songs could send a body into a trance, hypnotized, allowing it to control another''s actions with a combination of melody and thought.

    Controlling others¡­ Hands of God may all have differing opinions, but there was no unholy power that unsettled me more than that one.

    Currently, my thoughts and my sight remained my own, likely because of Heaven''s hold on me, but otherwise, I was its puppet as long as it played. Most times, monsters like this one lurk in the darkness¡ªthe stuff of legend. Sometimes, they cause too much a ruckus, and then the White Throne dispatches me. Why wait?

    Looking at Lyle and Agatha, my heart hurt. I thought about Shar and why she''d told me to stay on the path and not veer. Why were these two not worth the trouble, yet a couple of supernatural bank robbers were? Why were the countless others this vile beast made victims any less important than some stolen money?

    "You are unable to die, yet stuck here to live," Lyle began, and then Agatha joined him to simultaneously say, "Like me."

    "I''m nothing¡­ like you¡­." I strained to respond.

    "My minions did well to lure you here," Lyle said as the beast encircled me. "But they are so feeble. Disposable." The beast extended one of its razor-sharp talons to Lyle''s chin and slowly dug in. The thing tore through the soft flesh of the man''s throat and peeked out through his open lips. The poor man kept talking like it didn¡¯t affect him. "Vessels for blood."

    "You stop that, now!" I warned. "Let him be."

    It was strange. Without true feeling in my limbs anymore, I moved mostly out of habit. Muscle memory. But without control, it was like I was floating in the ether, formless. All I could hear over the hypnotic music was the soft rattle of my guns in my shaking hands, struggling against the Nephilim''s influence.

    "But you. You are¡­ strong. You¡¯ll make a fine prize for the Fallen Ones," Agatha said. "Perhaps then, they¡¯ll see I¡¯m worthy of standing at their side.¡±

    One of my pistols slipped from my grip. I didn''t want it to, and yet there it went, clattering to the stone with all that deadly silver in the chamber. A chord played, and I took a step, then another, and another still, toward the young woman. I couldn''t fight it.

    "Lyle and I, we''re going to be married," Agatha said.

    "You''ll be together soon enough." My lips and tongue moved to speak those words even though it wasn''t what I was thinking. The beast had my mouth now. Next thing I knew, the one pistol I still held dropped, and my hands extended toward Agatha. My eyes were frozen facing hers, but in my peripherals, I noticed the beast still shuffling around me.

    "That''s all I''ve ever wanted," Agatha said.

    Against my will, I clutched Agatha''s throat and found myself squeezing. Her aloof expression turned to horror as the goat creature seemed to release her from its mind-control and let her express her true feelings as she saw the man she''d sought to save her crushing her windpipe.

    She couldn''t speak. Couldn''t breathe.

    God, do I hate it when Shar is right. What¡¯s the worst place for a Black Badge to be? Falling prey to a Nephilim that can somehow wrestle dominion away from the White Throne and use me as it pleases.

    "No!" Lyle screamed, bloodcurdling and full of rage.

    The melody modulated keys, and my body spun, dragging Agatha with me. Now I was facing Lyle, who crawled along the floor of his own volition, free of hypnosis now too, it seemed, digging his nails into rock, desperate to move faster. Blood poured from the wound in his throat while the Nephilim pinned him by the shirt with the tip of a hoof so he could only watch.

    "I feel their fear," the beast spoke through me this time and I didn''t like it. "I am their fear."

    Agatha''s trembling lips went purple. Veins bulged along her neck and around her temples. My full weight folded her flat onto her back. I had a fleeting reminder of the way my old boss Ace Ryker thought he could treat all women before I turned on him. I tried to use that memory as fuel to force me to relinquish the hold I had on her, but it was useless as teats on a bull. The beast¡¯s effect was too strong on me.

    As Agatha went over, kicking and clawing and screaming, a necklace tumbled out from the neckline of her dress. A golden locket that I guessed Lyle had purchased for her back when he''d professed his love. Probably the most exquisite item she owned. The thing was so polished, it may as well have been a mirror.

    "Snap out of it, you fool!" Shar bellowed, a shade within the reflection. Her voice struck me like a thunderclap, and her presence momentarily broke the trance. I found myself in control again.

    Thank Heaven for young love and its obsessive need to prove itself with gifts and trinkets.

    Agatha gasped for air as my hands unclenched, and before the beast could react, I dove into a roll and retrieved my fallen pistols.

    I didn''t turn to fire at it. I knew I wouldn''t have long unless I somehow landed a kill shot. Instead, I shot two rounds straight at the ceiling, keeping the guns as close as I could to my ears without accidentally burning them off.

    The ringing made me deaf to everything else. Dizzy too. My eardrums would heal like every part of me tends to, but without that particular sense, the Nephilim couldn''t control me.

    I staggered to my feet where one of its massive, clawed hands swatted me aside. Once again, I lost possession of my damn pistols while I rolled into the wall.

    Pawing for the rifle on my back, I flipped to my side to find that the beast had a screaming Lyle by the waist. How that man was still living, I did not know. The beast¡¯s jaw unhinged, ready to engulf the man in a single bite and leave no trace that he''d ever existed.

    I fired, clipping the beast on one of its horns and blowing half of it off in a flash of white-hot smoke. It unleashed a primal roar so shrill it shook rock from the ceiling. A second shot took it in its shoulder, causing it to drop Lyle and stumble back.

    Hands free, it raised its instrument again and frantically began to play. What looked like smoldering steam rose from where the silver bullet was still lodged beneath its skin, but it didn''t seem to care much. I¡¯ve been shot by silver and it hurts like a son of a bitch. This thing was no weak Neph.

    My third shot went wide when Agatha grabbed hold of my rifle.

    "Let me go!" she shrieked, and I knew she wasn''t talking to me. I would''ve apologized if there''d been time, but instead, I pushed back and jabbed her in the chin with the middle of the barrel.

    I didn''t intend to hurt her, or did I?

    That''s when I realized the ringing in my ears had stopped, and my aim was swaying toward her like I was about to tear her open. The injured Nephilim was regaining control. I screamed at the top of my lungs before it could, and the echoing of my voice drowned out its music. Swing my rifle back, I put another bullet straight through the bastard''s chest.

    A werewolf¡­ that would have put it down, but even as the silver sizzled through the beast¡¯s fur and flesh, and swirling light filtered out, it only seemed to get madder.

    It charged, scooped up Lyle''s body, and flung him. I tackled Agatha out of the way as his body soared over us before shattering against rock and landing in a heap.

    She threw herself onto him and pawed at his chest. But I''d heard the crunch of bones. He was dead. Put out of his misery, I reckon, before having to live in this harsh world with such injuries¡ªthough Agatha wouldn''t see it that way.

    The only good part about it was that her wailing further reduced the beast¡¯s song to background noise. I sprinted toward the cave''s exit, firing my rifle one-handed behind me, putting round after round into the Neph until it clicked empty. A thing that size, I made sure to spread the damage around, chest, arms, and legs. Anything to slow it down.

    The onslaught made it attack versus trying to entrance me any further. I dipped under the swipe of a claw, tossed my rifle, and went to draw my silver-coated hunting knife from its slot in my boot.

    The monster was fast. Damn fast. One of its hooves kicked back and caught me in the chest, sending me flying out of the cave. When I landed, I slid, rolling over the edge of the ravine. I managed to catch myself on a protruding root. The force of it probably jerked my shoulder out of its socket, not that I¡¯d felt it.

    Made it difficult to pull myself up, though.

    Patting the back of my belt with my free hand, I unhooked my lasso just as the beast grabbed my right arm. Its strength was obscene, raising me before its monstrous face as if I were a plaything. This was the view so many poor mortals had likely called their last before it had devoured them soul and all.

    Its eye wasn''t just yellow up this close. It was roiling like a portal to the planes of Hell itself. Felt I could give a wave and old Lucifer would wink back. I braced for its attack. Only, the beast didn''t unhinge its jaw.

    No, instead, it lifted its instrument with the other hand.

    "You''re mine!" Its black, leather-like lips didn''t move, yet the words rattled around in my brain, projected within my own thoughts.

    At the same time, the train whistled again, louder this time. The bridge over the crossing juddered violently.

    I looked straight into that big yellow eye and said, "Sorry, friend. I''m already taken."

    Then I whipped my lasso out and snagged it around its massive, intact horn. Thing about the ordinary-looking strand of onyx-black rope was that it was blessed by the angels themselves. Given to me after I was revived¡ªone of the perks of being a Black Badge, I reckon.

    The moment it ensnares a being not meant for this realm, the weight of Heaven''s judgment falls upon its victim like a hammer should they deserve it. Wish it worked on normal men, but as Shar always says, it¡¯s never too late for the ¡°Children to repent of their sins.¡±

    Good for them.

    As expected, a shaft of searing bright light descended like a pillar of fire from the clouds. The Nephilim froze, giving it a taste of losing its functions like it''d inflicted on so many others.

    Its mental grip on me loosened. I leaped onto a strut supporting the bridge. Though it shook from the rumbling of the train above, I held fast, climbed upward, pulling myself onto the tracks with the grip of my lasso still in hand. To my right, the train barreled toward me. The conductor was surely aware of me now, ringing that whistle as loud as could be. The beast roared even louder.

    Now, I''m not exactly sure what would happen to me if I was pulverized by a steam engine at full speed; if my body would reform or be left a pulp of blood and mashed bones. Would I be forced to live on as sludge stuck to wheels and gears?

    I had no plans to find out.

    I waited until the last possible second and jumped off the other side of the bridge. The Neph was tall, so I didn''t need it to go far, but the momentum of my jump hoisted it up across the bridge. I dropped to the rocky landing hard enough to tear the soles of my boots. My rope came spiraling down, followed by the thud of the monster''s head at the end of it, tongue hanging out of a slack jaw.

    I could hear nothing over the racket of the train zipping overhead, but I turned and saw the beast''s body sliding off onto the other side of the landing, innards cascading out of it like chunky rabbit stew. I thought about all the people that might be represented by that goo and nearly spewed.

    It didn''t last long. Its body began to disintegrate into blackish dust, fading away to bits. Banished to Hell, whatever was left of it. Motes of light danced around my lasso, and the Nephilim¡¯s head followed until it vanished in a wisp of darkness and light.

    "Back where you belong," I muttered, knowing full well that now I was talking tough at a thing no longer even in front of me. But I only mustered the will to speak just then, when all that was left of it was imprints in the ground. That, and its bone harmonica.

    After I finished recoiling my lasso, I knelt to retrieve the instrument. It seemed like nothing special. I brought it to my lips and gave playing a note a try, andcrushing bleakness overwhelmed me like a wave. It was like I could sense all the dead parts of me.

    I jerked back, then exhaled slowly before I found resolve. The thing was clearly still tainted by the dark magic of a Nephilim. So, I stuffed it in my belt satchel for safekeeping. Better with me than in the wrong hands, plus, supernaturally enchanted items are rare in this world. I couldn¡¯t stomach getting rid of it just yet.

    The sense of dread eroded fast after it was away. Out of sight, out of mind, I reckon.

    A part of me wanted to play it again. Unpleasant as it was, at least it was something new to feel.

    But hearing Agatha''s cries as the train distanced snapped me out of feeling sorry for myself. Nothing ever gets you used to the sound of pure, gut-wrenching grief. Even if I''m around for another two hundred years, which I suppose I might be, it''ll still cut to my core.

    "Yeah, yeah, I know, Shar," I said, knowing my guardian angel was shaking her head in disappointment. "But I can''t just leave her there."

    I snapped my shoulder back into its socket on a crossbeam, rolled out my neck, then strode back toward the cave.

    Shar could hold her horses. Besides, I needed my guns.

 Chapter 5

    Look, I didn''t want to drag Agatha all the way to her ranch. Could barely get a word out of her after everything that went down. Monsters, mind control, and first loves lost¡ªshe was distraught. But from what she said, it was basically on the way to Elkhart.

    Last time she''d ever go off in the wilderness.

    She''d learned a valuable lesson. Least, she''d better have.

    Normal folk should stick to trails and roads. Worst thing is you run into a couple of bandits looking for a score. Mortal trials. Most times, your pride ends up more bruised than your physical body. And on the rare occasion, when you don''t just pony up and pay the piper, you may get shot and die.

    Judging by the look in poor Agatha''s eyes, that would¡¯ve been better than what that goat beast did to her and young Lyle, whose body, bloated and missing parts, was now somewhere down the Pope River. Can''t help but feel bad for whatever sod might find him if the wolves don''t devour him fully first.

    Point is, stick to the damn trails. There are plenty of things as bad¡ªand worse¡ªthan that beast lurking.

    The West is wild for many reasons beyond the lack of law reaching out here. Humanity. We gather in our towns and cities, and that tends to drive off things preferring to not be surrounded. Drive them to places like this.

    The sun was on the rise, painting an expanse of otherwise swarthy vegetation in a deep crimson. Life was becoming even more scarce out here. Soon, it''d only be hard dirt with tawny bushes and cacti poking up.

    Just as Agatha had described in what few words she could manage, a small ranch sat in a clearing to our left.

    Shar''s frustration rose through me like the tide as I brought Timperina close and her words echoed in my mind while my badge itched unremittingly on my chest.

    She could wait. Far as I can tell, she''s got an eternity.

    "Time to wake up," I said, then heaved my shoulder where Agatha had been sleeping. She shuddered awake, both arms squeezing tight around my chest. "This your place?"

    She muttered what sounded like an affirmation to me.

    "Good." I stopped Timp by a fence penning some cattle. Then, I hopped down and extended a hand up to her.

    Agatha flinched out of reflex. It''d be a long time before that natural response would leave her.

    "Well, you can''t sit up there forever," I said. "Timp''s old legs''ll get too tired to handle two of us."

    Timperina snorted and stomped a back hoof at the mention of her name.

    That sound also made Agatha recoil. She''d heard enough cloven horrors to last a lifetime and more. I waited patiently until she blinked against the blooming sunlight and seemed to actually register that she was home. There didn''t seem to be much joy, though. Considering she''d left with a lover and returned alone, I understood.

    I further extended my hand, and this time, she took it. Helping her down, I held on until her wobbly legs found strength enough to allow her to stand on her own.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "Now, remember, if anyone asks what happened to Lyle, blame the wolves," I said.

    "He doesn''t deserve¡ª"

    I placed a finger over her lips. Shook my head. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared up at me. They were pretty eyes, despite the sorrow marking them. A light gray flecked with something like lilacs. She''d make a fine wife to someone someday¡ªjust not Lyle.

    "You say what you really saw, you''ll be fit for a straitjacket in no time," I said. "That boy wouldn''t want that for you. He''d want you to move on. To live."

    Those words chewed at me as I spoke them, but I meant them all the same. Agatha still had everything in front of her. More than I had.

    "Now, go on." I gave her a gentle nudge down the trail. Anyone inside the ranch would be able to see her from there. She''d be safe, even without me accompanying her the remainder of the distance.

    Staggering a few steps, she turned back. "Who are you?"

    "Just a passerby." I tipped the brim of my Stetson, and just as I grabbed a clump of Timp''s mane to pull myself up, the door of the ranch flew open. An older man ran out wielding a rifle.

    "Dammit, Agatha. Did you go runnin'' off with that boy again!" Judging by his tone, I could only guess he was the disapproving father. Always was one. And then came ma, chasing after him, shouting for him to calm down.

    Timperina bolted before I was all the way saddled, and we sped off in the opposite direction, screams echoing at my back. I guess there was one person who''d be pleased with who the goat beast had claimed as a victim.

    Oh, well. Least he cares enough to care. My dear old pa? Most he usually had to say involved the back of his hand across my cheek. May he rest far from peace.

    * * *

    I don''t know why I find myself drawn to helping folks like Agatha. Was I lying to myself, thinking it was about atoning for the many sins of my former life? Maybe I just want to feel something, anything, besides the constant numbness I¡¯ve felt for so long. Maybe its rebellion. Probably a bit of both, truth be told.

    I didn¡¯t make it far from the ranch before the need to answer Shar could no longer be ignored. I clutched at the marks on my chest, desperate to relieve the infernal itch.

    But I pushed a few miles farther on to road to Elkhart anyway, just to spite her. Until the urge to rip my own head off became too much.

    "Shar, my dear," I said as I flicked open the mirror. Her faceless entity swirled to life, and all the grand vista of reddish cliffs around me seemed to grow strangely dim in light of her.

    "Did you get it out of your system, Crowley?"

    "That''s a mighty odd way to say, ''Thank you.''"

    "Thank you? Thank you?!" A crack snaked down the center of the glass.

    "You and I both know that abomination had no place in this realm," I said. "I got rid of it. Ain''t that why I''m here¡ªwhy our beloved benefactor saw the need to spring me to life after death?"

    "You are here to do as commanded! Unless Hell would be preferential to you."

    "Always threatening with that. Might be time for some new material, old girl. Getting stale."

    "It is no threat," she said, her voice level and, well, threatening.

    She sure knew how to tug on my leash when I pulled too hard. Was it so simple? One word and I''d go plummeting through the dirt and the rock down into the icy depths? As if angels and demons could make arrangements so easily. Could they? And if they communicated openly, why all the damn games I get caught up in?

    "What''s done is done," I said. "A Nephilim is banished, A girl''s life is saved, and a boy''s soul is left over for Heaven. Plus, I''ll sleep easier."

    "And that is what is most important to you, is it not? All the Children, thinking only of themselves."

    "Sounds a bit like jealousy," I said. "I think that''s one of your sins, ain¡¯t it?"

    "Always so brash. So eager to play hero.¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t playing games,¡± I said. "Those kids needed help and I don''t know why they''re somehow less important to the White Throne than some string of robberies.¡±

    ¡°The ruminations of Heaven are far above those of men.¡±

    "I don''t know what that''s supposed to mean, but I did what I did and that girl¡¯s alive for it.¡±

    ¡°Life is not all about this plane, Crowley. When will you learn?" Shar cackled, and her form began to swirl away.

    "Learn what?" I said to fading mist.

    Her essence mended the crack in the glass before she was gone, leaving me staring at my own ugly mug. I was covered in blood. Guess that''s what happens when you decapitate a monster.

 Chapter 6

    Crunch!

    I must¡¯ve dozed a bit asleep in the saddle. The sound startled me awake and I checked my mirror, wondering if that was where the strange sound came from. Timp''s whinny, however, drew my attention to the road. As we came around the bend of a rocky outcrop, a large strip of the trail was frozen like a shallow creek in January. Except it was July, and this was no creek.

    It was slick and melting from the hot sun, but still, the ice was at least an inch thick.

    Dead of summer, there was only one way ice was forming out here, and I reckoned it had to do with my Lonely Hill bank robbers.

    Shar¡¯s final words to me caromed around in my skull. Asking when I would learn. Was she about to teach me one of her lessons?

    Timp whinnied again and reared back when one of her front hooves slipped.

    "Calm down, girl," I whispered in her ear. "Take it slow." Her hoof slid out again. "Slower."

    She got the balancing down after a few more steps, and I made sure not to shift my weight. Timp probably would''ve loved to go around, but the stubborn old girl needed pushing these days.

    I studied the ice as we went. Tracks left grooves through it, swerving this way and that. They looked like they belonged to wagon wheels, but there was no crash in sight.

    Leaning forward, I kept my ears peeled. The silhouettes of carrion birds circled overhead in the ruddy sky, but plenty of critters died in these parts, ready to be picked clean by vultures. And the wind didn''t carry any fresh stink of rotting flesh. Humans smell worse than anything after we die.

    The tracks took a sharp turn near the ledge. It was strange enough to cause me concern, like whoever it was had gone careening over the edge. I swept my legs off Timp and landed in one smooth motion, my boots sending splinters across the ice.

    A few strides later, I was looking down onto a promontory at three men, naked as the day they were birthed. They sat upright, tied up back-to-back-to-back. And not civilian types like Agatha and Lyle. These were hardened men¡ªskin creased and leathery, and not because they''d been left out in the sun for God knows how long. One, a dark-skinned man, sported a clean-shaven face, the others finely groomed mustaches. These were men who knew how to take care of themselves.

    I skidded down the rut, coming to rest on the outcropping.

    The sight below was unnerving¡ªa web of ice spread across each of the men''s mouths like unholy bandit masks, chapped the skin all around it. Any longer and frostbite would settle in, and that wouldn''t be a pretty sight.

    Beside them, the cart responsible for the wheel marks rested shattered and broken. The three men were kicking dirt, clearly desperate to stay as far away from that precarious ledge as possible.

    "Quit moving, or you''re gonna bring the whole shelf crashing down!" I shouted.

    Somehow, that made them move more, toppling over one another, their bodies wrestling for the topmost position.

    I fired a round from one of my pistols into the air to quiet them. It worked, at least for the moment. Stomping over, I grabbed the dark-skinned one, and held the hot barrel against the ice covering his mouth. His eyes went wide as it slowly melted down through the middle before cracking off his face.

    "Mary, the fucking mother!" The words came out like his mouth wouldn''t work right. He winced and strained his arms, trying and touch his jaw where the skin around his mouth was left purple, lips drained entirely of color.

    "What happened here?" I asked for what seemed like the hundredth time over the last few days. First the frosty bank, Agatha and the Nephilim, and now this? Things were always pretty hairy, but not like this. Hell was working overtime, it seemed.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Y''ain''t gonna cut us loose?" His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth with every word, still unnaturally frigid.

    "I ain''t in a hurry," I said. "Not ''til I know you didn''t deserve¡­ whatever this is."

    "Fuck you," he said.

    "Got a mouth on you, don''t you? Maybe I should have kept it shut."

    The other two yanked and made him roll to the side. I gripped him by his frostbitten cheeks and held him upright.

    "Who did this?"

    "Some freaks.¡±

    "That don''t narrow it down much." I looked to the other two and shoved the man away. "Either of you wanna talk, because your friend here is pissing me off."

    Both of them nodded vigorously.

    As I moved to help the others, the first seemed to grow a tongue. "We were transporting cash overnight for our employer. Next thing I know, the carriage is sliding all over the place. Toppled off, right over. Luck provided this ledge, or we''d be dead as dirt."

    "Right," I said, drawing out the word. "And the bindings?"

    "They were on us before we could even get a shot off."

    "You Pinks?" I asked.

    "You a Marshal?" he retorted.

    I sniffed, knowing the answer to my question just from reading his expression.

    Pinkertons. They all had the same look. Hired guns only rich folk could afford. Tough as nails, and out here, they usually skirted the letter of the laws they swore to uphold.

    "Sounds like the bank wasted money," I said.

    "Why don''t you untie me and say that, boy?"

    "Boy," I scoffed. Sure, his hair was graying, but I probably had a decade or more spent on this Earth on him. Truth was, I didn''t care for his tone, neither. I''m sure he was frazzled, his crew getting run up on like that, but this wasn''t the best way to treat a savior.

    I sighed. Graciousness was a dying virtue.

    "What''d they take?" I asked.

    "You fucking blind? They took it all! Everything! Can''t you see that? The money, guns. They took our goddamned clothes. Our clothes! Who fucking does that? Barely got a look at them before they yanked us out of the wreckage, said we¡¯d ¡®taken enough,¡¯ and knocked us out cold. Next thing, we''re lying here with our mouths frozen shut. In July. It don''t make any fucking sense."

    "Why not kill you?" I scratched my chin, asking myself more than I was anyone else. If this was the work of the crew from Lonely Hill¡ªwhich I had to assume it was¡ªthey didn''t seem to be doing much killing back there either. Not the normal modus operandi.

    He blinked. "That''s your question?"

    "It''s a question."

    "Goddammit, untie me!"

    The others grunted at the demand as well, as if finally realizing I hadn''t even bothered to get that ice off their faces yet.

    "Fine," I said. "C''mon." I knelt, and he dragged the others toward me, their bare thighs chafing along the dirt. I pulled my knife, pushed his head toward the ground, and set the blade against the rope behind his back.

    "What''d they do with the cash?" I asked.

    "The fuck you think they did with it?" the Pink asked.

    I''d just started cutting when I pulled away and looked him dead in the eyes, pointing the tip of my blade in his face.

    "Listen up, Buttercup. I could toss the lot of you into that gorge, and folks would think it was nothing more than a few Pinks getting drunk and driving too soon. You want that?"

    The other two protested emphatically but he kept his face stern.

    "Now, you¡¯d best answer me with some respect on this one," I said as I started cutting again. "You see which way they were headed?"

    Despite his attempt at holding onto whatever dignity he could, the gentleman started acting like one now.

    "When I came to, I saw a trail of dust across the gorge, leading toward Elkhart,¡± he said. ¡°Same way we were heading to make a deposit at the bank there."

    I paused. Whether by chance or purpose, the outlaws stumbled upon these men on their way. That meant Dufaux''s Elkhart branch was their next target for certain.

    "Mr. Dufaux ain''t gonna be pleased," I said, testing the waters.

    At the mention of the man''s name, something like fear flashed in the Pinkerton¡¯s eyes. But then, he set his jaw firm and said, "No shit."

    About what I could expect.

    Elkhart was a far bigger town than Lonely Hill, and there was bound to be enough guns to slow the robbers this time. But in a town that size, they could blend in, get right to the vault without a shot fired. Even if word of the last robbery had reached Elkhart''s ears already, they wouldn''t know what hit them.

    "Next time, earn your pay." I sliced the rope and left the dark-skinned Pinkerton there to help his brothers-in-arms.

    Was I jealous? Perhaps. Back in my day, I wish there''d been a lawful way to make a living using my particular set of skills. Let alone with federal backing. The West was changing; that was for damn sure.

    But wallowing wouldn''t stop the fiends I was after.

    Without another word, I climbed back up, crunched across ice, and mounted Timperina. Gave her a startle, I moved so fast. And I swear, I could see Shar in the glassy ice watching me with a look that said, "I told you so." That if I hadn''t stopped for Agatha, I could''ve beaten the outlaws here and put a stop to things already.

    Nope. It didn''t matter. What was done was done. My pursuit would end in Elkhart, where I¡¯d take down the ice-wielding outlaw and banish whichever demon had sway over him right back to Hell.

 Chapter 7

    Timid Timperina didn''t get a chance to hesitate on the ice anymore. I drove her off-trail and got her galloping across the dry wilderness. The outlaws had at least a quarter-hour''s head start, probably more. But I moved fast and Timp could still run with the best of them for a short while.

    After about an hour or so, structures formed within the haze about a mile off. Gunshots cracked. Cows moaned in what passed for fear from such simple creatures and a flock of birds took to the sky from a nearby tree.

    I grasped the Winchester off my back, spinning it into the proper grip while checking to make sure she was loaded.

    Elkhart was organized along three tiers, dotted with shops and homes made from ruddy clay. The bank stood proud at the center of the ground level, the only building as tall as the church, which was high above it all, steeple reaching for Heaven.

    Figures.

    The whole place had gone off like a powder keg. A tidal wave of people ran toward me and in all other directions. Women and children mostly, screaming in terror, but some men were with them. The others took cover behind porches and storefronts, armed and ready to defend their homes.

    One of whom I assumed to be the outlaws was on the roof of the bank with a marksman rifle, which answered for sure the question of whether there were two or three of them. The thing was so loud it made every other shot seem like a whisper. Just as Sheriff Dale had thought, it wasn''t looking like he was shooting to kill. Just sending people running for the hills and doing a damn good job of it.

    Another odd thing. Where all other birds had scattered from the chaos, a hawk circled above him, screeched.

    An open stagecoach was parked outside the bank, a wall of ice arcing in front of it, so I couldn''t see much. Bullets chipped away at it while the vague, ice-blurred shapes of the other outlaws moved on the other side.

    Dirt plumed upward a few feet from me and Timp.

    The marksman was aiming at me.

    I swore and fired at the roof to send him into cover. Then I jumped down and gave Timp a slap to send her off to safety. The marksman didn''t relent, firing back, dust exploding by my feet and sending fragments into my eyes. My guess was now that I was posing a threat, he would be shooting to kill.

    A deputy heard me coming and swung around. By the look of me, I''m sure he figured I must¡¯ve been with them.

    "I''m on your side!" I shouted, firing again to keep the marksman at bay before sliding to safety behind the crates the deputy hid behind. "What the hell''s going on?"

    He stammered, trying to respond but ran short on breath. I saw then that he was injured in more than one place. "They showed up, and next thing we knew, they''re robbing us from behind some sort of wall¡­"

    I laid my hand on his shoulder to get his attention, doing my best to avoid his many wounds. But it was nearly impossible. He winced when I touched him, but it was better he not get distracted trying to wrap his mind around how a wall of ice got formed.

    "Get your men to focus on the marksman," I shouted over gunfire. "Keep him down."

    "On it¡ª"

    My head snapped upright as his words got cut off¡­

    * * *

    I found myself looking through the deputy¡¯s eyes back at my own ragged face, speaking those same words I just had.

    "On it," I said, though it was the deputy''s voice.

    Then, the crate to my left splintered, and a bullet sliced through my skull. It all happened so fast. Even the pain. A sharp burst like lightning, then nothing¡­

    * * *

    The next thing I knew, I was kneeling next to him, gasping, back in my own body and imagining what had to be the worst headache possible. I knew the pain was all in my mind, but that didn''t matter.

    I blinked hard to drive away the experience of the accidental Divining. The deputy''s head hung to the side, body slumped next to me, skull blown open, brain matter spilling into a trough meant for horses.

    "You bastards!" Another deputy shouted and ran out of the general store, firing two pistols up at the roof. The marksman didn''t return fire this time. Didn''t even show face. Then, out of nowhere, that hawk I''d seen above zipped across my view and slashed the deputy''s throat with razor-sharp talons.

    That was a new trick.

    In case it isn''t clear, hawks don''t typically join in gunfights and hunt down the law of their own accord. It seemed the ice-wielder wasn''t the only of these outlaws with abilities some wouldn''t consider natural.

    Some. As if anyone thought any of this was normal.

    I charged out with my pistols drawn, taking the same cue. Only, I didn''t fire upward. I fired straight into the ice wall. I vaguely recognized the impact of enemy bullets riddling my chest, but only because it slowed me a fraction.

    Sprinting full-bore, I threw my whole body into the ice with reckless abandon. My shoulder shattered through its center sending shards in a wide arc.

    On the other side, I rose from the dirt, staring into the eyes of the brutish ice-wielder. I''d only seen him in the Sheriff Daniels¡¯ Divining back in Lonely Hill, but up close, I realized it wasn''t white wolf skins he wore over his shoulders and head. His own hair was pale as snow, long and wild. Beard too.

    What skin I could see over his mask was leathery, and his eyes, dark gray, on their way to black soon. He bared his teeth, mostly human but with two sharper fangs beginning to form.

    This was no mere man. No Nephilim either. No, this entity, I recognized.

    Over the years, rumors and myths had become rampant about a creature known mysteriously as a Yeti. Folks say they''re half-man-half-gorilla or something similar. Sightings of them by hunters or fishermen in the mountains became ghost stories told around campfires.

    The truth is both less exciting and far more terrifying.

    A Yeti is nothing more than a desperate fool willing to bargain a piece of his or her mind in exchange for a slice of Hell''s power. A half-possession of sorts, allowing the person to become a plaything for a demon. Over time, the demon loses interest, as they are wont to do, leaving the poor vessel to be consumed by madness. Becoming more and more monstrous, they often find themselves living in the woods, scavenging for food, growing their hair wild for lack of care.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Hence all the rumors.

    This one was still in the early stages. Still mostly human-looking¡­ Mostly.

    The Yeti reached out and clenched his big hand around my throat, lifting me with the strength of ten men. He drew me in close.

    "Dufaux''s reckoning has come!" he screamed, guttural and raw, sending spittle all over me.

    ¡°I¡¯d worry about yourself.¡±

    I shot him in the shoulder with my last round. The silver bullet sizzled and went right through. He cringed, barely. I hit him a few times with the butt of my gun but the blows just bounced right off of him.

    ¡°Whatever demon you pledged to, they¡¯re using you,¡± I said.

    ¡°Enough!¡±

    He tossed me aside like a spent canteen.

    I crashed through a wood beam holding the roof of the general store''s veranda up. Said roof crumbled down atop me.

    After shoving aside all the shards, splinters, and boards, I found I was pinned to the ground by a sharp, broken plank skewered through my arm. I worked it back and forth in an attempt to free myself. While I did so, the Yeti''s companion stalked toward me¡ªthe one I''d seen in the sheriff¡¯s memories, darting around Lonely Hill swift as a jackrabbit being chased by a cougar.

    Her hair was black as night, long and silken. She wore a mask and cut a menacing figure, holding two feathered tomahawks, one in each hand.

    Jumping at me, she shrieked and brought one tomahawk down. I barely managed to shift out of the way, but dammit, she shaved off a sliver of the brim of my hat.

    ¡°Hey, that wasn¡¯t cheap!¡± I shouted. Then I punched the post with my free arm. It budged a bit. I struck it again, and it broke off just above my flesh.

    Now, any normal man would''ve passed out from the pain, but me? Didn''t feel a thing. I rolled back, my arm slipping over the splintered edge, just as she swiped down a second time. An instant later, the other one swung at me again too.

    Now free, I sprang to my feet, grabbing the post. Little bits of dried skin and flesh flaking off my arm while the wound was already beginning to close itself up. Probably gave her quite a shock, but she kept her composure enough to unleash a battle cry and charge at me with both tomahawks. They crisscrossed like a twister, and it took everything I had to avoid being chopped to bits.

    I dodged two wild swings, then parried with the post. Our weapons locked, and I got a close-up view. The parts of her face that showed over her mask were covered in thick white paint, with red lines down her throat as if left by extended fingertips. The parts of her skin that showed through flaked paint bore a native coloring. And the hate there in those dark orbs? It was palpable.

    "A little money worth the blood of all these men?" I growled as we struggled.

    "Like your kind spared us, ?iga Ndee¨½!?¡± she spat in a heavy accent.

    That accusation cut harder than any ax. She kicked out and caught me in the gut. I doubled over and her her tomahawk continued on its course, slashing me across the back. Blood should''ve come spraying out, and this time, the surprise when it didn''t slowed her. I ducked and shouldered her, then rose with an uppercut swing that caught her below the jaw.

    Ma always taught me never to strike a woman, but I doubt she''d fault me here and now.

    Tomahawk-lady flew back against the open carriage filled with bags and bags of money. I moved to press my advantage when the Yeti came charging me. His shoulder connected with the force of a cannon. I slid across the dirt, coming to rest ten paces from the bank. I rose, ready to get back into the fight but a stream of ice pinned my boot to the ground. I looked right and saw the Yeti, arm outstretched toward me. Where the woman had unbridled rage, his still seemed relatively controlled. Though in time, the more he drew on his unholy powers, the more command he¡¯d lose.

    He sneered at me, the gesture rife with contempt. Might as well''ve been a middle finger.

    "Stay out of this if you value your life,¡± the Yeti said to me.

    If only he knew who he was talking to.

    Then, to the others, he barked, ¡°Time to move!"

    He hefted the woman back onto the cart.

    "Stop there!" shouted one of the lawmen. He rushed the wagon with courage or stupidity and grasped the Yeti by the sleeve. The Yeti turned, gripped the man¡¯s wrist and ice formed over the whole of the lawman''s arm.

    The scream that tore from the deputy''s throat could¡¯ve woken Hell. Tomahawk-lady leaned out and brought down one of her blades and his arm exploded into a prism of shattered ice. He fell backward, grasping his arm, writhing in the wet dirt.

    Without another word or action, the Yeti climbed to the bench up front and snapped the reins. There was too much money loaded on to be just from one bank, which meant they came here straight from Lonely Hill without stopping¡­ unlike me. Shar was never going to let me hear the end of it.

    I spotted a lockbox toward the back of the cart, bearing the name of one Mr. Dufaux¡ªlikely the one stolen from the Pinkertons.

    I yanked at my frozen leg in a failed attempt to break free.

    Stuck for the second time.

    The horses whinnied and got startled, loose bills fluttering in their wake.

    As they moved, the skinny marksman hopped from roof to roof and finally leaped off in a damn impressive feat to land beside the woman in the cart. As he crossed the air, his shirt flapped up. Something was there. A raised scar from being branded of sorts¡­ except it was, well, glowing bright blue in the creases. I was far, but gun to head, I''d say it depicted some sort of giant bird I''d never seen before, with what looked like scales instead of feathers and streaks of lightning under the wings.

    After he landed, what must''ve been the same hawk that I¡¯d watched tear open one of Elkhart''s finest promptly settled on his shoulder. The native woman leaned over, pulled down her mask, and planted a kiss on the marksman''s forehead.

    The other townsfolk opened fire, their rounds spattering harmlessly against the sides of the cart.

    I holstered my pistols and unsheathed my rifle. Then, yelling, I slammed the butt of it against the ice pinning me to the ground. The supernatural ice held up even with my fierce strength, but that''s the thing about my condition. I may not be stronger than a normal man in a physical sense, like a Yeti, but without fear of injury or exhaustion of muscle, I can throw my body and weight around in ways no man would ever dream.

    Eventually, the ice shattered, and I was free.

    I whistled for Timperina as I sprinted, blowing past the newly limbless lawman.

    Didn''t need to see Timp coming. I listened for her hooves and then reached back, yanking myself up to her saddle on the move. I hastened to reload my rifle as we bounced down the path, buildings racing by. As I fed the last round in, a bullet zipped past my ear. I sent one back.

    The outlaws rumbled up the hill out of town. Another shot from the marksman caught me in the ribs, passing clear through. I''m sure he expected me to fall, but I didn''t budge in the slightest.

    "Steady, Timp."

    I aimed down my sights, and my next round hit the marksman right across the meat of his biceps. A half a foot to the left, he''d have been dead, but it blew him back onto his ass and forced tomahawk-lady to catch him. He accidentally kicked the money-filled lockbox, and it fell to the dirt. The hawk flew up, and as the woman laid the sharpshooter back, I noticed his eyes roll back into his head.

    At first, I thought he was dead, but then I had another thought.

    The hawk redirected course and zoomed straight at me. I tried to shoot it, but the bird swooped around, dodging my aim. The marksman was controlling it, similar to how that Nephilim took over Agatha and Lyle, except no music needed to be played. Purely mental.

    I swore.

    It went for Timperina''s eyes. Too close for my rifle, especially whipping so close to Timp''s head.

    My poor horse started rearing in the traces, squealing and banking left. I damn near got tossed from her back, but I grabbed my knife and slashed, forcing the hawk to veer away.

    "Yaw!" I kicked, spurring Timp along as fast as she could go. She wouldn''t keep this pace long, but I closed the gap with the heavier coach and left the hawk playing catchup to me now.

    Gripping my rifle tight, I exhaled slowly. The Yeti''s head fell between the sights. Just as I pulled the trigger, his wagon hit a dip, and the bullet just missed its mark. Lucky bastard. He must''ve seen it, because he reached back and tossed a bag of money up into the air. Only, no money flew out of this one because the thing was frozen solid upon his touch.

    I steered away from the path of the projectile.

    The marksman''s eyes rolled back into place, and he sat up. I chanced a glance backward to spot the hawk lifting to the clouds again. My head then spun around to see the kid raising his weapon, tomahawk-lady holding his arm to help him.

    I''d entirely missed the point of the frozen money bag. It wasn¡¯t meant to hit me. The marksman fired, and the thing went off like dynamite. Thousands of tiny silvery fragments exploded in every direction. I didn''t think twice.

    Turning Timp away just in time, I threw my body down across the length of her to act as a shield. Supernatural ice stabbed into me all over, and I couldn''t feel it, but I knew something went right into my head since the impact caused whiplash out of my control.

    Then, I went straight to black.

 Chapter 8

    I don''t dream. Haven''t since the day I died. That''s why I knew this wasn''t a dream but a vision. Visions are different. They''re real¡ªa glimpse into what is or what could be. Mostly what was, like in this case.

    My breath swirled before me while Big Davey and I toiled with the hearth. We''d found an abandoned house in the hills north of where we''d pulled our last job, robbing a railroad magnate of some very valuable bonds.

    Spirits were high. Inhibitions were low¡­ A potent mixture for trouble.

    All around us, the Scuttlers were celebrating a job well done. Drinking, carousing, playing games of chance, cheating at games of chance. All the things we outlaws were so damn good at.

    "Fucking hell, Crowley, you need a real man over there to get that fire going?"

    That was Morris "Mad Dog" Morrison, bitching even while he dressed a nasty-looking wound. Always figured his daddy must''ve hated him, giving him such piss for a name. Truth was, all the firewood was soaked to the core from sitting out in snow and sleet. I''d been at it for the better part of an hour already.

    Big Davey stood at my side as he always had. For the most, we were inseparable.

    I was raised in a good Catholic home back in Granger''s Outlook before I went and got mixed up with the Scuttlers and left ma and pa for a life of thieving and outlawing. When I was real young, my weekends were spent serving Father Osgood, caring for the Lord''s house, and whatnot. I shudder to think how many hours were spent scrubbing them pews.

    Davey ended up there, too, only his parents died outright, and he needed taking care of. On the surface, it was Father Osgood done the caring for. But really, I like to think Davey and I kept each other afloat.

    Where I was tall, dark, and handsome, Davey was light-haired and complected, freckles dotting his whole body like a disease, and well¡­ I guess he was tall too. Not saying much in the way of whether or not he was handsome, but the ladies didn''t mind sharing company with him.

    "Hold your horses," I growled back at Mad Dog, who waved me off dismissively.

    "Bet he makes love like he makes fires," Big Davey whispered to me. "One quick spark, and it''s done."

    I laughed while I struck the flint a final time, and the flames roared to life.

    I turned and bowed low. "You''re welcome, you ungrateful pricks."

    "''Bout time," Morrison said.

    Instantly, I felt winter''s cold bite give way, and my hands thawed.

    "That feels good," Davey said. We took a seat by the fire, cross-legged on a bearskin rug, and got to work polishing our guns like we always did.

    "You getting tired of this?" I asked him when I was sure no one was listening.

    "Tired of what?"

    "This¡­ all of it. Them. The job. When''s the last time you got to spend any of our hard-earned greenbacks?"

    "I''ll spend ''em when I''m dead, I reckon," Davey said.

    "Ain''t that the truth? Scary thing is, that might be sooner rather than later the way Ace''s been acting. Getting a bit too big for his britches, you ask me."

    "I don''t know," Davey said. "His britches are getting pretty big, too."

    My snicker didn¡¯t last long before my stare turned distant. ¡°That lady on the train, she didn¡¯t have to die.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t see much,¡± Davey admitted, "but how was Ace to know her husband was connected?¡±

    ¡°What does that matter? We were already free and clear. Now we''ll have vengeful folk after us, and he wants us to cross the border south and run? ¡®Conquer new lands,¡¯ he says? For what? So he can shoot whoever he pleases for a few extra bucks?¡±

    A gruff voice called out, "What''s the haul?"

    Hiram Church was of medium height and build. Nothing special about him except he was missing a leg, replaced by a wooden peg. Heard it got bit off by a mountain lion, but people tell stories. Hiram got called the first mate because he looked like a damn pirate, and he was Ace Ryker''s right hand. We also had the private joke that he was called his right hand because he would jerk Ace off like one. Though none of us would dare say it to their faces.

    Truth was that Hiram was just a good old-fashioned suck-up. Bumsucker. Yes man. Whatever term you got for it, he was the definition.

    But the two of them were the only constants in the Scuttlers. Ace could be such a hot-head that few stuck around very long. Sometimes they left for greener pastures. Other times, Ace introduced them to a three-cent friend.

    Another thing we said was that Ace Ryker killed more of his own men than he did anyone else. Wasn''t true, mind, but we all talked too much for our own good.

    "Not enough," Mae answered. She was the only lady among us, and that word had to be taken lightly. I think in a fair fight back then, she''d have squashed me like a bug. Mae was bigger than an overfed gorilla and twice as mean as a starved one. She stood six-foot-two, and I wouldn''t guess at a lady''s weight, but she beat me. Took a special kind of woman to join up with a crew like us.

    I don''t know what brings most of us to do it. Wasn''t my first choice, outlawing¡ªI''d always wanted to be a doctor, believe it or not. I know, big gap from one to the other, but I''d always preferred saving lives to ruining them.

    So why the Scuttlers? Ain''t much else to do for a runaway son of a coal-miner. Had no education past Madam Forester at the Granger''s Outlook schoolhouse and hours spent at the church with Father Osgood. Though most of that was cleaning and running errands. No such thing as the Pinks back then, either.

    But there I was. Sometimes, a man''s gotta do what he''s gotta to keep the taxman at bay¡­

    Like any of us pay taxes. Or have skills suited for anything else.

    "Never is enough," Hiram said to Mae. Then, he turned to all of us, his peg leg clacking on the wooden floor. "Live it up, fellas! Tomorrow, it¡¯s greener pastures!"

    A stone settled into my belly at the mention of tomorrow. Ace had been talking about conquering new lands so long, most of us thought he was just flapping his gums. The Scuttlers had always been a smalltime gang, but now, Ace decided it was time to go international.

    No mention that the bounty on his head and his crew¡¯s after who he killed was enough to fund a whole town so there was a reason to run. He just made it seem like an opportunity for everyone now that the Scuttlers legend couldn¡¯t grow much bigger.

    Everything was a job to Ace. Always and forever.

    Problem was, I didn¡¯t want to run. I¡¯m sure I wasn¡¯t alone in that, but even if I was, we shouldn¡¯t have had to. Ace made a stupid mistake and we were all being punished for it under the guise of ¡®new opportunity.¡¯

    "Crowley!" Norman ¡®Mac¡® Macmillan shouted, dragging me from unpleasant thoughts. He kicked under the table and slid out an empty chair across from him. "Grab a bowl and sit your ass in for a hand. I could use a win."

    Mac elbowed the others beside him, Emmett Banks and Colby Harkins. They all shared a little ha-ha at my expense. It was fine. Giving each other a hard time was just what we did.

    Davey and I shared our own quick glance.

    "You can bring your lady friend, too, if you like," Mac said, talking about Davey. But I was already rising.

    I rolled my eyes and gestured to Cook with two fingers. He ladled stew into a couple of tin bowls and offered them our way.

    "Rabbit?" Big Davey asked.

    "Was when I started," Cook replied.

    I chuckled.

    The bowl was hot, but it kind of felt good after being out in the cold for so long. We did like Mac requested and took a seat with him and the others and let them deal me in. Davey was never much for poker, so he just stood behind me, spooning what turned out to be mostly broth and some old carrots into his gullet.

    "Ready for the long haul?" Mac asked, tossing cards around the table.

    He was a rangy man, slender as they come. Like a stiff breeze would knock him on his ass. Wasn''t the kind you''d expect to find amongst this rough and tumble crew. Hell, Mae might''ve lost him between her cheeks if she''d sat wrong. Guess you don''t have to be particularly meaty to blow shit up¡ªthat was old Mac''s job. Explosives master extraordinaire.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "Not sure any of us is," I said casually, taking a bite.

    Mac stopped dealing, but I only counted three cards on the table in front of me. I looked up from my bowl to see him eyeballing me.

    ¡°What''chu say?"

    I took another bite and shrugged. "Nothing important. Just talking."

    "You scared of greasers?" he asked, a yellow smile appearing beneath his overlarge nose.

    I didn''t answer. I wasn''t exactly afraid of dying. However, if I''d have known what awaited me, I probably would''ve been.

    "How ''bout you, little Dave?"

    "Much rather be alive and poor than dead and rich," Davey answered, following it with a slurp of his stew.

    "Pussy," Colby muttered.

    "You know what they say," Davey said. "You are what you eat."

    Just then, Mae approached the table, wearing a scowl that would scare a ghost. Everyone abruptly stopped laughing.

    "Guess that makes the rest of you boys assholes, don''t it?" she said.

    "Goddamn, Mae''s coming in hot!" Emmett said.

    Mac shook his head, smirking, and got back to dealing.

    "Best not let Ace hear you talking like this," he said. "He''s got grand plans for us with all that money. Build ourselves a nice little kingdom south of the border."

    "Kingdom,'''' I said with a sniff. "Say, where is our Royal Highness, anyway?"

    It hadn''t occurred to me, but I hadn''t seen him since we returned. As if taking a cue, Ace Ryker, drunk as a skunk, came traipsing down the stairs. Ace had a full head of lustrous hair and a perfectly narrowing beard, with mustache hairs that curled at the end.

    By his ratty jacket and clothes, you¡¯d not think he was worth a damn, but Ace was never one to care about fineries or how he looked. He let his gun do the talking for him, and a tongue that may as well have been silver.

    "Lookie, lookie," he said, stumbling. "Guess the place wasn''t as empty as we thought."

    From the pass, the house had appeared abandoned¡ªin a mild state of disrepair, the stables and paddocks out front, empty. The fields in the back looked to''ve been untilled for ages. There was a creepy shrine in one corner of the main room with red candles melted all the way down to hardened puddles. And a skull. Human. Probably of some ancestor. Far-be-it for me to judge someone''s beliefs.

    "Found ''em hiding upstairs."

    In one arm, Ace clutched a child¡ªmight''ve been six years old, maybe less, maybe more. I don''t know. I¡¯d never known many children for good reason. His other hand was clenched around the wrist of what I could only assume to be the girl''s mother.

    A beauty for damn sure.

    I could tell she wanted to shove him down the stairs but refrained for fear of injuring her daughter.

    "How old''s the girl?" Mad Dog asked, a sick grin on his face. I hoped that wound killed him.

    "Dios mio, por favor, No. Oh, Dios!" The mother muttered pleas in both English and Spanish, but no one was listening except me, it seemed.

    "Shut up, bitch," Ace said, slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. She slammed against the wall.

    The little one cried, but it was more like a whimper. Poor girl was terrified.

    Ace lifted the mom. ¡°You are something,¡± he whispered, running his mouth along her arm and sniffing. Couldn''t help but notice a small tattoo on her forearm. Couldn''t make it out, but it''s always odd seeing ink on a lady.

    Ace reached her neck, let his tongue graze a moment, then whistled. A few of the others joined him. ¡°We¡¯re heading down to rule your people soon. I think, maybe, you¡¯d like to keep us company?¡±

    She spat into his face. He wiped it away slow, then tore her shirt from neck to hem. She cried and tried to cover herself, backed up against the wall with nowhere to go. Her eyes flitted between the ragged members of my crew, most standing and circling like hungry wolves.

    The young girl just watched now, stunned into silence. Terror had paralyzed her.

    ¡°Now, now, girly, don¡¯t worry,¡± Ace said then, kneeling and grasping her by the sides of the face to stare into her eyes. A place you never wanted to be. Like the devil, he had a way of convincing you to do just about anything if you dare got caught in his trance.

    ¡°We ain¡¯t here to hurt you,¡± he went on. He ran his hand through her dark hair and brushed it over her ear. ¡°We help our guests. And your mama is worth helping.¡±

    ¡°And helping ourselves too!¡± one of the men chortled. I couldn¡¯t tell which, I was so incensed watching what was unfolding before me.

    ¡°Take care of her.¡± Ace pushed the young girl to Hiram, the most revolting of all of us. A guy that I knew had absolutely no limits, which was probably what endeared him to Ace.

    ¡°Let her go!¡± the mother shrieked. She threw herself at him, but Ace caught her by the wrist and forced her back against the wall, knocking the air out of her. He pinned her there, placing a kiss against her collarbone, then lower.

    He hadn''t always been that way, Ace. I mean, he was never exactly a good guy, but when I joined up, he was more about getting the cash than any of this power-trip, god-complex bullshit.

    But you ever just had enough of something? It already wasn''t sitting right with me that Ace wanted to uproot our lives over his own mistake and call it generosity. You don''t shit in in my water and tell me it¡¯s coffee.

    But with this? He just kept pushing and pushing and pushing¡­

    "Let them go, Ace," I said, standing. I didn''t reach for my Peacemaker since I knew that would be starting a war, but the implication carried.

    "Or what, Crowley?" Ace asked, snickering like I wasn''t even a threat.

    "Or nothing," I said. "Just didn''t think breaking into this lady''s house and passing her around like salt was what we were all about."

    "And you know what what we¡¯re about?"

    "Guess not what I thought."

    "I¡¯m getting pretty tired of your complaining. You want out, there''s the door, hero," Ace said, continuing to kiss the woman¡¯s neck. He had her hand over her mouth, so her protests were muffled. Hiram held her daughter, big arms wrapped around her shoulders.

    Everyone laughed except me and Davey¡ªeven Mae.

    "Sure, Ace," I said, taking a small step toward him. "Gimme the girls, and I''ll be on my merry way."

    "Somebody shut him up already?" Ace groaned.

    Mac, ever the one to please, tossed the table up, sending cards and cash soaring. It hit me in the hip. Didn''t hurt, but it surprised me. I staggered, barely, bumping into Big Davey.

    "You can¡¯t stomach some just rewards," Ace said, pointing at the door without looking up from the woman. "Then go sleep with the horses.¡±

    "Fine, fine," I said, giving Davey a glance. "I''m going."

    I walked to the door, and Davey took a hard step my way.

    "You going with him, Davey?" Hiram asked. "I always knew you two were sweet on each other."

    He made smooching noises right next to the little girl¡¯s cheek. She squeezed her eyelids tight and muttered to herself in Spanish. Davey gave me a look, then he stopped where he was, leaving me walking alone.

    The whole room laughed at me, calling me all kinds of names.

    I grabbed the doorknob with my left hand.

    ¡°You all gonna follow him to the ends of the Earth?¡± I asked. ¡°Think what happened on that train is the last mistake he¡¯ll make?¡±

    Davey watched me but said nothing.

    ¡°He makes us rich,¡± Mad Dog said.

    "She had it coming," Hiram added. ¡°They always do.¡±

    ¡°You really gonna try and turn my crew against me, boy?¡± Ace cackled loudly. ¡°Old no-fun James Crowley? There ain¡¯t a soul on God¡¯s green Earth that would follow you. Stop embarrassing yourself.¡±

    I gritted my teeth. "You¡¯ll all get what you deserve then, I reckon.¡±

    I gave one last look at Davey.

    "Now, where were we, beautiful?" Ace asked, dropping his voice an octave to sound all sultry. All I heard in response were whimpers.

    "Por favor, let her go¡­" the woman sniveled. "Let my Rosa go and I¡¯ll give you anything you want."

    I threw open the door, and drew my twin Peacemakers.

    Cold hit me like an ox plow but didn''t stop me from firing a round at Ace. I missed, but Big Davey surprised me by drawing his guns on the Scuttlers too. His bullet hit Hiram right in the heart, over the little girl''s head, killing him good. He always was a dead shot.

    We ran out front, forgetting to account for the mounting snow. Seeking quick cover, we ducked into a barely standing stable.

    Ace and his boys were shooting at us, cutting lines in our meager defenses. Splinters broke off all around, slicing at our skin. We slid along to the other side, where there was an opening for us to shoot back. The spaces between slats were so big they could easily follow our movements.

    I sucked in a deep breath when a plum caught me in the shoulder.

    "Shit," I swore. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you were with me.¡±

    "I wasn¡¯t sure either, but screw Ace," Davey said, popping up from cover and shooting back.

    By the sound of it, he landed a couple.

    I waited a second and joined him. Wasn''t sure where everyone was, and I was concerned we''d put a bullet in Rosa and her mother, but we shot back nonetheless. One of my shots hit Mac square in the gut, and I couldn''t help but smile. I reloaded once, using the iron from a pouch on my hip, but that was all I had, so I needed to make my remaining shots count.

    Squatting, back to the wall, I turned to Davey and said, "Sorry, friend. Didn''t mean to get you caught up in all this. Just got tired."

    "Knew I shouldn''t have skipped Sunday Mass for the last hundred weeks," Davey replied.

    I''d have laughed if a bullet hadn''t gone straight through him the exact same time.

    He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

    I rubbed my face, telling myself I was wiping sweat, but they were tears, no doubt. Salty and hot. It was then, I knew I wasn''t getting out of there alive.

    "Let the girl go, and we can all air our lungs and go home still breathing!" I shouted.

    Ace laughed, and soon, all his lackeys joined in.

    "You ain''t in any good place to bargain, traitor!" Ace called back. "There''s ten of us, one of you, by my count."

    Not sure how they knew they''d killed Davey, but I wasn''t about to let them be sure.

    "I ain''t alone, friend. Put down the gun."

    Two shotgun blasts put holes through the stable on either side of me. Then someone fired a rifle and it pounded straight through my spine.

    I slid down, back dragging against the old, splintering wood.

    Darkness encroached around my vision. It''s not true, what they say about your life flashing before your eyes when you die. I saw nothing. No bright light. No happy memories from when I was a lad, like there were any.

    All I saw was pain manifest, lightning coursing through my whole body. Then, I saw the blurry shape of Ace Ryker come into view before me, laughing like the piece of shit he was. His ice-blue eyes stared deep into my soul, and he leaned in close to me. His breath reeked of alcohol. It was the last thing I remember smelling.

    My eyes drifted over his shoulder to a lone figure running through the snow. The woman in her tattered clothes holding her daughter, Rosa, fleeing into the haze. Just as I''d have hoped, they used the scuffle to escape.

    Helping that poor woman and child get away was the greatest act of my pitiful life. May never''ve become a doctor, but I saved two lives that night. Nothing that made up how many deaths I''d been responsible for with the Scuttlers mind you, but I''ll take one little victory.

    Ace followed my gaze and turned back to me, sneering.

    "You don''t think we''ll find her?" he said.

    I felt his boot stomping down on my wrist, but I was past the point of feeling pain. I didn''t see it happen since everything felt like a slow waltz, but cold fingers squeezed around my throat until what little breath I could find was no longer there either.

    If he was close before, now he might as well be an extension of me now.

    His cold hands squeezed harder. Hot breath on my neck.

    Like I needed help dying. Only reason I was still hanging on and fighting back the darkness was to buy the woman more time to get her daughter farther. Every second counted, and I knew Ace was too lazy and drunk to want to give chase.

    "She can have her head start, you damned fool." He shook his head. "Turning on your own for some greaser bitch?"

    He shoved me against the wall. My throat was dry like it had already turned back into the dust it was made from. But I was a stubborn son of a bitch. I couldn''t let him have the last words. There was more time to buy.

    "Seemed the right thing," I croaked out.

    Ace clicked his tongue and shook his head. He knelt, knee crushing down on Davey''s head, and looked right into my face. He didn''t grin like he often did when he got the better of a man. He regarded me like I was some pitiable soul. Like a disappointed father of sorts.

    I hadn''t noticed before then, but all my former compadres were now behind him, watching my death like it was a show at the playhouse, totally ignorant of their own injured or dying at their backs.

    A tragedy, no doubt.

    "Ain''t no heroes in the west, Crowley," he said.

    Then he leveled his Le Mat revolver at my chest. One shot from that thing would put a hole through me the size of one of Mae''s beefy fists.

    "That''s true," I gargled, "But sometimes, shit deserves to get buried in the sand."

    Like I said, I wasn''t about to give him the final word.

 Chapter 9

    The sound of Ace''s gunshot woke me. My hands sprang up out of reflex, though my arms hit something solid. The thump and showering of fine powder after the strike were a good indication that they were blocked by some sort of wall, located only inches above my face.

    I opened my mouth to speak, to ask anyone who might be listening what the hell was going on, but coughed as dust filled my throat. It coated my tongue like a film of grainy paint that I had to scrape off with my teeth just to get out words.

    There''s darkness, like midnight with a cloud-covered moon, and then there''s the darkness where no matter how hard you try, there''s just nothing there to see. This was that second kind.

    I blinked away more dust and tried to focus.

    I said it before, Black Badges could see in the night as well as a mountain lion, but in this¡ªthe total absence of any light at all¡ªI merely strained and strained some more. It was all in vain. Couldn''t see a damn thing.

    "Hey!" I managed to shout. My words stopped inches away, like they were being caught in a fishnet.

    Might as well have been since even as I patted around and kicked my legs, being unable to feel anything and now see anything had me floating in a senseless prison. The only sounds were deadened thuds made by my movements and a slight ringing in my ears that wouldn''t abate. And the smell? Barely anything. Stagnant air. Dirt. Earth.

    Shit.

    Looked like I''d finally made it. Looked like Old Lucifer had finally caught up to me in the form of a Yeti and sent me packing to hell. That''s what this was, I figured. Though, where was all the ice? The cold? The frost and little demon imps driving icepicks through skulls and worse?

    "Nah," I groaned.

    That son of a bitch couldn''t take me so easy. This was something else. Just didn''t know what yet.

    I rolled a bit, and something slipped from my pants pocket. A slight, otherworldly shimmer from something provided the scant illumination I needed for my enhanced sight to kick in.

    I quickly scooped up Shar''s mirror. The two pieces were loose, barely able to clasp. I find that hinges, like men unhappy with their lots in life, tend to protest when called to duty. The glass itself had a permanent crack down the middle, and yet, even in this oppressive darkness managed to shine bright as the Almighty himself because you know who was waiting in the fractured reflection¡ªan angry wisp, a storm cloud on the cusp of bursting into a lightning show.

    "I warned you, Crowley," Shar said. Where my voice had been muffled into near silence, hers blared like thunder. "You could have reached Elkhart first. You could have stopped them."

    "And you could''ve told me," I hissed, then gagged on some more dust. "All-knowing my ass."

    "This is how it must be, Child."

    I nearly scoffed at the title, as if I were anything close anymore, but she continued.

    "If you knew the beginning from the end, you would take shortcuts. All you needed to do was follow the path laid before you. Now, look at what your impetuousness has caused. Like an infant throwing a tantrum."

    "Hey, it''s you people who labeled us all Children."

    "And continually, you prove us correct."

    My fingers clenched, wanting to crunch what was left of the mirror for good, but it was my only source of light. Just like always, in such desperate need of her, like an addict.

    "So, what''s this¡ªHell?" I asked.

    "Your own personal one, perhaps," she responded.

    I swallowed hard. She wasn''t wrong. I''d lived my whole life and unlife in the West, under the big open sky and the range. Where even on the darkest nights, the moon couldn''t be missed. Wide-open space was my friend, and this¡­ well¡­ my eyes searched my surroundings and found the answer fast.

    Slats of wood formed a box around me. Above and below. Side to side.

    A goddamn coffin.

    And there came a subconscious fear that I hadn''t even known I had until that moment. Being confined in dark, tight spaces. What did them newfangled doctors call it? Claustrophobia? It''s a fear I''m sure any rational man or woman might have, but worse for me. They''d suffocate and die and get that sweet release, but Old James Crowley? Naw, I didn''t even need air to breathe.

    So, what would happen after an hour? Two?

    Hell, it could''ve been that long already.

    How about a day?

    I could wind up trapped down here, alone with my thoughts for all of eternity.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "I''m starting to think angels and demons ain''t so different," I said as I bucked and kicked, a new kind of hopelessness setting in. But I couldn''t shift Heaven or Earth in my form. I wasn''t a Yeti. Didn''t have that kind of strength.

    Maybe I should beseech a demon for an upgrade.

    "If you think this is Hell," Shar said, soft and sultry, "I do so pity you. You cannot even begin to comprehend the anguish."

    "I''m starting to get an idea." I kicked to break free once last time, then groaned and lay flat. "Fine. I''ll bite. What happened up there?"

    "You chose a beast of burden over enacting the White Throne''s judgment."

    I assumed she meant Timperina, which didn¡¯t help calm me.

    "Timp ain''t just some horse,¡± I spat.

    Which was a lie. She was, by all accounts, just a horse. That didn''t mean she wasn''t the one being in the world I''d call friend, but there was no arguing that. I''d chosen protecting her over my quarry, and I''d do it again every goddamned time.

    How long had I been out that someone mistook me for dead; had time to give me a proper burial? My feet were bare. Duster was gone. My guns and my knife¡ªall gone. I''d been scavenged and tossed away, and yet Shar''s mirror must''ve looked so beaten it was mistaken for trash along with me.

    I patted around the space more, my unfeeling hand scraping along the back of my head until my fingers sunk through a wound. I could only tell because they snagged on something and got stuck. I yanked, and the moment I did, that dull ringing in my ears vanished.

    Bringing it around to the light of the mirror, I saw it, a cluster of wet dollar bills, still with some of that Yeti''s preternatural frost on the edges. They must have speared straight through into my brain stem, paralyzing me until the last bit of magic ice melted and it dislodged.

    "Not the way money usually undoes a man," I said

    , flicking the wad against the wall of my tomb.

    "Who knows who that possessed sinner will harm next," Shar replied. ¡°Or what the Fallen One influencing him is after.¡±

    "Yeah, yeah, I get it, Your Glorious Divinity. This is all on me. But what about his partner who can apparently control animal minds? That troubles me more."

    ¡°I¡¯m not yet sure how the Pagans fit into the equation.¡±

    I moaned. ¡°Of course you aren¡¯t.¡±

    "But rare is a Yeti. Only a Child so consumed by hate could commune with one of Hell''s minions in such a reckless way to forsake the soul. And when the power becomes too great, and the human parts die¡­ self-control goes with it. There will be casualties."

    "I''m well aware of how this possession works, Shar¡ª"

    "That is not my name."

    "Shargrafein," I spoke the second half of her name like it was a curse word. "So, why don''t you help me out of here so we can end this?"

    "Perhaps we should dispatch another of our Hands. Let you lie here, considering the difference between acquiescence and obedience.¡±

    "Look, I''m sorry for having a heart," I told her. I tried to keep the panic from my voice but I don''t think I had much success. "I promise I''ll play nice. Do just what the White Throne commands. Now let me out."

    "Perhaps they might listen better."

    "Let me out!" I banged against the sides of the coffin again, and somehow, they seemed like they were closing in more. Dust billowed, further filling my throat. "I get the lesson!"

    "Do you?"

    "Goddammit, you''re as bad as Ace sometimes!"

    I winced. No answer came, but using her Lord''s name in vain straight to her was probably not my smartest of decisions, current situation considered. But you bury a man alive and tell me he won''t spew some of the worst kinds of curses before his air runs out.

    "I''ll follow your path or whatever else you need of me like I always do," I said, grinding my teeth. I could sense her incredulity. "Sure, I stray. Ain''t that just what Children do? But I''m loyal, dammit. Got no choice but to be. I''m loyal, you hear?¡±

    The memory of me turning on Ace flashed through my mind. I wasn''t loyal to my last boss, though he had it coming. Would she hold me to that?

    "I get the job done," I said to hammer home the point. But my voice had grown soft by now.

    Shar didn''t answer, so I kept talking.

    "And now that that icy bastard and his pals put me down here, it''s personal. You better believe that. I''m gonna send all three of them on a freight train straight to Hell. You tell the White throne that. Straight to Hell!"

    Silence responded.

    The light of the holy mirror winked away, casting me once more into what felt like unholy darkness. Maybe that was Hell, eternal separation from the light.

    "Shar!" I screamed.

    My legs and arms thrashed like a fish out of water, far out as could be. I knew rage wouldn''t get me anywhere, but I couldn''t help it. I hated getting bested. Visions of Ace Ryker and his tapered beard, cool blue eyes, a crooked grin flashed across my mind''s eye over and over again. Visions of that day I died because I''d tried to save someone who couldn''t save themselves. And here I was, all over again. Doing the same stuff.

    Trying to be a hero in a place where there weren''t any.

    Minutes passed, me getting more and more pissed off. My limbs didn''t tire from exertion¡ªthey couldn''t¡ªbut my brain sure as hell did. Punch by punch, I lost myself to frustration until I was just lying on my back staring up into endless black.

    All these years serving the White Throne, and a possessed Yeti was to be my undoing. Well, not really. I was the one at fault. Stubborn as a mule, like always. Saving that little girl and her mother from Ace, protecting Timperina, Agatha¡ªdamn that soft spot in my black, dead heart.

    Then a tremor came. The entire coffin rattled me around like a stagecoach through rocky terrain. A thin sliver of light pierced through one of the coffin''s fine lines, and I heard its lid groaning. So, I went back to pushing with all my considerable might.

    And what do you know? The lid cracked off and flew upward.

    I gasped as if I needed the air. I was staring up at bright sunshine.

    I set to clawing my way upward out of what was to be my forever home and heaved my body over the ledge of a deep hole. I laid there for a moment, face down in the dirt, and not a second later, a snort greeted me. Glancing up, Timperina''s long tongue licked me chin to forehead. I grabbed her head, pulled her close, and gave her a loving tug on her mane. Then, I used the momentum it provided me to rise.

    "Quite a bit of trouble you caused, girl," I said.

    Then I turned Timp aside so I could get a look at her. The ice explosion had left a few little nicks here and there, but mostly, she was no worse for wear.

    "C''mon. Let''s get on."

    We turned, me leading her by the reins, and I stopped dead.

    A winding trench wove from my grave through the cemetery, somehow not disturbing any other plot or headstone. A thin funnel of wind and dust swirled in front of the nearby church, slowly vanishing into the pale, cloudless sky.

    A twister. Common in these parts, only, they usually wreaked chaos. This one''s path seemed almost purposeful, affecting nothing except for my own grave.

    Standing by a freshly dug hole across the yard was a scrawny kid. Must''ve been the gravedigger. He stared, all color drained from his face. Then, he dropped the shovel and silently ran in the opposite direction of town.

    Now, I''m not one to complain about miracles, especially when they benefit me, but I glared down at the cracked mirror in my palm and muttered, "Show-off."

 Chapter 10

    Elkhart was a sizable settlement. The cemetery was behind the church on the topmost of three tiers. From there, it had only been a short walk to the sheriff''s place, also hovering over the whole town like some kind of guardian angel or judge.

    Too bad they hadn''t had better luck.

    Put up a better fight than Lonely Hill had, but these towns are only prepared for outlaws with gunpowder, not Hell magic.

    Elkhart had been ravaged by the fight. Ice had melted and mixed with the clay to create a sloshy mess¡ªthough most of it seemed dried up by now. The unnatural rime had lasted far longer back in Lonely Hill.

    Debris floated on the air instead of flurries. Flecks of wood and hay. Ripped fliers for that Revelation Springs Founder¡¯s Day Fair swirled about, just like the one I¡¯d seen in Lonely Hill. Buildings were shot up and destroyed, locals hauling lumber and supplies to patch things up. The general store was missing windows. Its signage hung sideways. The second-story balcony sagged on one side with a broken column beneath it. That was where I''d been flung by the Yeti.

    From up where I was, I could spot the bank and the square before it. There were no bodies littering the streets as expected. This shootout had claimed more lives than the last for sure, but where were they? And though the bank was empty, it was just that¡­ empty. No snowflakes dithering about or lingering darkness caused by devilry. A big empty room with a big empty vault, which I could see through a big-ass hole where the front roof once had been.

    Matter of fact, everything inside seemed all cleaned up.

    How the hell long was I in that coffin?

    It was a question I was hoping the town''s lawmen might answer amongst a few others. Problem was, it seemed the whole damn town was outside their station. All that was missing were pitchforks and torches.

    "We want retribution!" one man shouted.

    "How will you get our money back!" cried a woman, clutching a small child to her hip.

    "We trusted you!"

    The complaints and shouts carried on and on in this fashion. Everyone was too distracted with their displeasure to even notice me, let alone realize that a man who''d been dead and buried walked amongst them again.

    A good thing.

    The White Throne never specifically said we needed to hide what we are, though it seemed implied. I''d get done with this place and move on to the next quickly as I could.

    I hitched Timp nearby, giving her an extra pat on her neck so she''d know I''d be right back. Got a healthy snort in return.

    "Missed you, too," I whispered in her ear. Then I shoved through the crowd, hoping no one thought too hard about my presence. Approaching the sheriff''s office, I tried the door, but it wouldn''t budge.

    "Best back away from that door!" a voice warned from inside. Sounded shaky, nervous.

    I knew I might receive a hole in my chest for it, but I kicked in the door anyway, breaking the lock, splintering the frame. I''d had enough messing around for one day. Behind me, the crowd erupted in cheers like I''d just done them a favor. They tried to follow, but I slammed the door right in their faces, then dragged a chair over to bar the knob.

    A couple of desks filled the single room, covered in papers, sets of handcuffs, and a ring of keys. A number of bounties were pinned on the wall. All in all, it was the typical setup, complete with a cell with bars made of iron along the back wall, currently empty.

    Also in the room stood a lone man. He had his weapon raised, muzzle pointed at me. His finger was ready on the trigger, a sure sign he was planning to fire.

    "Who the hell do you think you are!" he shouted. Then his brow knitted. "You?"

    It looked like my old friend Dale from Lonely Hill was a deputy once again. Though his badge looked every bit as different as his eyes. Sunken. Dark. Like he hadn''t known the graces of a peaceful night''s sleep in some time.

    I could commiserate. And then I saw what was atop his head, and my eyes narrowed. "That''s my damn hat you''re wearing!" I growled.

    The gawking deputy steadied his weapon, but I could see his hands trembling.

    "T-they said you died," he said. "Got buried. The rider in black who done chased off them outlaws. Saw your grave, I did. Y-y-you¡­ was dead."

    "I got better."

    I stepped forward. The hammer of his gun clicked, but I ignored him. I snatched my hat. He didn''t shoot. I knew he wouldn''t. Not after all we''d been through.

    I dusted off my Stetson and set it atop my head.

    "Where''s the rest of my stuff, Dale?"

    He just stared dumbfounded, so I slammed my fist on his desk.

    He winced and shuffled to the back of the room and returned with my duster, belt and other things.

    ¡°Think it¡¯s all here¡­ mostly,¡± Dale said, looking down at it all as he walked. He tripped over a lip in the floor and my belt fell, satchel along with it. As it hit the floor, the Nephilim¡¯s harmonica slid out. Guess whoever buried me didn¡¯t think the thing had any value. Probably true, but I was glad the it remained in my possession. In the wrong hands, something like it could be deadly.

    Dale cursed and tried to pick everything up. I beat him to most of it, but his hand reached the harmonica just before mine and he lifted it.

    ¡°Odd piece, this,¡± he said. All at once, it became the singular focus of his attention. His eyes almost crossed. ¡°Where¡¯d you get it?¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Hand it over, Dale,¡± I demanded.

    ¡°Is that bone?¡± He spun it around in his fingertips. ¡°I wonder what it came from. I wonder what died¡­¡± He peered up at me. ¡°Who¡¯d want to play a part of the dead.¡±

    I watched as his lips started to droop and his eyes sagged. He didn¡¯t look scared, just, sad. A simple man like him, its dark qualities were probably amplified.

    ¡°Dale, c¡¯mon now.¡± He ignored me. ¡°I said hand it over.¡± I tore it out of his grasp and stowed it back in the satchel before a dark cloud filled my thoughts as well, being in its presence.

    Dale blinked and shook out his head. ¡°You got some strange things, Mr. Crowley.¡±

    I scoured through the rest of my belongings and found both my pistols and my knife.

    "My rifle?" I asked.

    "This here is all we got of yours, Mr. Crowl¡ª"

    Between Shar, him, and everything in between, I was at my wits end. I seized him by the lapels and slammed him against the wall. And there I was, staring straight into the eyes of Ace Ryker. Not the real thing, mind, but an old bounty poster hung up right behind Dale. The paper was so weathered you could barely see the image anymore.

    I returned my attention to the sheriff or deputy or whatever the hell he was now. That gave me pause I should''ve already had.

    "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

    "Can you put me down first?"

    "No." I lifted him another inch for good measure.

    Dale stuttered a bit more, then found his words. "Folks in Lonely Hill got rowdy soon after you left. Started saying things about how our beloved Sheriff Daniels died¡­"

    "Like, whose bullet really killed him?"

    "Things," Dale replied quickly. He swallowed hard. "So, I came here after you. Thought I could make things right¡­ but¡­"

    "You were too late." I loosened my grip on him. He landed like two noodles with boots attached. "Join the crew."

    Straightening his collar, he sidled away from me, but there wasn''t far to go. "Well, the sheriff here didn''t know any better. Hadn''t heard stories. Not yet. Just knew I was wearing a badge. Told me to look after Elkhart so he and the others could go out for revenge for what those freaks did on Saturday."

    I paused, letting his words hang on the air a bit.

    ¡°Saturday? What''s today?" I asked.

    "Tuesday."

    "Tue¡ª" I plopped down on one of the chairs. I''d missed nearly three days thanks to Shar''s games. Three days where those magic-fueled outlaws could be causing a ruckus, hitting whatever town was next or slaughtering anyone who dared come after them.

    I eyed the room. Took a deep breath I didn''t need.

    "Just you here?" I asked.

    Dale nodded.

    I rose slowly. "Where''s my rifle?"

    "I could guess?" Dale said. When I didn''t respond, he continued. "Pinks were gathering up all they could. Must''ve grabbed it before leaving town."

    Sons of bitches can''t leave well enough alone. Robbing the dead. Though dumb as they were, my pistols were worth a lot more than my rifle. The damn fools.

    "Where are they all going?" I demanded.

    "Like I said, after revenge. Mr. Dufaux put a bounty on them outlaws big enough to buy whoever catches ''em a homestead of their own.¡±

    He gestured to a paper not yet pinned up, featuring a drawing of a burly man with a giant beard, a native woman with the features on her half-painted face drawn so stereotypically I couldn''t help but roll my eyes, and a blank head with a question mark.

    FROZEN TRIO WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE FOR MULTIPLE ROBBERIES OF DUFAUX BANK AND TRUST.

    A reward of $5,000 cash was being offered, and they were said to be somewhere north of Elkhart. About as descriptive as bounties get in these parts. Oh, and that they were considered armed and extremely dangerous¡­ though, nothing about magic.

    Dale sat next to me, resting a hand on my shoulder like we were old pals. The glare I shot his way informed him otherwise.

    "What am I supposed to do for these people?" he asked, reeling his hand back. "They''ll rip me apart. And what if the others don''t come back? Crowley, you gotta help me."

    The poor guy was panting.

    "You''re safer here than going after those ''freaks,'' as you call them." I put venom on the word, though he couldn''t have known it''d been offensive to me too. Plus, he wasn''t wrong. They were about the strangest crew of outlaws I''d ever run into. I picked up their bounty to analyze it closer.

    "I don''t think now''s the time to go bounty hunting," Dale said.

    As my gaze passed across the unidentified marksman, I remembered something.

    Without hesitating, I searched across the desk.

    "Hey now!" Dale protested, but I ignored him.

    I tore open a drawer and rummaged to find a fountain pen inside. Then, I began drawing on the back of the bounty. Dale leaned right over my shoulder, watching me like I was losing my mind. Maybe I was.

    "Was it that strange ice weapon got you?" he asked. "Like anti-dynamite or something it was. My God, did you get buried alive, frozen? How''d you get¡ª"

    "You recognize this?" I said, shoving the drawing into his hand to shut him up. Some questions were better off left unanswered.

    On the paper was my best rendition of the symbolic bird brand I''d spotted on the back of the marksman. Knowing his abilities and the fact that they were glowing, I knew there was something to the markings. Had to be.

    Some shouting started from some of the townsfolk trying to shove their way inside. The chair scraped along wood, and I stepped across the room to jam it back into place.

    "Quiet!" I barked.

    When I turned around, Dale was studying the drawing. "Where''d you see this?"

    "Never mind that," I said. "What is it?"

    "Ain''t sure exactly."

    "But you''ve seen it." I could tell by the look on his face.

    He nodded. "Couple of years back." His face started to glow at the memory. "Got invited to one of Mr. Dufaux''s Founder''s Day galas up in Revelation Springs years back. Its that time again... I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve seen the signs. Didn''t get invited this year. It was like a dream. Sheriff Daniels took me as I was just starting as a reward. Biggest house I''d ever seen, still to this day¡ª"

    "Can you get to the damn point?"

    Dale cleared his throat. "Mr. Dufaux had this symbol." He stabbed his finger at the paper. "On an Injun statue or a¡­ a what¡¯chu call it¡ªall stacked and such¡­"

    "Totem?" I asked, hoping to hurry him up.

    "Yeah, yeah. That. A totem. Pretty thing. Colorful and all carved up."

    "Dale. Get on with it." I slapped the desk again.

    "Sorry, Mr. Crowley. I''m just nervous. I¡­ Dufaux had it displayed proudly in his courtyard. Right in the middle."

    "That a fact?"

    "Certain as hell is hot."

    I didn''t bother correcting him about that. All I could wonder is why Mr. Reginald Dufaux would have the same symbol in his home that was glowing upon the back of one of the men robbing him?

    Sounded to me like I had my first real clue about who these folks were.

    I knew Yetis could only exist through pure hate and remembered how the Yeti had condemned Dufaux during the robbery. Spat his name with disgust.

    This was personal. A feud, perhaps? Something stolen or pride wounded. Could even be something to do with the statue.

    I was done trying to follow the money, bank to bank. The robbers were too far ahead of me now. It was time I headed right to the source in Revelation Springs. This Mr. Dufaux. If he knew something more, I could get a leg up. If Dufaux knew nothing, I had a feeling the Frozen Trio would be coming for Revelation soon anyway. Him living there meant it¡¯d be the biggest, richest branch of his banking institution.

    "Thanks," I said to Dale, snatching the drawing out of his hands and stuffing it into my pocket.

    "Wait, what?" He moved to block me from the door and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "You can''t leave me here alone with them. We gotta talk about what you saw. May-maybe we can find ''em. Together. gGet the bounty for ourselves¡ª"

    "I work alone," I said, brushing by him. I kicked the chair aside and the door flung open, letting all the Elkhart rabble inside.

    "Now, now, one a time," I said. Then I looked back at Dale. "Good luck."

    He smiled a nervous smile and got to it. "Hi. Can I help you? What''s your name, miss? Excuse you!"

    I slipped out unnoticed and loaded onto Timperina.

    Keeping me buried in a box¡­ Shar''s message got across. It was time to slow down, focus, and bring holy justice to those who called upon the aide of demons.

    And yet, it was Shar I was more concerned with at the moment. Her lesson was harsher than usual. But hey, no one ever said angels were all benevolent.

 Chapter 11

    I had one detour to make on the way to Revelation Springs. I know, I know, pissing Shar off for no good reason ain''t smart, but this was a worthy diversion. Plus, Shar hadn''t bugged me about it yet.

    Dealing with a Yeti was easy, relatively speaking. Abnormally strong, but I could handle a magic-wielding brute with a solid plan, some silver, and a whole a lot of gunpowder. Though, like Shar warned, his power would only grow with time, madness with it, which would make everything tougher. Tomahawk-lady was no slouch either, and the marksman¡­ I was, and always will be, wary of things that enter the minds of other things.

    With the music-playing Nephilim, it''d taken time and a melody for that beast to dig into the brains of its hosts. However, that young outlaw and the hawk¡ªthat was instantaneous. One mind, flipping back and forth.

    If he was a Neph, he was a kind I''d never encountered before. That means he probably wasn''t, and I needed some answers.

    Did his abilities extend beyond that? Could he work a man like a puppet, not just a bird?

    I raised my mirror, checked my teeth. Where I was going, for some reason, I always liked looking my best.

    "Must you do that, Crowley?" Shar complained, stealing the view of my not-so-pearly whites as she swirled about in the sheen.

    "Well, good day to you too," I said.

    "All days are good when Lucifer¡¯s forces are in their place."

    "Pleasant."

    Timp''s hoof slipped on a rock, and I nearly dropped the mirror.

    "You must learn to be more careful," Shar said.

    I leaned over to steady Timp, then glanced sidelong at Shar. "I thought you''d be scolding me for this little sojourn."

    "I have no feud with the Pagans," Shar replied.

    "You''ll find one. Always do."

    "Continue pursuing the bird, and you may yet find the answers to what demon empowered the Yeti. Which is as important as thwarting the possessed themselves. Remember, the steps of a righteous man are ordered by the Almighty."

    "Righteous?" I laughed. "Now that''s a word I''ve never been called."

    "You have found the path again, Crowley. Follow it and root out this plague of wickedness, and whichever of our endless foes lies behind it."

    "Still think it¡¯s Chekoketh?¡± I asked.

    ¡°The rumors suggest he may be up to something.¡±

    ¡°Rumors? I thought gossip was a sin?¡±

    ¡°And we were getting along so nicely, Crowley,¡± she reprimanded.

    "You''re right. You''re right. Let me know if those rumors flesh themselves out at all, would you?"

    "You handle your affairs. I''ll handle mine.¡±

    She swirled away. Of course, she had no useful information from on High. However, I''d be a liar if I said hearing from her didn''t buoy my spirits. All this friction and butting of heads, at least that was behind us. My holy duty to the White Throne was to banish Hell''s mischief from Earth, but if I could root out the demon behind it? That was always a bonus. Got me a longer leash for the next time a poor lass like Agatha cried out, and I couldn''t help but stop to save her.

    Revelation Springs wasn''t too far off course. Though, in the West, it''s so rare you find anything that''s on the way. But I had friends in high places, so to speak. Only this one wasn''t an angel.

    I gave Timp a nudge to speed up, but I could tell she was hesitant. A thick fog rolled in as we followed the Devil''s River, a few dozen miles north of Dead Acre and due east of Revelation Springs. It was a fitting name if there ever was one. Dead or dying trees spread across the flats like skeletal hands reaching up from the grave. After my experience underground, the whole thing made me shudder.

    It was like all the life out here was being sucked up and repurposed within, but up ahead, I could hear life. The falls rumbled and I could practically taste their waters.

    Timp whinnied. I felt bad. The incline was steep, and she was getting up there in age.

    "Almost there, girl," I said, patting her neck.

    Grabbing her mane tight, I leaned in so she could hear my breathing. The fog was so thick now I couldn''t see anything else. But she knew the way. One hoof in front of the other, up treacherous terrain to a haven somewhere between Heaven and Hell.

    A shadow darted to my right. Timp blew out her nose.

    "Steady girl," I said, catching a whiff of the visitor. Many enemies lurked in places like this, but our guest wasn''t one. "Friends come in many forms."

    The fog swirled, shifting, like Shar''s movements within glass only at a much grander scale. I could sense Timp''s nerves even though she''d been this way before. Her sinewy neck was quivering, tailing whipping hard behind me.

    Then she reared and kicked her hooves.

    "Whoa!" I shouted, but she wasn''t listening. I nearly toppled off her, trying my best to regain composure.

    More fog clouded about and Timp strafed back and forth, doing a short, tight circle. When the fog cleared, a shaggy-haired, droopy-eared dog stood before us. The kind of animal that a ranch-hand might keep around to stir the sheep. A mangy hound that fits in everywhere and is tossed scraps just to keep it from yapping.

    "Sorry to drop in on you, Mutt," I said. "Wasn''t sure where else to go."

    The dog didn''t respond, just let its tongue hang out as it panted. A good sign. When he turned and walked slowly, clearing a route through the blanket of mist, I knew I was welcome to follow.

    Timp took a bit of jostling to get moving, but she got on eventually. Walls of red stone closed in on either side, a narrowing ravine up a mild incline. Mutt scurried along, hopping over rocks that Timp easily crossed.

    The waterfall revealed itself at the narrow end of the chasm. It was wide enough for but a single man to pass, one at a time. Mutt stopped at it, looked back, and barked once before leaping through the watery curtain. I heeled Timp forward, but when we got to the water''s edge, she resisted, digging in, and refusing to carry on.

    "C''mon now, we could both use a bath." I gave her mane a whiff. "You, especially. Whew, girl, that''s rancid."

    She shook from side to side and tapped her back hoof.

    "Be open-minded," I said with a chuckle.

    Another more vehement shake followed.

    "All right now. Fine." I sighed. "If you insist."

    I hopped down and hitched her to a broken tree trunk. She could be finicky around here. Plus, werewolves roamed these parts. Though they didn''t usually care to get too close to the falls¡ªknowing who was out here and all¡ªtheir howls were often enough to send Timp running. I didn''t feel like yet another chase, but she was never one to be forced.

    "Wait here," I told her as I stepped forward.

    Water gushed over me. I stopped for a minute, putting my head back and running my fingers through grungy hair, pulling at the knots. Scrubbed my face of many days'' worth of caked-on dirt and mud too. I had no need to drink but I wouldn''t say it didn''t make me feel good to swish a bit. Like I was a new man.

    On the other side, the fog completely lifted.

    No matter how many times I visit what I¡¯ve designated ¡®the Garden¡¯¡ªthis shelter of the Skinwalkers¡ªI''ll never get used to it. Lush, wet plants splayed out before me for what seemed like miles. Ferns with leaves the size of wagons. Prehistoric-like flora. Stuff nobody''s seen around these parts for millennia, yet here it was.

    I called it the Garden for obvious reasons; it reminded me of the fabled Eden¡ªonly thing missing was the snake.

    Steep cliffs rose on either side like we were inside the crater of a dormant volcano¡ªwhich, maybe we were. If this were my home, I''d keep it as secret just as they had for all this time. It was absolutely stunning. Everywhere I looked was green. A verdant oasis in the middle of the dry desert. And in the center of it all was a tall tree with solid white flowers.

    Huupi Sokobi, they called it. Best translation I had was the ''Life Tree.'' They believed that with its branches reaching up and its roots digging deep into the earth, it was a link between the heavens, earth, and the underworld. United above and below. Beautiful sentiment, I suppose.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Birds soared overhead¡ªsome breeds I don''t even know the name of. Rodents skittered through twisting branches, playing like they had no care in the world. The dog, however, was gone. Instead, before me stood a young native boy with sharp features. Couldn''t have been older than thirteen. Fur-covered rags hung loose from his bony frame, and that same object which seemed like a collar before now hung from him as a necklace.

    "You always going to hide around me?" I asked, knowing no answer would come.

    Young Mutt¡ªas I affectionately called him since he''d never shared his real name¡ªand I had a history. He''d saved me from werewolves once, and I''d helped him bring a number of them down. I figured if anyone could help me, it was Mutt''s people.

    Skinwalkers and Werefolk have an eternal feud, you see. Not unlike Heaven and Hell. Shar won''t exactly give me the specifics on where they both come from¡ªshocker¡ªbut I do know neither are demonic spawn exactly. Probably cursed by the like long ago until, eventually, the condition became normal in their blood. They don''t exactly fit the Nephilim mold, which is why I was here.

    I always figure Shar knows more than she''s willing to share. I think she doesn''t want me to know that there''s a route to gain power apart from above or below. Or, maybe¡ªwho knows¡ªmaybe she doesn''t know herself, and in this great big Earth God made for us, some supernatural things manifest all on their own.

    The Skinwalkers, like her, prefer to keep me in the dark, and I''m content to stay there when I can. All I know for sure is that Mutt''s people are helpful when I''m in a pinch and that werewolves are a damn thorn in my flesh.

    I never mind siding with good folk. And these people? They''re as good as good gets.

    I just hope Shar doesn''t decide one day that Mutt and his band are scions of Hell enough to need to be banished.

    "Why are you here?" Mutt asked.

    The young Skinwalker didn''t speak much even though his dog-form didn''t mind yapping, but his voice seemed older than he appeared. More mature. And he was always straight to the point. I liked that. No beating around the bush or spewing nonsense like outlaws tended to.

    "I need you to look at something for me," I replied.

    I pulled out the drawing of the lightning hawk markings. His eyes narrowed, and he took it, turning it over to see the bounty. His gaze lingered on that all-too-stereotypical image of the native woman. His lips pursed.

    "Don''t worry about them," I said. "Just the bird. Now, I mean no offense, but the way it was done, the patterning¡ªit looks native. Only, I don''t recognize what tribe it might belong to. I thought Comanche but, something''s just a bit¡­ off."

    Mutt looked around. A few of his people strolled by wearing bright colors, paying us no mind. They were a peaceful people, at least to me, not yet touched by my kind¡¯s incursion onto land that belonged to their kin. Guess that''s the benefit of having a hidden sanctuary like this.

    Each of them, like Mutt, could turn into a dog-form on a whim. It didn''t take a full moon or inspire bloodlust like with the weres.

    If I''m honest, I ain''t too sure what the ability does except help them blend in. They''re damn good with medicine, too; I''ll give them that. Maybe if Ace had dragged me here after shooting me through the chest, I''d have made it and still had a heart beating there. But I digress.

    "Well?" I asked.

    Mutt studied me momentarily, then pointed to a mud hut across the hidden valley.

    "Mukwooru?" I asked.

    He nodded, and I didn''t dare question him.

    And so I went, crossing stairs and paths carved through stone and meager wigwam huts, ducking under unblemished branches, and brushing away spotless leaves. To either side, home after home dotted the path. None was bigger than the next. No way to determine one''s wealth or worth by the size of their domicile or the exquisiteness of their clothing.

    Mutt''s people went about their daily lives around me, fetching water from the falls, tending livestock, and hammering tools into place. Part of me wished I were still alive and living my own way so I could beg them to let me stay. But that was a pipe dream.

    Mutt kept ahead of me, and once he reached the hut, he held open drapes made of bones and beads.

    "Thanks," I told Mutt.

    Then, stepping in, I removed my Stetson, a sign of respect and showing I had nothing to hide. A woman knelt in front of a burning pile of sage. The smoke and smell filled the little wigwam, and for once, I was glad I didn''t need to breathe. I could only imagine how that would fill the lungs of a mortal man.

    Mutt moved in to stand silently beside her. They had the same chin, nose. Her son, if I had to guess it, though nobody had ever given me that answer.

    I knew her. She knew me. She went by Mukwooru. Meant something like "spirit talker" in their native tongue, but I wasn''t sure if it was her name or title. Her hair was gray with some streaks of youth left in it, but it was mostly covered by a buffalo skull cap. Her beautiful leather dress was covered with beadwork unparalleled, the long frills at her arms and hems falling like blades of wheat.

    She leaned back and spoke quietly to Mutt. I didn''t understand most of it¡ªpartially because I didn''t have a grasp on the intricacies of their speech, but also, her voice was barely a whisper. I did, however, hear how she punctuated it with "Black Badge" in English. I''d shared my favored title with Mutt once, and I guessed he''d passed that along.

    "Good to see you again too, Mukwooru," I said, lowering my head in deference. It just came natural to me. Always just hoped I wasn''t offending. Didn''t know much about them at all, really. Spilling secrets to a dog and getting nothing in return¡ªI was starting to understand the worth of their ability to blend in.

    Mukwooru didn''t say a word in return.

    Like mother like son, I guess.

    My stance shifted uncomfortably.

    "Oh, right," I said, remembering how it worked. It''d been some time since an incident in Dead Acre with a lovestruck Necromancer. After that, I''d been around the Garden a few times with Mutt. Most recently, I needed some help tracking down a witch''s coven doing some kind of voodoo that looked a bit too much like Skinwalking.

    Falling to one knee, I rustled through my belongings. A gift for a gift. A simple way of living, yet, one I could respect. Outlaws like I''d been¡ªwe lived much the same way amongst our own crew. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, gold for gold, blood for blood, and so on.

    My hand rifled through my belt satchel. I knew I¡¯d kept the Nephilim¡¯s harmonica for a reason. I pulled it out quick and practically tossed it on the ground between us, glad for the chance to hand it over to a people that might understand its eldritch power and maybe be able to do something good with it.

    "A gift," I said, my words coming out labored.

    Mukwooru slowly extended her wrinkled fingers and lifted the harmonica. Nobody spoke, but her beads rattled as she spun it to observe every angle. She brought it to her nose, and her nostrils twitched. Then her lips. Before she could even play a note, a tear pooled in one of her eyes and she lowered it, clutching it to her chest.

    I don''t know what that cursed thing made her see, but it was enough for her to extend it back to me.

    "You keep," she said, accent thick as oil. She dropped it back onto the floor, or rather, pushed it away as if it stunk of shit.

    "But¡ª"

    She snapped her fingers to silence me. Then, she said something else to Mutt in their language. He handed her the drawing, and I continued staring at the little bone instrument. I should''ve known the accursed thing wouldn''t be so easy to ditch.

    Luckily, the gesture of offering it seemed to do the trick. I begrudgingly scooped it up and stuffed it back into the darkness of my satchel.

    While I did, Mukwooru traced the lines of the drawing. Her forehead wrinkled into worms while murmuring in her language. I couldn''t help but wonder if my handiwork was just so poor I was confusing everyone. Never claimed to be an artist.

    "Piasa," she pronounced, finally.

    "What?" I asked.

    "Pi-asa."

    Two syllables. One word. I gathered that much. Still had no idea what it meant, though.

    She tapped on the drawing and said the word again. My brow furrowed, and I glanced at Mutt, who flapped his arms like wings.

    "So, it''s a bird?" I asked.

    Mukwooru shook her head. "No. A god."

    "Where I come from, there''s only one of those," I jested and quickly realized it wasn''t the time.

    "Born of thunder." She imitated the sound of a lightning strike. "It is the storm. Long vanished. It, and its guardian tribe."

    "Extinct?" I scratched my chin, then my head.

    "Not extinct," Mukwooru said. "Gone."

    I wasn''t sure there was a difference, but I didn''t argue.

    "Where did you see this?" Mutt asked me.

    "The man I''m after," I said, taking a small step toward them. I turned the drawing over and pointed at the question mark that represented the sharpshooter. "He had that symbol branded on his back, glowing. I got the impression he could enter the mind of his pet, a hawk. And he used it to attack me. I¡¯ve never seen a power like that. So fast, back and forth. A bit like you folks, though I''m not implying it was you. He used the thing''s eyes to help pick off targets from rooftops."

    Mukwooru rose from the floor just a little, straightening her curved spine. She looked up to Mutt, then to me.

    "Very rare ability." She raised a hand to her chest and tapped. "Skinwalker." Then she poked the question mark on the bounty. "Mind-drifter."

    "Well, that''s nifty, ain''t it," I said, throwing a smirk at Mutt. He didn''t seem amused, though. Never did. Getting the boy to crack a smile would be a bigger miracle than the one which freed me from my grave.

    "Is it just hawks or¡­" I asked, letting my thoughts hang in the air.

    "You are friend to our home," she said. "But that is all I can offer."

    I grimaced, mouth drawing a sharp line. That wasn''t enough. I didn''t come all this way for riddles. I could get that from Shar. I had to know. So, I did something I was good at. I pushed my luck.

    "Well, can he enter your mind? Mine?"

    Her glare fixed on me, icier than the Yeti''s. What is it about the women in my life, able to throw daggers like that with their eyes?

    I didn''t relent. "Is he from around here? Are they? The people who worshiped this god?"

    She snapped her finger again, and this time, the smoke from the sage billowed in response.

    "No. More." Her tone made it clear that was it. She held the bounty paper out for me to take.

    I looked to Mutt. He stared back and his expression said we were done.

    "Fine, fine." I snatched the paper, not daring to cause any more trouble. Allies were rare enough in these parts."Thank you kindly, ma''am. Next time, I promise to bring something you''ll hang onto."

    I went to stand, and as I did, Mukwooru lunged over the sage, her face bursting through the smoke, a bit too reminiscent of my angelic handler. Grasping my wrist, she beseeched me with a question. "The Mind-drifter. Will you kill him?"

    I eyed her a moment. I wasn''t sure what answer she wanted. If I said yes, would she view me as a murderer? But what if she wanted this man dead? She didn''t act like his kind were too desirable. I went with what I thought was a neutral response that I couldn''t be held personally accountable for.

    "If that''s what the Almighty intends."

    "And if not?" she pressed.

    "He''s dangerous. He and his crew have killed plenty already and he¡¯s no doubt destined for Hell, much like I am."

    "Answer me."

    I looked straight at her. I wished I could lie to her, but I knew she''d see right through it. She didn''t get a reputation like hers, didn''t reign over an enlightened people like hers for not being able to see through a man.

    "I wish that were up to me," I said, sighing. "I truly, truly do."

    ¡°Your people, always fast to kill. You bring no gift worth taking. Instead, gift me this. Do not kill unless he is truly deserving.¡±

    My mouth hung open, unsure what to say. Deserving of life or death was a question reserved for beings above my pay grade. Sure, the Mind-drifter had killed those who fired back. Who worth their salt in the West hasn¡¯t? And controlling the will of other beings felt deeply wrong to me, but it was only a hawk from what I knew so far. A pet that maybe loved him. And I¡¯ll be honest, sometimes it¡¯d be better if Timperina understood what I was thinking.

    The only rules I had to go by were those doled out by the White Throne, and they were as incomprehensible and wishy-washy as ancient texts.

    Deserving¡­ what a loaded word.

    Mukwooru released me and returned to her kneeling position. Eyes focused on the smokey plume of incense, she flicked her wrist toward the exit. Mutt hurried over to get the drapes for me even though I was already halfway out.

    It wasn''t the best terms on which I''d left the Garden, but it was honest. Mutt''s people always seemed to appreciate that. I just knew, next time I returned, I''d better bring something more valuable to trade for information or help. Otherwise, I might find myself knee-deep between werewolves and Skinwalkers, without a side to choose.

 Chapter 12

    Mutt led me back through the waterfall in silence. And maybe it was because I''d just handled that damned harmonica so much, or perhaps it was knowing that I was leaving the most peaceful place I''d ever encountered, but as soon as the water streamed across my face, a sense of longing came.

    Living out in the West, mostly amongst various shades of brown and ugly, thorny plants¡ªthe Garden has a certain appeal. A soothing effect. Hell, if my people found out about this lush little oasis, there''d be a race for it that''d make the Gold Rush look like the Gold Crawl.

    Timperina waited to greet me right where I''d left her. Only, that soothed nature didn''t seem to extend to her. She faced me head-on, bobbing her head and anxiously tapping her front hoof.

    "What is it, girl?" I asked.

    She snorted, then whinnied and threw her head to the side. Dammit, did I wish I spoke horse.

    "I wasn''t gone that long.¡±

    The full moon, already hovering in the sky, told me I was lying. Back in dog form, Mutt''s ears stood, flicking back and forth. I had hearing better than most men, but it was nothing compared to animals. I listened hard as well and thought I heard what grabbed his attention and got Timp all riled up.

    Howling. And this wasn''t a train.

    Mutt took off first, and I mounted Timp to follow. Naturally, she didn''t want to.

    "Oh, c''mon, you big baby," I said, though I didn''t blame her.

    We raced down through the fog, following Mutt''s path for the easiest route. I checked my ammo on the way. Didn''t have many silver shots left for my pistols and my rifle remained missing-in-action. My plan was to craft some rounds more once I made it to Revelation Springs, but you know what they say about plans¡­ Men make ''em. God laughs.

    Howls turned to growls, then came the shriek of a man. Mutt took a leap off a ledge, which Timp couldn''t manage, so I guided her around the long way. A clearing in the fog revealed three werewolves circling their prey¡ªa man pinned down beneath his own dead horse.

    "Help!" he cried out.

    "Looks like someone wandered a bit too far away from home," one of the werewolves said, or more like snarled the words out.

    "Fresh meat," said another, snapping her jaws with an audible clack. The females are smaller but not generally weaker.

    Their prey started sobbing. "Please¡­ someone, help!

    I could''ve left them to their meal. It was natural, so to speak. Nobody would stop a wolf from feeding on a deer. But then, I saw the face of their little snack.

    "Son of a bitch, Dale!" I cursed.

    Considering I didn''t sense the agonizing itch of Shar''s presence as I pondered saving him, I reckoned he had some role to play in what was to come. Or, maybe, he was right in my way, and Shar decided to throw me a bone, let me play hero.

    "Not so fresh if you ask me!" I called down.

    All three werewolves stopped and looked up at me as I drove Timp down the ridge, pistols trained on them. The one in the middle had a scar across his eye and a tuft of black fur along the center of his hunched spine. Ugly things, they are, but that''s what you get when you slam two beings into one in a way that isn''t meant to be.

    Werewolves may not be direct demon-spawn, but they are wicked in a sense, even if they don''t mean to be. The affliction brings about a bloodlust they can barely control when the moon turns full, especially in the younger ones. And I''d had my share of run-ins with them. Considering we ran in the same preternatural circles, it couldn''t be helped.

    "You¡­" the scarred one said.

    My brow knitted. "Have we met?"

    "You killed my cousin, Wolf Hunter! Gave me this." He ran one of his long, jagged claws across his scarred eye.

    "Did I now?" It was impossible to know. I don''t go around hunting the weres like he implied, but we got into a fair share of skirmishes. I skidded Timp to a stop, setting her perpendicular to the fight so I had a clean shot to my left.

    "All you inbred runts look the same to me,¡± I said. ¡°Now, you all back away slow, and we can all go our own ways. Don''t be stupid. I''ve got the high ground."

    "He''s mine, Roscoe!"

    The smallest of the three bounded toward me. Don''t know what she was thinking, dashing toward an armed man one of them just called Wolf Hunter, but I put a bullet through the center of her head all the same. The price of being stupid, if you ask me. Steam and silvery sparks showered out as she tumbled down rock and landed in a messy heap of tangled limbs.

    That was easy. Only spent one of my three remaining shots.

    The other two split up, skittering along the rocks to get at me in a serpentine manner. I lined up a shot on one of them and took it. But what these shapeshifters lacked in brains, they made up for with dexterity and testicular fortitude. A last-second turn caused me only to catch it in the arm.

    I decided to save my final bullet when Mutt jumped out of cover and crashed into the closest one''s head, nails raking across the side of its face. So many sounds rose in the night, I wasn''t sure which was Mutt and which was the werewolf, but I watched with bated breath as they fought.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    How something so small as Mutt brought that mammoth down, I do not know, but it happened all the same. Saw it with my own eyes. The thing bellowed and thrashed. I set a boot against Timp''s saddle and shoved off. She gave me a purposeful buck to help propel me. Sometimes, Timp and I are just purely in sync.

    As I fell, I lassoed the abomination around one of its big paws. Heaven¡¯s raw judgment rendered it still and kept it from doing Mutt any damage as I yanked, throwing the thing off-balance and sending it careening down the incline. It yelped, bouncing against rock, and then again until it was too far down to hear. Dropping to the clearing, I rolled, caught my balance, and rose with one pistol cocked and ready to blow a hole through the scarred pack leader named Roscoe.

    "Enough!" he thundered.

    I held my fire. The werewolf had Mutt by the throat, all four legs kicking as he squealed to break free. Dale cried behind him, yanking futilely to free his leg from beneath his dead steed.

    "Drop the dog," I warned.

    "Toss the gun," Roscoe countered.

    "Don''t be a fool. Those shots were loud. You don''t think his people will be here soon? Chop you up. Eat you. Use your bones to decorate their doorways? They don''t waste a part."

    "All I wanted was a tasty meal." Roscoe snarled back at Dale, who hid his face in terror.

    "Don''t I know the feeling," I lamented.

    "You murdered my pack!"

    "You don''t know that other one''s dead."

    Roscoe growled.

    "Look," I said. "You drop him, you walk away. I got no personal quarrel with your kind except you constantly getting in my damn way."

    "And my meal?" Roscoe asked, turning back toward Dale.

    "He stays too."

    "I think I''d rather kill the Skinwalker. For my pack." A guttural sound rumbled deep from in the werewolf''s gullet. His claw slid around the soft part of Mutt''s throat, and the dog squealed. That was when I noticed that I could hear every last one of those noises. It was eerily quiet up here. Gave me an idea.

    "Wait," I said. "I''ll make you a deal. A trade. In exchange for his life." I nodded to the body of the werewolf to my right, head still steaming silver. "And to pay for hers."

    "That was my sister," Roscoe spat.

    "She attacked me first."

    All I got in return was a soft growl. I stowed one pistol, then I slowly reached into the satchel I wore on my belt. Maintaining eye contact the whole way so he wouldn''t get jumpy, I pulled out the cursed harmonica.

    Roscoe scoffed. "That''s all?"

    "That''s all?" I said, feigning insult. "It''s made from the talon of a bear owl. Worth a small fortune. And the sound? Pure as a cut diamond."

    It was a lie, but it made Roscoe perk up. I noticed his grip on Mutt loosen a hair.

    "What''s it gonna be?" I said. "Before his folk get here, and we all wind up dead."

    "I''m thinking!" Roscoe snapped.

    I may not have been able to trade the harmonica, but if it had enough power to scare Mukwooru, then I might as well put it to the test.

    "Here, just listen." I brought the instrument to my mouth. I can''t vomit¡ªat least, I don''t think I can¡ªbut I had the sudden urge to. My mind was flooded with images of Mutt''s throat getting gashed, Mukwooru getting pissed, and me getting buried amongst the roots of the Life Tree for all eternity, where even Shar couldn¡¯t break me out.

    I exhaled slowly out of habit. A calming measure, though it did nothing substantial for me. I had to focus through the gloom.

    I knew a bit about harmonica-playing from the old days. Hard to run with a crew large as the Scuttlers and not watch someone diddle around with a tune when we got stuck waiting around a campfire.

    So, I played what I thought was a "G." Now, the truth is, I couldn''t blow a melody from my ass after a pot of beans, but wouldn''t you know it, the note hummed out perfectly into the crisp air, and the fog itself seemed to fold around the sound. I kept eye contact with Roscoe the entire time.

    His face gave off a woozy look, and as the note hung, I lowered the harmonica and whispered, "Drop him."

    Mutt fell that very instant.

    Roscoe''s eyes opened wide the very next moment, stunned at what he''d just done. I couldn''t say I blamed him. I stunned myself a little too. I was no lesser Nephilim, but some of the goat-beast¡¯s powers clearly remained in its instrument. Only, that ill feeling augmented me.

    Controlling something else, that was a game for beings more powerful than I. It was wrong. I knew it was wrong and I hated doing it. But it had worked.

    Resisting the overwhelming bleakness, I raised my Peacemaker, using my forearm to balance the barrel and fired. At the same time, Mutt recovered fast enough to bite the werewolf''s ankle. Roscoe lurched in pain, so instead of a kill shot, I blew a hole right through his roaring mouth. Blood and smoke spewed from his torn cheek.

    He flew back, scrambling to a stop just before joining his brother in a tumble down the ridge.

    "I''ll kill you, hunter," he growled. The words were muddled and confused sounding. "I promise you that. I''ll eat your damn bloody heart!" By the end of his threats, he was shouting because he''d fled out of sight and vanished into the veil of fog.

    "Good luck finding it!" I called back, knowing he wouldn''t hear me. I''d be damned if he was getting the last word.

    I turned to Mutt. "You all right, friend?"

    He whined but nodded his scruffy head. Seeing him okay made me feel a bit better about crossing a line I didn¡¯t particularly care to cross.

    "Is he¡­ was that¡­ I¡­" Dale tripped over his words, and I''ll be honest, I''d almost entirely forgotten he was there. His jaw hung slack as his mouth struggled to make sense of things. I crammed the cursed harmonica away, a cool sense of relief washing over me once it was out of sight, and strode toward him.

    "Mr. Crowley, w-what were those things? I-I followed you here. Thought maybe you knew something to get the bounty, I¡­"

    "Hey, Dale, you see that?" I asked, pointing to the right.

    He quickly looked that way, and the moment he did, I bashed him in the back of the skull, knocking him out cold. He''d be fine¡­ ish. Seeing unnatural events like he''d just witnessed does things to a man''s brain. Best cure I''ve found is to jumble them up, tell them they banged their head and they were just seeing things.

    "Sweet dreams," I said, patting him on the shoulder. Then I grabbed his fallen steed and hefted the heavy animal off his leg. Mutt joined in and gave me a little extra pull to get it done. When I stopped, I realized he was in his human form.

    "Thanks," I said, falling back onto my rump for just a second''s respite before Shar started bugging me to hustle. I gestured toward the dead werewolf nearby. "Guess that one makes us even, huh, kid?"

    "Even," Mutt said softly.

    "Even Steven."

    His head tilted. "Who is Steven?"

    "Nobody." I chuckled. "You''ll tell Mukwooru it was me now, won''t you? Get me in her good graces for the next time I come calling?"

    He nodded.

    "I knew I liked you. I''ll take the fool with me. Keep him in the dark¡­" I paused. "I might not mention Dale to your people if I were you, considering what he saw."

    "I won''t lie," he said flatly.

    "Leaving out certain details ain''t lying, per se."

    He didn''t respond.

    "Suit yourself." I pressed an elbow against the horse''s corpse and used it to stand, careful not to let a hand touch. I didn''t need to accidentally Divine such a gruesome end.

    I extended my hand to Mutt. He eyed it for a few seconds, then gripped just the tips of my fingers. Shaking hands wasn''t a custom his tribe was awfully familiar with, it seemed. Living in safety and seclusion here, half their time spent as dogs with paws, it made sense. But I wasn''t about to lick him or sniff his ass.

    "Good luck in your people''s war, kid," I said.

    "Good luck in yours, Black Badge."

    One side of his lips lifted into the most awkward smile I''d ever seen. Another relic of spending so much time outside his human body.

    What strange acquaintances I''ve got these days¡­

 Chapter 13

    Revelation Springs was a place I occasionally stopped in my travels from one demonic bounty to another. A way station of sorts, in a dry, arid, rocky region where humans couldn¡¯t live if not for the few natural springs dotting the area. Stunning rings of color banded the warm, crystalline waters, conjuring up a sense of peace within my soul. That wouldn''t last, so I just tried to enjoy it while I could.

    A geyser to my left shot off, spraying water across a field of pockmarked rock and sending lizards and whatever else might''ve been hiding nearby skittering away.

    "What the¡ª"

    Evidently, it woke up the guest slumped over behind me on Timperina''s back, too. Dale sprung awake. He nearly took a tumble, but I caught him by the belt and pulled him upright.

    "Morning, sunshine," I said.

    Dale stammered some more and I couldn''t really blame him, knowing his last memory of consciousness.

    "You took a nice knock on the head, fighting off them wolves," I said. "Lucky I showed up when I did, you damned fool."

    ¡°Wolves¡­?" It was sort of a question. Dale stretched around me, eyes wide with fright. "Them things weren''t just wolves. They was standing, talking¡ª"

    "Damn, how hard did you fall?"

    He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Then he rubbed the back of his head, right where I''d whacked him. He winced at the touch.

    "I guess pretty hard¡­." He glanced around. Then, under his breath, he addedd, "Wolves¡­"

    I hate lying to anyone, but ignorance is more than bliss when faced with certain supernatural truths.

    "Where are we?" Dale asked a moment later.

    "Coming up on Revelation," I said. "Now, considering I didn''t have time to ride you back to Elkhart, I suppose we should talk about how you abandoned your post to follow me without asking."

    He had no rejoinder, just a pitiful, "I need that bounty, Mr. Crowley."

    "You and I both know this ain''t about a bounty."

    I listened to him sigh, long and mournful.

    "Yeah, well, I''d like to stop ''em from hurting any more people," Dale said. "Sheriff Daniels was a good man. He didn''t deserve¡­" I heard his jaw grinding. "I truly don''t know if I was the one who shot him or not, Mr. Crowley, but I think¡ª"

    I saw enough in Sheriff Daniels¡¯s Divining to know Dale was slinging led in a panic, trying desperately to stay alive and maybe hit one of the Frozen Trio. I wish I could ease his mind a bit. Maybe just a vague reassurance.

    "Accidents happen when bullets start flying."

    "Yeah, but Sheriff Daniels should still be alive. If I''d only been¡ª"

    "What? Prepared for your first shootout?" I laughed. I was only guessing it was his first, but he didn''t argue. Was easy enough for me to tell. "I got news for you, Deputy. Few ever are."

    "I bet you were."

    I smiled. He wasn''t wrong about that.

    Fourteen years old and some wisecracker took a swipe at me in the saloon after I''d said one too many words to his girl. I wasn''t even being fresh, just thought she looked interesting enough to hold my attention. Well, he dragged me outside for a duel. I didn''t even have a gun, but he was so confident, he loaned me his extra. I put a bullet through his kneecap before he even had his barrel clear. Never walked right again.

    That was when I got a taste for the rougher side of life on the frontier. What can I say? Ain''t every day in a boy''s life he finds out what he''s good at.

    "Nah," I lied, sparing Dale unnecessary heartbreak. "My legs wobbled like a newborn calf. My palms were so sweaty, I barely kept a grip on my piece."

    "He deserved better than he got," Dale said, referring to the Sheriff again.

    "Well, if retribution''s your goal, I''ll choose to forgive you following me without asking," I responded tersely. "The truth is, come Hell or high water, I''m gonna take this Frozen Trio down. You plan on helping, you''ll get your cut, and maybe, just maybe, you''ll find whatever else you need."

    I knew he was after forgiveness, and I''ve read all the balderdash about forgiving being divine and how it ain''t my job to seek vengeance, but it''s it a whole lot easier to forgive others than to forgive yourself. No God or higher being can help with it. You either find that path on your own, or it eats away at you until you die, old and crotchety.

    Revenge wouldn''t help neither; I knew that. Dale could put a bullet into the whole Trio, and he''d wake up with that same pit in his gut. But dammit, if it didn''t feel good nonetheless, watching as the bastards who made you feel like shit¡ªlike less than shit¡ªsuffer and breathe their last.

    "I''ll do whatever I can to help you," Dale promised. I knew he meant it. Not the smartest fella, however he''d been honest enough since we met.

    "Good. I can¡¯t seem to get rid of you anyway."

    I gave Timp''s sides a light kick as we rounded a large spring nestled into rainbow-painted rock like a fancy bowl. Then, Revelation Springs came into view in all her glory ¡ªa haven in the middle of nowhere much like Mutt''s, only this one bore no green and wasn¡¯t trying to hide. A crisscrossing of buildings popped up, some three or four stories tall. The stone and rocks were so red you wouldn''t know how much blood had been spilled on them.

    It''d been a while since I''d been here, and the town had grown. Probably call it a city now, at least for the West. All things are relative. A train puffed up smoke as it pulled out of the station just on the outskirts. A legitimate station, too. Good for them. A couple hundred people were milling around, carrying umbrellas and luggage. Coming or going, I don''t know, but it was something.

    When I spotted red-and-white-striped tents being set up along the western side in a clearing extending from the church, I remembered they were probably coming. Little stands and what looked from here to be goats and cattle and little midget ponies. A proper carnival was happening soon, based on fliers I¡¯d seen throughout the region recently, with all the fixings and plenty of visitors milling about to take part in the coming festivities.

    What perfect timing.

    "You''d think Dufaux would call all this off,¡± I said. ¡°What with all the violence in the region."

    "The Founders'' Day Fair? No way," Dale said. "People train in from far away for this. My daddy used to take me. Had to ride up on our carriage. Which wasn''t much. Lost more than a few wheels, them days. But he was good at fixing. Oh, and there''s a stand that sells the best¡ª"

    "I didn''t ask."

    He harrumphed a response.

    If there was one good thing about a festival coming to town, it was the crowds. Nobody looked at me funny, worrying I was the law or something worse. In fact, no one cared at all.

    Though, of course, that was a double-edged sword. It meant the outlaws could slip into this place just as easy. The Trio had made a habit of rolling into towns, going straight to the bank, and hitting it. Though that wouldn''t be possible in a place this size. Crowds also meant more innocent people who could get caught in the crossfire.

    "Pooey," Dale whisper-shouted. He ducked down and tucked his head to my left. "That''s Sheriff Culpepper and his crew from Elkhart. He sees me, I''m dead."

    Just as he said, a crew of armed men loitered outside the stables. Their leader, this Sheriff Culpepper, looked more like an outlaw than I ever had¡ªwearing black, head to toe, Stetson to stirrups. His posse, likewise, was the typical bunch of farmers and ranch-hands in need of a few bucks and some excitement. Rarely did they consider that going off on a dandy like this one might leave their ladies without husbands and children daddy-less.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    I wouldn''t have been laughing after my hometown got sacked, but there they were, sharing jokes and spitting up wads of tobacco.

    "I''m sure they''ve completely forgotten about you," I said.

    "Am I that forgettable?"

    I couldn''t tell if Dale was kidding or not.

    "They got a hard-on for a bounty is all," I said.

    Dale laughed nervously. "Right¡­"

    We passed them down Revelation¡¯s main avenue, and after we were clear of their eyes, Dale sat back at attention.

    Busy was an understatement. Hell, if I told someone Revelation Springs was just busy, it could''ve almost been considered a lie.

    As you can imagine, there was a saloon right at the start of the main avenue, and it was packed as saddlebags. Out front, patrons chatted up corset-wearing courtesans while they sipped on drinks that would''ve cost a buck less last week. The Gold Mine Hotel had a line from the front desk, out the door, and then some. Seemed to me, this Founders'' Day Fair was a big deal even if I''d never heard of it. Such revelry was never really my scene.

    "Picklefinger''s it is," I said to Timperina, patting her side. A town this big had more than one saloon, and Picklefinger''s was the cheapest around.

    My guess is even they wouldn''t have room enough for both me and Dale, but we''d try that before resolving to slumming it in the wild. As much of a dump as Picklefinger''s might''ve been, it also had a clear view of the bank across the square.

    "What?" Dale asked.

    I ignored him and kept pushing deeper into town. All roads converged on the big central square set around a bubbling spring with mineral bands inside that had the appearance of gold strips. A small geyser in its center shot off every hour or so. Tourists loved the thing, sometimes getting too close to the hot water and scalding themselves. It was no accident the city''s physician had his clinic around the corner.

    Carts filled the square, farmers selling produce and meat to take advantage of visitors. I saw some things I once enjoyed and wished my having been revived from death hadn''t stolen most of my senses. I always loved those crisp, red apples in all their glory, candied and sweet. No utensils needed, no cooking. Just scoop it up and take a bite of joy. Nowadays, it wouldn''t be the same.

    Simple things got a simple appeal.

    A big cloth banner that read Founders'' Day Fair was strung across the street from the top of the Town Hall on one side to the Miner''s Guild on the other. Local deputies stood at every nearby corner.

    Picklefinger''s Saloon was right next to the guild. It was quaint. That''s a word people use when they don''t wanna say it''s a grimy, dilapidated shithole. I was sure it wouldn''t be around much longer before Revelation Springs''s new blood decided to make improvements.

    "All right, Dale," I said, stopping Timp. "This is where I leave you."

    "I thought you wanted my help?" he answered, sounding awful whiney.

    "I want you to hang around here and keep a lookout for anything suspicious. You''ve seen our outlaws¡ª"

    "Barely."

    "More than most. So, keep an eye out, and if you see anything dubious, anyone walking into that bank who looks like they''re after more than their own savings, you fire that pistol of yours three times into the sky."

    "Three."

    "Yep. One after the other."

    "Don''t you think that might draw attention?" he said.

    "That¡¯s the point. My attention, the law''s attention¡­ Plus, it''ll clear the square of innocents."

    "Right. And how about you?"

    "I''m gonna go pay our friend Mr. Dufaux a visit and see what he knows about that bird symbol and if he¡¯s lost his mind not cancelling this fest."

    Dale tittered. "Are you insane? You think you can just waltz right into Mr. Dufaux¡¯s house? He''ll have guards everywhere."

    "I''ll knock."

    Dale swung his leg and hopped down from Timperina to the square. He smiled. "You''ve already been buried once, Mr. Crowley. I sure would hate to see this one take."

    "Ain''t a grave I''ve seen that can hold me for long." I moved to trot ahead when Dale''s features darkened. He grabbed onto Timp''s saddle. She threw her head. He was more than a little lucky he didn''t get kicked considering how temperamental she could be.

    "Thank you. Seriously," he said, withdrawing his hand. "For everything."

    I tipped my hat.

    Timp turned her head and snorted, giving him another fright.

    "Oh, Mr. Crowley?" Dale said, grabbing my leg this time.

    I stopped and peered down in way of a response. He removed his hat and shuffled dirt with his boot.

    "Spit it out," I said.

    "It''s just¡­ I ain¡¯t got much money."

    "That all?" I laughed. "Go inside. Talk to the barman. Goes by Picklefinger. Can''t miss him. Tell him you''re with me. He knows I''m good for it."

    He nodded. "Picklefinger¡­ right." He stood there for another moment.

    "Can I go now?"

    He smiled. "Right. Thank you again, Mr. Crowley. I won''t let you regret it."

    With that, he scampered off toward the saloon muttering "Picklefinger" over and over like it wasn''t plastered all over the damn building.

    "We''ll see about that," I said as I continued on around the square. From all directions, farmers constantly hollered about their produce. A couple of¡­ actors, I reckon you''d call them¡­ were putting on a show, using the gallows as a stage. Judging by the performers¡¯ costumes, from frontier garb to native feather-crests, I guessed they were reenacting the events of the founding of Revelation Springs. The gathered crowd was small, but occasionally, someone tossed a penny in their tin can.

    The festival wouldn''t start in earnest until tomorrow if the dates painted on the aforementioned banner could be believed¡ªbut these sorts of events tended to linger on for a week or more in some cases. Whatever it took to drive interest, get more bodies into shops and buying things for more than they ought to be sold for. And people called my Scuttlers criminals.

    There were rich folk amidst the throng, women in puffy dresses and men sporting monocles and gold time-tellers. They all fanned themselves from the hot sun, and who do you think sold them said fans?

    What a damn hoax.

    I eyed Revelation''s bank, standing on the far west side of the square. It was a big old building with fluted columns outside and a massive arched doorway large enough to fit that goat-Neph and more. DUFAUX BANK AND TRUST was carved into the stone cornice. Thing looked like a Grecian temple, all pristine white. Dufaux spared no expense. Why would he?

    Two Pinkertons were stationed right outside. Deputies carried bags of what I assumed to be money inside from a stagecoach parked out front. Seemed odd to me, moving cash at a time like this. You''d think Dufaux would keep everything locked up tighter than Heaven''s gates.

    One of the Pinkertons giving orders noticed me and stared. He was one of the three I''d found tied up, though not the leader. I didn''t spot my rifle on any of them, though you better believe I looked. He''d been chatting with the local sheriff before I distracted him.

    I lowered my Stetson in salute and continued by, surveying what I could of the square. Even the Yeti and his crew would have a bitch of a time hitting this bank and getting away with it. Surrounded by other buildings on the sides and back, the only way in was through the front doors¡ªtwo big wooden monstrosities, twice the height of the guards out front and ornately carved. Each one of those must''ve cost more than most men make in a year. The vault inside was sure to be absolutely top-of-the-line.

    Smart outlaws would hit their main target first, as not to alarm anyone. If robbing Dufaux''s monetary sanctuary in Revelation Springs and getting the score of a lifetime was indeed their goal, starting small made no sense. Then again, these were no ordinary outlaws.

    Leaving the main square and crossing through the rest of the city, there wasn''t a single damn shop not overflowing with people tossing money around like cards. Finally, I found myself in what might''ve been considered outskirts. It''d only been a few years since I''d been back, but damn, had they built this place up since. Out here was more like I''d remembered it, shanties dotting the ridge of a large quarry, some even with tattered cloth strung up for shelter. A poor place filled with poor people.

    I''d guess Mr. Dufaux and whichever other men the plural word "founders" referred to wouldn''t mind if this area got tossed up in the next twister.

    Grime and red dust coated the faces of men, women, and children, so it was hard to tell where most of them were from¡ªthough many had distinctively native features. And they watched me go by with cold glares, likely envious that I got to sit so high on the rump of a horse, shaded by a big old hat.

    Beyond their homes was a vast quarry, and farther past that, miles in the distance, a warren of sharp, striated rock formations painted all variations of red, with one that almost looked like a falcon''s wing, feathers and all, sticking up sideways.

    The quarry itself was dug deep and filled with various switchbacks and terraces carved around colorful hot springs, as well as tightly constructed wooden scaffolding. Must''ve cost a fortune to get so much wood out here where there were no trees, but when a mine is filled with gold¡­ well, you get the picture.

    Out here in the West, a settlement doesn''t pop up for no reason. Either it''s got water, or riches, or in the case of Revelation Springs, both. Made for quite a little hub of activity out in the middle of nowhere. And all these impoverished people had the luxury of digging and sloshing to harvest gold.

    I''m no man of science or learning, but I had to hypothesize that the heat of the water had quite the effect on the minerals. Made for some dangerous conditions as well. And I doubt a baron like this Mr. Dufaux made up for with high pay. Men like him gave the bare minimum and hoarded the rest.

    And as I continued northwest up the road, I spotted his villa, proud on a mesa with views over both his mines and Revelation Springs itself and I could practically see him standing by his window like a lord, lording like lords do.

    There was well-to-do, then there was rich, then there was something else entirely. Dufaux fell into the lattermost category. I''d seen the estate before, though only from afar. Never had much reason to meet with Revelation Springs'' de facto leader until now.

    The road skirted the fairgrounds. It was roped off to the public, but from there, I could see all the many things one would expect from a traveling carnival. A tent marked Freak Show was prominent, as well as a shooting range, games of chance, and a big old stage. I passed the church and started up a long incline right to Dufaux''s front gate.

    The mansion was two tall stories, with a double portico at the front bearing columns similar to the bank. Only difference was that these were wrapped in a band of scintillating gold at the bottoms. Two buildings born from the same mind. One that liked to say, "Look at me. Look at me."

    I''ve visited manors and plantations of countless types, but this was close to a fortress. Mid-height walls surrounded the place except on the backside, where there was a steep drop into the deepest portion of the quarry. The more cynical side of me imagined the master of the house tossing people through a back window when they forgot to add cream to his tea.

    It didn¡¯t take an eagle eye to spot the gunmen on the homestead¡¯s balcony, with more behind some of the windows. And as I got closer, I counted even more patrolling the property. Perfectly manicured bushes formed patterns within, pinpricked with flowering trees. All florae not meant to grow in this region, organized around two shallow, diamond-shaped pools.

    In a place filled with natural springs, Reginald Dufaux had built his own.

    I stopped at the gate, noticing that the spikes on top were gilded¡ªas if anyone who decided to try and climb over would prefer being impaled by gold over iron.

    No sooner than I stopped, a gun cocked and aimed through the bars.

    "State your business."

    I peeked through at a clean-shaved dark-skinned man.

    God Almighty, if I could just catch a break. You¡¯d think working for Heaven would help, but no¡­

 Chapter 14

    I knew the man holding the gun

    ¡ªthe very same leader of the Pinkerton crew from outside Elkhart.

    He wore a bowler hat this time, casting shadows over the hard features of his face and made the light play funny over the jagged scar running up his left cheek. And now that he was all dressed in fine leathers, half-hiding a bandolier and at least four six-shooters, he cut a more intimidating figure than when his business was flapping in the wind for all to see.

    "You," he said. "They told me you died."

    "Who''s they?" I replied.

    He took a puff of a cigarette and blew a large cloud. "Wrong, apparently. You here after the bounty like everybody else?"

    "Just traveling through. Heard there was a party."

    The Pink rolled his eyes.

    "Saw your crew down by the bank," I said. "Is this really the time to be transferring more money here?"

    "Boss''s orders. Had us empty every vault he''s got left in the region and bring it all to Revelation. Those bastards try to hit another sorry town, they''ll find only dust. Even left notes for ''em."

    "Fine strategy," I said. "Now they only gotta hit here. Wanna set a table for them, too?"

    The Pink snorted. "Let ''em. Between the bounty dogs, Dufaux''s men, and mine, there''s enough gunpowder in Revelation to blow the whole place sky-high.¡±

    His eye flitted toward a wagon inside the property. It was mostly filled with tables and chairs, but the parts of a shiny, new Gatling gun sat underneath it all, just itching to be mounted up.

    "Let''s hope it don''t come to that," I said. I hopped down from Timp''s back, watching close as the man trained his weapon on me. "If we''re gonna keep on meeting like this, you got a name, or should I keep thinking of you as the Naked-Pink-Who-Ain¡¯t-Pink?"

    "Why not?" he said. "I''ve been thinking about you as Asshole-Who-Left-Us-Naked-on-a-Cliff."

    I laughed and extended my hand through the bars.

    "James Crowley," I told him.

    "Cecil, Cecil Jackson." He spun his pistol left, right, up, down, made a big show of it as he lowered it into his holster. I could tell now that he was all dressed up that Cecil Jackson was a man who''d killed before. Now, I wondered if he took joy in it. Must be a certain kind of man attracted to the life of a hired gun.

    He merely stared at my hand. I hated that kind of bravado, like shaking my hand was some exhausting task. I reeled it in, realizing he was just that guy.

    "Now, I''ll ask again, what do you want?¡± he asked. ¡°This here''s private property."

    "I need to speak with Mr. Dufaux."

    "You and everybody else. He ain''t taking uninvited guests right now. He¡¯s busy preparing the house. So why don''t you head back down, enjoy the festivities and spend a little green.¡±

    He turned to walk away. Another part of his little show.

    "You know, I wish I could. But I ain''t in the mood for games."

    He stopped like I knew he world, turned back, and said, ¡°Do whatever you like. Just not here."

    "You wanna be the one to tell your boss you turned away a man who knows secrets about the outlaws who''ve been hitting his banks?" I reached into my satchel and Cecil¡¯s fingers wrapped the grip of his gun.

    "Relax, friend," I said, pulling out the Frozen Trio bounty. I pressed the drawn-on side against the bars so he''d see the symbol.

    "Nice doodle," he said. "Don''t quit your job. Now, get."

    He started to turn again.

    "That bird symbol was branded on one of their backs,¡± I said. ¡°It''s called a ''Piasa'' or¡­ something."

    "You got a fucking point?"

    "A friend told me Mr. Dufaux might know more about it."

    Cecil huffed, then snagged the drawing. While taking a long pull on his cigarette, he studied it closer. Then, without a word, he started off across the yard toward the mansion, drawing in hand.

    "Awful polite, huh, girl?" I said to Timp.

    She snorted.

    "Ain''t a wise man who turns away salvation!" I called out to Cecil, but he was nearly inside by then.

    I waited a short while longer, unsure if he''d return. A cloud drifted over the hot sun and made all the mansion''s gilded parts a whole lot less sparkly.

    Then came a whistle. A couple of goons emerged from somewhere behind the wall, unlocked the gate, and dragged it open. These, for sure, weren''t Pinks. Locals hired to defend Dufaux''s little fiefdom. Ruffians and inbred swine.

    One, face the color of dried blood, held a rifle not quite pointed at me. He waved it, and I walked Timp inside by the reins. We were escorted down a white stone path, joined on the other side by another gunman. We passed between the garden pools, fountains in their centers. Each one was carved like a bird, wings outstretched. I thought about that drawing and figured it mustn''t be coincidental.

    Other guards in the main house, or the stables and outhouses to the side, watched me too. Workers, all looking like they came from that poor part of town, were busy unloading party supplies.

    A tanned boy with so much dark hair I couldn''t see his face jogged up and took Timperina''s reins. Bad idea.

    "I got her," I said, but it was too late. She pitched a fit until I stepped between her and him and eased her with a hush.

    "You should know better than that," I said to the kid.

    The boy looked concerned, but when I stepped aside and gave her a hearty pat, Timp let him lead her away.

    ¡°She likes apples and could use a good brush," I advised.

    The goons then walked me up the front porch, right to a pair of doors that seemed more fitting for a president than a glorified prospector on the frontier, but I digress.

    Cecil waited for me inside, cigarette hanging from his lips and tapping his foot.

    "Mr. Dufaux wants to see you," he said, a little dab of spit flipping out over his lip.

    "Gathered as much," I said.

    "And we''ll gather from you."

    He clutched the grips of both of my pistols and gave them a tug. I grimaced but let him and the others take all my armaments. This, he certainly seemed to take joy in. Stripping me of my effects, just like I''d found him.

    Nothing draws ire from a proud man more than shame. I wasn''t happy about losing my guns¡ªnever was¡ªbut what could these mortal thugs do against me anyway? I wasn''t looking for a fight.

    "You won''t find a rifle on me," I said. "Apparently, someone took it off me in Elkhart. Know anything about that?"

    "You think I keep track of every bit of iron I see?¡± Cecil asked. ¡°Guns are guns."

    "You strike me as a man who knows that ain''t true."

    "Yeah, well, if you lost yours, that''s on you. Buy another."

    I bit back the words I wanted to say. He missed the knife in my boot. Fool.

    As soon as he figured I was suitably deprived of deadly force, Cecil led me inside Dufaux''s grand entry hall. And grand it was.

    If you were to think of the stereotypical rich man''s home, you wouldn''t be too far off. A gold and diamond chandelier hung in the lofty foyer with a split, curved staircase wide enough for two horses to climb side-by-side. And wouldn''t you guess it, an oil painting of Dufaux presided over all of it. No wife, children, or anything like you''d often see in paintings like it. Just him, hands folded over a walking stick.

    No smile. No warmth. No family. A hard man for a hard environment.

    Only a few steps in, a native housekeeper took my coat to hang up. I didn''t even have a chance to ask.

    "I¡­ Thank you¡ª"

    She said nothing in return, but her eyes spoke volumes, like no one ever spoke to her.

    "Let''s go," Cecil said, guiding me around the staircase to a corridor on the left.

    We passed a body-length mirror and all I saw in it was me. I don''t know if I was hoping to see Shar or not, but her absence told me I was moving in the right direction. I think. I felt a shove¡ªhadn''t noticed I''d stopped¡ªand just like that, we were alongside a beautiful courtyard.

    Pillars had vines hugging them like spiderwebs, weaving up through crisscrossed trellises. Workers milled about here too, setting up tables amidst yet more plant life that had no business thriving in these parts. All of it was perfectly organized along crossing newly mulched paths. And there, right in the center, was the same symbol I''d been chasing.

    It was a small totem of sorts sitting upon a pedestal, the open-winged bird proudly positioned at the top. But now, seeing it from this vantage, it wasn''t just a bird. Its wings looked sinewy, like some mythical dragon, two little spikes on the tip of each. It had what appeared to be horns or antlers, and unlike any bird I''ve ever seen, had long, sharp teeth. The pedestal itself was adorned with zigzagging lines of gold, giving the impression of lightning striking the tier beneath it. The style seemed authentic, nothing like Dufaux''s ostentatious mansion. Nothing he''d designed.

    Dale wasn''t lying. The Piasa was here in Dufaux''s garden for any visitor to see.

    We stopped at a pair of closed doors on the western side of the courtyard.

    "Sit," Cecil ordered, pointing to a suede-upholstered bench.

    "I''ll stand," I replied. They''d already taken my guns, but I''d hold onto my dignity.

    "You''ll do what you''re damn told¡ª"

    The doors swung open, and out stormed a chubby little man in a single-breasted suit. His golden mustache curled neatly at the ends like little pigtails.

    He stopped, face cherry-red, looked back into the room, and pointed. "You''ve got some nerve, Reginald!" He barked. "These outlaws are a scourge. You jeopardize the town! They could be anywhere. We should be postponing the festival until they''re brought to justice.¡±

    Smart man, whoever this was.

    "Founders'' Day will go on, as it always has," came an answer, rich in timbre. That authoritative, convincing voice could only belong to Dufaux. You don''t get a house like this one without some of those qualities.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    "You went behind my back!¡± Chubby shouted back.

    "I own your back, Mr. Mayor. Now put on a smile, dance, and show this town that there is nothing to fret about. Just a slight hiccup."

    "You¡­" The mayor clenched his jaw and fists, then pointed again. This time, no words came. Instead, he tore his hat off his balding head, smacked it against the wall in frustration, and stormed across the courtyard. Didn''t even notice I was there.

    Well, that about settled who was really in charge around here. As if anyone was confused.

    "Well, come in already," Dufaux called. "I don''t have all day."

    I beat my escort to the punch and stepped through the threshold first. I''d expected an office of some kind. Instead, I was looking at a dining room. A mahogany table with the look of old world Italy, carvings of grapes down the legs¡ªfine craftsmanship¡ªstretched the length of it. China that looked so fine it might''ve actually been from the orient was set like he was expecting guests.

    Dufaux sat at the far end, enjoying a plump, juicy steak. A wine glass was half-full of red, with another native-looking domestic standing behind him holding a carafe, ready to refill.

    Come to think of it, the stable hand was probably native, too. And nearly all the houseworkers I¡¯d seen roaming by. Important? I don¡¯t know, but Mr. Dufaux clearly had a type and I wasn''t keen on thinking he was being generous.

    He was a surprisingly large man, though he wasn''t obese per se. Just big. Looked like he could''ve been a wrestler if he''d wanted, and he certainly could crush the skull of the scrawny helper behind him. I''d place him around sixty years old.

    There were many odd traits about him, but the first thing I noticed was how he chewed. It wasn''t dignified, which meant he didn''t come from noble stock. He chomped down like a rat, like this was his last meal, savoring every morsel rather than making a show of it. Juice streamed through the stubble on his chin, and he was in no rush to wipe it up.

    Was that important too? Again, I wasn''t sure. Though, men who come from little and make a lot treat losing their riches a bit different from those who''ve never known what it is to have nothing.

    "Expecting guests?" I asked.

    Dufaux wrinkled his brow in what I thought could''ve been a smile but his eyes remained on his dish. He swallowed his bite, then snapped his fingers.

    "You awake, boy? Get our guest a glass."

    The boyservant at his back shook his head as if waking from a daydream. Probably of owning a house like this for himself.

    I lifted my hand. "Thank you kindly, Mr. Dufaux, but I''ll pass. The stuff goes right through me." I wasn''t exaggerating. Liquor of all kinds is a waste on me. Sure, I could taste it somewhat, like food, but it had none of the effects men desire from such a vice.

    "Suit yourself." He snatched his own glass and downed the rest. The moment it clacked back down on the table, his boyservant started refilling it. The young man''s hand trembled as he focused intently upon not spilling a drop.

    Dufaux smacked his lips. Then, with an asparagus stalk in hand, he pointed and said, "Take a seat."

    I obliged, finding a chair opposite him with a sea of space between us. I had to lean to the side just to see him around a centerpiece of vibrant, fresh flowers. And they weren''t the local variety either.

    Cecil waited against the wall by the exit. He made sure his vest was stretched open and flaunting a whole lot of iron. He blew smoke from his ci

    "Cecil here says you saw something peculiar on one of the outlaws," Dufaux began.

    "I did."

    "Well?" Dufaux went back for another piece of steak, and I felt like reminding him that not making eye contact while talking was rude. Even Ace Ryker made a man meet him eye to eye. But Dufaux, not once yet. He might as well have been talking to a fly.

    "Well, first, I heard the leader talk about you by name," I started. "Has me thinking this ain''t purely a spree. That they''re specifically interested in what you own."

    "Them and everyone else from here to south of the border."

    "I reckon you should be more concerned."

    His fork screeched across the bottom of his plate. That finally got him to glare at me. "You''ve been through town, haven''t you?" he asked. "If they come for my bank; it''ll be their funeral."

    "Not like you aren''t sending out invitations, consolidating all your wealth in one place. It¡¯s a taunt."

    Dufaux bent forward, looking ready to scold me. Then he squinted, licked his lips, and sat back.

    "He''s the roughrider who showed up in Elkhart, isn''t he?" he asked Cecil.

    "Sure is," Cecil said. "Showed up just as it got hit. Put on quite an act. Now he''s here, ready for the festival. A man who looks like a Marshal but swears he ain''t. Might make another man suspect he''s in on the robberies."

    I laughed. "Maybe you missed the part where I shot a couple of them while you and your boys were stripped like soft newborn babes."

    "You son of a¡ª" He lunged at me.

    "Cecil," Dufaux said sternly.

    Cecil grunted but backed off immediately.

    "Got your dogs trained good," I said. "I''ll give you that much."

    Dufaux ignored the comment, though I could hear Cecil fuming behind me.

    "Are you an outlaw, Mr.¡ª"

    "Crowley," I finished for him. "And not for a long while."

    "And not a Marshal either¡­ right. Well, I heard you gave this Frozen Trio hell in Elkhart. Even managed to wrestle back the lockbox full of cash that¡¯s funding the bounty on them. One Cecil here lost." He spat the last word with venom.

    Cecil approached the table now, cheeks losing their color. "We got ambushed¡ª"

    "Shut your damn mouth!" Dufaux slammed his fist on the table hard enough to knock his glass over. Wine oozed across the table and onto the polished wood floor. The native boyservant immediately knelt to clean it. Dufaux waved him away like a biting fly.

    "Leave it! And you." He pointed at Cecil, shirt-cuff stained red. "Don''t I pay you enough not to get ambushed? So why is this stranger getting your job done for you?"

    "Like I said, I think he''s working with them," Cecil argued.

    So, this was Cecil¡¯s plan? Scapegoat me to get back in his employer''s good graces.

    "Now hold on a minute," I said.

    "You here scouting?" Cecil said to me. "Those outlaws pay you off? Get you to fake your death in Elkhart so you could sneak in here?"

    "Right. That''s why I cut you free then?"

    I noticed Dufaux snicker just a bit while we argued.

    "You tell me," Cecil growled.

    Dufaux pushed out his chair with a screech loud enough to shut us both up. Then he stood and paced around the table. I''d underestimated just how large he was earlier. Maybe he wasn''t Yeti-sized, but the floor rumbled with his every thunderous step. His exquisite outfit¡ªa mustard yellow waistcoat embellished with some kind of arrow pattern¡ªstretched tight across his midsection as if no tailor could quite custom an outfit to fit.

    "That it?" he said to me. "Did you come here wanting payment for chasing them out of Elkhart? Trying to steal the money directly out of my pockets, too?" He dug out some coins and let them trickle through his fingers onto the floor.

    "I''m just here to claim that bounty," I half-lied. I didn''t care about it, but if I got my work done, I''d certainly earn it and put it to good use.

    Dufaux stopped, placed his two giant hands on the table, and stooped over. For the first time since we''d met, he looked me straight in the eyes. His were hazel, mostly brown with flecks of gold. Fitting.

    I couldn''t itch outside my angel¡¯s nagging or a Nephilim getting too close, but sitting there silently while he sized me up¡­ it made me want to. For once, I think I''d rather have been conversing with Shar.

    Finally, Dufaux sucked in through his teeth.

    "You aren''t with them," he decided, just like that. "But if all you came here to tell me is that they might be after me, then I''m afraid Cecil here just wasted my valuable time."

    Cecil shrunk back. For all his bluster and guns, and I could tell¡ªhe was afraid of Dufaux. Or maybe just afraid of losing a well-paying gig. Either way, fear is fear.

    "You didn''t show him the drawing?" I asked Cecil.

    "What drawing?" Dufaux said.

    Cecil stuttered. "I didn''t think¡ª"

    "Goddammit, I don''t pay you to think either! Show me."

    Cecil''s dark eyes shot bullets my way as he pulled the crumpled drawing from one of his back pockets and tried to smooth it. Dufaux practically broke his fingers when he grabbed it and spread it flat against the table.

    His brow furrowed. "What is this?"

    "A mark, branded onto the back of one of the outlaws," I said.

    Dufaux scrutinized the drawing for a few long seconds. It was hard to place the emotions crossing his features. And, now that''d I''d seen the totem in the courtyard, I realized just how poor my sketching skills were. However, Dufaux recognized it, that was for certain. And there was something else. Something I''d just seen on Cecil''s face and awfully mortal. Was that fear too?

    "On his back, you say?" Dufaux asked.

    "Shoulder blade to shoulder blade,¡± I said. ¡°I showed some folks and heard you had something like it displayed here. Figured you might know what it means, and maybe I could get a leg up on these bastards."

    He sighed and pocketed the drawing. To someone else, that action might have seemed mundane, but I was sure he kept it on purpose.

    ¡°Well, I don''t know how it''ll help you, but those were the markings of the Piasa tribe," he said.

    Try as he might, the boyservant couldn''t help himself. A sense of wonder stole over him at the mention of his apparent people, and he leaned forward to see the drawing, breathing down Dufaux¡¯s neck.

    ¡°That was on his back?¡± he said, addressing me, I think.

    "This doesn''t concern you, boy," Dufaux snapped. "Out! Now!¡±

    The boyservant stumbled but obeyed, practically running from the room.

    I hesitated a minute, trying to understand Dufaux''s emotions. He sat back down and continued eating.

    "Tribe?" I asked, finally.

    "You aren¡¯t from around here, are you?¡±

    I shook my head.

    ¡°They were small. Used to inhabit this region. A strong, proud people. These, here, around me.¡± He pointed where the boy had been standing as if he''d already forgotten he''d dismissed him. "They are what''s left. When I found this wondrous place of water and gold, I traded them the riches of our people: medicines, fine wine, faith, the luxuries¡­"

    "And in exchange?" I barely had to ask.

    "Their land, of course. To mine. To build my home. Don''t look at me like that. Their chief, Apenimon, was a dear friend." Dufaux let his head hang. "Then, a plague wreaked havoc on these parts, you see. Sickness like Hell itself had risen to punish them for worshipping their heathen bird god." He clenched his jaw and blinked slowly.

    Was he acting, or genuinely sad?

    "I was too late," he continued. "Apenimon. He was among the first to die followed by many more before we discovered a cure. Mostly the young, healthy enough to fight infection, were spared. And as you see, I try to give them a life here."

    "That''s awful kind of you," I remarked, knowing it was smarter to butter him up at this point than say how I really felt. I thought about the boyservant. Some life for the kid, waiting on rich men and digging their gold. Though I will say, out here in the West, there are worse ways to live.

    "It''s the least I can do," he said.

    I smiled and nodded.

    "That totem in my garden; it belonged to them,¡± Dufaux went on. ¡°I keep it here in their honor. You see, it wasn''t just I who brought salvation upon them. When I stumbled upon the springs, half-dead after getting lost in the hot sun, Apenimon rescued me. Fed me. Nursed me back to the man I am today¡­ using my medicines, of course."

    "Of course."

    "I¡¯ve long considered him the co-founder of this here town. And helping what¡¯s left of them is the least I can do, isn''t it?"

    He took a bite of steak. It

    seemed like he was being completely honest about everything until that last part. He certainly wasn''t keeping the totem around to honor anybody. His house was full of trinkets and keepsakes, and that was just another one of them. It just happened to come with a sad story, give people something to talk about at his little soir¨¦es.

    "You sure you saw that symbol on one of the Frozen Trio?" Cecil asked, bringing things back to the purpose of my visit.

    ¡°Silly name," Dufaux said under his breath.

    I nodded. "I am."

    Dufaux sighed and sat back. Just thinking about it all seemed to exhaust him.

    "Perhaps someone blames you for what happened to the Piasa tribe?" I said.

    Cecil seemed like he was going to say something, but Dufaux raised a hand to silence him.

    "It could be," Dufaux said. "I just wish I knew why. We broke bread together, worked together, made honest trades of medicines for land and food. Thanks to me, these lands of theirs thrive, and tomorrow¡¯s festival is as much for Apenimon as it is anyone.¡±

    "Time has a way of corrupting memory," I said. "Or maybe one of your workers felt wronged? Ran off and¡­"

    "Are you accusing me of mistreating my employees?" Dufaux asked, pointedly.

    "Now, now," I said. "Just sounds like you''re playing a little loose on the details. We all get mad from time to time."

    His glare settled me. I could tell, I''d crossed a line, and men like him, who own enough land to start states of their own¡ªthey only allow themselves to be pushed so far.

    Dufaux snapped his fingers, and I heard motion behind me.

    "I do apologize I couldn''t be more helpful, but I appreciate your resolve,¡± he said. ¡°You''re the only man after this bounty who came by to speak with the man footing the bill. For that, you have my respect. Bring these outlaws to justice, and you''ll have full enough pockets to settle down, buy a nice ranch, and take a pretty wife."

    "I don''t reckon I''m suited for family life," I said.

    "And on that note, we agree. Life is too short to stress about other mouths to feed." He pulled his chair back in and flicked a napkin so he could finish eating. "Now, I bid you farewell. I must hurry. I have plans to attend to."

    "Right, the fair." I stood and donned my hat."I suppose me getting an invitation to your special dinner is out of the question? Seems anyone who¡¯s anyone will be there." Couldn''t hurt to ask. The more access to Revelation I had, the better.

    ¡°You ain¡¯t anyone,¡± Cecil said. I ignored him.

    Dufaux smiled placatingly. "It''s nothing a man of your¡­ nature¡­ would enjoy. Cecil will lead you out. Enjoy the festival, if you can."

    "Oh, I plan to." I stood, tipped my hat and started off. Cecil tried to grab my arm to lead me, but I shook free.

    On the way out, Dufaux shouted, "And send the boy back. Is

    just going to let that wine soak?"

    I couldn''t help but chuckle. There''s a fine line between running a strict house and berating. Dufaux might''ve not even realized he''d pushed one of his former employees far enough to rebel. To want to hit him where it hurts.

    That potentially explained the Mind-drifter''s motive. But what about Tomahawk-lady and the Yeti? Were they all people Dufaux had wronged over the years? One trip through his house, and I knew he was the type who made plenty of enemies on his way to the top. Even the town''s mayor was no more than a patsy to him.

    "What''s so funny?" Cecil asked.

    "Nothing at all," I said.

    He nudged me hard in the back. I didn''t feel it, only knew because I was propelled through the doorway, looking out upon the courtyard. And there was that totem again. Didn''t seem like anything special, just an effigy.

    "Mind if I get a closer look at the totem?" I asked.

    "You''ve been here long enough."

    "I''m sure your boss wouldn''t mind. You heard him. He respects me."

    "Respect and a bag of feed is worth a bag of feed." Cecil yanked me back into the corridor and kept me moving briskly toward the exit. The native maid handed me my coat on the way out. As she did, I noticed a decorative silver dish on a nearby table, not yet filled. I scooped it up fast, folding it within my duster so nobody would notice.

    Dufaux had enough. He wouldn''t miss it. But I needed more silver ammunition for my next meeting with the Yeti, and stuff like that couldn''t be found in most shops. Even during a carnival.

    "Horse!" Cecil shouted, giving me one last jostle out onto the porch. The mop-headed stable boy came running, Timp¡¯s reins in hand.

    "Happy hunting, Mr. Crowley," Cecil said, giving me a wave.

    "If I do catch them, you want me to strip them and tie them up for you or¡­" I turned back to face him as I said it, but by the time I got around, he slammed the door shut. I guess I could''ve been kinder. His pride was wounded, same as mine would''ve been. Hell, same as it was. The Yeti had slowed me down worse than anyone had in a long time.

    But it was good to light a fire under Cecil. I didn''t know much, but I was certain that at some point soon, the Frozen Trio was gonna hit Revelation Springs with everything they had. All Dufaux''s magnificent wealth was in one vault for them now.

    A wily gambit for both sides. A lot can happen when you''re asleep in a coffin for half a week.

    Revelation Springs was a tinderbox.

 Chapter 15

    Picklefinger''s Saloon had been a part of Revelation Springs since the town was settled. It always looked rundown and disreputable. To most, it was a last resort. Where you went when you weren''t in a hurry, for a drink, or to grab a bite to eat, wager more money than you should on parlor games, maybe pick a fight.

    Apparently, however, it hadn''t just been the Gold Mine Hotel that benefitted from the Founders'' Day Fair. Even from the outside, I could tell that it''d done wonders for old Picklefinger''s patronage as well. Both the front porch and the balcony were nearly overflowing with sojourners from all over. Behind them, the whole fa?ade was windows. A hand with one thick, green finger was painted on each, but I could still see inside through the glass fogged by sweaty men. Looked like standing room only.

    Climbing the steps, I heard my name called from behind me.

    "Dale," I said, turning.

    "Might as well call me Jesus," he said.

    "Excuse me?"

    He laughed uncomfortably. "No room at this inn. You know, like¡­ with Mary and Joseph and¡ª"

    "You ought to work on your jokes, friend."

    He frowned. "Been running all over town, looking to get us a room or two since I¡¯ve been told there¡¯s none here neither. Nothing at all unless you wanna sleep in a stable with your horse.¡±

    "Her name is Timperina, and it wouldn''t be the first time," I said. "But c''mon, I¡¯ll talk to Picklefinger myself."

    "Don''t think it''ll do no good. He said they¡¯re ¡®packed to the rafters¡¯."

    "We''ll see." I waved him on, and we entered.

    Inside, it was like a zoo. Actually, it looked like a freak show¡ªof the carnival variety. Seemed the fine people at the other venues wanted to keep some of the riffraff clientele out. But hey, what better place for a Bearded Lady, World''s Strongest Man, and a half-pint dwarf than a place called Picklefinger''s?

    "Some place," Dale said. "But like I said¡ª"

    I didn''t hear what he was reminding me of. Something felt¡­ off. An itch in my chest, and it wasn¡¯t Shar. Instinctively, my hand moved a bit closer to my Peacemaker. It didn''t take long for me to spot what had me on edge.

    Turned out, anyone unlucky enough to be forced to spend the night here would be getting a private show. Leaping from the balcony to the chandelier and back again was the carnival''s Beast Boy. I¡¯d heard about him, but never seen him. Described as half-man, half-ape, though I knew better. Always suspected he might be a Nephilim, and now that I was seeing him in the flesh the first time? I knew I had to be right.

    Call it a hunch. A sixth sense.

    The strange, short guy had long body hair, coarse and matted, an unnatural shade of dark yellow.

    It¡¯s rare, but not all Nephilim are inherently evil or desperate for power like that goat beast. At least not in my eyes, though I suspect the White Throne feels differently. Wicked by association and all that.

    But some seem to forget their allegiances to Hell and just want to get along. This little guy is proof enough of that. He wasn''t eating anyone or cutting deals for souls. Just did his thing, performing while his compadre¡ªa colorful jester type¡ªtook up tips in a metal tin.

    Chances are if I gave Shar the opportunity, she''d tell me to send him packing, so I wouldn''t. But I¡¯d keep one eye on him. If Lucifer did call upon the creature for a favor, somehow I doubted he¡¯d refuse it. Call me a cynic.

    I made my way to the bar and said, "The usual,"to the barman who wasn''t looking.

    "Going to have to wait your turn," he said, eyes still focused elsewhere.

    "You''re gonna make an old friend wait?"

    "Look, buddy¡ª" he started, turning to face me. When he saw me, a giant, gap-toothed grin split his face.

    "James Crowley!" He slapped the bar hard, his already wet hands splashing in something questionable. His pointer finger was totally black with frostbite, and in the dim lights¡ªand it was always dim in here¡ªalmost looked a grungy sort of green. Hence his nickname. Joshua "Picklefinger" Hayes, the one and only.

    He''d gotten frostbit while climbing some this or that mountain in the north. It was a whole heroic tale about saving a damsel, which I''d heard him tell every time I passed through town. My best guess was it was all hogwash, but he sure knew how to spin a fine story.

    Joshua had run Picklefinger''s ever since. These past years hadn''t been overly kind to him. His now bald head was surrounded by a ring of bright red hair that fell to his shoulder blades, and I wasn''t sure he could turn around back there without his belly clearing the shelves.

    The man was built to eclipse the sun, and I told him as much.

    "Not all of us can be immortal," he replied. "Seems like you haven''t aged a day since we met."

    He didn''t know the truth of his words. This was one of the first places I''d stopped in after coming back from the dead. Woke up not too far away, actually. It''s all thanks to Shar¡ªgiver of gifts and blessings. And yeah, minus some extra wear and tear from serving the White Throne, I looked exactly the same.

    Not a new gray hair. Not a new wrinkle.

    I puffed out my chest. "Amazing what whiskey and eating right can do for a man."

    ¡°I¡¯d better fill you up then,¡± Picklefinger said.

    A sign of a good barman is when he can remember your drink. Picklefinger''s the best of the best. Three years since the last time I''d darkened his doorway, stopping through town on my way out to the west coast to deal with a gaggle of sprites, or was it fae? Truth is, they''re both the bad sorts of Nephilim, and hard to tell the difference. Anyway, all those years passed, and he poured me three fingers of the high shelf bourbon.

    Funny thing, with his bulbous finger, that means he poured a little more than most.

    "Here ya go, friend." Picklefinger offered it to me with the complimentary mini pickled cucumber everyone had come to expect. "What brings you to town? Don''t tell me you''re here for Founder''s Day. You hate smiling and enjoying yourself if I recall."

    I laughed, took a sip. "Look at this place! Why shouldn''t I?"

    "Nuh-uh. I don''t believe it. Not you."

    "Believe whatever you''d like." I reached back and patted Dale''s shoulder, dragging him just a step closer. "I think you met my friend, Dale?"

    Picklefinger noticed him for the first time. "This ninny?" He laughed. "You really are full of surprises. Said he was with you. I asked him where the cuffs were."

    "Now hold it there¡ª" Dale started.

    I squeezed his shoulder to shut him up.

    "He says you couldn''t spare us a room," I said.

    Picklefinger''s gaze narrowed. "This is for real? You''re running with a deputy? You?"

    "Thought it time to make an honest man of myself. Now, how about that room? I''m sure you''ve got something."

    He leaned in. "I''m sorry, Crowley. Look around." He could barely hide his excitement at such a full house even while delivering the bad news. "There''s just nothing left. Tell you what? I can telegraph the Rarebreed¡ªit''s just a few miles north of here in Yantsville. Quaint place. You¡¯ll love it. Don¡¯t even got a bank yet. Easy ride back in the morn."

    "I¡¯ve gotta stay here," I told him.

    "Any other time, you know I''d help you out." A few patrons at the other end of the bar were getting rowdy waiting for Picklefinger''s attention. "Look, make yourself at home in the bar. But like I said, there''re just no beds."

    He turned to tend to the folks, but I stopped him, kept my voice low. A place like Picklefinger''s would be crawling with travelers. Likely many other bounty hunters who''d be happy to kill off competition if they got a whiff that I, too, was after the Frozen Trio. Not to mention any of these folks could be helping the outlaws. Could be them in here even, all dressed up to hide. Maybe that¡¯s what burning my chest, and it wasn¡¯t Beast Boy after all.

    "Say, Picklefinger. You get a lot of folks through here," I whispered. "Any ideas who might want to get back at Mr. Dufaux for¡­ something? Who might hold a grudge?"

    "This about those robberies?" Unlike mine, his voice was normal volume. So much for not blabbing.

    "Just a curiosity."

    He eyed me sidelong, but he didn''t turn away. People in positions like Picklefinger know that most times, it''s best to say too little than too much.

    "Well, I''m not sure there''s a man or woman within a hundred miles who hasn''t been rubbed wrong by the old baron here and there," he said. "But you didn''t hear that from me. This here is his land I rent. And his city has built me a fine life."

    "Hey! Ginger!" called one of the drunken, angry patrons.

    "Names like that''ll just get spit in your gin," Picklefinger barked back over his shoulder. "All right, I¡ª"

    "Need to get back to work," I finished for him. "I''ll leave you to it."

    "Good to see you again, Crowley. And there''s plenty of floor space to pass out on if you drink too much."

    At that, he left me to do his job. I lifted my cup of bourbon. My chest hit the bar. Half my drink spilled out just before I could take a sip. Someone had bumped me.

    "Ten bucks, and I''ll give you my room," slurred the culprit. I turned to see a fella that was more beard than man. Judging by his hat and his gun, he''d picked up a few bounties over the years. Had that look. He leaned on my back, one of his smoky blue eyes twitching slightly. "Sound like a deal?"

    "Sounds like ten-times the going rate," I told him, turning back to my drink.

    Dale leaned in and whispered. "I got a few bucks I could chip in."

    I glared at him. "Thought you said you were broke?"

    His face went red. "Come on, Crowley. I don''t¡ªI don''t wanna sleep in the dirt."

    "Listen to your little friend," the Beard said. "Ten greenbacks, and the room is yours."

    I heard an uproar from the other side of the saloon and watched as a man stood shouting and running from the room with a cloth sopped in red over his hand. Gave me an idea.

    "Tell you what," I said to my new friend. "I''ll play you for it. I win, I get your room."

    "And if I win?" he said, skeptical.

    "Twenty bucks."

    "Stranger, you don''t look like you''ve owned twenty bucks in your life. You''re gonna have to show me the money first."

    I leaned over to Dale. "Got that cash?" I usually had some, but another result of my burial in Elkhart¡ªmy pockets had been picked clean.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Dale stuttered a response. "I¡­ that was when I was buying a room. Not¡­ gambling."

    "Don''t be a baby. It ain''t gambling if I can''t lose."

    "This is all I got in the world," Dale complained.

    "And you''ll still have it. C''mon. Piper''s calling."

    Dale rummaged around in his bag and retrieved a handful of crumpled-up banknotes.

    "Ten bucks?" I whispered to him.

    He looked sheepishly at me.

    "This is only ten," the Beard said. "You said twenty."

    I dug around in my satchel, looking for something worth enough to wager. I heard a clatter and looked down to find Dufaux''s silver dish had fallen from my bag. Damn my feelingless hands. I bent, snatched it up, and shoved it away.

    Beardy pointed to my bag. "Toss in the silver, and you¡¯ve got a bet."

    "That''s worth a whole lot more than twenty bucks," I said.

    "You want the room or what?"

    "Mr. Crowley," Dale said, tugging on my arm. "Why don¡¯t we just give him the ten for the room?¡±

    ¡°Price went up," Beard said.

    "We could find someplace else?" Dale whispered.

    The bounty hunter leaned in close. I could smell the liquor on his breath. "You both too pansy?"

    I looked around the room. A couple nosy patrons were watching us now that things were getting interesting. And I¡¯ll be honest, watching the bank from a room or sitting by the front window, it didn¡¯t really matter to me. But when you¡¯ve been around as long as I have, sometimes, interesting tips the scales.

    "Five-finger," I told him. "Last one to bleed wins it all. The room, cash, silver, and pride. What do you say, pal?"

    A wicked grin wracked his features, and I say wracked because it looked like it hurt him to smile. And that smile told me his answer. While Dale whispered protests, I followed the bounty hunter to the spot from which the previous loser had just run. His blood covered a tree stump set between two wooden chairs that looked like they''d break if anyone bigger than Dale sat in one.

    But we sat, and they didn''t.

    A small crowd gathered as it always does. One thing I''ve learned in my time, men out here live to gamble. And why wouldn''t they? Surviving these parts is a gamble enough. What''s one more.

    Beard stood again for a second and raised his hands as if conducting an orchestra. Christ, he started singing.

    I hear the drink calling, but I ain''t got a dime

    The boys say a knife will help passin'' the time

    So I sat down to play, taking bets on my aim

    What''s started with five, I pray winds up the same

    I knew the song. There were five more verses, and I was glad he didn''t sing them all, though he wasn''t a terrible singer. When he was done, the man guffawed and sat back down, pulling a knife from wherever he was keeping it. The blade had hundreds of nicks. He spun it along his finger and handed me the hilt.

    "Ladies first," he said, which stirred up some more laughter.

    "You''re gonna bleed, stranger," said one from behind me somewhere.

    "Anton don''t never lose!" shouted another.

    ¡°Mr. Crowley, I really don¡¯t think this is a good idea,¡± Dale said.

    I ignored him and grabbed the knife. "First blood?"

    Anton nodded once. I know, it wasn''t exactly fair considering only dust runs through my veins, but what''s a guy to do?

    I placed my hand palm-down on the stump.

    The rules of the game were simple. Some called it the knife game, others five-finger filet, and others still, stabscotch. I called it dumb, even when I was living. You can have any number of players, really. Though, it''s best mano a mano. The first player does like I did, places his hand face down, and spreads his digits. Then, with the other hand, he grasps a knife. It can be any blade, as long as it''ll cut when it hits.

    I''ve seen kids playing with sticks, but they''ll reach a certain age where that just won''t fly anymore. The game is about having nerve.

    I took a deep breath, faking anxiousness. I wanted Anton to think I was nervous. But I''d been doing this undead thing for a while now. Took me a bit, but I discovered all the things I''m good at. And it turns out, without fear of losing a finger, I was really good at this game.

    I started off nice and slow, setting the pace. I cleared all eleven gaps¡ªfrom thumb to pinky back to thumb¡ªwithout a problem, then handed Anton the knife.

    He did the same, never breaking eye contact with me. Show off.

    I was tempted to try the same trick when I got the knife back, but instead, I just accelerated my stabbing and slammed the blade into the stump when I was done. Dale squealed from the thud, like his heart was getting ready to give out.

    Leaning back, I watched Anton match my speed.

    "Faster!" the crowd jeered.

    Then a fella with teeth as yellow as the sun hovering over Anton''s left shoulder picked up the song again.

    Won the first round of drinks when I finished intact

    Went straight to my head, my aim started to crack

    See, I started with five, but now I''m down to four

    We''re all reckless and stupid but, hey! Pour me one more

    The crowd had gathered in by the end, their fervor seeming to energize Anton. He did as they asked, speeding up. I''ll hand it to him; the guy was decent. When he was done, he flipped the blade with a flourish and stabbed it down right back in front of me.

    "Let''s go, moneybags," Anton taunted.

    I spotted Picklefinger standing at the back of the gathered crowd. It seemed our little game had become more important than tending the bar. As a matter of fact, Beast Boy had stopped swinging, staring down at us from his perch on the light fixture above. The others from the freak show were watching, too.

    What''s one little finger when I''ve still got his friends

    The whiskey is strong, and my wounds they will mend

    I started with five, but now I''m down to three

    It''s reckless and stupid but, hey! The drinks are all free

    Anton stood and joined them, sweeping his arms side to side like a maestro.

    The barmaid was dancing and gave me a start

    The knife struck my hand, and it wasn''t too sharp

    So I bit off the rest, and I gave the salute

    Yes, I started with five but hey! Now I''m down to two

    I raised the knife, and as I did, I caught a glimpse of a familiar smokey swirl in the blade''s reflection.

    "Stop this foolish game of the Children," Shar said. "You''re drawing attention."

    I disregarded her warning¡ªa thing I''d become quite the pro at these days. With Beast Boy in the room, the itch in my chest was dull and constant anyway. Plus, Shar was wrong. Attention might be good at this point. Draw the Trio or any allies they might have out of hiding if they were amidst,.

    They knew my face after Elkhart. So, let them come to me if they so pleased. I¡¯m sturdy enough, and better I take their focus than all the innocent people of Revelation Springs.

    "You''re not bad," I said to Anton over the din. "But you''re all flash."

    With that, I placed my hand down, memorized where it was, and closed my eyes. Now Shar couldn''t distract me.

    The tale will be told from the slaves to the masters

    Like Arthur and all of his round-table bastards

    I''m getting faster and faster and drinking a ton

    Yeah, it''s reckless and stupid, but hey! It''s bloody good fun!

    I began stabbing, the crowd so inspired by my risk they ooh''d and aah''d with my every motion. Dale made sounds I wasn''t even sure could come from a grown man. When I finished and stabbed the blade down, I opened my eyes again. The knife was swaying, metal humming.

    No blood.

    Though, I realized I''d messed up. There was a line across my left middle finger where, apparently, I''d sliced clean through it. Looked like a knuckle at first glance, but it wasn''t. I quickly covered it with my other hand, hiding the lost fingertip within a fist.

    "I''ll be taking that room," I boasted.

    "Think I didn''t catch you peeking through eyelashes?" Anton said. ¡°My turn.¡± He grabbed a dishrag off the tray off a passing barmaid, then tied it over his eyes in a blindfold. He sang the first line, and the rest picked it up.

    A man in the corner with a hook for a hand

    Bet a hundred against me and struck up the band

    The game will keep going cause I ain''t no chump

    I started with five, but hey! Now it''s a stump!

    Anton''s fans cheered for him while he flawlessly went through the motions without being able to see, same as I had. I honestly wasn''t sure how to up the ante next.

    The whole bar practically joined in on the final refrain, singing it slow.

    I started with Five, but now I''ve got none

    It''s reckless and stupid, but hey! It''s bloody good fun

    Anton was moving now, but on his way back, he stabbed hard, and I spotted a dab of blood on his ring finger.

    The whole place went quiet except for Dale whose ¡°Ha!¡± echoed.

    Anton had nicked himself. And while, technically, that meant he''d done better than me, I had no choice but to cheat. I had the White Throne''s work to do here in Revelation.

    Hearing the silence, he tore off the blindfold and gawked at the wound.

    "Good match." I started to rise when one of his compadres pushed me back down.

    "Not quite," Anton said. "I like to play a fair game."

    "You agreed to first blood. That there''s blood."

    Anton sucked at his finger. "You gotta cover your eyes like me. I know you peeked."

    I spun to see men gathered around me. Some cracked their knuckles. Others, their necks. What was certain was these men were hankering for a fight. Win or lose, I was pretty sure this was always gonna be the outcome. I always forget¡­ maybe Shar knows some things.

    See, I couldn''t play another round. As soon as I uncovered my cloven finger, I''d be outed as a cheater. Which was maybe true, but "first blood" is an awfully specific set of rules.

    "You calling me a cheater?" I asked.

    "Or just a big scaredy-cat," he said.

    "You got some nerve."

    "Uh, Anton, sir," Dale interjected, meek as a kitten. "Mr. Crowley won, fair and square. We really do need a room."

    I''m not sure he meant to but leaning in caused him to flaunt the badge on his chest. I probably should''ve warned him to take it off.

    "You think that means anything here?" Anton said, flicking the badge.

    "Please, in the name of the law¡ª"

    A fist pistoned from Anton''s buddy with the yellow teeth and cracked Dale across the jaw. Something about being in a busy saloon with a partner, surrounded by drunkards and loons, had me feeling like the old days before God saw to making me a tool. I couldn''t help but throw down.

    Shoving the tip of my finger in my pocket first, I lunged at Anton and repaid the debt by giving his jaw a wallop. I put so much force behind it, he flipped ass over tea kettle. He toppled over the back of his chair and cracked a floor plank where he landed. Sometimes, I don''t know my own strength.

    Dale sprung up quick, hopping on one of Anton''s pal''s backs and punching his ribs. Not the best technique, but the young, hapless deputy-turned-sheriff-turned-deputy-again was scrappy, that''s for sure.

    More fists came at me. I blocked with my forearms and swung back. Probably got hit from behind a few times without knowing it too. One thing led to another, and our little fight swelled across the whole saloon as more and more men got jostled.

    Picklefinger was all "here, here," and "now, now," but nobody listened. There was a code of honor when it came to brawls like this. Nobody drew their guns. We weren''t out to kill each other, just to prove a point. If a gun went off, it would be the barkeep shooting the floor to tell us enough was enough.

    But old Picklefinger didn''t do that. Complain as he might, a bar like his had a reputation to uphold. That was just the way of things.

    Dale got caught in a throat lock. I picked up a chair and bashed his attacker across the spine. Then, I found myself being yanked backward. Anton had grabbed me and thrown me, but my elbow caught his ribs and cracked a bone.

    Rising, I spotted Beast Boy, who''d now joined into the fray, howling as he swung down and kicked a man in the side of the head. So, he wasn¡¯t totally averse to some violent fun. His victim staggered, grabbing the Bearded Lady''s whiskers to try and stay upright. That earned him an open-handed slap that knocked him right out.

    "You damn cheater!" Anton growled. He speared me with his shoulder, and together, we slammed into the bar. Then he clawed at my throat. I managed to reverse the roles, him with his back against the bar, but he got a boot up and shoved me rearwards.

    All hell broke loose when I bumped into the World''s Strongest Man.

    The enormous, rippling heap of muscle spilled his drink all over. He slammed a fist the size of a cow head down on the corner of the bar, breaking off a chunk. Then he grabbed me by the collar and hefted me into the air.

    "Let him down!" Dale hollered, running over and batting at the man''s chest. Might as well have been a hug. Beast Boy noticed, hurrying to defend his performance partner. He drop-kicked Dale in the chest just as the Strong Man flung me. Seconds later, we were both hurled bodily through the side window, landing in the alley between the bar and the Miner''s guild.

    Glass shattered, and we rolled out onto wet earth. A man and his lady who''d been doing God-knows-what in the alley screamed as they dodged us. The horses hitched up on the side whinnied and reared, pulling the hitching post loose. Together, all tied up, they took off. I took a hoof to the gut and one to the shoulder. Dale was luckier, in a sense. He''d landed right in the water trough where Timp remained the only horse still calmly drinking. Poor girl was used to this kind of activity.

    He rose a little, but he didn''t look like he had enough strength left to fling a pebble at a house rat. Beast Boy was clearly stronger than his stature implied.

    I heard footsteps, and Anton strolled outside with his buddies. He blew out his nose, a clump of blood shooting to the dirt.

    "These boys troubling you?" said another voice.

    Just what I needed. Another newcomer to get in on the fight. Turning my head, the first thing I saw was a familiar hawk perched on the top of the Miner''s Guild rooftop, facing the bank. Well, I saw two of it since I was so dizzy from the fall.

    I blinked in disbelief, and when I opened my eyes again, it was gone. Either it had flown off or never had been there to begin with. A figment of my imagination.

    Then spurs jingled. A pair of fine boots slapped down next to me, and I found myself staring at the sheriff of Revelation Springs, with a mustache so wide it crossed both cheeks. And not alone either. He was with a couple of deputies as well as Sheriff Culpepper of Elkhart, probably doing their rounds to ward off the outlaws.

    "If cheating is a trouble, then yeah," Anton said, eyes wide and nodding.

    Before I knew it, a bunch of men grabbed hold of me and pulled me to my feet. The world was spinning. Doesn''t matter how immortal you are; getting your brain rattled and scrambled like eggs will confuse the best of us. A few more men got Dale, dragging his sopping wet self out of the trough since he could barely stand on his own.

    "Seems like you fellas had too much to drink," the Revelation sheriff said, leaning in to get a better look at me. ¡°You need a place to sleep it off."

    "Not even a sip," I said.

    Just then, Picklefinger arrived at the mouth of the alley, glowering down at me with his arms crossed over his belly.

    "Tell them, Pickles," I said.

    All he did was shake his head and head back inside. Guess I couldn''t blame him. Shattered windows would cost a pretty penny.

    "Don''t know these men at all," Anton said, acted all flustered. "And one of them just clean swung at my friend for no reason, when all we¡¯re here to do is try and help end that damn Frozen Trio."

    "That''s a goddamn lie!" I argued.

    I reached into my pocket.

    "Hands where I can seem ''em!" the sheriff growled, but I wasn''t looking for a weapon.

    "Wait, I know him," Sheriff Culpepper said, pointing at Dale. Then he chuckled. "This is that squirrelly fella who rolled into Elkhart after the robbery, wanting to be deputized. You''re supposed to be back there."

    Dale''s response was unintelligible, whether from shame or a swollen tongue.

    "Deserting your post." Culpepper clicked his tongue. "That ain''t right."

    "Neither is vandalizing this fine establishment," the Revelation Sheriff said. "I saw this one riding in.¡±

    ¡°Just crooked another bounty hunter chasing riches,¡± Anton added. ¡°Gives us decent ones a bad name.¡±

    ¡°Couple of Mr. Dufaux''s Pinks said he was trouble,¡± the Revelation Sheriff said. ¡°Clearly, they were right."

    "Pinks get paid enough to be right about something," Culpepper chimed in, earning a laugh from everybody.

    "Got a nice empty cell these two will be mighty comfortable in until they sober up." The Revelation Sheriff bent down directly in my face and sneered. "Welcome to Revelation."

 Chapter 16

    The rusty barred door of our cell shut with a tinny clang. The tittering of deputies echoed after they disappeared around the corner.

    This was a substantially larger building than the one-room jail in Elkhart. The cells had their own wing. One of the others contained a snoring wayfarer, and I reckoned as the festival heated up, a few more would earn a stay.

    My guns were taken, yet again. Belongings too. Including Shar¡¯s mirror. Always a silver lining if you look for it.

    At least they didn''t strip me down. I did get quite the kick out of watching one fool of a deputy rummaging through my stuff and getting all self-murdering when he handled the cursed harmonica. But just like in Elkhart, he mistook it for being gross and worthless and left it where it was.

    Dale slumped against the stone wall. He''d regained his wits but seemed completely dejected over what happened.

    "I told you we''d get a room," I said. Didn''t even get a smirk out of him. "What? It smells better than a stable. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph would''ve wished for something so pleasant."

    "Why couldn''t we just find another way?" he groaned. "Now they know I''m here. Culpepper¡¯s right. I deserted my post. I could be hanged."

    "Oh, relax. Nobody''s gonna hang you." I moved to sit next to him.

    "You don''t know that."

    It¡¯s true. I didn''t. The intricacies of the law are beyond me¡ªwhich they are to most, considering every god-forsaken town out here has their own made-up rules. Maybe it wouldn''t be so bad for more feds to make things consistent this far west.

    Dale''s chin dipped to his chest. Whether out of exhaustion or disappointment, I''m unsure. I''d wager both.

    "Either way," he said, "now we ain''t never gonna get that bounty."

    I considered telling him about the hawk I''d seen, but decided against it. He was agitated enough. Plus, I suppose it could''ve been a coincidence. The world has plenty of hawks in it after all. Still, a bird like that out at night, making no noise, just staring at the bank as if it were the eyes of the Mind-drifter. If the Frozen Trio wasn''t here yet, they were close.

    See Shar? If I hadn¡¯t caused a ruckus I never would''ve been thrown outside and, maybe, seen the hawk.

    "You think some flimsy metal bars are gonna keep us from divine retribution?" I asked. "Not a chance."

    "Divine." Dale scoffed. It was the first time I sensed cynicism in the man. Getting the crap beat out of you can do that. "First you ''rise'' from the dead¡ªthen you play five-finger with your eyes closed like a maniac. Get us locked up. I''m more thinking you''re a devil, Mr. Crowley."

    I nearly laughed. Matter of fact, I might''ve.

    "Naw. I ain''t no devil." I placed my hand upon his shoulder, only remembering then that a chunk of my middle finger was missing. I searched my pocket, finding it there and glad it hadn''t rolled out into the mud.

    "All I know is something ain''t right, and you ain''t telling me,¡± Dale said.

    "I''m on your side, Dale. You''re either gonna have to trust me or part ways. Wasn¡¯t me who invite you, after all.¡±

    He didn''t look up. Just fixed a thousand-mile gaze on the floor. I''m guessing this was his first time ever being on this side of bars. Adorable. I was there to witness his right of passage into manhood.

    "Sheriff Daniels always warned me I was too trusting," he whined.

    "Be that as it may, it''s better to trust wrongly than never to trust at all."

    "I think that''s love you''re thinking of.¡±

    "Regardless¡­" I tapped the wall above us. "Look out there."

    He didn''t move. I gave him a slap.

    "C''mon. Look."

    He groaned and glanced up.

    I nodded to the window.

    Reluctantly, he stood and followed my urging to look out the barred slit of a window at the top of the cell. The room was half underground, but through that narrow opening was a street-level view of the town square and Dufaux''s Bank and Trust. I could hear the geyser shoot off and splatter water onto stone.

    "Well, I''ll be," he said.

    I smirked. "See, we ain''t missing a thing. Plus, we get a roof over our heads. Timp''s gonna be jealous when we get out."

    "What if they hit the bank while we''re locked in here?"

    I swallowed. I hadn''t quite thought of that yet. The key was on the on-duty deputy, completely out of sight in another room. Even if I dislocated my shoulder, I couldn''t reach through bars that far.

    One idea. I could tell the next important person I saw that I''d spotted the same hawk that was flying around with the Frozen Trio.

    Sure¡­

    Hey, mister, I saw a bird on the rooftop while you were arresting me. Pretty sure he''s magic.

    I sighed.

    It was the best idea I had, and it was a shit one. It would need to be good enough for the moment. Being honest, sitting there on what I imagined was a cold, stone floor¡ªit was nice. I needed that brief respite. A quiet night. Maybe I''d even catch a snooze.

    Worst case, the outlaws hit, and I could throw my body at the cell door with such reckless force I''d break it off its hinges. Might snap my neck doing it, but I''d just crack it right back into place.

    "Don''t worry about that," I said. "Let''s just try and get some shut-eye."

    Dale slid back down, closed his eyes, and leaned his head on the wall. Then he opened one eye. "How do you do that?"

    "What?"

    "Sleep. You know, after you¡­"

    "Shoot a man?"

    He winced. I breathed out through my teeth. Sheriff Daniels'' fate was still eating away at him.

    "Easy,¡± I said. ¡°You just do it, knowing that when your eyelids peel back, nothing can change what''s come before."

    "Right¡­ Okay."

    I nodded encouragingly, and he gave it a try. Maybe I really was going soft, caring about Dale¡¯s wellbeing. But wasn''t that what God¡¯s hand was supposed to be about? Helping others?This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    "You laughing at me up there?" I whispered to the ceiling, hoping Shar heard me, wherever she was. "Yeah, I''m sure you are."

    A light whistle in Dale¡¯s breathing told me he¡¯d found his way to sand-land. With him asleep, I removed my finger from my pocket and pressed it back into position. It wasn''t an immediate process, but this wasn''t my first time losing an appendage. If I held it there firmly for some time, the skin would eventually mesh and heal itself.

    If that worked for something bigger like a leg or my head¡ªI wasn''t yet sure.

    While holding it in place, I did like I''d told Dale and shut my eyes. I may not get physically tired, but any man, living or dead, gets weary and worn down. Luckily, my benefactors left me with the ability to sleep to pass time. Never a deep, wholesome slumber, mind you. More like an afternoon siesta, always somewhat aware of my surroundings.

    Presently, it was the fracas of a busy Revelation Springs night. All the fun I was missing out on. Drunken arguments and fights, dogs barking at stray cats. Dares to take a dip in the town square spring.

    No gunshots, though¡­ yet.

    I didn''t have visions of the day Ace killed me this time either. That was a relief. More often than not, that''s what I''d get. Not sure why it couldn''t ever be a nice romp with some pretty lady or a night of merriment with Big Davey after a score¡ªGod rest his soul. The thought of how he''d died dropped a fifty-pound weight in my gut¡­

    "Hola. Hello. Is there anybody here I can speak with?" A Latina woman''s voice cut through the darkness of slumber after who-knows-how-long. At first, I thought it was a vision of some sort. But no. It was real life. "Excuse me?"

    She was far off, probably poking her head through the station''s front door. A loud knock got the deputy on guard duty to startle awake. He started to yell about being closed to the public, then his voice got soft and gentlemanly. I couldn''t make out everything they were saying, but it sounded flirtatious.

    Was probably some lady of the night looking for an easy bit of cash from a bored man. I could only imagine how dull it got, sitting around, guarding. Despite my last few days, bank robberies and jailbreaks were a pretty rare occurrence in a town like this.

    I tried to listen closer just for some entertainment of my own. It seemed the harder I tried to hear, the louder the vagabond in the cell next to me snored. However, after a few minutes, the voices got quiet anyway. Did the lady take the deputy out back for some fun? God almighty¡­ I can''t even recall what that sort of fun felt like. Lucky bastard.

    Then I heard footsteps. Loud. From within the station.

    By now, Dale was snoring like a freight train, too. I crawled along the floor to look out. My finger was back in place, mostly. Just a tad crooked.

    I clasped the bars and peered through. Probably looked like a mad man. If I had a beating heart, it would have skipped when I saw who came walking around the corner.

    A gorgeous Latina woman with dark hair, eyes as green as the Garden, and sparkling the same. Rosa Massey. She wore frontier clothes¡ªa great departure from the last time I''d laid eyes on her in Dead Acre when she''d been dressed in funeral blacks. Her sleeves were rolled up, making visible the snake-and-dagger tattoo on her left forearm. She even had a pistol holstered at her hip¡ªa fine one at that. Looked like a regular outlaw queen.

    And spinning on her slender finger was a key ring. Saints and elders, that smile. If in the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve''s weakness was a shiny red apple? Her smile was my apple. All at once, beautiful, impish, and seductive.

    I''d done Earth a service saving her back when she was a child. And then again, as an adult, last time we met a few months back in Dead Acre. And like the Almighty with that first man and woman, I was certain Shar wasn''t happy about this turn of events. Or had she led us together again on purpose. To tempt me? Test me?

    ¡°Why Mrs. Massey," I said. "As I live and breathe." I was too stunned to immediately recognize the irony of that particular phrase escaping my lips. "How?"

    "Back at that saloon. I knew I recognized you," she said. "I was just entering when you started that fight.¡±

    Yet another benefit of me drawing attention to myself, apparently.

    "Started it!" I protested playfully. "Lies."

    "Well, you sure didn''t finish it." She laughed at my expense. Anyone else did that, they might''ve earned a curse. With her? I just chuckled right along.

    "Wait a¡­ I¡ª" I shook my head. "What are you doing here?"

    "Saving you, it seems." She leaned against the bars and started testing keys. Taking her time, too. Like she was completely unconcerned about any lawmen stopping her.

    The sound of scraping and clanking metal seemed to rouse Dale. I heard him yawn. "Who is¡­" He paused. I glanced back and saw his mouth agape at the sight of her. "That?"

    "Our way out," I responded.

    Wasn''t what I planned, but Shar''s always talking about following the path laid out before me. Somehow, someway, that I won''t question, Rosa Massey was right where I needed her. That probably said something more than I was willing to admit at the time.

    Rosa found the right key and slid it deeper into the lock. I awaited the audible click, but she stopped.

    With that heart-halting smile on her face, she said, "I let you out, it makes us even for Dead Acre."

    "That''s fine," I said. "But that doesn''t make us even-even. I''m still up by one on my count. Or did you forget when I saved you and your momma way back when? Got myself shot to dea¡ª" I caught myself. That Rosa. She untied my tongue and confused every part of me. I had to watch losing my wits around her. "Well, I got shot a lot."

    "Si. Eres mi salvador." Again with that smile. "So now I''ll only owe you one."

    "That''s a deal." I stuck my hand out through the bars, and she shook it. If only I could''ve felt it.

    "Wait, wait, wait. Who are you?" Dale said.

    "This here is Rosa Massey," I answered.

    "An old friend," she said at the same time.

    "Oh, are we friends now?¡± I asked. ¡°Do friends make friends cancel out favors before breaking them out of jail?"

    "Good ones do." She smirked. "Do you want out or not?"

    "By all means."

    The lock clicked a couple times more, and then the rusty door swung open. The moment I stepped out, Rosa threw her arms around me. I didn''t expect it, so I froze. Barely got my arms up to hug her back before she''d pulled away.

    Sure, we had a history. Almost like we were fated to keep running into each other or something beyond my understanding. But there''ve been very few people in my life who would hug me.

    A man can only take so many years of loneliness before it wears on him. And I was growing weary.

    "You coming?" she said to Dale.

    He blinked, then looked at me, then blinked again.

    "Well?" I said.

    "If we break out early, we''ll only get in more trouble," he said softly.

    "What''s more?" I said with a laugh. "We''re already in jail."

    "A better chance at hanging?"

    I blew a raspberry and waved him off. "They only threw us in for the fun of it, Dale. Otherwise, they¡¯d have left more than one guard. Shit, you''re a deputy. You know how this works. Tomorrow morning they''ll forget why we were even here and let us out anyway."

    "Then why don''t we just wait until morning?"

    "He''s a deputy?" Rosa asked.

    "Not here." I ground my teeth. "Okay, fine, Dale. Maybe it wouldn''t be that simple. But still."

    "We damaged that saloon pretty good," he said.

    "They don''t give two shits about Picklefinger''s windows or you ditching Elkhart. Hell, they probably put you at the post knowing that was the safest place in the damn region now that it''d already been hit."

    As soon as I said it, I wished I could grab the words before they reached his ears.

    "Oh," he muttered.

    "Now, Dale. You know I didn''t mean it like that."

    "No, it''s true. I¡­" His head and shoulders sagged. "Even still, failure that I am, I''m meant to uphold the law, not break it."

    I felt bad for saying what I said, but I didn''t have time to watch a grown man sulk. I liked Dale fine enough, but a crisis of identity was the last thing I needed to be dealing with.

    "You want to stay? Stay,¡± I said. ¡°You can stare out that window at the bank as long as you want. But here." I tossed him the keys. "Anything happens, you use those, get your gun, and shoot three times like we talked about. Then you go get your revenge for what happened. Got it?"

    He stared at the keys for a few seconds. Nodded. I didn''t give him a chance to second guess things before I turned and headed away with Rosa. I won¡¯t lie, deep down part of it may''ve been that I wanted some time alone with her to reconnect.

    "How''d you get past him anyway?" I asked as we rounded the corner.

    She didn''t need to answer, because there, in the station''s main room, I saw how. The deputy was collapsed forward onto his desk, fast asleep.

    "Slipped something into his mouth," Rosa said.

    I gazed at her. I was surprised, but also not. I honestly didn''t really know that much about her besides that I enjoyed her company.

    "Should I ask what?" I said. ¡°Or how?¡±

    "Do you want to?"

    "Not really."

    She smiled and leaned on what looked like the sheriff''s desk. I''m pretty sure I got caught staring at the way the muscles on her forearm stretched, making her snake tattoo seem to wriggle.

    "Your guns are over there," she said, snapping her fingers then pointing to a storage rack in the corner. "I recognized them."

    "Got a good eye." I walked over to retrieve my armaments and supplies from the second law building in however many days. Things weren''t going very smoothly for me lately. But all my effects seemed to be in order, even the silver plate. I took extra care to avoid staring into its reflection. Now wasn¡¯t a time I wanted to deal with Shar¡¯s¡­ however she¡¯d react.

    And I didn''t feel one bit bad about grabbing a spare rifle to replace mine.

    Maybe these weren''t the lawmen who took it, but fair was fair. And she was newer than mine had been too, though a Winchester all the same. No reason to change when you''re already using the best.

    When I turned around, Rosa was already holding the front door open and waiting for me. You know what they say, an open door is as good as an invitation. I was beginning to think there was more to this than just settling scores.

    "You coming?" she goaded, her finger wagging me over like a serpent.

 Chapter 17

    The sky was reddening, one of those moments where both sun and moon were equally visible, dancing a brilliant duet amongst the clouds. Rosa strode down the main avenue as if she hadn''t just sprung me from jail, and I followed, leading Timp by the reins.

    Couldn''t just keep her tied up at Picklefinger''s all night, could I?

    "Good to see you again too, girl," Rosa said as Timperina nuzzled against her neck. Even she seemed to like Rosa. A rare feat, indeed.

    Though, this clearly wasn''t the same Rosa I''d seen months ago back in Dead Acre. At least I didn''t think so. She displayed no fear of anyone punishing her for this wrongdoing. Then again, maybe having just lost her husband the way she had unlocked something in her. Or perhaps without a home life to care about, it revealed the woman''s true colors.

    I didn''t know much about her, after all. Not really. Between saving her and her mom when she was a girl and seeing her again, many years had passed. Her mom had died of sickness, and Rosa was forced into adulthood far too early. Who knows what she was before she''d met her late husband, Willy Massey, and tried to settle down in Dead Acre. There might''ve been bounties posted for her all over south of the border for all I knew.

    Could be that she had some evocative nickname like the outlaws I was after. Lady Serpent or Medusa or something meant to keep children up at night.

    My thoughts had me so enraptured that I''d barely realized how far we''d walked. Night fell in full. A small campfire blazed a short distance outside Revelation¡ªnestled between two rocky hillocks west of town past the fairgrounds. It was a pinprick of light, growing evermore as we silently walked.

    I tried not to think too much deeper about Rosa and what''d led her to carry iron like she was.

    "We should be safe here," she said when we were close.

    I snapped out of it and glanced up.

    It was quiet, but in the wild, you can''t mistake silence for safety. Still, so near to town and all the folk finishing setting up the festival, I had to guess this place was as safe as any other.

    A stagecoach sat on one side, white tarp reflecting moonlight in an ethereal blur. It was in good shape, likely new or a rental from one of the bigger cities¡ªthe kind rich folks chartered when they wanted to make sure everyone knew how rich they were. However, even at such a distance, I could tell no one currently rooted by the flames appeared overly wealthy.

    "Me and the others decided we''d rather stay outside of town," Rosa said. "When I spotted you, I was heading in to get a drink since my company abhors fun, and¡­ Well, you know the rest."

    I sniffed. "Smart. Smells less like shit out here¡ªpardon my language, Mrs. Massey."

    "I can handle it."

    "Doesn''t mean you should."

    "Well, if nothing else, just call me Rosa. There is no Mrs. Massey anymore."

    I frowned. "I know it hurts, but the bond of marriage lasts for life."

    She stopped and glared at me, cross. "Have you ever been married, James?¡±

    "No, ma''am. I can''t say I have."

    "Right. Then you can''t know such things."

    She wasn''t wrong. I''d courted a lady or two back in the day, sure, but never anything serious. I was always too on the move. The nature of an outlaw''s life. Though, as we neared the fire and that itchy sensation on my chest struck up, I couldn''t help but feel that I sort of understood married life. Old Shar and I had the bickering part down at least, and it wasn''t like she''d be any help milking the cows.

    I took Rosa''s arm, then let go almost as quickly. "I''m sorry, Rosa. I meant no offense."

    "I know you didn''t." She affected her best smile, circumstances notwithstanding. "Now, come. I''m sure you can stay in our camp unless you''d rather be any elsewhere."

    Nowhere else in the world I''d rather be, was what I wanted to say. Instead, I remained quiet, bobbed my head all timid-like, and followed her into the campsite.

    At once, three things happened that changed the whole mood.

    Our feet snapped over dried-out twigs and leaves.

    Timperina whinnied.

    A gun cocked behind us. I didn¡¯t dare turn.

    "It''s me," Rosa warned.

    "Not alone, it''s not. Who''s your friend?" questioned a man with messy hair the color of dirt. I couldn''t quite place his accent, but it sounded like he was used to sipping tea and eating biscuits. He sat alone, sketching something in a journal with charcoal. A tobacco pipe hung from his lips, barely smoldering like he''d forgotten to keep it lit.

    "James Crowley," I said and stuck out my hand. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

    "Harker," the man answered. No first name. No smile. He didn''t even stop drawing, his utensil quickly slashing a few harsh lines.

    "He couldn''t find anywhere to stay in town,¡± Rosa said. ¡°Do you mind if he stays here with us?"

    "Long as he stays quiet," Harker said with all the charm of a bleeding blister. "He''s working." The man gestured over his shoulder with the stub of his charcoal. Within the stagecoach, behind a pale pink curtain¡ªor at least that¡¯s what it looked like in the moonlight¡ªshadows cast by a lantern danced. Whoever was inside, his voice carried on the air, muttering under his breath, sounding frustrated.

    "Of course," Rosa said. "I''m your guest."

    "They''re okay, Irish," Harker said calmly.

    A woman appeared from the darkness only a few feet away from me.

    Didn¡¯t even hear her move. Her short hair, red as the burning fire itself, trickled down from beneath a black derby hat. She wore a long denim jacket down to her thighs that, in silhouette, might''ve been mistaken for a dress. Iron-buckled straps on the outside held a series of knives, varying in length from bottom to top. And as she holstered her pistol, I saw more knives strung to her coveralls.

    "Christ''s coming!¡± I blurted. ¡°You move like a church mouse wearing slippers.¡±

    "What''s the craic? Know how feck near I was to t''rowin knives? Who''s the culchie?" she rambled.

    I stared at her, dumbfounded by her accent, as she strolled past us and grabbed a chunk of bread from a satchel I hadn''t previously noticed.

    "Irish, this is Mr. James Crowley," Rosa said.

    "Crowley''s fine," I said.

    Irish took a big bite and spun a spit over the fire where a chicken roasted. "Welcome ta stay. Just don''t act the feckin maggot, right?"

    "Sure..." I nodded. Then I whispered, "Interesting friends," to Rosa.

    "I wouldn''t call us that just yet, would you, Harker?" Rosa asked.

    The man grunted. Not really an answer one way or another, but whatever he was drawing seemed to be sucking all his attention. Rosa took a seat across the fire, as far from Harker as she could get, and patted the spot on the log beside her. I hitched up Timp with the other horses first.

    Shar''s tingle for my attention grew as I moved to join Rosa, but I didn''t let it bother me. It made no sense. This wasn''t like Agatha, drawing me off course. Not at all. From up where we were, I had clear sight of Revelation, bank and everything. I could even see the lanterns outside, illuminating it as brightly as the church steeple.

    The grounds were all set for the Founders'' Day Fair. Seeing it all empty, knowing there''d be hundreds milling around there tomorrow in search of escape from everyday life¡­ That was something.

    "What in the world are you doing here, Rosa?" I asked.

    She shrugged. "It beats cramming in with everyone in overstuffed hotels."

    "Not here, here. I mean Revelation."

    "Same as everyone else. Heard about the festival. Needed a distraction."

    I knew it was a fib because it was the same one I''d used on Cecil. Which begged the question, why lie to me?

    "The way people talk about this little fiesta, it better be the greatest event ever held," I said.

    "I doubt it,¡± she replied. ¡°I''m sure it¡¯ll be just like any other."

    Harker groaned loud enough to make sure we heard it. Then he slapped his journal shut, picked up his chair, and carried it. Rosa held her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. He went as far as he could before losing sight of us, up the crest of one of the low hills where he could draw privately in the light of the nearly full moon.

    "He gets pretty serious with his art," Rosa said.

    "Yeah? What''s he working on?" I asked.

    She shook her head. "Pretty private about them too."

    Irish watched us from the fire like she was attending a play. She tore a chunk of flesh from the chicken, licked her fingers, then got to work on it, all without taking her eyes off us.

    "So, are you planning to tell me why you¡¯re really here, Rosa?" I asked after a short silence.

    "Why are you?" she retorted.

    "I asked first."

    She nudged me with her shoulder. "And a gentleman should answer first."

    "You''re trouble, you know that?" I chuckled. She didn''t argue. "All right. Fine. I''m after a bounty. Some outlaws hitting up banks in the region.¡±

    "Well, if you¡¯re after them they won¡¯t last much longer.¡±

    "I hope that¡¯s true." I didn''t add that if I didn''t stop them, all of Revelation Springs might wind up frozen in an ice cube. Pesky details.

    "Your turn. Why are you really here?" I asked.

    Rosa lifted her chin. "Because I can be."

    Most men might''ve thought she was withholding, but not me. I caught her meaning right away. That there was a harsh truth. No husband anymore, no expectations, she could go wherever she pleased. Do whatever she desired. Wherever the wind took her¡­ so they say.

    "What about the Massey ranch?" I asked.

    "Not my ranch," she said. "Willy''s father didn''t need my help. Even if he never said so."

    "I''m sure that ain''t true. It''s hard work, losing a son."

    Rosa exhaled slowly as she nodded in agreement.

    She may''ve looked beautiful here under the moonlight, but it''s often the scars you can''t see that hurt the most.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    Moments passed. Irish still stared.

    "Strange company you''re keeping, though," I said again, getting the hint that a change in subject was necessary. "Where does a girl living in Dead Acre meet a crew from across the Atlantic."

    "They found me, actually." She poked the fire with a stick, sending cinders dancing. Irish didn''t even flinch, just kept eating and watching.

    "Oh?"

    "Their leader." She pointed to the wagon. "He claims he studies supernatural happenings. Said he was in Crescent City when he heard about the strange things that occurred in Dead Acre. He had questions."

    My body tensed.

    "Life would be unbearably dull if we had all the answers to all our questions," I said. "What''d you tell him?"

    I didn''t want her to know how concerned I was. I knew what happened when people who saw the kinds of things I dealt with started raving about it. They were thrown in padded cells. Ostracized from society as lunatics or even witches.

    Others became like this companion of Rosa¡¯s: obsessed with proving what they''d seen was real¡ªmaking it their life goal to reveal the supernatural for the whole world to see. As if that would help? Sometimes, it''s better not to prod the hornets¡¯ nest lest you chase them all outside.

    "What I understood," Rosa said.

    Irish took another noisy bite.

    "This entertaining you?" I snapped at the woman.

    "Oi! Ain''t gotta eat me head off."

    "Just wouldn''t mind a minute or two privacy.¡±

    "Well, just feckin say so en." Irish tossed a chicken bone aside and grabbed another portion without a care in the world that she''d just knocked half the remaining carcass into the flames. Then, she made a rude gesture toward us and went and sat beside the horses. Timp nipped at her until she fed her a bite. Irish let her chew right off the bone before eating more herself.

    "Just be careful,¡± I told Rosa. ¡°Like you said, there¡¯s a lot nobody will ever understand about what happened that night."

    "I always am," Rosa said. "Mi mama raised me that way."

    "So that''s it, huh? You really are just here for a bit of fun?"

    "They were heading this way after Dead Acre, and they still had more questions. So I hopped along. Seemed like the right time to see the world¡ªor at least more of it. I missed out on so much with Willy¡­ not that I''d trade our time for anything," she quickly added.

    "Don''t worry, I understand."

    I did. Didn''t take me long in Dead Acre to realize that she and her late husband truly were close. Rosa had her own issues, no doubt caused by what happened with Ace as a child and then years on the run with just her mother until she passed.

    Rosa drank. A lot. Desperate to drown out her many inner demons from what I could gather.

    Of course, the man who''d killed her husband didn''t think that. A necromancer, able to raise the dead to serve his will. He''d been hiding out as her bartender, and I guess after years of chatting, thought Rosa drank because she hated her husband and that she fancied him. So he took it upon himself to remove the obstacle keeping them apart. In this case, that obstacle was Mr. Willy Massey.

    I did my part, stabbed him in the heart with a silver-dusted knife and banished the necromancer''s soul to Hell for what he did. But that wouldn''t strip her of the memory of those ugly skeletons literally rising from graves or of losing the man who''d tied her down, metaphorically speaking.

    "The last time Willy and I were together¡ª" she started before getting choked up. Tears welling in her eyes caught a shimmer of moonlight.

    "You don''t have to say," I said.

    "No, I do.¡± She took a few rapid breaths. "The last time we were together, we were fighting over him spending so much time at work. Don''t mistake, I appreciated what Willy did, trying to make a better home for us, but we had a fine home already. All we needed and more. I just wish I''d had the chance to say goodbye, you know?"

    "Better than most. But I''m sure that wherever he is, he''s looking over you, Rosa. He''d be stupid to ever stop looking. And if he got you to marry him, I''m sure he ain''t that stupid."

    She smirked through the sheen of her tears. "He wasn''t."

    A few crickets serenaded us as another bout of silence passed. I didn''t think it''d be this awkward, but I rarely spent time with people¡ªespecially not those I''d saved. It was better that way. They couldn''t ask questions I couldn¡¯t answer, and I couldn''t get attached. Still, fate kept throwing this woman at me, and goddamn it, I couldn''t help but play catch.

    "So, you carry a six-shooter now?" I asked, again desperate for a lighter note since our conversation somehow kept finding its way back to sorrows.

    "Five-shooter," she corrected, drawing her Colt Paterson pistol from her holster.

    I whistled, and the crickets stopped momentarily. Timp looked up, but I clicked my tongue, and she went back to begging for scraps.

    "And a knife." She went to reach for her boot, but I grabbed her hand and shook my head.

    "Never show anyone where you keep it," I said.

    "Even you?"

    "Even me."

    I found myself staring directly into her eyes, transfixed. I knew I shouldn''t, but she held my gaze there, and I could recognize the look on her face. Like she was small again. Like I was her hero.

    "It''s strange seeing you again without needing your help," she said.

    "I prefer this way,¡± I replied. ¡°You seem to attract rotten men."

    On cue, a man cried out, "Rosa, dear!"

    Not saying whoever it was happened to be rotten, but the timing was almost comical. We both turned and saw her other companion¡ªtheir leader as she''d called him¡ªleaning out of the carriage. He didn''t get out, just knocked on the wood.

    "Rosa! I have a few more inquiries for you." He had an Irish brogue as well, though far more refined than his loony bodyguard, if that¡¯s what she was.

    Rosa placed a hand on my knee, using the leverage to help her rise. "I''ll be back."

    I moved to follow her.

    "Relax," she told me as she sauntered off toward the stagecoach. "He''s harmless."

    "Just a reflex.¡±

    Even in the face of a necromancer''s black magic, Rosa had handled herself well. I just hoped she''d spare some details with whoever this stranger was. Not that it affected me. She hadn''t seen what I could do. Not really. As far as Rosa knew, I was a man like any other. I merely happened to age gracefully.

    She disappeared into the stagecoach, leaving me alone by the fire.

    With time to myself, I set down my belongings. It seemed everybody had already eaten their fill of the chicken, and if they hadn''t, Irish made sure they wouldn''t have much of a chance. So, I moved the spit with my gloved hands. I snatched up one of their empty iron skillets and shoved it over the flame.

    Pulling out the decorative silver dish I''d stolen from Dufaux''s villa, I placed it inside the skillet. It would take a while and wasn''t a perfect fit, but it would melt from the inside and fold itself into place.

    Of course, I knew that until it was moldable and ready to be cast into bullets, that shiny, reflective surface would expose me to the wife I''d never chosen. I braced myself, knowing what was coming.

    "What are you doing, Crowley?" Shar said, as expected. She appeared like an aura, swirling inside the silver.

    "Oh, would you relax, Shar?" I said, quiet. "I know what I''m doing."

    "Past experience proves otherwise.¡±

    She evinced within me a fury like no one else was capable of. I bet I did the same to her.

    "I needed fire and a place to wait. So, what does it matter if it happens to belong to an old friend?"

    "Friend?" Shar''s cackle was like a knife against pewter. "Friend, you say? Rosa Massey is a lost soul, a Child clinging to the familiar in hopes to revisit the past. She''s not your friend, Crowley, any more than I am."

    "Ouch."

    "She''s merely an adoring fan."

    I harrumphed. "Can''t I have one? The Almighty gets millions."

    The fire went dark, and embers floated up in a puff of air.

    "How dare you." It roared back to life with Shar¡¯s words.

    "Oh, you know what I mean. Don''t get your feathers in a bunch. You do have those, right? On your big old white wings?"

    "You would blanch at the sight of me."

    The fire crackled as a foot sprayed dirt over some of it. I glanced up, startled to find Irish had returned. She squinted, staring down at the silver, tilting her head from side to side.

    "The feck''s that?" she asked.

    "Silver," I said.

    "You hearin¡¯ that, though, oi?"

    When I looked back, Shar''s presence was gone. The silver was starting to bubble.

    "All I hear is crickets and you,¡± I said. ¡°Ifyou''ll excuse me, I''ve got bullets to make."

    Irish shook her head, cleaned out her ear by sticking a finger in and walked away muttering unpleasantries. Pretty sure I saw her suck on that very same finger, too.

    Weird lass.

    I got to work setting up my mold. All Black Badges should have them, as well as a supply of gunpowder. It''s a skill any gunman worth his salt has, making bullets.

    A three-pound platter like this, melted down, could make enough bullets for me to turn that Yeti into a hunk of Swiss cheese. And Shar was right about one thing. Taking down the possessed beast had to be priority numero uno. I had to be ready.

    I''d only spent a few minutes working before I heard footsteps coming from the stagecoach.

    "Excuse me," the leader of Rosa''s entourage said.

    I nearly dropped my tongs.

    He stepped down from the coach and crossed the camp toward me. I was disappointed it wasn''t Rosa.

    The man wasn''t much older than I''d been when I died, but little bits of gray peppered hair the color of wet hay. He was well-dressed, too, like he came from money or made a lot of it. Or Hell, maybe he''d just saved up his whole life savings for a nice suit and that stagecoach.

    "Was I too loud?" I asked.

    "Not at all. Not at all," he said. "The lady just needed a few moments to herself."

    "What''d you say to her?" My tone was more defensive than intended.

    "Relax, friend. I only listened. But the truth can be¡­ exhausting, can it not?"

    "I find some truth can be relieving."

    "I suppose that''s a way to see it,¡± he said. ¡°Depends on the truths."

    I leveled a glare his way. "She''s fragile still. I know she may not look it, but what happened to her shouldn''t happen to anybody."

    His eyes glinted with wonder. He wasn''t intimidated by me in the slightest. Nodding, he said, "And what did happen, exactly?"

    "Now, now. I ain''t your subject."

    "Very well." He strode closer, examining my work, inquisitive gaze flitting this way and that. "Though, now that I''m out here, curiosity demands I inquire what it is you''re doing."

    "Just casting bullets."

    The man''s scratched his chin. "Normally done out of lead, no? And that''s, what, silver?"

    "Keen eye you''ve got, Mr¡­ What do I call you?"

    "Oh, my humblest apologies. Abraham Stoker, but most just call me Bram." He stuck out his hand, and I removed my glove to give it a shake.

    "James," I said. "But most call me Crowley."

    "Not related to the Crowleys of Warwickshire, are you?"

    "Not that I''m aware."

    "Peculiar folks, them."

    "I wouldn''t know."

    He joined me, cross-legged on the dirt. Sitting so close, the smoke from the fire gushed into his face. He didn''t seem to care.

    "So," he said, scooting closer, "why silver?"

    Looking him dead in the eye, I cocked an eyebrow and whispered, "Kills monsters better."

    I was just trying to have a bit of fun. His vacuous expression was unreadable, but something happened in me that I was very unused to¡­ I grew uncomfortable.

    Made me laugh nervously. "Just a bit of humor."

    "Are you certain?" Bram asked, his own eyebrows knitting.

    "Of?"

    He held up a finger, then reached into his coat. When his hand returned, he held a small pocket-sized notebook. He turned away from the fire to look through his monocle and flipped through some pages.

    "Can you read?" he asked.

    I wasn''t sure if I should be offended by the question, so I just nodded.

    "Read this, then.¡±

    He handed me the journal, marking a specific page with his thumb until he was certain I had it.

    These creatures, Vampir, despise sunlight¡ªno, they detest it to the point of death. Additionally, I have come to discover their vulnerability, a sort of allergic reaction to garlic and, most odd¡ªsilver.

    There was a lot more, but I''d read enough.

    "Fine story you''re working on," I said, slipping my glove back on. "Never met a novelist before."

    Bram¡¯s eyes squinted, serious as death. If he had to smile to put out a fire, the whole of Revelation would burn to the ground.

    "That''s just it, Mr. Crowley. I''m not writing fiction. I''ve traveled a long way, having spent many years researching and studying all across Europe. Now, the New World has been calling my name in the darkest hours of night."

    "That so?" I asked.

    "I''ve seen things¡­ things most wouldn''t believe. But I bet you would, wouldn''t you? Just like our mutual acquaintance, Rosa."

    "I suppose that depends on what kinds of things you''re talking about." I plunked a fresh bullet into a water-filled container. As it sizzled, I leaned back a bit to ensure no silver bits steamed up into my face.

    Bram prodded at the paper three times with a stubby finger.

    "You''re a hunter, aren''t you?" he asked.

    "Aren''t we all when we''re on the range and need to eat?" I replied.

    "You know that''s not what I mean." He plucked the bullet from the water. I knew it was still hot, but he handled it anyway and spun it around. "Silver isn''t as effective against men or animals as iron. I''m not a fool, Mr. Crowley."

    "Fine." I snatched the bullet back and leaned in close to him. "You want the truth?"

    He nodded eagerly.

    "It ain''t that exciting," I said.

    "Come on, then. Let''s hear it."

    "I''m with the festival."

    Bram rolled his eyes, but I continued.

    "I''ve heard the rumors, too. Same as you. Figured I could spin a tale about blood-sucking monsters down south, charge some rubes a pretty penny for some silver bullets, and be on my way a few bucks richer."

    Bram rose without a word. He brushed off his pants and took one step toward the stagecoach. Then, he turned and looked back at me. "I don''t know what you are, James Crowley, except one thing."

    He paused, waiting for my response. I threw him a bone.

    "And what''s that?"

    "A liar."

    He was trying to be clever, but I could tell by his expression that it was feckless braggadocio. The man was disappointed. Probably spent every waking hour hunting for clues about the supernatural only to be shut down when he was sitting right beside the God''s-honest real thing. I may not''ve been a vampire, but I''d taken on a brood of the vein-drainers before. More than once. I could fill a dozen of his little journals with tales.

    "It''s not only effective against vampires," I said to him.

    What can I say? Rosa had me feeling generous.

    He turned only his head. "Excuse me."

    "Silver. It''s good against all sorts of wicked things."

    Now his body turned too. "And practitioners of necromancy?"

    "Don''t get greedy."

    Bram smirked. ¡°You''re the¡­" He opened his journal and flipped a few pages. After a moment, he said, "¡­''black rider'' who came to Rosa''s aid, aren''t you?" He then started writing as he spoke. "The one who faced down the devil incarnate himself?"

    "She didn''t give you a name?" I asked.

    I don''t know why I was surprised. Rosa told me her mama raised her to be careful. I''d made the right move all those years ago choosing them over Ace. I was more sure of it now than ever.

    "Never." He punctuated writing another sentence. "If you''re ever willing, I''d be thrilled to discuss the experience with you. And any others. I can pay¡ª"

    I wagged a finger. "I said don''t get greedy."

    He chuckled softly before turning about.

    "Goodnight, Mr. Stoker," I said.

    "Bram. And goodnight to you." Walking back to the coach, he called out to the hills. "Harker! Come down here. I have something I need you to sketch for me!"

    When I looked down from Harker''s perch, there was Rosa, emerging from the stagecoach. Her eyes looked puffy, but she tightened her jaw and tried to look strong. I waved her over.

    "You okay?" I asked.

    "Just tired," she lied, taking a seat. "Can we talk?"

    "About?"

    "Anything but dying husbands." She blotted her eyes with her sleeves. "Anything at all."

    I finished another bullet then pushed myself back onto the log beside her. I looked around, making sure Bram, Harker, and most of all, Irish weren''t eavesdropping.

    "You ever heard stories about Nephilim?" I asked, knowing, of course, she hadn''t.

    Then, I told her the tale of the goat beast and the two lovers. The true one, with all the gore and horrors. Though, the way I told it, she probably thought it was just a scary yarns men spin by campfires, but I guess I wanted her to know without saying that her husband''s death could''ve been worse. Or, maybe, it was just nice to talk to someone about what I''d been up to since coming back to life without being constantly scolded like with Shar.

    Rosa had already seen plenty and I feared she was about to see even more.

 Chapter 18

    Night passed. Eventually, Rosa conked out mid-conversation. Her head lulled against my shoulder, and I might''ve never moved if I hadn''t needed to finish molding bullets. As such, I''d gently guided her into a more comfortable position, got her a blanket from one of Bram¡¯s horses¡¯ saddlebag, and proceeded to finish my work.

    No rest came for me. That brief respite in the prison cell was all I seemed destined to get. Day crept up fast, and it was time to return to my duties. I told Timperina to stay in the camp where she''d be safe, and she whinnied her disapproval but didn''t fight much more.

    She was always eager to seem adventurous, but I knew, deep down in that horsey heart of hers, she was happier moseying around, finding stray strands of grass to gnaw on.

    Sun rose and we headed out. Bram and the others went on ahead, faster. He was keen on buying some artifact said to be on sale from some traveler or other. Something that would further his research into the supernatural.

    I didn''t have the heart to tell him that when it came to American festivals¡­ everything was a show. Trinkets and bibelots with grand stories were more likely to be items rummaged from someone''s work shed than the real thing. Unlike that cursed harmonica in my belt pouch.

    Rosa and I kept a more leisurely pace. Doing something so mortal as approaching the fairgrounds by her side almost had me forgetting about the Yeti, the Piasa, and Dufaux.

    A grave error, perhaps.

    One that I was sure to get an earful about from Shar the next chance she got. But it wasn''t even high noon and surely not a wise time for folks to be robbing banks. Be that as it may, I had a job to do.

    My eyes were peeled for three things. First, anyone who looked like they were up to no good. Just because I''d only seen three of the so-called Frozen Trio didn''t mean it couldn''t be a quartet.

    Second, the Revelation Sheriff and his men, who might not be too thrilled to see a man they''d thrown in the drunk tank out and about without them having turned the key. If they even remembered or cared¡ªway they were acting, I had no doubt a few whiskeys or more were passed around last night. They should''ve all been posted around the bank anyhow, so it wasn''t too large a concern yet.

    Third, my eyes searched skyward. I swore I''d seen the Mind-drifter¡¯s hawk last night and fast motion in the sky confirmed it for me¡­ momentarily. But alas, it was only a falcon entertaining some children at the command of a falconer. Considering its master was old as time itself, he wasn''t the outlaw.

    In my field, there was always the concern that a Black Badge would become so obsessed by the supernatural that he or she would start looking for devils behind every bush. I wasn''t there yet, but closer than I probably would¡¯ve liked to admit.

    Another racket drew my attention. A train pulled into the Revelation Springs station, bringing even more travelers just in time for the commencement of the week''s activities.

    "Looks like fun," Rosa said.

    The idea of fun had long since passed from my mind, but I had to agree. If I''d lived a different life, I might''ve found myself looking for a recreational diversion today instead of trying to save the world from demons¡ªor at the very least Mr. Reginald Dufaux and this region¡¯s money.

    We entered the fairgrounds proper to the smells of cooked meat, burnt sugar, and other scents. Those were the pleasant ones. Thing about festivals is the animals¡ªand dare I say, the workers¡ªinvolved bring their own stink. Strangely, smell''s something I kept in my unlife. Guess they figured it didn¡¯t bring with it any true joy so why not throw the Black Badge a bone. Even still, just like my sense of taste, it''s just a bit duller than it used to be.

    Tall red and white tents rose on each side of the avenue, leaving space between for cut-throughs. Colorful triangular flags made of cloth hung from freshly braided ropes as if suspended in midair, flapping with the light breeze. People were everywhere.

    I never was comfortable around a crowd. Maybe even less so now.

    "Look at the size of him," Rosa marveled.

    The scar on my chest tingled. The World¡¯s Strongest Man, Beast Boy, Bearded Lady, and others I''d already encounter at Picklefinger''s strode by. Beast Boy avoided my gaze in a way that seemed purposeful. The Strong Man gave me a distinct look that told me he hadn''t forgotten our little kerfuffle last evening. I nodded, and so did he. No hard feelings.

    They kept on by and entered one of the largest tents, the one labeled with a big sign that said, Freak Show. I couldn''t believe anyone would subject themselves to that, no matter how odd they looked. Though I suppose, making an honest living makes a fool of most, and better the Beast Boy drain wallets than souls. Still, I had half a mind to step up onto that stage, rip my own head off and smile at all the mortals who took pleasure in watching such spectacles.

    "Ladies and Gentlemen, those from far and wide, on behalf of Revelation Springs and the founders, we welcome you to the twenty-third annual Founders'' Day Fair!"

    I heard the voice, evidently being amplified by means of a bullhorn, but couldn''t see where it was coming from yet. As the speech continued, the speaker making jokes about this and that, Rosa and I picked up the pace. And by that, I mean her grabbing hold of my sleeve and pulling until I had no choice but to break into a light jog. We tried our best to follow the sound but didn''t need to. The gathered crowd told us where to look.

    The chubby little mayor I''d run into at Dufaux''s came into view. He stood upon the church steps adjacent to a raised platform occupied by well-dressed musicians, the local Sheriff, Cecil, and what appeared to be the town reverend. The mayor wore some of the choicest duds I''d seen on a man¡ªa blood-red three-piece suit embroidered with gilded filigree topped with a tall hat made of felt decorated the same. A timepiece hung by a gold chain from his pocket, and he wore a matching cravat or ascot. I honestly don''t know the difference.

    "It''s been quite a year," he said. "Those of us who call Revelation our home are very proud of all we''ve managed to accomplish."

    There was a polite clapping, scattered mostly.

    "As the festivities commence, our very own founder would like to share a few of his own sentiments."

    At those words, I thought I saw disgust cross the mayor''s face. Based on how he''d been treated at Dufaux''s villa, I figured I was probably right.

    He stuck a hand out to his right. "My friend, Mr. Reginald Dufaux!"

    Seldom has the word "friend" ever sounded so bereft of its meaning.

    Still, the crowd cheered honestly. Even Rosa clapped mildly beside me.

    As Reginald Dufaux climbed the steps, I swore I could see the steeple swaying from the heft of his staggering frame. Taking the bullhorn from the mayor with one hand, he retrieved a handkerchief with the other. Making no attempt to hide it, he wiped the mouth of the horn, then cleared his throat.

    "Can we all keep this round of applause going for Mayor Stinson for how hard he''s worked to keep our little town running so smoothly?¡± Dufaux said. ¡°A better public servant, no man could ask for."

    "Coming from a man who''d know a thing or two about servants," I murmured.

    Rosa shushed me.

    As the applause died, Dufaux made a show of looking around, standing on the tips of his toes to get a view of the city beyond the fairgrounds.

    "No little town anymore, I suppose,¡± Dufaux said. ¡°No, Sirree. I defy any northerner to come down here and not be impressed."

    Several in the congregation nodded and vocalized their agreement.

    "When I founded Revelation Springs along with my dear friend, Chief Apenimon, the true father of these lands¡ªmay God forever rest his soul¡ªI never dreamed she would become the thriving city she is today."

    He lowered the bullhorn and raised a hand to his mouth as if stifling emotion.

    "Good grief," I whispered.

    "I say, look around you, folks,¡± Dufaux went on. ¡°Beyond the beauty of the springs themselves, gaze upon the city. Some of the finest craftsmanship and construction this side of the Atlantic. I echo Mr. Mayor''s words: We are proud. Very damn proud."

    Mayor Stinson now stood off to the side of the church steps, watching like the rest of us. There was no mistaking it, now; his face looked like he''d sucked a lemon dry.

    "When I first discovered the land already occupied by Apenimon and his people," Dufaux said, "it was like God Himself shone the sun upon this very spot. As if I could hear His voice, much like I imagine Him to have sounded on the day John the Baptist baptized His One and Only."

    "Better back up before the lightning strikes," I said.

    "He seems sincere enough to me," Rosa said.

    "The best liars always do."

    "It was a grand epiphany," Dufaux said, "like the Lord revealed to me the very purpose of my existence. Hence the name, Revelation Springs."

    He paused like he expected us all to praise his wit. No one did.

    He cleared his throat.

    "Little did I know that buried deep under these sacred grounds would be riches unknown. Veins of gold the size, the width, the length of rivers, just waiting to be hauled up and used for God''s glory and your gain."

    Sure, he didn''t. I was sure that bastard was every bit the crook I figured him to be. But that wasn''t why I was here. The precise opposite, actually. My goals, like it or not, would lead to the preservation of his vast wealth.

    Lucky Me. Saints and elders, I hated the idea of keeping that man''s coffers full. Or maybe it was just envy¡­

    "Apenimon would have been proud, too," Dufaux said. He crossed himself and looked skyward for the briefest moment. "As I do each and every year, I hereby dedicate this Founders'' Day Fair to his memory. And to all of you you. Enjoy yourselves and God bless!"

    At that imploration, he spread his arms wide and bowed. The crowd applauded. I felt like cheering that he''d finally shut up. The reverend crossed himself and stepped forward as if to speak, but was quickly blocked as the band struck up, playing a lively tune to which some danced. On the far side of the stage, a rail-thin man, shirtless and wearing what appeared to be a diaper, juggled torches with one hand while blowing fire into the air. Another, dressed in the same garb, shoved a sword down his throat.

    Excited children fled from parents who shouted for them to "stay together" while lovebirds walked hand in hand.

    Rosa and I did no such thing. Instead, we continued along the main festival throughway toward town where I would leave Rosa behind to try and enjoy herself if she could, while I did what I had to do.

    Being set up on the outskirts of Revelation, the grounds were mostly dirt and pebbles. No grass grew in these parts apart from the occasional sprig or six that clumped together, practically begging for water or shade.

    The carnival crew had done a fine job clearing the field of cacti and boulders, but some were left behind and were, at present, being used as seats¡ªthe rocks, not the cacti.

    As we strolled, we were accosted by a group of performers. They all wore garish costumes, the men with masks like demons or the devil; the women, painted faces the likes of which I''d only heard of in the Orient. I''d never been there myself to know.

    "Come, dance with us!" One of the ladies grabbed me by the lapel of my duster and pulled.

    "No thanks," I said, but the woman didn''t listen. She coiled around me like a snake, one hand moving up and down my body. The tips of her fingers on her other hand coaxed my chin, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time, save for when she was directly behind me.

    For a moment, Rosa wore a wry smile, likely thinking there could be fun to be had at my expense. Then, her hand lashed out. When it did, the dancers stopped their gyrations, and I looked down to see her gripping the wrist of one of the demon-faced men, hand halfway into my satchel.

    Apparently, being numb to touch left me particular susceptible to pickpockets. Not an issue I¡¯d yet encountered since I rarely carry anything of value besides my guns. It was a lesson I¡¯d have to remember.

    "Try your thieving on another," Rosa said, shoving the man''s hand aside.

    The others, three of them, kicked backward in a choreographed move that put plenty of distance between us.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    "We are no thieves!" proclaimed the woman who''d been dancing with me. She appraised her caught companion and affected an expression wrought with odium.

    "Good dancer you might be, Miss," I said. "But your acting skills could use some shoring up. Now, get on before we turn you in."

    "That won''t be necessary,¡± said one of the other men.

    They twirled and twisted away, weaving in and out from one another in the most hypnotizing of fashions. To my mind, they''d have plenty of luck picking pockets with all the visitors marveling at sights and trying whatever the snake-oil salesmen threw at them. And there was one, legitimately, a short distance away, claiming his oil cured death.

    "Some nerve," I said, starting to walk again.

    "You have to eat to live," Rosa replied as if that explained everything. It was, however, helpful insight into how she might''ve lived before she''d found Willy.

    For the next few minutes, we passed everything one would expect from a traveling festival. Though it seemed Dufaux''s influence had at least kept away some of the most blatant scammers and mountebanks. Not all of them, however. As it happened, we found ourselves passing a parked wagon at the end of the row, painted entirely purple but for the silver-flaked swirls and embellishments.

    A sign out front read: Madam Ethelinda¡¯s Ethereal Emporium.

    The broadside of the stagecoach, facing us, had a large window with silver curtains tied back. Couldn''t see inside from our current angle. The front, where the horses would find themselves hitched, had a three-step staircase. It was lowered, if not inviting, leading to a half-door like you''d see at a stable, also bearing silver curtains at the top with sparkling frills dangling along the bottom hem.

    Each step had two wax candles burning¡ªyou guessed it, silver in color. They seemed to just be waiting to be knocked over by some rambunctious kid or drunkard. Paper lanterns were strung from the caravan''s roof to a post cemented into a planter surrounded by some wooden folding chairs. Probably looked real pretty at night.

    Rosa stopped to read the list of services posted. "Readings and Channelings. That sounds fun."

    "Sounds like something," I said.

    I was dead sure this Madam Ethelinda was no more than a keenly attentive charmer. Her sign had a red eye in one corner, a yellow hand in another. The bottom left bore the likeness of a crescent moon with a small star at its zenith, both blue and across from that, a green feather or leaf. It was difficult to make out with the chipped and faded paint.

    I glanced at Rosa, and she quickly adjusted her sleeve to conceal her tattoo. Wasn''t sure why, but the woman had her right to privacy. She clearly didn''t want to discuss it, and I was fine with that for the time being.

    "Mind if we go in?" she asked.

    "I really do need to get to town," I argued.

    Her eyes rolled clear around her sockets. "It''ll take a quarter-hour, if that. Are you truly that eager to get away from me?"

    I smirked. "Desperate."

    "It''s settled then." She tugged me by the hand. I resisted.

    "Oh, c''mon. Just a bit of fun," she said, pulling again.

    Then, a thought struck me.

    ¡°Wait¡­ This is about Willy, ain''t it?" My investigative tactics were crude, but even a dull blade would cut if applied firmly. "You ain''t gonna get what you need from some hack at a traveling carnival."

    Rosa let me go and stepped back. "And how would you know what I need?"

    It was a fair question.

    "Maybe I don''t," I said, "but I''m confident this Madam Ethelinda won¡¯t be the one to provide it."

    Rosa tapped her foot impatiently. "For your information, Madam Ethelinda is a world-renown clairvoyant."

    Now it all clicked.

    "So, that''s why you''re here, huh?" I said. "You think this woman can help you commune with Willy."

    Her face reddened slightly and her nose crinkled. "Would that be so bad?"

    I sighed. An answer didn''t come to me. Sure, I understood. Closure and whatnot. A chance to say "I love you" one last time. To say ¡°goodbye,¡± perhaps even to apologize. And while there were legitimate clairvoyants out there who could communicate beyond our worldly plane, they were quite rare, and often dangerous Nephilim to boot.

    I highly doubted this Ethelinda was the genuine thing. More likely, she was a peddler no different from the snake oil salesmen, preying on grieving widows like Rosa, using smoke and mirrors, games, and other baubles to evoke a sense of wonderment.

    "James, when you''ve been through what I''ve been through, let me know if there''s a better way," Rosa said, a harsh edge to her tone.

    I bit my lip, then nodded. "You really think this is gonna ease your suffering?"

    "I can hope."

    "Me too."

    "I''m just¡ª"

    "Scared to do it alone," I finished for her.

    She smiled at me. It was somber and frail-looking, but it was a thank-you she wouldn''t need to verbalize. Without another word, she started toward the steps.

    I followed her a bit, then thought twice and softly grasped her the arm, stopping her.

    "You sure?" I asked. "I mean, really sure?"

    "Yes."

    "There''s no going back if you crack open a gate to the other side."

    "I said, I''m sure. Besides, you don¡¯t even believe in her.¡±

    I didn¡¯t respond. Truth was, whether or not Ethelinda was the real thing, even the grifters leave their clients viewing the world a little bit differently after a session. Often times, belief itself is enough to do the job. If there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve learned being surrounded by angels it¡¯s that faith is a powerful thing.

    ¡°Now, you can either support me or go on into town,¡± Rosa said. ¡°Either way, I''m going in."

    Now that was the Rosa I''d come to know. She stuck to her guns, and this was no different. I might not agree, but she had a right to pursue her passions as much as anybody.

    I followed her again. In for a penny, in for a pound, I think the saying goes. For the first time since Elkhart when Shar and I came to a truce, I could sense my guardian angel''s true indignation again. This wasn''t merely a tingle, her trying to prod me back on the path. The mirror in my pocket seemed to buzz like angry hornets and the need to dig my fingernails into my scarred chest flared.

    I ignored her for Rosa. How could I allow this grieving woman to delve alone into the den of a possible charlatan alone? To be taken advantage of. Exploited.

    Dale was watching the bank for me. It was why I''d brought him along¡ªwell, it was why I suffered his having followed me without even so much as a warning. Fifteen minutes spared to help one of my few friends or acquaintances that wasn¡¯t a horse. That''s all I needed. I''d face Shar''s castigations afterward, same as I had so many times before.

    Unlike the rest of the carnival, the fortune teller had no long lines yet¡ªno one waiting their turn to be told how grave the danger they''re in or how the love of their life has golden locks. It was just me, Rosa, and the pungent smell of burning incense.

    A head poked from the window, and I wondered how long the woman had been eavesdropping. Typical way for fakes to acquire tidbits about perspective clients before actually meeting them. I couldn''t make out many of her features, shrouded in shadow as she was, but a ring, like a bull, hung gleaming between nostrils on her bulbous nose.

    "I''ve been expecting you," the woman I assumed to be Ethelinda said with an accent that might''ve been French, but a bit off. Like she was from the untamed isles south of the mainland.

    "Sure," I answered.

    Rosa gave me a hard look. "If you''re going to make fun¡­"

    "No. I''m sorry. I promise I''ll be on my very best behavior."

    We stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up.

    "After you," I told Rosa.

    She took a tentative step up, and I wasn''t far behind. We were careful to avoid knocking over a candle and starting a fire. When we reached the top, Ethelinda awaited us at the threshold. The lower portion of the door was open now, and the curtains were drawn.

    "Now," Ethelinda said. "Which of you has come to seek my wisdom?"

    I considered reminding her that she should know such things, but I kept quiet for Rosa''s sake.

    "I am," Rosa said.

    "Please, please," Ethelinda said, waving us forward. "Come inside. Come, come. Don''t be shy."

    We did as she beckoned, and when we were fully indoors, I got my first proper look at the Madam. If you told me this woman knew old Chris Columbus, I wouldn''t argue. She wore so many wrinkles on her brown-toned skin, she''d give an elephant a run for its money. She was verily covered in tattoos, including several on her face and neck. However, the oddest one was the eyeball in the center of her forehead.

    She must''ve seen me staring.

    "It''s the third eye," Ethelinda said. "Allows me to see clearly what others cannot."

    "Huh. So, I get one of those, and I''ll start predicting the future?" I knew I shouldn''t have said it. Rosa became visibly irritated, but Ethelinda placed an ancient hand on her forearm.

    "So, I take it you are not a believer, Mr. Crowley?" she asked.

    Rosa gasped. "How did you know his name?"

    Ethelinda tapped the eye on her forehead with her middle finger.

    "Please," I said. "My name must''ve been shouted a dozen times at Picklefinger''s last night. Those entertainers were staying there. I¡¯m sure she was too."

    Ethelinda kept quiet.

    "I¡¯m sorry about him. He doesn¡¯t believe," Rosa said.

    "On the contrary," I said. "I believe a great number of things." But this ain''t one of them, I didn''t add.

    Ethelinda stared at me with eyes so pale they bordered on pure white.

    "May I?" she asked, raising two many-ringed hands, palm up in front of her. "On the house."

    I returned her stare and smiled. "I''ll pass."

    She smiled faintly too but didn''t lower her hands.

    "James," Rosa whispered in a sing-song way. "What are you so afraid of?"

    "I ain''t afraid."

    But I was.

    Ethelinda didn''t stay at Picklefinger''s last night. I spotted a bedroll at the rear end of her coach, and it looked freshly slept in. She hadn''t heard my name there. I suppose she might''ve heard it another time. Maybe Rosa had just said it outside, but who could remember? Only someone who makes a living off remembering the tiniest details.

    "Then let her do her thing," Rosa said. "She said it''s free."

    Ethelinda nodded, all kinds of jewelry jingling and clattering. Free. I nearly scoffed. Nothing¡¯s free in life or death. A sample meant to get folks hooked, traveling festival to festival to meet with Ethelinda as much as possible.

    My gaze met Rosa''s. This was happening regardless of what I wanted, and I got the impression me going first might ease her mind a bit. And I''ll be honest, the part of me that was apprehensive was for good reason. I wasn''t sure a man who should be dead could take part in these sorts of affairs. What if a portal to Hell opened wide and Lucifer¡¯s own icy fingers wrapped tight around my throat? Or worse for everyone, it all backfired and a Hellmouth split the realm.

    But for Rosa, I could bite my tongue and my pride and be her guinea pig.

    "Fine, fine." I held my palms out.

    A pruny left hand loosely gripped my right. Then, Ethelinda began tracing the lines on my palm with the other.

    Her head cocked sharply and her hunched back straightened just a bit. Then, she leaned in, squinting. With a gasp, she took a staggering step rearwards and bumped into a table covered in a silvery velvet drape where a crystal ball threatened to roll off its stand.

    Ah, here''s where old Ethelinda tells me to avoid riding horses for a week or to beware powdered women or men in stovepipe hats.

    "What is it?" Rosa asked, eyes wide as saucers.

    "I see¡­ nothing¡­" Ethelinda whispered. "Just darkness. Mr. Crowley, you have no lifeline."

    I laughed, though I didn''t feel like it. Those words were eerily similar to the ones uttered by the goat-beast Nephilim a few days earlier.

    "You have a body," it had said with Lyle¡¯s tongue. ¡°Though no life runs within."

    Did this woman truly have the sight, or was this just one of the many things she told visitors to elicit emotion and lead them to spend money on some other kind of reading?

    "Reading palms can often be unreliable," she remarked. There it was. Now she''s gonna suggest¡ª"But this time, I am certain of what I see. Nothing."

    Rosa regarded me, and I hoped my face betrayed none of what I felt inside.

    "Well, I assure you, Madam, I am very much alive," I said.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I could''ve sworn I saw Shar roiling within the crystal ball. I could almost hear her voice warning me that "All liars shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone."

    Sure, Hell''s more ice than fire, but translations be damned, the notion remained true.

    Ethelinda spent a few more seconds eyeing me up. Then she turned from me as if the news about my lack of existence was suddenly irrelevant.

    "Miss Rosa," Ethelinda said, somehow knowing her name, too. "I believe you had some questions?"

    Rosa stuttered over a response while Ethelinda adjusted her headpiece and took a single step to the right. With the table, two chairs, and all her many items and artifacts all over, there wasn''t much room. She sat at the far end of the table.

    "Rosa, darling, please, have a seat,¡± she said though she never took her eyes off me.

    I stepped aside and let Rosa through to take a seat across from Ethelinda.

    "I suppose this one won''t be pro-bono," I said. It wasn''t a question.

    Without acknowledging me, Ethelinda carefully lifted the crystal ball from the table. I knew how these tricks worked. The ball would be attached to a foot pedal of some sort under the table, and that would blow smoke into the glass, swirling around, giving the sucker on the other end a false sense that something mystical was going on.

    However, like many other things about this encounter, I was left nonplussed. There was no hole in the table. Not even a slit in the cloth. If there was, Ethelinda had done a damn good job hiding it.

    With the ball gone, she pulled out a set of tarot cards, giving them a good shuffle.

    Rosa spoke up. "Madam Ethelinda, I''m here hoping to com¡ª"

    "Shhh."

    I''m pretty sure that if I''d ever been the one to shush Rosa, I''d be suffering for it. But when the fortune-teller did it, Rosa obeyed.

    Ethelinda flipped a card and placed it face up on the table, directed toward Rosa.

    "Hmmm. This one is simple. The Lovers." She then glanced up at me.

    Here we were, seeking this charlatan¡¯s guidance to commune with Rosa''s lost love, and she was about to make the mistake of thinking that card meant something about the two of us being one.

    "Though it is not him," Ethelinda said. She shook her head slowly. "No, not him at all."

    "Ouch," I remarked. Nobody heard me.

    Then Ethelinda flipped a second card.

    "Ah, yes. The Death card. You have lost someone close. Very close, and the previous card tells me of the nature of your relationship. I am so sorry, my dear.¡± She reached forward and placed a hand on Rosa¡¯s arm¡ªright where that snake-and-dagger tattoo rested beneath Rosa¡¯s shirt, I might add.

    I couldn''t see Rosa''s face, but I could imagine it. Her hand lifted, one lithe finger pressing into the corner of her eye. Reminded me too much of when I¡¯d reconnected with her in Dead Acre, sad and lonely in the Sweet Water Saloon.

    Flipping a third, Ethelinda said, "Temperance." Then the final card. "Strength."

    "What do those mean?" Rosa asked, all verklempt.

    Ethelinda was quiet as she surveyed the cards. Then, nearly at a whisper, she said, "It is dangerous to go looking for the dead."

    Rosa said not a word.

    Ethelinda glanced up. "You are here in hopes that I can help you to visit with your late husband, yes?"

    Rosa nodded slowly. I was flabbergasted, honest. I still assumed there might''ve been some sort of trick to what she was doing, but what it was, I had no idea.

    My chest wasn¡¯t itching much apart from what I knew to be Shar vying for my attention, so I didn¡¯t think there was anything Hellish going on here. It seemed, whether I wanted to admit it or not, this woman possessed some manner of connection to the supernatural.

    "You have much strength," Ethelinda said. "More than I have seen in a woman for many years. However, you will not rest until you''ve used that strength to your own ends, and the results will be catastrophic. Your energy¡­ it is¡­ chaos. There is no constraint. No understanding of what you have been endowed with. If you continue down this path, it will only lead to more heartache. You will be responsible for much death."

    Rosa stared blankly.

    I tapped her shoulder. "C''mon. I''ve heard enough."

    Ethelinda''s tricks might''ve been convincing, but even a blind horse finds a paddock every now and again. She was playing games with a broken heart.

    "Please, let me talk to him," Rosa whimpered. ¡°Let me talk to my William.¡±

    Ethelinda closed her eyes and shook her head. "If I open those doors for someone like you, they may never close."

    "Someone like her?" I said, offended for her. But, again, nobody acknowledged my existence.

    "I need to talk to him!" Rosa yelled so loud it gave me a shudder. She slammed an open hand down on the table, cards snapping up. Ethelinda remained calm, as if this sort of behavior was commonplace. Rosa grabbed for her. "I need to. Please. Please."

    My hand gripped Rosa''s upper arm. "Let¡¯s go, Rosa. You don''t need this hoodwinker telling you any more lies."

    As if taunting me, Ethelinda flipped one more card, this one facing me. There was no denying this one. A red man with a goatee depicted in a Victorian style, two horns, and a pitchfork.

    Ethelinda''s gaze met mine and, now, the itch in my chest became more than just that. Like hands were clawing at my ribs from the inside out. It burned like fire¡­ worse even than the cave; worse than anything evoked by the goat-Nephilim.

    The fortune teller¡¯s eyes narrowed. "Follow the path at your own peril, James Crowley." Her words hung on the air and it was like it wasn''t even her voice anymore. ¡°He''s coming for you.¡±

    I stared at the fortune teller. Her formally near-white eyes were now pitch black. It wasn''t just her words that were icy, either. Frost seemed to creep around the edges of Ethelinda¡¯s table. I saw steam rising from Rosa''s lips as she breathed heavily. And just a fair reminder¡ªit was July.

    We stared at each other, the fortune teller and me, for what felt like it could''ve been hours. Then, everything around me went dark, even Rosa. That damnable itch in my chest suddenly went numb.

    I was cold.

    I don''t get cold.

    Then, the sounds of screams and gunfire broke through it all.

 Chapter 19

    Three shots.

    Bang!

    Bang!

    Bang!

    Dale was sending the signal.

    I snapped out of the trance the strange fortune teller had me in and focused on the task at hand. Ethelinda¡¯s eyes returned to normal, and for a moment she looked woozy and out of sorts.

    ¡°Stay here,¡± I told Rosa. ¡°And don¡¯t listen to another word this witch has to say.¡±

    "Like hell I will." She reached for the pistol in her holster.

    I shook my head. "No."

    I didn''t give her a chance to argue before I took off down the steps and rushed outside. Rosa wasn''t gonna be happy, but there was no way I''d be responsible for getting her mixed up in another battle with the supernatural.

    Madam Ethelinda, however, needed no persuading. As I left, she¡¯d rushed to the rear end of the wagon and squatted in the corner, shaking.

    Smart woman. It was a shame the swindler hadn''t seen this coming. Whatever games she¡¯d played on me, I was done with them. She was meddling with things that no mortal ought to.

    The sight now laid before me outside was a vast departure from the fun and frolicking it''d just been. The band no longer played happy tunes, and I heard no shouts from hawkers or carnies or "step rights ups." Just screams, pounding feet, and a whole mess of confusion.

    It''s never tough to find the source of gunshots. You just run in the direction opposite everyone else. In this case, people were fleeing from the center of town and through the carnival.

    Deputies all around waved for folks to evacuate while making their way toward the town square. One shouted at me, but I ignored him. He wouldn''t give chase, having much more important business to take care of than one rebellious cowboy looking for a thrill.

    To my left, I spotted Cecil and his men escorting Dufaux and some other rich-looking guests to his estate behind those big safe walls. I bet the Pinkerton had been biting his teeth, waiting for this.

    Once again, I searched the sky, expecting to see the hawk above but didn''t. I tried my best not to bowl people over as I sprinted. Finally, I came to a skidding halt with a good view of Picklefinger''s, just across the square from the bank. A passel of the local sheriff''s men had taken up posts on all sides. They were prepared, if not trained, for something like this.

    "Crowley!" Dale ran full bore toward me from the direction of the jail, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Did like you told me¡­" he huffed. "Three shots."

    "Good job," I said. "Did you see them?"

    "They dragged that cart right in front of the bank¡­ Guards started shouting ¡®move along,'' and they got they throats cut. Thought they was being sneaky, but I saw them go down quiet. But the bank¡¯s chained shut for the holiday. They got nowhere to go."

    I pushed him out of the way so I could take a gander. A wagon was indeed parked right outside the bank''s entry, filled with oranges and covered by a tarpaulin to look like it was meant for trading. A good disguise with the entire square being cleaned up from the market the day before. Lingering and terrified vendors were huddled up, hiding all over, but luckily most of the town and its visitors were at the festival grounds.

    Two dead bodies lay outside the doors, like Dale said. Regular lawmen by the looks of it. A few outlaws dressed like tradesmen found cover behind the cart, though they wore masks now as they fired back at other lawmen and bounty hunters. Didn''t spot Anton, who probably drank himself under a table in sadness for losing to me in five-finger.

    No ice shield up yet either. No hawk. And, this time, there were more than three perpetrators. I''d counted four already using the cart for cover.

    Had the Frozen Trio recruited more? They had taken more time before this hit.

    I didn''t have time to worry about who was robbing Dufaux''s Bank and Trust. Obviously, this wasn''t coincidental. People who clearly hated Dufaux, hitting on the day of the celebration of his self-proclaimed kingdom?

    "The hell is this?" A man I recognized came riding up on a white stallion. Would''ve been pretty heroic-looking if it hadn''t been the Revelation Sheriff who''d locked Dale and me up the night before.

    He slid off his horse and got in our faces.

    "Nobody said you two could leave!"

    I ignored him, watching the bank where one of the masked outlaws rose from hiding and risked being shot. All the others wore red masks, but his was black as midnight. He glared, right across the square, seemed like at me. He then tore the tarp off the false orange cart. With my unnaturally sharp vision, I spotted something red beneath them. Bright red.

    Dynamite. By all the saints and elders, the cart was loaded with it.

    I pulled Dale and the Sheriff to cover behind a grocer''s stand. The Sheriff fought me, but I got strength he could only dream of. All the outlaws and lawmen on the other side of the square were oblivious to what was about to happen.

    "Everyone dow¡ª!¡±

    An explosion shook the earth and cut me off. Like Dale said, the bank had wisely been closed for the holiday. The big, fancy front doors, all chained up. But all that dynamite blew the whole thing wide open and clouded the entire square in smoke and dust and burning shreds of canvas.

    The Sheriff''s horse took off running, but he, himself, I seized by the shoulders. "We''re on the same side here, Sheriff! We learned our lesson."

    Bullets chipped wood all around us as the outlaws slung lead from cover inside the bank and behind the columns at its entry.

    The Sheriff stared at me. By the look of him, his ears were ringing. I gave him shake.

    "Yeah. All right," he said finally. "But this ain''t over."

    "Fine by me."

    The geyser in the center of the square suddenly sprayed water up, providing some semblance of cover. Shar flowed in the reflection, clear as day. My ever-present benefactor watching, judging, and I suppose helping if it was her who sent up the water.

    Either way, I yanked Dale and the Sheriff upright posthaste, pointed to Picklefinger''s, and we continued on foot around the square. The saloon had a perfectly angled vantage of the bank. I kept myself on the inside position where I''d be most likely to get shot, just in case. This region didn''t need to lose all its lawmen in one week.

    Then I saw a boy around the same age as Mutt, standing alone in the square. He must''ve gotten left behind in the chaos or maybe was around the markets causing trouble, but either way, he was one stray bullet from an early grave.

    "Go!" I gave Dale a nudge to hasten him toward the saloon and used the momentum to push off toward the boy. Bullets hissed and snapped as I weaved my way through the market. Sliding, I whipped my body around and scooped up the boy in one smooth motion.

    "You hurt?" I asked while I ran back toward Picklefinger''s with him cradled in front of me.

    A bullet must''ve hit me in the back because some force I couldn''t feel sent me careening through the saloon doors. I stumbled a few last feet, crunching through a table and chairs, but I got him inside.

    Placing him down, I brushed the hair out of his eyes and patted him all over, checking for wounds. He was scared silent, but okay it seemed.

    "Get to the back room and stay low," I said. "Go. Now!"

    He did as told and disappeared through a back door I knew led to Picklefinger¡¯s storage area.

    The saloon was empty this early on except for some ladies in corsets cowering in a back booth, and a man slumped over in another, still passed out from last night''s revelry.

    "Everyone get down!" the Sheriff ordered. He placed his back to the front wall beside one of the windows.

    Dale climbed over the bar and had his pistol aimed out through the door''s opening. I could see it in his eyes; he was terrified. And I had to admit, I wasn''t too keen on him being behind everyone, knowing what happened to Sheriff Daniels last time Dale was in such a position.

    Everyone left outside in the square, good or bad, risked getting shot. The smog from the dynamite made it hard to say who was who. Horses neighed as a few more men wearing red masks rumbled in on a stagecoach, mowing down a several deputies or bounty hunters who¡¯d wrongly thought they had good cover.

    I recognized the coach from the festival. The goddamn snake oil salesman.

    Dufaux really was a fool not calling the whole event off and making blending in so easy.

    They stopped the coach by the bank, no doubt to load stolen money into it.

    That added three more outlaws to the fray as they took cover and started shooting outwards. A lot more than just a trio and damn organized too. A green, inexperienced crew hits all at once, throwing all their might around like an angry bull. A smart crew comes in waves, eroding their enemy, putting fear in them, always making them wonder if there are more coming in just behind them.

    And oddly enough, still no sign of the Frozen Trio. What was this, another gang looking to take advantage? But what advantage? Who hits the most secure bank around like this? Much as I wanted to ponder the implications of such a heist, there just wasn¡¯t time. Whoever it was, they needed to be stopped. Now.

    "We need a plan," I said, joining the Sheriff by the front window. The simple one was me charging the bank doors myself and taking hundreds of shots, unharmed. But here''s the thing: a shotgun blast through my belly might heal, but it''d certainly slow me down, and should my legs be shot to hell, I still needed muscles to run. What would happen if a salvo of bullets tore through me until I was rendered temporarily useless?

    Besides that, I brought silver bullets, and I didn''t want to waste ammo before I spotted the Yeti.

    "My men are prepared for this," the Sheriff said. "It''ll be a good old-fashioned standoff until it''s not. The fools got themselves surrounded in there."

    "Until they blow a hole in the back wall!" Dale squealed from his cover.

    "They''ll need a bigger cart of dynamite,¡± The Sheriff said. ¡°Dufaux spared no expenses. That thing is solid stone."

    Picklefinger emerged from the back room, wearing a scowl. "You gotta go and make my place a target?"

    "Sorry, old friend," I said. "About that too." I pointed to the window I''d been thrown through the night before.

    ¡°The kid alright?¡± I asked.

    Picklefinger nodded.

    "Get to the back, Mr. Hayes," the Sheriff demanded.

    In response, Picklefinger grunted and retrieved his shotgun from behind the bar, giving it a chock.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be defending my property if its all the same to you,¡± he said.

    The sheriff didn''t press the issue. His attention moved toward someone running low from the direction of the festival. The Sheriff started waving for whoever it was to speed up, and the newcomer ducked inside, panting.

    "Oh, now it''s a goddamned party," Picklefinger groaned.

    I turned to see one of the deputies who''d arrested me and Dale. He had large black tufts of hair surrounding his ears. The deputy spotted me then too.

    "You son of a bitch," he said. "I should''ve known you was a part of this!"

    "Part of this?" I asked. "Don''t be an idiot."

    "Was that woman who got sweet on me working with you, too? I don''t know what you''re all up to, but no one breaks out¡ª"

    "Not my fault it was so damn easy."

    The deputy lunged at me.

    "Chops, we got more important things right now," the Sheriff said, making a barricade of his arm. "Besides, if he escaped and you didn''t tell me, then it''s you who''s in trouble."

    That shut Chops up fast.

    I peered around the doorframe. By now, I could see Elkhart¡¯s Sheriff Culpepper and his posse setting up on the south side of the square. One thing was certain, with all these folks around, whoever was robbing that bank wasn''t getting out. Not breathing, at least. And Cecil and his Pinkertons weren''t even here yet.

    A shot fired and clipped my hat. I pulled back and took it off, giving it a look. There was a big hole in the brim right next to the spot where the tomahawk-lady had carved off a strip.

    I swore. "I got that from John B. Stetson himself, dammit!"

    "A shame," Chops said, looking back outside.

    A bullet zipped nearby, shattering one of the whiskey bottles behind Picklefinger''s bar. Dale yelped and ducked.

    A tiny spot appeared on Chop¡¯s throat. Black at first, then a stream of red started to dribble down, soaking his collar. The bullet had gone straight through him before striking the bar. The deputy opened his mouth to speak, and blood gurgled out like a fountain.

    I heard Dale retch.

    The sheriff grabbed his deputy by the vest and pulled him down as if he''d save him from further damage.

    "Those bastards," he whispered.

    Chops was mostly inside cover, so he shouldn''t have been able to be hit from where the enemies were by the bank. Which meant a marksman had arrived with an angle on us¡ªthe Frozen Trio was finally here.

    I went to look again, and a bullet snapped against the wood frame right beside me. By instinct, I returned to cover.

    Having dealt with the sharpshooting Mind-drifter before, a plan for how to get the jump on him popped into my head.

    I reached out and pressed my fingers against Chop''s skin, my back to everybody else in the saloon so they wouldn''t see my eyes glowing bright and blue.

    My head snapped back¡­

    * * *

    I could feel Chop''s fear as my own, him making jokes to cover for it.

    "A shame," I¡ªhe¡ªsaid and smirked.

    Then, he turned and saw the glint of muzzle fire from across the street in the bell tower of the Town Hall building. The panic was worse than the wound. He wanted to scream, but when he did, only warm blood poured out. Then it got cold. All cold.

    His sheriff clutched him as he thought about how he didn''t even want this job but he and his wife needed money after she got pregnant. They had to settle down somewhere, and the sheriff had made that possible.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    It was unclear if he suffocated in his own blood first or lost too much of it or simply couldn¡¯t breathe. But as it all faded to black, the man''s last thought was, "Why am I even here?¡±

    * * *

    Focus returned to my own eyes. I grabbed at my neck, echoes of that painful experience confusing me momentarily.

    "Why am I even here?"

    That thought threw me a bit. It''s the eternal question. The one the White Throne is meant to be an answer for. And there it was, like most, at this man''s end. And the worst part about it, is that unlike the living, I knew my purpose: to serve, dutifully, Heaven and its scions without question. No hope of finding love or retirement. That was it. Forever. Or until they were through with me.

    I blinked and forced myself to focus.

    What did I see through Chops¡¯s eyes that mattered? I''d feared the shooter was the Mind-drifter, but this one was a white man in a straw hat. Pale as could be, with freckles even, which I could see because, unlike his compadres, he didn''t bother with a mask.

    Now, being who I was, I could just stand up, take some bullets and shoot him, but I''d have an awful lot of explaining to do if these men watched a plum go through my brain and I just kept on talking and walking. Getting myself tied up by them as if I were some sort of witch wouldn¡¯t help me exorcise the Yeti¡¯s demon.

    "On top of the Town Hall," I said to everyone in the saloon. "Don''t look."

    I had a door on my left and a shattered window on my right with a three-foot span of wood and concrete blocks at my back. The bar behind which Dale stood was directly in front of me, about twenty feet away or so¡ªmaybe thirty.

    "Get down," I told him, shocked I had to do so.

    He obeyed and not only kept himself alive a spell longer but gave me a clear sight to the mirror behind the bar he''d been blocking. I begged for a moment that Shar wouldn''t show up, and she didn''t. Perhaps, I was doing all right on my own for once.

    I slunk down until I could see the top of the Town Hall in the reflection. With my right hand, I held my damaged hat. My left pulled back the hammer on my Peacemaker.

    "What''chu doing?" the Revelation Sheriff asked.

    I ignored him, then slowly raised my hat into the hole where the window had been.

    The shooter popped up and shot, hitting the hat and sending it spinning across the room. At the same time, I fired my gun over my left shoulder and out the door. I watched in the mirror as the bullet found its mark, striking the outlaw dead.

    "My word," the sheriff said.

    I sniffed. "Lucky shot."

    With cover restored, I hurdled out the window and along to the railing. The standoff outside the bank was still hot and heavy. Men on both sides dropped. The black-masked outlaw who''d blown up the cart had a spot right inside the bank doors, defending while others inside worked on the vault. He was a hell of a shot. Every time he popped out of cover, he put a bullet in someone or came close enough to scare them into retreat.

    I was tired of waiting. If the Yeti wouldn''t come out, I''d go find him.

    A voice rose, clear and distinct over the constant racket of gunshots. Cecil and his Pinks rode out into the square like the cavalry at Gettysburg. He had a pair on him for sure. From that spot, any outlaw could put him down with hardly an effort, but they seemed to be shocked by such a brazen arrival into a bullet storm.

    "Come out with your hands raised!" Cecil yelled, the geyser punctuated it with a low burst of water at the same time.

    The gunfire stopped, mostly. The lawmen and bounty hunters in the square took better cover in the brief respite so they could reload. Outlaws did the same.

    "It''s over," Cecil went on. "The place is surrounded. We got you outnumbered five to one."

    "Not once you''re all dead!" the robber in the black mask shouted back. Most noticeable thing about him was that he sounded human, not monstrous like a demon-possessed Yeti. Even though he was clearly the one running this particular band of outlaws. Besides, I didn¡¯t have thoughts that that man was, in fact, the Yeti. Wasn¡¯t big enough. Wasn¡¯t hairy enough. Wasn¡¯t wild enough. Then there was the whole distinct lack of ice thing. I just couldn¡¯t stop pondering where the Frozen Trio were.

    "Your funeral," Cecil responded before he started barking out orders, pointing this way and that. It wasn''t just Pinks with him, but local guards from Dufaux''s estate and the Elkhart men too. Enough reinforcements to turn the tide with ease.

    The Revelation sheriff moved to the porch and waved at Cecil. "Took your damn time!"

    Cecil looked down his nose. "Mr. Gutierrez, I''ve got this under control."

    "It''s Sheriff, and last I checked, this is my damn town!"

    Cecil sniffed and smirked. "Last I checked, this town belongs to Mr. Dufaux. Now, tell your boys to stay out of our way."

    Leaping down, he unhitched a wagon drawn by one of his men and gave the horses a slap. They took off running. That''s when I remembered what I''d seen back at Dufaux''s place. The Gatling gun.

    "Three thousand rounds a minute," Cecil admired, patting the weapon. "And we''ve got enough rounds to fire for an half an hour."

    "You''re gonna take that whole building down!" Gutierrez warned.

    "That''s a sacrifice Mr. Dufaux is willing to make."

    Cecil climbed up onto the wagon, placed a foot on the sidewall like he was the conquering hero of some faraway kingdom, and shouted, "Light it up, boys!"

    The whole square filled with gun smoke, and the bank facade started taking holes in a coordinated attack. Cecil, however, did not fire up the spin-gun. All the outlaws were forced into cover from the barrage. I stood, watching. Things had started out hairy, but this was about to become a massacre.

    Cecil raised his hand, and the outpour of gunshots slowed to a trickle.

    "Last chance before we cut the place down!" he yelled.

    A few beats passed before one outlaw came running out from the cover of their stagecoach, his feet crunching over the singed earth from where their cart had exploded.

    "Don''t shoot!" he shouted. "I give up! Please!"

    A single shot rang out, but it wasn''t us. He fell forward. The turncoat took a bullet to the back of the head and dropped in a heap, killed by the outlaw leader in the black mask.

    ¡°Traitor bastard!¡± the bossman shouted.

    It was hard to feel sorry. Good or bad men, you don¡¯t abandon your crew in the middle of a job. After, in the quiet times, like I had¡ªfine. Thought maybe I was a bit biased. However, and no time when the bullets start flying and you¡¯ve already made your choice who to throw in with do you change your damn mind.

    "Damn fools¡­" Cecil sighed. He clicked his tongue like he was beckoning a horse and one of his men hopped up onto the wagon with him.

    He spun the crank, and the Gatling gun unleashed hell upon the outlaws. Wood from the stagecoach splintered everywhere. His ammo man kept the gun fed so it wouldn¡¯t stop, and it was¡­ wow.

    Wanton destruction from a machine like that¡ªit was a work of beauty. And by the look of how that Gatling gun was taking care of business, there''d be nothing left within the minute. The snake-oil coach was basically sawn in half, the outlaws left alive behind it, earning the same fate.

    I watched, stunned. A weapon like this didn''t exist back when I was a Scuttler. If it had, I would¡¯ve sought another profession. And to think, a doctor invented the damn thing.

    And the sound? Deafening. Like thunder cracking over and over without a second in between. It wasn''t a supernatural thing, but it may as well have been. I don''t think God or his Angels ever meant for his Children to wield such destructive power.

    Cecil grunted, and the line of fire trailed upward, ripping across the bank''s fa?ade and then devastating the shop beside it. I looked back. At first, I thought it was a tactic I didn''t understand. But then I saw that he''d been hit by a bullet from behind.

    I whipped my head around to see the door of the Miners Guild swing open. A crew of ruffians poured out, opening fire at the backs of Cecil''s men. An ambush. One of the Pinks had his brains splattered against the Gatling gun cart.

    At the bank, the outlaws still inside pressed the advantage, shooting at the deputies and bounty hunters.

    "Keep on them!" I yelled at Cecil, who had recovered and was pulling himself back up to keep up the salvo. Seemed like it was only a surface wound or he was even tougher than I¡¯d thought.

    I charged headlong at the ambushers, trying to make myself a target. I wasted a single silver bullet on one of them, right through the chest. As the man fell, I caught him and used his body as a shield and then a battering ram as I pushed him into another.

    A rifle swung at my head. I ducked, spinning around and splitting open a gut. As I rose, I saw Gutierrez and another deputy charging with me. Dale brought up the rear, though by the time he reached me, the ambush would be thwarted.

    A bullet hit my arm and made it recoil back. Didn''t hurt, but it made me growl as I glared up. The man tried to fire again, but I beat him and hip-fired straight through his face. A waste of silver, but I was tired of playing nice.

    I stepped over to the fallen outlaw. His mask had been pulled down by sliding against dirt. Seeing what was left of his face¡ªno more than a smattering of disgusting yellow teeth, I realized I knew him. It took me a few moments to remember, but he was one of Anton''s singing buddies. The one stooping over his left shoulder while we played.

    Was that Anton in the black mask leading this thing? Posing as a bounty hunter while working for the Frozen Trio. It''s what the Scuttlers would''ve done. Get someone familiar with the area to blend in to get the lay of the land¡ªcozy up to the locals, throw people off the scent.

    But¡­ why have Anton do that if the Mind-drifter could just see everything through the hawk''s eyes? This all felt different, like an army recruited to hit the bank.

    Only, the army was way too small. They''d barely even gotten the chance to start trying to crack open the vault.

    "How the hell did they think this would work?" I said to nobody in particular.

    Dale answered. "Maybe they just wanted to kill people?"

    I shook my head. ¡±Nah. Most outlaws ain''t heartless."

    Gutierrez looked down at one of his fallen deputies. "I strongly disagree with that sentiment."

    "You came to the wrong town!" Cecil yelled, ending our conversation. The Gatling gun started up again. We''d thwarted the ambush¡ªthe last gasp of these outlaws to turn the tables.

    I approached Cecil, back into the volume of that relentless spinning gun. Anger had him tearing into the sides and columns of the bank, stone crumbling off in chunks.

    "Cecil, enough!" I got closer and grabbed his ankle.

    He kicked me, but I knew he was just lost in the moment. Seeing red.

    "Enough!" I shouted once more.

    Cecil looked down, and reason suddenly flooded his features. He stopped cranking, dropped to one knee, and clutched his side. Surface wound or not, the recoil from holding onto that thing must''ve had him aching.

    "Something ain''t right," I said. "This ain''t the same crew."

    "Like hell it ain''t," Cecil grunted.

    "I saw them, and it ain¡¯t the same damn crew,¡± I said more forcefully. ¡°We got to take one alive."

    Cecil grimaced. He looked between me and Gutierrez, then nodded to the latter. Gutierrez whistled across the square, getting Sheriff Culpepper¡¯s attention and that of his men on the opposite side. Hearing that whistle echo after all that shooting was off, the silence now was almost oppressive.

    Gutierrez gave a hand motion, got the affirmative. Then Culpepper started his advance.

    I did the same from my position.

    "What''s the plan?" Dale whispered in my ear.

    "Last chance!" Sheriff Gutierrez called out from behind us. "Lay down your arms and come out."

    Culpepper and his men got in position around the bank, behind whatever was left for cover and aimed. They were close to it now. Would be hard to miss anyone who came walking out.

    "This is over!" Gutierrez went on. "Come out now, and maybe you''ll be spared the rope."

    "All right, all right, fine!" The outlaw in the black mask appeared in the entry, hands to the sky and empty. Guns around the square cocked all at once.

    I squinted. Dust was everywhere, but he was roughly the same height as Anton. Similar build. Damn it all to Hell. How did I miss this?

    "We''ll come out since you asked so nicely," Maybe Anton said.

    "Screw this. That bounty''s mine." One of the gunman on our side who had the look of a bounty hunter squeezed his trigger. Lucky, I got there just in time and batted his arm aside. The bullet thunked off the stone a few feet away from the outlaw.

    "Hot damn, I said we''ll come out!" Black Mask hollered.

    The bounty hunter turned on me with a glower. "What the hell, man? You''re after the same thing as me. These lawmen don''t need it."

    "This ain''t the right bounty," I said.

    Then the bastard made a fate-altering decision. He started raising his weapon like he was gonna try to unload on me. I punched him across the jaw so hard it sent him sprawling. Then I returned my attention to the bank.

    "What are you waiting for?" Sheriff Culpepper asked.

    "What?" Black Mask said.

    "You coming out?"

    The outlaw cupped his hand around his ear. He made a big show of it too, leaning in, other arm stretched back like a wing. "Sorry, my ears are ringing from all the¡­ you know."

    "Let''s go!" Sheriff Culpepper moved toward him, pistol raised. The others pressed forward at his back.

    I saw red and a flicker of orange. Someone inside the dark bank had placed a stick of dynamite in Black Mask¡¯s rear, outstretched hand.

    I cried out, but it was too late. The outlaw heaved it underhanded.

    The thing went off right beside Sheriff Culpepper and his men, and blew them to pieces. I don¡¯t have the stomach to describe it. Others in the broader arc were scorched and blown backward. Anyone who wasn''t within the radius of the blast opened fire as four outlaws flooded out of the bank to join with their leader before splitting up.

    In all the chaos and the smoke, it was hard to see who went what way, but I got my eyes set on the one in the black mask built like Anton. He shouldered into a deputy and stabbed him in the stomach before fleeing down an alley.

    "Come back here, coward!" I shouted.

    I took off at a sprint down between two other buildings, knowing the routes converged on the next street. Dale cried out behind me that he was coming.

    Was Anton working with the Frozen Trio or not? If he was, where the hell were they? I considered shooting him just to stop the chase, but I couldn''t kill the man¡ªI needed answers. However, I did consider hobbling him as I reached the next street and spotted him running a short ways up. But with us both moving like this, I had just as good a chance of shooting him somewhere vital and making him bleed out before I could get what I needed.

    Truth is, I don''t have a damn clue what these outlaws were thinking. If they had the Yeti and his friends fighting with them, they might''ve stood a chance. Turned Cecil''s Gatling gun to ice right out the gate. But this was suicide, and they had to have known it.

    "I ain''t going down because of them!" Black Mask shouted back, and I must say, that voice was familiar.

    He shot wildly over his shoulder. I didn''t even bother to try to dodge it any more than if someone threw a stone at a rhino. He pulled another pistol and shot once more. I picked up speed and pushed myself. I may have supernatural abilities, but speed isn''t one of them. Put me in a foot race, though, and I''d never slow down.

    I was starting to gain on him and considered taking out the Nephilim¡¯s harmonica, playing a chord and making him stop like I had with Roscoe the werewolf. But it was loud outside, and he was far off.

    He slipped between a barn and homestead before I could rethink it. When I reached the spot, a bullet whizzed by and clanged off something metal. He shot twice more, and one might''ve hit me. Hard to be sure.

    He kept running, disappearing through the other side. A few more steps took me to the mouth of the alley and a vast paddock before the start of the fairgrounds. Poor folks had fled this way, probably thinking they were safe.

    "He went that way!" one woman shouted from the upper window of her barn. As if I had any question.

    Cries from lawmen and everyone rang out from every direction in town as they chased after all the others. I stayed focused,

    cleared a paddock, hopping the low horse fence and

    came to a stop at the fairgrounds. They were mostly empty on this side now, an eerie feeling. People crowded over by the church across the way, many inside of it. I saw the reverend kneeling outside the door, praying.

    I''d lost my quarry within the many tents and stands.

    "Come out, come out wherever you are!" I teased.

    My taunt was met by a gunshot that went wide and missed me.

    That was stupid. He fell for the oldest trick, like a kid''s game of blindman''s bluff.

    I followed the sound and trajectory of the shot, and I spotted Black Mask slipping into the Freak Show tent. Large paintings of those who I''d encountered in Picklefinger''s lined the front entrance. The World''s Strongest Man¡ªwho''d tossed me through the window¡ªBeast Boy, the Bearded Lady, and more. I shoved the flap aside and snuck in. It was dark but not terribly so. Besides, I saw pretty well in the dark.

    The nature of these canvas setups was that there were thin slits in between sections, tied together with nylon. As a result, dust motes danced in the air like fireflies in the sun rays.

    I had a fleeting thought that it would¡¯ve been nice if the Strong Man had been present to stop the robber from running. Even Beast Boy. Though my chest wasn¡¯t burning so I knew he was nowhere in sight. I was alone in here with who I thought might be Anton.

    Then I spotted him behind a seating stand.

    "Stop running!" I shouted. "You''re just pissing me off!"

    My arm kicked back at the same time I''d heard his gun go off. I was gonna have a bear of a time getting these slugs out of me when all was said and done. But at the moment, I ignored it and looked up in time to watch him pass behind a glass enclosure with some kind of supposedly unearthly being floating in liquid within. Pretty sure it was just a squid or a jellyfish. He threw open a flap, light pouring in, and dashed out.

    I had two choices, run through to the other side, which had to be a good few hundred feet, or return from whence I came. I chose the latter, thinking it would save some time.

    He really only had two choices also: run west, back toward town, or continue east toward innocent people. I figured he wasn''t gonna chance returning to where all those gunmen waited to shoot or arrest him.

    I was right. Wasn''t long before I had eyes on him.

    "Stop running!" I shouted again and fired a bullet wide on purpose. It forced him to veer off course so he wouldn''t get to any potential hostages.

    Black Mask took a hard turn at Madam Ethelinda''s Ethereal Emporium, and I decided to cut through a side avenue. As I''d hoped, I was now running directly at him.

    "I gotchu," I said, planting my foot on one of the many rocks that had been left for sitting. I shoved off and collided with him. He grunted and went down under my weight. We rolled on the ground, me on top, then him, then finally, me again. He kicked and squirmed.

    "Hold still, you dumb bastard," I said, getting my lasso ready to tie him up.

    By the time I saw him pull out his .38, it was too late. He blasted me in the shoulder. The force of the attack sent me flying off him, allowing him just the wriggle room he needed to shove me away and rise again. I grabbed his boot, slicing my glove and hand on his spur, but he just slipped out of my grip and kept running.

    The chase ensued once more, though he had to be tiring.

    He went up a wooden ramp that led into some shanty building I didn''t recognize¡ªsomething impermanent they''d set up for the week''s event. I followed him inside. I''d like to say cautiously, but not at all. I rushed right in and was immediately stunned to a stop. Before me were twenty other mes staring back at me.

    Mirrors everywhere, dozens¡ªhell, hundreds even. Every step I took was jarring, watching all those Crowleys mimicking my motions. But it was more than that. They were all set at odd angles, creating the illusion that there was even more than just the one reflection in each mirror.

    "Fun''s over," I said, my voice hanging like smoke in the air.

    I walked forward, and my boot clipped a mirror, making it shiver. I heard my prey shuffling somewhere beyond the prism of reflections, and followed.

    "This ain''t gonna end well," I warned him.

    Black Mask didn''t respond.

    The next row was made up of more mirrors, but these were twisted, making my visage contort into horrific shapes. Whatever sort of carnival game this was, I didn''t like it.

    Slowly, I turned, looking for the path. Something sparkled in one of the mirrors, and I nearly pulled the trigger before I realized what¡ªor who¡ªit was.

    "Follow," Shar said and her swirly veneer shot off like a deer under fire. I did my best to keep up.

    She brought me to another aisle of mirrors and another, her form leading me along like an actual dog on a leash. I can¡¯t exactly upset she was directly and obviously helping for once.

    She flashed to another position. A gun fired, and so many mirrors I couldn''t count shattered, tiny glinting fragments exploding all around. The distraction was good, but Black Mask failed. I saw my target''s coat flap. I shot back and repaid the favor, sending shards of glass toward him. He reached up to guard his face, and in doing so, slipped or tripped, smashing through a wall and tumbling outside.

    Rushing to the opening, I aimed down in the dirt where he was trying to recover. He looked up at me, me down at him. And the moment he went to scramble off again, a knife slid up under his throat. It continued along his cheek, slitting his mask a bit, and stopped at his eye.

    "Uh, uh, uh. A sharp knife ain''t nothin'' without a sharp eye."

    Rosa''s friend Irish held the knife and beamed like a maniac. Rosa, Harker, and Bram stood a short distance behind, watching. Good old Rosa. She must''ve ditched Ethelinda and found her party after the festival had been interrupted. A few other confused civilians roamed around near them. Harker had his art book out and was, presumably, sketching the scene.

    "Are you okay?" Rosa called to me.

    "I will be soon." I hopped down and approached the bastard who turned the town square into a shooting gallery. Ironic considering that right behind Rosa was, indeed, the carnival''s shooting gallery game. The owner crouched next to it in hiding.

    "Ye made bags of a good time, mister," Irish said.

    Black Mask tried to elbow her in the gut and take advantage of his superior size, but she was quick. Her knee forced his to buckle before she wrenched his arm back. She was a breath from plunging the knife through his eyeball when I used my lasso to yank the blade out of her hand.

    She looked furious. "Are ye langers?" she shouted.

    "We need him alive," I said, soft, in an attempt to diffuse her anger.

    "Don''t ye ever get between me and my prey!" She squeezed his throat with her forearm and reached for one of her many other blades when Bram stopped her.

    "Irish, please," he said. "This is not our war."

    She scowled but eventually backed down and shoved Black Mask toward me. I sensed in him the desire to run, but I had my gun on him, letting the fear build in him something fierce. Best way to start an interrogation.

    I bent down, staring him straight in his cool, blue eyes.

    "Let''s see who this bastard is."

 Chapter 20

    The mask came off, and I froze. I''d been expecting to see Anton, but the truth was almost more than I could bear. I knew the culprit. Better than I knew anybody still alive in the world.

    And I didn''t even have to view his whole face. All I needed to see was the grin he wore, like all the world was his plaything. My mind immediately brought me back to the last time I saw it. The moment that changed everything¡­

    * * *

    "Ace, it''s time to go," I said, grabbing him by the sleeve of his old coat.

    He clicked his tongue. Then he clicked the hammer on his revolver. "Not until he hands over his money roll."

    I checked left, then right. Grass and dirt raced by as the train we were on rumbled across the earth. Its whistle echoed through the vast emptiness, interrupted only by gunshots pinging against steel. Ms. Mae was up front, making sure the conductor kept the wheels rolling.

    "More rangers coming!" Big Davey shouted over to us. He aimed out the shattered window of the passenger cart, firing back through dust at the men on horses galloping alongside the locomotive. Train guards in the car ahead were locked in a stalemate with a couple of Scuttlers at the door: Hiram, Church, and Mac.

    We were behind them in the passenger car. Mothers hugged their children close; husbands held their wives. One railroad employee stood in the corner, the front of his pants wet.

    I didn''t blame him.

    We''d got what we came for, though: bonds belonging to a railroad magnate worth enough to get all us Scuttlers through the next year or more, clear and free. We''d gotten intel a big score would be on this particularly unassuming train, and it checked out. A massive win for us.

    But as usual, Ace couldn''t help himself. Just couldn''t pass up a car filled with the rich.

    He was like a goddamned raccoon, attracted to anything shiny. And there''d been a lot of that ripe for the plucking. Pearls, silver, watches, diamonds. Fat wallets. It was a great take until one stubborn man.

    "Leave them, Ace. We gotta go!" I raised my voice.

    Ace acted like I wasn''t even there, nudging me aside to lean in and shove the hot barrel of his pistol right under the man''s chin.

    He winced, the man, tried to stay strong, brave. His wife was behind him, after all, clinging to his arm.

    "Just give it to him," she sobbed.

    But the man was mulish. Stupid, probably. He puffed out his chest and lifted his head, a bushy mustache donning his lip as proud as the redwoods out by the coast.

    "No," he proclaimed. "Men like this can''t be allowed to get their way. The West will be tamed. You, sir, are a fossil. A relic of days pa¡ª"

    Ace cracked him across the jaw with his gun. "That feel like a fossil to you!"

    "Just take it, and let''s go," I said.

    But Ace didn''t listen to me. Rarely listened to anyone anymore. He wouldn''t take the man''s wallet himself. No. That wasn''t his style. He wanted this proud, plump, pomp fellow to surrender his own money. He wanted it tied with a bow.

    Pure intimidation. When Ace left a crime scene, he liked to leave the victim''s brains mottled too. Scared to go outside. To rat us out. It usually worked, but these days, he''d gotten even more headstrong about it.

    Behind us, another man grunted¡ªone of our crew taking a bullet. Big Davey helped him up into a seat, still firing blindly at the rangers.

    "Crowley, we can''t take much more!" Davey yelled.

    "Don''t tell me," I said.

    I tugged on Ace harder, cursing up a storm I shouldn''t ever repeat. It got him off balance, and that''s when that silver-spoon-fed fool decided to fight against injustice, doing something to prove his stupidity. He lunged at Ace, grabbing for the gun.

    They wrestled for a few seconds. The firearm went off, causing my ears to ring. When the struggling stopped by way of Ace clobbering the guy, the fella staggered upright. Then, he saw the error of his actions. His wife lay against the window, blood spreading across the glass and down the front of her yellow-and-pink flowered dress, a gaping hole in her chest.

    Even Ace was momentarily stunned enough to let the man jump to his wife and cradle her limp head.

    Innocents died in our line of work, of course. But usually, it was collateral damage. Distant, easy to shrug off, wrong as that may sound. But this¡­ this was up close and personal, and completely unnecessary.

    "Dumb bastard," Ace spat.

    He could''ve put the man out of his misery. However, he holstered the gun instead. And this time, he reached into the man''s back pocket all on his own, with no interference. Pulled out a wallet with a bit of cash in it. Maybe thirty bucks. Enough to buy a decent suit in exchange for an innocent life.

    No need to intimidate anymore when the target''s broken.

    Of course, when the word got out about the murder, we''d later found out she was the cousin of "The Commodore" himself¡ªthe very same rich-ass magnate we''d just robbed. A Vanderbilt. The whole ordeal was what had pushed Ace to decide it was time for all of us to lay low south of the border after hiding out in the mountains where, you know, he put me down for not playing by his rules.

    "That''s it?" Ace said, pocketing it. "What a fucking waste."

    He flung the wallet aside before ripping the bloody, gold necklace off the dead woman''s neck for good measure. Her sobbing husband could do not a thing about it.

    "That''s a bit better," Ace said.

    "You kidding?" I asked him, not even hiding my disdain.

    He just shoved by me and said, "What are you waiting for?" while I was busy gawking. Then he shouted to the rest, "Let''s go! We got what we came for!"

    There were eight of us on the job, and we all converged by the doors where Big Davey already stood with Morrison cradled under the armpit.

    "That''s a lot of blood," Ace said, looking at Morrison''s wound as if he hadn''t just watched an innocent woman lose most of hers.

    Me and Davey exchanged a look that said everything. Then we all jumped off the side of the train where the rangers weren''t, tucking and rolling through the brush.

    I won''t lie and say jumping off a train feels good, but there''re worse pains in the world. Besides, now that Mae was off-board, the conductor had already started the slow-down process in hopes of giving the rangers a leg up.

    We all came to a stop, staying low while the mounted rangers kept chasing the screeching train. The delay with the Vanderbilt in the passenger cart left us a short distance off course.

    Delay¡­

    That''s how disconnected from reality we were. Here I was, calling a woman''s life a delay.

    Everyone was panicked, eager to get on the move and disappear into the mountains to the west. Mountains where, at that time, I had no clue I''d die saving Rosa and her mama.

    But not Ace. Flipping over, that was when I saw it. He held the woman¡¯s necklace to his eyes, marveling as the sun made it sparkle, and he grinned. Ear to filthy ear.

    ***

    "Ace?" I said softly.

    I was stunned. He was two decades older and his face covered in blood, but I''d recognize that shit-eating grin anywhere.

    "Needed a woman to do your job, Marshal?" he asked like he had no clue who I was. Then, I watched as that grin disappeared and terror filled his ice-blue eyes.

    "Wait. I shot you," Ace said. Out of surprise, it seemed, he dropped to the ground. Or maybe I was just that damn frightening. Either way, he tried to crab-walk backward until Irish stopped him with a boot. "I watched you bleed out."

    "Well, you didn''t wait long enough," I said. "You never were a patient man."

    Even all these years later, I found familiarity in despising him. The words just came to me as if no time had passed. It didn''t matter how utterly dumbstruck I was that he was here.

    Though, that did make me wonder¡­

    What had happened to my dead body after I¡¯d died? Had it rotted in the dirt for the flies and maggots? Or had I just up and disappeared until Shar chose me for my rebirth? My next memory after Ace pulled that trigger had been waking up roughly three years later, inside a cavern I called Steeple Rock due to its unique shape.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    "There''s no room for patience in the West," Ace said. "But you know that." There it was. That grin again, only this time with blood smeared across his teeth, I guess from smashing through that wall. "Twenty years, you''ve still been alive, and you never even came after me? I''m insulted."

    "Your legend vanished. Haven''t heard your name since," I lied. "Haven''t thought of you once neither," I lied again. "Figured your sins caught up with you." That one was wishful thinking.

    "I found a nice living down in Mexico City, just like I''d promised. The lawmen there, you just hand them some scratch, they look the other way. Fucking paradise."

    "Sounds like hell."

    "Ay, don''t wanna break up the gas yer havin''," Irish chimed in, waving at me like I was far away. "But who''s this gobshite, huh?"

    "Guy I used to know,¡± I said. ¡°Nobody anymore, it seems."

    Ace spat a wad of bloody mucus at me, but it was so thick it just flipped back around onto his face. He didn''t even bother to wipe it.

    "What brought you back, Ace?¡± I asked. ¡°No more foreign lands to conquer?"

    "I outgrew them, just like I outgrew you."

    "Right," I said.

    We all looked over when we heard hooves way off in the distance. The Pinkertons were just a puff of dust on the horizon, but who they were was clear.

    "You''re with them, huh?" Ace asked. "When did you find their side of the law?"

    "I serve a higher power than that."

    ¡°''Pride cometh before the¡ª''" I kicked him in the ribs before he could finish the verse. Seemed wrong to let him. I''d lived a rotten life, but a man like Ace? Just stepping into a church should''ve set him ablaze.

    "Why are you here?" I demanded.

    "Thought that was obvious."

    "Well, it ain''t." I grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. "So, why? Start talking.¡±

    He smiled. Didn¡¯t speak. So, I did what any man in my position would do. I punched him in the gut.

    ¡°I said, start talking.¡±

    Ace huffed and puffed a bit and that turned into a laugh. ¡°You always were a¡ª¡±

    I never found out what I always was because I clobbered him again and knocked the wind out of him.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna let you catch your breath, and if the next thing you say ain¡¯t an answer, it¡¯s gonna be lights out for awhile,¡± I said.

    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± he said, voice not quite as strong or proud as it had just been. ¡°It¡¯s easy living south of the border, but I missed the challenge. The big scores. Vengeful sheriffs. Pinkertons galore."

    "Those other banks¡­ they weren''t you. I would''ve recognized the stink of the Scuttlers."

    "What the hell is a Scuttler?"

    I blinked.

    "Oh, right." He chuckled. "What a shit name for a bunch of shit people. Been through a lot of crews since you and Davey killed Hiram and I had to rebuild. You''ll have to excuse me."

    I bet he thought bringing up Hiram would make me flinch, but I had no love for that man. Just because we were a crew, didn¡¯t mean we were all friends. I drew my gun and shoved it right under Ace¡¯s chin. Just like he did to that Vanderbilt lady all those years ago. He didn''t even flinch.

    "You with the Frozen Trio?" I asked.

    "I''m with myself,¡± he said. ¡°Same as always."

    I shot off a round right by his ear. He squeezed his eyes tight and reeled. I knew that hurt him, and it took all my effort not to have pulled the trigger where my aim would''ve killed him. My mind couldn¡¯t resolve how absolutely insane this was, but here he was. After two long decades worth of seeing his ugly mug every time I shut my eyes. The man who''d handed my soul off to Shar and the White Throne.

    "I ain''t gonna ask again, Ace!" I snarled. "How are you here? How did you know to hit Revelation today, of all days?"

    One eye twitched, but he managed another smirk. My fist finally did the job of wiping it off his face. He went down again.

    "How!"

    He spat up another gob of blood. "You still hit like a girl, Crowley."

    "Why don''t ye say that to me," Irish said, stepping forward and twirling her knife.

    I dropped to a knee beside him, grabbed his shirt with one hand and shot off another round by his other ear with the other.

    "Okay, okay!" Ace covered his ears. "Jesus, Crowley. I can''t answer you if I can''t hear."

    I ignored him. My shot kicked up dirt nearby, and my heart would have skipped a beat if it still pumped when I realized who I''d almost hit. So blinded by rage, I hadn''t even seen Rosa creeping nearer. The dirt from the bullet even sprayed up and hit the bottom of her pants.

    She didn''t notice, just quietly crept forward until she was nearby me, staring down at Ace''s face. Eyes narrow, brow furrowed. Teeth clenched.

    How could I be so stupid? This was the man of her nightmares too. The one who tried to rape her mother right in front of her when she was just a girl. Who taught her that the world was a cruel, unforgiving place when she was far too young.

    ¡°James, is that¡­¡± she murmured, barely audible.

    "Irish, do me a favor and get Rosa and the others away from here and safe at camp," I said, low and level.

    "Aww, but I wanna see the show," she said.

    "Irish, this might get ugly. It¡¯s no sight for her eyes."

    Irish hung her head, muttering, "I''m always missin'' the fun." She took Rosa''s hand and tried to get her to follow, but Rosa''s feet were fixed. Frozen as if the Yeti had taken a run at her.

    Bram arrived next to convince her.

    "Let''s get away from here, dear.¡±

    Eventually, Rosa moved, but only when he pulled her along. Still, the entire time she kept staring at Ace, the gears in her head turning and piecing it together. She''d been young, but you''ll always recognize your demons.

    Irish hissed like a cat at some onlookers on their way by, scaring them off.

    "That your girlfriend?" Ace asked with a chuckle. Then he whistled. "Whoo-wee, she is one fine cut of meat. Met a few like her down south if you know what I mean."

    My hand shot out and clutched his jaw, squeezing until I could feel the bones ready to snap.

    "You don''t dare look at anyone but me, you hear?" I growled.

    His eyes flitted her way on purpose, just to taunt me. So, I slammed his head against the packed dirt with almost enough force to knock him out cold.

    He squeezed his eyelids as he recovered. "You used to be a lot more fun."

    "Oh, trust me, I''m just getting started." That wasn''t a lie. I was pissed. I was dealing with feelings and emotions that I¡¯d thought were long gone but for the visions. But it was clear, they weren¡¯t. I could¡¯ve killed right then, right there. I even shoved the barrel of my gun into his mouth until he was gagging, just to get my point across. The dirt would look a lot better plastered with his brains. And with everything screaming through my mind, I almost did it until I felt Shar''s presence, a resolute shudder splintering across my chest.

    That redirected my anger enough, at least to take a beat. How had Shar allowed me to wind up here, in a reunion between all these ghosts of my past? Without even a warning, either. Nothing. My path led me here, same as theirs; all of us brought together once again by God or fate.

    What sort of twisted game was I a pawn in?

    "I''m gonna remove my gun from your mouth, and when I do, you''re gonna start talking," I said. I could barely get my voice to project above a whisper, I was so focused on Ace. "Know in your heart that I would kill you and sleep like a fucking baby tonight."

    I dragged the gun out, making sure the sight cut the roof of his mouth and banged against the back of his teeth. He exhaled and pulled himself up to a sitting position.

    "I like you, Crowley," he said, calm as ever. "Always did. Makes me glad to think I''m where you got this edge, but either way, it suits you."

    "Wasn''t from you." I lied, and he knew I lied. I could tell by his smirk. The details of how I got to where I am today and what I am are irrelevant, but he was the instrument of my demise. He knew it.

    "Talk," I told him.

    "They came to me a few weeks back,¡± he said. ¡°Guess everyone''s calling them the Frozen Trio. Stupid name. Then again, I named you idiots the Scuttlers, and no one batted an eye."

    I glared at him.

    "The big one, Otaktay¡ªstupid name too¡ªtogether, we had a whole plan to rob Dufaux and his town for all its worth," he went on.

    "Lies."

    "Why would I lie? Them three feather-heads were supposed to hit the bank with us today. A score for the ages, thwarting rich men and Pinkertons alike, showing the world that money¡¯s meant to be in people¡¯s hands, not locked up in vault. We had it all planned. But look around. Red cowards left me high and dry. I hope you find them and scalp ''em."

    "All three are native?" I asked, translating his crude, offensive language.

    "Yeah, so?"

    "Hey!" Cecil shouted as he, Dale, Sheriff Gutierrez, and some other men in badges arrived, late to the party as usual.

    I watched Ace flinch, ready to bolt like a scared rabbit. It was his nature to avoid lawmen. I got my gun on him first so he couldn''t go anywhere until he was completely surrounded.

    Deputies spread out to keep civilians away¡ªwho, now that the shooting stopped, were getting closer and closer. Some vendors and entertainers even started to clean up their stalls so the festival could continue.

    A couple bounty hunter-looking types who''d been at the shootout arrived too, including the one I¡¯d punched, sporting a fresh bruise. They eyed me, disappointed since they thought they''d missed out on a bounty. Though I''m sure there were countless towns around still willing to collect on Ace''s many bounties. People from families like the Vanderbilt¡¯s aren¡¯t ever forgotten.

    Cecil hopped down from his ride and Sheriff Gutierrez from his white stallion. They practically fought to get to us first. Cecil won. He grabbed Ace by the arm and pulled his wrists back to cuff them.

    "Nice job, Mr. Crowley," Dale said. "The others got away from us, but I knew you''d catch him."

    I gave him a nod of approval as I ran my hands through my hair, noticing for the first time my hat was missing.

    So, all three of the Frozen Trio were natives. I wasn''t sure why it mattered, but it did. It bolstered my belief that these were folks Dufaux had wronged. The Yeti, transformed as he was now, was native too. Huh. What had Ace called him¡ªOtaktay? Now, maybe they found each other all from different tribes done dirty by Dufaux''s expansion. But in my heart, I could feel it¡­ this was some sort of family affair, about more than money or hurt feelings. I was reminded of that gentle kiss on the forehead the woman gave the Mind-drifter back in Elkhart.

    I tried to recall Dufaux''s words about Revelation¡¯s other founder and their kinship, but there was just too much going on around me to think straight.

    "You''re under arrest," Gutierrez said to Ace.

    "Yeah, no shit," Ace replied, chuckling.

    "He say anything?" Cecil addressed me, holding his injured side.

    I ignored him and kept thinking.

    Whenever Otaktay had approached Ace, he was either still human or so early on he didn''t look like a beast yet. Otherwise Ace wouldn¡¯t mentioned his rough appearance with some manner of insult. Assuming Ace wasn''t lying, which was a tall order. Fibs spewed from the man''s mouth like milk from a cow. It''s how he got men to follow him so easily. Probably how he built a whole new crew for this job, most of which now lay dead in the square.

    "Cat got your tongue, Crowley?" Ace said.

    I rushed back to him, ignoring Cecil''s protests.

    "Where are the outlaws?" I asked, grabbing him by his collar.

    "How should I know?" Ace said. "I told you they didn''t show. Left us high and dry. You can''t never trust an Injun, ''specially not a squaw."

    ¡°Where are they!?¡± I brought my arm back to swing, but it never came forward. I turned to find Dale holding me back from walloping Ace once more.

    ¡°Let the law be the law, Mr. Crowley,¡± he said.

    I grimaced, but brought my arm down.

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Ace said. ¡°Listen to the little pussy.¡±

    Dale looked me sidelong in the eye, then he offered a slight nod before turning his back to me. I took it as a sign.

    I pushed Gutierrez aside, kicked Ace over, and pressed my boot to his throat. And there was that stupid grin again.

    The bastard was enjoying this more than ever. And even if he didn''t actually know anything, all I wanted from him in that moment was to be afraid. He deserved it. I deserved to see it.

    But Ace would eat a bullet just to spite me and win a standoff. He''d smile all the way down to the depths of Hell and give Lucifer himself the middle finger.

    "Get off him before I put you down," Gutierrez said, weapon out and aimed at me. "You caught him, so I''ll forgive last night''s transgression. But make no mistake, I''m the law here."

    I considered pulling my gun on Gutierrez in return, but he''d probably shoot me and open a new can of worms.

    "Oh, drop the act, Gutierrez," Cecil groaned. "You''ve got about as much power here as a mouse. And you." He stepped to get a clear view of me. "We''ve come this far. He''s no use to us dead."

    I growled but removed my boot.

    Ace chuckled. "Always the good little soldier."

    My boot returned, quick as a whip to his chin. Struck him so hard it knocked him out cold this time, leaving his eyes fluttering around behind his eyelids.

    "Feel better?" Cecil asked.

    I wish I could say I did, but it still felt like we''d lost.

    All I had were more questions.

 Chapter 21

    ¡°What a damn mess,¡± Gutierrez said.

    I stared down at Ace, honestly wondering what to do next. My hand slid toward my pocket, toward the mirror where I could talk to Shar. Wanting to go to her¡­ That¡¯s how desperate I was for direction. How thrown my game I was.

    Explosions caught my attention, coming from the direction of Dufaux''s place. Actually, they were more like pops.

    Blue and red and gold, lighting the sky in brilliant, bright light.

    Fireworks. At least, that''s what it looked like.

    My gaze¡ªand everyone else''s¡ªwas drawn upward. Bursts of brilliant blue shimmered and sparkled, interspersed with soaring trails of red, almost like flame. It was a truly stunning sight. Only, it was still light out¡ªnot a time for fireworks unless Dufaux truly enjoyed wasting money.

    And in that light, I saw it. Darting in and out of the lines of flame was the tiny silhouette of a bird.

    "Keep an eye on him," I said to the group. "And never trust a word he says."

    I went to move, but Dale stopped me. "You can''t leave. We got one."

    "He isn''t a part of the trio. Never was."

    "What are you talking about?" Gutierrez said. "You saw him back there!"

    "It wasn''t him."

    Cecil scratched his chin, wincing as he forgot his injury. "No weird ice bombs. No axe woman."

    "Right. So just watch him!"

    I took off at a sprint. There wasn¡¯t even time to whistle for Timp since she was way back at Rosa¡¯s camp. Checking my ammo along the way, I made sure I was loaded up with silver. I tore through a canvas tent and blew by a dozen other stands that were slowly being reoccupied. Then I scurried up some rocks until Dufaux''s mansion was in view.

    As I cleared the old part of town where the shanty homes were and his walled-in estate grew closer, Cecil called out from behind me.

    "Get on!" he shouted. I turned, and he stretched a hand out to me. Grabbing mine, he yanked me up onto the back of his horse. Couldn¡¯t remember the last time I rode one that wasn¡¯t Timperina.

    "Fireworks weren''t scheduled until the gala tonight," Cecil told me.

    "What the hell''s going on?" I asked.

    "I don''t know, but you''re right. That crew was new."

    The light show was still going on when we reached the estate. We slid off the horse and made for the gate, which was wide open. Dufaux''s yard was teeming with guests who¡¯d either arrived recently or fled the festival grounds earlier. Women wearing prim dresses and carrying ornamental umbrellas, men in fine suits and tuxedos.

    "He''s still having his party?" I said, incredulous.

    Dufaux''s native employees were everywhere, quickly setting up the tables and drinks for a party meant to be in the evening, but forced to start sooner, thanks to the chaos in town. There were a few guards, sure, but with everyone down dealing with Ace and the botched bank robbery, it was just a ragtag bunch.

    "For the more¡­ distinguished guests, yeah," Cecil said. "He always does, while the rabble carouse down below."

    ¡°The whole town is being torn asunder.¡±

    Cecil turned to me and shrugged. "We got people up here as soon as the robbery started. Then Dufaux convinced them it was a show for the lowly folks and invited more in early. What do you want me to say?"

    "I don''t know. That this is a dream? A nightmare even.¡±

    "Mr. Dufaux trusted me to handle things in town. He''s got a reputation to uphold, and he pays me to listen." The words left his mouth, but he didn''t seem overly convinced by them himself.

    I shook my head. ¡°Is the money really enough?¡±

    Cecil didn¡¯t answer. And right or wrong, it wasn''t wrong. These walls were the safest place in the town, probably in the whole region. Dufaux couldn''t just turn frightened guests with fat wallets away. But he shouldn''t have been entertaining in the first place with the whole damn region on alert. Shouldn''t have been having any of this.

    Everyone stared up at the light show. Fiery embers wafted down over them and flitted across the yard to the gold mine in the back. Not embers. Saints and elders, it was burning shreds of green paper. The flames made it difficult to tell, but now that it was closer, I saw the hawk clinging onto a burning bag of cash, tracing fiery lines across the sky. Greenbacks fluttered in a long stream behind it.

    Another bit of blue went off to a chorus of "oohs" and "aahs."

    "He''s really outdone himself this year," said some prig in a bowler hat.

    ¡°A bit early though,¡± said a woman.

    Brilliant sparkles rained down, and I felt like I was in one of those novelty globes that you shake, and bits of snow swirls around like some winter wonderland. That was when I noticed a woman in a sleeveless dress rub her arms like she was chilly even though it was daytime. How could these people think this was planned?

    "Hey, you can''t just run in!" one of the guards barked as I pushed by an old couple, through the gate and into the yard. He stopped chasing me when he saw Cecil with me.

    A few guests yelped in fright at our haste. Then, skidding to a stop by the middle of the yard, I saw frost crackling around the edges of Dufaux''s diamond-shaped pools. The bird fountain seemed to be slogging to a halt as well.

    The outlaws were already here. This was it. This was their plan. Ace would distract the town¡¯s defenses while the Frozen Trio enacted their true crime.

    From across the yard, a confused look Dufaux¡ªclearly trying to look in control¡ªlumbered through the crowd toward us. Everyone got out of his way, or they may as well have been trampled by a bull. His dark, double-breasted suit was exquisite. As was the top hat sitting atop his head.

    One look at Dufaux''s big smug face, and I handled things on my own. I pulled one of my Peacemakers and aimed up at the sky, firing off three succinct shots, waste of silver or not. Dale was far off, but I hoped he''d recognize the strategy.

    Dufaux hollered something while I reloaded, but he was instantly drowned out by his guests panicking. People were ducking and screaming and shoving and tossing others aside with reckless abandon. It was a fine showing of how self-absorbed these types were. To their credit, some husbands covered their wives or mistresses, but most were cowards, stuck on their own. Someone even dove into the pool.

    Must''ve been a shock when he felt its temperature.

    I spun around.

    One native woman didn''t act like the others at all. She wore the garb of Dufaux''s housemaids, with her long black hair tied in a bun. Only she wasn''t looking at me.

    I followed her sightline to a young man standing on Dufaux''s Spanish-tiled roof. The Mind-drifter. He, too, was dressed like the help. Only, he had bags of money piled all around him. The hawk circled above him, still carrying a burning sack of cash.

    "Dufaux!" he called out, his voice thick with accent. "A gift, from Revelation''s true founder!"

    The young man spread his arms and threw back his head. He moved the arm I¡¯d shot him in back in Elkhart and winced. I could imagine the fetid wound festering under his clothing. Things like that didn''t heal well around here without the proper care.

    Almost as if in response to some unspoken request, the hawk dropped its payload all over the rest of that flammable money. Then the Mind-drifter kicked the pile in front of him, sending it rolling and careening all over the place. Fire caught on the trellis. One bag bounced down onto the front balcony. Tiles slipped from the roof, shattering against the ground.

    The thing about homes out here in the West, in this dry, dry heat¡­ they go up fast.

    One of Dufaux''s leftover guards opened fire. I did a quick glance behind me, and Cecil was gone. Scanning the area, I found him trying to usher Dufaux to safety.

    The Mind-drifter¡¯s eyes rolled back as he leaped from the roof. The hawk''s talons dug into his healthy arm, eliciting thin streams of blood that were visible even from this distance. His body was too heavy for them to rise together, but its wings allowed them to soar harmlessly out to safety over the walls of Dufaux''s compound.

    The guard started to give chase but produced a gurgled scream as a tomahawk split through his neck. Blood spurted. The man staggered, futilely holding his wound. He''d be dead before the realization hit him.

    But that bit of brutality really got the panic started. Everyone surged toward the gate, an unruly mob upturning tables and spilling alcohol. Which, of course, only fed the cinders of cash raining down. The courtyard blazed, which meant more fire blowing at the house and catching on curtains, wood, and whatever priceless things lay inside.

    It was hard for me to not cheer it on. However, much as I disliked Dufaux, these three were my targets.

    The smoke had everyone but me coughing, waving their hands in front of their faces, covering their noses with handkerchiefs. I didn''t even feel the sting of it against my eyes, which gave me the slightest upper hand as I charged the lady outlaw.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Where is everyone going?" a deep cavernous voice echoed. One that almost made Dufaux''s childlike by comparison. Otaktay. The Yeti. "You will miss the show."

    The front gates slammed closed with a deafening clang.

    "Monster!" a woman shrieked.

    "Demon!" a man cried out. He wasn''t far off.

    From the outside, two grisly hands wrapped the bars, covered in white fur with thick, ugly nails. More than the last time I''d seen him, for sure. Then the metal, the hinges, the lock¡ªeverything started to freeze.

    The party guests reached and grabbed it, but that Hellish ice must''ve been even colder than I realized. They howled in pain like they were burning. Others had stopped short. Then, I think they saw the Yeti, and all responded in kind. Some froze in fear. Understandable. Others ran in terror. Also understandable. One thing nobody did was try to get out of the gate again.

    Pushing someone out of the way, I reached the spot where tomahawk-lady had been. "Had been" being the operative phrase. Through the smoke, it was hard to locate her, but I followed the agonized cries. Across the grounds, by the stables, she was gashing another of Dufaux''s guards in the back. And with him down, that was it. No more security left up here except Cecil, who was escorting Dufaux somewhere in the bedlam.

    I could only hope my three shots had clued Dale into something horrible happening. If not, the giant flames should''ve. Only been a matter of time before Sheriff Gutierrez, and more men came to the rescue.

    I pulled my new rifle, the one ¡°borrowed¡± from the jailhouse, and aimed at the woman, but with no means of escape, there were too many frenzied guests still. I couldn''t risk the shot.

    To my left,Otaktay stood atop Dufaux¡¯s outer wall. The crowd ran in the opposite direction. He leaped and landed hard, cracking earth beneath his feet. The tremor knocked me onto my hind. He bellowed a deep roar and rushed Dufaux just before Cecil could get him inside. Cecil was cast aside like a rag doll, and with seemingly no effort, the monster grabbed Dufaux by the throat, and hoisted him high into the air¡ªand a monster, he was. While he''d looked mostly human the first time I saw him in Lonely Hill, Otaktay was now further along in his inevitable descent into madness.

    As always, the demon was winning the struggle for this man''s soul. Which demon was left to be discovered? Shar might¡¯ve cared, but honestly, at this point, did it really matter? Evil is evil.

    Otaktay¡¯s hair¡ªwhich was all over¡ªwas ashen, and wiry. A face as wrinkled as boiled leather left in the sun, discolored and gray. All his teeth were sharp, and his eyes might as well''ve been molten lava. His clothes were torn, barely fitting anymore as his muscles had grown unnaturally large. And the frost¡­ It clung to him like an aura now, swirling about his body, sloughing off like dandruff every time he moved.

    "W-w-what are y-you¡­" Dufaux stammered.

    It wasn''t fear that hindered his speech, though I''m sure it played a small part. No. It was cold. Just being that close to Otaktay made his lips purple and his face turn colorless.

    Without regard for exceptionally fragile and human parts, Otaktay turned Dufaux to face his house. A tendril of fire burst through the now-broken window as it caught on something else.

    "Watch it all burn," Otaktay growled. "Everything you stole. Your home. Your wealth. Consumed."

    "Let me go, you wicked, vile beast! Unhand me!"

    As much as the sizable Dufaux kicked and bucked, it didn''t affect the Yeti in the slightest.

    I brought my rifle up as I got to a knee and aimed. At my angle and distance, it was as likely I''d hit Dufaux as the one holding him.

    "Let him go," I said. "Let all of them go. You''ve got me to answer to."

    "No!" Otaktay thundered. "He has to watch. They all need to watch."

    "Mr. Crowley, don''t you dare shoot at me!" Dufaux yelled through quivering lips.

    Here''s the thing about silver bullets. One''s just gotta graze something touched by Hell, and you''re a step ahead. So, lowering my sights enough to avoid Dufaux altogether, I plugged Otaktay right in the ankle.

    Silvery steam poured out. His roar was like nothing I''ve ever heard. Freezing breath extinguished the fire on a nearby tablecloth. Dufaux was lucky enough to be tossed aside during the entire ordeal. However, he now lay in a literal pile of shit beside the stables. I spotted Cecil back outside and rushing to his employer¡¯s aid when I heard a woman''s cry from behind me.

    "Stay out of this, ?iga Ndee¨½!" I wasn''t sure what those last words translated to, but it was the second time tomahawk-lady had said it to me. I was sure it was something foul. All her face paint was washed clean in order for her to blend in, showing me more than just crow¡¯s feet in the corners of her eyes. She was older than I''d expected for such a spry woman. In her fifties at least, yet still able to move how she did. Color me impressed.

    I ducked just before a tomahawk slashed through my forehead. Then again, as her second one came around. Even still, I''m reasonably sure that one shaved off a couple strands of hair. She swung again, and I parried with my rifle. Our weapons slid off each other, sparking as I spun around.

    "Nice to see you again, too," I said as I swung left, forcing her to favor one side. I guided her again, and again until I had her backed up against a wall. Suddenly, I was ten feet in the air, swinging at nothing.

    "This doesn''t concern you!"

    Otaktay grabbed me from behind and flung me so high and hard I lost track of where I''d landed. Next thing I knew, I was upside down against a wall, covered in shards of glass and splinters I was lucky I couldn''t feel.

    Somehow, I¡¯d wound up inside the mansion. Fire licked at my boots, spreading fast through the foyer and across the first floor. Mr. Dufaux''s giant portrait was now just black char.

    I rolled over so I could get to my knees and found myself facing an ornate mirror. Couldn''t you guess who was staring back at me?

    "Stop fooling around, Crowley," Shar warned.

    "Oh, now you show up? You owe me an explanation when I''m through." I cracked my neck. It popped a few times.

    ¡°I owe you nothing. End this.¡±

    Just as I retrieved my rifle to return to the fray, Otaktay burst through the grand front doors, ripping one of them off its hinges entirely. The mahogany iced over, the edges growing slick and sharp.

    "You''re all the same!" Otaktay flung it sideways like he was playing a casual game of horseshoes. It slashed through the wall of Dufaux''s front parlor on its way to cleave me in two, but I dove out of its path. It cracked the grand stair''s railing, breaking through to hit a load-bearing post. Some of the second floor caved, bringing more hungry fire down.

    I shot from the hip, getting one round off through the beast''s ribs. He groaned and vaulted into an adjacent room, leaving a silvery wake behind. The two bullets he''d absorbed would''ve had other monsters down for the count. But Hell had a true hold of this one.

    I followed him into what looked like Dufaux''s sitting room, only now was covered in ash and soot.

    "You kill and you steal!" The Yeti shouted, throwing a sofa at me. I ducked and rolled, firing every cartridge until my Winchester clicked empty. I landed a few shots, but Otaktay was something else. Werewolves tended to go down under one or two carefully placed silver bullets. He¡¯d taken at least five and still stood.

    "Thieves!" Otaktay¡¯s rage was a living thing beneath his skin, trying to break free.

    He rushed me, grabbed me by the my duster, and flung me upward. A loose spindle split my side as I crashed through the sitting room''s ceiling and into the second floor. I landed, half hanging through the hole and quickly pulled myself up before he reached up and tore me in two.

    Fire ravaged this story. Hot, acrid smoke filled the air. As I got my bearings, I heard whimpering. Clamoring to my feet, each movement threatening to collapse the floor beneath me, I called out, "Who''s there?"

    She coughed. The sound drew me to a closet where one of Dufaux''s maids was hiding¡ªthat very same native woman who''d taken my coat a day earlier.

    "Get outside," I said to her. No answer; just more sobs. "They aren''t here for you. You''ve gotta go, now!"

    When again she stayed put, I did what I did best and interfered. Taking her around the waist, I ran through the French doors leading to the second-story balcony, pulling my lasso from my belt loop.

    Before I jumped, I saw silhouettes of lawmen approaching the compound''s walls from all directions. After I jumped, I lassoed the railing, swung around, and dropped the lady into one of the garden pools. It was shallow but cold. She''d make it even if she couldn''t swim.

    I kept swinging, coming around for the first floor with my Peacemaker pulled. But before I could use my surprise move to shoot Otaktay in the back of the head, the Mind-drifter¡¯s hawk slashed down and clawed at my eyes. I managed to fend it off, but not before I lost my grip and slammed into a wall. An instant later, I landed awkwardly back in the sitting room, opening my eyes just in time to see the Yeti materialize a shield of ice between me and him.

    "What demon is it that has its hold on you, friend?" I said, slowly rising and recovering my lasso.

    "The only demon is here, in this home," he retorted.

    My left knee bent inward. The tomahawk-lady slid by, having slashed me there. A death sentence for a normal man to be hemmed like that in a fight, but I regained my balance quickly.

    She spun in one smooth motion to face me. I noticed she only had one axe now. Smoke and flame swirled all around her, making me wonder if she, too, had some demon in her. Spattered blood painted her body from the jaw down as if replacing her war paint.

    "Get it!" she called back to the Yeti. Beyond the ice, I saw Otaktay''s silhouette turn and stomp toward the courtyard.

    I returned my attention to the woman, having made the mistake of taking it from her in the first place. Fighting means making mistakes and just trying not to make the last one.

    Tomahawk-lady sneered. "No bounty for you." Her words were stunted like she struggled with English.

    She rushed me.

    I fired once.

    Twice.

    She ducked and weaved as she came, swift as a mountain lion and twice as fierce. Iron hummed as she swung, sending me into a dance of my own. But I was done playing games. Instead of blocking with a weapon this time, I raised my forearm and let the blade sink in through to the bone. Then, I grabbed her swinging arm at the same time so it didn''t slice clean through.

    She gawked at the wound and my lack of reaction.

    "Chiihdii," she whispered.

    I head-butted hard enough to knock her off her feet, then kicked the tomahawk out of her grasp and toward the fire. My sliced leg buckled a little, but I pressed on.

    "I''m not here for you," I said.

    I spat just to wash the taste of smoke from my mouth, pungent enough that it bothered even my muted senses.

    Then I quickly retrieved my lasso and took off after the Yeti. His ice wall was melting fast from the blaze, allowing me to climb and slide right over it. More of the stairs broke off and fell all around me. I dodged what I could and shouldered through the rest until I stood at the edge of the courtyard.

    Otaktay stood before the totem, glowing red from the fires raging above. Tables for when the party made its way inside were all knocked over. Plants were drowning in ash.

    Otaktay reached for the totem like it was gold. I''m damn certain his hands shook with anticipation because it sure as hell wasn''t fear.

    Since he was out of range of my lasso, I reached for my pistols and accidentally brushed my belt satchel, flipping it open so I spotted the goat-Nephilim¡¯s harmonica inside. I''d almost forgotten about the thing. Digging the instrument out, I ignored the melancholic beckoning it brought as I lifted it to my lips. Voices telling me I¡¯d fail, and that Heaven would cast me out to face eternal damnation. That I was hopeless. Irredeemable. Damned¡­

    Fighting back a dry heave, I played, and as the note hung, I yelled "Stop!" just like I had with the werewolves.

    It got Otaktay to stop alright, but only to eye me quizzically. Where they''d been affected by it, Otaktay snarled. He was still in control. Apparently, the Hellish instrument didn''t work so well on truly Hellish things. Or maybe it was my limited musical skills.

    Either way, the Yeti returned his focus to the totem instead of attacking me. Who needed a harmonica when that thing had him mesmerized like a dog with a bone?

    "These things never work when needed,¡± I complained and stowed it. Drawing my Peacemakers fast, and shot him three times in the back. He growled and collapsed onto an elbow, huffing hard enough to freeze the fountain in the middle of the yard.

    "You three are starting to get on my nerves," I said as I approached. I had one silver bullet left in the cylinder, then I''d have to reload. I had to make it count. But the entire courtyard started to glow. At first, I thought maybe it was the moon, but it was him. It was Otaktay. Frost formed from nowhere, whirling around him in a twister. His eyes shone bright.

    "We will take what is ours!" he bellowed.

    A shockwave shot through the yard like a cannon as his roar carried. Ice spiked along the path, breaking everything it encountered. Walls and columns ruptured. Swathes of the roof collapsed, all of it speeding up the fire''s wanton destruction.

    The totem was blown back, too, flying out through the mansion and plunging into the quarry at its rear. At least, that was my estimation without being able to fully watch its descent.

    Otaktay glared at me, bore his fangs, then took off through the opening like a wild beast running on all fours.

    What else could I do but go hunting?

 Chapter 22

    I didn''t always make the best choices in life, and I fear that attribute followed me into the unlife I now had. I¡¯ve tried to be a better man now, sure. Not to rob people who didn¡¯t deserve it, or hurt people who didn¡¯t have it coming. But good choices don¡¯t always mean doing right or wrong things. Especially when it comes to serving a Master like I do.

    Most folks who see a demon beast like the Yeti tuck tail and run. They count their blessings, and find a safe place, hoping someone else will deal with it.

    Problem is, I''m that someone.

    I followed Otaktay, reloading my pistols as I went. I hopped from rocky ledge to rocky ledge down into the quarry, using scaffolding when I could. I could''ve jumped all the way down like the Yeti had but snapping my ankles would waste even more time in the long run.

    Beneath my boots, the scaffolding turned slick. A thin veneer of ice formed, sending me caroming down the rest of the way. I rolled, bounced, and just about any other thing that would''ve killed a normal man. When I landed, it was with a splash. I may not have felt the scalding water, but layers of my skin bubbled all the same.

    I quickly crawled out of the hot spring before it turned me skeletal and took in my surroundings. Caverns and workstations filled the impressive mine, all snaking around so Dufaux could siphon these lands for all they were worth. White steam from a dozen or more similar springs swirled all about, making it difficult to traverse with confidence.

    However, I had no trouble locating Otaktay a few dozen yards ahead of me, standing in front of the totem, wheezing.

    Black ichor leaked from wounds all over his bulky, gorilla-like frame. The silver was doing its damage, working through him like a poison, weakening the demon''s hold. But it wasn''t enough. Not yet.

    "You''re not yourself!" I called to him. "Push out the demon that has you. Reject him, and I won''t need to kill you too."

    "Why?" His laugh quickly turned to a hacking, expelling more black, bloody discharge.

    "Because you''ve hurt enough people."

    "Only who we had to. And you¡­ bounty hunter¡­ you''re next." He let loose a primal roar that I''m sure could''ve woken Lucifer from slumber. Already, rocks and small boulders were cascading down the chasm from all the activity, but when he raised both fists and slammed them down, it was like a small earthquake.

    A wave of ice radiated away from the impact crater, coruscating out and up the quarry. Rock shattered. Scaffolding and structures crumbled. One thing I didn''t count on, however, was that every spring the ice touched exploded like dynamite the moment ice touched them.

    The damage to the mines was extensive. It was like the sound of low, rumbling thunder as the tunnels caved in all around us. Entire portions of the cliffs came down in sheets, pulling those poor shanty homes with it.

    I''d never seen anything like it. And then I saw nothing. The spring I''d just escaped went off, a flash of white enveloping me. I couldn''t even open my eyes. Hell, I wasn''t even sure I was on the ground still.

    Before I could prepare myself, the Yeti''s grisly nails were digging into my chest. That last expulsion of power had him somehow looking even more beastly. Gone was nearly any semblance of humanity in his facial features, and along with it, any hope I had of him reverting to whoever the Otaktay was who''d once roamed this earth. The man beneath the monster was reaching the point of no return.

    He pinned me against rock, ready to pound my face in. I flicked my pistol''s aim and put a bullet through his belly. He swatted it out of my hands before I could get off another shot.

    We were so close, I could see the back of his throat as he roared. All his teeth were razor-sharp now. Then, with speed and agility that belied his size, he pulled me forward and slammed me back again with a full, massive palm. I was sure bones crunched under the impact, but it might''ve been the rock face.

    Ice snaked across my chest, working to hold me against the stone so I couldn''t move. But as much as I might''ve expected it, he never started pounding on my skull. He just kept holding me there, like he didn''t actually want to kill me. Like, maybe, there was a shred of humanity left¡­

    Gunshots crackled across the unnaturally chilly air.

    My gaze moved to the ridge of the quarry where muzzles flashed. All of Dufaux''s army had come to bear. Deputies and sheriffs, Pinkertons, bounty hunters still wanting a fight¡ªeveryone. Shots peppered the Yeti''s back and the frozen dirt all around us.

    "Hold him down, Crowley!" Dale''s voice echoed.

    None of them knew I couldn''t be hurt by mere bullets. Yet there they were, all firing in my direction with reckless abandon.

    Otaktay dropped me and swung his hand, sending a surge of ice that carved a line in the foundation beneath where many of the shooters stood. Dale and others slid down deeper in the quarry with us while all the rest kept shooting. Those who lived, at least. The tomahawk-lady was up there too, cutting through them, so quick none could hit her.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    I''ll hand it to Dale. Holding the Yeti down was good advice and exactly what I planned to do. Only, I wouldn''t do it alone.

    Recovering quickly, I strung my lasso around the Yeti''s neck. Light engulfed us as it went taut, and in an instant, unseen forces commanded him to his knees. He couldn''t thrash or kick, the weight of the White Throne''s judgment all too heavy.

    His whole body vacillated, both him and the unholy entity controlling him. Two parts of the same whole, split apart. I muttered in Latin, words that came to me almost on a whim as if I were speaking the Almighty''s vengeance into being. I guess technically I was.

    Both man and demon resisted, each making sounds godless and inhuman. The bond was strong. Otaktay''s face screwed up in a look that was one part fury and one part agony. My own boots sunk through ground that should''ve been solid as I held tight and kept chanting what amounted to a prayer or supplication of some kind.

    Bang!

    A gunshot echoed like a hammer-struck bell, reverberating through the quarry and demanding attention. A hole punctured my jacket, then body, and pockmarked the dirt behind me. The Mind-drifter skipped down into the quarry from the opposite direction of town, away from my reinforcements.

    He couldn¡¯t wield his rifle quite right with his injured arm, but he was still a dead-shot marksman. He fired again, hitting my neck. The force of it made my stance swing wider, but I gripped the lasso with two hands and kept devout to it.

    "Ignore him, Ahusaka!" the Yeti shouted, eyes closed in pain. "Get the Piasa!"

    A sinister, demonic voice filled the space around me. Almost like a snake hissing, but there were words beneath the trill. The demon possessing Otaktay was desperate not to lose its plaything. Trying to turn me too.

    "Give in¡­ Relinquish¡­ You can be powerful too¡­"

    It spoke and gave me chills. Hellish, awful chills. Now that I¡¯d heard it, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder who it was.

    A hawk screeched. I spotted it just before talons slashed at my hands, desperate to pry them free of the rope. Losing purchase, I released with one hand to swipe at the bird. I got lucky and my fingers closed around its neck. Wings flapped wildly. It cried out, snapping with its beak but unable to make a connection. My grip on the Yeti loosened, and my feet began to drag.

    Bird bones cracked as I had no choice but to squeeze. Its pained sounds transitioned to the distant cry of a man as the one Mukwooru had called Mind-drifter, and Otaktay had just called Ahusaka returned to his body. The suffering in his tone¡­ the pain¡­ I had no idea what to expect. Was it like when I Divined and experienced all those foul, awful moments right at the brink of another man''s death?

    "Why¡­ are you¡­ protecting him?" Otaktay rasped, his eyes granite. I could barely see his form, it withered so quickly within a whirlwind of frost and dust, between flesh and pure darkness.

    "Nothing I do is for him!" I yelled back at the Yeti as the demon¡¯s tempting persisted, a whisper that was somehow also loud enough to drown out everything around me.

    "Don''t you wish to be more than just a tool?"

    I ground my teeth, trying to shut my ears, desperate to ignore the ethereal voice. The source of all this chaos.

    ¡°Show yourself, coward!¡± I barked.

    "The White Throne has lost. The White Throne is lost."

    With how intertwined Otaktay''s soul was, breaking the possession was gonna kill him. There was no escaping that fact now. Rage had doomed him, as it dooms us all.

    So, I went back to my chanting, losing myself in it. All the gunfire around me sounded like meek little ticks. There was only me, the taunts of whatever demon possessed Otaktay, and his host. I had him. I could almost taste Shar''s satisfaction.

    Then my lasso snapped. The shock of it sent me staggering back and the Yeti rolling in the opposite direction. The tomahawk-lady landed between us, weapon in hand. Her tan skin glistened with sweat and blood. She glared at me, eager for another fight.

    "Now it ends, ?iga Ndee¨½. The Piasa rises!"

    She went to charge at me before stopping suddenly. A pinpoint of red spread across her chest like spilled ink. She slowly grasped at the wound, looking confused more than anything, before tipping over with a lifeless thud.

    Dale aimed from a low ledge, his pistol smoking.

    "Kill him!" Dale said, running toward me. "Kill him now, Crowley!"

    Losing grip while so close to banishing the demon had me stunned, but I drew my silver-dusted knife from my boot. If bullets hadn''t done the job by now, they weren''t likely to. I''d exorcise this demon the old-fashioned way. A blade through the heart of his host first. The Yeti¡ªOtaktay¡ªwas as weakened as I was, flailing about to find which way was up or down. This was the time.

    Dale reached me and I used him to stand. He staggered but managed to hold me.

    "We actually got them, Crowley," he said. "We got¡ª" Half his head blew off, spraying the rock behind him with red mist. He didn''t fall over. Was just stuck like that, grasping me.

    Ahusaka aimed his marksmen rifle from the lowest part of the valley by the Piasa totem.

    "You killed her!" he shrieked. He fired again, this one hitting Dale in the side and sending his corpse to the ground. A life traded for a life in this sick circle of death we call living. Pawn for pawn.

    All the men shooting down from the ridge turned their attention to Ahusaka and forced him to quickly find cover. Bullets snapped and hissed. He must''ve been hard to see from up there with all the particulates swirling.

    Otaktay and I caught each other''s gazes as we came to¡ªhim from the power of the now inert lasso and me from watching a good man die. He growled. I think I growled too.

    His blood-red eyes flitted between me, Dale, and the dying woman.

    Like a volcano, he was about to erupt. But then, tomahawk-lady whispered something to him with her fading breath. I couldn''t hear what it was in the chaos, but his monstrous features suddenly softened. He dropped to his knees and touched her forehead with his own.

    Having no time for sentiment, I charged the exposed Yeti, knife ready to do my dirty work.

    He acted like I wasn''t even there, scooping up the woman''s limp, dead body and bounding away, just like that. Landing beside Ahusaka, he conjured a dome of ice so even the young native couldn''t shoot outward.

    Ice chinked as bullets pounded into the shield, one after another, with no more ice reforming. The Yeti, it seemed, was too injured to summon any more.

    I kept charging.

    Otaktay regarded me with sad, lonesome eyes before he wrapped his arm around Ahusaka. After some protest, the Mind-drifter dropped his marksman rifle to grab the totem instead.

    Otaktay took him, the totem, and their partner''s corpse before he burst through the icy dome and cleared the quarry in a few bounding leaps. Together, they fled away from Revelation and into the badlands to the north.

    The Frozen Trio was down to two.

 Chapter 23 (pt 1)

    The quarry was a war zone. I''d been to fields that suffered through the Civil War and grand military skirmishes between frontiersmen and natives. I''d walked the grounds of the Little Bighorn hunting a wendigo. This had that same feel.

    I stood and took a spin. The entire quarry was split open and buried in on itself in most places. It''d take an army to get it ready for mining again.

    When enough bullets hit the dirt, and enough rocks slide, there''s a sort of fog that doesn''t lift for hours. It hangs and seeps into everything. Scratches your throat, makes you cough, even gag if the stink of bodies isn''t enough.

    There could''ve been more of those, sure, but a couple dozen between here and in the square gets the job done.

    They were strewn about, bloody, broken. Some died falling in or shattered their legs and now cried out for death. Others had been gutted by the lady outlaw¡¯s tomahawk, entrails spilled out over the rock. She sure made a show of brutality. A worthy strategy to put fear in foes, I suspect.

    None of those lost lives wounded me like the one only a few paces away. Lying on his back, arms and legs spread out, there was Dale. He didn''t have a face to speak of, but it was him. And funny enough, Ahusaka''s hawk had landed right next to him, wings spread open in a similar fashion. Almost poetic.

    I barely knew the man, but I was pissed. At him. At the damn Mind-drifter who shot him. At myself.

    "You should''ve stayed in Elkhart," I said to him, sighing and shaking my head. Then I looked up to the sky, the falling sun barely visible through the haze. "You''d better look after him."

    At that, Shar''s presence itched across my Black Badge scar in a manner I couldn''t deny. Nor did I want to now that things quieted. I pulled out my cracked shaving mirror and glared straight at that ethereal swirl, wishing I could wring her by the throat.

    Most of all, I was mad at her and that bloody White Throne.

    "You let them escape again," she said first.

    "You can go to Hell," I said.

    "No, I cannot."

    That smug response just pissed me off further. My hands clenched. My grip was so tight I almost crushed the mirror. "Where did you send me? Rosa? Ace? Them? It''s the goddamn Holy Trinity in Revelation!"

    "Watch yourself, Crowley."

    "Oh, I''m watching. Did you know about this? About all of them converging here?"

    "I knew only what I needed to. Same as you."

    "Enough!" I barked. "That ain''t an answer. You set me up to fail."

    I fought every urge to not throw that mirror down into that pit and spit on it on the way.

    ¡°Where were you when the foundation of the earth was laid?¡± she asked. ¡°Were you the one who determined its measurements? Were you there when the stars were hung in their place?¡±

    She was quoting Job to me, and I wasn¡¯t interested in her sermons. ¡°No, were you?¡±

    ¡°You, like I, are where you were always meant to be!¡± she scorned. Her shade darkened and as it did, I felt something familiar in my arm. I felt, in general. Oh, God, did it hurt, ironic as it is to bring His name into this.

    I lost feeling in my fingers, unable to drop the mirror or turn it away. Her ghastly eyes just fixed on mine as the flesh all up my arm to my elbow shriveled and flaked away. Muscle and sinew were revealed, then bone.

    ¡°What is this?¡± I asked, hardly able to speak. But I knew. This. This was true pain she was allowing me to feel again. The thing I always talked about craving, reminding me what it was like to be mortal. That was what was happening to my arm. It was becoming mortal again, how it should look, decomposed and underground for decades.

    ¡°Is it too much for you?¡± Shar questioned. ¡°Do you surrender to damnation?" That tone of hers. Was she toying with me? Pulling my strings like I was in a puppet show for children.

    "I surrender to nothing," I said through clenched teeth. My knees buckled. The pain was overwhelming, traveling up my arm and exploding across my entire body.

    "If I would''ve told you what you wish you knew, would you have come?"

    "To kill the bastard who killed me and left me with you? With fucking bells on."

    "Yet, you are not here for him."

    "Don''t tell me what I am or ain''t here for. I''ll tell you this, Shar.¡± The pain intensified. ¡°Grafaein,¡± I added with a deep groan. ¡°Those outlaws, up close, they don''t seem too much like the villains here."

    "That is irrelevant.¡±

    The pain vanished, as if it were never there, leaving only numbness in its wake except for a slight itch on my chest. I blinked, and my arm returned to normal.

    ¡°Some powers mustn''t be called upon,¡± Shar said. ¡°You must catch the Yeti and his follower, and unveil the demon behind the possession, or I fear the terror his rage will unleash next upon our Kingdom."

    I stared down at my arms and hands. "Your kingdom," I scoffed, standing. This wasn¡¯t church, and Shar didn¡¯t deserve me on her knees before her after that stunt. "I''ve got no home there."

    "Catch them, Crowley."

    "I plan to. And next time, I don''t want your fucking help!"

    Enough was enough. I finally gave into my fury and flung the mirror against the fallen rocks. I bared my teeth and watched it shatter into a million pieces. I let myself imagine it snuffing her out forever, but it wouldn¡¯t.

    I couldn''t escape her. I knew I couldn''t.

    She was anywhere and everywhere, and I was nothing and no one.

    But it brought me momentary joy in the midst of shit.

    An all-seeing angel¡ªshe had to know the sort of reunion I''d been walking into. Just more tests and games when the truth might''ve helped.

    I knew how Ace operated, for instance. I could''ve stopped him. Saved lives.

    And if Shar didn''t know? Someone did. Someone up there in the clouds, taking a piss on humanity¡­ They knew. If not? That''s pretty damn weak.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    "Crowley, who you talking to down there!" I heard Cecil shout. He coughed on the rampant dust.

    "Just cursing myself!" I grunted.

    "Anyone make it?"

    "Just me," I said, barely loud enough for him to have heard.

    I searched for the best way to climb out and found a rockslide at an incline I could handle. A part of me considered hauling Dale with me, but I decided against it. I didn''t want to risk Divining him and experiencing his last moments, brief as they were.

    I''ve found that when I know the victim¡ªwhen it''s personal¡ªI feel their agony all the worse. And as unexpected and unwelcome as it was, I''d come to care for Dale these past days. I''d make sure he was laid to rest right when the time came.

    As it was, Cecil gripped my hand and helped me up onto the ridge. The very hand I¡¯d just watched be reduced to bone and ash. It gave me a moment¡¯s pause before I shook the vision.

    We were by the poor section of town. A hundred or so natives gathered, looking down at their homes at the bottom of the pit, at the destruction, each more confused than the next. Why wouldn''t they be? Power like what''d just been witnessed wasn''t supposed to exist.

    Cecil? He had the fear of God put in him. Eyes wide, exhausted, his following words matched his expression. "Crowley¡­ What was that down there?"

    "Damned if I know," I said.

    "You were there. What''d you see!" He had me by the shoulders by then, shaking.

    I brushed him away. "I saw people so filled with hate for a man, they broke the world. Hate like you and I have never known. So where is he?"

    "Who?"

    "Who do you think?" I asked. "The one they hate. Reginald Dufaux."

    "He''s safe, back at the mansion¡­ What''s left of it."

    I started heading that way. It was a longer walk there than it had been down. When I finally made it back up the hill, people were all over¡ªworkers, deputies, bounty hunters, opulent moneybaggers who¡¯d been guests at the world¡¯s worst soiree. They were all covered in dirt and some with blood. A lady even had her dress half-burned from the fire, and her husband was working to cover her with his coat like modesty mattered one bit right now.

    A native woman sat with her head cradled in her arms. She looked up, wiped tears. When she spotted me, she rose and ran, pushing anyone aside who stood in her way. I worried for a moment she was gonna strike me, or at least try to. Then I recognized her.Last I''d seen her, I was dropping her into the garden pool after having freed her from the burning estate.

    "You," she said. "My son, did you see him inside? I haven''t seen him. Please."

    "Get back!" Cecil ordered, catching up fast. He shoved her so hard she tripped and fell onto her behind. A few other locals rushed to help her. "I said back, all of you!" Cecil flaunted his firearm, then pulled me along.

    I grabbed his wrist and jerked the weapon down. Then I turned to help the woman to her feet. "I''m sorry, ma''am. I''ll keep an eye open for your son."

    "Thank you," she said before being pulled away by her fellows.

    "The hell''s wrong with you?" I asked Cecil. "Can''t you see these people have been through enough? And for what? Money? Nah. That''s too simple. There''s something more that piece of shit boss of yours isn''t saying."

    "Why are you worried about Dufaux right now? We gotta go after them," Cecil said.

    "Did you see where they went?"

    He shook his head.

    "Exactly."

    Cecil took a few steps ahead of me. "Well, let''s go talk to that bank robber. He knows something to hit at a time like this. I''m sure of it. I''ll beat it out of him if I''ve gotta. That little stunt of his got Billy killed."

    I assumed that was one of his Pinkerton crew.

    "His stunts always get people killed," I said.

    "You know him?"

    "Knew."

    "Who is he? Let''s go¡ª"

    "Later," I said. "Your boss. Now."

    As much as I wanted to dole out justice to my murderer, I had to know the answer to what happened here. The ''why'' behind the wreckage that stole so many lives and homes.

    One thing I abhorred more than anything was being lied to, and Dufaux wasn''t sharing something. That look on Otaktay''s face, Ahusaka''s Piasa markings, and a seemingly worthless totem. Everything about what happened seemed targeted. In the West, if you aren''t after money or riches, it''s revenge that''s left. And the Frozen Trio burned all the money they''d taken already.

    Ace, on the other hand. He was many things, but a liar ain''t really one of them. Sure, he fibs and jests and likes to spin you around with his words, but he¡¯s too arrogant to lie outright. The truth''s a weapon to men like him. A way to instill fear. I saw it in his eyes. His pride was wounded. He''d been duped by the Frozen Trio when he thought they were a team after a score that would secure his legacy.

    Dufaux''s front gates had been snapped open. Parts of it were still frozen, but judging by the mud and worn surfaces around it, the panicked crowd had eventually broken through.

    Snowflakes mixed with ash drifted in the murky skies around it¡ªreminded me of the day this chase started in Lonely Hill. The yard was a catastrophe. Horses from the stables roamed free, picking at toppled food. Things were burnt, frozen, covered in blood¡ªa pigsty of the highest order. Wounded men and women cried out. Half had probably been stampeded by their own. A few lost their lives in the chaos. Probably more that would be discovered later on.

    Embers smoldered all over what was left of the manor itself, the flames dying out slow in the warming air. You could barely tell the mansion had ever even had a second floor, and most of the first was just a maze of stubborn, singed walls that refused to fall. The stairs had crumbled, allowing a straight-shot view to the courtyard to the empty podium where the Piasa totem once resided.

    "Crowley, I''ve never seen anything like this in my life," Cecil said. He knelt by one of the shallow pools. One of Dufaux''s guards hung face-first over the ledge, the water completely frozen up to his waist.

    "Where¡¯s Dufaux?" I asked plainly.

    "I¡­" He stood and sucked through his teeth. "This way."

    He led me around the side of the mansion to a storm door. A beam had snapped and fell over it, and it took both of us to lift it off¡ªthough that was mainly for show on my part. Cecil was left huffing for air, so I gasped a bit too.

    We went down by some lamplight. Interesting thing about basements, rich as a man might be, they always remind me of crypts. Low ceilings, stone walls, and a musty smell that nothing can chase off.

    Most everything looked like storage. Foodstuffs, furniture, and all sorts of other things a property this size requires to maintain. The other rooms were bedrooms, small, without much more than lumpy-looking beds too narrow for proper adults. Quarters for the live-in help, I gathered. The ceiling sagged in places from damage to the first floor. Didn''t look safe.

    We had to step around a spot where a post had given out, and the damage caused a bedroom door to have broken off one hinge and hang sideways. I spotted a bare foot through the opening as I passed.

    "He''s down this way in the wine cellar," Cecil said.

    He kept going, but I turned. One tug and the door broke all the way off, falling with a clack that made even the hardened Pinkerton jump.

    The room was a mess, but not because of the attack. Clothes and trinkets were everywhere. Worst of all, the young native man I''d watched serve wine to Dufaux sat slumped against the wall. He looked like a bundle of kindling wrapped in dirty cloth, head sagging down against his chest. A nasty-looking gash on the back of his skull had smeared blood along the stone walls.

    Dead as a doornail.

    "Chariots of fire," Cecil groaned, arriving at my back. "He was a good kid. Helpful. Something must have fallen on him."

    I couldn''t be sure, but I had to wonder if this wasn''t that lady''s son she''d been worried about.

    I glanced up. A portion of the ceiling had ruptured, but only on the opposite side of the room. There was no debris anywhere near the body. Not even a stone unturned. Something could''ve knocked him on the noggin and sent him stumbling away, but I''d have answers soon enough.

    Kneeling by his side, I whispered, "A tenebris ad lucem." Then, I took his bare hand to Divine him...

    * * *

    I staggered back, a blow to the side of his head making me all sorts of dizzy. But two pairs of arms held me up. Some of Dufaux''s goons I didn''t recognize.

    "I will not ask you again, boy," Dufaux said, not even bothering to use a name. "That dish was a gift from General Lee, himself. Where''d you hide it?"

    Dufaux kicked over a meager chest at the end of the bed. Clothes and other belongings spilled out. Probably everything the kid owned. Dufaux swiped his foot through it, finding no dish.

    "I took nothing," my host sniveled. "I swear it. I would never.¡±

    ¡°First, you dare open your filthy mouth in my dining room¡ªwhile I''m trying to eat nonetheless¡ªthen you steal from me? Have I not given you a life?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    "Who else then, huh? Your mama?" one of the goons said, then guffawed.

    "We saw you sniffing around," the other added.

    "Only because it was missing!" the young man protested with my lips.

    "Lies!" Dufaux wound up and backhanded me across the face. It hurt. A lot. Big as he was, the strike sent everyone off balance, and my young host''s head whipped back against the stone. I''m not sure which one did it, really. I think I felt my neck snap from the force of the blow just before I heard my skull crunch against the wall, and my legs become suddenly useless.

    Vision faded. There was some unclear arguing between Dufaux and the others. By the time the body dropped, all I saw was black¡­

 Chapter 23 (pt 2)

    I gasped back into my own consciousness. My hand moved from the spot on my head where the young man''s had been gashed to my neck and back again. As usual, it took a few moments for me to resolve who I currently was and that the pain wasn¡¯t my own. I focused.

    I should¡¯ve known simply by the way Dufaux treated this boy when he dared to speak in his dining room that he¡¯d have no problem being abusive. But this? Dufaux had walloped his servant so hard he''d killed him. Over a silver bowl the kid hadn''t even stolen.

    I had.

    Maybe it was guilt that sent me fuming, or perhaps it was everything that''d happened, but I swept out of that room so fast I knocked Cecil against the door frame. Around a corner, Dufaux waited by a row of wine barrels. He had one guard with him, one of Cecil''s Pinks.

    "Mr. Crowley, you''re alive!" Dufaux exclaimed. His skin glistened with a sweat he hadn''t worked hard enough to build up. "What happened out there? Did you get them?"

    I bull rushed him, forearm across his throat, and forced him back against one of the wine casks so hard the plug broke off and dark purple liquid glugged out. For all his size and bluster, in the wake of my wrath, Dufaux folded like a bad poker hand.

    "What are you doing?" Cecil yelled.

    "Is he insane?" the other Pink said. I heard them both shuffle for their weapons. I didn''t care.

    "Have you lost your mind?" Dufaux shrieked.

    I ignored them all, knowing they couldn''t do anything to me anyway. Grabbing him by his back collar, I dragged him across the room, found a chair, then forced him down into it.

    The look on Reginald Dufaux''s face told me everything I needed to know. That this oversized shit-stain was a coward.

    "You were right, Cecil," Dufaux said, panicked. "He is with them. Shoot him. Shoot him now!"

    I turned to Cecil and the other and fixed them with a glower so icy they both froze. Then I whipped around. Dufaux tried to stand, but I pressed a palm against his chest. He started leaning, so I got in his face.

    "You wanna know where that precious silver bowl went?" I drew one of my revolvers. I didn''t aim it, just held it upright, clicked the cylinder open, and emptied a silver round into my gloved palm. "Right here."

    Dufaux stared at the bullet, baffled.

    "I stole it," I clarified for him since it seemed fear had his brain twisted. "Melted it down so I could try and save your pathetic little kingdom. You killed a boy over a goddamned bowl."

    "Him?" he said. He didn''t point or even look toward where the kid was.

    "Say his name."

    His mouth opened, but no words came out. He tried again to the same end before he just shook his head. The bastard didn''t even know who was keeping his goblet full all day.

    "Figures," I spat. And I really did. Right in his face. If he wasn''t incensed before.

    Dufaux edged forward, but his shoe dipped in red wine, and he regarded it in disgust before shifting his position.

    "You''re going to need more than bullets and bravado if you plan to come at me,¡± he hissed. ¡°Cecil, cuff this man and toss him in a cell."

    "Your sheriff already tried," I said.

    "Cecil!"

    The Pinkerton''s partner moved, but Cecil gave him a look. I struggled to get a read on him until he spoke.

    "The boy back there? That was Tosahwi," Cecil said.

    I nodded.

    "You killed him?" Cecil asked his boss.

    "Oh please, it was an accident," Dufaux scoffed.

    "Accident?" I spoke, soft. "His skull was split open like a sack of melons, neck snapped.¡±

    ¡°These people are mine to¡ª¡±

    ¡°What happened¡ªdid the kid recognize that tattoo? Did he know too much? I can¡¯t imagine this was all about some dinnerware. And if you did do that to him over a fancy dish, I can only imagine what you''ve done to those outlaws to set them after you.¡±

    "Cecil, I demand you remove this man at once!" Dufaux bellowed.

    "What did you do, Dufaux?" I asked. "Why does that tattooed marksman hate you so damn much."

    "I don''t know! Cecil, you damn fool. Do something!¡±

    "You know, the marksman has a name too,¡± I said. ¡°They all do. Otaktay, Ahusaka¡­ I didn''t catch the lady''s name, but I bet you know."

    I looked over at the Pinkertons. The stranger looked confused about what to do, but Cecil didn''t. He watched, wanting the answer as much as I think I did. Without the promise of a healthy gold mine outside to stuff his pockets, I guess he decided to stop being a patsy. Or maybe, I''d read the hard-nosed gunman wrong from the start.

    "Come on, Dufaux. What was her name?" I pressed.

    Dufaux snarled. "Dyani."

    "Dyani. Pretty. Well, she''s dead now, and her blood is on your hands. How much was it worth, Reggie?"

    "Don''t you dare disrespect me.¡±

    I backhanded him just like he did to Tosahwi, only I held back. A little.

    "You¡ª"

    I raised my hand to strike again, and he shut up. I caught Cecil¡¯s gaze in my peripherals and looked back.

    "What happened in the mine," he said. "I''ve never seen anything like it." He waved to his partner. "We''ll be outside, Mr. Crowley. Take your time."

    It took a few nudges to get his partner moving, but eventually, they both retreated upstairs.

    "Cecil, get your ass back here!¡± Dufaux yelled. ¡°I won''t pay you. Cecil, you damn nigger!¡±

    Probably best not to insult a man whose service you still needed. Dufaux''s cries rightfully went unanswered, leaving him alone and face-to-face with me. He broke into laughter, trying to act tough, but, to me, it was pitiable.

    "Impossible to find decent help."

    "Money can''t buy everything," I said.

    He groaned. "That''s the damn truth."

    I paced across the room, gun in hand, dragging the muzzle along wine barrels just to hear the thunks.

    "So, are you going to kill me?" he asked.

    "I''ll admit, shooting you would feel good." I turned to him. "I already spared one man''s life who deserved to die today. But that ain''t why I''m here. Your town''s a damn shooting gallery, Dufaux. Your house, your money is burned. Your mine is collapsed."

    Dufaux went pale. "My mine is what?"

    "Caved in, all over, as if a thousand sticks of dynamite were tossed in. It''ll be a year before you can dig it out. It''s over. This dream of yours."

    He looked like he was gonna be sick as he clenched his chest. I worried he might have a heart attack and get the easy way out.

    "All of that happened because those three natives hate you enough to call the Devil''s fury down upon you," I said. He probably thought I was speaking allegorically. "Now, judging by what you did to Tosahwi back there over nothing, I''m guessing you''re every bit as hate-able as I figured. So, tell me, what was it? What''d you do?"

    "Am I supposed to remember every quarrel the dregs of this town have with me?" Dufaux said.

    "This ain''t a quarrel. It''s a blood feud."

    "Civilizations rise and fall like the grass in summer. Every one of them wants what they can''t have. Is that my fault?"

    I rolled my eyes. Faced with his mortality and the man was still playing games.

    "You should''ve been a poet, you know that?¡± I said. ¡°Now you gonna talk or what?"

    Dufaux went to speak again, and I sensed it was gonna be more of the same, so I slung what was left of my lasso around his throat. Whether its powers still worked or not while broken,God¡¯s judgment through it didn¡¯t affect a normal man like him. That didn¡¯t mean I couldn''t exact my own brand of judgment.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Before he knew what hit him, I tossed the other end over a ceiling beam and pulled. His body stretched out so just the tips of his toes were touching the wine-soaked ground. He clawed at his throat.

    "I can keep asking nicely, or this can go another way," I said. "You''ve lost enough today. You want your life to follow?"

    I pulled tighter so not even his toes touched the ground. As he gagged, he shook his head furiously.

    "You sure?" I asked.

    He nodded just as fervently.

    I let go. He hit the chair, but it slid out from under him, and he crumpled to his knees.

    "How do they know you?" I asked.

    Dufaux took a few seconds to catch his breath. Then he spat at me. I gave the rope another tug for good measure until he was left hacking.

    "Okay, dammit! Ahusaka is the chief''s son."

    "Apenimon? That was his name, right?" I asked.

    He nodded. "For generations, the chiefs were given that marking you saw on Ahusaka''s back. Brutal, sick, and twisted, tattooing mere infants. Vile heathens, scarring babes."

    My eyes drifted to the room where that boy lay slumped against the wall, dead by Dufaux''s hand. I think he saw. His face blanched.

    "I¡­ I thought he was dead," Dufaux said. He was talking about Ahusaka, though.

    "You thought wrong," I replied.

    "Clearly."

    "So, what? He blames you for his father dying? I heard you at the fair, like a crooked priest, standing on the steps of the church, revering those who once had this land. You told me Apenimon got sick. So, what was that, a lie?"

    "Greatness is built upon such tales," he said. "When it comes to the past, everyone writes fiction. But no. I didn''t lie."

    "Bullshit." I tightened my grip.

    He stuck out a hand in protest. "I didn''t."

    I sighed and lifted, heaving his body up and choking him again.

    "I can do this all day," I said.

    The cursed harmonica hadn''t worked on Otaktay, though I was pretty sure I''d have no problem using it on Dufaux. But hoisting the sack of shit and then watching his body crash down was too much fun.

    "Who are the others in the Trio? Why do they hate you?" I asked. "Tell me, and I won''t kill you."

    He coughed between every word. "I¡­ don''t¡­ know..."

    "C''mon, Dufaux. What''d you do? Beat them all too? Huh? Was it fun? Tell me!"

    As I went to choke him again and leave him dangling, he finally blurted it out. A truth as awful as I suspected but hoped wasn''t true.

    "Yes! I did! I killed them!"

    I let him all the way down until he was lying on the floor, sloshing through the spilled wine. Tears ran down his big, flushed cheeks. I strode over quietly to gather the broken lasso. I slowly recoiled it and looped it through my belt. Looking down at him, I felt pity for about two seconds. After that, I just wanted to see him pay.

    I knelt, gun dangling over my knee, not aimed at him, just the subtle threat that it could be.

    "Killed who?" I asked.

    "All of them. Anyone I needed to,¡± he said. ¡°Anyone who couldn''t see the wealth of this land for what it was."

    "The chief. Your so-called friend. You killed Ahusaka father."

    His strength gave out. His chest deflated, and his head dipped. That was all I needed to see, then it all came together.

    "He wouldn''t see reason," Dufaux said quietly.

    "There was no sickness, was there?" I asked.

    "I left everything behind to come out here in search of gold. Would have died flat on my back under the beating sun if one of their springs didn''t splash me. It wasn''t the red men who found me, you see. It was water. As if Moses struck the stone. God, tickling my cheek. Water, out here amongst the cacti and the crusted dirt, and even more, something shiny beneath it. A golden miracle. Only then did they show up and help."

    "Some way to repay the debt," I said.

    "Oh, I did. Told them about our cities and our technology. Showed them what they could be. And they offered to share their lands in exchange for whatever I could ship east from my familial estate. I sacrificed all of it to start Revelation. I would die for this city."

    "It''s a whole lot easier to die for something than to live for it."

    "You don''t understand," he said. "They had no idea what they were sitting on. Gold, Crowley. You''ve seen it. But Apenimon claimed this was some breeding ground for a big mythical bird."

    "And of course, you couldn''t just respect them and their beliefs, huh?"

    Dufaux stuck one of his big, fat fingers out at me. "I wasn''t about to let some fairy tale rob me of my fortune. Rob all his people too, for that matter. Stubborn as oxen, those redskins can be. They see nothing, like their eyes are attached to their scrotums instead of their brains! This is a new world, that needs new sensibilities, and I tried to show them that, Crowley, I truly did. But it was my God-given destiny in this frontier. I was born to create this paradise."

    I''d met all sorts of men in my lifetimes. I''m not sure I''d ever seen anyone spew so much nonsense with such zeal. By the end of his speech, I''m pretty sure Dufaux thought I was convinced he was the hero he envisioned himself as.

    "How''d you do it?" I asked bluntly. "How''d you wipe out a whole tribe?¡±

    "Not all of them. I give the rest of those former savages up there a good life," he proclaimed. "I give them purpose. Work. A reason for being."

    "You''re still killing them today!" I pointed at the room where Tosahwi''s corpse lay cold.

    "I thought he stole from me. But no, that was only you. Hypocrites. You are the bane of this world.¡±

    It really was everything in me not to beat this man''s face into a pulp. However, I knew that would just make me no better than him. My actions led to a bad thing.Add it to a long list of regrets in my unnaturally long life. But it wasn¡¯t my fist that did the bad thing. Over a trinket.

    "How did you kill them?" My voice was trembling.

    "My family had made a small wealth in Crescent City in rat poison, thallium by name,¡± Dufaux explained. ¡°A trade I had no desire to partake in. I put some in the wine they purchased from me. I wasn''t trying to kill anyone. Just a pinch here and there, enough to get that damn chief sick and delirious enough to sign this land over to me in full when I offered some real, western medicine instead of their mumbo jumbo.¡±

    "Snake oil," I accused.

    ¡°No. The real thing. I had every intention of healing him. Believe it or not, Apenimon really was a friend. Just a misguided one."

    "Well, hell, Mr. Dufaux, I can''t begin to think what happens to your enemies. So, where''d it go wrong?"

    "Their witch doctor thought something was off and laid the finger of guilt upon me. So, I shot him." He said it without emotion, like he was commenting on how hot it was in July. "He didn''t die, though, as you could see."

    It took me a second, but then dawn''s light shone bright.

    "Otaktay." The ferocious Yeti had been a healer before turning to the Devil.

    "Yes,¡± Dufaux confirmed. ¡°And he took the chief''s infant son and boy''s guardian, Dyani, and they ran. A woman, the boy''s protector. Can you believe that? The savages let their women fight," he added with a snicker. "I tried to find them for a while. Spent a pretty penny on bounty hunters like yourself until it was no longer worth the coin."

    "Poison," I said under my breath, still pacing. The coward''s weapon.

    I''m not sure why I was surprised, but a man Dufaux''s size, you expect something more¡­ brutal, more hands-on. My heart broke for that tribe. Plied with gifts and fineries, then done-in by them all because their leader decided to trust a stranger in a world where you can''t trust anyone.

    "When he lost his son, Apenimon blew his top," Dufaux went on, without even needing me to prod him. "Who would''ve thought the savages would love drinking so much? I couldn''t swap out the tainted wine in time. My word, it feels good to finally let this out."

    He let out a long, exasperated sigh.

    "By his last hours, he was no longer himself. But he signed those damn papers before he and all those close to him died. In his last, he gave me Revelation Springs, from the water to the gold. So, you see, I''m within my legal rights here. This town is mine by his own hand!"

    By then, Dufaux was on his feet again. He was no threat. I watched him like a man watches a dog eating its own vomit. I was disgusted by him but intrigued. How had this man lived all this time without taking a bullet to the head?

    "And no run-of-the-mill, rinky-dink bounty hunter is going to come here and steal what''s mine," he said. "Do you hear that? You got the truth you came for, and you''ll die with it. You won''t ever see a dime from me."

    I saw something drop from within his sleeve into his grip. He thought he was being sneaky, but I let him have his fun. He must''ve palmed the pocketknife from somewhere on his person while he was on the floor writhing. A trickster in true form.

    He lunged and stabbed me right in the side. The blade sank through my flesh, between two ribs, and punctured my lung. I''m sure he thought his little surprise attack would kill me. And it damn well should''ve¡ªbut I stood tall and proud and stared him right in the eyes as he pushed that little knife deep as it could go.

    He gawked down at the weapon, then back at me.

    "How?" he gasped.

    Removing the blade, he stabbed in again, then a third time.

    "W-w-what are you?" he stuttered.

    "The Hand of God. How do you do?"

    I ripped the knife out of my side with no blood of my own and let it clatter to the floor. He stumbled back in abject horror and tripped onto his rump.

    "You devil!" he howled. "You monster. What curse is upon you?"

    "In this case, it''s a gift," I taunted, stomping toward him, ready to wring his neck.

    "You wouldn''t dare kill me. You can''t. You need that bounty. You¡­ you crave it, I can see. You''re no man of God. You''re a man like any other. Weak. Pitiful. Corrupt."

    I drew my revolver and watched him flinch. Watched him believe with all his soul that this was the moment he would die. Fear coursed through his every feature. Paralyzed him. He clenched his eyes shut.

    When I pulled the trigger, he yelped and I''m pretty sure he pissed himself. But the shot wasn''t meant for him. I turned and put round after round into all those barrels of expensive wine, spilling yet more of that precious liquid he''d used to cripple an entire population.

    He sobbed, hunched over by my boot.

    "Just end it¡­" he whimpered. "Everything''s ruined. Just end it¡­"

    I shook my head and lifted his chin with the warm barrel of my gun, forcing him to look me in the eye. "No, Dufaux. Live with it."

    Then I left him there in a pool of red liquid as it ran through the cracks of the stone and over his hands. It wasn''t blood, but the metaphor would have to suffice.

    I knew the truth now. I would still save the world from the threat of a possessed Yeti gaining uncontrollable power, even though I now knew Otaktay¡¯s rage was justified. I would finish what I''d started for the White Throne. But I wasn''t gonna do it for Dufaux or all his gold. No way.

    This was personal in more ways than one.

    With Dufaux out of the equation, it was high time to visit with another murderous bastard on the other side of town who might know more about where Otaktay and Ahusaka were fleeing to. And I''ll be honest, while I''d been looking forward to another run at Ace, my meeting with Dufaux left a bad taste in my mouth.

    None of this was right. The whole town was built on lies and deceit. Its very name, an insult to the people whose blood stained its dirt.

    Cecil was waiting for me right outside.

    "Don''t worry," I said. "He''s still alive. Mostly."

    "Good," Cecil said, kicking a chunk of wood that crumbled to ash. "He owes me my last dues. And backpay for Billy''s family. Then, I think it''s time we scoot on out of here."

    "What about the outlaws?"

    He puffed a cigarette, smoke escaping with his words. "Whatever they are, it ain''t worth it for me. We can find work. May not pay as well as Dufaux, but¡ª"

    "Do you know?" I cut him off.

    "What?"

    "About what really happened to the Piasa tribe."

    "No. And I don''t want to. But I''ve always had suspicions. That''s the job, though, ain''t it? You serve who pays you, and you don''t question them lest you find yourself in a shallow grave."

    I nodded. He wasn''t wrong. Doing that had been what led Ace to kill me in the first place.

    "Maybe we should," I said.

    "What?" he replied.

    "Ask questions."

    Cecil exhaled. "Maybe. I was wrong about you, Mr. Crowley." He stuck out his hand. "It was good fighting with you, at least."

    I shook it. "You sure you don''t want to finish this? I could use a man like you by my side."

    "That big fella stomped his feet and caused an earthquake. He froze iron with a touch. Whatever he is, this ain''t my battle. And whatever you are¡­"

    His words hung.

    "Right," I said.

    How could I argue with that? I was fighting a war Cecil couldn''t understand¡ªthat I barely understood¡ªand I wasn''t some powder-wigged president who could draft him into my army. I was just a lowly Black Badge who''d already got one accomplice killed in Dale.

    "Fair enough," I said. "Good luck to you."

    Cecil tipped his hat to me in response and started to walk away, then stopped.

    "Oh, by the way¡­ If Sheriff Gutierrez gives you any trouble, you tell him you know about him and his cousin.¡± He smirked. ¡°Works every time.¡±

 Chapter 24 (pt 1)

    "Reginald!" Mayor Stinson shouted, right outside Dufaux''s broken gate. "Reginald Dufaux, I know you''re in there!"

    I tried to slip by unnoticed, but luck favored another and the mayor headed right for me.

    "You! I saw you here yesterday. You two pals? Did you see him in there?" he asked, poking a finger into my chest.

    What was it with leaders in this town that made them so disrespectful? I''m sure he felt big in his top hat, though without it, I had half a foot on him.

    Grabbing his hand and calmly moving it aside, I answered, "Yeah, he''s in his cellar, crying."

    "Crying? Crying! He lost a house. People have lost their lives because he refused to postpone this¡­ this¡­ self-worshiping festival of his.¡±

    "A lot of people have been dead by his hand for a long time."

    Stinson¡¯s brow furrowed. "What?"

    "It ain''t my place to say. But ask Dufaux about thallium. Don''t stop pressing until you get him to spill. And Mr. Mayor¡­" I reached out and straightened his¡ªI''m just going to call it an ascot, no matter what it was. He looked at me like I''d just called his mama a whore. "Won''t be long before you''re actually the one in charge here."

    "I am in charge."

    I patted him on the cheek. "Good. Act like it."

    I brushed by him, nudging his shoulder on purpose, and started back toward town.

    Revelation''s fate splayed out before me from my vantage on the hill. Black smoke billowed in pillars behind me and smaller ones from the bank below, but it also looked like the sky was threatening a storm blowing in from the south.

    When it rains¡­ as they say.

    Anyone with eyes and ears could tell there was no fast recovering from this. There wouldn''t be a Founders'' Day Fair this year beyond those precious few minutes earlier. And whether the knowledge of Dufaux''s deceit became widely known or not, his leverage was gone. He caused this.

    I could only hope Mayor Stinson would find restitution for the poor people who''d been lied to and stolen from, that Apenimon''s legacy would be rightly restored, and Revelation Springs would be able to scrub away the stains left behind by Dufaux''s gross avarice. At the very least, find a place in the world where it could profit again.

    A large chasm ran from the quarry through the outskirts of town. Several homes and shops were either gone or teetering on the edge, ready to cascade into the pit below. They''d have a hell of a time figuring out how to keep people from falling to their deaths once this was all over with.

    Sheriff Gutierrez''s men were doing their damnedest to convince everyone that things were under control, but those who''d been hiding out at Dufaux''s estate had already ruined any chances of that. I saw men and women dressed to the hilt, running around, telling anyone who would listen about monsters and vicious Indians. Nothing helpful.

    The long lines at the train station told me that a large number of visitors indeed had brains in their noggins and weren''t willing to stick around for round three. The workers were holding some back, finding room for others. Already, the train cars were full to capacity, with people standing on every gangway. I''d never seen so many packed in at once. It wouldn''t be a comfortable trip to wherever they were heading, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

    Besides, I was sure the railroad wouldn''t mind charging all these folks a hefty sum to get them to safety in a hurry. Someone was gonna be eating well for a long while after this.

    The church remained pristine as could be at the northern edge of the fairgrounds, looking to have not even suffered from the occasional stray bullet like nearly every other place in Revelation Springs. I didn''t have trouble imagining a whole army of angels like Shar protecting it while letting the rest of town go to hell in a hand-basket.

    "Jesus is knocking at the door of your hearts today!" cried the town reverend. He stood on the front steps where Dufaux had recently force-fed the town a bucket of shit. Ringing a bell, making sure everyone paid attention to him, he repeated, "Jesus is knocking on the door of your hearts today!"

    Spotting me passing by, he took the steps two at a time. "The end is nigh, friend. Armageddon is upon us. Do you know where your eternal soul will rest?"

    I gave him a once over. I guess we served the same side. "There''s no rest for the wicked, Padre.¡± I gave him a nod and walked.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Never grow weary in doing good!" he shouted behind me, then returned to his previous declarations.

    I checked around the mad mirror house, but Gutierrez, Ace, and all the others were gone. A cleaning crew swept up broken glass while a handful of parents and children were still trying to have a good time with what remained of the stands in the back lot. The Freak Show tent played host to a dozen or so patrons. I could see the World¡¯s Strongest Man hefting an anvil one-handed through the flap while Beast Boy did trapeze above and through his limbs. The jester character, whatever he was supposed to be, did cartwheels and summersaults and all kinds of ground acrobatics.

    Would¡¯ve been a fun show to see.

    Guess some people had nothing else to do if they couldn''t leave. Better to be distracted than terrified.

    I slipped into the ravaged town square just as the geyser went off. I didn¡¯t see Shar in the waters this time. If she had any thoughts on the subject at hand after our little spat, she was keeping quiet. There''d be a time and place for her input, but thankfully, now wasn''t it.

    Chunks of wood and splinters were everywhere. Ripped canvases, broken carts¡­ barely anything was left intact. Enough produce to feed a town the size of Lonely Hill for a week was spilled everywhere, half of it split open and already festering with flies.

    Residents milled around the front of the Gold Mine Hotel, and even Picklefinger''s looked busier than a termite mound despite the bullet holes and missing windows. In times like these, people felt safer surrounded by others than alone.

    As expected, the bank was a wreck. Deputies kept the rabble away, but through the open doors, I saw that the vault remained sealed. Ace didn''t get the chance to carry out his robbery without Otaktay and the others. And while it was a pity that a lot of what was locked inside was Dufaux''s money, much also belonged to the fine people of this region who didn''t deserve to lose a thing.

    All of it was an overwhelming sight, and whatever heart I had bled for these folks. But alas, I had my own business to take care of. I needed to have a word with Ace, and I had a good mind I''d find him in a cell.

    However, when I arrived at the jail, I found nothing and no one except the snoring vagabond that had been locked up with me and Dale the night before.

    My thoughts drifted to Dale''s shot-up corpse. Goddammit, what did he have to go and get killed for?

    I piddled around in the sheriff''s office a moment, making sure I hadn''t missed anyone. Ace''s ugly mug still hung on the wall of wanted posters for the murder of that Vanderbilt. Terrible drawing of him that was so faded nobody would ever recognize him, by the way. It was half-buried under a few others, nearby newer ones for the Frozen Trio and some woman called the Grizzly Queen of the West. For a passing moment, I found myself worried I''d see Rosa''s face drawn there. Pretty as she might¡¯ve been, she was no Rosa.

    Satisfied the building was as empty as I believed it to be, I went out the back door into an alley. Maybe I''d missed him at the fairgrounds.

    I heard the strained groans before I saw anything. Wasn''t long before I discovered Sheriff Gutierrez and another deputy behind the feed store a block up. The latter laid in the dirt, out cold with a bleeding forehead.

    "Sheriff?" I said, nudging Gutierrez with a boot. He was just coming to and clearly confused, reaching for things that weren''t there and such. "What happened?"

    He didn''t answer¡ªprobably couldn''t think well enough to form words.

    "Sheriff, I said what the hell happened?"

    I shook him, and he flinched like he''d been shot. I scanned his body for blood or bullet holes, but all I found was a big bump on the back of his head where he''d likely been blackjacked.

    "I¡ªwhat? Who?" He blinked heavy eyelids and struggled to focus.

    "Sheriff, who did this? Where''s the outlaw? His men spring him?"

    Don''t know why I did it, but I chose not to reveal Ace''s name. Not yet. Something still wasn''t right, and I wanted to get some answers before the feds got involved.

    "No. No men." Gutierrez shook his head. He tried to stand but stumbled. "A woman. Came riding in on horseback, and the blasted thing hoofed me and one of my deputies." He nodded toward the totally unconscious deputy, then winced.

    "What''d she look like?" I snapped my fingers. "Hey!"

    His attention drifted back to me. "She was pretty. Real pretty. Long hair, black as ravens, and creamy brown skin. Just my type, she was."

    "Keep it in your pants, Sheriff. Details."

    "She flew by quick, Crowley," he said. "Don''t know what else you wanna know. She wore gold bracelets, uh¡­"

    "Rosa," I whispered to myself.

    He rubbed the back of his head again. "I''m sorry. Even the best of us gets duped by a pretty face every now and then."

    Even as Gutierrez spoke the words, I knew he was wrong. He thought Rosa was on Ace''s side, and he couldn''t''ve been farther from the truth. I''d seen her face when she saw Ace. Rosa hadn''t saved Ace''s life. She''d probably already taken it as payback for what he did to her and her mama all those years ago.

    I thought about Rosa and how she might now be viewed as every bit the outlaw I was for her actions. Looks like today ruined a few lives for those I cared about.

    There''s an old saying: "The man who seeks vengeance should start by digging two graves."

    Well, it''s true. Though, in this case, it was a woman who needed to dig.

    I whistled through two fingers for Timp, hoping she was close enough to hear. Then, without a word more, I took off at a sprint.

    "Where are you going?" Gutierrez called. He tried to stand but fell back against the wall. I didn''t need him trying to follow me to Rosa or Ace. I had to stop her from doing something stupid¡­ if it wasn''t too late.

    Crossing the fairgrounds was a pain, but I made my way around the mess as fast as I could. Didn''t care much who I bumped into either. I gave another whistle, but Timperina never showed. Maybe she couldn''t hear over all the racket, but usually, she came zipping to me like a banshee at the sound.

    So, I ran on my own. My leg had fully healed now, apart from ruined dungarees, there wasn''t even a sign I''d been struck by that tomahawk. Not the arm either. Don¡¯t think I''d ever run so fast, and wasn''t it ironic that I was doing so to save Ace Ryker''s filthy life?

    "Thanks for this, Shar," I complained as I chugged along, knowing she could somehow hear me. Lame angel if she couldn''t. "Letting us all come together really was wise. Real heavenly."

 Chapter 24 (pt 2)

    I reached the campsite about a half a mile outside town, and to my relief, Ace was still alive and spitting venom. His hands were tied behind his back, affixed to one of the wagon wheels. Another rope was strung around his neck, also secure to the stagecoach. It was probably the only thing keeping him still and relatively quiet.

    If those horses got spooked, though, it would spell the end for my blue-eyed murderer. The dastardly part of me felt like shooting off a round just to ensure that precise thing would occur.

    Instead, I approached cautiously.

    "This is barbaric!" Harker shouted, for the first time not carrying his sketching book. I spotted it, tossed in the dirt a few yards off. "We are not animals!"

    Bram pressed a hand against the air. "It''s not for you to decide, Mr. Harker.¡±

    "That is untrue, and you know it. Should we be accosted by the law with that man in our possession, I would wear the same noose as her."

    "He''s right, you know," Ace said, smiling wide.

    "I will not be responsible for another man''s death," Harker continued.

    "Then feckin'' leave, ya whiny bastard," Irish told him. "You ain''t doin'' us no favors fosterin'' about and jabberin'' your gob."

    "Irish, please," Bram said. Then back to Harker, "He wounded one of our own, deeply."

    "She is not one of ours," Harker said.

    "Yet."

    I tried to ignore their bickering and focus on the source of their discussion. Rosa sat with her revolver in her grasp, atop Timperina if you could believe that. My Timp, who never let another soul but me onto her saddle¡­ until now.

    "Rosa," I said. My voice was much softer than Harker¡¯s protestations of inhumanity. But I knew it would cut through.

    Timp''s head whipped around to face me. I swear, her eyes looked like she was nervous I''d be mad at her betrayal or something.

    "Ah, the savior hath come!" Ace pronounced. "Howdy, Crowley."

    At the same time, Rosa raised her pistol my way. I put both hands up, and she lowered it when she recognized me. "You don''t need to be here, James." I''d never heard her voice like that. I''d heard her heartbroken and angry, but this was¡­ bloodlust.

    "I think I do," I said. "Timp, bring her over here."

    My horse tapped her hoof. I gave her a stern look, and she turned to approach me, but Rosa quickly slid off her back to stand in front of Ace herself.

    "What were you thinking?" I asked Timp as she shyly hobbled over. I rubbed her muzzle. She snorted and gave a sad whinny. I couldn''t be mad at her. She''d watched us together, Rosa and me, and probably thought she was doing what I¡¯d want.

    "Alright, stay clear." I led Timp aside and approached Rosa on my own. She had her Colt raised at Ace''s head, her snake tattoo beneath those many bracelets plain as day with her sleeve rolled up. She was ready to get her hands dirty.

    "You don''t wanna do this," I told her.

    "Other than getting my William back, there''s nothing I want more," she replied.

    "It won''t change anything." Which was funny. It was those same words Rosa''s father-in-law had used with me back in Dead Acre when I was trying to avenge her husband''s murder. "It won''t change anything." He''d said a few times as I left his ranch. Funny how you never realized how true something can be until you¡¯re speaking it yourself.

    "Thank you," Harker said. "Finally, a voice of reason."

    "Shut it," Irish said again, stepping toward him and making him jump. He scurried away like a frightened rodent.

    Bram rushed toward me. "Mr. Crowley¡ª"

    "You were just gonna stand by for this?¡± I interrupted. ¡°And I thought you were a gentleman."

    "This is my choice, James," Rosa said. "Mine alone.¡±

    ¡°Like hell it is,¡± I said.

    "C''mon, tough guy. Put an end to this nonsense," Ace said. "This pretty lady might break a nail pulling that trigger, and you and I had a conversation to finish before you ran off playing hero as always."

    "Mierda!" Rosa cursed and kicked dirt in his face.

    "Just wait, Rosa! Hold on!" I demanded. My hands ran up through my hair in frustration. This was quite the predicament.

    Bram pulled me aside. "Rosa told me all about him,¡± he said, low. ¡°How he struck her mother. Surely, you of all people can understand the need one has to face down their monsters? It''s all any of us can do."

    I pointed at Ace. "That bastard has done more to earn my ire than any other man alive. But this ain''t the way. We need him."

    "Need me? Why, I''m touched." Ace pretended to sniffle.

    "He should die for everything he¡¯s done!" Rosa yelled, spit flying out.

    I pushed past Bram until I was standing just an arm''s length from her. "I know. I know. He should die for a lot, but it shouldn''t be at your hand."

    "Listen to him, Sweetheart," Ace said.

    "You shut the fuck up, or I''ll walk away and let her gut you," I told him. It was a bluff. We all knew it, but it did the trick for now.

    Rosa moved forward with the gun, now only inches from his head. Her hand wasn''t even shaking. Grief over Willy, plus what must have been childlike memories dredged up by what Ace did back in that mountain cabin had her truly able to pull the trigger. I could tell. Unable to help her husband, now she could right a wrong against her and her mom long left unpunished.

    "Why shouldn''t it be me?" she said. "Because I''m a woman?"

    "Because you''re not a killer,¡± I said. ¡°Not like this. Not in cold blood with a man tied up, no matter what awful things he''s done. Rosa. This ain¡¯t you."

    "Yet," Irish chimed in.

    I glared back and saw her and the others all watching with rapt attention.

    "Would all of you just back away!" I hollered. "This don''t concern you one frail bit."

    They waited for a few seconds until Bram decided to do the right thing and lead them away.

    ¡°Again! Always yanked before things get lively," Irish grumbled.

    "You possess a strange sense of fun," Harker said.

    When they were far enough, I turned back to Rosa, who remained still as a statue with the gun in hand. At this point, Ace was deadly quiet. I couldn''t get a read on him. He wasn''t one to fear death, but none of us was sure Rosa wouldn''t apply those few pounds of pressure and send Ace to meet Jesus or God, or the Devil. Maybe all three.

    "There''s no coming back from this," I whispered to her. "There''s a big difference between fighting for your life and killing cold."

    "You''re right,¡± she said. ¡°I''ll be able to enjoy this one."

    "Now wait a second," Ace said. Now it was clear he was more angry than scared. "I know I''ve deserved this from many women in my life, but just who the hell are you? I don''t even know you. So, pull the damn trigger or shut your trap." He leaned in as far as he could so that the barrel of her revolver touched his forehead.

    I watched the anguish ripple across Rosa¡¯s face. Her lip twitched. Bram''s words came back to me. Ace was her monster. The nightmare she likely saw in her sleep and who made her mother live a life in fear.

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    And he had no idea who she was.

    "You don''t even remember, do you?" she whispered.

    "Ain''t that what I just said?" Ace answered. "Or do you not spic English too well, Honey?"

    She shoved his head back and pushed with the gun, no doubt making a circular imprint on his forehead.

    I stepped closer. "You remember that day you shot me, Ace?" I asked.

    "Foggy, but sure."

    "Well, that woman and her daughter you tried to rape¡­"

    Ace¡¯s eyes went wide, and then he grinned impishly. "No shit? That''s you, little girl, ain''t it? You''re the daughter of that whore Crowley tried to give his life for."

    Rosa pulled the hammer back on her gun. The thing was rattling, she was shaking so much now. But still, it wasn''t nerves. It was unbridled rage.

    "Well, ain''t this a touching reunion!" Ace laughed. "God works in mysterious ways, don''t he? Where is your mama¡­ Rosa, is it? I never did get to finish with her."

    "Dead." Rosa said the word softly, but there was malice there too. Plenty of it.

    "She die of longing for me, or¡ª"

    "Enough, Ace!" I barked. "You''re lucky I care about her enough not to cheer her on while she puts you down like the dog you are."

    I moved to Rosa''s side and whispered in her ear. "Rosa, you know I can''t let you do this. You''re talking about killing a man and putting yourself on the wrong side of the law. He ain''t worth it."

    "There is no right side of any law that would allow this man to walk free," she said without looking away from him.

    "And what makes you think that would happen?"

    "I can still hear you," Ace said, taunting.

    Rosa gritted her teeth, but we ignored him. I tugged on her arm, and this time she backed away slightly with me, though she refused to lower her firearm. That arm was locked in place.

    "I''ve lived long enough to know what injustice is, James. I''m no fool. He¡­" She lowered her voice. "All he needs to do is wave around the right number of greenbacks to the right person, and he walks free."

    "I won''t let that happen."

    "And who are you¡ªGod?" she snapped. I knew she was just upset, so I didn''t hold any of it against her.

    "Please, Rosa,¡± I said. ¡°He might know where to find the outlaws behind all of what just tore this town apart."

    "Ah, so the truth comes out." Ace chuckled. "He don''t care about you, girly. Or saving your soul. He''s only after that bounty on their head."

    "I don''t give a two shits in a barrel about that."

    "Liar."

    Rosa shook her head. "No. I''m done talking. I have to do this. My whole childhood, I saw his face. I saw it when Mr. Phelps took me in Dead Acre. I see it every time a man looks at me with anything more than a passing glance. I always see it. My mother double-locked every door, the rest of her life. You have no idea how long I''ve waited for this."

    She started back toward Ace, gun steady as a surgeon again.

    I slowly backed away and stuck my hand inside my satchel. I wasn''t proud of what I was about to do, but I had no choice. I had to stop her. For her sake, and for mine. Otaktay and the Ahusaka had just lost one of their own and were bound to be after blood. More people could¡ª would¡ªdie, and fast.

    I felt sorrow and pain flood my every fiber as laid eyes upon that infernal harmonica. It worked on the werewolves and not the Yeti, but Rosa was more human than any of them. At least in a biblical sense, she was what Shar called a Child.

    But the fact that Rosa hadn''t shot yet meant she might not''ve been able to do it. It''s one thing to talk about executing man. Quite another thing to get your muscles to comply.

    "Rosa, please put the gun down." I tried one last time. I had to. When she didn''t listen. When she pressed the pistol back against Ace¡¯s forehead. I did that all-too-human thing and sighed.

    Ace laughed. "She ain''t got the backbone. C''mon, girl. Do it. I''ll go and conquer Hell too. Do it!"

    But he was wrong. She had the backbone. That look in her eyes. If I had to place a wager, I¡¯d put ever dollar on Ace¡¯s brains painting that stagecoach.

    Rosa wasn''t looking when I played a note on the harmonica, low and personal. This was just about us.

    "Don''t shoot him," I said, trying to match the same key with my voice. Not sure that mattered but it felt natural. Plus it helped me forced words out through sudden sense like I was going to vomit. "You can''t shoot him. You''re better than that."

    My mind told me she would never forgive. That I¡¯d fail her, Shar, everyone.

    I fought through the sullenness and played another note, trying to string together a soothing melody if I could. Rosa swayed in a hypnotic dance, her gun hand quaking intensely now. Ace got a faraway look in his eye too, but I didn''t care about him.

    I played and played. It wasn''t good, but it worked. ¡°Put the gun down, Rosa.¡±

    She lowered the weapon and shook her head out.

    "Take him," she said under her breath. She threw the gun away and stormed off.

    I wanted to go after her, but I just stared. Ace was saying something I couldn''t be bothered with. My ears were burning, ringing, tingling. I''d taken her choice away without her even knowing it. And she didn''t even seem to realize the instrument had played a part in it.

    Just like that, I was as bad as the goat-Nephilim or the Mind-drifter. As bad as Shar, who never asked me if I wanted to take on this role as a Black Badge after dying. Stealing my free will. Yet are any of us ever truly free?

    The harmonica slipped through my fingers to the dirt. I couldn¡¯t bear to keep holding it. But the dark feelings it brought out of me didn''t lift this time as I let it go. So, I kicked it into some brush out of frustration, where I¡¯d hope nobody would ever find the awful thing. I¡¯d had enough bearing the responsibility of owning it. The White Throne or its angels could handle it.

    Rosa stopped at the edge of a hill and screamed toward the sky.

    What had I done?

    I''d like to say betraying her like that hurt me more than it hurt her, though I''m not sure that would be true. All I knew is I couldn''t let her become the monster she so despised.

    "What the hell was that?" Ace said. "When''d you start playing?"

    "Shut up," I bristled.

    "That some lullaby from when she was a child? Cut to her core or something? ¡¯Cuz I hate to tell you, you ain''t good at it."

    "I said, shut up." I dropped to one knee in front of him, but in my peripherals could only focus on Rosa.

    "Well, whatever it was, good on you. I''ll be honest, I was really starting to think she might shoot me." Ace snickered.

    "She may not''ve." I tore my focus away from her as much as it pained my soul. "But I will. Unless you help me."

    "James Crowley. The man who won''t die. Are you formally asking for my help?"

    "This ain¡¯t a date, Ace. I see two ways. I can drag you kicking and screaming back to that sheriff and all those people you hurt, probably get you hanged. Or you can help me stop the outlaws who betrayed you. Maybe I say you escaped, and I never saw where to."

    He clicked his tongue and leaned forward until the ropes stopped him. His brow lifted. "Now, I''m listening."

    "You know where they might''ve gone?" I asked.

    Sure, he could''ve been lying about the whole thing. Maybe he''d never even met the Frozen Trio¡ªjust heard their names spoken somewhere¡ªbut this was the only move I could think of. Asking Shar wasn''t in the cards. Right now, I''d trust her less than Ace.

    "Only place I can think of is where we met when we planned all this,¡± Ace said. ¡°Seemed special to them reds."

    "Take me.¡±

    He took a few seconds. Enough time that I was beginning to doubt this entire gambit. Before he finally said, "What''s in it for you if it ain''t about the bounty?"

    Avenging Dale. Getting back at them for getting me stuffed in a hole for days. Protecting lives. Serving the White Throne. Making what I just did to Rosa worthwhile. All of those were good reasons enough, but Ace, helpful as he could be now, didn''t deserve to know.

    ¡°You gonna take me or not?" I asked sternly.

    "Scared to share your feelings with old Daddy Ace?" he said.

    ¡°Help me or get the rope.¡±

    He grinned. "All right, I''ll run another job with you, Crowley. But I need you to promise. I know you, and your word always was your bond. I get you to the Frozen Trio, you spring me, and may our paths cross again one day."

    "I sure as hell hope not." I stuck out my hand. He wiggled his arm, reminding me that it was bound. So, I cut just the one wrist free, spit on my palm to make the deal clean, and we shook.

    "Just like old times, huh?" Ace said. "This''ll be fun. And who knows, if you won''t take the bounty on them, maybe I will."

    "That ain''t part of the deal."

    "Deals change like the seasons, old friend. Now, you gonna cut me fully free so we can get going before daylight or what? They might be halfway to Tijuana by now."

    "Doubt it." I looked over my shoulder at Rosa. She sat by a lone cactus, staring off into the distance. Harker tried to approach her, but she didn''t even acknowledge his existence. "Wait here."

    Ace shrugged his bound shoulders. "Very funny.

    Don''t go sweet on her, Crowley," Ace called after me. "She''ll make you soft as wet clay. They always do."

    I ignored him. Rosa didn''t look back as I approached, but Harker fled like a cat caught snooping. I sat right beside her, just like I had the night before. So much seemed different now. So much was different.

    I started to give her a nudge but decided against it. "You okay?" I asked instead.

    She nodded. "I will be."

    "Rosa."

    "I would have killed him if you hadn¡¯t shown up."

    I wanted to tell her she might''ve killed him anyway. That I''d stolen that opportunity from her, the chance to do right by her mama. I didn''t.

    "You wouldn''t have," I said. What else could I say?

    "Mi Madre always told me, la ira no es m¨¢s que una justificaci¨®n para el mal comportamiento. ¡®Anger is nothing more than justification for poor behavior.¡¯¡±

    "Smart woman."

    "I''m just so angry all of the time¡­ I thought it might get rid of that."

    "Nothing ever will,¡± I said, my heart heavy with the knowledge that I¡¯ve tried. ¡°That''s all growing up is. Finding more and more things to get pissed off about."

    Rosa half-sniveled, half-laughed, which I''ll count as a win in my book. "You''re a strange man, James Crowley."

    "Ain''t that the gospel."

    She turned to me, her dark eyes boring right through my soul. It only made me feel even worse.

    "So, you need something more from him?" she asked.

    "Unfortunately," I said.

    "Then I''m glad you stopped me. But¡­ maybe I can neuter him like a bull first?"

    Now it was my turn to laugh. "Perhaps afterward."

    A flicker of a smile touched the corner of her lips and then vanished just as quick. "Can I come with you?"

    "Rosa."

    "Please? You saw I can handle myself getting him here."

    "Oh, I have no doubts about that. Trust me. This just ain''t your fight, okay? These people are dangerous. Way more dangerous than Ace Ryker. And if you''re out there, I''m not sure I''ll be able to focus on my duties."

    She batted her eyelashes. "You trying to charm me to get your way?"

    I scooted back. ¡°No. I swear."

    "Relax, James, I''m only kidding." She laid her hand over mine¡ªthe same one Shar had turned into a walking corpse. For the briefest second, it seemed like I could feel again. Her warmth. Her soft skin. But I knew it was just my imagination playing cruel tricks.

    "I just want you safe," I said.

    "I know, and I''m thankful for it. Even though I wish I could come." She removed her hand, and I felt more sorrow at that moment than anything the cursed harmonica could elicit. Then she surprised me by pressing that hand against the side of my face. "You go do what you came out here to do, you hear me, James? Don''t make me have spared him for nothing."

    "I plan on it."

    Then, she went back to staring off at the sky, longing for a life she couldn¡¯t have anymore.

    And, oh, how I wished I could stay there with her.

 Chapter 25

    "This really necessary?" Ace asked. I had him hog-tied behind me on the saddle. Necessary? Maybe not. But if I''m honest, hearing his tone falling and rising with Timperina''s rump had me smirking.

    "You tell me," I said.

    "Hey, far as I''m concerned, bygones are bygones. We had our spat all those years ago. It''s over and finished now."

    "Maybe for you."

    He blew a raspberry. "Oh, please. You act like that Rosa''s mama was the first girl we all took a liking to. You didn''t care enough to pull your guns before then."

    I didn''t have an answer right away, and I hated him for that. He was right. Of course, he was. That''s how Ace Ryker lived. He didn''t talk unless he knew he was right because only the truth cuts to the core of men.

    "I care now," I said.

    "It don''t work that way. We do what we do, but God never forgets."

    "You''d be surprised." I chuckled, then elbowed him in the side. "Now shut up, unless you''d rather a ride back to Revelation."

    He listened, at least for a little while. Timp took the long route, all the way around the ruptured quarry and through a patch of springs kicking up steam like locomotives. A geyser went off, the piping hot water sprinkling across Ace''s cheek and luckily missing Timp.

    "Would you mind!" he groaned.

    "Sorry, friend," I said without a hint of repentance in my tone.

    We made it out to the other side, into the vast badlands stretching south of Revelation Springs. The terrain was flat, dry, rocky, and full of cacti¡ªthe expected. But we had some miles to go until the flatness gave way to a series of red-colored rock formations that could be seen from far, far away in any direction. I''d always thought they were what gave Revelation Springs its appeal. Sculptures of nature spread far and wide apart like an art gallery for giants.

    "What happened to you, Crowley?" Ace asked.

    "I grew up," I said.

    "That ain''t an answer. We all grow up; that don''t mean we change. You were a force of nature back then. You always knew when it was time to bail on a job, and I liked that about you, but if someone got on your bad side? Woo-wee, poor them.¡±

    I always knew when to bail on a job¡­

    I gritted my teeth, thinking about that poor Vanderbilt woman and her husband.

    "The more things change¡ª"

    "The more they stay the same,¡± Ace finished for me. ¡°I know. But you''re different now. You''re working with the law even. What the hell''s wrong with you?"

    "Guess I just finally saw their side of things," I said. "Found God and all that."

    He laughed. "We were meant to meet again here. No question about it. But God? I don''t know. Though I guess he taught me one lesson."

    "And what''s that?"

    "When you got the chance, shoot your enemies in the head."

    I grunted. It wasn''t a bad lesson to learn, even though the head he was referring to belonged to me. But Ace never liked the quick kill. He wanted to enjoy it, revel in the fear of the schmuck under his gun.

    "So, this is it for you?" Ace said. "A bounty hunter? From glory to glory, huh?"

    I sighed. "Can''t you stay quiet?"

    "You have me staring down at dirt and a horse''s ass. What else do you want me to do?"

    ¡°I''m no bounty hunter."

    "You''re going after a couple of outlaws with a hell of a price on their head. Am I missing the math here?"

    "It doesn''t concern you."

    "Lincoln''s hairy balls, it doesn''t,¡± he said. One of my prot¨¦g¨¦''s out on his own. C''mon, Crowley. It''s just you, me, and the air out here. Who cares?"

    "All right." I cleared my throat. He wanted the truth? Fine. "I''m a Black Badge."

    I knew how that sounded. Mysterious and powerful. All the things Ace wished he could be.

    "That some sort of Fed?" he asked. I could tell he was intrigued. No better way to get under his skin than to spark his jealous nature.

    "That''s all you get."

    "Oh, you''re a cruel, cruel man."

    "Now it''s my turn," I went on. "Twenty years south of the border. What the hell did you get up to there?"

    "What if you told you that I found love?¡± Ace said with mock romanticism in his tone.

    ¡°I always thought you and Hiram were sweet on each other.¡±

    He ignored me and continued. ¡°That I popped out a couple of little ones. Got myself a farm and some fertile land."

    "I''d say there''s better odds of Timperina here growing wings and flying,¡± I said. ¡°And then I''d ask why you''re back here if you found that?"

    "Wouldn''t you like to know?"

    I wished I was facing the other way so I could laugh in his face. That was Ace¡¯s way of getting back at me? I didn''t care. I truly didn''t. The world was a lesser place with him in it. And if he found love, it wouldn''t have been honest. He would''ve been using her for something. To get inside on a score. Or maybe just to have power over someone smaller than him any time he wanted.

    "Nobody down there like your girl, though," Ace remarked, after I stated quiet. He whistled, and a metaphorical razor blade drew up my spine at the sound. Maybe it wasn''t the sound as much as the thought of him thinking about her like that.

    "She¡¯s not my girl," I said.

    "Naw. I got a sense of those things. If you asked, she''d be whatever you want." He clicked his tongue. Saints and elders, did I loathe when he did that. "It is strange, though."

    I didn''t respond, but that didn''t stop him from continuing.

    "Rosa was a child when you turned on your own for her. You a cradle robber, Crowley? A bit young if you ask me."

    "Nobody asked you," I growled. I didn''t notice how hard my knees were squeezing Timp.

    She took a bouncy stride that made Ace land hard on his gut and knocked the wind out of him. It seemed purposeful to me, at least I like to think so. I tussled her mane and thanked her for helping me maintain a cool head.

    Ace wanted me to snap. If not to try and escape, then to protect these outlaws who maybe he was closer to than he was letting on and I''d been duped. And if not that, then simply because he could.

    We continued along across the badlands. The rain that had been threatening for hours finally started up. Timp''s ears twitched.

    Those clouds above had an ominous look. Angry, if clouds could be described as living beings were. And as much as this dry land could probably do with a little precipitation, it was the last thing Revelation needed in its current state.

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    * * *

    Time passed far slower than I''d hoped, but Timp had to be careful in the dark. She didn''t have sight like me, and one false step might''ve sent us all swimming in a hot spring. Would''ve been fine for me, but Ace¡ªand more importantly, Timperina¡ªwouldn''t enjoy a dip like that.

    The rain was coming down in buckets now, and judging by the way Ace was shaking, it was a few degrees shy of sleet. Which had me thinking we were on the right path to finding Otaktay.

    Distant thunder rolled like a war drum.

    "Crooowwwley," Ace said in a sing-song manner, reminded me of Shar¡¯s beckoning in a way. He hadn''t shut up for a minute either. "C''mon, lift me up. Let me get a drink at least."

    "Just shut up and tell me which way," I said.

    "Gonna be hard to remember anything with my throat so parched," Ace said.

    I groaned but gave in. Pulling on Timp¡¯s reins, I got her to stop. She snorted. The old girl hated the rain. I hopped down and undid the straps keeping Ace on his belly. Then, I yanked him upright so both of his bound ankles hung off one side of Timp''s rump.

    "You got five minutes," I told him.

    He cracked his neck once in each direction, then opened his mouth to the sky.

    "Damn, that''s cold,¡± he said. ¡°Mother Earth provides. Am I right, Crowley?"

    "Where are they?" I asked after a minute or two.

    "You said I had five. Got anything to eat? I''m so damn hungry I''d eat the Lamb of God without conscience."

    "I don''t eat. Time''s up."

    He bitched, but I straightened him out, got back up in front of him, and spurred Timperina along. We skirted along the side of a rock face banded with myriad shades of red. In the light, there were few sights like it. A sunset, eternally painted into the stone. But now, it was getting dark fast and our world was quickly becoming muted shades of blues and grays.

    "How am I supposed to hold on with my hands bound like this?" Ace said.

    "Not my problem," I replied.

    "You''re a real asshole, you know that?"

    "Rich, coming from you. Now, tell me which way."

    "Keep along this path. We got a bit to go, then it''s a climb. Them Injuns are like damn mountain goats, aren''t they?"

    "Don''t make me regret this, Ace."

    "Never regret anything, Crowley. It''s the only way to live free."

    "None of us are free."

    He sucked in through his teeth. "Old age sure made you depressing."

    "When you''ve seen what I''ve seen,¡± I said, ¡°you''d agree."

    "Right. Tell me. I almost killed you, and you¡ªwhat¡ªstood at the Gates of Hell and saw all the machinations of the Great Beyond strewn before you, or some bullshit like that, right? Same garbage I¡¯ve heard from all them greasers high on peyote."

    I rolled my eyes. It''s why it never really matters if I tell people what I do. Most just assume the hot sun baked my brains and made me lose my mind. People want to believe the world is simple. It''s better off that way.

    "Stop," Ace said as we passed through a valley. He pointed left at a cactus growing sideways from an outcrop. Looked like an overturned crucifix. "That way."

    "You sure?" I asked.

    "The bastards stabbed me in the back. I got no reason to lie."

    I led Timperina up a narrow, natural path through an arched rock and along a ridge.

    ¡°So, why''d they really come to you?" I asked.

    "Oh, now you want to talk?" he said.

    "Answer or not. Doesn''t change what I gotta do."

    He waited a few seconds before starting. "The boy with them was a hell of a tracker. The woman, a hell of a killer. The man smart as a whip, for an Injun. We worked together on a few jobs down south, that''s it. Last one, we robbed some Mexican General blind. That was a goddamn blast." He exhaled slowly as if basking in that memory. "Either way, they were good at what they did, and I''m¡­ well¡­ me. Give me a plan for a big old bank to hit and a cheery festival of sheep to ruin, I''m there."

    "I''m sure that plan included them being at your side."

    "No shit," he spat. "We rendezvoused where I''m taking you, got a plan together. I brought some of my crew. Bought the loyalty of others. Nobody told us there was a damn spin-gun in some shithole town in the middle of nowhere. Then, you know the rest. Here we are."

    "Here we are."

    Timp stopped again, and I stared at two diverging paths. To the right, a narrow and treacherous way up an incline into the peak of the rock formations. The other, continuing along the valley and dropping elevation.

    "Which way?" I asked.

    "Give me a second," he bristled.

    "We may not have that."

    "Well, I''d had a few drinks the first time. So spare me."

    It was dark, and the rain made visibility difficult even for me. While a man unpracticed in the supernatural as Ace might not''ve noticed, I did. Something about the storm was off. All those dark clouds above weren''t just passing across the plains. They were converging on a point. Slowly spiraling around each other.

    A boom of thunder made Timp shuffle her hooves. I calmed her, but the rock was getting slippery.

    "To the right," he said. "Yup. I remember. I almost took a tumble."

    "Too bad." I swung my leg off and dismounted.

    First, I went to Timp and held her face, staring right into her big, dark eyes. "You stay here, alright, girl?" She blew out her nose, then shook her head as I led her under an outcrop that would protect her from the rain. "If I need you, I''ll whistle like always."

    ¡°Christ¡¯s sake, Crowley, it''s just a horse," Ace complained.

    I moved forward, but just then, something caught my eye in one of the shiny, iron buckles on Timp''s saddle. I always said that no matter what, Shar would find me. Her presence swirled like the clouds above.

    "Root out the demon plaguing these lands," her voice split my mind. "Then all will be forgiven, Crowley. Never forget. You''re one of God''s Champions, not an outlaw."

    All I could muster in response was a harrumph, though she twisted into a wisp anyway after nothing more than that lame pep talk. As usual, I would be forgiven, but not her. Never her for leading me into a mess of confusion like she had.

    "Crowley, what¡ª"

    Before Ace could finish, I grabbed him by his boot with one hand and his shirt with the other, yanking him off the saddle as hard as I could. Half out of frustration with Shar, half because what he said about Timp plain pissed me off.

    He slammed onto his side with a pained moan.

    "Timperina¡¯s more human than you''ll ever be," I said. "Up."

    I squeezed the rope binding Ace¡¯s wrists and hoisted him to his feet.

    "Well, then damn. Let me stay with her," he said.

    I bent and cut the rope around his ankles so he''d be able to walk. Then I gave him a push toward the path.

    "I can''t climb that without my hands," he said.

    "Learn."

    Another push, and he had no choice but to try. I was behind him anyway, keeping an eye out and one hand on a peacemaker. I couldn''t shake the feeling that he was leading me into a trap.

    But why? All this just to take me out. Plus, for all he knew until a few hours ago, I was a dead man. For the first time, I suspected Lucifer might''ve put him up to it. A chance to get rid of a Hand of God.

    Damn¡­ Being around Ace again had me questioning everything. Even myself.

    A few paces up, he slipped just like he''d feared and almost took a spill onto some sharp rocks. Probably would''ve split his skull open¡­

    A man could dream.

    But I caught him, yanked him plum, and nudged him along farther up the pass.

    Reaching a landing, he cursed and fell to a knee.

    I cleared the rest of the way in a single bound, joining him with both guns drawn and ready. But there was nothing to shoot. He rubbed a sore spot on his cheek and looked to the sky. Then he flinched.

    "What in the world?" Ace said.

    Hailstones started falling, big as bullets. They peppered the rock face all around us, clattering like a train over tracks. The swirling clouds were black and green above us like a twister was brewing. Lightning coruscated horizontally between them in wide arcs, contained up there instead of striking the ground.

    "Crowley, that''s it. You''ve gotta untie me," Ace said. For the first time, a bit of panic entered his tone. ¡°This ain''t safe.¡±

    "Not a chance." I clutched the rope and forced him to walk.

    "I can''t lead you if one of those knocks me out!" One clacked off the rock inches away. He kicked back at my shin. My legs slid apart, and I lost grip enough for him to rip free and run.

    I watched the fool high-step in a serpentine route, hailstones falling all around him. They were bigger now, some even as large as my fist.

    I gave chase. He clambered up a pile of rocks from a slide long past, then jumped to the ledge above. Every move he made was desperate and clumsy. He moaned with effort as he dragged his body up using his bound hands and torso, looking like a fish out of water.

    I caught him by the leg, but he shook to get free and rolled to safety. Seconds later, I was up there and found him hunched over with his back to a bit of sharp rocks, sawing away to get free.

    "You done?" I asked. I had a Peacemaker out, but I didn''t even bother aiming. Ace didn''t bother to stop sawing either.

    "Are you?" He nodded left, and I followed his vision.

    We were atop a tall rock formation, coming to a point a short way to the east at a vista that overlooked the badlands and Revelation off on the horizon. The wind howled up here, and rain slashed sideways alongside the hail.

    Silhouettes¡ªhuman figures¡ªstood at the other end, sheltered under an outcropping, seated by what looked like a small camp. Just a couple of tents and supplies by a fire pit that was already extinguished. One of the shadowy figures, however, was massive. And unless the World''s Strongest Man had decided to take a stroll, I knew who it was.

    "That''s them," Ace said. "I led you here, just like I said. Now you let me go."

    "Not until the job is done."

    I moved to him, unbound his hands, and held him down as I tied him around the chest and arms to that very rock. Hail kept pattering all around him.

    "You get off on torturing a man?" He pulled and twisted to get free, but I was damn good at tying knots.

    "Learned from the best," I said.

    "You made a deal!" A particularly large and sharp piece of hail hit him in the face, cutting a line from his temple to jawline. He winced and snarled. "Goddammit, Crowley!"

    "A deal with the Devil¡­" I leaned in, right in his face, "¡­ ain''t worth the paper it''s written on."

    He chuckled like a maniac. "My men will come for me. They''ll kill you dead this time."

    "No one''s coming for you, Ace. You forget: I was one of your men, and there''s no way in hell any of us would''ve come."

    Standing, I gave him one last look and walked away. I''ll be honest, I wasn''t sure what I was gonna do with him yet. It felt wrong not to honor our arrangement, even if it was Ace Ryker. But it also felt equally wrong not to shoot him and roll him into a ditch.

    Didn''t matter yet. His barking was lost to the whipping winds as I approached my targets. Lightning flashed, striking a nearby formation and blowing chunks of rock apart. Thunder went off like a cannon at sea.

    Here I was. Here they were. Maybe that reverend by in town was right and Armageddon had come at last.

 Chapter 26

    I readied both my Peacemakers. Now that I was close, the rain was no longer a hindrance, and I could see Dyani¡ªthe dead female member of the Frozen Trio¡ªwas laid out, naked in front of the Mind-drifter, Ahusaka.

    A bloody hawk looked to be carved across Dyani¡¯s chest and stomach, and the young native''s hands were covered in her blood.

    I don''t know what kind of ritual I''d just disrupted, but Ahusaka squeezed a fist of it over the Piasa totem while chanting in his language. Where my own words were stifled when I shouted, his carried in the storm as if he was all around me.

    "End of the line!" I called out to the deformed man beside them. I could have shot him in the back, but that wasn''t my style. The Yeti once known as Otaktay turned slowly, hunched over and barely able to keep his spine straight from his injuries. Or maybe it was a result of his demon being so fully integrated now.

    "I knew you''d come," he said. His voice had changed. It sounded like gravel on a grindstone. His every breath was ragged. Blood so black I hesitated to give it such a title covered his leathery skin and tangled the stark white hairs all over his gargantuan body.

    "It isn''t too late to turn away from all this," I said.

    "It is." Otaktay limped toward me, showing almost no aggression. It was as if the silver pumping through his system was defusing his uncontrollable rage. "This place. This is sacred ground. It is where chiefs are made. Behold, the perch of the Piasa, overlooking its breeding lands¡­ our lands."

    I stepped closer too. "I know what Dufaux did. How he stole all this from you and lied. He''s already paid dearly for it, and he''ll pay plenty more, I promise you."

    "He will answer to our god."

    "Mine too,¡± I promised.

    "Dyani¡­ she did not die for nothing." He glanced back at the dead woman''s body. Only then did I realize that she was decorated head to toe with white and red paint. It wasn''t blood on her chest that her charge had on his hands. No, the blood came solely from the hole Dale put through her.

    "I''m sorry. I truly am." Even though I meant that with all my heart, I raised my guns and lined them up on Otaktay¡¯s head.

    "Then you will join them all in death!" he roared.

    I pulled the triggers as fast as I could. One bullet snuck through and blasted him in the collarbone before a spiky wall of ice erupted from the ground to shield them. I kept firing, breaking off chunks as I charged. Try as I might, I couldn''t get a clear shot.

    Otaktay screamed something unintelligible to my ears, and all the pieces of hail falling from the sky turned course to rush at me in a straight line. They bounced off my chest and face with enough force to keep me grounded in place. I shielded my eyes purely out of reflex.

    Then I heard a groan. The wall of ice crumbled into steamy dust in front of Otaktay, him too damaged and exhausted to maintain it for long. I opened up and shot twice with the one silver bullet I still had in each cylinder. They corkscrewed through his chest, blowing him back.

    He nearly stumbled onto the totem but somehow managed avoid it before sliding to a stop.

    Grabbing my rifle, I brought it into my shoulder and fired. Otaktay roared upon impact. A small, glacial shield appeared between his palms, only large enough for his own personal protection.

    "It''s over!" I yelled. "Cast out the demon in you! Be free of it!"

    "It won''t end!" Maintaining the shield with one hand, Otaktay punched the rock, and ice splintered toward me. It never made it, piddling out into harmless frost just at my feet.

    I fired again, and the bullet ricocheted off the ice.

    Otaktay was going hold out as long as he could, make me work for it and expend all my ammo so I''d have to reload or take things up close and personal. Or was he wasting my time on purpose? Buying time.

    I realized then that I''d been focusing on the wrong foe.

    Ahusaka¡¯s chanting echoed louder. His eyes had rolled into the back of his head. And all at once, more lightning began to crackle and arc overhead as the clouds sped up. Golden markings on the totem that I hadn¡¯t previously noticed started glowing the same bright blue color as the markings on the young native''s back.

    This wasn''t just the burial ritual of a woman he cared for.

    Hopping to the side, I shifted my aim toward Ahusaka.

    "No!" Otaktay bellowed.

    Footsteps boomed as Otaktay sprang up and charged toward me. I recovered quickly, plugging him with two more silver rounds before he struck me with the force of Hell''s wrath. The rifle flew from my hand, and we tumbled toward a ledge.

    His claws dug into the red stone and spared us the fall. I freed myself and lunged for my rifle, but a thin stream of ice froze my hand to the trigger housing. However, weak as Otaktay was, the element lost its supernatural power. I made a fist and it crunched. Spinning back to him, I fired.

    The shot missed Ahusaka, but put a hole through the totem¡¯s wing. Lightning struck it at the same time, sending out a shockwave that blew everything around us back, myself included. Rock fractured, wind screamed, and more lightning followed, all striking right at the totem.

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    Coincidence or not, I cannot say.

    It might''ve been night, but the peak burned bright as noon. In fact, it was as if the gates of Heaven burst open. The white light shone so brilliantly, I was rendered sightless. I tried to get to my feet, but some unseen force held me back. My gut roiled.

    The ground shook and a screech like a hawk resounded so loud it must''ve been heard for miles all around. The pillar of lightning faded away, and in its place rose a massive beast like I''d never seen before. Except I had seen it before, tattooed in glowing lines on Ahusaka''s back. It was the Piasa that was immortalized in that totem, just a train car''s length in front of me.

    Ten times the size of even the Yeti, with a wingspan that might¡¯ve stretched the length of some small towns, it soared straight up toward the eye of the storm. Its body was like solid rock instead of feathers. Lightning crackled under its reptilian wings and around deep-set, yellow jewel-like eyes.

    Ahusaka lay flat on his back, eyes white. He was mind-drifting, apparently in control of the thing.

    Another screech rang out as it twirled in the sky, transitioning to a dive and coming right down at me. I found my feet and whistled, loud as I could before darted toward the ledge. Two spikes at the ends of its wings cut the air like knives and released a buffering hum that made focusing difficult.

    I leaped as its talons¡ªshiny black like obsidian¡ªraked across the entire mesa, from where I was to where I''d left Ace. I may not feel, but I couldn''t help but panic when bolts of lightning lashed out in every direction and through me. My bones rattled. My flesh began to sear like a thick steak. I screamed out of pure instinct and spun, firing at the beast.

    I can''t say my attack did much in the way of damaging the Piasa, but the lightning stopped at least. I tried to shoot again but my rifle clicked empty.

    Timperina appeared from below, finding her path right below me. I turned to land safely on her saddle. My faithful girl. Always in the right place at the right time.

    "Keep your head down, Girl!" I yelled as she galloped around the rise, racing out of the way of falling boulders. We skirted the whole mesa, and as we came around the other side, Otaktay stood above, huffing and wheezing. He hopped down, landing before us, crushing stone with a knee as he landed off-balance.

    Since we were at such close range, I whipped my broken lasso around one of his wrists, and had two things confirmed for me. One, its holy properties were ruined. Two, Yetis, even injured as he was, are really strong.

    Otaktay flailed, and I held on, letting the momentum fling me back up onto the flats above. Timp ran off. I landed in the devastation of the Piasa''s talons, a deep gash through solid rock. Grains of dirt hung all around, the static shock causing them to float.

    With all my ammo depleted, I drew my knife and sprinted up toward Ahusaka, the Mind-drifter. Nothing but char remained where the totem had been, and Dyani¡¯s body looked drained of color. Knowing what I did about black magic, rituals, and sacrifice¡ªI could only surmise her essence had helped summon the Piasa from an object that was anything but common.

    "Stay away from him!" Otaktay shouted.

    I looked back to see him straining to pull himself over the ledge. He made it and began to crawl, scampering with what little energy he had left to try and catch me.

    I kept going, scanning the horizon for any sign of the giant bird. And then I saw it, sweeping down through the clouds. The Piasa soared out south over the badlands, heading straight for Revelation Springs. Straight to where Rosa and so many other innocents were.

    Grinding to a stop at the foot of the Mind-drifter, I flipped the knife, ready to plunge it through his poor, deluded heart. Then I stopped. When I killed his hawk, Ahusaka had felt it. What would happen if I killed his body first? Would he become the powerful Piasa for good, still in control? Still able to kill all those innocent people.

    Before I could make the decision to end Ahusaka¡¯s misguided life, my hesitation allowed Otaktay to catch up.

    I slashed at him, but he grabbed my wrist first and squeezed until the knife fell free. Then he wrenched my arm outwards and held me up like I was the crucified Christ. His bulky arms and legs were quaking. Injuries would allow me to overpower him soon.

    ¡°We have to stop him,¡± I said.

    Otaktay growled and stretched my limbs, close to tearing them off.

    "Stop him from becoming a monster, like you."

    "Too little. Too late."

    We stood feet from Ahusaka, but I could do nothing to stop the misguided young man. If only I¡¯d kept the cursed harmonica with me, I could''ve robbed everyone here of their choice. Instead, it was up to me and my words.

    For once, I understood Shar. And even Ace for that matter. There are no heroes in the West. Only choices that get people killed, good or bad.

    No¡­ Something had to give.

    "Don''t let him do it," I said, looking the Yeti straight into his cold, now gray eyes. "He''s got his whole life. Those people, none of them did anything except for one."

    "They made him rich," Otaktay snarled. "Fat. Allowed my people to vanish."

    "They survived! Just as you did. I can''t ever know your pain or what got you here, but there is a man underneath your ugly mug. Save that kid."

    He squeezed my neck. I didn''t need to breathe, but it was becoming more difficult to talk as my throat constricted and Hellish ice spread over my neck and face.

    "Otaktay." I used his real name. "You protected him all his life. Do it now. Reject the demon in you."

    Hearing his name did something in Otaktay. I watched his features soften like they had back in the quarry. Then, all at once, his neck stretched back as he howled in pain, dropping me and collapsing beside Ahusaka.

    I looked up. Ace rose behind him, having stabbed my silver-dusted knife right into his back.

    "Man, you got ugly. That''s for betraying me!" he spat. He ripped the knife free and went to stab again, but Otaktay swung wildly and slapped Ace so hard he flew halfway across the mesa.

    I could''ve gone for the knife, but instead, I crawled and brought myself back face to face with Otaktay. I pressed my palms to his leathery cheeks on both sides and turned his head to me. Black blood leaked out of his back like crude oil. It seeped through his razor-sharp teeth, glistening in the moonlight.

    "Otaktay, you can stop Ahusaka from going down this road," I whispered. In the corner of my eye, I saw the Piasa thundering ever closer to Revelation. "Everything Dufaux did to you and your people¡­ Don''t justify him. Don''t give him the credit."

    Otaktay swallowed audibly, then coughed on the blood. It bubbled and gurgled. His gaze drifted. He didn''t have long.

    "Look at me." I squeezed his jaw. "Show Dufaux that you''re better men. That you and Dyani raised Ahusaka to be better. Not a son by blood, but a son by choice. Save him. Save your family."

    He blinked. Then, as he focused on me, I saw human eyes beneath his. He pushed me out of the way, extended a palm over Ahusaka''s head. Ice flowed from his fingertips. The skin around the boy''s temples froze, and the echoing screeches of the Piasa grew strained. It didn''t click for me what Otaktay was doing until it was done.

    Thoughts of what put me in that coffin sprang to memory.

    With Ahusaka''s mind temporarily frozen, the link between man and beast was severed. The Piasa faded away in a cloud of crackling lightning from front to back until it was no more than a shockwave. Then, gone entirely.

    Otaktay rolled flat onto his back, eyelids stuck open. Dead.

 Chapter 27

    I tapped Otaktay''s leg just to make sure it was true. He was limp as a fish.

    But he hadn''t been alone. Rancid, foul breath escaped his lips, and then darkness enveloped me. The mark on my chest seared from within far worse than when Shar beckoned. Worse even than when a Nephilim was nearby. It was almost like I was being peeled open, layer by layer.

    "You just had to go and ruin my fun, Black Badge.¡± Otaktay¡¯s mouth moved but that clearly wasn¡¯t him. An ethereal voice slithered around me.

    I know that''s not a way to describe a sound, but that''s what it seemed like to me. It was that same voice I''d heard in the quarry only fuller now, more real, embodying the shadows.

    I stood, I think, and backed away, I think.

    "What are you?" I asked.

    "More powerful than a Hand of God can ever be."

    "Wanna test that theory?¡± I hastily reloaded, never taking my eyes off Otaktay¡¯s talking corpse.

    "Where is she? Where is the angel who tugs on your strings, puppet? Show yourself, Shargrafein. I know you''re there."

    "I could have guessed it was you, Chekoketh." Shar''s disembodied voice arrived just on cue. I looked around for her but saw no one. Nor did I see any reflections bearing her likeness. "What do you want?"

    When she spoke this time, I realized she was using my lips to do it.

    It felt¡­ violating.

    But either way, there it was. The answer. This was indeed the work of the trickster demon, Chekoketh, who went by many names. I wasn''t surprised at all, but where was the trick? Or was it simply chaos he was after?

    "The Piasa would have made a fine recruit for Lucifer''s army," Chekoketh said. I was so close."

    "There will never be an army," Shar replied. "Your master lost and will always lose. The White Throne stands forever."

    "For now." He yawned. Good God, it was unnerving enough watching that dead monster¡¯s mouth move to speak, but to do something as human as yawn? "No bother. I was growing tired of this family affair anyway. So much drama and revenge. Only the weak let tragedy befall them."

    As I tried to make sense of all the darkness around me, the shadow seemed to form a face in front of me. Or maybe eyes. All I knew is that they were like infinite chasms of dread, and I felt like I was gonna be sucked through.

    "Goodbye, Mr. Crowley,¡± Chekoketh said. ¡°See you very, very soon."

    The shadow faded away, and I blinked. The Yeti was gone. In his place lay a dead native man wearing tattered rags stretched beyond repair. Otaktay, in his true form. Ahusaka sat beside him, cradling his knees. He wasn''t crying, but his eyes were wet as he stared down at the man who''d helped rescue him and did what Dufaux falsely claimed to have done for the Piasa tribe¡ªgave him a life. How many families could one person lose before breaking?

    He looked up at me, heartbroken, and his next words shook me to my core.

    "Kill me."

    I swallowed the lump in my throat, then shook my head. "No." I sat down beside him. "I ain''t gonna kill you, kid.¡±

    "Please. I deserve it. I could hear everything you were saying while my mind drifted¡­ and I still would not stop."

    "You would¡¯ve," I said.

    "You don''t know that."

    "I do."

    I didn''t. Just like I hadn''t known if Rosa was gonna pull that trigger or not. But sometimes, it''s best not to leave things to chance when you can affect the outcome.

    Ahusaka sniveled and muttered something in his language. "What do I even do now?"

    I put my hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch. But it felt right to do. I think Dale would''ve wanted me to show Ahusaka this kindness, offer him mercy for being led astray. And even if he didn''t, it was what I wanted.

    "First, you lay your family to rest," I said. ¡°Then, you go anywhere but here."

    He regarded the two bodies, then joined me in gazing out across the expanse. The storm was clearing, but energy still crackled along the route the Piasa had flown.

    "You do not want to turn me in?" he asked, bewildered.

    I knew by returning to Revelation Springs empty-handed, I¡¯d forfeit any bounty still on the table¡ªnot that Dufaux was likely to pay it to me, anyhow. But he could keep his gold. Ahusaka had lost enough. He deserved a proper goodbye to his family. And the two dead before me deserved to be buried or whatever his tribe did to properly send off their dead.

    "No," I told him. "I don''t have that kind of authority. But you''re alive. Do something with that, or don''t. I¡¯m tired of telling people what to do."

    I stood, dusted off my coat, and retrieved all my belongings.

    Maybe you should kill him, a voice whispered in the back of my head. Was it mine? Chekoketh¡¯s? Maybe even Shar''s? That tickle across my chest was there.

    No matter who it was, it wasn''t my place to end this boy''s life. Not unless Shar outright demanded it, and to my relief, she hadn''t.

    I strolled away, content with my decision, my feet dragging over loose rock and hailstones. I only made it a few steps before I heard Ahusaka sobbing and whimpering. I glanced back. What I would''ve killed to have a family I cared for like that, who''d shake Heaven and Earth just to get revenge for me.

    All things considered, Ahusaka didn''t know how lucky he was.

    "Head east of here," I told him. He glanced up, eyes fully glazed over now. "When you reach a boulder that looks like a big old chair, head due south directly. You''ll find a valley along the Devil''s River; follow it until you see a waterfall. It''ll seem like nothing, but step through it. Ask for Mutt on the other side."

    "Mutt?" he pronounced, holding the last letters like he was trying to feel them out.

    "That''s right. Tell him you''re a friend of James Crowley.¡±

    I knew they were different tribes with essentially nothing in common, but Mutt''s people wielded powers that would get them killed by normal folk too. Since only the chiefs of the Piasa tribe could do what Ahusaka could, maybe he''d find kinship there. A new family. Or at least those willing to give him a chance and help him hone his abilities.

    And of course, a part of me was being selfish like men always seem to be. Mukwooru had asked me to spare the Mind-drifter if I could. Keeping her in my good graces had already proved a boon, so I¡¯d do so again. Perhaps that was why Shar seemed to have no problem letting him live.

    Or maybe, just maybe, she wasn¡¯t totally full of shit, and she believed, like I did, that Ahusaka deserved a chance to atone for his sins. He was a Child after all. Now he''s got the chance to grow up right.

    "Why do you help me?" Ahusaka asked, his brow furrowed. I understood why he''d be wary of a man like me.

    ¡°Let''s just say I shouldn¡¯t be casting stones,¡± I said.

    ¡°What does that mean?¡±

    I smiled. ¡°If I''ve learned one thing, it''s never question when a man offers help. Go where I said or wherever you like. Just stay away from Revelation. Live free, kid. Free of vengeance and hate. The next steps are up to you."

    I left him behind. An intangible weight seemed to lift off me, as it always did after a job well done. But always a tinge of sadness too. I''d walk away, be dispatched after a new target in this god-forsaken West, and eventually forget what happened here. Twenty more years down the road, even a hundred, I''d still be around, and all this would be¡­ dust and vague memories.

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    Something stirred me from my usual ruminations. Ace wasn''t where Otaktay had flung him. The bastard was gone.

    I sighed and shook my head. "Slippery son of a bitch. You may as well be Chekoketh."

    I should''ve been angry, but somehow, it was sort of nice knowing that somewhere in the world remained a man I truly despised. A man to remind me that I remain mostly human, with those base human emotions that cause so much turmoil.

    Scaling down the mesa, I whistled for Timperina. She arrived shortly after. I checked her for injuries, but besides some scratches from hail and a wet coat, she was in fine shape.

    She whinnied as I loaded up.

    "I know, you would''ve helped more if you could''ve," I said, patting the side of her thick neck. "I was onto something earlier. We ought to get you wings."

    She snorted.

    "Right." I chuckled. "You hate heights."

    We reached the flatlands and I heard a distant scream.

    "You hear that?" She tapped her hoof. I spurred her, and we took off, snaking our way out to the badlands.

    Another scream echoed before I saw anything, and this time I recognized it. I''d heard it before when she was a child, clinging tightly to her mama while Ace Ryker threatened their virtue and their lives. And I''d heard it again in Dead Acre, not long ago when a necromancer mistook her kindness for love.

    Clearing a low hill, I spotted Rosa. Only, despite screaming, it was her who was still standing. Ace writhed on the dirt, holding his blood-drenched face.

    "You bitch!" Ace shouted.

    Rosa hit him again with what appeared to be a gnarled tree branch. It splintered and flaked from dryness, but I''m sure it still hurt like the dickens. Pretty sure it broke his nose too.

    "That ain''t a nice word to call a lady, Ace," I said, hopping off Timp''s back. "You didn''t make it far, I see."

    Rosa spun and lowered her makeshift club. "James! I couldn''t help it. I followed you here just in case, I¡­ What was that¡­ in the sky?"

    "Strangest storm I ever saw. But we got the Trio. They''re all gone. Won''t be a threat to anyone again."

    I didn''t like lying to her about Ahusaka''s fate, but he deserved a clean slate. I''d tell her the truth one day if it came up, when we weren''t in the vicinity of hundreds who''d happily hang him.

    Ace, on the other hand¡­

    "Got a mean swing," I said.

    "I saw him running, untied," Rosa replied. "Thought he''d escaped."

    "He did." Just like that, I wasn''t so worried about having a nemesis alive in the world. Oh, the things we convince ourselves just to feel all right. "I suppose I owe you thanks for following."

    I strode slowly toward them, reloading a pistol. My reserves of silver were nearly empty, but I put the rest in my cylinder, making a show of it.

    "You dirty, rotten, liar," Ace said through a mouthful of blood. I raised my firearm, training it on his black heart. "I came back for you, Crowley! I could''ve run, and you''d be dead! Whatever crazy redskin voodoo Otaktay did to get that big, he would¡¯ve crushed you."

    "I guess you think that makes us even or something?¡± I asked. ¡°You did it for revenge, not for me. I was getting through to him."

    "Like it matters? If they''re dead, then you won. You gotta let me go."

    "Do I?"

    Ace glared up at Rosa, his eye already bruising, nose cracked off to the side. "I should''ve made everyone watch while I¡ª"

    She hit him again.

    "Enough," I told her.

    "You can''t let him go," Rosa said.

    I didn''t have an answer. I really did want to keep my word. Ace wasn''t lying. The Frozen Trio was defeated, and he had a hand in helping. Fair was fair¡­

    "He''s coming with us," said another voice.

    From the darkness behind Ace emerged three men, each with a revolver in hand. The one in front¡ªthe speaker¡ªI recognized. The bounty hunter, Anton.

    Timperina snorted and I heard her hooves stomp closer. I raised a hand for her to stay back.

    "I knew you were involved in this," I said to Anton.

    "Took you long enough, you roughneck son of a bitch," Ace said.

    "Sorry, boss," Anton said. "We were tracking, but we lost you both in that storm."

    "Well, you''re here now."

    Ace started up that manic-sounding laugh I knew all too well. Couldn''t forget it, no matter how many years had passed. Rosa went to strike him again, but Anton rushed forward and stayed her hand.

    "Uh-uh-uh," he said. "Ain''t nobody ever taught you your place, woman?"

    Ace rose to his hands and knees, cackling uncontrollably. Strings of blood dripped from his lips, and he spit out a loose tooth.

    Then, he slowly got to his feet. I think he wondered if I''d actually pull the trigger, but I didn''t. Not yet. Not until I knew one of his goons wouldn''t pop off and kill Rosa.

    "Put it down, Crowley," Ace said. "It''s over." He grabbed the stick in Rosa''s hand and tried to pull it but she held tight. He yanked harder, scraping up her palm as it came free.

    "Cabr¨®n!" Rosa cursed before she spat in his face.

    He lifted the club to strike her. I drew my second Peacemaker. He didn''t have to know it was empty.

    "Don''t you fucking touch her, Ace," I warned.

    He grinned that damn grin, wiping the gob of bloody saliva off his cheek.

    ¡°Been twenty years,''" Ace said, circling her. Not even caring that he put his back to me. He let his thumb trace the neckline on Rosa''s once white but now brown and stained shirt. "Never waited that long for anything. You better be worth it."

    He shoved his thumb into her mouth and she bit down. He yanked it back, then sucked it.

    "Feisty," Ace said, laughing. "I like that."

    "I swear to God, Ace,¡± I said. ¡°Leave her and go, and you and I can kill each other some other day."

    He circled her again. Ace''s goons had their weapons wavering between me and Rosa. With her between us, it was all too dangerous.

    "I told Crowley here that I found love down south, and he didn''t believe me," Ace said. "But one thing is for certain. I could find it here with you, no problem. Your mother was a sight. You''re a¡­" He chuckled before saying his own joke. "A revelation."

    Rosa snapped and went to hit him. He caught her arm and started wrenching it back. His hand slithered along her side. Timperina started whining and tapping her hooves, like she always did when she got nervous.

    ¡°Would you shut that horse up!¡± Ace barked, then returned his attention to Rosa. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±

    He snatched Rosa''s bag and started rifling through. Pulling the cursed harmonica out, he said, ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±

    Rosa must have found it in the brush or something. I never should''ve let my own guilt get the best of me and let it out of my sights. Or at least, I should have buried the thing.

    "Ace, I''m warning you for the last time!" I yelled.

    Ace brought the instrument to his lips. Unlike myself, or anyone else who had handled it, he smirked. Then he played a few notes. I cringed, remembering what I¡¯d done with it. I hoped hearing it again wouldn¡¯t spring Rosa to remember.

    ¡°Nice quality,¡± Ace said as the sound echoed.

    I couldn''t help but wonder why Ace was showing no signs of overwhelming gloom. He just continued speaking like nothing was wrong. Was he so damn evil that not even Hellish magic could affect him? So numb to feeling remorse or grief or worry about anything?

    ¡°I can play you a tune on Crowley¡¯s instrument while you¡­¡± He snickered at Rosa. ¡°¡­ Play mine.¡±

    In that instant, Rosa¡¯s hand moved to his stomach and slid down toward his privates. Her eyes twitched. She was resisting, but his desires were taking control as the cursed harmonica¡¯s notes carried.

    ¡°Look who¡¯s woke up!¡± Ace exclaimed. ¡°Anton, quit messing around and kill Crowley so we can have fun.¡±

    "I''d have thought you''d want that honor, Ace," I said.

    "No, I wanna watch this time." Ace dragged Rosa off to the side and out of the way. "No hard feelings, Crowley. I just can''t trust your word anymore."

    "James!" Rosa called to me, snapping out of her trance. "James!"

    "Do it," Ace said as he retreated.

    Anton looked around at the others. Then they unloaded full cylinders into my chest and body. I didn''t return fire. I just waited, trying not to let Timperina¡¯s sad sounds get to me. Even after all these years, she doesn¡¯t understand my nature. Likely never will.

    When the dust and the gunpowder cleared, I stood tall. They all gawked at me. At least one of them swore. Another said something in Spanish. Anton, however, was stunned silent. Probably realized then how I''d managed to best him in five-finger fillet.

    I didn''t feel bad about cheating anymore. Nor did I have any second thoughts about giving Ace the fate he deserved. He couldn''t walk away. Never could. And hurting Rosa crossed way too many lines.

    Ace looked over my way, and horror passed over him.

    I cracked my neck.

    "My turn."

    Quicker than they could think, each of Ace¡¯s men had a hole in their foreheads. They stood momentarily as if their brains hadn''t yet told their bodies they were dead. Then, one by one, they dropped like flies.

    Ace''s face went stark white. "What the fuck are you, Crowley?"

    With him distracted, Rosa rose quick and kneed him in the man parts. He doubled over and she backed away. I walked toward him. Timp followed close behind me, poor girl trying to make sense of things.

    "Some say a ghost. A specter." I kept stalking him while he simultaneously clenched his privates, shuffled away, and never removed his eyes from mine. "Others might think me a god. All you need to know¡­" I reached him now and grabbed him by the jaw to raise him up to a standing position. "¡­ is I''m your worst mistake."

    I pistol-whipped him across the face. He hit the ground and groaned.

    ¡°Oh, Crowley,¡± he cackled up blood as he tried to sit up. ¡°Don¡¯t you know, you can never beat me¡ª"

    From beside me, Timp¡¯s hoof shot forward from his side and cracked him in the jaw, way harder than I could hit. Ace¡¯s head hit the dirt and his hands fell inert to his side, the bone harmonica still clenched in one.

    ¡°Just a horse, huh?¡± I said.

    Rosa ran to me and threw her arms around me.

    "Gracias, James." She kissed my cheek. ¡°Gracias."

    Timp nuzzled both of us at the same time.

    Rosa pulled back and looked me in the eyes. ¡°I guess I owe you two again.¡±

    "Nah. Let''s call it even, Rosa Massey." I held her at arm''s length and smiled. Threw Timp a wink over her shoulder for good measure too.

    When we finally parted, Rosa patted my chest and all the bullet holes in my jacket, concerned.

    ¡°How did you¡ª¡±

    ¡°I got metal vest under this,¡± I interrupted her, gently grabbing her hands and guiding them away from my person. ¡°A bit medieval. Real expensive. Took a gamble that it¡¯d work and¡­ I guess it does.¡±

    She punched me in the arm. ¡°Idiota. You shouldn¡¯t have gambled for me.¡±

    ¡°Always.¡±

    Her gaze stuck with mine for a short while, then she cursed and gave Ace a swift kick in the ribs.

    "Wow, that feels good!" she exclaimed, doing it once more.

    "Better than you killing him, right?"

    "I suppose." She looked down at her hand. It was bleeding.

    I took it in mine for a careful and perhaps overlong examination.

    "You should get that wrapped," I said in a low voice. Then I looked up into her eyes. Again, we stood there a while, locked in on each other. Just stood there.

    Rosa cleared her throat. "I will." She pulled her hand away, but not unkindly. Her eyes lingered a moment longer, and she returned them to Ace. "So, what do we do with him now?"

    "I won''t take Dufaux''s bounty, but someone somewhere will pay a hell of a lot for the infamous Ace Ryker to die. I can think of a few Vanderbilts already. The money might help those people fix up Revelation. Maybe could get you a ticket to wherever you want to go."

    Rosa pursed her lips and spat on him for good measure. "Better to leave him out here to rot in Hell."

    "Don''t worry, Rosa,¡± I said. ¡°There''s a high authority than us to take care of that¡­"

 Chapter 28

    Picklefinger was on his front porch, mopping up blood. Chop''s blood mostly. That deputy had given me a hard time, but I could hardly blame him. Especially after feeling his final thoughts. In a place like this, where an outlaw would sooner sling hot lead than spend a night in the clinker, these lawmen had to be hardened.

    I slid down from Timp¡¯s back and lightly hitched her.

    "Quite a mess,¡± I said.

    Picklefinger turned at the sound of my voice but went right back to work with a monosyllabic, "Yep."

    He showed his back to me momentarily and I thought I heard a sniffle.

    It was okay. He deserved to be upset. Even being mad at me was totally acceptable. Someone had to take the blame. As a matter of fact, I¡¯d spoken to Sheriff Gutierrez about just that thing. Apparently, after the whole ordeal up the hill, Dufaux vanished like a ghost. The coward couldn¡¯t even face his own judgment.

    However, this town wouldn¡¯t be content without someone taking the fall.

    Enter, Ace Ryker.

    The bastard hadn¡¯t been responsible for everything, but no one needed to know that. Ahusaka could go free, and the Frozen Trio could be dismissed as disciples of the notorious outlaw Ace Ryker.

    "Just thought I''d apologize about the window,¡± I said. ¡°Windows, I guess.¡±

    After all, it had been my idea to hide out at his place during the gunfight.

    Picklefinger turned back to me now. He stopped and leaned on his mop. His eyes were glassy. ¡°Already did that. It¡¯s me who owes you a debt.¡±

    I thought I¡¯d be getting the cold shoulder or worse from him, but a debt?

    ¡°Doubt that,¡± I said.

    ¡°No, I do. This whole town does,¡± he said. ¡°Received this in the post this morning,¡± He produced a letter folded three times, business-like, and handed it to me.

    I read it out loud.

    ¡°The infamous murderer Ace Ryker has been apprehended and given full responsibility for being behind the Frozen Trio attacks and the direct murder of Sheriff Culpepper of Elkhart. The Hero of Revelation Springs has chosen to remain anonymous and has generously donated the many bounty rewards on Mr. Ryker¡¯s head to be used toward citywide reparations.¡±

    ¡°Sounds a mighty fool thing to do,¡± I said, handing it back. ¡°Had I been that ¡®hero,¡¯ I¡¯d have already been settling down in an estate with some cows and a fence.¡±

    Picklefinger nodded and offered a knowing smile. ¡°Right. Braindead son of bitch, that one.¡±

    ¡°Glad to hear it, though. This place took quite the hammering.¡±

    ¡°Safe now,¡± he said. ¡°Thanks to you,¡± Then, his demeanor changed, and his head dipped. ¡°Heard about your friend. The deputy.¡±

    ¡°Dale,¡± I said.

    ¡°Dale,¡± he repeated. ¡°Seemed fine a man.¡±

    ¡°Lots of good men died here. A damn shame.¡±

    Picklefinger nodded. I moved toward Timp, ready to get on with the day¡¯s morbid events.

    ¡°Oh!¡± Picklefinger exclaimed. ¡°I got something for you.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to¡ª¡± I started saying when he pushed his mop into my hand. He disappeared inside. I followed.

    ¡°James!¡± came a call from my right.

    Rosa Massey was looking radiant in a pale yellow dress as she sat inside at a table, nursing a Sazerac. She wore a leather corset and a belt to match, her five-shooter hanging at her hip. No one was gonna mistake her for some fancy mogul¡¯s wife under that wide-brimmed white hat.

    After everything, we turned Ace in to the Sheriff and then spent the night at camp where nobody would be a bother. I¡¯d slept in. No visions to shake me, just pure, relaxing silence in the dark. By the time my weary self awoke, Rosa and the others had apparently already made their way into town. Should¡¯ve guessed where I¡¯d find her.

    ¡°You finally got that drink,¡± I said to her.

    She smirked, tapping a ring against the glass. ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°Was it all you¡¯ve been waiting for?¡±

    ¡°A bit of a light pour.¡±

    ¡°What did I hear?¡± Picklefinger asked as he came shuffling back out. Rosa snickered but stayed silent. Then I noticed what was in his hands.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned,¡± I said. Picklefinger was holding my Stetson.

    ¡°Here you go,¡± he said, dusting it off.

    I examined it, spotting a couple of new holes. I¡¯d totally forgotten about how I¡¯d used it to distract the shooter atop the Town Hall. I¡¯d considered it a loss.

    ¡°I almost forgot about that,¡± I said. ¡°Got this hat¡ª¡±

    ¡°From John B. Stetson himself,¡± Picklefinger said at the same time.

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯d heard?¡±

    ¡°Only every time you¡¯ve come through,¡± Picklefinger commented. He reached over the bar¡ªwhich was a feat in itself with his belly¡ªand grabbed a bottle of absinthe. He tipped his own hat to Rosa and poured a bit more in her glass. ¡°Strong enough for you, Ma¡¯am?¡±

    She took a sip and coughed. ¡°Plenty.¡±

    Picklefinger gave me a look that conveyed something two men understood without words.

    Yes, Rosa was beautiful, but more than that, she was a friend. As a Black Badge, I didn¡¯t have the luxury of following such whims. But I knew a good woman when I spotted one, and Rosa was that and more.

    She downed her Sazerac, then placed a hand on my arm and said, ¡°Bram¡¯s waiting for me. You coming?¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t miss it,¡± I told her. ¡°Be just a minute.¡±

    She nodded and hurried off to meet up with Mr. Stoker and his crew.

    I donned my hat and stood there in the shot-up saloon, looking around. It wouldn¡¯t have been a bad life, tending bar at a place like this. Bringing people good times and the occasional fight. It wouldn¡¯t be long before my next mission from the White Throne came. And in those brief periods of respite, I liked to imagine how things could''ve been.

    ¡°Hey Crowley, one more thing,¡± Picklefinger said.

    I blinked, and the daydream vanished as quickly as it came.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I asked.

    He once again reached into his pocket. When he pulled it out, he held a small, flat box made of gold.

    ¡°Do yourself a favor,¡± he said, handing it to me. It verily shook when my hand grasped it. ¡°Shave for the lady, will you? You look like hell.¡±

    He smiled and I did my best to do the same. Once again, I was holding a mirror and Shar¡¯s presence inside practically guffawed at my failed attempt to be rid of her. At least it was gold this time.

    Nothing¡¯s ever easy.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do that,¡± I said. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    I headed back outside.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Picklefinger moved to the door. ¡°You ever find out who that generous bounty hunter was, you tell him Picklefinger and the whole city of Revelation Springs thanks him, you hear?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to do that.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯ve got yourself a room here anytime you need it.¡±

    "I know," I joked. "Nicest one too, I expect." We shared a laugh. I waved over my shoulder. ¡°See you around.¡±

    ¡°Stay out of trouble.¡±

    The sound of his mop started up again and I felt that infernal itch that was Shargrafein demanding to speak with me.

    So, I slipped down between Picklefinger¡¯s and the Miners Guild, in that same alley where Dale and I had been arrested. Nobody had refilled the trough he¡¯d flopped around in yet.

    Checking from side to side, sure no one was gonna pop out and start gabbing, I opened the mirror and was met by the swirling, smokey visage of my angelic handler.

    ¡°Are you sending mirrors to my acquaintances now?¡± I asked, eager to get the first word in.

    ¡°Don¡¯t trouble yourself with trivialities,¡± she replied.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. You see everything, except for the things you don¡¯t.¡±

    She ignored my jab.

    ¡°The White Throne is pleased that you uncovered the Fallen One behind these transgressions. But Chekoketh grows bold. He does not act without purpose.¡±

    ¡°You heard his purpose. He wanted the Piasa.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps¡­ But his motives are always unclear. Misdirection, deceit¡­ such are the tools of his master.¡±

    I sighed. ¡°If he¡¯s already in your head, he¡¯s already won. Just like Ace.¡±

    ¡°Do not compare him to that rotten Child,¡± Shar admonished. ¡°I sense darkness coming. All this movement. I fear the scions of Lucifer will soon attempt once more to open a Hellmouth.¡±

    ¡°And I suppose you have no idea when?¡±

    ¡°Do not patronize me. Or do you forget our last conversation. You¡¯ve done well here, Crowley. Let us focus on what is to come, and not what has come to pass.¡±

    Yeah, I remembered. Her making me feel the decades of pain I¡¯d missed. To watch, with open eyes, as my body rotted away to how it should appear. As I was reminded of the "gift" Shar and the White Throne had bestowed upon me by making me a Hand of God. A Black Badge.

    ¡°We will root out this evil,¡± Shar said. ¡°Never forget who you serve.¡±

    ¡°As if you¡¯d let me?¡± I sucked through my teeth. ¡°So where to next, my glorious and incorruptible boss?¡±

    ¡°The marshlands in the southeast call. A terror rises there that will put all the Children of the Crescent City in danger.¡±

    Great. The Crescent City. Nothing was ever uncomplicated in that place. On the gulf, crowded with sinners and practitioners of dark arts, where it was easy to blend in because the city was filled with so many people who didn¡¯t.

    ¡°That¡¯s all you got for me?¡± I asked.

    ¡°For now,¡± Shar said. Then she added, ¡°Leave fast. Spare not a moment,¡± as her face started to swirl away.

    ¡°Sure thing.¡± I snapped the mirror shut and stuffed it into my satchel.

    I headed out of the alley with every intention of taking my time to leave. Like I¡¯d told Rosa, I wouldn¡¯t miss what was happening next for all the tea in China. I¡¯d suffer eternity in Hell not to miss it.

    I retrieved Timperina because she deserved to see too, and walked her to where Rosa, Bram, and Irish stood at the outskirts of the town square which was still an awful mess.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Harker?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Oi, the fecker cou¡ª¡±

    ¡°Mr. Harker doesn¡¯t have the stomach for such affairs,¡± Bram said, cutting Irish off. ¡°Says the public square is no place for a man to die, no matter his crimes.¡±

    ¡°Easy to say when it''s not you whose been wronged,¡± Rosa argued.

    She approached Timp, who gave a soft snort. Timp nuzzled right up to Rosa and damn near begged for a pat. This lady must''ve been some kind of magician.

    ¡°You¡¯re a good girl,¡± Rosa said.

    ¡°It seems she¡¯s come to like you,¡± I said.

    ¡°I¡¯m hoping she¡¯s not the only one?¡±

    I smiled but was gratefully spared the need to respond when the gathered crowd began booing and hissing. What did she mean by that? Dammit, Rosa, don¡¯t make things harder.

    ¡°Here he comes,¡± I said out loud, eager to focus elsewhere.

    A slow processional led Ace Ryker from the jailhouse. He cursed up a storm while folks spit at him, kicked dirt, and worse. Most times, the deputies would¡¯ve stepped in to put some kind of space between the condemned and the congregants, but not now. They welcomed it like Christmas morning.

    The harmonica was in his pocket. Left there as a last of rites, upon my personal request to Gutierrez. Ace would die with the instrument of a monster on his possession and then be buried with it. That Hellish thing, able to compel others to act against their will, would be lost to the world.

    I¡¯d waited a long time for this justice and, apparently, so had Rosa. Just wish it hadn¡¯t been at the expense of so many more lives, and that a certain Reginald Dufaux had the gumption to take the fall with Ace instead of running like a coward.

    Dale deserved a crowd this size for a celebration of his life. Hell, even Chops deserved something. I suppose taking joy in a worthless clump of mud like Ace Ryker finally getting his dues would need to suffice.

    Ace stumbled and fell. They had his legs chained without much slack. He was a runner and Sheriff Gutierrez wisely wasn¡¯t taking any chances after already losing him once¡ªan issue I cleared for Rosa when we turned Ace in. Not surprisingly, the sheriff understood why a man like him could be so easy to hate. Plus, Rosa turned her charm on and that was a weapon as powerful as the White Throne sometimes.

    A couple men jerked Ace upright and gave him a shove toward the gallows, then helped him up the steps, though I think most of us would¡¯ve been fine watching him try on his own.

    All in all, the short walk from the jail to the gallows set up in front of Town Hall took far longer than necessary. But that¡¯s how these things were done. People usually traveled from far and wide to be entertained by capital punishment like this, but with the mass departure Revelation Springs had experienced, there might¡¯ve been a hundred people there. Locals only. The people who¡¯d hate him most for messing up their town.

    Part of me was glad Ace didn¡¯t get a better audience. Had he been caught right after murdering that Vanderbilt woman on the train, there''d have been a mass crowd. He¡¯d have loved it.

    But legends fade as time ticks on, and this was all he deserved.

    Gutierrez dragged him to the center of the stage and raised a hand. Everyone watching took a while to hush, but they managed. Mayor Stinson stood off to the side, scowling, wringing his hat as if he wanted to be the one to pull the lever that¡¯d send Ace to dance at the end of the rope. The town reverend was beside him, looking somber.

    ¡°I wish they¡¯d burn him alive,¡± Rosa said.

    I glanced at her sidelong. Her eyes glinted with anticipation. ¡°Remind me never to cross you.¡±

    Mayor Stinson stepped forward and addressed us all. It was good to see him up there, like a changing of the guard. With Dufaux out of the picture, perhaps this man would rise up to bring Revelation Springs into a new era of greatness. Or maybe he¡¯d become equally corrupt. Who knows?

    ¡°This man, known as Ace Ryker, is accused and convicted of armed robbery, evading the law, murder, and, the murder of a lawman. He is also convicted for the murder of Beatrice Vanderbilt, and likely hundreds of others over the course of his career as an outlaw. For these many crimes, and many only God will know, He will hang at the end of a rope until dead. Reverend Peters will now address you as God¡¯s mouthpiece.¡±

    ¡°In the second book,¡± the Reverend started, ¡°Moses ascended the mount and communed with our Lord. Upon that holy peak, he was given ten rules. Ten simple rules by which all mankind should live. Ten rules that any decent human being ought to be able to follow without even a thought elsewise. However, today, we¡¯ve gathered to watch a man die who couldn¡¯t manage to skirt by with a single one left unbroken.¡±

    He wasn¡¯t wrong.

    ¡°However, all men were created as sons and daughters,¡± Reverend Peters went on. The next words came out like they hurt. ¡°Each one of us deserves an opportunity for forgiveness.¡±

    The crowd hissed again. Someone threw their shoe at Ace and the heel drew blood.

    Ace swore, but Sheriff Gutierrez shut him up with a heavy right hook.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough!¡± the Mayor ordered. ¡°We will have civility!¡±

    ¡°You ain¡¯t Dufaux!¡± someone yelled. A couple of locals laughed.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not. But where is he? All this wreckage, and he¡¯s nowhere to be found. He abandoned all of you, but I¡¯m still here.¡±

    That got people to start whispering.

    The reverend looked at Ace and shook his head. Can¡¯t imagine what it would be like to have such closeness to the Maker that anyone could pity Ace, but this man surely found that grace somewhere in his heart.

    ¡°Thank you, Mayor Stinson,¡± he said. ¡°May God reward your kindness.¡±

    Sheriff Gutierrez was in the midst of lowering the hangman¡¯s noose around Ace¡¯s neck. Ace bit at his hand.

    ¡°Mr. Ryker,¡± the Reverend said, ¡°these are your last moments on this side. Now, I won¡¯t presume to speak for our Lord, but the Good Book tells us that repentance is the key to salvation. When upon the cross, our Savior promised the condemned that¡ªshould he make right the things on this earth¡ªhe would be given passage into the Kingdom beyond. Yes, that he would be in paradise, even in that very hour!¡±

    The crowd booed at the thought of Ace receiving anything other than Hell¡¯s wrath. Ace laughed too. Son of a bitch was gonna do that all the way to the gates. To his credit, Reverend Peters kept his composure through it all.

    ¡°If that thief on the cross, sentenced to death, could find forgiveness in those final moments, you too have a chance to receive Heaven¡¯s free gift. With your last words, Mr. Ryker, will you confess your sins before God and this crowd? Will you repent and find God¡¯s forgiveness?¡±

    Ace sucked in through his teeth. He watched the Reverend, then looked out over the crowd and spotted me. Oh, if looks could kill.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯d like to pray,¡± Ace said. ¡°If you¡¯ll allow it.¡±

    People booed again.

    ¡°We will have respect for our Lord!¡± Reverend Peters shouted. ¡°Now quiet!¡±

    The crowd eventually listened.

    Reverend Peters smiled at Ace, nodded, and stepped backward.

    Ace rolled his neck and closed his eyes. His hands were tied behind his back, ankles chained, noose in place. He took a deep breath. Others may¡¯ve bowed their heads and closed their eyes, but I watched him.

    ¡°Dear God,¡± he said. Silence hung in the air. Then he opened his eyes, looked right at me with his cold blue eyes, and said, ¡°Fuck James Crowley and the horse he rode in on.¡±

    The crowd gasped while Ace laughed like the maniacal piece of shit he was. Sheriff Gutierrez threw the lever, the floor fell out, and Ace Ryker dangled from that rope, neck snapped, face twisted in that evil grin I¡¯d come to know too well.

    And that was how two decades of nightmares ended.

    I looked to Rosa. She stared quietly as the body swung, rope creaking and straining the wood it was tied to. Eventually, Bram took her shoulder and said, ¡°Time to head on, Lassie. You¡¯ve seen what you needed to see.¡±

    He wasn¡¯t alone. Eager as the crowd was to watch this affair, they dispersed just as quickly. That¡¯s the thing about hangings. It¡¯s exciting to anticipate a wicked man leaving this Earth, but once they¡¯re gone, it¡¯s just a helpless body, swinging. It feels wrong to keep jeering and carrying on. Death, no matter what, becomes a solemn affair.

    ¡°Feel any better?¡± I asked Rosa.

    She pursed her lips. ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°Me neither.¡± I sighed. ¡°But what¡¯s done is done, and the world will be a better place for it. It doesn¡¯t change the past. Nothing can.¡±

    She looked up at me. There were no tears in her eyes, but there was sadness there all the same. ¡°What now, James?¡±

    ¡°Now, we press onward down the path laid before us. But first, I got a friend that deserves to be buried back in Lonely Hill, right beside a sheriff he made proud in the end.¡±

    I¡¯d promised that to Dale, and I felt like keeping it. Besides, I¡¯d stopped a Yeti and uncovered Chekoketh¡¯s role in everything. That would buy me some leeway with Shar, at least for a bit.

    Angels¡­ what a pain in my ass.

 Epilogue (End of Book 1)

    Blue eyes snapped open.

    Ace Ryker screamed, his chest feeling as if a hot brand had been pressed there. Like he was some kind of beast of burden. A cow or a goat or something.

    Ace Ryker, one of the wild west¡¯s most notorious. Ace Ryker, leader of outlaws. Hanged before Revelation, broken nose after being bashed in the face by a woman and a horse.

    He convulsed, eyes streaming tears. As his vision became clearer, he saw another pair of eyes staring back into his.

    At first, he thought them to belong to that bootlicking traitor, James Crowley, but they immediately disappeared into a puff of smoke, leaving him staring up into darkness.

    The pain in his chest suddenly vanished. He was lying on his back, the surface hard, but he felt no discomfort in it. This hadn¡¯t been the first time he¡¯d been out of sorts when waking, but something was different this time. Numb.

    For starters, he was sober as a priest on Sunday, and Ace Ryker was never completely sober. This wasn¡¯t the result of some blackout bender. Wasn¡¯t the bed of some painted lady neither. Apart from the eyes, which he¡¯d clearly imagined, he was completely alone.

    Then, his own thoughts replayed in his head¡­

    Hanged before Revelation¡­

    Hanged?

    Am I¡­ Am I dead?

    He quickly disabused himself of that notion on account of his thinking and breathing.

    Or am I?

    Thinking, yes. But as he considered the latter, his lungs neither burned nor begged for air despite his lack of taking it in.

    He sat, bolt upright like a gunshot.

    Where am I?

    Is this Hell?

    He was more than convinced he¡¯d done nothing in life to grant him passage to Heaven. Wasn¡¯t even a question. Though, there was no fire. No brimstone or sulfurous stench. He heard no weeping or gnashing of teeth.

    All those preachers and bible thumpers, full of shit as he¡¯d expected.

    He raised his hand to his face and felt nothing. How bad was his nose broken? He could almost feel that bitch¡¯s wallop¡­ Rosa. It was her hand that had done it. He should''ve chased her and her mama down that night he¡¯d failed to kill Crowley.

    ¡°Chauncy Ryker.¡± The voice spoke his name¡ªhis true name¡ªas if it knew him. He hadn¡¯t heard that name in decades. Not since before he shot his piece of shit moneybags of a father, stole an inheritance that was rightfully his to begin with, and took off running.

    ¡°That ain¡¯t my goddamned name!¡± Ace snapped.

    ¡°Blasphemy!¡± the voice bellowed and the whole room shook. Stones clattered off the walls and broke against the floor.

    Fear overtook Ace like he¡¯d never felt. He stuttered and said, ¡°Just c-call me, Ace.¡±

    ¡°Ace then,¡± the voice said, no small amount of mockery in its tone.

    Ace rose to wobbly legs, nearly falling over as if he hadn¡¯t walked in years.

    ¡°Who are you?¡±

    A soft drip, drip, drip echoed from somewhere in the distance, the only response.

    Ace reached for his LeMat Revolver, but it was gone. All his things were gone. What was more, he was naked as the day he was born. Was this some kind of¡­ rebirth? What did the preacher call it, being born again? Maybe this was his tomb. Like Jesus.

    ¡°Shit,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s no way any God would make that mistake twice.¡±

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    Here, in the darkness, unarmed as he was, knew he was at the mercy of whoever spoke. Ace called out again but only heard his own voice bouncing back at him.

    He took a few tentative steps toward the sound of dripping water, but his feet were numb too. It was hard to stay upright. He¡¯d reached the point where any normal person would start to panic. But Ace embraced a challenge. Always had.

    Now that the voice was gone, he felt nothing. No fear. No anxiety. Well, that wasn¡¯t entirely true. He felt something.

    Curiosity.

    Following a snaking path brought him to a small pool and the source of the pinging drips. Approaching it cautiously, sure some big tentacular beast was gonna burst out and gobble him whole, something sparkled off to the side.

    His gun.

    His clothes.

    And on top of it all, Crowley¡¯s strange bone harmonica.

    He changed course, heading for his stuff. Soon, he was dressed again and checking his revolver. It was full. Though, he had some innate understanding that the bullets wouldn¡¯t be needed. Not here. Not now.

    He spun the instrument around and sneered. Just holding it, all he could think about was bashing Crowley and his woman¡¯s head in over and over again. Until he stuffed it in his pocked.

    ¡°Hello?¡± he called again, shuffling back toward the water.

    He leaned over and gazed upon his reflection.

    All was as he¡¯d always known it except his nose, flat and crooked off to the left side from where he¡¯d been struck.

    It didn¡¯t hurt, but he looked like a damn frying pan. His hair, still blonde with gray begging to be seen. A small bush covered his chin. His clothes were adequately disheveled, but he didn¡¯t need a mirror to see that.

    His eyes though¡­

    They didn¡¯t look the same either. Leaning in for a better view, Ace nearly leaped from his skin when his reflection became a smoky mist and those eyes¡ªwhich were not his eyes¡ªremained.

    ¡°Ace,¡± boomed that same formless voice.

    Ace stood proudly before whatever this was, though all he could manage was a, ¡°Huh?¡±

    Within the water, smoke swirled, mesmerizing.

    ¡°Congratulations, Sinner,¡± the smoke said. ¡°Your debt has been paid and you have been chosen.¡±

    ¡°Chosen? By who? Speak sense dammit!¡±

    ¡°The White Throne.¡±

    Despite the strangeness of his predicament, Ace waved off the notion. ¡°Sorry, but there ain¡¯t no kings and queens round these parts.¡±

    Water shot up in a geyser, reminding Ace of his last memories in Revelation Springs. And there, inside a cavernous mountainside, the sound of thunder accompanied it.

    ¡°You can be returned.¡± The reflection was now within the geyser, which still sprayed like a solid pillar now.

    That¡¯s when he recalled the words, truly heard them this time. This presence had called Ace a sinner, said he¡¯d paid his debt.

    ¡°Wait. Returned from where?¡± he asked.

    ¡°The coldest pits of hell.¡±

    ¡°Cold?¡± Ace shook his head. ¡°Sounds like you need a refresher on the Good Book.¡±

    Another thunderclap and a brief memory returned.

    Frost covered every inch of Ace¡¯s naked flesh. A cold unlike anything he¡¯d ever felt permeated his very soul as if his heart was encased in a block of ice. A figure stalked toward him through foggy, cold smoke. Something evil. Purely, unadulterated, fucking evil. It held a rod of some kind, something splintered and long.

    A second later, Ace was dry heaving before the pool again. The geyser had disappeared but the whole of the surface was filled with the vague face of a man.

    ¡°Who the hell are you!¡± Ace yelled.

    ¡°You may call me Kjeldgaard.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna call you nothing. Let me out of here!¡±

    ¡°As I said, you¡¯ve paid a debt, but I could send you back. It would be no less than you deserve.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ Why can¡¯t I remember? Where am I? Wh¡ª¡±

    ¡°All in due time,¡± the thing said. Still, Ace saw no mouth, no true features, just a hazy human shape in the water. ¡°For now, all you need know is that the White Throne has use of you. Count yourself blessed. A Child, you are, no more.¡±

    ¡°So, you¡¯re what, God?¡± Ace asked.

    ¡°Never even jest,¡± Kjeldgaard said. ¡°I am but a servant of the Most High. An angel of the fourth order.¡±

    Ace laughed. ¡°You¡¯re serious.¡±

    ¡°Always.¡±

    ¡°And what am I? Don¡¯t tell me I¡¯m an angel too?¡±

    ¡°Not remotely. You have been resurrected as a Hand of God, to face the powers of Darkness for the glory of the White Throne.¡±

    Ace had to stifle a laugh. How many men in his life he¡¯d heard claim such grand ambitions and power? He¡¯d shot and killed most of them.

    ¡°Right¡­ so I died?¡± he said.

    ¡°Sentenced to hang some time ago.¡±

    That thought was an unpleasant one. How much of his life went missing, with not even more than a hazy memory of time apparently spent in¡­ Hell.

    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re leaving out some details, Angel,¡± Ace said.

    ¡°Your essence was restored, but not as you once knew it,¡± Kjeldgaard said. ¡°Your life is not your own, Mr. Ryker.¡±

    ¡°Is that a fact?¡± Ace said. ¡°So am I your slave, then? Because you might as well send me back to Hell. I don¡¯t follow orders, Kill Guard. I give them.¡±

    ¡°Not to me. Do your job and you will be given a measure of freedom and avoid eternal damnation.¡±

    Ace didn¡¯t like how the angel had said that word, freedom.

    ¡°Freedom?¡± he asked.

    ¡°In a manner of speaking.¡±

    Ace clicked his tongue. ¡°Okay. Suppose I buy all this. What job are you talking about, and how much does it pay.¡±

    ¡°You were sentenced to hang by one of our own.¡±

    All the memories came flooding back.

    ¡°Crowley?¡± Ace scoffed, remembering how he''d talked about serving a ¡®Higher Power¡¯ of sorts and called himself a Black Badge. ¡°He¡¯s with you?¡±

    ¡°Not me, but he is among us. And he has gone too far. It is up to you to eliminate him¡­ before he destroys the world.¡±

    Ace stuttered over a response. Destroys the world? Sounded like a bit much for a self-righteous shit-shoveler like James Crowley. However, in the end, Ace only heard one thing.

    ¡°So, I gotta kill Crowley?¡± he asked.

    ¡°For the second time.¡±

    A grin spread across his face, from ear to ear. ¡°Oh, my new friend. Now that¡¯s something I¡¯ll happily do for free.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 1

    Throughout my life, the sound of gunfire has always been an omen of bad, bad things. Whether I¡¯m at the wrong end of it or the right, someone¡¯s blood is wetting the earth. Someone¡¯s heart¡¯s gonna stop. A paltry sacrifice to the God of Death, if there is such a thing.

    Hell, it¡¯s the last thing I heard in my natural life. That final blast from Ace Ryker¡¯s Le Mat sending me hurtling into this unlife, where I have the unspeakable honor of serving as a Hand of God. A Black Badge. Beholden to the whims and caprices of angels in perpetuity, all to circumvent eternity in the icy torments of Hell.

    Gunshots. As common in the West as the caw of a hungry crow. As common as dying of thirst and hunger. As common as impropriety amongst men of ill repute.

    Bang!

    The revolver next to me went off, lead grazing rock down a ways. A handful of stones were lined up on a cracked and dried-out tree stump. The remaining portion of the spindly trunk had long fallen over into the marshlands.

    ¡°Woo-wee. Almost got it,¡± I said.

    The widow, Rosa, glanced at me sidelong, those green eyes glistening like a field of fresh grass amid the arid desert sands. However, a threat was there, dancing behind them¡ªa viridescent sky before a tornado. Then, too, there was weariness. Neither of us had found much sleep, though for different reasons. Hers, likely nightmares about the wicked man¡ªa Necromancer who took the life of her dear husband¡ªwith powers she couldn¡¯t understand and I couldn¡¯t divulge the truth behind.

    Or maybe it was the more recent memory of Ace Ryker in Revelation Springs¡ªanother evil son of a bitch responsible for such heinous acts of horror, they were better off buried Hell-deep. Luck didn¡¯t seem to follow her, unless you counted me.

    For my part, the lack of sleep derived from a sort of emptiness, a great chasm of nothing that existed behind my undead eyelids. My body couldn¡¯t feel, so sleep was a remedy for nothing but a spent mind aching for a moment¡¯s respite. Never true restfulness. Not anymore.

    And, so, with Rosa waking with a startle and me already having been up, staring out at the fog of the southern wetlands, here we found ourselves playing target practice, not wanting to discuss the things eating us up inside.

    ¡°Mierda! I was close,¡± Rosa said.

    Her voice was like velvet soaked in honey. Hardly an accent at all, though she wasn¡¯t from the States. She¡¯d worked hard for that, to fit into a place where fitting in kept you alive and free.

    Her raven-black hair was sleek and straight, shining like bubbling oil. Olive skin appeared smooth from afar, but up close, lines formed at the corners of her eyes, her forehead and cheeks. Just a bit of roughness.

    Not in a bad way, mind you. Rosa was stunningly beautiful. The girl could twist a man a hundred ways with nothing but a glance¡ªthe kind of lady who bewitched the senses. And trust me, as a hunter of demons and all things otherworldly, I know a thing or two about being bewitched.

    She¡¯d taken to wearing all black these days, and I like to think I had some responsibility in that decision. Her sleeves bunched up at the elbows. Gold bracelets jangled on her wrists as she checked the chamber of her Colt five-shooter, twisting her forearm to reveal a tattoo of a serpent slithering around a dagger. I¡¯d known her back when she used to wear dresses like a proper lady, that ink always covered up as best she could. I think these travelers¡¯ clothes suited her better.

    My horse, Timperina, snorted. The old girl stood next to us, unwilling to lie in the wet dirt. She could be quite the baby. Skittish too, but never when the shooting comes from me. No, sir. Me, she trusts, and the feeling is mutual. I used to call her my only true friend, until recent days.

    ¡°That¡¯s sure right, Timp,¡± I said. ¡°Close only counts in horseshoes, don¡¯t it?¡±

    Rosa scoffed. ¡°If you¡¯re so good, you try.¡±

    I smirked. For a moment, I got lost staring at her. Sure, that was wrong, I know. She was more than a bit younger than me, considering she was only a girl when I¡¯d saved her and her mama¡¯s lives so many years back. Plus, unlike me, she was alive and breathing. The heart in her chest still beat, sending blood coursing through her veins, whereas mine was still as footprints in the snow.

    Snapping out of it, I drew one of my peacemakers in a smooth motion, my eye never leaving her as I cross-fired and sent the rock she¡¯d been aiming for spinning off into the mud.

    ¡°Did I hit it?¡± I asked, knowing full well it was a perfect shot. Always is.

    Rosa rolled her eyes. ¡°He always like this, Timp?¡±

    My horse whinnied.

    ¡°Love you too, girl.¡± I scratched her behind the ears where she likes it.

    Rosa dug into her pocket and slapped down a wrinkled greenback. ¡°One dollar says I get the next one.¡±

    I blinked. ¡°You ain¡¯t serious.¡±

    ¡°Are you in, or are you scared, James?¡±

    James. God, it was so strange hearing that name from her lips. Most folk I met or had the displeasure of knowing simply called me Crowley. Rolls off the tongue and ain¡¯t so common. There must¡¯ve been a thousand Jameses in the West alone, and yet coming from her, it sounded special.

    I put down a bill of my own. ¡°Like stealing alms from a blind man.¡±

    ¡°Ha-ha.¡± She snapped her revolver¡¯s cylinder into place and sighted her target. ¡°Got any tips, cowboy?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t miss.¡±

    I evaluated her stance, muscles relaxed, weight on her front foot, shoulders square. Most women of the times ain¡¯t never shot a gun, let alone looked so natural doing so. She breathed out slowly.

    ¡°You watching, James?¡±

    ¡°Always.¡± Damn if it didn¡¯t come out a whisper.

    Jesus, Crowley, get ahold of yourself with the sweet-talking-a-floozy-at-the-saloon business.

    Rosa wasn¡¯t that kind of girl. But I barely got the word out anyway before she squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet corkscrewing into one of the rocks. It cracked open like a walnut¡ªdead center.

    I began to whoop in support of her¡ªtoo soon, ¡¯cause she wasn¡¯t done. Not yet. Her aim slowly shifted right. She pulled back the hammer, let it drop, again and again, until the cylinder spun empty, each round hitting one of the stones we¡¯d set up as targets¡ªand believe me when I say they weren¡¯t big. Never even heard the gun click dry, neither. She counted five and stopped.

    Now, it wasn¡¯t a quick draw or anything. Wouldn¡¯t win a medal for fast-shooting. She took her time lining up those shots. And in a real gunfight, it rarely matters who¡¯s fastest but whose aim is truest. A half-second of planning could mean all the difference.

    Her face pursed with the gravity of every round expended, and I knew, in that moment, it wasn¡¯t a game for her. She¡¯d been fantasizing about the heart of every man who¡¯d ever hurt her or her mama. And considering the gap in her history I was not abreast of, I¡¯d reckon that was a long-ass list.

    Had those men been standing there today, I held little doubt she¡¯d have fired just as confidently. Back in Revelation Springs, only a few short weeks ago, she¡¯d been ready to send Ace Ryker to meet God until I stepped in, using the supernatural power of a harmonica I¡¯d earned by putting down a foul Nephilim. Looked normal enough, besides being made from bone of some kind. But when that instrument was played, even with as meager a skill as I possessed, it emanated awful power¡ªenough to ensnare the thoughts of anyone listening and bend their will to that of the player.

    Wasn¡¯t something I was proud of, but it kept her hands clean and her heart pure. For that, I was willing to do just about anything.

    Only when she was done did she exhale and grin.

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell, ¡®did I hit it?¡¯¡± she asked, mocking me.

    ¡°You slippery eel,¡± I replied. ¡°Who knew you were a hustler? Worked me good, you did.¡±

    She grasped both our dollars. ¡°When will you learn to stop doubting me?¡±

    I looked at her, incredulous. There was doubting someone¡¯s ability; then there was witnessing the extraordinary. Even I would struggle to land five perfect bullseyes from this distance, and I was a better shot than most. Learned across two lifetimes of having to be, lest I wind up as worm food.

    ¡°Maybe when you put up more than a buck,¡± I said. ¡°You had me in your greasy palm and let me off that easy?¡±

    ¡°What can I say? I have a soft spot for old men.¡± She chuckled.

    I joined her, though mine was forced. If only she knew the deeper meaning behind that quip. If only I could tell her. Thing is, the White Throne and I¡¯ve been on better terms lately, and considering that relationship was forever, I figured I¡¯d be a good boy¡­ at least for a little while.

    I plopped down on a fallen log I wagered would support my weight.

    ¡°Where¡¯d you learn to shoot like that?¡± I asked.

    Rosa sat beside me. Her features grew dark. Stern. ¡°Mi madre. After you saved us from Ryker and his boys, she figured it was time. I¡¯ve been shooting ever since that day. Ever since there was something to shoot at.¡±

    ¡°Smart mama you had. Sad thing about it is, I reckon there¡¯ll always be something to shoot at. But someone who can handle themselves like that¡¯ll be better off.¡±

    She nodded and smiled with soberly appropriate diffidence. Then, her gaze wandered off into a thousand-mile stare. ¡°Didn¡¯t help Willy.¡±

    Her husband. The man she¡¯d lost back in Dead Acre. The man I didn¡¯t save and never had the chance to try.

    ¡°No. Can¡¯t say it did. But that don¡¯t mean your mama was wrong.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just weird. I always felt like she and I were running from something. Even after you saved us. We never stayed anywhere long. Like she saw a ghost in every corner, a devil behind every bush, as it were. And then she died, and eventually, I found a man. Settling down seemed like a new adventure. No more needing to shoot.¡±

    ¡°Life¡¯s full of them,¡± I offered. ¡°You think I thought I¡¯d be here playing babysitter all these years later?¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Rosa laid her hand upon my shoulder. Oh, how I longed to feel the warmth of her skin. Instead, I got nothing. Could only see that it was there.

    ¡°Ya no soy una bebe.¡±

    I didn¡¯t speak much espa?ol, but I got the gist. ¡°She ain¡¯t a kid.¡± Right. I harrumphed and stood out of reflex. Now she was just being cruel.

    ¡°How times change,¡± I remarked, trudging across the swamp, caking my boots with mud. I reached the end of our makeshift range and spotted one of our targets poking up through the grass.

    ¡°Now, let¡¯s see if that was just beginner¡¯s luck!¡± I kneeled and dug my bare hands under the stone.

    My head snapped back. A disorienting rush flowed through me, and before I knew it, my world shifted¡­

    * * *

    Creak. Creak. Creak.

    That was all I heard, like rope on a docked boat being stretched too far. Then came panic. Didn¡¯t belong to me, though. I saw through the eyes of another man, his throat being constricted. His hands¡ªmy hands¡ªpawed at what was, indeed, a three-fold strand tightening around my neck, desperate to inch my fingers beneath the hemp for just a hint of air.

    My gaze darted around, down, so I could see the sheriff¡¯s badge on my chest, then up at the bough of a tree. That very same fallen tree we¡¯d used for target practice, though younger and still upright. Strong and proud enough to hold the weight of a grown man.

    ¡°Alright, Ace, he¡¯s had enough.¡±

    A familiar voice spoke, and my gaze wandered down, centering on a group of roughly-dressed men standing in the marshlands. Men I knew. In the center was Ace Ryker, the man who¡¯d ended my mortal life and boss of the Scuttlers, the crew I used to run with. Beside him, the one who spoke, was a man as known to me as any¡­ me.

    ¡°Enough?¡± Ace laughed. ¡°You hear that, boys? Crowley thinks this traitor should be let off the hook. Or noose, so to speak.¡±

    The others laughed too. Even my oldest friend, Big Davey. Dead nowadays, like every one of them, even Ace.

    Ace stepped forward. ¡°What¡¯d they pay you to try and sell us out?¡±

    The man I inhabited tried to speak through his choking. ¡°It¡­ wasn¡¯t¡­ me¡­¡±

    ¡°You really gonna lie now, right before heaven takes you?¡± Ace cleared his throat and placed a solemn hand against his chest. ¡°¡®All liars shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.¡¯¡±

    To hear scripture spoken from such a serpentine tongue made me sick, even then.

    ¡°What if it¡¯s the truth, Ace?¡± younger me said, voice a hell of a lot less gravelly. Beard thin and all brown. Actually, being honest, of all the men there, I recognized myself least of all. ¡°Vern¡¯s been good to us.¡±

    ¡°They always are ¡¯til they ain¡¯t.¡± Ace clicked his tongue. ¡°Loyalty is more common in dogs than men. But, hey, what do ya say we leave it to providence?¡± He looked up to the sky and raised his hands. ¡°Oh, almighty God, if this man is innocent, let him free of his bonds! Send your leagues of angels. Strike me down!¡±

    Ace closed his eyes. Everyone went silent but for the chattering frogs and my host asphyxiating. Blackness closed around my vision. The panic and the pain gave way to serene calm. Not acceptance, no, but exhaustion. I could sense the poor man¡¯s thoughts and tried to determine if he was guilty or not, but his mind was consumed only by the idea of breathing the air he couldn¡¯t get.

    ¡°Let that be a lesson to you all,¡± Ace said. ¡°Thirty pieces of silver ain¡¯t worth it. Never was.¡±

    And the last thing I witnessed before the blackness took hold was Ace¡¯s shit-eating grin and young Crowley standing right behind him, Stetson pressed against his chest¡­

    * * *

    I snapped out of my trance, falling on my ass into the mud. Gasping for air, even though in my current state, I didn¡¯t need it.

    I gaped down. In one hand, I clutched a rock Rosa had shot, along with a rope colored black by the mud. A skull clung to the loop, so old even the maggots had given up, but some remnants of that man must¡¯ve remained for me to have Divined.

    That¡¯s one of my gifts as a Black Badge¡ªseeing the final moments of a dead being, assuming there¡¯s enough flesh or blood or something left of them to touch¡ªshows me things I¡¯d never want to see. Sacrifices so beautiful even angels would weep. Or mortal terrors that would make ol¡¯ Lucifer himself shudder in his hooves. Or a myriad in between.

    Thing is, though, no matter what I see, those moments are mine. Forever. They stick with me. Time won¡¯t take them away. Time won¡¯t even lessen their intensity.

    The biggest problem is I experience it all through the victim¡¯s eyes and mind. That means I don¡¯t always get the full truth, subject to my own subconscious interpretation.

    Fortunately for me, if I could consider it fortune, I¡¯d been there for this one.

    I stared at the fallen hanging tree. Something must¡¯ve knocked it over in the twenty or thirty-some-odd years since Ace, myself, and the Scuttlers killed that man for something. I couldn¡¯t remember what. Didn¡¯t even remember that moment until I saw it.

    Just one sin in a long line of them I¡¯d spend eternity atoning for¡ªor until the White Throne grew sick of me.

    ¡°Nice moves, James. How¡¯s your backside?¡± Rosa¡¯s voice sprang me from staring into the dark, empty sockets of the skull. I let it fall from my hand and glanced back. She was laughing. Must¡¯ve thought I¡¯d slipped instead of seen ghosts.

    ¡°Need a hand?¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t that old,¡± I grumbled. Pushing into the mud with balled fists, it took some deal of effort to raise myself from the soupy earth. The rope came with me, in remarkably good shape for having been there so long, maybe preserved by the mud¡ªa perfectly usable lasso.

    And that was when I heard her. Her ghostly voice hanging in the humid air, speaking my name in that singsongy way. If Rosa was honey, she was acid.

    Though I couldn¡¯t feel much of anything physically, her presence brought a deep itch to my scarred chest, like it was lodged in my very soul.

    ¡°Crowleyyyy.¡±

    Shargrafein. Shar. My angelic handler spoke to me from the little shaving mirror sitting open in the mud. Must¡¯ve slipped from my pocket, or maybe she willed it there. I don¡¯t know. She just appeared in the reflection like burning incense¡ªa wispy, undefined shape.

    ¡°To replace the one you so carelessly destroyed,¡± she said, speaking of my old lasso that had snapped back in the town of Revelation when I¡¯d employed its use against a Yeti¡ªa man possessed by the demon Chekoketh. ¡°Or have you forgotten about your greater purpose? To bring judgment to true evil, not the miscreants of your past life.¡±

    ¡°So, Vern was guilty?¡± I asked softly.

    ¡°Does that forgive murder?¡±

    ¡°James!¡± Rosa called, looking all concerned. For me? Who¡¯d have thunk it?

    ¡°I¡¯m coming!¡± I hollered over to her across the way, then returned my attention to the mirror.

    ¡°Crescent City nears, and it is time you regained focus,¡± Shar said.

    ¡°I¡¯m always focused.¡± Even as I said it, I knew Shar had caught me in a lie.

    Rosa and I both had business in Crescent City. She and her traveling companions were kind enough to afford me the time to give the late Deputy Dale¡ªwho¡¯d died facing that same Yeti¡ªa proper burial before we departed to the swamplands. Even Shar couldn¡¯t stop me from escorting a widow and her soft, posh friends across dangerous roads sure to eat them up. Wouldn¡¯t be very Heavenly.

    ¡°Does this companionship remind you of those good old days?¡± Shar asked.

    She might not have been wrong. It¡¯s incredible what the years can do to the mind. Though I barely look like I¡¯d aged a year, I hardly remember my Scuttler days, apart from the bitter end. If you¡¯d have asked me whether I was here, in this very spot, hanging a man for treachery, I¡¯d likely have thought about it long and hard before saying ¡°no.¡±

    ¡°Does it?¡± Shar asked again.

    ¡°Is it so bad to remember simpler things?¡± I asked.

    ¡°To harp on the impossible will only drive you mad. You don¡¯t get a family, Crowley. The closest you¡¯ll ever have are those same sinners who killed you.¡±

    ¡°What kind of angel are you to say such hurtful things?¡±

    ¡°The truth will set you free, Crowley. I am merely a bearer of that particular gospel.¡±

    ¡°Better than a ma who drinks, I reckon. Can I call you ¡®Ma¡¯? ¡¯Cause the way I figure it, family¡¯s those who are there for you even when you don¡¯t want them to be. And, yeah, here you always are.¡±

    ¡°I allowed you this dalliance because you did well in Revelation. But do not push your luck. Rosa is not your friend.¡±

    I watched out of the corner of my eye as Rosa started to approach me like temptation itself. Hell, she even had that serpent tattoo. Temptation in a romantic sense, sure, being that I¡¯m a man and she¡¯d become a beautiful woman. But it was so much more. Temptation for a normal life¡­ Eggs and sausages for breakfast before milking cows, unwinding at the local, throwing back a few beers with the boys after a hard day. Shit, I¡¯d even consider waking up early to go to church on Sundays at this point. But, alas, those are the whims of the living.

    ¡°You¡¯ve seen what effect time has on mortals.¡± Shar¡¯s mist exited the mirror and swirled about the skull, half sunken already. Didn¡¯t even know she could do that. ¡°Her, the rest, they¡¯ll all pass. And here you shall remain, the servant of a higher power.¡±

    ¡°More like slave,¡± I said, soft.

    If Shar heard¡ªwhich I¡¯m sure she did¡ªshe ignored me.

    ¡°This is their world you protect, but you are not of this world.¡±

    One thing about Shar and me is that we can¡¯t stand each other. If angels are capable of hatred, she¡¯d be the one to find out. I¡¯m not sure that makes for a good team, but Heaven doesn¡¯t seem to care to reassign me a new handler. Maybe it isn¡¯t a bad thing since we¡¯re so damn blunt with each other. I¡¯ve never been one for chariness.

    And there is nothing I loathe more than when she¡¯s right.

    ¡°You okay, James?¡± Rosa asked, her serious voice now coming from directly above me. I caught a glimpse of her eyes and, this time, dared not stare.

    ¡°Fine. Just found this is all.¡± I shifted to push the skull down into the sludge to spare her seeing it, then yanked the lasso up. Mud and crust fell off, probably some ancient skin matter too. You know what they say, the object of one man¡¯s demise is another man¡¯s treasure.

    Wasn¡¯t sure how, but I could sense the rope had been enchanted like my last one, with the ability to compel Hellish beings to feel the White Throne¡¯s wrath should I tangle them with it.

    ¡°It¡¯s in great shape,¡± I said. ¡°Kismet, I guess. Fate. Needed a new one.¡±

    Rosa looked disgusted, her nose wrinkling in that very particular way¡ªstop it, Crowley.

    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t believe in such things?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Well, a man can change, can¡¯t he?¡±

    She nodded, but her smile vanished when she peered down at it once more.

    ¡°It¡¯s falling apart, James. Why not just buy a new one?¡±

    ¡°For starters, you just gouged me of my last dollar. Besides, I like ¡¯em broken in.¡±

    I rose, shoving the mirror¡ªand Shar along with it¡ªdown into my pocket so I wouldn¡¯t be further subjugated by her castigations. Then I secured my new lasso through a loop at my side and dusted off my pants. Rosa tried to take my arm, but I shook her away. Judging by how her expression darkened, she got the message. I didn¡¯t need help.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, I think it¡¯s time we wake the others and get moving,¡± I said, trudging toward the carriage where our travel companions¡ªBram, Harker, and Irish¡ªslept. ¡°We should hit Crescent City before another nightfall.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right,¡± Rosa said, unable to mask her disappointment. She¡¯d get over it. ¡°I¡¯m sick of the bugs.¡± She slapped her arm, crushing a mosquito into a tiny splotch of red.

    ¡°Being in the city won¡¯t change that much,¡± I told her.

    ¡°What are you after in Crescent City again?¡±

    ¡°A little of this and a little of that,¡± I replied. Truth is, I wasn¡¯t exactly sure yet. That was the way it usually worked. Shar got an inkling of Hellish doings, rumors and whispers, and I was dispatched to play inspector. When I was living, I figured the Almighty had his fingers in every pot, always knowing what his great adversary was cooking. Turns out, it ain¡¯t that simple. When God made man, the devil was at his side.

    That¡¯s where me and the others like me come in: His Hands where¡ªapparently¡ªHe can¡¯t, or won¡¯t, reach.

    Something sinister was afoul in Crescent City, and I¡¯d been set to smoke it out.

    ¡°Alright, play coy,¡± Rosa said. ¡°I won¡¯t pry.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t aim to be,¡± I said.

    ¡°No, really, it¡¯s fine. It¡¯s none of my business. I¡¯m not your wife.¡±

    That was for damn certain.

    ¡°I¡¯ve just¡­ heard things about the place, is all,¡± she went on. ¡°Do you really think someone there will be able to help me?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t say.¡± I sighed. Just couldn¡¯t lie to her.

    In a place like Crescent City, you either lose yourself or find yourself. The devil and wicked things have a hold on the place, unlike most regions. Guess it¡¯s just easier there, with all the vices.

    ¡°If there¡¯s anywhere in the world where someone can help you truly reach the other side, it¡¯s Crescent,¡± I admitted. ¡°Though I still don¡¯t think it¡¯s wise.¡±

    Rosa caught my gaze. Her eyes grew wide, almost begging me for more.

    ¡°Why?¡± She crossed her arms over her chest.

    ¡°It¡¯s unnatural. Mumbo jumbo.¡± I went to keep walking, but she pulled me back.

    ¡°You know more about this stuff than you let on, James. I know it. Back in Dead Acre when that thing came after me¡ªwhen he made the dead¡­ not dead¡ªyou alone didn¡¯t seem shocked.¡±

    I blew a raspberry. ¡°Parlor tricks and men in costumes.¡±

    ¡°James,¡± she said sternly.

    Again, I sighed. Why couldn¡¯t I just walk away from her? ¡°I know very little except to shoot at things hurting good folks like you.¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡±

    ¡°Never.¡± Taking her by the shoulders, I gave in and stared straight into her eyes, sparkling like hidden emeralds behind a veil of sadness. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous stuff, what you¡¯re after. This world is full of cheats and charlatans preying on grief¡ª¡±

    This time, it was her turn to shake me off. ¡°That¡¯s all I am to you, isn¡¯t it? A grieving widow refusing to let go. Pathetic.¡±

    ¡°No, I¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know what I saw that day, James,¡± she snapped. ¡°The devil¡¯s work. El diablo. And I know Willy¡¯s gone. I know that. But I need to know he¡¯s at peace. That that monster didn¡¯t curse him forever.¡±

    ¡°I get it. I really do. All I¡¯m asking is for you to be careful.¡±

    I could practically hear the wheels of her brain revolving as she tried to conjure up a response. In the end, one side of her mouth pinched into the slightest smirk. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re around. To shoot anyone who hurts good folks like me.¡±

    At that, she resumed toward the carriage and left me somewhat speechless. It was true; I had a knack for stumbling upon her in jeopardy and shooting whoever was putting her there. And I¡¯d just told her as much, but was that the only way she saw me?

    Like a grim reaper¡ªthe angel of death?

    As she tramped away, a mosquito landed on my arm. I didn¡¯t swat it. I just watched as it bit tried to drink blood that wasn¡¯t there. And instead of engorging itself, it choked on whatever was inside of me and tumbled off my arm into the mud.

    Dead.

    Cursed forever, indeed.

 Book 2: Chapter 2

    Few things are hotter or more stifling than the swamplands outside Crescent City. Felt like swimming through air while my boots squelched in knee-deep mud. Even having Bram¡¯s carriage, all that meant was getting stuck once every hour. Luckily, with my inability to feel, getting us free was a cinch. I¡¯m not exactly stronger than average, but you¡¯d be surprised how much strength can be mustered when you¡¯re unafraid of injuring yourself.

    Though mosquitos buzzed in thick clouds, at least the canopy of trees above served to blot out the baking sun. Wasn¡¯t like the heat bothered me none, but everyone else? Had it not been for those tall cypresses, they¡¯d have found themselves like burnt toast after too long.

    Stunk to high-heaven, too¡ªlike something died while eating something dead.

    ¡°This is putrid,¡± Harker said.

    He was an unimpressive man. Messy hair, even when he tried. As he talked, his corncob pipe bounced on his lips, though I hadn¡¯t noticed him smoking it for some time. Guess it must¡¯ve been some sort of oral fixation.

    ¡°That¡¯s complaint number twenty-two this hour alone,¡± Bram commented through the sliding window from his seat, steering the cart.

    Abraham Stoker. Oddest fellow I¡¯ve met in a decade, and I¡¯ve met my fair share of nut-jobs. Distinguished as they come and eccentric. Which is a word rich people use instead of bat-shit-crazy. Claimed he was scouring the country for supernatural entities. Sticking to well-worn roads was the anthesis of that¡ªhence taking the swampiest routes. Though, they were the faster.

    Why any sane mortal would be out hunting such things is beyond me.

    ¡°Twenty-three,¡± Rosa argued.

    ¡°I¡¯m quite sure it was only twenty-two,¡± Bram said.

    ¡°Feck¡¯s it matter?¡± Irish said, swatting a biting bug. Her normally short-shorn, red-as-blood hair had grown wild down to her ears. She was Bram¡¯s bodyguard of sorts and did a fine job of it. ¡°He don¡¯t shut his yap, I¡¯ll swell it up for him.¡±

    It was a promise I had no doubt she¡¯d keep with fervor. Really, I think they were all exaggerating. Most of the trip, the small company had been twattling this and that about the affairs back in their home country. Things about Bram¡¯s studies and what¡¯d led them to this side of the pond in search of answers. You ask me, they¡¯re only gonna find more questions.

    ¡°Threats like that are very unbecoming of a lady,¡± Harker said, shrinking away.

    ¡°What part of me looked lady-like to ye? Was it the tits or the brawn?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you put up with this,¡± Harker shouted to Bram, shaking his head.

    ¡°Come, join me up front,¡± Bram said to Harker. ¡°Let¡¯s discuss the book. I¡¯ve got grand ideas for some of your artwork in the chapter about the American broods.¡±

    Bram pulled the horses to a stop. Timp whinnied. The poor girl was pretty drained. She wasn¡¯t used to being all tied up, pulling a wagon. The other two horses did most of the work, but she was spent. Almost made me feel bad for tagging along with them. Except roads to Crescent City from the West were dangerous, filled with brigands, gators, and worse. I couldn¡¯t find a good reason¡ªsave for appeasing Shar¡ªnot to offer extra protection on my way to the same place.

    Harker climbed out, giving Irish a look of contempt before ascending to the bench beside Bram. With a crack of the reins, we started up again, and they were at it, arguing about illustrations.

    The book in reference was apparently a tome of facts and myths surrounding what Bram called ¡°vampir¡± in North America and Great Britain. He had far more of the latter than the former, but he swore there were bloodsuckers walking around city streets at night like any ordinary man.

    I¡¯d encountered enough of the beasts to know to stay away. Most were feral, taken by bloodlust. Older ones could control it better. And they hid well¡ªpartially why I believe him to be a little off his rocker. If a human stumbled across one, he didn¡¯t survive to tell a soul.

    Thankfully, silence carried us for a spell, giving me time to think. I had a few reasons for journeying to Crescent City¡ªand no, being with Rosa wasn¡¯t one of them. Happenstance. Good fortune, if you¡¯d believe it. Just so happened to be Bram¡¯s next stop on his crusade, and for whatever reason, Rosa found kinship with the fella. Both futzing around with things they had no business futzing with, I reckon.

    ¡°Funny-looking trees you folks have in these parts,¡± Bram turned and commented through the window. ¡°The way they hunch¡ªlooks like they¡¯re praying.¡±

    ¡°Would do them the same good it do us,¡± Irish said, causing Bram to perk up. ¡°That is feck-all.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised,¡± was all I said.

    I¡¯ve come to accept the existence of a Higher Power. Still couldn¡¯t tell you his or her name, but they¡¯re up there, perched on a White Throne, belching out orders to angels. Guess I can¡¯t blame the Almighty for ignoring an ex-outlaw like me when Heaven¡¯s at war with the powers of darkness. Though I wouldn¡¯t mind a bit more instruction from Shar on occasion.

    ¡°Ye expect me to believe in all that Heaven, Hell, angel, demon malarkey?¡± Irish said, spitting each word.

    ¡°Don¡¯t matter to me,¡± I said. ¡°They exist regardless of what you believe.¡±

    ¡°Never did take you for the preaching type, Mr. Crowley,¡± Bram said.

    ¡°Shit, I ain¡¯t preaching. Just stating the truth.¡± Even as I said it, I realized that was precisely what every street-screaming, bible-thumping, fire-and-brimstone-calling-down soul would say. ¡°I¡¯m just saying, her belief or disbelief in a matter don¡¯t make it any more or less true than some priest in a pulpit.¡±

    ¡°To that,¡± Bram said, ¡°I¡¯ll agree.¡± He tipped his hat and turned back to the road.

    ¡°Bowl full of shite,¡± Irish said under her breath.

    Rosa shot me a look that said it all.

    It was getting dark, and we were almost there. Though I could imagine everyone was getting hungry and tired.

    As if on cue, Rosa spoke up. ¡°I¡¯m starved.¡±

    ¡°Now look who¡¯s doing the bellyaching,¡± I said, making sure she saw the smile I wore.

    I rummaged around in my satchel and pulled out an apple. ¡°It¡¯s Timp¡¯s, but I¡¯m sure she won¡¯t mind.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Rosa said, giving it a bite. Her face screwed up, and the lack of crunch told me I¡¯d handed her rotten mush. Bit of grace she¡¯d taken my chastisements to heart and refrained from grousing about it. Guess she figured a belly full was better than a belly empty.

    ¡°You really believe all that, James?¡± she said quietly, only to me. I eyed her questioningly. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ you¡¯re an enigma, really. One moment, you¡¯re talking about me avoiding ¡®hocus-pocus¡¯ and ¡®mumbo jumbo,¡¯ and then you¡¯re defending faith.¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Funny thing about faith: it goes faster than it comes. Guess my many years have taught me to believe in something, even if I¡¯m wrong.¡±

    ¡°And that something is¡ªwhat?¡±

    A sound in the distance caught my attention. Bram must¡¯ve heard it too, ¡¯cause the cart rumbled to a stop.

    ¡°Hear that?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rosa said. ¡°Sounds like a¡ª¡±

    Then we heard it again.

    ¡°Goat,¡± a few of us said at once.

    ¡°Might mean there¡¯s a farm up ahead,¡± I said.

    ¡°In wetlands like this?¡± Rosa questioned. She would know. Back when she was married and living a peaceful life, her deceased husband came from ranching folk. Most I knew about tilling soil and tending livestock was that they were fine places to raid for some grub in a pinch.

    ¡°That would be a welcomed sight,¡± Harker hollered back. ¡°I¡¯d kill my own mother for a bath.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s dark,¡± Irish said. ¡°But I¡¯d kill her too, I guess.¡±

    Sometimes, it was best to ignore her comments. We started up again, a bit faster now with a new aim in mind, listening intently for the goat¡¯s ¡°bah¡± all the while.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t mind slicin¡¯ his neck and firin¡¯ his arse over a spit,¡± Irish said.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got bad news,¡± Bram said from up front. ¡°Road¡¯s blocked, and there¡¯s no going around without getting sunk.¡±

    I hopped out of the carriage and took in the scene. He was right. A mighty big tree lay fallen across our path. I could maybe push it aside enough for us to pass, given the time, but that would raise questions I wasn¡¯t currently keen to answer. Straining to lift the wagon out of the muck and plowing an eighty-year-old trunk aside were different things entirely.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Bram stepped up beside me. ¡°Think us three men could give it the old university try?¡±

    I glanced at Harker, still sitting on the bench, doodling on his notepad. ¡°I think we¡¯d have more luck with Irish.¡±

    ¡°I heard that,¡± Harker said.

    He leaped down from the carriage, sliding a bit as he landed. Irish unloaded from the cart, followed closely by Rosa.

    I turned back toward the obstruction. Behind me, Harker yelped. I spun just in time to watch him land ungracefully in the swampy water. To his credit, he rose quick, muttering curses.

    ¡°My good sir!¡± Stoker commented, rushing over to him. ¡°Are you well?¡±

    ¡°I tripped,¡± Harker commented as if that weren¡¯t obvious.

    I strode over as he slipped endlessly over himself. When I bent to offer aid, I found myself staring at the object of his embarrassment.

    Two wide eyes beamed back at me, lifeless and cold. The bloody remains of a goat, the best parts eaten away. I took care not to touch it, having no idea how long it¡¯d taken for it to succumb to so many teeth gnashes, and I certainly wasn¡¯t interested in knowing what that felt like.

    Next, Harker spotted it, eliciting further curses and exclamations of both shock and horror. ¡°What could have committed such a heinous act?¡±

    ¡°Plenty of gators ¡¯round these parts,¡± I told him. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get this tree out of the way before we all end up like our little friend over there.¡±

    That caused Harker a visible shudder. Best not to tell him about all the other things it could¡¯ve been. Monsters, demons, a rogue witch coven sacrificing to Satan¡ªthe list was truly endless.

    ¡°Guess we¡¯ll all just give her a shove,¡± Bram said. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Mr. Harker. Right here by me. Irish, over there, if you will. Rosa between her and Mr. Crowley. Everyone ready?¡±

    He planted himself, one foot in the swamp, the other on mostly solid ground, and pressed his hands against the tree. I did the same, and the others found their spots shortly thereafter.

    ¡°On the count of three,¡± I said.

    I lowered my head, pressing my shoulder into the bark. I¡¯d just started to count down when I heard something that was very much not a goat. Bram screamed as he plunged below the swampy waters. Ripples coruscated outward from where he fell. Harker reached down to grab for his friend, and his hand came up wet but empty.

    ¡°Bram!¡± Harker shouted.

    Then in an instant, water burst up along with thrashing limbs and flashing teeth. Everything descended into chaos. Rosa pulled her revolver.

    ¡°No!¡± I snapped. ¡°You¡¯ll just as likely shoot Bram as whatever that is.¡±

    The struggle stopped for an instant. It was like we were stuck between the stuttering ticks of an old broken clock. Everything was still and quiet until it wasn¡¯t. Bram¡¯s head popped up from the water, gurgling a horror-stricken scream. Then whatever had hold of him dragged him deeper into the underbrush.

    Rosa and Irish started running. I told Timp to stay put and slung the rifle off my back. Wasn¡¯t sure what we were getting into, but this place had gators the size of wagons. Although they wouldn¡¯t require silver bullets, I had my Winchester loaded with them all the same. Better safe than dead.

    ¡°Rosa, wait up!¡± I yelled, lumbering forward.

    Once Irish reached Harker, they both followed after the undulating muck. Rosa stayed on their heels despite my best efforts, while I swore under my breath. Not just because she was refusing to heed my warnings. I was receiving a warning all my own.

    Someone screamed. Could¡¯ve been Harker. Could¡¯ve been Bram. I wouldn¡¯t have a chance to find out, for I had my own problems. Bright yellow eyes stared at me from the low-hanging branches. Not just two of them either. Half a dozen pairs blinked, watching me from the inky darkness.

    All at once, they lurched forward and into the light. Holy God in Heaven, they were ugly.

    No fewer than six vile reptilians launched themselves at me from the trees. Only thing I knew for sure was they weren¡¯t crocs or gators. Too small. Sure, they had scales, but they were stark white. And them teeth¡ªlong, needle-thin ones. Four legs and a tail was where the similarities ended. Foot-long spikes along the ridges of their spines stuck straight up like ship sails.

    I raised my Winchester and blew a hole straight through the mouth of the closest. Black ichor gushed like a fountain behind it, and the beast¡¯s dead corpse crashed down with a splash.

    Fast as I am, that was the only shot I was getting off before the rest converged on me. I brought the butt of my rifle down like a mallet on another¡¯s head. My footing shifted, and I turned to see one of them hanging off my arm, dangling there, teeth deep in my flesh. It made a gurgling, groaning sound, unlike anything I¡¯d heard before.

    ¡°Off me, you son of a bitch,¡± I said, dropping my weapon and grasping at its jaws. Wouldn¡¯t you know it, the creature¡¯s fellows didn¡¯t have any couth or decorum; they kept coming.

    The one on my arm wouldn¡¯t relent, but I managed to backhand another and send it flying. The raw power that came with a pain-free life likely broke its back.

    I had no time to celebrate, hesitate, or even formulate a plan. Reaching for my side, I pulled one of my Peacemakers, tucked the barrel against my parasitical friend¡¯s neck, and shot it to Hell. The result was an explosive shower of dark mist.

    I shook its carcass free and used my now free hand to liberate my second pistol.

    However, when I turned to put down the remaining three, there was nothing. If I had a beating heart, it would¡¯ve been racing. The benefit of such a condition was that my mind remained clear, and I still had my wits about me. Twirling a slow circle, I skimmed for any sign of danger. Sibilant sounds echoed behind me. I spun¡ªnothing¡ªheard another hiss from the opposite direction and spun again.

    These bastards were playing games with me.

    A ripple in the swamp caught my eye and I quick fired. Couldn¡¯t tell if I¡¯d hit anything, but the water turned a shade darker, informing me I must have. Assuming that one was dead, there were two of these buggers left.

    ¡°Come on!¡± I shouted, taunting the pair to make a move.

    They didn¡¯t disappoint. I ducked as both dove for my head. They must¡¯ve had damn powerful legs to catapult themselves so high out of the water. It wasn¡¯t as comical as them slamming into each other, but they did connect. And like a leashed dog, they took their aggression out on one another, allowing me a moment to slip free of the fray.

    I fired twice. Caught one in the gut, slowing it to near paralysis. The second round bounced harmlessly off the other¡¯s back spikes. It whirled, finding a new target for its ire. Emitting a low growl, it stalked toward me. Then I heard something subtle behind me. Was there another creature unaccounted for?

    I dropped to a knee in the wet marsh, turned, and nearly fired before realizing it was Irish standing there with a creature in hand, fingers digging between its teeth on both jaws. She gave it a hefty pull and tore the thing down to its hind legs. Dropping the beast unceremoniously to the swamp, she moved toward me.

    ¡°Feck you waiting for?¡± she asked, pulling one of her throwing daggers from a sheath across her chest. With deft movement, she flicked her wrist, and the blade buried itself hilt-deep in the final reptile¡¯s yellow eye.

    ¡°No!¡± A shout that sounded like Rosa. Then a shriek that could only be Harker.

    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± I said to Irish. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    We sloshed noisily through the muck, Irish calling out for Bram with every step. There was no response.

    I tried my luck, screaming, ¡°Rosa!¡± All that returned was my echo.

    We turned ¡¯round a form of a corner, pushing past sharp, wet branches that would¡¯ve been an inconvenience for anyone but me. The full scene came into view, stopping me cold.

    Rosa knelt in the marshland, water up to her waist. Next to her, elevated on a brittle log, Abraham groaned, an agonized look etched on his weathered face. But that wasn¡¯t the worst of it. Rosa¡¯s eyes were wide and locked on a pair of yellow ones belonging to one of the Hell lizards, only inches from her. One of her hands rested on the grip of her pistol, but she didn¡¯t draw with how close it was. Her other was raised in front of the beast. Its teeth weren¡¯t bared; it simply stared, head cocked to the side.

    ¡°No,¡± Rosa whispered to the beast, firm as iron.

    Something held me back from rushing to her aid. Call it intuition, providence, or God¡¯s own hand¡ªI don¡¯t need a definition. Not to mention, it might be able to take a chomp out of her face before I got to her, close as it was. All I know is my feet stayed firmly planted, eyes watching.

    Irish stirred to action beside me but I held out a staying hand.

    ¡°Like hell,¡± she said. Seeing her boss in such straits had her understandably determined to put down the threat. And she could without breaking a sweat.

    I didn¡¯t blame her, but my feeling persisted.

    ¡°Just hold up, dammit,¡± I whispered.

    Then the fruition of my inclinations manifested. The reptile, eyes still set on Rosa, backed down. At first, it was a meek step backward. Then it hissed, twirled, and scurried back into the shrubs. I rushed forward to kneel beside Rosa.

    ¡°Feck was that?¡± Irish asked, joining us. I thought she was referring to the way the creature responded to Rosa¡¯s, whatever that was. But her look, pointed at me, made me realize she was speaking of my insistence that she stayed put. Her ensuing words did the rest of the job. ¡°Ye could¡¯ve gotten them dead.¡±

    I ignored her.

    ¡°You alright?¡± I asked Rosa while Irish ministered to Bram.

    ¡°Fine,¡± she said, obviously still shaken from her stare-down with the swamp monster. ¡°It had me dead to rights, then¡­ stopped. But, Bram¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Bram said in a tone that sounded anything but fine. ¡°My ego is more bruised than I¡ª¡±

    He winced, and I got my first look at his mangled leg. Blood, tissue, and bone poked through a layer of scummy, muddy water.

    ¡°Bullshit,¡± I said. Then I scanned the battlegrounds for Harker. I found him hiding behind a tree. ¡°Harker, here, now.¡±

    He wormed his way to us, stumbling over a half-baked apology for his cowardice.

    ¡°Whatever, ye fly,¡± Irish said.

    ¡°You hurt?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°Nothing a change of britches won¡¯t fix,¡± he admitted.

    ¡°Good.¡± I placed a hand under Bram¡¯s neck, and with the other, I grabbed his legs. ¡°I¡¯m gonna need you to drive the coach.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ain¡¯t gonna argue.¡± I was already beginning to rise with Bram nestled in my arms. ¡°Irish, eyes peeled for more of those things.¡±

    ¡°James,¡± Rosa said. ¡°What can I do?¡±

    ¡°You just survived¡ª¡±

    ¡°We all did,¡± she said with all the intensity I¡¯ve come to expect from her. ¡°What can I do?¡±

    ¡°Fine. Help me get him into the wagon.¡±

    The trek back wasn¡¯t far, but with Harker stumbling every few feet, it took longer than any of us would¡¯ve wanted. Bram took the pain with grace, as he did all things, but I could tell he was hurting.

    ¡°Alright,¡± I said to Rosa, ¡°hop in and guide his head.¡±

    Rosa did as I asked, placing her valise beneath his head like a pillow. Then I carefully navigated his lower half until it rested on the bench. Once sure he was as comfortable as possible, I stepped aside and let Irish in. The ladies took the bench opposite him.

    A shimmer in the mud caught my attention.

    ¡°You¡¯re wasting time on these Children,¡± Shar said.

    I growled softly, unable to respond without looking like a loon to my companions. Instead, as I strode by, I gave the puddle a good kick and sent Shargrafein¡¯s wispy visage back to Heaven.

    Sometimes it amazes me that she¡¯s supposed to be on the good side of things. How could someone sworn to love and serve humanity decide a dying man was a waste of time?

    I shook the thoughts away and rushed to the front of the carriage.

    ¡°We still have the problem of the blockage,¡± Harker said, gesturing toward the fallen tree barring our path.

    ¡°I know. I know. Hold your horses,¡± I told him.

    Throwing caution to the wind, I analyzed the situation. Muck had accumulated on the tree¡¯s backside, so pushing in that direction wouldn¡¯t be as effective. Instead, I pulled my lasso free and aimed at a thin branch. Finding purchase, I set my feet and poured every ounce of my will into yanking the thing to the side of the road.

    I returned to Harker, who sat there, trading glances between me and the tree. I said nothing as I clinked and climbed up beside him.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°How did you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Must¡¯ve been hollow,¡± I lied. ¡°Now come on before your friend bleeds out.¡±

    No less confused, but at least that got him slapping the leather, and the horses were off. In the corner of my eye, I noticed Rosa watching me with puzzlement. I thought the tree being hollow was a good enough excuse, but then it hit me¡ªit wasn¡¯t me baffling her. She was looking through me, deep in thought.

    That beast could have torn into her, but it didn¡¯t. Her being as enchanting as she was, I wasn¡¯t surprised, but the beast wasn¡¯t some horned-up man. Still, things like that have a knack for survival. Probably it saw me and Irish, and instinct took over as it realized that one tasty morsel wasn¡¯t worth its life.

    Either way, I wouldn¡¯t complain. Better it be Bram down and bleeding than her.

 Book 2: Chapter 3

    We rolled into town under the pale light of a half-moon. Our carriage bounced along the cobbled streets, making enough clatter to stir the dead, as some say. I was grateful that was just a saying. Crescent City is famous for its cemetery¡­ a Necromancer¡¯s playground.

    Living people did poke their heads out to watch us pass. But only because we made our way through the quieter backstreets. It was the witching hour, which, honestly, meant very little here. The city was always abuzz with some activity or another, whether it be fishing skiffs coming in or a noisy parade for a funeral. Beats sitting around in church, hearing sobbing. First few times, it really weirds you out to hear cheerful music accompany stories of death.

    Sure, you had your usual human debauchery¡ªdrinking, fornicating, a total disregard for one¡¯s fellows. It was more than that though. In a place with so much stirring, it was simple for real demons and Nephilim to prance about unnoticed. Every year, dozens went missing here in Crescent City, never to be heard from again. To most, it just came with the territory. Bigger city meant more people, which meant more bad things. I knew better. Shar could have me after any number of nocuous entities.

    But first, Bram needed help.

    ¡°Her place should be right up here,¡± I told Harker.

    ¡°Thank heavens,¡± he said. ¡°Remind me to give him a piece of my mind when he¡¯s well. Hauling us to such a despicable place¡­¡± He shook his head.

    ¡°Something tells me you won¡¯t need much reminding.¡±

    We pulled up to a humble cottage on Saint Anne Street. I¡¯d been here a few times over the years. Its owner was an ally when it served her. Though I noticed a few things out of the ordinary.

    First, the flickering candles I¡¯d come to expect in the windows were absent. Just darkness and white curtains stained brown with age. Second, the sign that used to hang proudly above the door¡ªthe one that read Herbal Healer¡ªwas no longer there. Furthermore, the house looked like it went a few rounds with the devil. Then again, who hasn¡¯t? But it worried me the place had gone vacant.

    The third thing¡ªthough I suppose it might really be a fourth¡ªwas the two men nonchalantly standing nearby. To the untrained eye, they might¡¯ve appeared to be common riff-raff having drunk too much, unable to make their way back to their homes. But to my mind, I saw them for what they were.

    Dark jackets and pants¡ªoverdressed for the heat. Clean, unlike most locals. Gave me the notion they were outsiders, unaware of what it took to fit in. But the way they fudgeled around in the shadows told me they were more interested in concealment than comfort. It also told me they didn¡¯t plan to do much in the way of moving.

    Pinkertons, US Marshals, local enforcement¡­ they were something of the like.

    ¡°Pull over here,¡± I commanded Harker.

    He took the horses to the side of the avenue, and we made quick work of tying them up. More than once, those men gave us cop eyes, all professionally detached neutrality. I even waved, making sure they knew I saw them as much as they saw us. They turned away, subtle as a thrown brick.

    I slipped Timperina a hard-pressed cake and patted her lightly. She looked tired as a coal mine mule. ¡°You rest now, girl. We¡¯re done moving for a bit.¡±

    I dragged my hand along her back as I made my way to the wagon door. She gave a soft whinny and the other horses joined in the chorus.

    ¡°How is he?¡± I asked, opening it.

    Rosa must¡¯ve dozed off, ¡¯cause she jumped in her seat. As was her nature, she quickly recovered. Her eyes settled on the cluttered buildings and busy streets at my back, and went wide. I knew the look. Probably the first time she¡¯d seen a city with buildings as big as this.

    Stacks spewing out black smoke hovered over everything. Clothes were strung from balconies. People hollered to each other just to be louder than a hundred loud things. It¡¯s enough to give anybody pause. And it¡¯s why I prefer the frontier. Cities¡­ They¡¯re like living, breathing things. And such things are unpredictable. The trees have neither ears nor tongues, I always say. Normal ones, at least.

    ¡°Hanging on,¡± Irish said.

    ¡°Good.¡± I turned back to the bench. ¡°Harker, help Irish. Quick. He looks pale as a fear-stricken ghost.¡±

    Bram stirred a bit at that but made no comprehensible words.

    I gave Rosa a reassuring glance before making my way across the street.

    Upon closer inspection, the cottage looked even worse. The boards were rotting¡ªpaint peeled and nearly nonexistent. And the beautiful flowers once planted in the garden were dead and withered.

    I knocked lightly three times, worried I might pound a hole through the fragile door. I peered over my shoulder¡ªas expected, the two lawmen perked up.

    Why they were watching the place, I couldn¡¯t say, but their intent was clear.

    When no one answered, I rapped a little harder. And some more.

    By now, Harker and Irish stood directly behind me, holding Bram aloft across their forearms. His head lolled as he muttered nonsense.

    ¡°He¡¯s got fever,¡± Rosa said, hand against his forehead.

    ¡°Perhaps she isn¡¯t home,¡± Harker said.

    ¡°For his sake¡­¡± I pointed to Bram. ¡°¡­I hope you¡¯re wrong.¡±

    ¡°Step aside,¡± Irish said, dragging Bram and Harker with her up the step. She slammed her fist against the gray wood door with enough force to send the termites running for cover.

    The neighbor¡¯s shutters threw wide. ¡°Shut the hell up!¡± shouted a man with a Cajun accent thick as roux.

    ¡°You shut your feckin¡¯ cake hole,¡± Irish answered. ¡°Or I¡¯ll burn yer house down wit ye inside.¡±

    The man looked like he¡¯d been scolded by a church marm and retreated indoors.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got to find a doctor, James,¡± Rosa said.

    I gritted my teeth. If there was anyone on Earth that could help Bram, it was¡ª

    The door finally cracked open.

    Marie Laveau, better known as the Voodoo Queen of Crescent City, greeted us through the gap with a single eyeball. I guess she recognized me since something sparkled in her gaze before the door shut. Rosa gave me a sidelong glance. The sound of a chain rattled on the other side, and the door reopened.

    A woman of rich color around seventy years old stood before us, her hair hidden beneath a tall, tightly wrapped mauve cloth. She was old, but her eyes were alive and alert beneath strong, sharp eyebrows. Around her neck and shoulders draped a large snake I knew to be called Damballah. Laveau loved that snake every bit as much as I did Timp.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    The Voodoo Queen looked far older than the last time I¡¯d seen her, even her wrap unable to hide the gray by her temples. Me? I looked exactly the same. Though she said nothing about it¡ªever¡ªI¡¯m sure Laveau had her suspicions about what I was and was gracious enough to never pry. She knew things about the supernatural world that no mortal should.

    ¡°Come in, come in,¡± she said, eyes darting behind me at the men across the street. She turned her focus to Bram and the others. ¡°And who is this?¡±

    ¡°We need your help,¡± I said.

    ¡°This, I can see. But that was not the question.¡±

    I was quick to introduce everyone. Rosa seemed positively drawn to Damballah, while Harker shied far away from the snake.

    ¡°And this is Bram Stoker,¡± I said. ¡°Got bit by something in the swamp.¡±

    ¡°His noggin¡¯s hot as the noon sun,¡± Irish said.

    Laveau led us through the sitting room into the central part of the cottage, which was both her main living room and kitchen, with a spot in the corner behind a shade I assumed to be her pot.

    ¡°Put him on the bed, quickly.¡±

    ¡°The bed¡± referred to one of several makeshift hospital berths scattered around the small home. None were occupied. In fact, nobody was around at all. A Voodoo Queen can¡¯t be queen without followers, and last I was here, she had plenty. Local folk with a gift or a yearning for dark secrets. Some who just wanted to help her heal but didn¡¯t have the education for institutions.

    Now, it was only her. Alone. Old. Withering away. Where had time gone?

    As Bram was laid down, I caught sight of Laveau¡¯s windows. The candles I thought were absent were right there on the sill, flickering. She caught me looking.

    ¡°Part of the protection spell cast upon the cottage,¡± she said.

    ¡°You¡¯re being watched,¡± I said, not a question.

    ¡°There is no light without shade,¡± she said offhandedly as she dithered about the cottage.

    My eyes darted from side to side. ¡°Marie, where is everybody?¡±

    ¡°Moved on. Dead. Tired of persecution. Everyone except Damballah.¡± She stroked the reptile¡¯s head like one would a small dog. ¡°All the strange things coming and going in Crescent City, it is easy for blame to fall upon those who do not wish to hide for unexplainable crimes.¡±

    ¡°But that¡ª¡±

    ¡°Times have changed, James,¡± she cut me off. ¡°And not for the better.¡±

    ¡°Can we focus on Bram not kicking the bucket and gab gums later?¡± Irish asked.

    Laveau gave an agreeable nod and dashed away as fast as her elderly legs would take her.

    The place had always borne a queer mixture of voodoo elements in stark juxtaposition to paintings of everything from the Virgin Mother and various saints to a large crucifix upon which an effigy of the wounded Christ hung. Just below said cross was a black altar covered in jars of herbs, dried roots, and earthen-colored powders.

    Laveau gathered a handful of crushed, browning herbs from a bowl beside a petrified head, slapped her hands together, and wafted the floating fragments toward her face. Then, she made herself busy collecting other items, returning to us holding a stick embellished with what appeared to be bird feathers and bones of origins unknown to me.

    ¡°What did this?¡± she asked, pulling at the hastily wrapped bandages on Bram¡¯s leg.

    ¡°I truly don¡¯t know,¡± I answered.

    ¡°Well, if I am to attend to him properly¡ª¡±

    ¡°Was one of these sons¡¯a whores,¡± Irish said.

    We all turned to find her pulling the mangled reptile head from her satchel. Not sure when she managed to saw one off.

    ¡°My word,¡± Laveau said, breathless. ¡°This is worse even than I thought. Okay, everyone out. I need quiet.¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t going nowhere,¡± Irish said.

    ¡°You want him to live, no?¡± Laveau asked. ¡°Then you go. Now.¡±

    I put a hand on Irish¡¯s shoulder, hoping to bring assurance. ¡°It¡¯s okay. She¡¯s good people.¡±

    ¡°And leave the grunch,¡± Marie added.

    So, that¡¯s what this was. A grunch. I¡¯d never encountered one before, much less half a dozen, but I¡¯d heard stories. They¡¯ve got different names depending on the region. Back near Dead Acre, people told tales of the chupacabra¡ªheinous little beasts that would lure their prey with something like a¡­

    ¡°That explains the goat,¡± I said, my mind drifting a bit, considering all the implications.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Laveau said. ¡°They did not use to be in the region but migrated from west of here in recent years. And they do not merely bite; they suck the blood from their victims.¡±

    ¡°Like a vampire,¡± Harker whispered, a hint of excitement behind his dread.

    Laveau shook her head. ¡°No, no. Nothing like those. Pray to meet none of those.¡±

    Harker blinked. ¡°They¡¯re¡­ real?¡±

    Laveau sighed. ¡°Your friend will live, but I need quiet. Go now.¡±

    Irish took a step forward. ¡°Happy to keep my flabber shut, but I ain¡¯t leaving Bram with no stranger.¡±

    Marie¡¯s eyes went dark, and Damballah rose slightly from her shoulder, unleashing a soft hiss. Irish took a small step back, the first sign of backing down I¡¯d ever seen from the woman.

    ¡°I said I¡¯d vouch for her,¡± I said.

    ¡°No offense, Mr. Crowley,¡± Irish said, ¡°but you ain¡¯t much less a stranger than this one. I¡¯ll be keepin¡¯ put.¡±

    I looked to Laveau, pleading.

    She nodded.

    ¡°I¡¯m staying too,¡± Harker said.

    ¡°As am I,¡± Rosa added.

    Bram moaned.

    ¡°Blessed mother,¡± Laveau said, waving us away. ¡°You can all stay. Just wait in the front room, please.¡±

    We emptied out into the sitting room. Damballah swayed toward us as we brushed by. Fascination was etched onto Rosa¡¯s face, and her hand slowly reached for her snake-and-dagger tattoo, though I don¡¯t think she even realized it.

    The front room was cramped, with only three chairs, each one upholstered with a different pattern and torn at the seams. A rotting wooden bookshelf on one side had myriad unmarked texts bearing secrets of the thin line between our world and that above and below. Forbidden texts. On the other side, petrified things in jars like pickles: organs, chicken feet, small creatures¡ªcuriosities galore.

    Weak flames flickered from about ten or so wax candles already half-length, set in hollowed skulls. But, with the windows magically boarded shut, it was dark.

    Harker and Irish took seats without so much as a thought for Rosa and me, though Rosa offered me hers.

    ¡°No, ma¡¯am,¡± I said. ¡°Ladies always first. Besides, I¡¯ve got some things to take care of in the city if I can¡¯t be any good here.¡±

    ¡°Want company?¡± she asked.

    Truth was, I¡¯d have loved Rosa to come along, but with my line of work, it would just put her in undue danger. Rosa and her companions had their reasons for being in Crescent City, and I had mine. Though admittedly, I had no idea what that was yet. It was high time to find out.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s late. No time for a lady to walk these streets. And yes, I know you can handle yourself. But all the same, spare my conscience.¡±

    Rosa stood and lowered her voice. ¡°James, please. You didn¡¯t tell me how creepy it was here.¡±

    I grunted. She was right about that. Wasn¡¯t that it was a mess, no. Everything¡ªall Laveau¡¯s oddities¡ªwere neat as a pin. Untouched.

    ¡°Used to be more full of life,¡± I admitted.

    Rosa gawked at the pickled body parts. ¡°What is she?¡±

    ¡°One who trifles with things no mortal should.¡± I said it as a warning, though I wasn¡¯t sure Rosa caught on.

    ¡°Yet you brought us here? To a witch?¡± Guess she hadn¡¯t.

    ¡°She ain¡¯t a witch,¡± I said. ¡°She¡¯s got a good heart. She¡¯s a healer. But just because she does good deeds with dark mysteries doesn¡¯t mean others will. Best not to dig deeper than that.¡±

    I moved to the door. Rosa gave my arm a firm tug.

    Her voice got even lower. ¡°James, can she¡ª¡±

    Irish made smoochy noises with her lips and interrupted us. ¡°Oh, take her behind the feckin¡¯ bushes already, would ye?¡±

    ¡°Irish!¡± Rosa scolded, cheeks flushing a shade of purple.

    A retort got caught somewhere in my throat.

    ¡°What? I can smell the musk from here,¡± Irish said. ¡°Sickening. Harker, tell me I¡¯m wrong.¡±

    Harker cleared his throat, purposefully avoiding us. ¡°You¡¯ve got the grace of a bull stomping a field mouse. That mouth will get you into trouble someday.¡±

    ¡°At least my mouth¡¯s doing somethin¡¯.¡± She made more kissing noises.

    ¡°Enough of this,¡± I groaned. ¡°We¡¯ll talk later, Rosa, alright? For now, make sure those two don¡¯t get into trouble. And try and get some rest.¡±

    Her lips twisted, but she didn¡¯t say anything more than a soft grunt of acknowledgment. Embarrassment was an excellent way to end that particular conversation. Soonest done, soonest over.

    I knew where Rosa was going, wondering just how deep Laveau¡¯s abilities went. Places where only those with complete clarity of mind should dare cross, and Rosa, strong as she was, was still grieving.

    But what did it mean that she didn¡¯t hide her embarrassment like I had?

    She shuffled over to the books, running her hand along the spines. Light reading, none of it was. Most likely not written in English.

    I left her that way and headed outside. Because unlike Rosa, I was hiding. I leaned on a column out front, imagining my heart racing when it couldn¡¯t. Why did Irish have to say that? It¡¯d been easy to toe the line with Rosa. To pretend I was indifferent.

    Strange how a few simple words out loud can change everything. And I knew it too. Intuition was never a gift of mine, but in this, I was clear. In a breath, Irish unleashed into the world an impossibility. And some doors, once open, can¡¯t close. They just wear down until the wood crumbles and falls off the hinges.

    Timp whinnied from her spot on the hitch, taking a break from slurping water from a trough.

    ¡°Not you too,¡± I said, giving her a look.

    Why¡¯s everyone always gotta have it in for me?

 Book 2: Chapter 4

    Saint Anne Street was still and quiet, though nowhere near as garroted with silence as Laveau¡¯s place. And¡ªsurprise!¡ªthe badges still inconspicuously hung around on the opposite side of the street. This time, I noticed some posters on the walls behind them. Not bounties like I was used to. They all had the word MISSING in bold print.

    Marie seemed unhappy to have those fellas milling about, which was understandable. What she¡¯d hinted at¡ªthat things weren¡¯t like they used to be¡ªgot me thinking. She and the others in Crescent¡ªvoodoo practitioners and traiteurs alike¡ªhad mostly kept to themselves. Hell, the Catholic healers wouldn¡¯t even get involved unless they were petitioned to do so.

    So, what did these boys want? What blame fell at Laveau¡¯s feet to drive all her people away? Or had she simply grown old, complacent? Tired of fighting for her way of living. I contemplated striding over there and picking their brains¡ªmaybe spilling them. Wasn¡¯t quite sure which fate they deserved yet. However, I didn¡¯t figure they were going anywhere anytime soon. And for now, I needed some answers.

    Marie¡¯s little home was so close to her neighbor¡¯s I¡¯d wager they could hear each other snore. I ducked into the narrow alleyway and pulled out my small shaving mirror, ready to send a spiritual telegraph to the bane of my existence. I rolled the mirror around in my hand for a minute, wishing I could feel the smooth edges against my fingertips.

    In truth, I was just preparing myself for what awaited me inside. I was where I¡¯d been dispatched to be, which meant I¡¯d be hunting something soon. Last time, in Revelation, that something turned out to be a tragedy. An enemy possessed by the demon Chekoketh, who didn¡¯t deserve what came to him.

    I sucked in a deep breath. My lungs might not have needed the air, but I needed the moment. Except no amount of hesitation would change anything. So, I flipped the mirror open.

    For a second, it was just me staring back at myself. The exact face I¡¯d worn twenty or so years ago when Ace Ryker shot me dead for sticking up for an eight-or-so-year-old Rosa and her mama.

    ¡°Oh, Shar,¡± I said in a cute little melody as I strolled. She hated the nickname, but I couldn¡¯t help myself.

    ¡°Crowley, I see you¡¯ve finally decided to stop playing hero.¡±

    ¡°It was on the way,¡± I said. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s not like I have the first clue why I¡¯m here. So why rush?¡±

    ¡°You are here because the White Throne bids it so.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s fine and well,¡± I said, ¡°but since I¡¯m aimless anyway, I figured a visit to an old friend wouldn¡¯t hurt. Might even save a life.¡±

    ¡°For once, you¡¯ve used that word correctly,¡± Shar said. ¡°The Madame is, indeed, a friend to the Throne.¡±

    ¡°Was that something nice you just said?¡± I didn¡¯t even try to hide the shock in my voice.

    ¡°Don¡¯t mistake kindness for weakness, Crowley. Mortals like her are always a mere breath from using their secrets for ill means.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. We¡¯re all just a coin flip from madness. Now, if you wouldn¡¯t mind, for once in my damned unlife, could you just tell me exactly where to go, so I don¡¯t end up wandering?¡±

    She spoke, but I didn¡¯t hear it. My chest started burning fiercely. More with each step I took. That¡¯s the bit of gratitude I get from the White Throne. They could¡¯ve done anything: goose pimples, a ringing in my ears, but no, they chose searing pain on the chest of a man who otherwise can¡¯t feel a damn thing. That burn is meant to inform me about the presence of a Hellish entity.

    Something wicked this way comes.

    And it wasn¡¯t out of the ordinary for Hell¡¯s minions to come after me. I¡¯d pissed off someone powerful back in Revelation, after all.

    ¡°Hold on a second,¡± I said.

    ¡°Crowley, would you¡ª¡±

    I tucked Shar back into my duster and followed my instincts until I didn¡¯t need to anymore. As I approached a cross alley enclosed by two brick buildings, I could hear it now as much as feel it. A wet sound, like a particularly vile person chowing down on smothered lamb chops¡ªlips smacking, throat gurgling.

    I peered around the corner, and the sight stopped me dead in my tracks. Its skin was the color of dried blood. I was unsure if it was due to natural pigmentation or years gone without a wash after its many meals. It was frail and nearly bald, just a few wisps of gray hair poking up from an otherwise smooth dome. I couldn¡¯t see its face, though the pointed ears clued me in to what I was seeing.

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    Whoever that was beneath its fangs only had a precious few moments left on this side of the afterlife, so I acted on instinct and barreled around the corner.

    When the vampire sensed company, it stopped.

    Hunched over like a dog, its head whipped toward me, showing long, vicious fangs. Its eyes, like golden nuggets, glinted in the wan moonlight.

    Thing to know about vampires¡ªferal and uncivilized as they come¡ªis they move in stuttering flickers. By some form of Hell¡¯s power, their actions ain¡¯t smooth like a human, though human they¡¯d once been. This one moved so damned fast, I could hardly follow. And knowing how close by those marshals were, I figured I had only enough time for a shot before they¡¯d come running. If I drew and missed, I¡¯d lose any chance afforded to me.

    It hissed. Such an unnatural sound, like no animal I¡¯d ever heard. The blood in its throat rattled as the air passed, and it bolted upright. I¡¯d tried to tell Bram that his hopes of discovering sentient, intelligent bloodsuckers were all for naught, but he wouldn¡¯t listen. He was convinced Crescent City would conjure up some previously unknown version of this mindless beast.

    I¡¯ll give him one thing, though, it¡¯s not often I happen on these things in the city. They prefer to live together in packs¡ªor broods, as we call them. Caves, forest hollows¡ªanywhere the occasional unsuspecting traveler might wind up and wouldn¡¯t be missed. But here, in the middle of a crowded city?

    They¡¯re skittish like deer. To accentuate my point, the beast snarled and bolted before I could even draw iron.

    ¡°Get back here!¡± I took off after it, vaulting over the soon-to-be corpse that was its dinner.

    I¡¯ve got a lot of skills. Some came from hard knocks, some by the teaching of one Ace Ryker. Others still, a gift from my Heavenly benefactors. None of them include rooftop hijinks. So when the vampire skittered up a wall and onto a flat-roofed, one-story building, it gave me pause.

    Some juice just ain¡¯t worth the squeeze. However, being the ever-dutiful Hand of God I was, I ran, planted a foot on the sturdy brick wall opposite the building upon which my quarry was in full escape, and shoved off. I gained just enough height to wrap my fingertips around the eave.

    Old as these buildings were, the shingles cracked under my weight. Dust fell, obscuring my vision. Finally, I managed to get an elbow over the top and proceeded to pull myself up. By the time I scrambled to my feet, the vampire had crossed two gaps and was heading north. I pursued, my Winchester free of my back scabbard and already taking aim.

    As I said, if I were to open fire, I had to be damn sure I was gonna hit the thing. There was even more at stake now than alerting some harmless Federal thugs. Wouldn¡¯t want a stray bullet losing steam and winding up in someone¡¯s living room. Even with the inevitable slowdown, it could still pack enough punch to kill or maim.

    I leaped to the next building, then the next, finding my footing despite the slickness of nighttime humidity that¡¯d coated the shingles with dew. That sucker was fast, and worse, desperate to escape. But I had him in my sights.

    I said I possessed skills. Shooting dead-eye was amongst those abilities. Even before I was resurrected, I could put a plum through a penny at a hundred yards. Thing is, pennies didn¡¯t move like vampires.

    Just as I was about to pull the trigger, someone below shouted, ¡°Hey, get off there!¡±

    Distracted, I turned my attention to a man waving some sort of makeshift club at me from the street. I put myself in his shoes, seeing a six-foot-two cowboy springing from roof to roof in the middle of the night. He must¡¯ve thought I was crazy, drunk, or up to no good. More than likely, with my heavy boots and not-so-catlike graces, I looked all three.

    I¡¯d only glanced down at the screaming civilian for the briefest of moments, but when I looked up again, the vampire was nowhere to be found.

    ¡°Shit¡­¡±

    ¡°You get off my roof before I summon the marshal!¡± the man warned.

    I gave one last frustrated glance at the clear horizon and groaned. ¡°Alright, alright.¡±

    Returning my rifle home, I carefully negotiated my way back down to street level. The man met me, and he was shouting again before my boots touched the dirt. ¡°What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±

    ¡°Relax, friend. You¡¯ll wake the whole neighborhood.¡±

    I noticed he was wearing his nightgown and a cute little hat¡ªthat was probably exactly what I¡¯d done, stirred him out of bed to find out what manner of animal was thudding along his roof.

    His face screwed up, and he looked like a cherry pit on fire. ¡°You¡¯d best give me a good reason not to have you arrested!¡±

    I can be a real son of a bitch when needed, but I saw no value in treating this man with hostility. He¡¯d been minding his own business when I rocked his home. Unlike Shar and the White Throne, I tended to empathize with that kind of thing.

    ¡°Just hunting a noisy owl,¡± I told him. ¡°Guess I got a bit carried away. No need to get the law involved, friend. I¡¯m going home. Lost it anyway.¡±

    Might not have been owls I was chasing, but my words were true enough. I wouldn¡¯t be causing this man any more distress this evening.

    He huffed a bit, trying to find his words. ¡°We like our owls just fine around here. Keeps the pests away. Seems they brought one tonight.¡±

    ¡°Heard and understood.¡± I tipped my hat. ¡°Apologies again. Have yourself a fine night, sir.¡±

    He set off, grumbling back into his cottage, yelling to his wife inside. I only caught the first few words before the door slammed shut. With all the hubbub over, it was quiet enough to hear a mouse piss on cotton.

    I hurried back to the alley in hopes I might still be able to save a life even if I couldn¡¯t guarantee that vampire wouldn¡¯t claim another. The shaving mirror in my pocket rattled, but time was of the essence for that poor soul who¡¯d found themselves at the sharp end of a set of fangs.

    When I returned, I found something unexpected. I quickly spun away to make myself scarce when a voice rang out. ¡°You there! Don¡¯t you take another damn step.¡±

    Rising from a squat beside the victim was a US Marshal with a port wine birthmark.

 Book 2: Chapter 5

    In addition to the distinctive mark on the marshal¡¯s chin, a few other things struck me. One, his suit had too many stitches for my tastes, and their tan color stood out rather garishly against the navy blue of his jacket. It was a show suit more than anything intended for a working man.

    Second, he wore a crucifix around his neck like so many do, but it was disheveled and stuck upside down like he¡¯d been running and never took the time to fix it. I may not care much for tradition, but if you¡¯re gonna wear the thing, at least have enough pride in it to keep it right.

    Lastly¡ªand probably most important¡ªwas that he had his sidearm pulled and trained directly on me. I stopped like I¡¯d been asked to do, just about to speak, when a second man appeared at the mouth of the alley.

    ¡°No sign of anyo¡ªWho¡¯s this?¡± He, too, pulled his gun, following his partner¡¯s lead. He looked like ten miles of gravel road. His face was pockmarked, and I couldn¡¯t tell if he had one freckle or a million.

    He wore round, gold-coated spectacles that splayed out on the sides like they were two sizes smaller than his head. A little patch of fur dangled just under his lip, dancing as he spoke.

    They circled me like wolves, eyeballing me boot to brow.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I wanna know,¡± Birthmark said. ¡°So? This is the point you tell us your name and what you¡¯re doing so close to this body.¡±

    He pointed to the corpse, which I could now see was a young man¡ªabout twenty or so. He had a thick head of golden hair. Now I really regretted not shooting that monster.

    I put my hands where they could see them. Authoritative types like that sort of thing. Makes them feel powerful. Besides, last thing I needed was for one of them to get spooked and find out how useless their bullets were against someone like me. I¡¯d leave that can of worms tightly shut for now.

    ¡°Reckon I could ask you the same,¡± I said.

    Doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t get a little fresh with them.

    ¡°We¡¯re not messing around, partner.¡± He said that last word as if somehow mocking me.

    ¡°Yeah, you returning to the scene of the crime?¡± the second marshal asked in a voice that sounded like a crackling campfire.

    ¡°I was just out for a little stroll,¡± I said. ¡°Guess I should¡¯ve taken the main streets.¡±

    ¡°Guess so,¡± the partner replied, no lack of scorn in his tone.

    ¡°Bit late for a stroll,¡± Birthmark said. He took a few steps toward me, and his pistol didn¡¯t waver at all.

    ¡°Sleep and I have a bit of a strained relationship. Look, you gonna shoot me for taking a walk?¡± I asked. ¡°There some curfew I¡¯m unaware of?¡±

    ¡°Mighty well-armed too,¡± Birthmark¡¯s partner said, ignoring the question outright. ¡°Especially for a midnight promenade.¡±

    I considered my options. It was true. Could likely draw and drop them both before either even pulled the trigger, but then I¡¯d be left standing in the middle of an alley with three stiffs and no good excuse.

    Could also tell them the truth. Though, if I had to put a dollar on it, they¡¯d lock me up for being a few cards shy of a full deck, and I¡¯d still get pegged for murdering this guy. Didn¡¯t matter that he was covered in blood and I wasn¡¯t. These kinds of lawmen don¡¯t generally care about such frivolous details.

    Or, I could lie. Pretty sure that¡¯s a sin, but I wasn¡¯t too sure it mattered anymore, damned as I was. ¡°Alright. Fine. You got me. I was hunting owls.¡± Might as well keep the story going in case people talked.

    ¡°Owls?¡± they both asked.

    ¡°Taxidermied, they bring in a pretty penny.¡±

    They both eyed me like I was the one stuffed.

    ¡°Owls?¡± Birthmark repeated.

    ¡°You know, hoo-hoo. Birds.¡±

    ¡°I know what a goddamned owl is!¡± he snapped. ¡°Let¡¯s say we believe that crock of shit. Can you prove it?¡±

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    I smiled internally. ¡°Matter of fact, a gentleman about two streets over just gave me a ration of hate for perching myself on his rooftop. Guess I woke him. Gave him quite a scare. Could introduce you if need be.¡±

    They both looked at each other now.

    ¡°Mind me asking what happened here?¡± I said before they could respond.

    ¡°None of your business,¡± Birthmark said.

    ¡°You¡¯ll excuse me if I disagree,¡± I said. ¡°A crime of this nature happening so close to where I¡¯m staying seems to be just that.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re staying with the Voodoo Queen, that right?¡± Birthmark asked.

    ¡°I generally just call her Marie, but if we wanna use silly titles, I suppose so.¡±

    ¡°You got a sharp tongue on you, you know that?¡± Birthmark said. ¡°What business you have with her?¡±

    ¡°My own.¡±

    Freckles scoffed. He got so close, I could finally see the flesh-toned separation between his marks. ¡°Word to the wise: don¡¯t be making friends with the wrong types.¡±

    ¡°You know, when I was a boy, I heard someone say a word to the wise was unnecessary. It¡¯s the fool who needs advice.¡± I closed the gap between us that barely existed. ¡°And I ain¡¯t a fool.¡±

    Birthmark stowed his gun and slinked toward me to join his partner. ¡°Well, you¡¯ll have to excuse me when I say whatever happens in this city is the business of any US Marshal who wants to know.¡±

    ¡°That right?¡± I whistled. ¡°A marshal. Woo-wee. Didn¡¯t know I¡¯d stumbled into the presence of greatness. Sorry if I don¡¯t bow.¡± I pointed to my hip. ¡°Old war injury.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t look old enough to have fought in any wars.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a mighty fine compliment, Marshal. You ain¡¯t so bad yourself.¡±

    His lips became a straight line.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like you,¡± he said. Each word was bitten off at the end.

    ¡°Well, that ain¡¯t nice,¡± I replied.

    ¡°Shut it, roughneck. This ain¡¯t the frontier no more. While you¡¯re here, you play by my rules. That clear?¡±

    ¡°Crystal. Can I go now, or you wanna arrest me for tripping over the same corpse as you did?¡±

    He seemed to consider the question, eyeing me up and down. ¡°Get the hell out of here!¡±

    I started to walk, but he pressed a hand against my chest. I almost broke it off at the wrist but controlled myself, lightly brushing it aside instead.

    ¡°Good night, Marshal.¡±

    Birthmark growled, almost dyspeptic with incredulity. He pressed his finger against my chest. ¡°We¡¯re watching you. You and your friend. We get even the slightest inkling you¡¯re involved in this or Senator Cartwright disappearing, and you¡¯ll be heading eastbound on the next train out. Got it?¡±

    I tipped my hat to them, and they backed away. When they were almost back to the street, I called out, ¡°Hey! Thanks for the advice.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off, cowboy.¡±

    I left them at a calm pace. That was a close one. In most towns, you get caught near a body and that¡¯s proof enough for a hanging, even if you didn¡¯t do a damn thing. But these were trained men from more civilized places. My guess, the body I¡¯d seen wasn¡¯t the first to pop up, and they¡¯d just watched my arrival into town.

    Missing senator. Bodies. Crimes had to add to a good sum for marshals to travel this far out. The clues were starting to stack up.

    I waited until I was out of earshot, then answered Shar before she blew a gasket. She was yammering on about something, but I cut her off.

    ¡°Vampires,¡± I said. ¡°That why I¡¯m here?¡±

    ¡°As always, your observation skills astound me,¡± she bristled. ¡°Perhaps instead of trying to kill that beast, you might have followed it and found where the rest are hiding.¡±

    ¡°And maybe I¡¯d have known to do that if you told me why I was here earlier.¡±

    ¡°As was my intention.¡±

    ¡°Well, be faster with your words, Shar. Life¡¯s a shootout. You shoot or get shot.¡±

    ¡°Do not lecture me about the nuances of life,¡± she said. ¡°You jumped the gun, Crowley. But now you have witnessed first-hand the die cast over this infested city. Bodies are piling in the shadows.¡±

    ¡°Got it. So, you want me to take out a brood?¡±

    ¡°They are not your concern.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve got to be fu¡ª¡± I caught my tongue and leaned against the wall. Always games with her. ¡°They¡¯re dropping people in alleys, and you don¡¯t want them gone?¡±

    ¡°Their fate is inconsequential,¡± Shar said. ¡°That was a youngling. Mostly feral. And when a brood grows bold like this, it means the Betrayer is near.¡±

    ¡°Who now?¡±

    ¡°It is from his blood by which all vampires originate. The first to taint their kind. Rarely do they make their presence known, but he is somewhere in Crescent City.¡±

    I sucked through my teeth. ¡°Let me get this straight. You want me to take down the Vampire King?¡±

    ¡°In no uncertain terms, yes.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s more straightforward than you usually are. What¡¯s the catch?¡±

    ¡°It is out of necessity I am blunt. You have never faced an enemy like this, Crowley. Many Hands have tried, over the years, to end the curse. All have failed.¡±

    ¡°You son of a bitch, Shar.¡±

    ¡°I beg your pardon,¡± she thundered.

    ¡°You¡¯re plucking at my heartstrings,¡± I said. ¡°A real challenge. You know I can¡¯t say no to the chance to be your best.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t say no, period.¡±

    ¡°Semantics.¡± I stood tall and straightened my Stetson. ¡°You¡¯ll have his heart on a platter. And any other blood-sucking fiend I pass on the way. Any tips on finding him?¡±

    ¡°Power,¡± she said plainly. ¡°Follow power. His brood is extensive.¡±

    At that, her form wisped away, and the mirror became mundane once more.

    ¡°Follow power?¡± I grumbled. ¡°You¡¯ve gotta be kidding me.¡±

    A straightforward task and target was a pleasant surprise, only for her to return to her riddles right after. I wasn¡¯t shocked. Shar hid her ignorance behind an air of superiority. I wondered if all the angels were the same or if I just wound up with the biggest pain in the ass below the White Throne.

    Oh well. I was itching to get started. For real this time. No chance of winding up caught in some conspiracy or having to kill a possessed being who didn¡¯t actually mean harm.

    Find me a vampire who hasn¡¯t murdered somebody in cold blood, and I¡¯ll find you a man who hasn¡¯t sinned. And murderers, I got no problem killing.

    Time to start chucking stones.

 Book 2: Chapter 6

    I pushed through Laveau¡¯s door and found the sitting room empty. A couple of books were out of order, but nothing else.

    Didn¡¯t take long to find Irish and Harker. The former lay on the empty bed next to Bram¡¯s, her boots kicked off and her legs crossed. Harker¡¯s pipe hung from her lips, but she had her chin tucked and was sawing a log.

    Harker sat by Bram¡¯s side. Before I stepped in, I thought I saw his hands clasped in prayer. He quickly brought them to his lap as he whipped around.

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you,¡± he said.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Laveau?¡± I asked.

    ¡°You¡¯re not even going to ask how he is?¡±

    I studied Bram, under blankets and sleeping as soundly as Irish. Only difference was the film of sweat caking his forehead. What a coincidence it was that he was here in the place where I¡¯d been tasked with hunting vampires¡ªthe very creatures he hoped to study up close. Providence maybe. Don¡¯t ask me.

    ¡°He¡¯s alive,¡± I said.

    ¡°What a sad sack this country is,¡± Harker said. ¡°Everyone only interested in themselves. Companions on the road. Strangers next door.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I got you here, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    He sighed, heavy-like. ¡°Yes, you¡¯re right. Sorry, I¡¯m exhausted. Bram, he couldn¡¯t wait to get here. Made it our last stop because he felt nothing else would live up to it. That here, in Crescent City, we¡¯d find living, breathing proof of the supernatural. All I see is an old loon toying with herbs and cadavers. No different than our gypsies or so-called shamans.¡±

    ¡°That old loon saved his life,¡± I countered, probably more aggressively than intended. Harker didn¡¯t mean to insult beings like¡­ me. Of their crew, he was the resident skeptic, bound only by loyalty to a friend. What that must be like. Choosing what to do with your life.

    ¡°I meant no offense¡­ I just¡­ I don¡¯t see the things he does,¡± Harker said. ¡°This is where he wanted to be. I only hope he doesn¡¯t miss it.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll perk up. Laveau works wonders. Just be patient. You can finish here and then finally go home.¡±

    He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. ¡°Home. Wouldn¡¯t that be grand. I can¡¯t express how I miss a good old-fashioned English breakfast. Just the thought of a nice slice of black pudding has me salivating.¡±

    ¡°Coffee not to your taste?¡± I asked.

    He smiled, but it was forced. After another sigh, he leaned back in his seat and plucked his drawing pad from the nightstand. He was midway through an illustration of the grunch attack, depicting Rosa and the foul little beast when it had frozen rather than attacked her.

    ¡°Laveau¡¯s in her room,¡± he said in passing. ¡°Rosa went to bed, I think.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask,¡± I said.

    Irish pulled the pipe from her mouth and tilted her head toward us, eyes still closed. She puckered her lips at me, then snickered under her breath. My fists clenched, then I stopped. This was what Shar had talked about. The camaraderie of a found family of travelers. The constant ribbing and joshing of one another. And you don¡¯t joke around with strangers unless you want to get hit.

    Maybe I was getting too comfortable running in a crowd.

    Harker leaned over and snatched his pipe back, ceremoniously rubbing the button on his sleeve.

    I moved past them toward Laveau¡¯s room in the back.

    My first stop. She knew things she shouldn¡¯t. It¡¯s never been clear if there¡¯s a touch of something otherworldly in her, as I never felt that familiar burn around her. Some beings can hide what they are pretty convincingly. In the end, I think she¡¯s really just a practitioner with a kind heart. A mortal, messing with non-mortal things and reaping the benefits and the costs. Alone, scrutinized¡ªsuch things come to witches who live too long without getting hanged or burned.

    I brushed through a bone curtain and into a short hall leading to her bedroom on one side and what I presumed to be a closet on the other. Paintings on either side were inscribed with symbols I needed to learn the meaning of. A side table held a shrine, three candles and a jarred petrified head under a painting of an older woman who bore a striking resemblance to her. Family, no doubt.

    Her door was cracked open.

    ¡°To reach the other side is a complicated thing,¡± Laveau said, her voice low and intimate.

    ¡°But your books¡ª¡± Rosa began.

    ¡°Are books. Not practice.¡±

    ¡°But it can be done?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Easier when I had support. However, it can be done. James is correct, though. Such business is dangerous. To actually commune with the dead, not just when crones and charlatans pretend, you open up our realm to anything that might be listening. Or waiting.¡±

    By then, I¡¯d stopped near the door without entering. Wasn¡¯t right to eavesdrop, but when you¡¯re in for a penny, might as well bet the pound as well.

    ¡°Like what?¡± Rosa asked.

    ¡°That, my dear, is a question I would d rather not answer.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t help me?¡± Rosa¡¯s tone grew sour.

    ¡°I did not say that. Only that it has been a long time since I attempted such a thing. The strain it could put on these old bones might be too much.¡±

    ¡°I can help,¡± Rosa offered eagerly.

    ¡°Oh, you would have to. It is your connection, not mine, which creates the bridge. But I would need focusing agents, perhaps even a host. No risks can be taken.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll help you gather everything you need¡ª¡±

    I threw open the door. ¡°Gathering for what?¡± I asked, acting ignorant.

    Rosa popped to her feet, startled, hand falling toward the grip of her gun. A natural reflex from a rough upbringing. Laveau sat on her ratty old sofa with Damballah on her shoulders, not even flinching. As if she¡¯d already known I was there. Wouldn¡¯t have doubted it.

    ¡°Personal business,¡± Laveau said.

    Rosa¡¯s shock turned to excitement as she crossed the space between us. ¡°Madame Laveau said she can help me talk with Willy.¡±

    ¡°Just like that?¡± I asked, eyes drifting to Laveau. ¡°Time was when that would cost a pretty penny. Now it¡¯s charity?¡±

    ¡°There is not much left to fund, sadly,¡± Laveau said.

    ¡°So, you¡¯re gonna help Rosa breach our mortal boundaries because, what¡ªyou¡¯re bored?¡±

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    ¡°James¡­¡± Rosa said.

    I ignored her¡ªhad to. ¡°You know the risks, Marie. You ain¡¯t from some forest coven.¡±

    ¡°No. I am merely a queen of nothing. This woman is in need, James. In need of closure. Clarity. A healing of the spirit. Those beds out there are where I mend broken bodies, but you know it is the spirit that endures the deepest pains.¡±

    ¡°Would you two stop talking about me like I¡¯m not right here?¡± Rosa bristled. ¡°We¡¯ve been over this, James.¡±

    ¡°Failed at it too,¡± I said. ¡°Or did you forget Ethelinda in Revelation?¡±

    ¡°She was a fake. You said that yourself.¡±

    ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°So, are you saying Madame Laveau is a fake too?¡±

    I gritted my teeth.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t saying that,¡± I said, keeping my eyes on Rosa, not letting them pass to Marie.

    Rosa took my hands, every bit of her pleading. I don¡¯t know what it was about all this that made me so uneasy. Sure, her attempt in Revelation went nowhere. And I could see in her face then that failure hurt. Laveau was as real as it gets, but sometimes you put a voice out into the realms beyond, and nobody answers back. What if that happened to Rosa?

    ¡°I¡¯m saying, what¡¯s the point? He¡¯s dead, Rosa.¡±

    Her eyes welled up. I wish I¡¯d thought harder about my response, but it came out blunt, as the truth often does. A pot shot from a blunderbuss.

    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± she said in a harsh whisper.

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant.¡±

    ¡°Why are you so against this? I practically had to drag you inside that carriage. Now you just won¡¯t even think about it. As if everything we saw in Dead Acre when Willy died was normal when we know it wasn¡¯t. I¡¯m not crazy.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not,¡± I said. ¡°Just trust me. It¡¯s better to leave the dead be and move on.¡±

    ¡°Easy for you to say. A roaming outlaw who never got close to anybody or anything. Your own boss tried to kill you. Maybe now I get why.¡±

    A dagger to my cold, lifeless heart. I knew I¡¯d pushed her to respond with the same level of cruelty I had, but that didn¡¯t mean the blow landed any softer.

    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to protect you,¡± I argued.

    ¡°And that isn¡¯t your job. I wanted you along for this because I thought¡­¡± Rosa¡¯s lips pursed, and she averted her gaze. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. At least I¡¯m honest, James. You know why I¡¯m here. So why don¡¯t you go off and do whatever business it is you need to do and leave me to mine.¡±

    She brushed by me, storming out of the room and down the hall before I could get another word out. Not that I knew what to say anyhow.

    Was it Shar rubbing off on me? Warning me constantly about what I couldn¡¯t have, that made me not want Rosa to chase ghosts? Maybe I was jealous. Jealous that she still loved Willy even though I knew we could never be like that together.

    I exhaled and plopped into the seat across from Laveau. ¡°Why¡¯d you have to go filling her head with hope?¡±

    ¡°I put nothing there that was not already present,¡± she said. ¡°I merely offered answers to questions that have plagued her mind for many years.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± The single syllable took on a few more as I drew the word out.

    ¡°I invite you into my home, and you dare use that tone with me, James?¡±

    I groaned. ¡°You¡¯re right. My apologies. I don¡¯t know what it is about her that just gets my yarn all spun up.¡±

    ¡°I do. You care.¡± She affected a warm smile. Inviting, like the grandmother I never had. Like I said, as witches and their ilk go, Laveau is decent. Better than decent. Though, to be fair, I¡¯m usually hunting rotten ones and not joining them for teatime.

    My eyes rolled. ¡°Not you too, Laveau.¡±

    ¡°I mean nothing by it. It is a good look on you, James. When we first met, I was not sure if you were capable of caring for another. So wrapped up in yourself you were.¡±

    ¡°I sort of miss it.¡±

    She chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t. And I am glad you brought her to me. Crescent City has been infested with untrustworthy souls seeking money or infamy. I will take care of her if she continues down this path.¡±

    ¡°I know. You¡¯re one of the good ones.¡± I smirked. ¡°You could have told her it was impossible, though.¡±

    She eyed me with disapprobation heavy on her features. ¡°You would have me lie to her?¡±

    ¡°If it kept her safe. Maybe.¡±

    ¡°I do not suspect it would be so easy. There¡¯s something about her. You see it. Her curiosity. Her spirit. Her mind is open like mine was at her age. I believe she can handle the hidden truths of our world.¡±

    ¡°Now, now. Don¡¯t go looking for an heir in her.¡±

    ¡°An heir to what?¡± Laveau hissed, and Damballah rose ever so slightly from her shoulder.

    A brief silence passed between us. The elephant in the room. So much had changed for her over the years and nothing for me. Wasn¡¯t often I saw that side of her. I¡¯d struck a nerve, and I felt it was best to slather some ointment on it before it was too late.

    ¡°I met the marshals outside,¡± I said. ¡°Bothersome fellas. A senator, missing here? That¡¯s rough.¡±

    Laveau drew a deep, beleaguered breath like she¡¯d been holding it in since the war. ¡°The cherry on top, I am afraid. The city grew. Rich folk from out east immigrated. Doctors. The kind of people less grateful for simply being healed than needing to know how it was done. We were easy to blame.¡±

    ¡°For what, though?¡± I asked. ¡°The marshals can ask around. Whether they like you or think you¡¯re a devil in disguise, nobody can deny you¡¯ve been good to this city.¡±

    ¡°For everything unexplained. Sicknesses. Disappearances. Death.¡±

    ¡°Easy to point fingers when bodies start piling.¡±

    Her head bobbed. ¡°It got so bad after Senator Cartwright vanished, I even sent my daughter away. He had a fascination with the occult, you see. About a month ago, he thought it would be fun to show up at my famed doorstep and ask for me to read his fortune. Apparently, slamming a door in the face of a senator was a mistake. He disappeared that night.¡±

    I chuckled. ¡°Might explain why you¡¯re being watched.¡±

    She agreed. ¡°Stayed here so I can help with whatever I can in my city. It is hard getting around on these old legs, though. Mostly, none show up for aid anymore anyway. I have not been to Mass in months. Many presume I am already dead.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that be the day?¡±

    ¡°Such is life.¡± She crossed her legs, and Damballah slithered down onto her lap. Marie stroked its head like a house cat. ¡°Now, you came here for something, James, so just ask.¡±

    This was why I liked her. She knew that talking around a point was like bringing a potato to a gunfight.

    ¡°Barely a block outside, and I ran into a vampire. Out in the open, sucking a poor man dry.¡±

    She didn¡¯t look surprised. Just nodded. ¡°They are more brazen than they once were,¡± she said. ¡°And there are more of them. Something changed a few years back. Could not say what. But the werewolves loosened up their hold downtown, and it all worsened. More¡­ unexplainable beings were seen.¡±

    ¡°What about Roo? Did he kick the bucket?¡±

    ¡°Rougarou?¡± Laveau shook her head. ¡°Not that I know.¡±

    ¡°Well, it just so happens I¡¯m after a vamp. Who knows, if I clean him¡ªcould help this place.¡±

    ¡°I fear it is too late for that.¡±

    ¡°Either way, I¡¯m wondering if you might have heard of a Vampire Lord known as the Betrayer.¡±

    She scratched her wrinkled chin. ¡°You will need to be more specific.¡±

    ¡°Wish I could be. I know where there¡¯s a nest, there¡¯s a breeder, but those in charge usually prefer their children to stay underground, away from the sun and prying eyes. But this is Crescent City. Weird happenings abound.¡±

    ¡°I would not doubt the presence of one here, but I am afraid I am a bit out of touch these days. I wish I knew more.¡±

    I blew a raspberry. ¡°Ain¡¯t a problem. That¡¯ve been too easy anyway. If you can¡¯t point me in a direction, perhaps I could at least buy some silver off you. You know, the rounds you keep for ¡®contingency.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Not much left in stores,¡± she said with sadness in her eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take whatever I can get. I¡¯m a little low on cash, but¡ª¡±

    She waved her hand in dismissal. ¡°Take it all, James. Do I look like I have any fighting left to do? You can pay me back by letting me help that grieving woman out there.¡±

    ¡°As if I could have stopped you anyway?¡±

    She smiled. ¡°Too true. But yes, take it. I may not be a queen anymore, but I stayed behind here because this is my city. If what you say is true, then we will all be better off with this vampire gone.¡±

    I stood and crossed the room, straight to a painting on the other side. Her father: a pale Frenchman, from what I reckon, all decked out in a wig the way those people do. I lifted it off the wall, revealing a niche in the stone. Boxes of ammunition shined, along with a few bars of pure silver. I claimed the bullets but left Laveau the bars.

    As I turned, I noticed her staring longingly at nothing in particular, petting Damballah in rhythm. I didn¡¯t truly realize until then how old she¡¯d gotten.

    ¡°Chin up, Marie,¡± I said, resting a hand on her shoulder. ¡°You ain¡¯t dead yet.¡±

    ¡°Of course I am not. I would be haunting you.¡± She let out a weak chuckle, then patted my hand.

    Our history was short. Barely there, really. But there¡¯s something about spending time with another person who just¡­ gets it, without anything needing to be said. We both had our demons because of the things we¡¯d known and done. Sometimes, that¡¯s enough to form a bond.

    ¡°Just promise me one thing before I go,¡± I said.

    ¡°Promises only bind the weak,¡± she said.

    ¡°All the same. Just don¡¯t go starting any spells or nonsense with Rosa until I¡¯m around.¡±

    ¡°I believe it is she who will need to make that promise. And I do not sense weakness in that one. Not at all.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re damn right about that. Just try to influence her in the right direction for me?¡±

    She nodded.

    ¡°That¡¯s all I can ask.¡±

    ¡°When will you return?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t say. At least now I¡¯ve got a good reason to come back.¡±

    I headed out the door, understanding exactly what she meant. It was what made her decent. She sought to understand and unravel truths, not control them. And she was the same way with people. Probably why her operation fell apart once other powers rose.

    I made my way back through the place. Harker had finally passed out next to Bram. Irish snored even louder. Back in the foyer, I passed Rosa but didn¡¯t dare look. She was reading softly to herself, thumbing the pages of Laveau¡¯s books.

    Part of me wanted to stop and apologize for coming off so harsh. But I think both of us needed some time to stew. Once outside, I checked the cylinders of my Peacemakers.

    It was time to go hunting. And I knew precisely where to start.

 Book 2: Chapter 7

    First stop in my pursuit: the dead house. Or morgue, as some more refined folks have come to calling them. Most towns don¡¯t have them, but a city as big as Crescent needs to. Sad truth about the world¡ªa denser population means more bodies, and somebody¡¯s gotta sort them before the grave takes them and the priest whispers, ¡°Amen.¡±

    Deep down, humanity is just on one long race to the end. Somewhere inside, no matter how happy a person is, we¡¯re all just waiting for the sweet release of death. Question is, will we even know when it¡¯s come? As someone who bit the proverbial bullet, I can say with assurance I¡¯ve got no idea what happened during those years I spent on the other side. First thing I remembered after Ace¡¯s cold eyes and bullet was staring into Shargrafein¡¯s wispy form.

    Trumpets blared, dragging me back to the present. Hadn¡¯t realized how far I¡¯d walked until a funeral precession nearly trampled me. A few dozen people marched by on their way to the ceremony, celebrating a life. Women in garish gowns, men dressed to the tees, wearing colorful masks¡ªa custom not used elsewhere in the world. Can¡¯t say I minded. Why does death have to be so morose? What I¡¯ve come to learn in my service to the White Throne is that life is a flicker.

    You don¡¯t cry before you blow out a birthday candle.

    They took a seldom-used route to the Cathedral, avoiding the obstreperous crowds gathered to celebrate life by different means. It was getting late, but for this time of year, the party had just begun. I halted at the corner of the Avenue of the Holy Cross and waited. It wasn¡¯t long before the mortician exited his humble building beside the graveyard and closed up shop.

    He checked his pocket watch, then proceeded toward the partying. Couldn¡¯t blame him. After what he likely saw all day, something as mindless as throwing back a few and dancing the night away seemed a small comfort.

    The morgue was attached to a sheriff¡¯s building¡ªa two-story affair I guessed contained a fair number of lockups. I paused at the door around back, checking both ways. Nobody paid me the slightest heed. Why would they? Dead men don¡¯t got pockets. Anything inside had been picked clean of valuables long before they were brought in by street rats or peckish deputies.

    Made sense the only defense was a locked wooden door. My old life as an outlaw afforded me certain skills, one of which was picking a lock as simple as this one. The tumblers clicked, and I was in. I gently shut the door behind me and re-locked it. Easiest B-and-E I could recall in some time.

    I said there was nothing to steal from the cold, naked dead, but that ain¡¯t entirely true. The dead¡­ they talk to me, show me their memories. Don¡¯t mean to, of course. How much easier would it be if bones started rattling off secrets, saving me the trouble of looking? But if older vampires were amidst and catching enough heat for Shar to care, perhaps one of the bodies below had been a meal like that fella in the alley.

    A set of stairs descended into a basement, and I stopped at the bottom. Moonlight crept in through narrow, grated windows up near the far ceiling. Twelve tables were arrayed in rows down the stark room, each covered by a cloth. I knew it was chilly as Hell in there without even needing to feel it. Something about the way the cold makes fabric stiffen. Or maybe it was the feet sticking out, skin white as marble.

    I considered touching one as I passed the first, but instead, continued on to their upper body and peeled the cover down to just below the neck. Considering it was a young woman, I dared not go farther.

    Say what you will about James Crowley, but he¡¯s a gentleman.

    I whispered my usual Latin prayer and stretched my hand over her face.

    ¡°A tenebris ad lucem.¡± Means something like From darkness to light.

    Though I served angels, I never did quite get used to this part. Felt worse than grave robbing, and I¡¯ll admit I¡¯d plucked a few things here and there off corpses, like cash to pay for silver. They wouldn¡¯t miss it.

    It was one thing to accidentally stumble upon the remains of a hanged man, but Divining the dead in a row like this felt so¡­ clinical. Invasive.

    Skin touched skin, and my head lurched back¡­

    * * *

    Waves crashed. It was dark. Only moonlight to show the feet beneath me¡ªmy feet. They were completely bare, balanced at the edge of a building on the wharf. Wind whistled, whipping a sheer white nightdress with a red stain around her thigh region. Cold, even though the humidity or stress had the body sweating.

    An odd sensation. A rare one. Something I¡¯d forgotten about.

    I filtered through thoughts of loss and sorrow but soon came calm. Intense, demystifying calm. No worry about what came next or what the fall might feel like. Just acceptance.

    As I inhabit these flitting memories of death, I rarely do more than observe. But this time, I strained mentally against the movement of her legs to no avail. For the tears on her cheeks were dry, and her decisions were made.

    A child lost. A broken heart. And a few steps later, a plunge into the icy depths of the gulf. Water flooded her throat, and panic came all too late, as it always does. The will to survive is a primal thing.

    The water didn¡¯t kill her, even as it choked and filled her lungs. The heavy current tossed her body, and under the water where not a soul could see or help, her head¡ªmy head¡ªcracked against a rock.

    * * *

    I snapped out of the vision, hacking up seawater that never came. It took me a few moments to compose myself, then another as I reached for the phantom pain where her head struck.

    I leaned over the table, breathing slowly, still feeling like that girl. I can take death and brutality, but usually, it¡¯s got a purpose. A fight. A murder. This was¡­ well, a first.

    ¡°You save me and not her?¡± I beseeched the moldy ceiling.

    All those dark days when I doubted this unlife of mine and wished it would come to an end, now I felt like a damned fool. How lucky I was to get to wish that, all while complaining about my holy mission¡ªwhile this poor girl lay here, a barren womb and a dead, broken heart.

    I couldn¡¯t help but think of Rosa losing her husband and that maybe I¡¯d been too harsh on her.

    I never had anyone I¡¯d cared for much. Which meant I¡¯d never had anyone to lose who¡¯d break me so. Is that despair what Rosa fought against every day? And it wasn¡¯t the agony of loss or terror of dying that got me most¡­ It was the emptiness.

    The cavern in that woman¡¯s chest and mind before she took the jump¡­

    Left me with a new wish¡ªthat I¡¯d left her to be at peace as I slowly lifted the sheet back up to cover her face. Then I looked up and sighed.

    On to the next.

    * * *

    One body at a time, I worked my way through. I had all night. Each glimpse was half a minute or so, but it took me longer than it ought to have.

    Divining is a valuable ability, but I always forget how it drains me. Witnessing another¡¯s death shouldn¡¯t be like turning pages of a book, and it¡¯s not. Feeling it¡­ that¡¯s penance enough if I never suffered a moment in Hell¡¯s icy grip. There¡¯s no way the White Throne left me numb to all else but the suffering of others without reason. A little on the nose, if you ask me.

    But you know what? No one asks me. A Hand of God is just that. We aren¡¯t called to be a mouthpiece or a sounding board. Just do the job and shut up. And that¡¯s what I hope to do here.

    I¡¯d replaced all the coverings as I went. Most of the deaths were commonplace. A few from old age. One, a complication due to a botched amputation. People say life flashes before your eyes when you die, but for these people, their last thoughts were everything from loved ones to all the things they¡¯d dreamed of doing but never did.

    A couple died from too much drinking. Hard to believe, but it¡¯s true. A young man¡ªhis wedding day¡ªchoked on his own vomit. Could¡¯ve done without a sense of taste for that one. Another young man started up with the wrong crowd¡ªthrew exactly one punch before getting himself shot. One lead plum straight through the heart.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Courage and long life make shitty bedfellows.

    Opium caught one. A veteran from the war, lost a leg and never kicked the stuff. Sad. His last thoughts were merely for more of the thing that killed him. The next one was an older woman. Matronly. Not sure where they found her, but at the time of her death, she wore opulence all over her and lived inside a beautiful plantation house. Servants roaming the halls. Big bed. That kinda place. Would¡¯ve made old Reggie Dufaux proud.

    Her husband ascertained she¡¯d been sleeping with the stable hand and throttled her with his own two hands after hanging the man¡ªa detail I saw, but no one else knew. The two lay like the lovers they were, side by side on the table, both their faces beaten and bloodied beyond recognition. A family affair. Might¡¯ve rearranged their features after their deaths. However, if the mortician¡¯s notes could be believed, the culprit¡ªconcerning which, they still had no leads¡ªhad the bodies dumped in the city to get lost amongst the rabble.

    That was where I spent some extra time. Reading notes. Taking notes. Took a bit to search through cabinets for a writing implement.

    ¡°You¡¯re wasting time again,¡± Shar said as I unlatched a locker containing a mirror and a straight-edge razor. I guess the mortician didn¡¯t always have the luxury of going home, so many dead passed through these parts.

    ¡°It¡¯ll only take a minute,¡± I grumbled as I kept rummaging.

    ¡°Curious, you think your time holds such significance.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one always griping about wasting it.¡±

    ¡°The truth you should cling to is that your time is borrowed. Your life is not your own, James Crowley.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯ve been told. Listen, ain¡¯t it my duty to help when I can? ¡®Love thy neighbors¡¯ or some shit?¡±

    ¡°A dead man is no neighbor.¡±

    ¡°You say that when you¡¯re down here.¡± I slammed a cabinet shut. ¡°Last I checked, everyone up in those clouds of yours is dead.¡±

    ¡°And these Children have found refuge in their new homes, their new bodies.¡± She continued speaking, her ominous, smoky form flicking around the many reflective surfaces in the room. ¡°Their corpses are empty vessels awaiting the moment they enter the ground and become a sumptuous repast for crawling critters.¡±

    ¡°Well, woe is for the living,¡± I said, still searching lockers. ¡°What kind of angel doesn¡¯t care about the truth of a killer?¡±

    ¡°On the contrary, Crowley, I care a great deal. Have you not heard, ¡®vengeance is the Lord¡¯s.¡¯¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive me, but I¡¯d rather see them suffer than trust it¡¯s happening behind closed doors. Look at that woman¡¯s face,¡± I said. ¡°I know where the bastard who did that lives. Saw his face because of the powers the White Throne entrusted me with. If I don¡¯t do something about it, who will?¡±

    ¡°He will receive his judgment by Heaven, not his peers.¡±

    ¡°Like you said. I ain¡¯t his peer,¡± I reminded her. ¡°I¡¯m a goddamned Hand of God.¡±

    ¡°Watch your words. A Hand has no true need for a tongue.¡±

    See? Be seen, not heard. That was why I preferred to refer to myself as a Black Badge. Seemed more appropriately unimportant.

    I found the pencil the mortician used to label the identities of each body beneath a half-eaten beignet. Thing had flies all over it, yet I still wished I could taste the pastry.

    ¡°There. No time at all. What did I tell you?¡±

    Taking a tab, I wrote down HUSBAND CHOKED HER in big capital letters, then returned to her corpse and pinned it to her chest by staking it through the pencil. She wouldn¡¯t feel it.

    I could hear Shar asking if that made me feel better, even though she hadn¡¯t.

    It did.

    Not that the wife hadn¡¯t sinned by sleeping with another man, but there are other ways to handle such things. Like I said, I¡¯m a gentleman.

    ¡°Shar, unless you plan to offer any useful information, I got more work to do.¡±

    This time, no answer came.

    * * *

    It¡¯d grown darker down there, the moon rising higher and farther away as night pressed on. More than ten Divinings observed so far, and nothing out of the ordinary. As if any death should seem mundane.

    It made sense, though. There was a reason most people had no idea my side of the world even existed. If a whole city was wiped out by demons and monsters, humanity might just begin to think them more than a myth.

    Not that things like that don¡¯t happen, mind you. Sometimes dark magic does dark things. Where do you think the Mayans disappeared to?

    But that¡¯s just it. Supernatural incursions like that tend to leave little or no witnesses. They become tall tales or the ravings of lunatics who lost their minds from grief. I always wondered what might happen if the unnatural things I knew to be real became known by all. It¡¯d probably be the end of society as we knew it. Mortals are like that, after all. Like Bram. I wasn¡¯t exactly sure what his plan was, writing this book on vampires, but he was a fine example of what the world at large would be reduced to. If they discovered new creatures or beings, they¡¯d be desperate to find them, explain them. To control them or wipe them out.

    They¡¯d lose, of course. Guns can only go so far.

    Bye-bye, food source for vamps and Nephilim and whatever else. Bye-bye, toys for demons. It¡¯s a delicate balance I¡¯m part of preserving. Most monsters don¡¯t crave war. They need humans like we need horses or cows.

    I approached the next man¡ªan older fellow. His cane had gotten caught in some loose stone, and he tripped. That was that. He was just walking along, thinking about lunch, when slip¨Ccrack. No fear or longings. Life is that fragile.

    And then, just like that, I was on to the final corpse. I pulled the cloth down to find a middle-aged gentleman. A bit gaunt but more or less average. Good hair. Strong jawline. The only abnormal thing about him was his mouth was already sewn shut. Maybe they were getting him ready for presentation and didn¡¯t have time to bring him to the parlor. I don¡¯t know.

    I stopped by his head and took my time. Didn¡¯t bother whispering any Latin since, after the first few bodies, I was pretty sure I¡¯d gotten my point across. Shar might call this a waste of time, but I¡¯d solved one double homicide. Hard to argue with results.

    ¡°See you on the other side,¡± I said to the body before grabbing his shoulder and entering his mind¡­

    * * *

    My vision blurred. Thoughts were scrambled. The man I inhabited was very clearly inebriated. Unlike those poor gooks I¡¯d Divined earlier, he had just enough in him to feel good and not die of something stupid. I could get used to staying here. Nothing like unwinding both brain and body, chugging toward the bottom of a barrel.

    And I wasn¡¯t alone.

    We were naked as the day we were born. Sitting on the edge of a red, satin sheet draped over a mattress that looked fit for a queen. Gold, frilly tassels, a shower of translucent veils hanging from an oaken canopy.

    And my vessel¡ªsporting equipment to be envious of¡ªwas hard as a sailor in a whorehouse. Caught me off guard.

    The woman sauntering toward him had pale skin and sharp features, eyes dark as the devil at midnight. Hair too. She had an old-world look to her, and the puffy scarlet dress she wore may as well have been donned at some French King¡¯s ball. Heels made her tall, intimidating, and judging by my host, that wasn¡¯t an issue for him.

    ¡°They say there¡¯s nobody like you in this house,¡± the man said.

    ¡°Ils parlent sinc¨¨rement, mon amour,¡± the woman replied.

    ¡°Keep talking fancy like that, doll.¡±

    He gave her a slap on the side of the thigh, a bit too high and hard for my taste. She grinned something fierce, then pulled a string on the back of her dress, and it cascaded down porcelain skin to her feet. She wore nothing underneath, not even a brassiere.

    ¡°Tu veux ?a?¡± she asked, voice mellifluous like someone practiced in such arts.

    He grasped her by the hips, fingers digging gouges in her flesh, but she didn¡¯t budge. Instead, she pushed him down with unexpected strength, so his back was flat on the mattress.

    ¡°So that¡¯s how it¡¯s gonna be, huh, honey?¡±

    ¡°You get what you pay for,¡± she said with a thick French accent.

    And he had paid. A lot more than any average woman of the night should cost. A price only a wealthy man could afford for a few hours of distraction.

    She mounted him¡ªme¡ªand in that moment, I experienced the full touch of a lady, which I hadn¡¯t known in decades. I lost focus¡ªhe did¡ªor both of us. If Divining was always like this, I¡¯d ditch Shar and shack up in a cemetery.

    I knew my time in this memory was coming to an end quickly, but how? What¡¯d he die of, pleasure?

    She arched her back, breasts dangling over him. My host could barely contain himself as she leaned in for a kiss.

    And then it happened.

    A shimmer caught in her eye. Already dark eyes became solid, black orbs. Thick veins coruscated down from the sides of her lips to her throat. Her formerly delicate jaw went wide, unhinging like that of a snake, and in it grew needle-thin fangs.

    Before I knew what hit me, she kissed me hard and bit down on the back of my tongue. Pain rushed through my mouth, along with the taste of iron. I panicked and tried to kick her off, but she held me down with the force of a rail worker despite her slight frame. And all the while, she kept riding me like I was a wild horse she was trying to break.

    The confusion of pain and pleasure had my host paralyzed. Finally, logic returned. He slapped. Punched. Whatever he could do as blood rushed out of his lower regions and into her mouth. Pulling free, he turned to the side, moaning and unable to speak from his cloven tongue. Blood disappeared onto sheets the precise sanguine shade.

    I faced a baroque-style golden mirror on top of an old dresser. In it, the reflection of my host squirmed on the bed, all by himself. No sign of the woman at all.

    But she wasn¡¯t gone. ¡°Reviens vers moi,¡± she said.

    If his heart hadn¡¯t been racing before, it was then. Sobered him up fast. She clutched his head on either side and pulled his lips back to hers to continue her meal. His heart thumped against his rib cage, terror inducing a fatal heart attack as she fed¡­

    * * *

    ¡°Get off me!¡± I think I shouted, but I lisped from what just happened to my tongue in the memory. While it seemed like a lot, it all occurred in less than a minute. Mounted by a vampiric seductress, killed as they made love. I¡¯d never heard of a vamp feeding with such gratification. Not just on blood but on stilted emotion.

    Hell, I¡¯ve never seen one feed with such clarity of focus either. In all my days, the broods I¡¯d faced were unthinking, singularly-minded beasts.

    ¡°Jesus, he¡¯s alive!¡± a voice blurted, I think in my present. Everything remained a bit of a fog. And while I staggered back from shock, my body was suddenly thrust in another direction by an unfelt force. Shells clattered. I looked down. A chunk of my side and clothes were blown onto the corpses.

    I peered back at two grimy-looking fellas with leathery skin standing a few feet away, perturbation plastered on their faces. Rotting yellow teeth. Black coats with more holes in them than a block of cheese.

    Scavengers, ruffians. Whoever they were, I knew the type.

    ¡°Now hold on a sec¡ª¡±

    A shotgun flashed and struck me on the other side. The corpse table slid back from the weight of me. My hand dipped toward one of my pistols. I couldn¡¯t say why these hicks were in a morgue, but they¡¯d pissed me off too much to get a chance at mercy.

    Another gunshot pierced the serene silence of the room. My world suddenly turned sideways. I¡¯d memorized the grip and draw of my pistols long ago, even before I lost feeling as a Black Badge, but the gun never came. No part of me responded. Suddenly, I was lying on the stone floor, my head facing a way it shouldn¡¯t have been able to, considering where my body wound up.

 Book 2: Chapter 8

    ¡°Merde. Merde. Merde. I think he¡¯s dead,¡± one of my assailants said. Now that it was quiet, I recognized Cajun accents.

    ¡°You think? Head¡¯s hanging on by a got damn thread.¡± The other chuckled and kicked me, causing my view to shift.

    I gazed straight up at the underside of one of the metal tables. The reflection was murky, but I pieced it well enough together after hearing what was said.

    ¡°Hanging on by a thread¡± was no exaggeration. The shotgun had blown through more than half my neck, leaving my head lolling off to one side from a severed spine. All my nerves were cut off, explaining why I couldn¡¯t move a thing except my eyes.

    ¡°It ain¡¯t funny,¡± the first said. ¡°This ain¡¯t the job.¡±

    My arm was lifted by one of them, then dropped with a thud. Then the ingrate took my jaw and puppeted my mouth. ¡°You shot me, mista,¡± he said like a poor English beggar. I could¡¯ve chomped his fingers off, but it didn¡¯t seem wise, being as exposed as I was.

    ¡°I said it ain¡¯t funny, Demars.¡±

    ¡°He look like a doctor?¡± Demars spat a wad of something inches from my eyes. ¡°Nah. Some grave-robbing scoundrel who no one¡¯ll care about.¡±

    ¡°Sounds familiar.¡±

    They both cackled. ¡°We¡¯ll load him up with the other. That greedy mortician won¡¯t ever have to know. And he can scrub out the blood.¡±

    I heard the short, stout one¡ªthe one not called Demars¡ªshuffling around me, then I was heaved up. He grunted a few times as he got me up over his shoulder.

    ¡°Light for his size,¡± he exhaled.

    My head swung to and fro like a pendulum. Demars¡ªthe skinny one¡ªscraped his foot across where I¡¯d been.

    ¡°Weird, I don¡¯t see no blood,¡± he said.

    Right, he wouldn¡¯t. Because running through my veins is no more than stray air and dust, though sometimes I like to believe it¡¯s ash. More biblical that way. Hands of God, reborn as we are, don¡¯t bleed.

    ¡°That¡¯s ¡¯cause you can¡¯t see in the dark,¡± the one holding me remarked.

    ¡°This ain¡¯t funny, Nello,¡± Demars said.

    ¡°It¡¯s a little funny,¡± Nello said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t smell none either.¡±

    ¡°Just hurry up, for Christ¡¯s sake. I said he ain¡¯t heavy for his size, but that don¡¯t mean I wanna stand here holding him. Besides, someone might¡¯ve heard them shots. Mortician said the marked body¡¯s a girl. Washed up in the gulf last night. All bloated. No one¡¯s claimed her yet.¡±

    Demars moved away from where I¡¯d been and started checking beneath each table, holding his hat so it didn¡¯t fall. One by one, he went through, similar to how I had, but somehow their intentions were far more sinister. If only I could get my new lasso around them.

    ¡°Here it is!¡± Demars shouted, slapping the table. ¡°An X. That¡¯s gotta be it, right? Woo-wee, she¡¯s fresh.¡± He pulled the cloth down to get a look at her naked body beneath. It was the young woman who¡¯d thrown herself to her death after losing a child. If my brain was connected to my fists, they¡¯d have balled unconsciously.

    ¡°Bet she looked mighty fine, too, before the bloat,¡± he added. ¡°Even with it¡­¡±

    ¡°You got something wrong in the head,¡± Nello said.

    ¡°You know you wanna peek.¡±

    ¡°No way. No how. I like my ladies how I like my oysters. Alive.¡±

    They snickered again as I was carried over. Demars fully lifted the cloth away, and Nello dumped me down on top of her. The way I was twisted with my dislodged head, I stared right into her serene, dead face. Heaven protect these men if they tried something with this poor girl besides laying her to peace.

    Then the cloth went back over us, and it was pitch black. Wheels rolled, rumbling over stone. A door unlocked.

    ¡°Hold that end.¡±

    ¡°Watch it.¡±

    Then I heard a cranking sound I assumed to be some kind of lift used to get the bodies down here. Another door opened, and by the light pouring in, my eyes adjusted. It was still dark beneath that covering, but part of my gifts allows me to see quite well in near-darkness.

    My head bounced as we were pushed somewhere. The eerie quiet of the morgue was replaced by the din of Crescent City nightlife: horse-drawn carriages screeching, men and women carousing, drunks pissing.

    The cloth was momentarily peeled back, and in the silver moonlight, I watched as myself and the dead woman were slid into a secret compartment beneath a food cart with a sign up top that said OYSTERS: FRESH SHUCKT 3¡é EA.

    Stunk like it too.

    No level of muted senses could mask the wretched stink of seawater and brine. I¡¯d never been a fan, though I¡¯d never felt the need to live by the water. Men are meant for the land if you ask me. But visit any pub around here, and oysters are practically thrown at you. Snotty things always had challenged my intestinal fortitude.

    And that was that. A trap door shut behind us, the cart rumbled on, and we were being smuggled across the city for God knows what.

    I couldn¡¯t hear the men masquerading as oyster shuckers over the noisy cart. Just muffled voices and a few low cackles. I could tell when the wheels transitioned from rolling on cobblestone to dirt. It was smoother, but for natural divots here and there.

    It wasn¡¯t a brief journey, but I didn¡¯t mind. The longer they left me be, the more time for the gash in my neck to heal, thanks to Heaven¡¯s blessings upon my unliving body, and I¡¯d be right as rain again. I hoped. Truth was, I¡¯d never had my head blown off before. Part of me always wondered just what extent of damage my body could take before it failed to reassemble itself.

    I¡¯d lost digits, chunks of flesh¡ªall those returned with a vengeance. But a whole head? It was a good sign I wasn¡¯t unconscious at this point, but would I be forced to live, unable to move, with my head hanging off my body like some kind of trampled-over dandelion?

    My mind whirled, contemplating my mistakes. I knew better than not to lock doors behind me when I Divined. I¡¯d made myself damned vulnerable¡ªwait. I had locked it. I remembered that. These men had been granted access.

    What was it they¡¯d said? The mortician marked the girl¡¯s body? There wasn¡¯t much more I could¡¯ve done differently to avoid this predicament if the morgue master himself was in on this little grift. Perhaps if the White Throne didn¡¯t feel the need to make me experience every ounce of the dying¡¯s sufferings, I might¡¯ve reacted faster.

    At least I¡¯d gotten far enough to see what I needed to. That vamp wasn¡¯t some monster. She was highborn for sure¡ªsomething I¡¯d only heard talk of and never witnessed firsthand. And intelligent enough to be sadistic. Shar had mentioned the Betrayer being male, but a vamp that pure ought to be able to lead me to her kin.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    The room she¡¯d holed up in could¡¯ve been the bed chambers of any Victorian house in Crescent City, but as I focused back on the memory, I recalled hearing lots of voices outside the door. Moaning too. And it didn¡¯t sound like the bad kind.

    A brothel, perhaps? That¡¯s right, she¡¯d mentioned him getting what he paid for. There were more than a few whorehouses in Crescent¡ªfamous ones even. No way of knowing which it might¡¯ve been, but there were far fewer of them than private homes. That narrowed things down. Finding her was my best option.

    ¡°Follow power,¡± as Shar so vaguely put it.

    This vamp certainly had it.

    A particularly violent bump smacked my head against the roof. Worked out well for me. I was no longer staring at the poor dead girl, and it squeezed together the gap in my neck, which would only expedite my healing.

    There was a tapping noise. My own finger against the metal table. I couldn¡¯t feel it, but my will was returning. Saints and Elders, what a surprise those two bastards were about to be in for. Would be nice if Shar could summon some of her heavenly wrath to get me out of this bind, but as usual, I was out for myself.

    * * *

    The call of crows rang clear. We were outside the city limits. How far, I couldn¡¯t be sure. But suddenly, the ride got unexpectedly steady before it abruptly stopped. I could move my arm at the elbow by now. Only a matter of time before all the little nerves and veins and what-have-you sealed themselves back together, and I was ready to drive Demars¡¯s and Nello¡¯s teeth through their assholes.

    Voices grew louder as the trap door below the cart fell open.

    ¡°Rough couple of corpses,¡± Demars said.

    ¡°Just help me dump them out.¡±

    The men strained, the cart tilted, and the young woman and I went tumbling off the table and out onto smoothly paved stones. Bright moonlight illuminated everything around me now, and I could finally get a sense of where they¡¯d taken me.

    We were in front of an old plantation, and I do mean old. Abandoned, by the looks of it. The fountain in the center of the turnaround didn¡¯t spew water and was instead overwhelmed by encroaching vines. The walls of the main house were no different¡ªcracked windows, busted doors, and not a lantern or candle in sight.

    Trees dotting the long driveway in the opposite direction had long since died. Now withering husks with bare boughs danced on a light breeze like naked skeletons. Weeds grew everywhere. This place hadn¡¯t been tended to for a decade or more.

    Started to wonder if somewhere deep inside this mansion awaited the red room where that vampire seductress had claimed her prey. Had she come for me for snooping already? Their kind were known to be fast, and our entry into Crescent City wasn¡¯t as subdued as I¡¯d have preferred, thanks to the grunches and all the eyes on Laveau. The more untoward and unsavory portions of society were bound to hear about new arrivals.

    My head still stuck as I healed, I watched the two shuckers approach the front doors. It was a tall entrance¡ªtaller than the men¡ªpainted white at some point like the rest of the trim. The paint was all peeled now, and lichen grew like cancer. Standing there, at the stairs on the front porch, all their giddiness and bravado melted away.

    ¡°You go,¡± Demars said.

    ¡°No, you,¡± Nello retorted.

    They pushed each other like children until Demars decided to suck it up and grasp a bronze knocker carved in the shape of a fleur-de-lis and gave a few quick raps. Blackbirds cawed and flapped away, causing Nello to scurry back down the stairs to the circular driveway.

    ¡°Goddammit, mother fu¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shhh. Quiet, you!¡± Demars chided.

    A mail slot flipped open.

    ¡°Leave her,¡± a deep voice said from the other side. A few bills flittered out. I wasn¡¯t sure what denomination.

    The shucker swallowed audibly. ¡°We¡­ uh¡­ got two, actually. Caught a man robbing the dead. So¡­¡± He stood quietly as if waiting for an answer.

    ¡°So, we should be paid for two,¡± Nello barked, regaining confidence. ¡°And then some for his weapons. Could¡¯ve made a mint on them back in th¡ª¡±

    The door shook. ¡°You will be paid as agreed upon!¡±

    ¡°That ain¡¯t fair,¡± Nello said, only a bit deflated. ¡°It¡¯s supposed to be easy. In and out. We ain¡¯t killers like you folk.¡±

    ¡°And yet, you killed, then brought that trouble to our doorstep.¡±

    A dark hand jutted through a hole in the door, grabbed Demars by his skinny arm, and pulled him against the wood. He sniveled in fear.

    ¡°Do you not understand how this works?¡± the voice asked. ¡°Crescent City belongs to us. Leave, or we will show you exactly how replaceable you are.¡±

    ¡°Any chance we¡ª¡±

    ¡°Leave!¡±

    Demars was pushed back, crashing into Nello. They scampered away, then stopped to crawl back to collect the money on the ground. Slipping and skidding across the porch, they fell over each other in the race back to their cart, too terrified to even consider taking my guns. Lucky me.

    Then, from the thicket all around the property, small figures emerged. Children, all of them, throwing rocks at the shuckers as the men started yanking on the cart, not bothering to look where they were going. One wheel ran over my leg and hip, causing me to roll so I could only see the plantation exit.

    ¡°Tell me again why we agreed to this, brother?¡± Demars asked.

    ¡°Cash. Protection. Now, c¡¯mon!¡± Nello growled.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I know.¡± Demars paused for a moment and looked back at me and the naked girl. A fleeting wave of grief crossed his features.

    I knew the look. Some rewards have too high a price. I learned that the hard way working with Ace Ryker.

    Cash doesn¡¯t mend a broken soul.

    When they were gone, the mansion¡¯s door squeaked open on rusty hinges. Heavy feet slapped across the stone. I desperately willed my head to turn, but I wasn¡¯t whole yet.

    ¡°That¡¯ll be that, children,¡± the voice said. A choir of groans followed. ¡°Take them.¡±

    All at once, the pitter-patter of a dozen feet clattered toward us.

    The young woman¡¯s body slid away first, thudding up the steps amid giggles. Then my world raced by as I followed. Nobody even bothered to heave me up onto a shoulder, just dragged across the ground like a sack of garbage.

    Up I went, inside the derelict mansion. The whole thing was in disrepair. Made Marie¡¯s place look like a palace. A chandelier had fallen in the foyer, little crystal shards left where they¡¯d shattered. The kids dragged me right through them, stopping only to readjust their grips.

    Light shimmered in the reflection of one of the glass fractals.

    ¡°This is what happens when you dawdle,¡± Shargrafein said, her imprecise form flowing from one bit to the next.

    I nearly spoke, not sure if I even could. However, if I had, I¡¯d have immediately blown any chance of figuring out where these people were taking me without causing a fight.

    After getting jerked around, I found myself staring straight up and through the lofty ceiling where a gash revealed a silver-lined moon. A painting of whatever family had owned the place was torn above the grand antebellum staircase, one side of the two treads totally collapsed.

    Must¡¯ve been quite the tale, whatever happened here¡ªslave revolt, maybe. Maybe caught on the wrong side of a property feud. The place would have been better off razed, but it ain¡¯t cheap these days, purchasing land like this. Plus, this is Crescent City. Abandoned home with some sort of gang squatting in it, creepy trees on the way in, kids by the dozen just milling about?¡ªcity folk would be frightened it was haunted.

    If only they knew what kind of things really lurk in the dark.

    ¡°Two-for-one special thanks to those morons,¡± someone said. As my body was dragged by children, I caught glimpses of larger shadows moving. Nothing more.

    ¡°Boss¡¯ll be happy,¡± said another.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why we¡¯re being so careful anyway. Got a city full of prey.¡±

    ¡°You know why. That senator vanishing opens up more eyes than usual.¡±

    ¡°Let ¡¯em come. Then we can feast for ages.¡±

    ¡°Boss hears that, you¡¯re dead.¡±

    ¡°You gonna tell him?¡± No answer. ¡°Thought so.¡±

    Besides these two and the kids still hauling me along, the house seemed empty.

    ¡°We got him,¡± one of the voices said. ¡°Go on ahead.¡±

    Immediately, my limbs collapsed to the wood floor, and the sound of children chattering disappeared into the distance. Then, the two adult figures came into view.

    ¡°The hell¡¯s this one?¡± one asked. I could see him now, hair the color of barley and a face that looked more akin to Timperina than a man. His long nose and chin drew down in a dire expression, two buggy eyes staring at me. ¡°Fancies himself an outlaw.¡±

    ¡°He did,¡± said the other. ¡°Dead now.¡± This one was totally unremarkable except for the chain dangling from his neck. Looked like a tooth or a talon of some kind.

    The horse-face hauled me bodily through the remainder of the house while his buddy took the girl.

    ¡°Just like you to take the light one,¡± my conveyor said.

    ¡°Shit, she¡¯s so bloated, you might¡¯ve lucked out.¡±

    I bounced down a long corridor with doors on either side, through an expansive dining room in the home¡¯s rear, the kitchen, and finally, out the back door. What used to be a vast field of crops had been infested by mire and swamp.

    ¡°I¡¯m sick of this already. My arms hurt.¡±

    A second later, I found myself rolling down stone steps. Apparently, I can still get dizzy¡ªor maybe just disoriented without all the ear fluids, but it¡¯s something. The girl and I splashed into a pit of mud at the bottom. The muck got into my mouth and throat. Under my nails. Everywhere.

    Before I gained a sense of what was what, or if I could move more than an arm, I found myself being pulled again. By the time the mud shed off my face, we entered the open gate of an old stable.

    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± a voice growled. It was deep and throaty and, somehow, familiar to me. ¡°My children are starving.¡±

    They placed us down, and there I saw them. The eight children that had dragged us most of the way through the house lying on blood-stained hay. Children¡ªbut not. These were pint-sized werewolves.

    Youth gave them fuzz that almost confused me into thinking they were cute, but their sharp fangs told a different story. Not baby teeth. The real things.

 Book 2: Chapter 9

    Panic hit me in a way it rarely does. I can heal and survive many things, but my body being ripped apart by these adolescent predators? I wasn¡¯t sure even Shar could reverse that¡ªor what¡¯s more, that she would.

    I¡¯d always made a habit of shirking Shar¡¯s ¡°suggestions,¡± and who knows, maybe that makes me a fool. But I can¡¯t just sit back and watch innocent people die and do nothing about it. Beats the hell out of me how she can.

    Even more than my predicament, the young woman beside me didn¡¯t deserve to be a goddamn posthumous snack.

    ¡°Who is this?¡± the de facto leader asked.

    ¡°Got dumped off with her,¡± my captor said. ¡°No clue. Some hillbilly who won¡¯t be missed. Figured they could use the extra meat, growing fast as they are.¡±

    ¡°You figured.¡± I heard whoever it was stand. This man was huge, that was for sure. And I couldn¡¯t see it from how I was positioned, but the one who¡¯d dragged me was smacked hard enough to hit a wall. ¡°What do I always say about unprocessed bodies?¡±

    The man coughed, then sniveled, ¡°They got baggage.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. Doubly so in a city this size. Could be the loneliest man alive and still have eyes on him. And you just figure?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯d you want me to do¡ªleave him out in the front yard?¡±

    ¡°You should have sent him back with those useless shuckers!¡± A throat was squeezed. I could tell by the gargling. ¡°I pay for discretion. Otherwise, I¡¯d have the children handle it. Let the Voodoo Queen take the heat, not us. Is that understood?¡±

    I heard only a gag.

    ¡°I said is that understood!¡±

    ¡°Y¡­ es!¡± my dragger managed to squeeze out.

    ¡°Good. When we¡¯re done here, pay a visit to our partners and shuck out an eye on each of them. They taste better than the gobs those ingrates peddle us anyway.¡±

    The man nervous-chuckled. ¡°Y-Yes, boss.¡±

    ¡°Now, let¡¯s get a look at this stranger.¡± Heavy feet stomped closer to me. As they did, I listened closely. Now, I could hear my flesh and sinew slowly mending and the soft crackle of bones fusing. From what I could see, my whole hand twitched. Then my jaw. Foot.

    My reanimation was near complete.

    I dared not test any longer and reveal my secret too early. All I did was let my right hand gradually slide toward the grip of my pistol out of sight and bide my time. The leader took a big whiff through a nose that didn¡¯t sound quite human.

    Then he came around to my front, and I saw his yellow eyes. That was why he sounded familiar. It¡¯d been over a decade since our last encounter, but this was a werewolf. And not just any. Rougarou, ruler of the underworld beneath the human underworld of Crescent City, when last we met. Though back then, he made his home in the city sewers by the water and not all the way out here.

    Funny enough, he was to be my next visit after the morgue. We hadn¡¯t left things on very favorable terms, so I wasn¡¯t exactly looking forward to it. But I guess fate has a way of screwing with me.

    Good old Roo belonged to a rare breed of weres known as loup-garou who didn¡¯t only rely on the full moon to bring about their horrific transformations. They turned each and every night, which made them far more frightening, though also more reasonable. They had time to grow accustomed to their monstrous, ravenous alter egos, whereas the more common weres turned so sparingly, they usually wound up more crazed for blood and chaos.

    Sort of a pick-your-poison situation if you ask me.

    Two grotesque, hairy feet with claws dug into the dirt. He hunched a bit, but loup-garou were different from their cousins. More human and upright from the neck down. And even in their faces, there remained human lines to show personality. Shorter snout. More defined neck. Familiar musculature all around.

    That, and most wore clothes. With their shifting being more of a routine, they didn¡¯t tear through trousers on the full moon. In Rougarou¡¯s case, he had a suit jacket and pants custom-tailored for his proportions. Might as well plop a bowler hat on his dome.

    He gave me a whiff from afar. ¡°Stinks worse than the French Quarter.¡±

    His men forced a laugh.

    Rougarou leaned in closer. I waited until the right moment when he was off-balance, then sprang up, drawing a pistol and shoving it right under his furry jaw. One of my legs wobbled¡ªI still wasn¡¯t perfectly intact¡ªbut my hand stayed true.

    ¡°Nice to see you again, Roo,¡± I growled, slurring a bit as my vocal cords sorted themselves.

    Growls issued all around. But old Roo¡¯s shock dissipated fast, and instead of anger, he sneered in the best way his wolf mouth could.

    ¡°If it ain¡¯t James Crowley,¡± he said. ¡°Everyone, settle down. He¡¯s as harmless as my pups.¡±

    ¡°I got a bit of silver in here that says otherwise,¡± I spat back.

    ¡°Do you, now?¡±

    ¡°You wanna find out?¡± I cocked my gun¡¯s hammer. He flinched. Almost imperceptibly, but I noticed. That got his men fussing again. In my peripherals, I noticed the two responsible for bringing me out here.

    Roo lifted one of his claws and traced the still-healing gash on my neck. ¡°You know, we always wondered what would happen if you or your kind lost your head.¡±

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°You and me both,¡± I said, shrugging. ¡°Lightning bolt from the sky, probably. You know who we serve.¡±

    He grunted. ¡°Somehow, I think they¡¯d just replace you. Easier than lifting a holy finger.¡±

    My tongue caught. Was he right?

    ¡°Did I strike a nerve, Crowley?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t got any,¡± I said. ¡°And maybe you¡¯re right, but the next ¡®me¡¯ sent here might not be so friendly.¡±

    ¡°Friendly? You?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re alive, ain¡¯t you?¡± My gaze flitted to the jagged, pale scar on the right side of his chest, where a silver bullet from the chamber of this very pistol had once struck.

    He grew cross. ¡°That was a lucky shot.¡±

    I exhaled in frustration. ¡°Look, I ain¡¯t here for you.¡±

    ¡°You said that last time.¡±

    ¡°And you got in the way. It doesn¡¯t have to be like that this time. You can help willingly. Gain favor with my superiors.¡±

    That got him to perk up. ¡°Oh yeah?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± It was a little fib, but I still had cards to play. ¡°Before we get to that, I¡¯m gonna need you to return that girl¡¯s body so she can go in peace.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t ever a religious man¡ªI know, weird to say when I¡¯m intimately aware the other side is actually there. And I was definitely unsure if a proper burial with a priest and all that fliberty jabby would help redeem her for the sin of taking her own life. Or if she had family that would care. Maybe a husband. Babies don¡¯t just appear in bellies¡­ Well, except for that famous one. Still, I highly doubted we were arguing over the next immaculate conception.

    ¡°No can do,¡± Rougarou said. ¡°My children gotta eat.¡±

    ¡°So feed them a gator.¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°We eat plenty of game, but it just doesn¡¯t quite have the same nutrition. Human flesh curbs the bloodlust. You know that. And I suspect we both would rather us eat the newly dead than the still-living.¡±

    He wasn¡¯t wrong there. Rougarou was a power in Crescent City well before I met him a decade or so ago, and still now, after all this time. He didn¡¯t do that by unleashing his pack on unsuspecting civilians. He¡¯d worked hard to instill a sense of patience in them. Teach them to operate in the shadows and manage their hunger.

    ¡°And I appreciate that,¡± I said. ¡°But not her.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s she, your daughter or something? I know she ain¡¯t a lover,¡± Rougarou said. ¡°I heard the plumbing don¡¯t work downstairs.¡± He laughed. ¡°She¡¯s nobody, Crowley! A whore from a brothel who not nobody will care about. And we have to lay extra low with all the feds sniffing ¡¯round these days, what with senators dying.¡±

    ¡°Feds¡­ Them marshals don¡¯t know their assholes from their blowholes.¡±

    ¡°That may be, but there¡¯s strength in numbers.¡±

    This wasn¡¯t getting us anywhere. To be expected, really. I¡¯d shot him. And near-death experiences lend themselves to judicious behavior. Also makes things personal, but Roo wasn¡¯t as dumb as most of his kind.

    ¡°I hear there¡¯s a vampire problem in Crescent City these days,¡± I said, shifting the conversation in a direction I hoped would help. ¡°That can¡¯t be easy, what with you both having a taste for humans.¡±

    ¡°We manage,¡± he grumbled. But I could tell it was me who struck a nerve this time.

    ¡°Do you? Or is that why you¡¯re stuck picking up the scraps from dead houses? You know, seeing as they¡¯re stronger and faster than¡ª¡±

    Rougarou snarled and swung. The back of his thick, furred hand caught me in the chest, sending me flying against the stable wall. My gun went off before it flew from my grasp, just missing his ear.

    It was an awful reminder of the day I died in a similar venue amid gunfire.

    He stalked toward me, hunching and growing more grotesque and seemingly inhuman with every step. ¡°There¡¯s plenty of room in my city to share, Crowley. You come here all these years later thinking you still got a pulse on the place?¡±

    I went for my other pistol. His foot slammed down on my forearm. Before I could reach for anything else, his two men hopped to restrain my arms.

    ¡°You think you can tell us what to eat?¡± Roo slashed my collar with a single claw, revealing the black scar on my chest. ¡°I ought to tear your head off all the way this time.¡± He spread the rest of his claws against my chest and started to dig.

    Now would be a good time for that lightning bolt, I thought, channeling Shar. She¡¯s never there when I need her, though.

    ¡°Be smart, wolf,¡± I said, trying not to show my very real concern. ¡°There are worse enemies to have than marshals. I¡¯m after a vampire lady, not you. As beautiful as she is deadly. Likes to get off while she drains men.¡±

    At that, Rougarou backed off me. ¡°Tourmaline?¡±

    ¡°Maybe.¡± Didn¡¯t know her name; now I do.

    ¡°You¡¯re after Tourmaline?¡± he asked, a slight chuckle in the question.

    ¡°Sounds like it.¡±

    ¡°Well, putain de merde. That¡¯d be more fun to watch than anything I could do to you. You think you¡¯ve got the balls to run up against her?¡±

    ¡°Sure I¡¯ve seen worse,¡± I said.

    He shook his big wolf head. ¡°I doubt it.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re done posturing¡­¡±

    For all I knew, Roo had made that name up. He lies more than he breathes, and it wouldn¡¯t have been unlike him to play games.

    ¡°She runs a brothel in the quarter. That was one of her cocottes,¡± he said, nodding toward the dead girl. ¡°Not a vamp, though, clearly. So, the White Throne wants Tourmaline dead?¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°Her maker, I think. But sometimes other people get in the way.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t I know it.¡±

    ¡°Would that appeal to you, Roo? Last we met, you had a nice setup downtown. I figure it can¡¯t only be the law that¡¯s got you hiding out here.¡±

    ¡°You think I¡¯m scared of her?¡± he roared.

    I pressed my palms placatingly. ¡°Now, now. I¡¯m just deducing information.¡±

    ¡°Well, you deduced wrong, cowboy. It¡¯s safer for my children out here.¡±

    ¡°Right. And young vamps are simple. Mindless. I¡¯ve heard what can happen when a highborn lord or lady sets up shop. They get their fangs in everything. Sooner or later, you¡¯ll be cattle instead of wolves.¡±

    Rougarou took a beat. I struggled to get a read on him, no doubt aided by his less-than-human features. He turned and strode toward the pups, who howled and squealed, eager for meat.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just rip him apart here and now, boss,¡± one of the thugs holding me said.

    ¡°Yeah, you remember last time,¡± barked the other. ¡°We can send him home to St. Louis Cathedral in a bag.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need your help, mongrels!¡± Rougarou snarled as he whipped around. ¡°And you.¡± He stuck a razor-sharp nail in my direction. ¡°You couldn¡¯t even handle two lowlifes. You think you can take on Tourmaline?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t get snuck up on twice.¡±

    ¡°Or you¡¯re getting old.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t age.¡±

    Rougarou scratched lightly at the side of his head. ¡°I mean in here.¡±

    ¡°Look.¡± I scooted back to a more upright position, attempting to pull free of the thugs. They resisted, but Rougarou nodded for them to allow it. ¡°I can either go in there guns blazing and get more heat on the city. Or you can take me to her for a meeting, and we keep it personal. I prefer the latter.¡±

    ¡°And then you kill her?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I do what needs doing. And then you do what needs doing. You¡¯ll have a favor from me and my benefactors in your pocket. And in exchange, all I¡¯m asking is for you to find your pups another meal. Leave that girl be in peace.¡±

    ¡°And a meeting,¡± Roo said.

    ¡°That¡¯s implied.¡±

    He growled, low and thoughtful. Then he turned back to his pups. They yapped and jumped at him, nibbling on his claws. Wouldn¡¯t be long before their teeth were big and sharp enough to tear them off.

    ¡°You got yourself a deal,¡± he said.

    ¡°But, boss, he¡ª¡±

    ¡°I have spoken. Have her returned for rights. Then slaughter and bring one of the spare horses. If my children can¡¯t eat well tonight, they¡¯ll eat big.¡±

    I swallowed. Save a woman. Damn a horse. I¡¯d have to make sure Timp never found out, or she¡¯d make life on the road a living hell for weeks, bucking and being obstinate.

    Rougarou returned to me, picking up the pistol I¡¯d dropped and handing it over. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I like you, Crowley. You¡¯ve got a pair on you that drags in the dirt.¡±

    I chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re gonna make me blush.¡± I stretched out of reflex, all my parts seeming to work correctly again. Moving to the pups, I stuck my pistol out and let them chew on the barrel.

    ¡°So, when do I get to meet their mother?¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 10

    Taking the werewolf¡¯s word for it that the dead woman¡¯s body would be returned wasn¡¯t easy, but I¡¯d done my part. Sometimes it¡¯s better not to push it. And that goes for both Rougarou and Shar.

    It was past time for me to be done playing the good Samaritan and get on with my mission. People were going missing in Crescent City¡ªSenator Cartwright among them¡ªand all signs pointed to this Tourmaline.

    We took a carriage back to the city. Nothing fancy, but not a hunk of junk either. Roo was smart. Always knew that the best way to blend in was to not stand out. Sounds pretty common sense, except the truth is, most folks wouldn¡¯t know how to stay hidden if they¡¯d been given a burlap sack in a wheat barn. Roo lurked inside the buggy, still in his wolfish form.

    I sat up front with a haggard boy who white-knuckled the reins of a horse. Like his own litter back at the house, Roo always had a tendency to employ the homeless and needy kids of Crescent City. Get his claws in them early. Gave him eyes everywhere.

    Swampland whizzed by. The air was filled with the sounds of the marsh¡ªgators hissing, no doubt hungry for some tasty morsel or another to satisfy their insatiable hunger. Mosquitos buzzed, owls hooted, and in the distance, you guessed it, wolves, howling at a moon that sat so low, I would¡¯ve sworn I could reach out and grab it. And, in the east came that faint, purple-bluish glow on sunrise. I welcomed it. Used to be I loved the colder temperatures night brought, but now that I was numb to such things, I welcomed the light. Harder for unwelcome things to hide.

    ¡°Say, I¡¯ve always wondered,¡± I said, glancing back. ¡°Your breed turning day in and day out. When do you find time to sleep?¡±

    All Roo offered in response was a grunt. He yanked the drape shut with a loud whoosh that made the crickets quit their song. After a moment, I heard him rummaging around and a few more low grunts. The sun¡¯s light bloomed brighter, and it didn¡¯t take Nik Tesla¡¯s brains to know what was happening.

    ¡°What do you think?¡± I asked the boy beside me. ¡°Dogs like to turn circles, you know, get more comfortable. I think that¡¯s what he¡¯s doing.¡±

    No answer. Just gave the reins a snap, and we turned onto a somewhat paved road.

    ¡°Y¡¯all are a friendly bunch, you know that?¡± I quipped. If he wasn¡¯t gonna talk, I was fine talking to myself. ¡°Really, since being here, no one¡¯s even asked me if I was hungry or thirsty or tired. Nothing. Just took my dead corpse and tried to make it deader. Guess southern hospitality hasn¡¯t made it this far east, huh?¡±

    The boy shifted his frame so¡ªeven directly beside me on the bench¡ªhis back was turned.

    ¡°Fine. Fine. I can take a hint.¡±

    Crescent City grew visible through the twisted, drooping boughs of southern oaks. Bram was right when he said the trees around here were strange. Though I didn¡¯t see them as praying. Sad-looking things to me. As if they used to stand tall but melted, half their branches scraping through the muck at their proverbial feet.

    The carriage drape whipped back open, revealing Rougarou hunched in the space. But no longer was he the menacing wolf. Now in his human form, he actually did wear a bowler hat. I could¡¯ve laughed under different circumstances. And although his suit was nearly identical, it was smaller, built for a man, not a beast. Behind him, the old one was neatly hung from a clothes rack along the back wall.

    Somehow, the ensemble looked stranger with his shaggy beard than when he was shifted. Human Roo had dark skin and Cajun features. Half his middle-aged face was scarred by what looked like too much itching of scabies. Or fleas, maybe. Huh, that¡¯s a fun thought. Wonder if he licks himself too?

    A monocle sat over his undamaged eye. Always said back in the day that it was tough getting used to human sight after what he had at night. My guess was he could see just as well as I could in the darkest hours, but during the day, I had him at a disadvantage. Something I was sure he was well aware of. I didn¡¯t trust him. He didn¡¯t trust me. And that was just fine.

    He lit a cigarette, pulled in a long chuff, and closed his eyes in ecstasy. He held that breath a moment, letting the feeling linger. I could¡¯ve killed him right then and there. What I wouldn¡¯t give for that feeling once more. The heart race, the slow numbing of my thoughts, all the weight of the world temporarily lifted off my shoulders. I watched¡ªone part disdain, one part envy¡ªas he slowly exhaled the smoke my way. The boy at the reins coughed.

    ¡°Best part of bein¡¯ human,¡± Roo remarked.

    ¡°What¡¯s that feel like?¡± I asked.

    ¡°You telling me you never had a quirly at your age?¡±

    I groaned. ¡°I mean shifting. What¡¯s it like?¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡± He took another lengthy drag. ¡°For a long time, like being skinned and pulled inside out like a dead rabbit. And then, one day, the pain just numbs, and it¡¯s like meeting an old friend again. After a few moments, you forget it¡¯s you. Then, you fall back into the old vices, and it¡¯s all one and the same.¡±

    I watched the embers glow. Between jobs with Ace, when I was feeling uncertain, I used to just stare at it until the light gave way to ashes. That was one good thing about that bastard. He never let us go without a pack or ten of sissy sticks for the road. Said it kept us honest.

    Honest¡­

    We turned onto the main avenue leading into the city proper, pushing through the rabble who hadn¡¯t quite made it home after last night¡¯s festivities.

    ¡°You ever wish you weren¡¯t this way?¡± I asked.

    ¡°What¡ªand be like the sheep?¡± he scoffed. ¡°Hell no. You?¡±

    ¡°Every goddamned day,¡± I said, almost so low he could¡¯ve missed it.

    He didn¡¯t¡ªdoglike hearing and all.

    He shook his head and clicked his tongue, flicking his cigarette off the road and into a thin stream near the city¡¯s edge. ¡°That¡¯s your problem, Crowley. You gotta embrace what you are. Wolves don¡¯t wish to be sheep, no matter what mama¡¯s night tales say.¡±

    ¡°I embrace the choice. It¡¯s either this or Hell, and ¡®weeping and gnashing of teeth¡¯ don¡¯t sit so well with me.¡±

    ¡°That ain¡¯t the same,¡± he spat.

    ¡°Says a cursed man who makes a dinner out of folks and just shrugs.¡±

    ¡°You see¡ªthat right there. That¡¯s the difference.¡± He chuckled and looked around at some locals, fishermen heading down to start their day at the docks. A gaggle of lawmen stood by the main road, watching comings and goings. ¡°You still think you¡¯re the same thing as them.¡±

    His words reminded me of an earlier conversation with Shar. She hadn¡¯t said it out loud but made it plain enough, these people weren¡¯t my peers.

    Roo tipped his hat to law enforcement while I hid my face in the shadow of my own the best I could. Probably not a good look to be spotted near both him and Laveau so soon after arriving. But they did nothing. Just kept their eyes trained. Wasn¡¯t even sure the marshals I¡¯d run into would be talking much with the locals.

    ¡°We may look the same. Feel the same. Die the same even,¡± Roo said. ¡°But there ain¡¯t any of them who wouldn¡¯t lynch us the second they found out exactly what we are. Bastards are more likely to throw us on a table and start poking and prodding to find out what makes us tick.¡±

    He leaned out over my shoulder and pointed to an argument being had between a black man and a white shopkeep opening up for business. ¡°They barely get along with their own.¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure,¡± I agreed. ¡°But wouldn¡¯t it be nice not to have to hide way out there in some dilapidated old pile of barely standing wood every night?¡±

    ¡°Who said I¡¯m hiding? And I¡¯ll have you know that home is palatial.¡±

    ¡°If you say so.¡±

    He chuckled and sat back. ¡°You ain¡¯t a city man, are you, Crowley? You been here long enough, you start to appreciate the solace of a place like Mandeville Manor. I accomplished all I needed to, being down here with the sheep. Now, I got people for it. Giving back, as they say.¡±

    A beggar inched out from an alley as we passed. A kid. Couldn¡¯t have been more than seven. He gave Roo a nod, and Roo sent him back a wink. One of his boys, I gathered.

    ¡°You call that charity?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Kids like them¡¯ll either rot on the streets or wind up out netting fish or working factory lines ¡¯til their hands are calloused and they drink to forget the aches. So, yeah. With me, they stay safe, and they get their worth.¡±

    ¡°Or tossed in a cell.¡±

    ¡°This ain¡¯t the frontier, cowboy. Too many people crammed in here to even know how to dispose of all the shit. Not enough for men to do worth doing. No marshals giving out land or farms. Y¡¯all from out west don¡¯t know what it really means to fight to survive. Gotta eat to live. Gotta live to eat.¡±

    ¡°Got that part right,¡± I said.

    ¡°There are worse things than wild beasts, natives, or outlaws.¡±

    I had my own thoughts as to what he was referring to. Nephilim, demons, even people like him. But I figured I¡¯d heard him out this far. ¡°Like what?¡±

    ¡°Bureaucracy.¡± He laughed.

    I wasn¡¯t sure what to say. He was right. It was different in these parts. I¡¯d heard stories of the Big Apple¡ªlike a zoo of all races, creeds, and colors, most of which hate each other just for being different.

    I¡¯d also joined up with Ace and the Scuttlers when I was young and impressionable. When he seemed more heroic than the evil shit-eater he turned out to be. Fighting the good fight for the good of his crew. Took me a few years to see the suffering we left in our wake. And Ace, like Roo, always liked to wax poetic, making grand claims about how magnanimous he was.

    Maybe Roo was the real deal. Who knew? But I doubted it. Seemed most anyone claiming to be philanthropic¡ªthey hurt just as many as they help. I did appreciate the perspective and the insight. The kids¡ªhis eyes throughout the city¡ªwere clearly a weak spot I could exploit if need be. Only problem. I don¡¯t hurt kids.

    ¡°James?¡± a familiar voice hollered. ¡°James, there you are!¡±

    I swore under my breath. Rosa. Just the person I was trying to avoid after Irish let her tongue go. And to not involve her in any more unsavory business. I¡¯ll stick with that excuse.

    Why was it that no matter where I found myself, there, too, she would be? She jogged to try and catch up, but the boy kept the horses moving.

    ¡°James!¡±

    Roo gave the order to stop.

    ¡°She can wait,¡± I said, low.

    ¡°A beauty like that?¡± Roo asked. ¡°Where¡¯re your manners?¡±

    The carriage stopped, and Rosa came up alongside it, panting. I¡¯d been used to her dour demeanor for a while now, but she looked damn near excited, inspired by something.

    ¡°Mahrnin, Rosa,¡± I said, feigning joy at seeing her here.

    ¡°Where¡¯d you get off to last night and¡­¡± Her gaze moved to the grungy boy driving the carriage, then Rougarou. Her excitement waned. ¡°Who are your friends?¡±

    ¡°Old acquaintances,¡± I said. ¡°I told you I had folk to meet with here. This is, uh¡­¡± I realized I had no idea what the man went by when in human form. ¡°Jean Luc. He¡¯s a local farmer.¡±

    ¡°Was a local farmer,¡± Roo said, bringing a bit of fear in me that he was gonna tell her something she needn¡¯t know. ¡°Now, I am the town¡¯s leading purveyor of fine spirits.¡± I gave him a look that he returned. ¡°What can I say? I get more by the barrel than I do the bushel.¡±

    He laughed, and I must admit it was a charming sound. Rosa joined in.

    Roo opened the carriage door and stepped out. Even in his human form, he was tall without an ounce of fat. Could¡¯ve passed as an aristocrat, but instead, he was dressed like a businessman with a hobo beard. A walking contradiction.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    ¡°How do you two know each other, Jean Luc?¡± Rosa asked.

    ¡°Why, James Crowley is just about one of the most honest men I¡¯ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.¡± He stuck a hand down toward her. ¡°And my friends call me Rouge, and you are?¡±

    ¡°Rosa Mas¡ª¡± she caught herself. ¡°Just Rosa.¡±

    ¡°A beautiful name¡­¡± He took her hand and gave it a light peck, pulling just enough to reveal her snake tattoo. She winced, but nothing too noticeable. ¡°¡­for a beautiful woman. Like a rose amidst a trash heap, you are. Now, I turn the question upon you. How is it you came to know this ghoul?¡±

    ¡°A story for another time,¡± I said. ¡°Rosa, if you don¡¯t mind, we have urgent business to attend to.¡±

    ¡°Mind if I tag along? Marie gave me a list of ingredients that could help with¡­ you know. I figure since you know the city¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait. Marie Laveau?¡± Roo asked. ¡°Well, how about that? Who¡¯d have thought you were rubbing elbows with the Voodoo Queen herself?¡±

    ¡°Barely introduced,¡± I said before Rosa could reply.

    ¡°What do you say?¡± Rosa asked me.

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind if she comes along.¡± Roo turned to me, his lips pulling nearly to his ears.

    ¡°No,¡± I snapped. Then, regaining my composure, I turned to Rosa. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but we really gotta hurry.¡±

    ¡°It will only take a minute,¡± she insisted.

    ¡°Rosa, please. This don¡¯t concern you. And besides, I thought we discussed letting this thing go. Marie¡¯s a fine host, but she can¡¯t be trusted with this. It ain¡¯t right.¡±

    ¡°No, you discussed it,¡± Rosa hissed.

    I sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll see you later, okay? We can talk through it all. Promise. Until then, just sit tight and keep a watch on Bram. This city ain¡¯t safe for¡ª¡±

    ¡°For what?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    Dammit, Irish, and your meddling. Her earlier words had me all up in my head. I could spin a compliment, but that might make it seem like I thought Rosa was weak. I knew she could handle herself, and I couldn¡¯t come out and say there were ravenous vampires on the loose. Digging myself deeper than a grave.

    ¡°She¡¯s got me, ye dryshite,¡± Irish said, catching up seemingly out of nowhere. Speak of the devil. ¡°Typical bloke. Always wantin¡¯ fun ¡¯til it¡¯s wantin¡¯ it too?¡±

    Irish nudged Rosa in the side. She didn¡¯t budge. I¡¯d really gone and pissed her off now. Shar would be proud. There was nothing I¡¯d rather do than hop off that cart and help Rosa¡ªkeep her safe from whatever madness she and Laveau were concocting. But, unlike last time, I refused to get her involved in White Throne affairs. My feelings would have to wait.

    Look at that. Maturity.

    Roo, thankfully, came to my rescue. ¡°As much as I¡¯d enjoy having the company of two such stunning women,¡± he said. ¡°I know when to stay out of a lovers¡¯ quarrel.¡±

    ¡°Oh, trust me, we aren¡¯t that,¡± Rosa said, terse.

    A dagger to my lifeless heart.

    Irish was busy looking down at herself in her loose clothes with nary a curve to be found, mouthing the word ¡®stunning¡¯ in confusion.

    ¡°All the same, Mr. Crowley and I won¡¯t be long,¡± Roo said. ¡°And very soon, I do hope he¡¯ll bring you by my humble home. You seem like you¡¯d make a fine dinner¡­¡± I caught a glint as his gaze flitted toward me, ¡°¡­guest.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t need these jackeens. Let¡¯s you and I scrounge up some trouble of our own, aye?¡± Irish said, coaxing Rosa along.

    ¡°Let¡¯s.¡± Rosa set off down the road. She accidentally bumped into a man unloading crates from his wagon. Her glare would¡¯ve struck him dead if he dared say a thing about it.

    ¡°Rosa!¡± I called after her. Pure reflex.

    She stopped and glanced back. But I had nothing to say. We were on separate paths here in Crescent City, no doubt about it. I was here to end the existence of something that didn¡¯t belong, while she was here clinging to the desire to do the exact opposite.

    She huffed and continued on her way.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, cowboy,¡± Roo said, climbing back into the carriage. ¡°Let¡¯s ride.¡±

    I just stared at her as she left, wishing there was anything to be done about it. In the end, I resolved to shake my head and return to my bench beside the boy.

    No sooner had my butt touched wood than the carriage started up again. The boy whipped the reins like he had some vendetta. After a while, Rougarou leaned out the window.

    ¡°So, who¡¯s she?¡± he asked.

    ¡°She¡¯s nobody,¡± I grumbled.

    ¡°Liar. There¡¯s something about her. Got an aura.¡±

    ¡°Nobody. Just human.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I didn¡¯t know a man in such a state as you needs¡­ carnal delights. Good for you, then. She¡¯s a looker. Could make a fortune where we¡¯re headed.¡±

    I stretched back and grabbed him by the collar. ¡°She ain¡¯t a whore!¡± Probably not wise to give him such insight into my feelings, but I couldn¡¯t help it. The anger just came burbling up in me like a hot spring.

    He raised his hands in mock surrender. ¡°Whoa now. Never said she was. I just meant¡ª¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a friend. Just a friend, alright?¡± I released my hold on his lapel.

    He straightened his jacket. ¡°Lies again.¡±

    ¡°Drop it, or you¡¯ll be chewing on silver next, Roo. We got our own business.¡±

    He grinned wide, teeth yellow like an old hound. ¡°Fine, fine. Now you¡¯re gettin¡¯ it. Leave the humans to their own devices until we need them.¡±

    As we continued on into the heart of the city, we were mostly ghosts, but we caught glances here and there. He offered nods of acknowledgment to both shady-looking folk and legitimate businessmen all the same. Back when we¡¯d met, protection was his organization¡¯s most profitable trade. Some things never change.

    ¡°We ain¡¯t far now. Sure you don¡¯t want to go home first?¡± Roo asked. He got my attention and nodded down a boulevard toward the St. Louis Cathedral. She was a beaut. Plenty of churches and chapels dotted the West, but rarely did I get to see a true monument to the Almighty. Three spires and white stone soaring higher than anything else around it.

    Truly, I didn¡¯t know how man was capable of constructing such things without the help of giants. And why?

    Never understood it, and Shar certainly never felt the need to answer in detail. What¡¯d it matter where people showed their faith, where they bowed their heads? Why waste so much time and money building such extravagant edifices. Was that what God wanted?

    My opinion: it was a great way to distract countless lemmings from how shitty the world could be.

    ¡°Very funny,¡± I said.

    ¡°Can they see me at least?¡± He reached out the window and waved. ¡°I¡¯d kill to get a glimpse of a real-life angel.¡±

    ¡°Bet you¡¯ve killed for less.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious, cowboy. I¡¯m dying to know what they look like.¡±

    ¡°Keep dreaming,¡± I told him.

    No reason to tell him I was dying for the same. Too mortal to handle Shar¡¯s true visage or whatever cock-and-bull she claimed. All the while, she was probably just pissed she wasn¡¯t as pretty as the cathedral built in the glory of her and her kin.

    The carriage turned down a street alongside trolley tracks.

    ¡°Welcome to Storyville,¡± Roo said.

    Taverns and inns were joined by less upstanding establishments. Opium dens. Brothels. You name it. A Cajun magician had a crowd building as he performed a magic trick. The boy pulled the reins to keep our horses from maiming anyone, and we were stuck. The street was packed, and we had little choice but to watch until things cleared.

    The magician lit a cigarette, took a small puff. Then, with two fingers, he pulled it away. Nothing too special so far, until he let go of the stick, and it kept floating in midair. Everyone cheered. Hell, I wanted to also. He smiled and waved his hands all around the cig, just to show everyone there were no wires or strings. How he did it beats me.

    He retrieved it from its place suspended in the air, and returned it to his mouth. At first, I thought he was done. But everyone started clapping again. Upon closer inspection, I saw smoke coming from his nostrils and ears. The cigarette was backward, burning end between his lips. He just stood there as if it didn¡¯t bother him at all.

    Then, he stuck his tongue out, and the quirly bobbed with it, the fiery tip resting on his tongue like it was nothing more than a peppermint candy. With a curl of his tongue, the whole thing disappeared behind his teeth, and he swallowed, reopening his mouth to show it gone.

    The whole crowd applauded, hooted, and hollered.

    ¡°Fun trick,¡± Roo said.

    We were getting ready to leave when the man raised a single digit. The crowd stopped cheering as he strode forward to a woman whose cleavage threatened to choke her. He gave her a smile, then dug two fingers between her breasts and pulled the cigarette out.

    Now that got people going. I shook my head. ¡°Things people do for money.¡±

    The street performer bowed, and the crowd cleared the streets as they rushed in to throw greenbacks into the man¡¯s tin cup. Our adolescent driver snapped the reins, and the hooves started their rhythm again.

    Beggars, cheats, whores, and drunks galore filled the place. As ungodly as Hell to my mind. Ace would¡¯ve made a fortune if we¡¯d found ourselves here back in the day. Though even he may have had trouble gaining power with weres and vamps around.

    ¡°Alright, we¡¯re here,¡± Roo said.

    We stopped across the street from a four-story frame mansion with a cupola on top shaped like an onion. A bronze sign over the entry read: ARLINGTON HOUSE. Might¡¯ve been nice if not for its location and the corset-wearing ladies with their hair all done up hollering down from every balcony. Though, if there was one thing I¡¯d learned in this life, you can call a fed a fed, a thief a thief, but always call a whore a lady.

    Besides, compared to other brothels I¡¯d seen, it was a gem. High-end. The kind of locale that attracts the rich and snollygosters both.

    Roo hopped down and stuck out a hand, inviting me to join him. He flicked a coin to the boy at the reins. ¡°Get some chow.¡± The boy caught it deftly and hopped down to scurry away.

    We crossed the busy street, and my foot landed on a poster for the missing senator, amongst others deemed less noteworthy.

    I was gonna pick it up, when I heard some black folk playing the strangest sort of music I¡¯d ever heard from a bandstand adjacent to the brothel¡¯s porch. If you could call it music. Instruments like long pipes with flared ends seemed to be missing notes on purpose, almost screeching. Nothing like I¡¯d heard last time I was here.

    ¡°Saints and Elders, what is that racket?¡± I asked, stuffing my fingers in my ears.

    ¡°That sound¡¯s the new craze, Crowley,¡± Roo said. ¡°Welcome to the future.¡±

    Their fingers moved expertly. Never been much of a player of anything myself. Couldn¡¯t sing. But I hadn¡¯t ever witnessed something that appeared so extraordinary yet sounded so dreadful.

    ¡°I guess my ears are too old,¡± I said.

    ¡°You ever think about that?¡± Roo asked. ¡°What the world will be like when I¡¯m rotting, and my grandchildren¡¯s children are traipsin¡¯ these streets, and you¡¯re still here?¡±

    What a question. To be honest, I hadn¡¯t really. Not until that fateful day I ran into Rosa in Dead Acre, all grown up. That was the first time it hit home how long I¡¯d been alive after dying¡ªthose twenty-some-odd years. Twenty more, she might¡¯ve been gray, or remarried with kids, or dead.

    I swallowed. ¡°I try not to.¡± That was the truth. Safer that way.

    Roo slapped my back. ¡°Man, Crowley, you got no imagination. Though I guess I wouldn¡¯t with a leash around my neck like you¡¯ve got. God¡¯s pet. More a dog than me.¡± He laughed, picking up his pace and skirting ahead of me to the doors.

    Roo¡¯s hand reached for the door when a slipshod-looking man came stumbling out, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, wearing a sweat-stained shirt and pants that¡¯d both seen better days. His eyes were bloodshot-red, and his gaze was¡­ empty. Only way I could describe it. Barely there. Loaded up on whatever drugs, booze, and hard-ons. City joints like this made the paltry nightlife of saloons out west seem like schoolhouse play yards.

    Though I didn¡¯t realize to what extent until we stepped inside.

    Looked like a regular colonial chateau at first glance. Nothing out of the ordinary, but beyond the entry hall, there were more curtained-off rooms than usual. Beads. Doors. Lacey affairs. We had a view of a living room full of golden velvet couches and plush-cushioned seating, dimly lit by red-tinted lamps.

    A bar served drinks to men who looked nothing like outlaws. They were upper crust. Their pedantry showed like a cold sore. Wearing suits and time-pieces worth more than I¡¯d ever had, even in the glory days of the Scuttlers. And the women¡ªangels be damned, these were breathtaking women. They didn¡¯t have that glint of misery behind their eyes that I usually saw in ladies of the night. Well-paid for their efforts here, no doubt, as they hung all over men who acted like they deserved their affections.

    Soft words whispered in ears, polite giggles at jokes told, and gentle caresses disclosed the stories. A gorgeous blonde swayed wide but alluring hips on her way to deliver drinks from the bar built into the corner. They didn¡¯t perform¡ªno playing music or singing. It was different here.

    Men outnumbered ladies in the frontier, so women in saloons had a certain¡­ service to provide more than sex. They were female companionship for hundreds of rough-riders who couldn¡¯t find an old dutch to settle down with. They didn¡¯t have to be good conversationalists, or sashay when they walked, or show off leg¡ªthey just had to be. Doesn¡¯t say much for frontiersmen, really.

    Here, they were professionals plying men to their whims without them even knowing. Controlling situations even though it was them being paid. Exquisite bodices and skirts showed just enough skin, and enough to drive dreams. Yet behind those curtains and doors, anything went. Easy enough to tell that by the older fellow in a top hat being escorted down the hall by three women.

    Nah. Men weren¡¯t here because they were lonely or needed companionship. This place was pure fantasy fulfillment.

    ¡°Rouge! So nice to see you,¡± a woman said, approaching from our side. Judging by her dress and how much it covered, I assumed her to be the establishment¡¯s madam.

    I braced myself. But as she got close, I realized this wasn¡¯t the woman from my Divining. No fangs, no pale skin¡ªnot a vampire. In fact, looking around the room, I saw no signs of anything strange or otherworldly. Didn¡¯t feel the tingle in my chest of a Nephilim nearby. I figured¡ªif what I believed to be happening in those rooms was true¡ªthere¡¯d at least be some vamps guarding the place, blending in.

    ¡°As always, Madame Arlington.¡± Roo took her hand, performing the same kiss atop her soft, yellow glove as he had Rosa.

    ¡°A friend of yours?¡± She surveyed me from head to toe and didn¡¯t appear pleased. Judging by the patrons this place kept, I wasn¡¯t surprised. I looked like trash¡¯s trash, covered in soot and grime, with a fresh scar on my neck still healing and bloodstains who knows where. Probably looked like I¡¯d been the recipient of a failed lynching.

    ¡°We go back a ways,¡± Roo said. ¡°I do apologize for his state.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Her lips pursed, eyes the color of wheat ready for harvest, giving me another once-over. Her nose crinkled like she¡¯d smelled a donkey¡¯s fart. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t permit anyone looking like this, even for you.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯re here for downstairs,¡± Roo said with a facial gesture that concealed something.

    Her eyes went wide. ¡°Is he¡­?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s something.¡±

    This time, she gazed upon me with curiosity rather than disgust. Made me want to pull my duster closed.

    ¡°Alright. Get going, then,¡± she said. ¡°And next time, bring the riffraff through the back way, you hear?¡±

    Rougarou retook her hand. ¡°But then I wouldn¡¯t get to see you, mon coeur.¡± She rolled her eyes, then headed off to speak with the bartender. Why use the back way when he could remind the city folk of his terrifying presence? Ace used similar tricks. There is power in fear.

    ¡°Never been to a brothel with a dress code,¡± I remarked.

    ¡°The Arlington is what they call a ¡®five-dollar house,¡¯¡± Roo said.

    I smirked, sparing another glance at the blonde serving drinks. ¡°You get what you pay for.¡±

    ¡°Ain¡¯t that the truth.¡±

    With a nudge, he led me across the back of the living room, footsteps clacking on oak. All eyes were on me¡ªand that was saying something with the other candy on offer. Roo fit in, but I most definitely did not. One man shared my particular stand-outtedness. He was in the corner without a woman within grasp, just watching the goings-on while he puffed on a cigar. Took me a second to recognize him. Then he lowered his hand, revealing that port wine birthmark on his chin. The marshal from outside Laveau¡¯s cottage, out for a little leisure time, it seemed.

    Figures. You find me a man; I¡¯ll show you a sinner. It¡¯s amazing any of us ever makes Heaven at all. I can just picture God lounging by the pearly gates tapping his toe, waiting for the first man in a millennium worthy enough to step inside. Bet the angels are just waiting with streamers and fireworks.

    ¡°Arlington runs a fine business,¡± Roo said as we passed into the kitchen. A few chefs were working hard preparing food that would¡¯ve made my mouth water. Not a one bothered to look up. ¡°But it¡¯s a front. The real money¡¯s downstairs. Tourmaline ensures none of it gets touched.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t hurt to have a vamp in your pocket,¡± I said.

    ¡°Make no mistake, nothing happens in Storyville without her say-so. Arlington runs this house at Tourmaline¡¯s discretion.¡±

    ¡°And what does happen downstairs?¡±

    He stopped in the pantry, casting a sinister smile my way. ¡°Hell on Earth.¡±

    Pulling back a nondescript blanket of sorts, he stepped onto the platform of a dark, hidden lift. My gut told me not to follow. My brain too.

    Yet, I¡¯d already pissed off Rosa. And Irish, I suppose. Timp wasn¡¯t here to talk to. What else would I do? What else was I but a Black Badge?

    And as one, it was my duty to take this ride to the end. No damnation for me. Only if it came in another blaze of guns and glory.

 Book 2: Chapter 11

    Chains creaked as we descended into dank darkness. My eyes adjusted to reveal cinderblock walls coated with algae. Nothing in Crescent City survives the wet air.

    Rougarou hummed that awful music from outside, apparently carefree as a summer picnic. I, on the other hand, kept my palms resting on the pearl grips of my Peacemakers the whole way down.

    ¡°Lighten up,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re going to love it.¡±

    ¡°Just remember¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± he cut me off. ¡°You¡¯ll feed me silver.¡±

    The lift stopped, and a grate cranked open.

    Don¡¯t know what I was expecting, but it wasn¡¯t this. A large cavern of roughhewn stone, like a cave, surrounded us.

    ¡°What are you playing at, Roo?¡± I asked, hands drifting closer to drawing.

    ¡°Wait,¡± he said, ominous as could be.

    Water dripped from all over, streaks of mildew coating every surface. Roo¡¯s breathing echoed in the chamber. It brought a chill to my core.

    A chill?

    Then I heard it¡ªthe soft pitter-patter of feet from somewhere. Could¡¯ve been anywhere the way the sounds reflected in this place.

    ¡°Roo¡­¡±

    ¡°Wait.¡±

    A figure emerged that looked like another child, but as it drew closer, something was off. What I mistook for the silhouette of unruly hair came clearer into focus, revealing pointed ears and a set of horns. A third set of spikes coming up from the center of its head, I could now tell was a pair of wings folded behind its back. It was cold blue¡ªalmost white. The color of Hell itself.

    My chest caught fire, the black badge-like mark there burning with a ferocity I hadn¡¯t felt in a long while.

    The creature came to a stop several yards away. He¡ªand there was no mistaking his naked form¡ªstood about three feet high at best. A potbelly hung over his manhood, but there was still more to see than I would¡¯ve ever asked for.

    ¡°What the fuck is this thing doing here?¡± the creature asked.

    ¡°He¡¯s a friend,¡± Roo responded. ¡°Cowboy, meet Fazar, Prince of the Imps.¡±

    I started to speak, but the imp cut me off.

    ¡°Very fucking funny, you shitty excuse for a fucking dog.¡±

    Thing had a mouth on it. One with a lot of small, sharp-looking teeth.

    ¡°Gimme your fucking fingers,¡± the imp said.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Protocol,¡± Roo explained. ¡°A test to see if we are who we say we are. Humans and heavenly hosts aren¡¯t allowed below.¡±

    Roo held his finger toward the imp, and I followed his example.

    Fazar waddled closer, grabbing Roo¡¯s wrist and dragging his hand toward his mouth. A long, bifurcated tongue shot out and wrapped around Roo¡¯s finger. Then, he slurped the digit beyond his teeth. Blood trickled out of the corner of his lips while Fazar groaned in ecstasy, sucking on it in a back-and-forth motion.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Roo said.

    Slowly, the finger slid loose, and Fazar shuddered.

    ¡°Your turn,¡± the imp said to me.

    ¡°You know, I don¡¯t think this is what I signed up for,¡± I said.

    ¡°Quit being such a baby,¡± Roo said. ¡°Give the little bastard your finger.¡±

    An icy cold grip took my wrist, as if my bones were frosting beneath my skin. I sucked in a deep breath when Fazar¡¯s tongue spindled around my finger.

    I often long to feel something, but now that I was, I¡¯d have gladly given it up again. Visions of death and despair flooded my brain. Wasn¡¯t quite like a Divining, but it had the same feel. I saw Rosa shivering in the bitter cold, and I was too stunned to do a thing about it. I saw Father Osgood, my former mentor growing up, rattling his fist in the air as if calling down the wrath of Heaven. Ace Ryker, eyes like a blizzard, laughing, and finally, my vision was cut unregrettably short by a hacking cough.

    My spiritual eyes opened¡ªfor my physical ones had never closed¡ªand Fazar hunched over, gagging and dry heaving, puffs of dust billowing out.

    ¡°What manner of fuckery is this?¡± he said between gasps.

    Roo laughed. ¡°This is James Crowley, the one and only.¡±

    ¡°You brought a fucking Hand of God here? Fazar demanded. ¡°Are you out of your shit-for-brains mind?¡±

    ¡°Relax, Fazar,¡± Roo said. ¡°I told you he was a friend, and I meant it. Besides, what harm can he do downstairs?¡±

    Fazar wiped his mouth of bile that wasn¡¯t there. He gave Roo a look that carried with it the disdain of a million years.

    ¡°Just get the cart,¡± Roo said. ¡°Quit wasting my time.¡±

    ¡°This whole city might work for you. But I fucking don¡¯t.¡±

    Despite his words, Fazar walked a short distance before stopping. His wings extended, and it was impressive. Where this little imp stood half my height, his wings covered a distance twice that. Then, with a snapping like a whip, they flapped, and the ground rumbled.

    Rock split, and a mining cart and track rose from the newly formed gorge.

    I eyed Roo, who just stared with a stupid grin plastered on his mug.

    ¡°Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?¡± Fazar barked.

    Roo clapped his hands, looked at me, and said, ¡°Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?¡± before stomping off toward the imp and his cart.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Well, what the fuck was I waiting for?

    * * *

    The ride down took forever. It twisted and turned, once nearly flipping completely upside down. When it was through, we stepped off, and Fazar raised his middle finger to us before darting off again.

    ¡°Fazar¡¯s a bit bitter,¡± Roo said. ¡°Was next in line to lead the imperial forces until his brother, the king, had a child. Fazar got caught trying to smother the babe and was sentenced to exile on the surface. As you can imagine, life above ground for something like him never ended well. Luckily, I found him. Gave him a job. Gave him something worth living for.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re a real saint,¡± I said.

    ¡°You got just the right amount of self-righteous judgment to work for the Throne, you know that? C¡¯mon. Through here.¡±

    Roo led me to a massive stone door marked in some language I couldn¡¯t read. He stretched out the same finger Fazar had just performed fellatio on, and a sharp claw shot out. With it, he traced a line over a few of the symbols, and the door cracked open.

    A wave of noise hit me with the force of an angelic choir¡ªbut what awaited us inside was far from Heaven. That burning in my chest never let up, not for a second, like I was surrounded by an army of Nephs.

    One look and, it turned out, I was. Rougarou wasn¡¯t lying. Beneath the Arlington House was something otherworldly. The room we now stood in was as large as a shipyard. Vaulted stone ceilings, flickering lights everywhere, more colors than a circus. Card tables and roulette wheels filled the hall¡ªa casino for all things not exactly¡­ human.

    ¡°Been a long time since you¡¯ve been our way, Crowley,¡± Roo said, stepping off. ¡°We¡¯ve built a place of our own in the South, me and Tourmaline.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re working with her?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Took a few street brawls, but we have an agreement. Was her idea. A place where nobody¡¯s got to hide what they truly are.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t think to mention that?¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t I?¡±

    Nobody hiding was for damn sure. Vamps sat in booths drinking from chalices filled with blood drained from their cattle¡ªhumans who dedicated their lives to being living, walking, beverages. They get addicted to the pain and the power, or so I hear.

    Something I could only think to describe as a gnome¡ªthough I was sure it wasn¡¯t¡ªdealt a round to a pack of werewolves in human form. Ain¡¯t hard to spot them usually. Their skin was saggier than it should¡¯ve been at any age, stretched to the point where it¡¯d never return to its former elasticity. A stone gargoyle took sledgehammers to the stomach while others bet on how many hits it would take before he cracked.

    Mutants and Nephilim galore. Half-men with horns or four arms. Witches. Warlocks. All the kinds of things Shar had sent me hunting at one point or another¡ªgathered under one roof. Get me a stick of dynamite, and I could earn myself a year¡¯s vacation in a second.

    Did she know this existed?

    I¡¯d never know. As I surveyed the room, I noticed one thing was entirely absent: reflective surfaces of any kind. Even the roulette wheel was made of wood.

    I¡¯d never be able to make a move. The power radiating from all around the room was palpable. And just like upstairs, there were dividers and curtains beyond which I could feel raw energy emanating. There were old things here. Things that could erase me with the snap of a finger.

    This wasn¡¯t good. We Hands of God take extra care not to find ourselves in situations where we are grossly outnumbered.

    ¡°Relax, you¡¯re with me,¡± Roo said as if noticing my apprehension. ¡°Besides, see those?¡± He pointed to an archway carved in Luciferian etchings. ¡°Those evoke the full power of Hell. This place? Heaven couldn¡¯t touch it if it wanted to.¡±

    So engrossed was I by the upside-down crosses, five-pointed stars, and goat skulls, I bumped into someone. Something clattered on the stone floor. A bone. I followed it up to a skeleton wearing a tattered dress, holding a tray of white cake.

    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re going!¡± a man snapped. A Necromancer¡ªnot in hiding. My least favorite Nephilim, right there and unafraid. And why would he be? If what Roo said was true, I couldn¡¯t touch him here.

    The Necromancer¡ªa short, pudgy fellow with too much cheek and not enough beard¡ªrushed over and replaced the bone on his skeletal pet. He spoke to her in a purr-like tone, as if she was his girlfriend¡­ Shit, she probably was.

    We squeezed on by, and raucous cheering took over as the primary sound.

    ¡°But this is why this place really exists,¡± Roo said with a wry grin.

    We crossed under the sigil-marked archway to a pit sunken into rock at least twenty feet deep and covered in rows of charred iron spikes. Silver killed most Nephilim and demonic things, but iron¡ªiron was for the Underdark creatures¡ªthe fae, the wisps, the banshees, and boggarts. On this level were three tiers of standing room and benches. An arena.

    Men, women, and everything else gathered around the edges, and faces stretched into madness as they cheered. Women wearing leather bodices and dull metal chains took bets from patrons while big-ass gentlemen armed with clubs stood back to ensure no one took advantage of them.

    I stepped closer to the wood railing separating us from the crowd. It seemed Beastboy had also found his way to Crescent City from Revelation Springs. Small world. With the fallout after my battle with Otaktay, many of the city¡¯s inhabitants were displaced, and it had a lingering effect on those who made a living off big city shows. No doubt, his performance troupe had fallen on hard times after. It¡¯s possible some of them even died when a chasm opened through the town square.

    Below, Beastboy faced an enraged vamp. The young ones get like that. Jaws unhinge, and veins grow bright all around their faces. These were the kinds I was used to seeing¡ªno true thought in their brains other than kill and eat. Beastboy took off at a sprint, using the wall as a springboard, and flung himself at the pale-faced vampire.

    He was fast. And few things on Earth could move as quickly as one of the bloodsuckers. A point proven by the vampire¡¯s next move. He ducked, lightning fast, gripped Beastboy by his furry tail, and flung him against the wall with enough force to break off chunks of rock.

    The crowd moaned blissfully with delight. More money changed hands. Odds keepers hollered while their ladies made their rounds.

    ¡°That¡¯s one of Tourmaline¡¯s children,¡± Roo said, pointing down at the vampire.

    ¡°A kid, huh?¡±

    ¡°In some ways,¡± Roo clarified. ¡°Those created by the elders grow in their craft until they can become lords of their own children.¡±

    I almost scoffed at the word craft, as if he was discussing a woodworker or stonemason. In this case, the craft meant hunting and murdering humans for food.

    The vamp dashed forward in a blur and drove a fist into the wall like a bullet. His fist chewed off more rock as Beastboy rolled aside, coming up in a fighter¡¯s stance. He had moves. I¡¯ll give him that. Recovering quickly, Beastboy went at the vamp with wild swipes, each of which the vamp evaded with ease.

    A swift uppercut sent Beastboy soaring high above the gathered crowd. He landed on his neck with a sickening crunch that could be heard even from where I stood. The onlookers gasped, one part horror, one part thrill. Then the vamp leaped just as high and slammed down on him.

    By some miracle of God or Devil, Beastboy hadn¡¯t died¡ªby the way he slashed with his claws, it seemed he hadn¡¯t even been fazed by the fall. However, try as he might, the vamp was too much for him. The bloodsucker caught his arm, pushed his head to the side with the other hand, then sank his fangs into Beastboy¡¯s exposed neck.

    Blood gushed like a geyser. I winced. I had no love for the creature. Thing was a Nephilim but seemed to stay out of trouble with the White Throne. That had to garner a modicum of my respect. But my respect mattered little when faced with a nightstalker like this. He had no chance.

    He howled as the blood drained, clawing and twisting to try and break free. The vamp pushed deeper, bending Beastboy like a twig.

    I saw the move before anyone else. Beastboy arched his back enough to get his ridiculously powerful tail free and around the vamp¡¯s neck. He planted his feet and pushed into a flip.

    Long fangs ripped from his flesh as the vamp was pried free and launched to the far end of the arena. A nasty iron spike impaled the vamp¡¯s chest, eliciting a bloodcurdling scream as his veins ballooned. He wriggled to pull himself off, but before long, those veins burst like new wine in an old skin. He hung there lifeless, dry as a raisin.

    The majority of the crowd groaned and booed, making it obvious where the odds were placed. One lucky bettor cheered. A fight broke out across the way. Considering how wagers went in any saloon across the West, this would be worse in spades.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be. Tourmaline¡¯s gonna be pissed,¡± Roo said. ¡°Huge underdog.¡±

    ¡°I guess not today,¡± I said.

    I moved closer to the edge. The Nephilim was on his knees, panting, blood leaking from his collar where he¡¯d been bitten. A gate I hadn¡¯t previously noticed opened, and a giant, hairy man trotted out to drag him out of the arena.

    ¡°This is all very exciting, Roo,¡± I said. ¡°But I think we¡¯ve wasted enough time.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±

    When I turned to go, someone bumped into my side. Hard enough to make me wobble. ¡°Hey¡ª¡±

    Fearing a pickpocket in a place like this, I whipped around. It was none too soon either. A boy rushed away, not even looking back. The strap of my rifle had been sliced. I went to catch it, and Roo shoved me as hard as he could. He gripped the gun as I tripped over the ledge. I bounced from spike to spike before landing on my back in the pit, surrounded by a cloud of dust.

 Book 2: Chapter 12

    Laughter echoed as I pushed off the ground, finding my bearings. Roo stared down, wearing a shit-eating grin that¡¯d rival Ace¡¯s. His pals filled in on either side of him, loup-garou and vampires, adults and children. The whole crowd was amused.

    ¡°Dammit, Roo, are you insane?¡± I shouted. I drew my pistols and aimed, but one of the vampires stepped in front of him, wielding a shield welded from non-reflective scrap metal. They were prepared. This was planned. How had I been foolish enough to trust him, especially in a place like this?

    I held my fire. ¡°You really want to make enemies with the angels?¡±

    Roo looked around as if searching for the subject of my threat, mockery evident on his aged and scarred face. ¡°I have friends now, Crowley. Powerful friends. And you¡­ you seem all alone in a place where being alone ain¡¯t smart.¡±

    ¡°We had a deal!¡±

    ¡°Which I have fulfilled. You said you wanted to meet my kids¡¯ mama. Well, she met an unfortunate end.¡± His lip puffed into a pout. ¡°Guess their step-mama will have to do.¡±

    He moved to the side, and the lady vampire I¡¯d witnessed in that brutal memory stepped forward. She wore a form-fitting crimson bodice that left little for guessing. Puffy skirt, flared net sleeves, high collar; she was like something out of a Baroque painting. Her midnight-black hair was pulled into a severe bun, a gold hairpin sticking up from it bearing the likeness of a peacock with red jewels for eyes.

    She gripped Roo by the chin and kissed him long and hard, her sharp, red nails scraping across his chest. His foot twitched like a dog having his spot scratched. Only in Crescent City would I find a werewolf king and a vampire queen carousing. This was unheard of. Though I had to admit, they made quite the power couple.

    Make no mistake, however. It took me only seconds to see that she was in charge. She had him by the balls, figuratively speaking.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna skin you alive, dog!¡± I barked.

    More laughter. Tourmaline released him, and members of her brood placed an elaborately ornate chair beneath her. She crossed her salacious legs, pale, milky skin showing, and watched calmly.

    ¡°What a surprise I got for you today!¡± Roo announced to the enraptured audience. ¡°A rarity. A Hand of God gracing our halls.¡± Loud boos flooded the underground chamber. Food pelted me from every angle, bouncing off harmlessly. Didn¡¯t mean my ego wasn¡¯t bruised.

    ¡°He could¡¯ve been sent to kill any one of you. Sent by God.¡± He spat the word like poison. ¡°But do you see God around here? I see only us. And he would dare come here for our Lady Tourmaline and destroy what we built, in our city?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m only here to talk with her!¡± I shouted back, but more booing and thrown food drowned me out.

    ¡°Well, I say it¡¯s high time he knows what it feels like to be hunted!¡± Roo said, clapping twice.

    ¡°Oscar, Oscar, Oscar!¡± Everyone around the arena began cheering that name, pumping their fists, claws, or hooves in the air. The ground trembled. Then quaked. Chains on the single gate leading into the pit slowly began to crank.

    ¡°See you in Hell, cowboy!¡± Roo shouted.

    That same hairy man emerged from the tunnel. Only from down here could I see how big he really was. Wasn¡¯t just a hairy man¡ªhe was a giant. Nearly two feet taller than me, with knotted strands of brackish hair hanging from every inch of him, intertwined with swamp muck and plants. His face was invisible but for glowing green eyes.

    His feet struck the floor¡ªthey were webbed. A soft touch despite his size. Which meant it wasn¡¯t him causing the whole room to shake.

    His arm stretched back, gripping a thick rope dripping with some kind of viscous fluid. The crowd continued to chant ¡°Oscar¡± as whatever he dragged out moved through the tunnel. I could barely stand straight the ground shook so violently. But there, in the mouth of the tunnel, a shadow loomed. Something enormous.

    Then it all stopped¡ªthe shaking, the quaking, even the cheers. The hairy giant shouted something, but the rope showed resistance. Like it didn¡¯t want to fight. He pulled as hard as he could with both arms, muscles straining. A roar thundered out with salty spit. The giant caromed onto his chest and was dragged toward the tunnel like he weighed nothing. He let go just in time, rolling to the side of the gateway as a monster rumbled out.

    Decades doing this, and I¡¯m still shocked by some of the things hiding amongst us. How, you might ask, does a gargantuan, snapping-turtle-crocodile-hybrid hide? By devouring anything who¡¯d tell its tale.

    The size of three stagecoaches cinched together, it could swallow me whole. A shell spanned its top, hard-looking as stone but with leaves of seaweeds growing out of the cracks. Its beaked maw opened to reveal razor-sharp teeth. Apart from that, its mouth was croc-like, while its head was mostly chelonian. It snapped at the giant as it went by, giving credence to its visage. That chomp was as loud as a hammer on an anvil. The giant dove and hustled out of the way, just missing getting swatted by the thing¡¯s enormous, spiked tail before he was through the gate, and it slammed shut.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    With the target of its ire gone, the thing turned on me. A sound like a stopping train hissed from its wide-open jaw. Man-sized claws dug into the dirt, and it stretched its neck. Frilly rolls under its snout started to quiver.

    ¡°Hey, boy,¡± I stammered, holding my pistols to the side in an attempt to conceal the threat. Slowly, I edged forward. It scraped its feet back, leaving claw tracks as wide as water troughs. ¡°Easy now. You don¡¯t want to be here any more than I do.¡±

    Something from the crowd pelted its shell. Then again. Its maw unhinged, and it roared, this time spitting something from deep in its throat. I raised my pistols and fired out of reflex as I dove.

    The pistol in my left hand backfired, the barrel covered in some greenish liquid I could only assume to be acid. Some of it spattered my duster sleeve and melted rapidly through toward flesh. I yanked it off and flung it aside, leaving it sizzling on the ground.

    ¡°End of the road, cowboy!¡± Rougarou yelled. ¡°We keep Oscar nice and famished.¡±

    I didn¡¯t have time to think about how ridiculous a name that was for such a creature. For a turtle, it wasn¡¯t slow. It came rumbling at me, mouth gnashing. I glanced left and right, then decided my only real option was forward. I rushed toward the monster, then slid beneath it at the last second. As I drew my silver-dusted hunting knife, I hoped to discover a soft underbelly. Instead, it barely scratched the surface of thick scales.

    Dodging a powerful downward strike from its tail, I didn¡¯t see it slam into the pit¡¯s wall, but I heard it. I spun around and got a view of the dead vamp, pulverized under its weight. Spikes sparked against the armored appendage, but they didn¡¯t puncture.

    The wall gave way, and those unlucky enough to be close found themselves toppling into the pit with me. Bones crunched as Oscar scooped up a little black cacodemon in his mouth. The thing barely even had a chance to scream. But all the others did. They tore off like bats out of Hell, looking for any way to escape the arena. Oscar gave chase, and the crowd really loved that. Some happy family of Underdark creatures¡­

    ¡°Shar, now would be the time for a miracle!¡± I whisper-shouted to myself. I¡¯d take an earthquake or a catastrophic flood¡ª

    That angelic son of a gun. Wasn¡¯t sure if it was her or not¡ªseeing as how we were surrounded by Luciferian wards¡ªbut from the shattered wall, water started guzzling through. Must¡¯ve been Oscar¡¯s pen back there. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was a start. If I could get him to hit it again¡­ I¡¯d potentially corner myself but let the gulf come flooding in. Might be my only shot.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, you big sack of scales. Come at me!¡± I shouted as he ran down a pair of hellhounds.

    I fired at its face. Silver didn¡¯t seem to have any effect, and the bullet bounced off. I didn¡¯t watch where the slug went but hoped it caught Roo or Tourmaline in the skull.

    My shot might not have done anything physically to Oscar, but it pissed him off good. Quickly holstering, I gripped my lasso as he charged me. His nostrils flared, almost like a horn atop his jagged snout.

    I held steady, feeling every bit the Spanish matador. Only feet away now, he chomped. I dodged, but it was too big to fully evade. The ridge of his shell hit my waist and sent me tumbling up and over the top. Sometimes, it¡¯s a pleasure not to feel.

    Rolling down its rear end, I looped the end of its tail and pulled tight. My body wrenched back in the other direction, but I was on. No Heavenly judgment from my blessed lasso, not even a twinge of Shar¡¯s justice. This was just an animal, after all¡ªoversized and alone¡ªbut an animal nonetheless.

    Oscar bellowed and thrashed his tail. I held my grip, pulling myself up until I could jab my knife in just enough to get balance. It shook to and fro, hoping to knock me off. The crowd continued trying to pelt me with food and rocks. I freed my lasso and got it around one of the spiky protrusions cresting the front edge of the shell. I dug my boots in and climbed.

    The beast snapped backward, unable to bend his stubby head anywhere near far enough. Lucky me, it was more turtle than gator. I scaled it farther, aiming for the spongy flesh at the base of his head. It ran circles around the arena, making each movement a chore. Then it smashed itself against the wrong wall.

    Spikes screeched over my head across the shell as I ducked. Chunks of seaweed slapped my face and obscured my vision. I twisted off to the side. Then, as soon as the event was over, I righted myself and tried my best to steer him toward the gurgling water.

    With one more tug on my lasso, I propelled myself to the front edge of the shell, right over his head. Down went my knife with all my might into the top of Oscar¡¯s cranium. Only went in a few inches, but it stayed there.

    Over my shoulder, I glanced up at Roo. His eyes were saucers. We knew each other well enough for him to get an idea of my next move.

    ¡°Sorry, pal,¡± I whispered to the beast.

    With one hand on the shell, I balanced long enough to kick my heel down on the handle of my knife. A roar split my eardrums. Oscar reared back as far as he could go, spewing acid. People screamed as some reached the crowd, and more splashed onto the arena walls, melting through.

    Then he charged, intent on flinging me off. We hit the mud near the gate, and Oscar sank a step. Then, as he flipped and rolled forward, he sent me soaring.

    When I landed, I turned to watch the turtle¡¯s handiwork. A beast that size and with such rage and momentum? The arena¡¯s wall crumbled and cracked from the force and spilling acid. Water erupted, confusing the critter. He reared back again, then butted his head into the same spot.

    Crack!

    A bullet just missed my hand, pinging off Oscar¡¯s shell. Out of my peripherals, I saw Roo staring down the sights of my very own rifle. I swore. That thing was loaded with silver. If he was trying to take me out, he¡¯d do it with that. Not very fair, to my mind.

    His next shot caught me in the calf¡ªin and out through skin. Let¡¯s just say that while I¡¯m numb to most things, silver is a son of a bitch even when the bullet exits. Bright lines of pain shot up my leg as it sizzled with white steam. Having gone so long feeling so little, it hurt all the more. But he¡¯d made one fatal mistake.

    He pissed me off.

    I whipped my lasso and snapped it out. He thought I was going for the Winchester and yanked back. But I wasn¡¯t. Instead, it caught the back of Tourmaline¡¯s chair.

    I was going for her neck, but all things considered, under the circumstances, it was still an ace shot. Behind me, Oscar smashed his head into the wall again. The whole room shook, and I used that momentum to pull an already unstable Tourmaline and her would-be throne right down into the pit with me.

    The arena¡¯s wall spilled open, driving coruscated cracks through the entirety of the hall. Everyone still watching toppled forward under the weight of the beast and falling rock. In an instant, we were swimming, all of us.

    It all happened so fast. Tourmaline bobbed in the water in front of me, rage creasing her features. Then someone slammed down on her before she could get a hit in. Vampires are exceptionally strong and fast, among other gifts¡ªespecially older ones¡ªbut they aren¡¯t invincible.

    Together, we all went tumbling through the watery abyss, bumping and smashing between broken stone and shell. Not my finest move. Far from my worst.

 Book 2: Chapter 13

    The shelled beast cleared a path for us straight through caverns in a way nobody had ever entered. I tumbled along blindly. No reason to fight it. I gave in to the current, and, in my state, it was actually kind of peaceful in a messed-up way. Could have taken a nap. My weary mind needed a furlough.

    Oscar punched through, sliding out across salty marshes and through a mushy slab of peat and grass. We roared through the mud in its wake, a sopping wet mess of skin and cloth and, of course, scales and spikes.

    Then came the light.

    With my eyes supernaturally attuned to the darkness, I found myself blind, unable to see a damn thing as rocks sloughed around us. But that was nothing compared to the agony Tourmaline was about to endure.

    There was a brain-melting shriek accompanied by a distinct sizzle. She quickly retreated into the mouth of the cavern we¡¯d broken through to escape the agony. Vampires and the sun don¡¯t get along much. Cooks them like lobsters, only twice as fast. Already, she was crisp and blackened, her elegant red dress in tattered ruins.

    All that air of superiority was gone with her unable to reach me. Dark veins twitched on her neck as she grimaced, fangs brought to bear. My Peacemakers remained in their holsters, shoved there just before the chaos ensued. Now I¡¯d get to test if I could outdraw a vampire lady.

    Pulling my right hand¡¯s iron, I tried to stand. But I¡¯d forgotten the silver that tore through my leg, embedding pieces on its way out. Abnormal pain flashed and I dropped to a knee. She hissed, fangs extending farther, and her formerly beautiful face contorted into something inhuman.

    Then she surprised me. Further risking the sun, she lowered her head and dashed at me¡ªa blur.

    My gun went off three times. Missed her completely with each, but I damn sure taught the hunk of gray stone behind her a lesson. Before I could blink, she gripped my wrist with one hand and my throat with the other, dragging me back into the shade. I can honestly say I¡¯ve never seen anyone move so fast in my life. It was like a bolt of lightning: there one second, gone the next. And somehow, as haggard as she looked and after all that swimming and falling, her hair remained neatly pinned.

    ¡°This dress is older than you, Hamsa!¡± she bristled. Then she looked up at the ceiling. ¡°Are you listening, up there? You dare come for me?¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t here for you,¡± I got out, my throat crushed beneath her claw-like grip.

    She pulled her already healing face close to mine, eyes wild and fangs begging for blood I wouldn¡¯t give. ¡°They all say that. Who¡¯s your handler, eh? Ingram? Amael? Don¡¯t tell me it¡¯s Kjelgaard.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the goddamn truth. I¡¯m after the Betrayer. Your maker, apparently.¡±

    Her head tilted, grip loosened. For whatever reason, that completely caught her off guard. Before I could make my move, Oscar roared so loudly and stomped with such force that more rocks fell from above. Blades of sunlight pierced the newly formed holes, a direct shot on the side of Tourmaline¡¯s face. She shrieked and gripped her cheek as it melted through enough to reveal her back teeth.

    She retreated, and Shellhead stomped ever closer, casting us in his enormous shadow and barricading us in the cave with no way out. I raised a flat palm and stood. This time, there was nobody else to antagonize it.

    ¡°Calm down, Oscar,¡± I said in a tone I used with Timp early on. ¡°Settle down. I ain¡¯t gonna hurt you.¡± I gestured to the surroundings. ¡°See all that light and open space?¡±

    He stomped again, oversized claws digging abysses through the mud. I didn¡¯t know turtles could growl, but something guttural rumbled in his throat. Better than another roar, I reckoned. He flicked his head up and back as if he had an itch he couldn¡¯t quite reach.

    That was when I realized my silver-coated knife remained embedded in his skull. Poor murderous thing.

    ¡°That must hurt,¡± I said. ¡°Sorry. Meant nothing personal. Just, we were both stuck in there.¡± Then I poked a thumb back at Tourmaline. ¡°Because of her.¡±

    Tourmaline spat obscenities. I¡¯ve mentioned that most of my experience has been with rabid, feral vampires that barely resembled humanity. She was sounding like them now, a soft click in the back of her throat growing louder as time went on. I limped away from her, closer to Oscar. My leg protested, but I had no time for such trivialities.

    Fact is, most animals are the same. They just want to feel safe. And trust me, they can tell when a man views something as nothing but food or fodder. As a man with a best friend for a horse, I¡¯ve got some experience in these things.

    Oscar snorted.

    ¡°How¡¯s about this: I¡¯ll take that thing out, and you can get on out of here. Swim wherever you want. Be free.¡±

    Closer still. One dumb move and those massive jaws take my arm at the elbow. The key is to act calm, even if you aren¡¯t feeling particularly serene. Animals, they can sense anxiety, and my having a heart that doesn¡¯t beat helps.

    ¡°Good boy. Easy now.¡±

    Oscar lowered his head, and I still had to get onto my tippy-toes to reach. I gripped the knife. ¡°It¡¯ll only hurt for a second. Like a big old splinter.¡± The scales were dense, so the blade barely moved at first. I rocked it back and forth a few times to loosen it up while Oscar cried softly.

    ¡°You think me a fool?¡± Tourmaline cried, ramming into my side.

    Her attempts to hurt me only yielded the results I was looking for. The knife came free, and the beast roared in fright, scurrying back and away from us. The shelled beast thundered away, finding deeper water in the Mississippi where it wound ever onward to the east. Good for it.

    But I had other concerns at the moment. I found myself flat on my back with Tourmaline straddling me. Her hands around my neck again, those long nails were ready to rip out my throat. And would you look at that, her hair finally fell free. Half her face, framed like a hood under those thick locks, still bubbled from the sunlight. Not a pretty sight.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    I grinned.

    That might have set her off, but she quickly realized I had her. In the chaos, my knife found its way into her belly. A healthy dosing of silver for something as unholy as a vampire lady.

    The half of her face she still controlled corkscrewed. Few things worse than a stab like that for her kind if you don¡¯t intend on staking them through the heart. Silver has an adverse effect on all supernatural beings, but there¡¯s something special about how it interacts with a vampire. Couldn¡¯t tell you why, but right now, I wasn¡¯t looking for answers.

    I twisted the blade. Then I pushed her over, switching places and jamming the knife deeper. Her back arched as the pain made her choke.

    ¡°Your boyfriend really pissed me off.¡± Giving Tourmaline my full attention, I wrenched the knife to the side. ¡°So, now that we¡¯ve all been acquainted, you¡¯re gonna tell me what I wanna know.¡±

    She groaned first, and then that turned to a blood-filled cackle¡ªa mad, sadistic laugh. The sight of her face full of uncapped joy was only made worse by her burns and pocked skin.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t joking,¡± I said.

    ¡°You must be, if you¡¯re going after him.¡± More cackling. ¡°You¡¯ll end up like all the others. Like me.¡±

    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m resourceful. Turned this little mix-up around, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    I accentuated my point by redrawing my pistol. Brushing aside a fancy gold pendant on her chest, I pressed the barrel right against her pitch-black heart. She had an old scar down her sternum, a thin line I hadn¡¯t noticed in my Divining. Like she¡¯d been opened up for surgery sometime past. Likely before she was turned.

    ¡°You think I¡¯m afraid of that?¡± she asked. ¡°Trust me, Hamsa, I have lived long enough to fear nothing.¡±

    ¡°Except not living, I¡¯d wager.¡± I looked up toward the beam of sunlight only ten feet or so away. ¡°How about a sunbath? You ain¡¯t looking much like yourself. Maybe you should exfoliate.¡±

    ¡°Try and get me there,¡± she spat. ¡°See what happens.¡±

    I exhaled slowly. ¡°I haven¡¯t been asked to kill you, Tourmaline, despite that Hell club you and Wolfman started. I try not to stray when it does me no good. So, tell me where to find your maker, and we can be done here. No blood spilt.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t find him,¡± she sniveled. ¡°And if he were here, I¡¯d know.¡±

    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s here.¡±

    ¡°Why, because your angel told you?¡± she sneered. ¡°To be young and naive again. It¡¯s adorable, really. My advice, tell your handler you couldn¡¯t get the job done. Move on. Eternity like this isn¡¯t worth it.¡±

    ¡°Looks a whole lot better than blinking into nothing, don¡¯t it? Besides, you seem to have your fun. I saw what you do to your prey.¡±

    ¡°Hamsa, are you spying on me?¡± Her lips pulled back into a smile. This time, it wasn¡¯t a sneer, like she genuinely found happiness in the thought.

    ¡°Wish I hadn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°A peeping Tom? Did you like what you saw? Mmmmm. Well, boredom after centuries does have a way of refining certain¡­ tastes.¡±

    ¡°Enough.¡± I pressed my pistol down harder. ¡°This city might¡¯ve changed, but I¡¯m done playing tourist.¡± With my free hand, I removed my lasso from my belt and dangled it over her face. ¡°The White Throne will judge you now.¡±

    She snickered. ¡°So many sins; where will they start? Do your worst, Hamsa. Make me feel alive!¡±

    Keeping her at bay with silver, I hog-tied her with my blessed lasso, using a special knot that allowed the rope to cross her mouth and shut her up too. Light blossomed around us, the weight of God¡¯s judgment coming into effect like a thousand iron bars set on her chest. She groaned into the rope. I could see the strain in her eyes.

    Even for all her preternatural strength, she was powerless against it. She clearly had a lot to atone for. The brilliant ray showered like the clouds had parted and nearly rendered her unconscious.

    Once sure she wasn¡¯t going anywhere, I rolled off her, plopping down in exhaustion. My leg still ached, radiating small pulses of agony I rarely felt. With a pat on her back, I said, ¡°We¡¯re gonna have a bit of fun.¡±

    I took a deep breath, held my thumb and forefinger to my lips, then whistled. Timp and I had a bond that surpassed most things. I knew she¡¯d come, no matter where she was or what she was doing. She¡¯d find a way. Left me wondering if maybe Shar was up there, playing puppeteer and directing her to me.

    While I waited, I took a look at my leg. The sharp pain had become a dull burn which I almost welcomed. It was nice not being numb for a change. But I¡¯d need to be at my best for what came next.

    The skin around the puncture hole was dark but not black. Looked like a three-day-old bruise. Luckily, the silver had indeed found its way out, making a clean tunnel through one side and then the other.

    Using a plier from my satchel and water from the marsh, I got busy douching out any bits of silver, careful not to let them touch any more of me than need be. A more familiar sensation washed over me. My silent benefactor finally wanted to get back in touch. Also from my satchel, I retrieved my shaving mirror and placed it down next to me. I propped it up against some of the rubble, realizing that my face could do with a wipe. I practically looked made of mud.

    ¡°About time you showed up,¡± I said, beating Shar to the first word as she swirled about.

    ¡°Do you imagine I have no greater responsibility than keeping tabs on you, Crowley?¡± she replied.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest. I imagine that¡¯s all you do. You¡¯ve always been a little hazy on details.¡±

    ¡°Quite a mess you¡¯ve made already, throwing in with those wolf abominations.¡±

    Half ignoring her, I used my sleeve to clear some of the filth from my brow. ¡°Really? I think it¡¯s been pretty smooth.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s always been your problem. Trust in the good nature of others. We do not deal with good-natured things.¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°What can I say? I¡¯m a man of faith. But Roo got me here in the end.¡±

    ¡°You and your pet names,¡± she scoffed. ¡°You would do better to find respect for those who can damn your soul.¡±

    ¡°We talking about you or him now, Shar?¡± As always, it was the wrong time to push buttons.

    ¡°You must feel rather good about yourself,¡± she said. ¡°The wrath of the Almighty is not a frivolous tool at your every beck and whim. Look at her. At best, you have exterminated a pest, nothing more. Slay her, and others will rise in her place. She is irrelevant as compared to the Betrayer.¡±

    I plucked out the last bit of silver, studying how it glinted in the reflection of that heavenly beam. All the while, Tourmaline writhed in torture within the light.

    I chuckled. ¡°From someone who sits so high above the rest of us, I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re missing the bigger picture.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re pushing my patience, again. You have tilled this field. I just hope you¡¯re prepared for the harvest. Release her and get her to talk. There is a bond between maker and child. She will know.¡±

    I sucked through my teeth. I loved when I had a chance to make Shar seem foolish. All-seeing as she might be, but she¡¯d never lived on this plane. Human nature is a consistent thing. And Roo was wrong. While we all might be something more than what we were, we all rose from the same dust.

    ¡°Waste of time,¡± I said. ¡°You can¡¯t coerce someone to talk who ain¡¯t afraid. But Ace¡ªbastard he was¡ªtaught me a few things in our time together. The best way to draw someone out of hiding is to be a son of a bitch.¡±

    ¡°Do you have not a shred of decency?¡± She never liked when I cursed, which was why I did.

    ¡°Hey, you chose me,¡± I reminded her. ¡°I¡¯d have been fine wherever you found me.¡±

    ¡°I found you in worse shape than your feeble mind could imagine,¡± Shargrafein said, a new emotion crossing her smoky features. Was that pity? ¡°If I had my way, God¡¯s Hands would be left with a glimmer of a memory of the place from which you¡¯d been liberated. However, it is well within my power if you desire to return.¡±

    I thought about that. I¡¯d always wondered what happened to me during the years after Ace shot me dead. Had I been in Hell already? Was she telling the truth, or was this just another misdirection to get me to behave?

    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll play nice.¡± I shoved myself to my feet, thankful the silver wound in my leg had already mostly healed. ¡°Gonna need to keep that rope on her, though.¡±

    Without another word, Shar disappeared, and so did the stream of God¡¯s judgment, leaving me and Tourmaline face-to-sneering-face.

 Book 2: Chapter 14

    Timp found us out in the bogs. Took her some time, though. The current had carried us farther than I thought. A good thing, since I didn¡¯t particularly feel like being out in the open when Rougarou¡¯s goons found us. And no doubt they were searching.

    Thanks to my trusty mare, we had the jump on them.

    I pulled my sleeping mat out of Timp¡¯s saddlebag. During my days traveling with the Scuttlers, we never knew where we¡¯d wind up nodding off. True, I didn¡¯t need it now and haven¡¯t for a couple of decades, but old habits die hard. Besides, things like this can serve dual purposes.

    Tourmaline glowered at me. Her arms and legs strained against the lasso, desperate to pull free. Her face was fairly healed already, and I couldn¡¯t help that old sense of wonder at someone so beautiful. Too bad she was a rotten piece of shit.

    I palmed her face lightly.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to cause any more damage.¡±

    She screamed something muffled, a wild look in her eyes. You know what? I was feeling generous. I pulled down the rope gagging her.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to regret this,¡± she said.

    ¡°¡®You¡¯re going to regret this?¡¯ Saints and Elders, I was hoping for something more original than that.¡±

    ¡°I have an offer,¡± she said.

    ¡°You also have an ass, and you can stick it up there unless you¡¯ve somehow magically remembered where I can find your master.¡±

    ¡°Let me go, and I¡¯ll make your wildest dreams come true.¡±

    ¡°Shit, lady. I haven¡¯t had a dream since before Roo was born.¡±

    ¡°I have ways of making even one such as you feel pleasure unparalleled.¡±

    ¡°I got one thing that¡¯ll bring me pleasure,¡± I said before yanking the gag back over her mouth and draping the mat like a blanket over her. I mussed it up a bit and tucked the sides, so it would appear to onlookers as nothing more than a travel bag of supplies. Just an old cowboy far from home. Nothing to see here.

    She hooted and hollered like a banshee caught, but she¡¯d wear herself out eventually.

    I made sure none of her precious pearly skin was exposed. Tourmaline wouldn¡¯t do me any good if the sun turned her into a souffl¨¦, and by moving at daytime, I could ensure that¡ªif she did somehow break free¡ªthe sun would keep her down.

    With her strapped over Timp¡¯s back, looking like a hidden bounty, we trotted back toward Crescent City. A bath would be nice. Fresh pair of clothes and boots. Maybe I couldn¡¯t feel how uncomfortable I was, but I knew it in my head. That was just as bad.

    A bridge into the city proper came into view. I thought about leaving Timp there and sneaking in, but that wasn¡¯t the game I was playing. I wanted every seedy bastard and child spy in Crescent City to see me. Word would spread, and it might bring more foes to my doorstep, but I had a feeling it¡¯d conjure up her maker too.

    If the Devil¡¯s in the details, I was looking to paint broad strokes.

    On our right, the bay shone in the morning light, sparkling like diamonds. Salt-stained buildings rose on the other side of the cobbled street, each unique and reflecting the personalities of their owners. Things were bustling, people out in droves.

    A tram chimed by. It was quite the mode of transportation. I figure there might come a day when every city in the world has something similar. A child hung off the side, staring at us. Another boy darted from behind a tree into an alley. It¡¯s a city, and cities had children, but it still felt like everyone was eyeballing us.

    We stopped at the corner of St. Anne¡¯s. Across the street and a few doors down from Madame Laveau¡¯s, a shack was empty, with the windows shuttered. It was odd, a patch of darkness amid such liveliness, but I was grateful for it.

    Wasn¡¯t exactly keen on being so close to where Rosa and the others were staying, but this was a strategic location. Backed up to other buildings so I couldn¡¯t get snuck up on, busy enough even throughout the night that Roo couldn¡¯t attack in full wolf force without being exposed. And lastly¡­

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Hey, you!¡± a familiar voice called. I kept Timp walking, not giving any heed. ¡°Hey!¡±

    The Yankee marshal from earlier took her reins, and she damn near chomped his hand off.

    ¡°Whoa now, girl! He¡¯s with the good guys,¡± I said, though I put a little malice in those words.

    Maybe a reminder to him or me.

    ¡°Were you born today?¡± I asked the marshal. ¡°Can¡¯t just bullrush a horse like that. Never know which ones bite.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, right.¡± He rubbed his gloved hand as if she¡¯d wounded him. The big baby.

    ¡°Say, you ever find who killed that fella in the alley? Thought of it¡¯s been eating away at me. Couldn¡¯t sleep.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re still searching. You wouldn¡¯t happen to know anything more now, would you?¡±

    ¡°I wish.¡±

    A few seconds of awkward silence passed by before he cut to the chase.

    ¡°What were you doing in the Arlington House last night?¡± he asked bluntly.

    ¡°Just taking in the sights,¡± I said. ¡°You know, a tourist in a big town.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me.¡± He walked around Timp, letting his hand stray too close for my comfort. I watched him keenly as he neared my makeshift body bag.

    ¡°What were you doing there? A marshal in a whorehouse.¡± I whistled playfully. ¡°That¡¯s a bad look.¡±

    ¡°I got a wife. Kids. What could I possibly want from that filth?¡±

    I made a show of looking at his trousers. ¡°You¡¯re a man, ain¡¯t ya?¡±

    He stretched a hand toward Tourmaline¡¯s body bag. Before I could even yank on Timp¡¯s reins, my good girl huffed unhappily and circled away hard all on her own, sending a clear warning.

    ¡°People go into the back, invite-only,¡± he said.

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°Some never come out.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like they¡¯re getting their money¡¯s worth,¡± I said. However, I could practically feel the slow creeping of Hell¡¯s frost overtaking my insides like little frosty spiders.

    ¡°Now, word on the street says it¡¯s some weird, circus freak sex show, but local law enforcement won¡¯t even take a gander. So, tell me, stranger.¡± He stopped directly in front of me. ¡°What does go on back there?¡±

    ¡°You said no one comes out,¡± I told him, gesturing to myself. ¡°Here I am. Turns out, I didn¡¯t receive the same kinda invitation you¡¯re hinting at. Thing about rumors, in my experience. They¡¯re usually true.¡±

    ¡°I said some never come out.¡±

    ¡°Potato, potahto.¡± I shrugged.

    ¡°You¡¯re confirming nothing¡¯s going on in there but freaky sex?¡± He pressed a fist against his hip, shoving his jacket aside. He was trying to act like it wasn¡¯t a blatant attempt at showing his pistol and badge, but I knew the trick.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t confirming a thing. Now, if you don¡¯t mind, I got places to be.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a game, you dumb redneck.¡± His face grew stern, brows furrowing. I bet he thought he looked mighty frightening, a man from the north, down here in hick town. ¡°I know the senator frequented that establishment. Now you show up, hanging out with that witch Laveau and strutting into special backrooms with known criminals like Rouge Garrett.¡±

    ¡°It a crime to have old friends, officer?¡±

    ¡°Depends.¡±

    I sighed. ¡°Is that all?¡±

    He studied me from spurs to Stetson. ¡°What¡¯s that you¡¯re hauling?¡±

    ¡°This?¡± I gave the mat a hard whack. She wouldn¡¯t dare speak up for fear of having that mat pulled back and facing the oven. ¡°Nabbed me a gator. Fierce one too. Ever try hunting one? I reckon not. They don¡¯t have these up where you Yanks come from. Really makes you feel alive. This one almost had me, but now I¡¯ll get some new boots. Don¡¯t taste half bad either. Like chewy chicken.¡±

    He stuck out his tongue in disgust. ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it. First hunting owls, then this? Most men don¡¯t visit cities for hunting.¡±

    ¡°Most cities don¡¯t have this kind of game. Besides, I like a change in scenery, and Madame Laveau has use of the parts for her remedies.¡±

    ¡°Remedies,¡± he scoffed.

    I nodded. ¡°Staved off a bad infection for me years back. She¡¯s a wonder, truly.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s something alright.¡±

    ¡°I like helping out when I¡¯ve got downtime.¡±

    ¡°What is it you do for a living, Mr.¡­ I didn¡¯t catch your name.¡±

    ¡°Never said it.¡± I spun Timp back toward the road. ¡°Look, I really do wish I could be of more help, but I¡¯ve gotta get this thing on a spit, lest its spirit come back biting. A lady lets you crash at her place, least you can do is fix dinner for the house.¡±

    ¡°I guess that makes you the only gentleman in all of Crescent City, then.¡±

    ¡°Could be,¡± I said. ¡°Tell you what, I¡¯ll keep an eye out for your missing senator. And do yourself a favor. Go back to the Arlington, get a drink or a smoke, find a pretty girl, and have a good time.¡±

    He harrumphed.

    I offered a final friendly nod as I steered Timp along. Then I watched him in the corner of my eye, moseying down the street. I¡¯d gotten into his head. Here he was, in a city known for debauchery and dishonest men tucked into the sweaty armpit of the nation. Invisible outside these marshes. Why not stop being a hard-ass and loosen up?

    Once he faded out of view, I brought Timperina to a stop in front of the vacant home rather than Laveau¡¯s cottage.

    ¡°Stay out of sight, okay, girl?¡± I said as I hopped off. I took her by the snout and pressed my forehead between her eyes. The incident with that turtle-gator had me feeling closer to her than ever, even though in cities, we¡¯ve never been further apart.

    She snorted.

    ¡°I know, but you can¡¯t stay here. It ain¡¯t safe. Go back to Laveau¡¯s until I call.¡±

    She tapped her hoof.

    ¡°Timperina, enough.¡±

    I heaved Tourmaline over my shoulder and gave Timp a nudge to trot across the way to the hitches. She did so, still grousing. Then I turned to the entry. With marshals keeping watch on Laveau¡¯s¡ªwhich Roo seemed to know about¡ªI had extra defense here. Where there was one, more were always hiding. The law rolls like pack animals.

    I gave the area a thorough once-over, then pushed the door open with my boot and entered, gun at the ready.

 Book 2: Chapter 15

    My eyes gathered all available light, adjusting to the dark, dank, dirty room.

    ¡°Hey, who dere?¡± An old Cajun man sat in the corner on a wicker chair, sporting a beard like Moses. And if cleanliness was next to godliness, this fellow was further gone than me.

    ¡°Out,¡± I demanded, pushing inside, and he looked at me like I had three heads. ¡°I said get out!¡±

    ¡°I was here first,¡± the man argued. He curled up to the side and tucked his feet under a tattered rag.

    I grunted. His problem, then. He¡¯d be another distraction if anybody broke in, but considering his drunken eyes were looking at two sides of the same room, his presence wouldn¡¯t affect me.

    ¡°Your funeral,¡± I told him as I set up the stairs, hauling Tourmaline over my shoulder. She tossed and turned now, throwing a fit now that the sun wasn¡¯t a threat.

    ¡°Hey,¡± the drunk said, starting to rise. ¡°Whatchu got there?¡±

    As I ignored him, he lost heart fast enough and settled back on the chair. Once upstairs, I checked all the bedrooms. No more vagrants. Nothing but spiders and cobwebs. This would do. I brought Tourmaline to the master suite and dumped her in the center of the floor.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± I said, though I don¡¯t think she found it funny.

    She shouted something I couldn¡¯t understand, what with the gag and the mat between us.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, yeah,¡± I grumbled, then moved to the windows. They were caked with dust. Using my muddy sleeve, I managed to smear it worse, but I had a street view. Laveau¡¯s cottage sat caddy-corner to my right. Timp was slurping on water out of the trough. Marie stood on the porch, her front door wide open. She watched the old girl quizzically, probably wondering how she¡¯d run off and returned without me in sight.

    I turned back to Tourmaline, walked over, and ripped the mat off her. Her eyes glared fire my way. Something deep down told me I should cut down this snake before it could coil and strike, but she was still useful to me.

    I cautiously removed the gag but kept her bound, tossing the loose end of the lasso around a low rafter. After a bit of work, I had her suspended upright. She dangled half a foot off the floorboards.

    Once she was secure, I positioned my knife below her, hilt jammed between slats. This way, if she did break free and fall, silver would slow her.

    ¡°Now, this is just undignified,¡± she said, spitting and scraping her tongue with her fangs to get the fibers off.

    ¡°I saw how you handle yourself,¡± I said. ¡°I ain¡¯t taking risks.¡±

    She sighed. ¡°I suppose I wouldn¡¯t either. Though I am curious what your plan is.¡±

    ¡°Ever go fishing, Tourmaline?¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s it, huh? I¡¯m bait? Here I thought I was worth more than that.¡±

    ¡°The tastier the worm, the bigger the fish.¡± I returned to the window. Marie was back inside, hopefully finishing with returning Bram back into the world of the living.

    Tourmaline laughed. ¡°You¡¯re wasting your time, Hamsa. My maker is not here. He hates the so-called ¡®free world.¡¯ Lacks vision for a future out of shadows.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to forgive me for taking your words with a grain of salt. And if your hairy lover comes first, this time, I¡¯ll put a silver slug right between his eyes. I promise you that.¡±

    She stared at me blankly. ¡°Is that supposed to affect me, child?¡± I noted the way she said that. Just like Shar always did. Condescending bitch. ¡°You know how many men have fawned over me throughout the centuries? Rouge is a¡­ welcome distraction. But I think I¡¯ve found someone more worthy of my talents.¡± She winked.

    Though she couldn¡¯t be trusted, I didn¡¯t doubt her one bit about fawning men. All her burns were healed now, and, as she hung there, flesh exposed, and memories of my Divining still fresh in my mind, she was positively beautiful. Not just gorgeous but radiant¡­ mystical. The surface-level part of my brain responsible for more banal emotions roared with need. Her raven-dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall in the middle of the desert. If I hadn¡¯t been a Hand of God, my body would have been right there too.

    That made me wonder if she was telling the truth about being able to bring pleasure to a Black Badge. It wasn¡¯t because of some ultra-religious compulsion to be pure or holy. Being undead, or no longer dead¡ªre-living, I simply can¡¯t enjoy those behaviors anymore, much as I may want to. Which just leads to frustration.

    And that¡¯s when I recognized what she was doing. ¡°Flirting ain¡¯t gonna work on me.¡±

    She clicked her teeth. ¡°Quel dommage. You do look like fun.¡±

    ¡°Cut the shit, Tourmaline. How about I tell those nice marshals that¡¯ve been dancing around town that it was you who killed the senator?¡±

    That caught her tongue. It was a relative shot in the dark based on circumstantial evidence, but her reaction was all I needed. Man, if only Pinkertons existed when I was younger, I could¡¯ve excelled. Or if I¡¯d had a sense of the law. Sheriff Crowley. Has a nice ring to it compared to Black Badge.

    ¡°Thought so,¡± I said. ¡°He wanted a good time, and things got a little too rough, huh? Or maybe you got too lazy to do your homework and didn¡¯t realize who he was. You still have the body, or did you send it floating?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± she said through her fangs.

    ¡°Sure, the hangman¡¯s noose would never get you, but I reckon you wouldn¡¯t have spent as much time building the club you¡¯ve got here if you didn¡¯t care about the place.¡±

    ¡°Jeune homme,¡± she spat. ¡°I stood by while Joan of Arc burned. Watched Napoleon¡¯s rise and fall. Do you think this foul toilet of a city matters to me?¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯ve finally found a place that embraces the weird enough where you and others can hide in plain sight. Feed your vices. Live however you want to.¡± She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. ¡°I don¡¯t fault you for it. What you do is monstrous, but I¡¯ve seen plenty worse. So, here¡¯s the deal, plain and simple. If your maker comes for you, help me kill him, and me and my kind won¡¯t trouble you any further.¡±

    She chuckled. ¡°You do not speak for the White Throne, Hamsa. You lack the authority to make that promise.¡±

    She was right, but she didn¡¯t have to know that. One problem at a time. ¡°My lips to God¡¯s ears, I can.¡±

    At that, her brow furrowed. ¡°You really don¡¯t know what we are, do you? What it is that you¡¯re so fervently hunting?¡±

    My chest had been burning so long, I¡¯d forgotten about it. But the question brought it to the forefront of my mind. ¡°A perversion. Some unholy spawn of things Hellish and mortal like any other Nephilim. But more importantly, a killer of those who don¡¯t deserve it.¡±

    A sick smile splayed across her face. As stunning as she was, this was nothing pretty. ¡°Now, this is interesting. I suppose I didn¡¯t know either, but it has been quite a long time. Memory fades after seeing more wars than you can count on your fingers.¡±

    I stepped toward her. Even suspended by my lasso, our eyes were level.

    ¡°Know what?¡±

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t spoil the fun. I¡¯ll let you revel in the discovery. As for your offer, mets-le dans ton cul.¡±

    I sighed. ¡°And that means?¡±

    ¡°Shove it up your ass.¡±

    ¡°Cute.¡±

    ¡°I may not care for my maker, but I won¡¯t aid you. Not even the Devil himself could kill him.¡±

    ¡°You might know the devil, lady, but you don¡¯t know me.¡±

    ¡°Such false confidence.¡± Her laugh chided me. ¡°Even your angel must have given up on you to send you on such a mission. It¡¯s futile, child. I know it. They know it. Only you are left to acknowledge it.¡±

    ¡°Enough.¡± I pulled out the dirty rag I used to clean my guns and stuffed it in her mouth. ¡°When he comes, you can join him.¡±

    She stared at me as I moved to the window and relaxed. Her gaze never left¡ªI could feel it burning the back of my skull. I loaded my pistols with silver bullets. A couple of guns against a vampire lady and whatever else. Not the best.

    While I had time, I went to the staircase and snapped spindles off the railing.

    ¡°Let me borrow this.¡± Sitting cross-legged right in front of Tourmaline, taunting her, I used my knife to carve the ends into sharp spikes. Still, she stared. I was able to stuff six of them in my belt at the small of my back and spread the others throughout the room before returning the knife to below her.

    Like back in the fighting pit, a stake through the heart kills a vampire. They¡¯d kill a werewolf just as well, or at least adequately maim them.

    Sitting in the corner, I bided my time, a lesson learned by someone who had far too much of it.

    Finally, night fell. Dogs barked. Sounds of taverns opening to the rabble and drunkards stumbling around. That same awful music I¡¯d heard with Roo echoed from far off.

    Cities have too many sounds for my taste. I¡¯ll always prefer the still quiet of the West.

    The window creaked.

    I was back-against-the-wall, beside it in an instant. Someone climbed through, and I grabbed them by the hair, flipping them onto their back and ready for my Peacemaker to make peace.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°Jesus, feck, Crowley!¡± Irish had her hands up. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡±

    I didn¡¯t avert my aim. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    She leaned into the barrel, forcing herself upright with no fear of me shooting her. ¡°Heard a familiar voice yammerin¡¯ up here on our way home. Don¡¯t ye worry, I didn¡¯t tell the others.¡±

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here.¡±

    ¡°Ye got a bed back there. Why are ye here¡ª¡± The word caught as she must¡¯ve noticed my guest. There were no candles lit, just a bit of moonlight, but it was enough to see Tourmaline all tied up, eyes closed, and chin against her chest.

    ¡°This ain¡¯t what it looks like,¡± I defended myself, unsure why I cared about the opinions of a loon from across the pond.

    She shrugged. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m not one to be judgin¡¯. Yer business is yers.¡±

    She sauntered over to Tourmaline and poked the vampire between the eyes. Tourmaline¡¯s eyes snapped open. She hissed into the rag. If Irish was even slightly taken aback, her actions betrayed none of it.

    ¡°Deadly lookin¡¯ thing, her.¡± She peered back at me nonchalantly. ¡°Need me to bump her off?¡±

    ¡°No. I need you to leave.¡±

    Irish shook her head slowly. ¡°Ye know how borin¡¯ it is waitin¡¯ for a man to get better? And Rosa wouldn¡¯t even go for a piss-up with me. Just wanted to go searchin¡¯ for strange shit for Laveau. I just wanted one drink. Maybe three. I¡¯m needin¡¯ to live. Gotta feel somethin¡¯, and this looks a right festival.¡±

    I took her by the arm and led her to the window. ¡°Irish, you can¡¯t be here.¡±

    ¡°Blah blah. I ain¡¯t intendin¡¯ to stay. I¡¯m here for yer girlfriend.¡±

    Hearing that, I let go.

    ¡°What happened?¡± I demanded.

    ¡°Nothin¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Goddammit, Irish. Quit with the song and dance and tell me what¡¯s wrong.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s after somethin¡¯, Rosa. Somethin¡¯ I ain¡¯t sure¡¯s possible, but you seem to know a bit about impossible things. Things I ain¡¯t fond of triflin¡¯ with. Ye know her more than I. It¡¯s dangerous, wrastlin¡¯ with the dead. Ye should be helpin¡¯ her, not me.¡±

    I exhaled through clenched teeth. ¡°She already knows how I feel about chasing ghosts.¡±

    ¡°Then ye better talk sense into her before she does somethin¡¯ thick. We got words fer ladies like Laveau where I come from. Don¡¯t trust ¡¯em. Not a lightly poured ounce.¡±

    I pulled Irish away a bit. ¡°You can¡¯t stop her?¡±

    Irish smirked. ¡°I like doin¡¯ thick things. I can tell she don¡¯t. To her, this ain¡¯t so stupid. So, why won¡¯t ye help her say goodbye? It ¡¯cause ye really are rosy for her, Crowley? Ye don¡¯t wanna share?¡±

    My hand shot out, clutching her by her jaw. Words didn¡¯t come. I simply squeezed and glowered. Irish didn¡¯t fight back.

    ¡°Quit pussy-footin¡¯ then,¡± she squeezed out.

    ¡°What do you even care about any of this?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I had a fella once, ye know. Married we was. Weren¡¯t much to look at, but I loved him at a time. Then he got hold of a bottle. Liked to grab me, like ye are now.¡±

    I let her go, my gaze falling to the ground.

    ¡°Got off on hittin¡¯ me. Loved usin¡¯ a belt to show me my place. Prolly had li¡¯l ones by more¡¯n half the ladies in town. One night, he comes staggerin¡¯ in, langers drunk and in a right funk. I could tell he was lookin¡¯ for a scuffle, so I gutted him. Watched his insides paint the whole feckin¡¯ floor before packin¡¯ a bag, and I left.¡±

    Irish looked over at the vampire, but only for a moment before returning her eyes to me. ¡°Rosa¡­ She ought to have somethin¡¯ better.¡±

    I took a step back, letting the weight I was carrying but couldn¡¯t feel rest against the wall. I shook my head. ¡°Rosa had that already. Some miracles only come once. And I¡¯m¡ª¡±

    ¡°Crowley!¡± a deep voice shouted from outside. ¡°James Crowley, come out, come out, wherever you are.¡±

    Pushing Irish aside, I darted to the window and peered out. Roo¡¯s carriage sat in the road outside of Laveau¡¯s, driven by a different kid holding a torch. From my vantage, I could see Roo¡¯s wolf snout sticking out between the curtains, facing Laveau¡¯s.

    ¡°Feck¡¯s he?¡± Irish asked, squeezing her way beside me.

    ¡°You took someone from me, Crowley!¡± Roo yelled. ¡°Someone that means a lot.¡±

    ¡°That voice,¡± Irish said. ¡°Ain¡¯t that yer friend from earlier?¡±

    ¡°We ain¡¯t friends,¡± I said, then, under my breath, grumbled, ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this.¡±

    Damn Rosa for mentioning Laveau¡¯s name and giving that bastard a lead. I¡¯d honestly forgotten, what with finding that Hell club and giant turtle monsters. But this was why I couldn¡¯t have her involved in these things.

    ¡°Should I kill him?¡± Irish asked, licking her lips. ¡°C¡¯mon, lemme gut him.¡±

    I barred her with one arm and set my pistol along the sill to steady my aim. Then, I let her rip. The silver round sliced through the canvas, hitting Roo in the flank. He roared, flailing enough to tear through the curtains and fall out into the street. Pedestrians screamed and fled the sound of the gunshot.

    ¡°Drop your weapon!¡± the marshal ordered, running out of a nearby building with three others. Looked like they¡¯d been on a stakeout as well. ¡°On the ground.¡±

    The marshals closed in on him, yelling at all bystanders to leave the area. Silver steaming from the wound, Roo¡¯s fists pounded into the stone as he pushed off and up. I almost heard the marshals piss themselves as he rose, a tremendous half-man beast. His growl practically made the window vibrate.

    ¡°M-m-monster!¡± the youngest of the marshals screamed and started firing off at random.

    The one with the port-colored birthmark had enough wits about him to yell for the kid to stop before he killed someone. Luckily, one of his bullets struck Roo in the shoulder. Unluckily for them, it was barely more than a mosquito bite to a werewolf.

    I glanced over at Tourmaline, who was absolutely gleeful. He must have really had a thing for this vampire seductress, exposing himself like this.

    The kid in the carriage snapped the reins, taking off without Roo. Some bit of loyalty there. Before he got far, Roo grabbed it by the back wheel. The whole wagon came to a halt, and everything else seemed to slow down. With a tremendous roar and display of strength, Roo whipped the carriage around and flung it across the road at the lawmen. One¡ªthe trigger-happy guy¡ªwas crushed. The others dove, barely finding safety.

    ¡°Rougarou, how dare you show your true self here like this!¡± Marie Laveau shouted as she threw open the front door. ¡°Be gone!¡±

    Roo stood upright, not even the slightest bit of concern that he was surrounded. ¡°James Crowley! He in there?¡±

    ¡°He is not,¡± Marie said calmly. Damballah, her snake, raised its head and hissed.

    ¡°You!¡± He looked past Marie to Rosa, standing just behind her. I watched her eyes go wide with dread. Sure, she¡¯d seen bizarre things, but nothing like a drooling were-beast. ¡°Tell me where he is.¡±

    ¡°We gotta get down there,¡± Irish said to me.

    I kept my arm in place, sealing Irish off from hopping down and blowing my cover. Seeing Rosa in danger brought back too many painful memories, but I couldn¡¯t abandon the post.

    ¡°You will leave or consider our truce over,¡± Laveau said, stomping forward.

    ¡°Truce,¡± he growled. ¡°Your days are done, you old relic.¡±

    ¡°Old?¡± Laveau¡¯s face contorted with anger in a way I didn¡¯t think her gentle soul allowed. She pulled a vial out of her satchel and spilled its contents over her front porch. Her lips moved with words I couldn¡¯t hear, then she blew a kiss. In an instant, the ground in front of her house went up in white-hot flame.

    Roo leaped out of the way. As he did, the remaining marshals found their footing and shot at him while they sought cover.

    ¡°Get her!¡± Roo ordered.

    He wasn¡¯t alone, apparently. Shadows dashed across rooftops, moving on all fours. His pack, big ones and small ones too.

    ¡°Feck out the way, Crowley. I ain¡¯t standin¡¯ around any longer!¡± Irish bit into my arm hard to get me to move. She must¡¯ve had quite the shock when I didn¡¯t react. Then, when she tasted no blood, her brow furrowed. She grasped my pistol. I elbowed her in the chin. She staggered back, and as I turned, I saw eyes glinting in the darkness of the stairwell.

    ¡°Irish, down!¡±

    Young, feral vampires snuck up the stairs behind me to free their maker. Rosa, Irish¡­ all the humans I couldn¡¯t kick from my life had distracted me. One more second and Tourmaline would¡¯ve been free.

    The vamps bore their fangs and hissed. I didn¡¯t hesitate. Hurdling over Irish, I put a silver bullet through the head of the one nearest Tourmaline. They were quick but nowhere near as fast as their maker.

    She watched calmly as I slid, grasping one of my handmade stakes and plunging it through the chest of another hard enough to send him flipping down the stairs. Like dominos, they tumbled backward, landing in a writhing heap at the bottom. Idly, my mind drifted to that poor drunk downstairs. Could only imagine the shape he was in.

    As I brought my revolver up to plug one of the vicious devils, another rammed me from the side, and we smacked into the wall. The sucker was huge, and he was on me like flies on shit, swiping and biting¡ªand predictable. Problem with beings of this size, they never really had to learn to fight. They used their size to intimidate and manhandle. But after facing Otaktay the Yeti, I was less than worried.

    When he went left, I struck right. His clawed fist came around, forcing me to duck. While down there, I unleashed a salvo of punches and covered him with a score of nasty bruises¡ªfat good they would do.

    The back of his fist hit me hard.

    Thing about striking wildly is if you can send enough blows, eventually, those chaotic movements pay off.

    I went stumbling, toppling over something I couldn¡¯t see. When I came to a stop on my hands and knees, two things happened. One, my arm slipped on a pool of blood, sliding out underneath me. And two, my knife broke from my grip.

    Scrambling to get into a position where I could pull up my handgun, a swift kick to my midsection stopped the action. I suppose he hoped to knock the wind out of me, but shame on him for not knowing I had none in me to begin with.

    I turned, fell to my back and hip-fired. A .45 caliber cartridge exploded from my barrel and buried itself right between the brute¡¯s eyes. Then he was no more¡ªjust a cloud of fiery dust.

    ¡°Crowley, what are these th¡ª¡±

    A scratching, wrenching sound issued above, and a second later, the ceiling crumbled as another vamp fell through. I spun just in time to watch two fleshy hands wrap around Irish¡¯s throat. Saliva dripped from gnashing fangs. Irish screamed and unloaded both her pistols into its stomach. There was enough force to knock it off her, but those plums weren¡¯t silver. I gripped a stake from my belt and tossed it to her. The vampire rose for a second attempt, and she used its momentum to spear it through the heart.

    Then, with a screaming hiss that rose above the range of human hearing, its skin sloughed off, the black, stringy muscles and bones showing through before it erupted into a plume of ash.

    ¡°Hell¡¯s feckin¡¯ bells, Bram was right!¡± she exclaimed, and I couldn¡¯t tell if she was terrified or excited. ¡°Them things¡¯re real.¡±

    She looked to me, and we exchanged a brief nod. What else was there to say, with proof staring her right in the face.

    From behind, a nightstalker screeched and leaped at me like a grunch on wild shrooms, swinging a stake of its own. I whirled, parrying the blow with my pistol. I hated being on the defensive. Irish strafed beside us, unloading round after useless round into the vamp. Just mere flesh wounds.

    Outside was more screaming and gunshots. The sound of flesh rending.

    Rosa¡­

    Marie was more powerful than she let on, but so was a pissed-off werewolf.

    ¡°Irish, I have them!¡± I yelled. ¡°You get down there.¡±

    Without hesitation, Irish took off toward the window. Her boot struck the sill, but she was met by a vampire swinging through. Its bare, taloned feet hit her in the chest, and she careened across the room into the wall.

    What came next was chaos.

    Three more of the beasts followed. I fired, putting one down immediately. Then I turned toward Irish. An unhinged jaw lurched for her, but to her credit, she was scrappy and held it away.

    ¡°Irish!¡± I tried to help, but I was surrounded. The remaining bullet cases from my left pistol hit the floor, their former inhabitants taking down at least two more vampires in their destructive wake. But it wasn¡¯t enough. One grabbed hold of me, rooting me in place. We grappled, me being unable to get a good angle with my Peacemaker.

    Beyond the biting of my combatant, Irish ripped a shred of wood off the wall and stabbed madly. Blood sprayed in a wide arc, turning her clothes and face crimson. Her scream was primeval¡ªa mixture of rage, confusion, and fear. Like it or not, she was meeting, face-to-face, the creatures her boss had long spoken of. It was a wonder to see, even in the little snippets I¡¯d been afforded. A human¡ªno experience fighting Nephilim or demons¡ªand she was kicking ass. She just kept stabbing, driving the vampire back.

    I yanked my right hand free and fired a slug through the soft skin beneath its jaw. Silver, steam, and brain matter spewed up through the top of its dome.

    Too late.

    Through the cloud of ash, I could see Irish and her vamp hit Tourmaline hard enough to cause her to swing. Loosened by the collapsed rooftop, the beam she was attached to fractured and snapped. Tourmaline dropped, and with her position shifted, thanks to Irish, my silver knife missed her chest and only sliced deep through her thigh. She wailed in agony.

    I lunged to scoop up the knife and attack, but the blade stopped inches from her chest when her hand shot out and clutched me by the neck with such raw power, all my momentum stopped. She pivoted to me, eyes burning yellow with rage.

    Irish reared back and batted Tourmaline in the head with another stake. Poor girl didn¡¯t have a clue. If only she knew how to properly kill them. The wood snapped, and Tourmaline didn¡¯t even budge.

    ¡°Tragic,¡± she spat. ¡°Aurait fait une bonne pute.¡±

    With the flick of her wrist, the back of Tourmaline¡¯s hand collided with my chest and sent me soaring bodily toward the window. I snagged the sill before crashing all the way through. Hanging there, struggling to pull myself up, all I could do was watch as Irish gawked at the broken stake.

    Leg still steaming from my silver-dusted knife, Tourmaline hobbled forward. She grabbed Irish by her longer-than-normal red hair, yanked her down to her hunched-over level, and plunged needle-sharp teeth into the side of her neck.

    Irish¡¯s eyes rolled back as¡ªunlike in my vision¡ªTourmaline didn¡¯t take her time to savor her. The last thing I saw before the sill snapped free and I dropped to St. Anne¡¯s Street was the spray of red as her fangs tore free.

    Irish fell as I did, throat shredded. I didn¡¯t even see her hit the ground.