Now that was a Charlie Foxtrot of epic proportions if there ever was one.

  Can tell that no one buys my story either, and I can’t hardly blame them. It don’t make much sense to anyone who knows me, or even people who’ve heard a little about me. I ain’t ever gotten lost in my life, not even when my daddy dropped me off in an unfamiliar part of the forest and told me to make my way home to New Hope. Was only 3 hours out, but I was also only 8 years old, and it was snowing something fierce. Happened right after the first time he brung me out to the mesa too, so I’d just come off of two weeks of hard living for the very first time. Didn’t have Cowie back then either, and most of the trip was uphill to boot.

  All in all, the trek wasn’t what you’d call easy or pleasant. Still made it back to town before nightfall though, without needing any help from my daddy who was shadowing me the whole time. I didn’t know it at the time of course, so I was scared right and proper. Didn’t let that stop me then, and I ain’t gonna let it stop me here, surrounded by suspicious Pathfinders and twitchy mercs who I’d much rather have walking in front as opposed to behind. Or by my side, as would be the case with Noora, but she’s off with her new lady friend Tammy who thinks I’m some sort of murderous monster.

  I remember her. Freckled tomboy with a perpetual scowl who was watching me like a hawk back when Noora broke the news about her decision to head downriver. Guess she figured I wouldn’t react well to the news and wanted to be there for Noora just in case. Can’t say I like that, seeing how I’d never hurt her, but Tammy didn’t know that, now did she? Plus, she also got a front-row seat to me provoking Dave into drawing his weapon, so it’s not like she was wrong to suspect I’d react poorly to the news. Least she was looking out for Noora, though now I’m thinking she had ulterior motives. There’s something going on between them, that much is clear, and Tammy do be a jealous and possessive sort. Then again, it could be the fact that she done just lost her daddy, though the fact that he was grouped up with a bunch of white supremacists do limit how much sympathy I have to spare.

  Almost shot the man dead myself during the first big fight. Figured the odds were already stacked against the French Foreign Legion, so after killing one group of Legionnaires, it only seemed right to even things up by taking out some members of the Order. Helps that they so very clearly identify themselves by wearing them bright white armbands, ones they keep completely spotless even in all the mud and muck here in the Deadlands. Would’ve taken Tammy’s daddy out myself if not for Elodie catching all my Bolts in a rather impressive display of speed and skill. Between what she can do as a diamondclaw and her showing back at the waystation, she’s gone from sweet and mostly harmless to one of the most dangerous individuals of our generation.

  And I don’t think I’ve even seen all that she can do either. Casting Call Lightning is one thing, but using it to supercharge yourself and redirect that energy at your enemies is some next level stuff. Like top-tier battle magus sort of shenanigans, one whose name is known far and wide like Theodore Ellis or Edward Elton. The worst part is how it don’t even spark no competitive spirit in me, because Elodie ain’t the type to challenge or provoke me. She’s sweet as sugar and all too happy to let me call the shots, same as Cowie who could easily trample me underhoof and become the head-honcho in our dynamic. Girlie don’t look like much of a soldier either, slumped over and fast asleep on the Floating Disc behind me. She’s got Cowie in her arms and is leaning heavily against a stern older woman named Aubrey who’s sporting a nasty gash on her leg. Woman looks like she done ate all the sour fruit in existence and is still trying to shake it off, but she got one arm wrapped protectively around Elodie and an introspective expression etched into her severe features as we move through the swamps at a fair rate of knots.

  In silence for the most part, as they all done lost some people whose bodies are piled onto Floating Discs that form a little convoy behind us. One blessing is the fact that all them Legionnaire corpses done got up and ran away during our fight, meaning that don’t no one know they was ambushed by the French Foreign Legion. I’m sure the French will be somewhat upset when they realize a whole patrol disappeared into the swamp, but this here do be the Deadlands after all. Don’t love that I stopped by the outpost the day before they disappeared, but ain’t nothing to be done about that.

  Sloppy planning on the part of the Legionnaires. Too easy to link them to me, especially if they was planning on playing the role of distraction, meaning I would’ve been found out eventually even if their plan worked.

  And the worst part of all this? The only dead we’re hauling along behind us are our own, with no Abby corpses which could’ve held some real value. The Pathfinders only grabbed the Wights and Ghouls they could reach right quick, and I didn’t protest when they took my kills too, as I can’t help but feel at least partially responsible for everything that happened. No Pathfinders died to the French Foreign Legion, which is good because then I’d really feel bad about all this, but they lost two of their own defending the waystation, including the one Leonard shot in the back before throwing open the gates. As for Noora and Tammy’s group, they done gone from thirty odd bodies to a cool seven, and that’s more than partially my fault. In my defense, I didn’t shoot no one who wasn’t wearing an armband, and I even avoided shooting the younger fellas sporting that swag just in case they was doing it to fit in. Still, I killed a good quarter of their group at least, while the rest died at the hands of Abby.

  Who I ain’t taking the fall for. The gunfight didn’t bring that horde down on us. No, them Abby were already in place beforehand, with a Mimic setting up an ambush for the whole lot of us. Maybe it was after me and the Legionnaires, or maybe it wanted the Pathfinders and Jocelyn in particular like Edward hinted at. Could be they wanted someone in Tammy’s group too, but that’s less likely, making them the most unfortunate party of the bunch. One sad, older looking fella aside, the survivors are all young folk too, and I bet if they play their cards right, they might get an invitation to the Pathfinders, or at the very least a referral to the Rangers for their achievements.

  As well they should for handling themselves well enough during the fight. Not amazing, but not as bad as I seen either. They all got some training at the very least. Maybe from the Order, or maybe from Ranger Basic like Noora and Tammy. If it’s the latter, then either they wasn’t tapped for additional training, or they opted out of a career with the Rangers. Can’t do nothing if they don’t care for the life, but if their talents were overlooked, this could be their way back in. Some folks just don’t perform well in a classroom environment, for a whole lotta different reasons. Maybe it’s because their blood don’t run hot enough to perform their best, or maybe it’s the lack of a real threat keeping their brains and bodies from kicking it into high gear. Hell, maybe they was just poor students and learned better in the school of hard knocks out on the wild Frontier. Whatever the reason, the five younger folk alongside Tammy and Noora are a solid group, and if they stick together, they might well be the first mercenary company wholly owned and operated by the Frontier-born.

  An accolade I was hoping to win for myself, me and the Firstborn’s Frontier-born. Got a lovely ring to it, but can’t have a mercenary company of one. Logic says I should make friends with these young folk and see about poaching a talent or two to ride with, or even talk to Tammy about working together. If I got a crew I could count on, then I could keep coming back to the Deadlands year after year, but I don’t see that working out. Mostly because Tammy looks ready to rip my head off if I so much as look in her direction, though part of that do be because she’s head over heels for Noora and afraid I’ll steal her back for myself.

  Ain’t gonna lie. That do be a tempting prospect. Cozy up to Tammy’s group and connect with Noora again, because one look at her was all it took to steal my breath away. The surprise, joy, and conflict in her gorgeous, smoky eyes when she saw me walk in with the Pathfinders was enough to renew that spark of hope in my belly, one I could’ve sworn had sputtered and died some weeks ago. She’s moved on though, and I’d just be unwelcome friction in her new, happy life here in the Deadlands, which is why I’ve been giving her a wide berth as best I can.

  Meaning that I got one friend fast asleep and one tiptoeing around in a low-key effort to avoid me, and a whole bunch of suspicious soldiers and mercs watching my every move. Makes it difficult to come up with a good reason to part ways, as Gunnar is still out there somewhere with Frowny and hopefully the missing shipment to boot. Can’t think of anyone else who could’ve taken it, as the Pathfinders took no prisoners since the Legionnaires just refused to surrender. That was hardcore, as we had them dead to rights, but they kept right on shooting back without so much as batting an eye.

  No doubt because being taken prisoner would’ve meant death all the same. The Legion recruits a whole lotta outlaws with death sentences on their head, to say nothing of folks looking to escape 10, 20, or even 40 years of hard labour for whatever crimes they done committed. Even if they surrender, they ain’t ever gonna walk free, because the French will disavow them in a heartbeat for opening fire on an allied nation, especially one as powerful and influential as the Métis. Depending on who you ask, they was the number one or number two global superpower of the old world in terms of trade, military, and influence. With New York City on the east coast and Los Angeles on the west, the Métis Nation had two of the top ten most culturally significant cities in the world. The former got Wall Street and the United Nations HQ in New York, while the latter got Hollywood pumping out all sorts of movies that are watched worldwide.

  Both cities in states belonging to the United States of America before seceding from it in the wake of Lincoln’s assassination and his successor’s refusal to uphold the terms of the treaties with the Native American Alliance who helped put a quick end to the Civil War. Meaning that in another world, the United Federation of American States would never come to be, and might well have become the undisputed number one player in global geopolitics instead of standing shoulder to shoulder with their northern neighbours. I mean, the Federation got their big influential cities too, but when you think of Boston, Chicago, or Portland, you don’t think about how nice it’d be to visit.

  Mostly on account of all the crime and gun violence, but that’s more an issue with toothless laws that don’t do shit against criminals, but God forbid an upstanding citizen stands up for themselves. Okay, maybe I’m a little biased there, but you catch my drift. Here I am getting all the flak for killing criminals and outlaws, but ain’t no one pointing at them ‘victims’ and asking why the law didn’t do something about them in the first place.

  Course in this here particular case, I might be deserving of any flak I do catch, as it ain’t like I’m squeaky clean. Didn’t know the Legionnaires were planning on robbing a caravan to get the package, but I also didn’t really ask or think too hard about it. Mostly because I didn’t want to know. I was here to do a job and didn’t want it to get too complicated or think too hard about it. If some people were gonna die, then that was fine by me, because I’m just the courier. Even if I wasn’t here, them folks was gonna die regardless, and if some criminals wanna go toe-to-toe against a bunch of neo-Nazi racists, then have at it. Ain’t nothing of value lost, or at least that’s how I saw it until I spotted Elodie and the Pathfinders there with them, to say nothing of Noora who I ain’t spoken more than two words to even though I want nothing more than to talk.

  Don’t know what I’d say though. Didn’t know it back then, and still don’t know now, but the idea of talking do be mighty appealing. Devil’s in the details though, so I soldier on for a few hours while coming up with all sorts of ideas and excuses in my head, none of which seem all that great. Then Elodie wakes from her nap and I ain’t alone in a crowd no more, as she reaches out to tug on my pants and ask to borrow a knife. “Sure,” I say, handing it over to her hilt first. “I only got the one, else I’d give you that, so maybe make it a priority to ask the Pathfinders to get you one right quick.”

  Aubrey gives me a death stare like I done impugned the honour of all Métis everywhere, but Elodie just smiles and accepts the knife with a nod. “I will remember this and ask later on,” she says, gathering up a big fistful of her tangled green locks in hand. Then, without any warning or hesitation, she takes the knife to her hair and hacks off the whole lot, going from waist length to hair that just barely reaches below her chin. As she gears up to do the other side, I can’t help but chime in. “Hang on there Ella-dee,” I begin, and my heart skips a beat as she holds the knife to the other half of her hair while looking up at me, and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m afraid for her hair or because I done forgotten how lovely her emerald green eyes be. “Mind if I ask what’s happening here?”

  “The Wight,” she declares, like that explains it all. “During the battle, it grabbed my hair, or else I would have slipped away. So if I am to be a brave and do battle again, then I must first look the part, yes? The other braves, they have their hair tied, but I do not like this. The ties, they are too tight and pull on my head, so better to cut it short instead.”

  “Ah. I see.” With that said, Elodie resumes her work, but I stop her again with a noise I didn’t know I could make. “Uh, tell you what. How about you let me handle it for you instead? Even up the sides so it ain’t all notched and uneven?” Elodie smiles and nods, but it don’t seem like she cares how her hair looks, so long as it’s short. Her handiwork most certainly shows it, and it takes me a bit to figure out how to salvage this mess. Most haircuts you leave the longest parts in the midsection and get progressively shorter as you go out towards the sides, but Elodie gone and done the reverse, meaning if she did the other side in the same way, it’d look like she got one of them notched ribbons hanging off the back of her head, the ones that got an inverted V cut into the bottom bits.

  Ain’t nothing for it except to hitch the Floating Disc to the closest Pathfinder and take a knee on it beside Elodie. Earns me a glare from Aubrey, though the fella Noah gives me a sympathizing look as he done been pretty friendly. I pretend not to notice Aubrey and give Noah a nod and smile before getting to work on Elodie’s hair, though there ain’t much I can do to salvage it. Especially not with a knife, so I go and use Conjure Weapon to produce me a pair of scissors, which can be weapons if you work hard enough at it.

  A waste of Aether all things considered, but having grown up next door to a house with three women, I know that hair is some real serious business. A proper, bonafide Conjurer like Sergeant Begaye could probably do this without the Spell, as they do get an Ability to make tools and knickknacks out of Ecto on the fly. In lieu of a Portent that don’t always make sense, and there are times when I wish it was just a little more useful. Had my jimmies a jangling for hours before the big fight, but I didn’t know why, not until I scanned them Abby coming in on all sides. Was trying to tell me them Abby was moving out of range on purpose, and I should’ve looked into it by moving about in random directions. If I had, I would’ve spotted the ambush and known something was up, and maybe told the Legionnaires so we could come up with a better idea. Like working with the Pathfinders and mercenaries to fight off the horde, instead of getting in a fight and coming out weaker and wounded for it.

  But like Uncle Teddy always said, the true value of a Diviner lies not in how well or often they sling their Spells, but how they interpret the results of the Spells they use. That my problem, my inability to interpret what I know and extrapolate that into something useful. I knew Abby was acting funny and had an inkling that something was up, but I didn’t go and find out what, now did I? I think that, more than anything else, is why I keep finding myself in so much trouble. I always know beforehand that there’s something afoot, or know I shouldn’t do this, or I should maybe do that. Seeing problems ain’t my issue. My issue is I ignore them because I figure I can handle it even if things go wrong, then act all surprised when they inevitably do.

  That right there is what tips me over the line, moving me from confident to cocky. It's a pattern it is, one that dates as far back to that merchant who kickstarted my fall from grace, the one I should’ve chased off or parted ways with instead of sharing a camp for the night. Stupid is what that is, but even stupider is the fact that it’s taken me all these years to finally figure out why that is. Because I’m too comfortable going with the flow and dealing with whatever may come. Yeah, I’m good enough to handle anything the Frontier throws at me, but just think of how much hardship I could’ve avoided if I just tried. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of the cure, and while I been good and lucky enough to get by so far, there gonna come a day when my luck runs out.

  Not today though, or at least not yet, but the day is still young. As for me, I’m still worried about Gunnar out there with only Frowny to watch his back, but we talked things out and decided he ought to head back towards the place we camped for the night if things went south. If I still don’t show up, then he’s supposed to run right back to his family and wait for Edward, which is why I gave him the Sanctuary Stakes to keep him safe.

  Luckily, we’re headed in that general direction, as the Pathfinders and mercenaries both mean to get out of the Deadlands right quick. Can’t really blame them either, as I’m a little shook too. Back-to-back battles will do that to you, and I was fortunate enough to be holding all the cards in the first fight, meaning I didn’t get shot at all that many times. Elodie took the brunt of the fire from the Legionnaires, but the Pathfinders and mercs didn’t get off light either, especially when you factor in how I was shooting at the latter.

  So the fact that no one’s talking is pretty normal I guess. Usually, I’d try to lift the mood with some stories and jokes, but I want less attention on me, not more, so getting to settle in to give Elodie a haircut is a welcome reprieve. Girlie didn’t leave me much to work with though, so I end up cutting her hair even shorter after asking if it’s alright. When it’s all done and dusted, Elodie’s sporting a choppy, layered bob with side-swept bangs which gives her a bit of a tomboyish look without going full butch like Tammy, what with her hair cut boy short. Noora’s new girlie pulls it off well though, what with her soft and androgynous features that got her looking like a pixie or pretty boy depending on your preference. Elodie ain’t so far gone though, as there ain’t no mistaking her for a boy, not with her feminine features on a rounded, heart-shaped face that is warm and adorable as can be.

  …One day. That’s all I’m asking for. A single day without fixating on every pretty woman in my orbit. Things are fine when I’m all by my lonesome or hanging out with Gunnar, but soon as I see a pretty face, it’s like my brain done forgot how to do anything else but consider how much fun a roll in the sheets would be.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “Alright,” I say, after giving Elodie’s fresh cut a quick wash with Water Sphere. “All done. Ain’t the fanciest haircut around, but it’ll keep.”

  To my surprise, Aubrey makes a grunt of agreement and says, “Very pretty.” Gets Elodie to beaming it does, and my heart warms to see it, as I was worried she’d have trouble making friends with the Pathfinders, who are all so much older and more stoic than she is. Then again, her parents are pretty stoic, or at least they are in front of me most of the time, so it might just be a cultural thing. From the way the other Pathfinders chime in, I can tell they’re all making an effort to help Elodie feel welcome. Or a part of the pack as it were, though I’m guessing her show of force on the battlefield went a long ways towards making the Pathfinders see her as one of them. Girlie blocked a hail of Bolts then took out a fistful of Wights with Call Lightning, which ain’t as iconic a Spell as Fireball, but is still pretty high up there. Not to mention how it’s a big part of Native American culture, as the Spell done originated from the tribes.

  No idea who really came up with it first, as multiple tribes done tried to claim that honour for themselves and can’t no one bring up any real proof. Should’ve written it down or carved it into stone or something, and then we wouldn’t be having this problem, but that’s just me.

  “Howie.” Jocelyn ain’t the warmest woman around, but her tone is especially stark and severe as she calls me up front. “A word.”

  Giving Cowie a pat on the nose and Elodie a little wave goodbye, I keep the scissors around so I can crack a joke about Jocelyn wanting her hair cut too, but I abandon that poorly thought-out decision as soon as I meet her gaze. Look at that. Me learning how to be proactive and avoiding landmines before I step on them. It’s a miracle. I even keep myself from saying ‘what can I do ye fer’, and stick to the tried and true, “What’s up?”

  “In a few minutes, we will arrive at a fork in the road,” she says, keeping her voice low and calm as she points out ahead to indicate it’s an actual fork, not a metaphorical one. “I will be taking the road due east which leads to a Métis outpost with a sizable garrison that can offer the protection and security we will need to leave the Deadlands unscathed. The Great Enemy has marked me and possibly Elodie as well, so they will come again when they have gathered enough strength.”

  “Okay,” I say with a nod, as I done guessed as much.

  “You will take the road leading south,” Jocelyn continues, and her tone leaves no room for protest. Nor does her glare, which she fixates on the horizon though I can tell she’d like nothing more than to hit me with the full force of it here and now, but she’s worried she’ll slip and throttle me where I stand. “Or any road besides ours. Moving south will bring you to a waystation before day’s end, where you will find safe shelter. I know not your part in all this, and I do not care to ask. I only know that you have fresh blood on your face and jacket, neither of which is yours.”

  Ah… fuck. Guess I got a little splash back when I shot them Legionnaires point blank, which raises the uncomfortable question of how I got in so close to begin with. To say nothing of the fact that my guns do have a distinctive sound to them, and not many folks around these parts be carrying revolvers or lever-action carbines.

  Jocelyn don’t mince words though. “You were either complicit in the attack, or you are so utterly reckless and lacking in morals that you were willing to watch it all unfold just so you could profit in the aftermath,” she says, letting the heat creep into her tone as she works very hard not to look at me. “Whatever the truth may be, I care not, but your presence is no longer welcome at our fire.”

  …Which is a little harsh, albeit entirely understandable. Still can’t help but narrow my eyes to hear it as I suck my teeth and think carefully about my next words. “So I ain’t welcome, but you’ll travel and break bread with a bunch of unrepentant racists?”

  “Yes,” Jocelyn replies, and there is no heat in her voice. “Whatever they may be, the Order fights the Soulless. They work for the betterment of these lands, to clear it of the Great Enemy and yes, profit greatly in the process while plotting to rid us from it, but that is a battle for another day.” Turning her cold, icy gaze to me, she hits me with the full force of her fury for a full second before withdrawing it away, and I’d be lying to say I was unfazed. “You work only for the betterment of yourself, no matter what it might cost others. I find this disappointing considering what I have heard, and so long as Elodie is under my tutelage, I will not have you travelling alongside her.”

  Now, in her defense, I can understand why she’d see things that way. She don’t know I only got mixed up in all this because of what happened in Ashbend. Then again, now that Elodie is working for the Métis Government, I’m not even sure it matters for her. Astrid and Harald still gotta be wary of the AICC, as the Agency for Innate Containment and Control don’t mess around, but Elodie? She’s a Métis government worker now, so the AICC wouldn’t dare touch any case where she’s involved. The Métis love them their Innates, as taking in the strength of their enemies is a huge part of many Native American cultures, and they’ve kept that even in modern times. Innates aren’t feared, but accepted, and free healthcare extends to issues of the mental variety, meaning even Innates who got some quirks to them get the help they need.

  Not saying it’s perfect, as you can’t save everyone, but an Innate in the Métis Nation got a whole lot more support and options than one in the Federation. Not to mention a distinct lack of the death penalty, which is just wild.

  Crazy socialist Métis hippies aside, I get why Jocelyn feels the way she feels. Can’t say I like it, but I understand, so rather than making pithy comments about how I saved their bacon several times in the fights back there, I simply nod and head back to keep Elodie company for as long as I can. She’s sat there rocking Cowie like a baby and he’s just eating it up, and I catch myself wondering what life would be like if she was cradling our baby. Probably super stressful, as I get the feeling Elodie’s not one to coddle and pamper, or cook, clean, or do any real chores at all, but it’d still be pretty nice I think. And not just because of the whole baby making process either, but that’s just me thinking about what if, to say nothing of working overtime to avoid thinking about Noora.

  When it comes time to part ways, Elodie don’t make a fuss. She just pops up from the Floating Disc that’ll be leaving with me and wraps me in a big, warm hug. “I know you have your reasons for doing the things you do,” she whispers, showing that even she wasn’t fooled by my shoddy story. “So I know you meant well. Thank you for your help Howie. I will become much stronger, and then we will meet again.”

  There’s an air of finality to her tone, as if she don’t expect to see me before then, and I can’t rightfully claim otherwise. Doubt I’ll be coming back to the Deadlands for business, though I might drop in to visit Edward, Aaron, and Luther once in a blue moon. I’ll let Elodie know about it when I do, but I dunno if Jocelyn will be all that willing to cut her some slack just to see me for a bit. Either way, I ain’t ever been a fan of long goodbyes, so I give Elodie one last little squeeze before breaking off our hug with a smile. “Until then,” I say with a wink, and with that, I turn to leave with Cowie.

  Only to stop in my tracks when I hear Noora ask, “You’re leaving?”

  “…Yeah,” I reply, after taking a beat to paste on a smile, one that even feels strained and sad. “I uh, got a campsite setup close by, and there’s a waystation too if I need it. These here be my huntin’ grounds after all, though I might have to range a little farther after that dustup we had today.”

  How handy to have an excuse ready if I’m spotted somewhere else later on down the line. I’m just doing what I do, looking for Abby to hunt. Ain’t nothing suspicious about that. As for Noora, she turns to give Tammy a glance and a gesture that says continue on and I’ll catch up, one Tammy don’t much care for as she turns to plant her feet and cross her arms. Exasperated, Noora stifles a sigh then moves closer to me and gets me walking away from the group, one that’s moving at a fair rate and will take some doing to catch up to. “Figured we’d have time to talk once we were safe,” she says while tickling Cowie’s chin, and I give a little smile and shrug, as if to say ‘what’s there to talk about?’. She reads me loud and clear, but ain’t buying it in the least, as she can see I got plenty I want to say, only I don’t know how to.

  If I did, I would’ve said it all before she left, but I didn’t, now did I?

  Seems like she don’t really know what to say either, as Noora glances back at Tammy to no doubt see the girl still staring daggers at me. I get not being happy about your girl talking to her ex, but this feels like a bit much. Then again, Tammy just lost her daddy, so she’s probably feeling real vulnerable, which is why I’m doing my best not to take her ire personal. Honestly, any other person on any other day, and I’d’ve smacked them down for calling me a fucking psychopath in front of all those people, or maybe smiled and acted proud of it. Not in front of Noora and Elodie though, and I suppose laying a beat down on someone after they just survived what they did wouldn’t be helping my case.

  I ain’t no psycho though. I do have a moral compass. Granted, it tends to favour what’s best for me and mine as opposed to what’s strictly good and righteous, but that’s most people. Course, most people don’t got the same capacity for doing things like I do, what with all the training I got. Which I suppose is why Jocelyn’s got her panties all up in a bunch. No, that’s not right. I shouldn’t say that. Jocelyn’s all bent out of shape. There. Gender neutral and still true, but she’s gotten that way because I suppose she expected better from me. Her and everyone else who’s known me, but what else is new? I’m out here doing the best I can, so if I ain’t living up to the expectations of strangers, well I don’t see how any of that is my fault.

  “I’m in Stonesford now,” Noora says, looking up from Cowie and breaking the silence after a long, silent second. Only then do I realize she was waiting to see if I’d ask, and now she knows how it is. “Got a cabin of my own and everything. Drop by sometime. I’ll give you the tour and then we can catch up.” She smiles and shrugs, then leans in for a chaste hug while whispering, “Sorry about Tammy. She’s hurting, so don’t mind her. I’m sure she’ll warm up once she gets to know you.” Drawing back to give me a wink, she implies exactly what I think she is, and my heart drops down into my belly and keeps on falling a ways longer yet.

  Because appealing as the offer to roll around in the sheets with two lovely young ladies might be, I ain’t built for that sort of thing. I don’t mean sex, but casual sex, because I’m an all or nothing sorta guy. Not to say Noora’s just being easy breezy about all her relationships, but she’s less about the long term and more about finding happiness in the here and now. That’s why she was able to bounce back so quick and smart enough to get away. She’s known enough misery, and wants to be happy no matter what, whereas I drink in that misery because that’s what I want. What I deserve. What the doubting, repressed Catholic in me yearns for. And that ain’t good for anyone. Not me, not anyone around me, and most certainly not anyone I care for.

  So I give Noora a smile that don’t need to be faked, because this here be a genuinely sad smile. “Might be that I do drop by,” I say, even though I know good and well I most certainly won’t. “Glad to hear you doin’ well. Well, were doin’ well. I’m sure you’ll bounce back from this.”

  Noora purses her lips to hear it, then gives me a look like I’m missing something obvious, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is. So she spells it out for me, whispering quick as she can so Tammy don’t lose patience. “After everything that went down, Tammy’s gonna need help picking up the pieces of her family business. Who better to help than the Firstborn?” I grimace to hear it, but not for the reasons Noora thinks as she flares up to see it. “What’s wrong? You saw how they handled themselves, especially Tammy. Maybe they’re not the best there is, but they’re plenty good enough, and they’ll be better with your help. Isn’t this what you wanted? A crew at your back to take on the Frontier? Well, if you join up with Tammy, then you’ll have it.”

  Join up. Not take over. Noora knows me better than that, as I ain’t ever been one to follow, but she’s still hopeful because she wants my help in rebuilding Tammy’s business. Wouldn’t be her business if I took over though, now would it? This is her way of asking for help, and I can see it in her eyes, so I stifle a sigh and say, “It’s not a bad idea.” Because it isn’t. I’m just being stubborn and picky. “Tell you what. If she’s open to the idea, then send me a letter and I’ll make the trip over to talk shop.” Not like I got many other options, now do I? Frowning, I add, “I ain’t gonna work for no racist neo-Nazi’s though, not even on contract. If that’s her game plan, then you can count me out.”

  Noora gives me a pout that gets me weak in the knees, but I stand firm and stick to my guns. “They wouldn’t have me working for them anyways,” I add. “You saw how I had to draw on them fools back there. Fat lot of good I’d do y’all if I kill all the clientele.”

  “Could do worse,” Noora says with a smile, a hard one that says she don’t much care for the Order either. Heaving a long sigh as she accepts that this probably won’t happen, she takes my hand and squeezes it ever so softly before giving me one, last smile. “All right then,” she says, with that same air of finality Elodie had. “However things play out, don’t be a stranger, okay?”

  I smile and sort of nod, but not really, and she knows it. Maybe it’s petty and childish, but like I said before. I can be happy for Noora and sad for me at the same time, and knowing she’s happy is enough for me. Seeing her happy is a bit too much, especially when she’s happy with another lover, so I can’t really be blamed for avoiding her as best I can, right?

  With nothing more to be said, I set out off the beaten track and in to the swamp proper, because I’ve no intentions of bunking in a waystation and leaving Gunnar out there to fend for himself. As such, I make it my priority to track him down as I head straight for the campsite, putting one foot in front of the other while keeping my head and Detection Spell on a swivel. Got no Settle in Shadows, as I done used plenty of Spells today already and got less than half a tank left, so spending a third of that on stealth when it ain’t all that vital don’t seem economical.

  Especially with neither hide nor hair of Abby to be sighted. That attack on the waystation done cleared out every Zombie, Ghoul, and Wight within the area, a massive bounty we done left behind and will likely be reclaimed by Abby before the Pathfinders get to it. Takes a whole team of soldiers and support staff to collect and break down all them corpses, while all a Mimic needs is a couple Ghouls to go in and eat up all the corpses that can’t stand up. That’s why Ghouls eventually turn into them fat, bloated Abominations, because playing the part of waste disposal do mean they get to pick up a whole lotta spare calories along the way, which of course makes them even better at the job. Plus Ghouls and Abominations got some sorta acid in their stomachs, not Alchemical Acid like them Roly-Poly Exploder bugs in the Badlands, but boring chemical acids that break down Abby and biomass right quick. All in the name of eating more corpses, making Ghouls the carrion crow of the Aberration world.

  Which is horrifying to say the least, as Ghouls are technically still mostly human.

  Don’t see why anyone would ever willingly go down that route, though to be fair, I doubt most are even aware that’s the endgame. And those who are aware probably also know about the Nahuatl Lords of the Night, who were technically Ghoul adjacent now that I think about it, as they was shacked up with some Spiritual Deviant. The Abby that done ate its Proggie kind, not the sexual or moral kind, though that probably goes without saying given their beliefs on lust and gluttony and all that.

  There’s also the power. Let’s be real. I had one run in with a Mimic in my head and I benefitted greatly from it, so much so I was making plans to try it out some more. Maybe that’s how they really get ya. They let you beat them, feign weakness while gathering strength, and just when they think they got it all under control, the Mimic reaches critical mass and strikes at a chink in your Spiritual armour to take over just like that. Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall, Proverbs 16:18. A lesson that’s at least 2,000 years old, and yet here we are still making the same mistakes in 2008.

  A point that is all too relevant as I hear the faint pop of mud behind me, a subtle little schlup that gets my jimmies a jangling right quick. Too little, too late however, as they know the game is up as soon as I become all too aware of the presence trailing along behind me. A presence that up until just now was moving carefully under the cover of Settle in Shadows, but failed to account for how the rough terrain could give them away.

  So I whip around and draw my Shortsword quick as a blink, then unload into the crowd of neo-Nazi’s trailing me from behind. They ain’t more than thirty meters away, closer than I should’ve ever let them get, but now ain’t the time for self-recrimination. Like the King said, a little less conversation, a little more action please, and I am all too happy to oblige. With all the trees and distance between us, my shots don’t kill no one outright, but I clip three shots out of six and they go down hard, which ain’t bad for shooting from the hip, though their cries tell me they ain’t dead. Buys me time enough to bring out my Wildshaped Hand and raise my Ranger Repeater for a more accurate shot as I take cover behind a big, sticky candlebark tree with baby Cowie pressed right up against my boots.

  The neo-Nazi’s holler and take cover themselves, but the return fire is sparse, sporadic, and not even remotely accurate. The cracks are thunderous, the whizzes plenty, but no snaps to indicate they moving all that close to my ears. As such, I got plenty of time to aim before squeezing the trigger to take one fella in the chest. He goes down hard, but again, he shouts and groans while he laid out. Between him and the other three, that means these bastards are armoured up, mundane or magical, and that ain’t good news for me. The Ranger Repeater is a damn fine gun, but one that fires 22-10 ammunition same as the Shortsword, so it don’t got the punch of a 44-40 rifle. Ain’t Maximized or Penetrating either, so under 40m, it ain’t even hitting as hard as the Shortsword can, meaning I’m in real trouble if they all armoured up like the one I downed.

  So to play it safe, I tell Cowie, “Get safe now. Shoo.” He huffs to hear it, and ain’t all that happy, but he does as he’s trained and legs it on out while I provide cover fire. I take another aimed shot, then another, and finally my Mage Hands are ready to come out and play. Just regular ones, as I don’t got the extra guns to shoot. Left the rifles I took from them Legionnaires because I done run outta ammo and was kinda hoping Abby would bring them away with them to get rid of the last bit of evidence. Means all I got is a carbine and a six-shooter, but I ain’t about to go down easy. While my Mage Hands are reloading the Shortsword, I take my time picking my remaining shots and make each one count. Soon as I’m empty, they’ll try to charge me, but I keep them waiting as long as I dare so I can prepare before unloading the last Bolt. As expected, they’re counting and ready, so I retreat after Cowie while they make their advance, shooting a whole lot more accurately as I move through the mud and muck as quickly as I can.

  Which as you might expect, ain’t all that quick, which is why I drank a Barkskin Potion while popping off those shots. A good thing too, as a shot clips me in the shoulder and cracks the skin underneath something fierce. In response, I lob a flashbang back towards them, and they all get to diving out of the way right quick. Which is smart seeing how they don’t know what it is I’m throwing, and to my advantage since it slows them down some. Then it slows them some more once it goes off and Dazes everyone caught in the effect. The flash don’t do much, not out here in the open in broad daylight, but it still makes them blink a fair bit. By now, I got my Shortsword back in hand, but I keep on moving to the next bit of cover before turning to shoot back.

  All the while my brain’s working at a mile a minute, doing what I can to decide how to best spend my Aether. A Fireball would be ideal, but they’re too spread out for it to take out more than three or four of my twenty-odd pursuers in one go. The only other offensive Spell I got is Elemental Orb though, which might well come in handy for disposing of bodies, but ain’t all that useful in the here and now.

  Or maybe it is. Lobbing another Flashbang as I retreat, I keep an eye on how they react and see that they don’t bother dodging this time, and instead make ready to resist the effect by steeling their wills and closing their eyes. Stupid that, but it is what it is, and I can’t help but smile as I resist the urge to shoot those easy, blind targets with the Ranger Repeater. Instead, I reach for my Components pouch and pull something out before firing at some other targets instead. Spotting my old friend Crockett in the mix, I flash a devilish smile, Intone a chant under my breath, and lob something right at his head before settling in behind another tree to watch the chaos unfold.

  Same as his buddies, Crockett shields his eyes and braces himself, only to look up in immediate horror as his brain registered what he saw. I didn’t throw out a Flashbang see. I threw out a Spell, an Elemental Orb of the Acid variety because why not? Now, I’ve heard plenty of men scream after pouring Acid on them. What I haven’t heard is someone try to scream, but fail because he don’t got no mouth or throat no more. And boy does Crockett try, writhing and squirming and arching where he stands, because as caustic as Acid might be, it won’t kill you quick. He tries to run, roll, tear off his clothes, doing anything he can do in hopes of surviving, but there ain’t nothing he can do.

  Nothing except die that is, and he dies hard. Slow too, so slow his buddies all pause to watch him go, though don’t no one move in to help. Fact is, most move away, as Elemental Orb do have a pooling effect, meaning that Acid will stay on Crockett for a full minute before dissipating. Course, he dies long before the minute is up, long before it’s even a tenth of the way through, but I bet those few seconds felt like an eternity to him.

  “Well,” I drawl, speaking out into the sudden silence left in the wake of Crockett’s death. “Guess whatever protection y’all got don’t do nothin’ against Acid. Good to know.”

  And then I cackle and back away with my Repeater reloaded and Shortsword in my Mage hands, looking to make distance between me and them, only to freeze in my tracks as a Spell settles firmly around me like bands of steel to fix me in place. A Spell I recognize all too late as the pit in my stomach grows cold, because this here is Hold Person getting its claws in and around me. I fight it with everything I got, but struggle as I might, there’s no stopping them invisible bands of mental force paralyzing me from head to toe so well I can barely even breathe much less blink. “I got him,” one of them neo-Nazi’s call, and I plink off a shot in his general direction with my Mage Hands which can still move freely. Unfortunately, I’ve never been all that accurate with them, which is why they stick to using Blastguns, but it’s still enough to get the Spellslinging Nazi to take cover and shout, “Go get him! I can’t hold him for long.”

  And that’s all she wrote for the Firstborn I suppose, or it would be if they wanted me dead. No, they want me alive it seems, as they close in around me and take all my guns and weapons before the first blow lands, one that hits me right in the gut. Even though I see it coming, I can’t even tense my muscles to defend, and it winds me in one go. “That one’s for Crockett,” the neo-Nazi says, spitting on me as he does. The blow would’ve brought me to my knees too if the Hold Person Spell wasn’t keeping me upright, and there ain’t nothing I can do while them bastards lay in, raining blows not just on my stomach, but my arms, ribs, and even my chin, all for the other Nazis who I done killed. Alls I can do is endure and remember every blow and every face until I pass out in blissful mercy, but as I slip off into that insenseless sleep, I can’t help but have myself a laugh at one last thought.

  See? What did I say? The day was still young yet, and it seems like my luck really has run dry.