Ever wake up and wish you didn’t?

  Well, take that feeling and multiply it by about a thousand times, and that’s how I feel right about now. Pain isn’t even the worst of it. There’s plenty to go around and it’s unpleasant as can be, but pain is an old friend I can handle. It’s the disorientation and confusion that throws me for a literal loop as I raise two guns that ain’t there and pull the triggers at a target that’s long since left. Then come the memories, rushing in all at once instead of any sort of logical order.

  I’m in a cabin, a waystation maybe, packed with strangers in masks and gloves standing over me. I panic and try to fight my way free, but my body doesn’t listen and just flops around a bit. The strangers aren’t happy, and they get to shouting and yelling while holding me down as one stranger puts a stinking rag over my nose and mouth and says, “Count backwards from ten. Nine. Eig – ”

  I come awake as muddy water splashes onto my face, but I’m too weak to wipe it. I just stare up through the treetops at the afternoon skies, seeing patterns in the stars even though they ain’t visible just yet. A gentle, red hand reaches down to pat my face dry with a kerchief, and the soft touch soothes me back to sleep once again.

  The air is cold and I can’t breathe. Can’t move either, as I’m bundled up tighter than a can of sardines. The roar of air is deafening and the world bumpy as can be, but my consciousness is mercifully cut short as the jostling agony puts me out for good.

  The world is dark and people are shouting. Arguing judging by the tone, though I can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s the accents, too British for me to parse, but I recognize Edward’s guttural snarls are filled with rage, while Aaron and Luther sound nervous, almost panicked even. Then Chrissy shouts, “Quiet!”, using her Command infused voice, and everyone goes silent. I try to tell her that she shouldn’t be using her magic like that, even though it might seem valid, because some folks might take offense and demand charges be pressed, as it do technically be a form of assault. It all comes out in a jumbled slur, and I sink back into the darkness once again.

  Someone holds a cup to my parched lips, and I drink on sheer instinct. The cool liquid touches my tongue and is bitter as all heck, so I spit it out and retch, but the cup returns and I’m forced to drink it down. I’m so thirsty, I do it anyways, then say some choice things about whoever’s got me. Can’t remember what, just nothing all that nice, but all they do is call me a ‘cheeky bugger’. Don’t recognize the voice, but their firm hands help me lay back down, and I’m already out of breath from doing just that much, so I welcome the darkness once again.

  That’s about all I can parse in the moment, as I’m more concerned with my current situation. I’m in a different cabin now, one I don’t recognize, but got all the makings of a hospital room. Small, boxy, with a whole lot of counterspace and cabinets for everything and anything you might need in a pinch. In this case, sitting in plain sight on the countertop is a basin, some clothes, a roll of bandages, pads of cotton swabs, and a metal bedpan that I hope has not been used, though I highly doubt it. There’s also a big Magelight overhead to light up the place, and several smaller ones on a stand with wheels to move around to where it’s needed. I’ve also got an IV stand with a half-empty bag feeding something into me, so very similar to what I seen in the prison under Fairhaven. That gets me to worrying a bit, as I wouldn’t like to be back there, but the blanket got a union jack pattern so I’m pretty sure I’m safe.

  Which is what I tell my brain and body, but neither one cares to listen. Still got my hands raised, or rather just the one, doing my best impression of a man with a gun like I’m some sort of mime putting on a show. Not a very good impression, as my shoulder is bound so tight I can barely raise the arm, while the other is handless like usual, and both are so tense they’ve pretty much locked into place, so tightly I doubt I could pull a trigger even if I did have a gun.

  To make matters worse, my brain is struggling to put the pieces together and remember I haven’t had a right hand for ages now, so it’s telling me to panic because I done lost it again. Which don’t make sense, but that’s my brain for you, throwing up all sorts of dread, alarm, and pain because it thinks I’m supposed to have a hand and can’t see or feel it. Normally, that’d be bad enough in the pain department, but here and now, it hurts to breathe, with a sharp pain flaring up every time I inhale or exhale, but I keep doing it because it feels like I ain’t getting enough air. My pained, wheezy gasps got me all lightheaded and in agony as I take quick, shallow breaths because I’m too afraid to try a deep breath, and the world spins all around me as I struggle to keep upright.

  Which shouldn’t be a struggle, seeing how the bed ain’t laid out flat. The top half is raised so I’m sat upright and leaning back a bit, so really, I only gotta hold my head up a few inches at most. Even that is too hard though, and I sag back into the too soft pillow and bump my head against the thin mattress. Flips a switch in my brain it does, and my arms drop back down to the blankets as my body gets to shuddering and hurting even more as I force myself to take longer, trembling breaths.

  “Hi Howie.” Like magic, Chrissy appears at my side with a dry face cloth and gets to dabbing away at my sweat. “Breathe,” she Commands, and the Spell takes a hold of me as I draw a single, deep breath, one that stinks of bleach and alcohol while wracking me with pain and agony unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, but it’s worth it for the rush of air surging into my lungs. The exhale is equally painful, but I bear with it and force myself to take the next breath without magical assistance. Having already been through it once, I now know what to expect, so I power through the pain and get myself breathing normally again as Chrissy pats me dry, then wets the cloth with a Water Sphere and wipes me down again.

  “Hi Princess,” I say, but my voice comes out as little more than a whisper, and she places a finger over my dried, cracked lips to hush me. I go along mostly because it takes too much effort to speak, and I’m worried I’ll forget how to breathe normally again if I stop focusing on it.

  When she’s done wiping me down, Chrissy takes a moment to study me as I lay there and look back at her. Tilting her head this way, and then that, she purses her lips like she don’t like what she sees and asks, “Thirsty?” I nod, and she turns around to pour me a cup of water from the pitcher on the side of the room I didn’t look at, one that got a normal dining chair parked in the corner along with a blanket for warmth and comfort. Seems she’s been camped out beside me, and the docs and nurses wouldn’t let her bring in a cot or anything. Which I suppose makes sense, as they’ll need the room to move and work in, but my heart aches to see how uncomfortable her setup is and I only pray she’s been sleeping elsewhere when it comes time to go to bed.

  Doubtful though, as she’s looking a little haggard herself. Her hair could use a wash and brush, while her clothes are wrinkled and disheveled unlike her normal clean and tidy appearance. Otherwise, she’s looking in good health though, so I can rest easy knowing she’s also being cared for while caring for me. Does it fairly well too, holding the cup to my lips and letting me slowly drink the cool and refreshing water sip by careful sip. Much better than whoever almost drowned me with that bitter brew, and I get the feeling that Chrissy’s done this many times before, and I just don’t remember it. When I’m done with the cup, I give her a smile as thanks, and she visibly brightens to see it. Doesn’t actually smile, but her shoulders lighten and she holds her head up just a little higher, which is pretty much her version of grinning from ear to ear.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, and again, she puts a finger to my lips before going back to fill the cup a second time. I drink just as slowly as before, because even thirsty as I am, I can’t bring myself to risk a big gulp, not with my lungs feeling how they do. Can feel the cool, refreshing water going down my throat and easing my aches and pains, and while that’s hardly enough to make them go away, it do feel as pleasant as can be while still hurting something fierce. It ain’t about the overall level of pain, like rating it on a scale of 1-10. It’s more about the contrast, in that it hurt a lot when I woke up, and even though it still hurts plenty, it’s not hurting as much.

  Hand still hurts though, probably even more than the rest of me, which is odd. I’ve only just been shot, whereas the hand’s been gone for almost a whole year. Well, maybe more depending on how long I’ve been laid up, but I’m hoping it hasn’t been long, like a day or two at most. If this is how I feel after weeks of bedrest, then I’d really rather not wake up for another few months.

  Thankfully, Chrissy goes and fetches someone after watering me two more times, and a stodgy old British doctor comes shuffling back in. Gives me a good once over while asking me a whole slew of questions and answering none of mine, because somehow getting my name, age, the last thing I remember is more important than telling me what’s what. Then again, I suppose that’s all pretty vital if he’s checking for brain damage, and I can’t help but giggle to remember the joke I told Carter the last time this all came up.

  “If it turns out I do got brain damage,” I said, while he supported my bleeding self back to the compound after the big fight with Abby, “Then at least ain’t no one hardly gonna notice.”

  That was the first laugh I got out of him, and probably the last and only to boot. Doubt he’ll be laughing when I tell him Elodie done signed on with the Métis Nation as a government official. At least now that I’ve been shot, he might go easy and not beat me to a pulp, or at least wait until I’m healed enough to survive it.

  Add another name to the list of people I done disappointed, and I’m hoping I don’t have to add three more, but after answering all the doctor’s questions, I got no strength to press the issue on mine. Fall back asleep without even noticing it, and wake again to find Chrissy asleep in her chair with her head resting on my arm in a pose that looks anything but comfortable. Poor girl. I don’t wake her though, and just lay there watching her sleep until I fall asleep myself, as I’m weak as a day old marty and still in so very much pain. The doctor asked about it, and I answered honestly, but he didn’t do nothing about it. If only I could get my tin of Red Sun Balm back, but Astrid took it since she was worried I was overdoing it.

  I can see why. She did warn me that it was mildly addictive and that long term extended use would be bad for business. Thing is, I don’t got a substance abuse issue. I got a pain issue, and the Red Sun Balm makes that pain go away. Does it better than Salicin, which is about the safest method there is, and I always been leery about trying opiates, as they’re wildly addictive as opposed to only mildly. I wouldn’t say I got issues with discipline, but I do find it difficult to resist a good sweet, and I’d hate to find out I’m the same way with opiates. There are a few other options, mostly recreational drugs that are of limited medicinal use, but will take your mind off the pain all the same, as well as a whole bunch of herbal remedies of varying effectiveness.

  Suppose Red Sun Balm would fit the bill as herbal remedy, though I never did ask what Astrid puts in it.

  The sleeping and waking happens a few more times before I wake to find Edward seated at my side. With Chrissy, Aaron, and Luther too, all chit-chatting away in hushed whispers and flashing fingers and Cantrips as it were. Edward is first to notice my movements though, so his is the first face I see as I crack my eyes open to the too-bright and pain-filled world. “Howard my good man,” he exclaims, looking much relieved to see me. “Good to see you doing so well.”

  I get a little teary-eyed again because I’m reminded of how much I’ve missed him in years past. To say nothing of how worried I’ve been that he’d find out about what I’ve been up to and wouldn’t approve, but there’s no sign of that as he talks about what a close call it was, me getting shot in the lung and all. Almost got hit in the heart, but the doctor said that if that had happened, I would’ve bled out in a matter of minutes and died long before I got proper treatment. Instead, the Bolt only punctured my lung a little, enough so that air started leaking into my chest, but not so much as to cause a tension pneumothorax. That’s where so much air builds up that the pressure crushes what’s left of my lungs and heart, leaving me very much dead.

  Didn’t happen though. Instead, after the Capitaine shot me, Harald hit him with a Minute Meteor. Had five more left to go and a target rich environment given how the rest of the Chevaliers were coughing and sputtering from Gunnar’s Strangling Cloud. For all the talk of the legendary Askefjord tempers though, Harald actually exercised quite a bit of restraint, as the other Chevaliers were every bit as surprised by their Capitaine’s actions as we were, and only fired off a few errant shots in surprise.

  Probably because the second-in-command spent the previous minute detailing why exactly opening hostilities with the Firstborn was a phenomenally bad idea. They wasn’t afraid of me though. They were afraid of Edward, to say nothing of how they had no legal standing to bring me in for questioning, especially if I was willing to answer questions so long as they went through the proper channels. I wasn’t actually willing, but I figured an uncomfortable conversation would be better than a full-on interrogation, especially if I get to have my lawyer present for it. One that ain’t Jordan Blake, because that there is a mob lawyer I most definitely don’t trust given how comfortable he is letting the Watchman take his place during attorney/client conversations.

  Granted, Donald Tillman in New Hope was a former mob lawyer until I went and took out his clientele, but at least now there ain’t no conflict of interest. Then again, maybe I should find myself a defense lawyer without criminal connections, though now that I think about it, that’s like asking for a fish that don’t swim.

  So yeah, none of them Chevaliers were keen on fighting it out, and seeing how Harald didn’t go all out in his retaliatory strike, the second-in-command was able to get everyone to calm down. Their Capitaine didn’t even die, as Harald done cast his Spell through a Mercy Metamagic Rod he bought in Stillwater from the Ranger quartermaster. Guess killing Dakota Slim and his fellas back in Ashbend shook Harald up more than he cared to admit, but he took steps to remedy that in a way he saw fit. Now me, I don’t entirely approve of non-lethal force, because non-lethal might as well be called ‘not-enough’. Sooner or later, that’ll get you in big trouble, but it worked out this time around since the Capitaine was squarely in the wrong.

  That said, there was a chance the Minute Meteor didn’t kill him regardless, as you still gotta hit somewhere sorta vital to do a man in. Especially a high-ranking man in a military organization who not doubt got plenty of gear and Spells to keep him safe. Just goes to show how far we’ve come, as a basic Aetherarm is just so much deadlier that even a Third Order Spell. Ten Metamagics versus one is doing a whole lot of lifting, though I do still need to upgrade my every day carry and go-to rifle. 44-40’s all around ideally, except for my Nagas which get the extra special, extra expensive 45-60 ammunition to punch through walls like paper. Can’t do that with Fireball, no sir-ree, so I ain’t ever going anywhere without all of my guns ever again.

  Granted, ain’t no one surviving six hits from Minute Meteor, which is how many the Spell gives you. Two would probably do you in even if they’re Metamagicked with Mercy, but that ain’t neither here nor there. What matters is that it all worked out in the end. No harm, no foul, except the hole in my chest and lung. Astrid’s first aid kept me alive long enough to reach the French outpost where they had a medico on duty, but he couldn’t do much more than put in a stint to decompress my chest and drain the air and blood from the cavity to keep me from dying. Even though risk of infection was high, the medico had no choice but to stabilize me further before sending me out to Stillwater where they had the tools, facilities, and staff needed to treat me proper. That’s a seven-day trek, but the Chevaliers got me there in a few hours flat as they had an aerial patrol carry me atop their monstrous flying mounts. Big old beasties summoned by the Third Order Conjure Mount Spell, one that takes a fair bit of familiarity with to get something big enough to carry a man on the wing.

  I didn’t get to see it, which is a little disappointing. Fun as the Fly Spell might be, it still takes effort and focus to get about. Sitting on top of a bonafide Gryphon or Pegasus though? Now that would be a real ride, and I’m hoping against all hope that one of Cowie’s Third Order Transmutation Spells is gonna be Fly. I should take him out for a few rides too, carry him around while he all baby and let him see what it’s like, which might well be enough to ‘inspire’ his bloodline to give the Spell to him all natural-like.

  Anywho, according to Edward, I arrived in Stillwater safely, where the doctors got me a proper chest-tube and drainage bag on top of surgery to remove a bit of shredded lung and close up a few vessels that just weren’t sealing together themselves. Took three more days before they declared me out of the woods, with my lung re-expanded and in no danger of collapse, though infection was and is still a real risk. Same with respiratory failure, wherein my body ain’t getting enough oxygen because there’s a leak in my lung that they missed or some blood in my chest pooled to form a hemothorax and is reducing the amount of available lung tissue that can be used for oxygen exchange.

  Not gonna lie, that last bit feels like what almost happened until Chrissy Commanded me to breathe, so I’m right grateful for the help. I even say as much, and she’s plenty happy to hear it, earning me all the water I can drink which is a better prize than I can rightly explain.

  All in all, I’ve been out of commission for five days now here in Stillwater, and might well be limited in what I can do for the next two months. Not the best news, but a lot better than it could’ve been considering I got shot centre mass. Once I’m caught up on the happenings, Edward falls uncharacteristically silent while Chrissy continues to fuss over me, but I can feel his burning curiosity. Aaron does a good enough job of pretending not to care, but Luther is disapproval personified as he stands there all a glower, so I stifle a sigh and don’t bother asking what the others have told them.

  “Off the record?” I ask, just to be clear that I’m willing to share with them, but not necessarily the British Government. Seems like a moot point considering Edward is technically a part of the ruling elite, or at the very least believes he is, but nobles play politics more than most politicians, so he simply nods in eager agreement. As for Aaron and Luther, they make a face and trade glances before giving me a begrudging nod, as they ain’t none too happy to have to do this. Namely listen to what wrongs I done, as they’d much rather I walked the straight and narrow.

  So would I, but I got issues with authority and freelance pays better, so here we are.

  “Well,” I begin, forcing myself to take a deep breath before we begin. “All started a little while back when I got a visit from one Revolvers Rossi of the Catteneo Mafia.” And I lay it all out plain and simple. How I done cut a deal to avoid a war over the plundered guns I done filched and sold on the black market. Then almost immediately blew that deal by killing the Catteneo’s man in Silver Summit because he was a bit too cavalier about saying we was on the same team. So the Catteneo’s then demanded I kill a man by the name of Dakota Slim in Ashbend, a job I wasn’t gonna do on account of him having no bounty. Knowing this, they then leaked word that I’d be coming for him so that he’d force the issue. Which of course led to that whole kerfuffle with Harald Scorching the lot down, which is why I then had to cut a deal with the Manfredis and Serbians to get us out of a jam.

  Then I tell them straight up what happened with the French Foreign Legion. How I figured they were just bringing me out for a pickup, only to learn they were there to hit a convoy from the Order. Then I saw they was about to ambush the Pathfinder patrol Elodie had joined up with, as well as the mercenary company Noora joined, so I straight up murdered those men for a crime they were about to commit. After that, I sorta talked my way out of a tense standoff with the Order before being ambushed by them, then gutted little Dick on my way out and picked up both packages. Which I have no idea how I’ll be getting out of Stillwater, as I was gonna Fly them out overnight and bury them somewhere close to shore before coming back to do my quarantine. Not that I’m saying all this to ask for help, as I could probably figure something out on my own, but if Edward wants to offer a hand, I ain’t gonna say no.

  I have my pride, sure, but see how I just done been shot, I’ll just have to let it take the hit.

  “So there you have it,” I conclude, taking another sip of water from the cup my Mage Hands are holding, as Chrissy’s arm got tired of it. Much as I like seeing her be proactive and helpful, I would much rather spoil her than the other way around, as she’s the Princess, not me. “The whole kitten kaboodle, from start to finish. Seemed fairly straightforward to start with, but things sure got real twisty real quick.” I left a few things out. Like the dungeon of horrors chock full of medical gear and Abby, because after thinking about it, I’m not sure I want to let that cat out of the bag. Mostly because I’m wondering if the four governments locking this place down are complicit in the Order’s actions. They’re happy to turn a blind eye to their Nazi ideologies, so who says they’re not willing to do the same when said Nazi’s want to Nazi some more and do creepy Abby experiments?

  Which is what they did back in World War Two, and plenty of other governments benefitted from the fruits of those horrific labours. Prisoners were stripped naked and exposed to freezing temperatures to see how long until they dropped unconscious or died, while also testing various methods of resuscitation. They were also placed low-pressure chambers to simulate extreme altitudes and discovered that people suffer brain damage when deprived of oxygen, with no real hope of saving them once all was said and done. Forced to drink seawater and nothing else, deliberately exposed to malaria, wounded and infected with bacteria to see how effective anti-biotic topicals were, the list goes on, and they didn’t stop there. They performed experiments with Abby too, like exposing prisoners to a Mimic which I’ve already talked about, with the end goal of harnessing them to become even more superhuman than Aryans supposedly were.

  Terrible stuff, but the information was all there, and careful review and study of it has yielded some good. Not enough to make up for all that happened, as there were most certainly more ethical ways to study all of those things. To make matters worse, a lot of their data was later discovered to have been falsified, as didn’t no one want to be the bearer of bad news when the higher ups were full-on shooting the messengers.

  They weren’t the only ones doing that sort of thing either. The Qin, the Nipponese, the Soviets, hell, even the Americans had MKUltra and Project Lazarus in the 50s to 70s. The former was all about drugs and mind magic, while the latter was their attempt at raising the dead. Picked a real obvious name to work under too, so it didn’t last long before someone saw it on a list of projects and investigated the hell out of it.

  Probably because they went and snapped up all the Nazi talent, who then went on to influence research and policy for the next few decades. It’s all there in plain sight for anyone who knows how to read, but even then, I grew up believing in America the Great. America the Just. America the Free. A few years ago, I’d’ve said the Federation would never stand for what the Order is doing here in the Deadlands, not the Neo-Nazi policies or the creepy research they’re conducting. I’d’ve said it’s downright un-American, and there ain’t no way anyone who pledges allegiance to the flag would ever okay anything like that.

  I know otherwise now, because American politicians don’t give a shit about American Values. All they care about is what’s best for them, and everyone else is too busy doing their best to survive to do anything about it.

  “Oh Howard,” Edward says, with a pointed shake of his head while Aaron and Luther remain stern, silent, and stone-faced. “You should know better.” Me, I’m expecting some sort of haranguing over slippery slopes and all that, but he throws me for a loop when he says, “Don’t spoil the sheep for a half-pence’s worth of tar.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me here,” I say, after blinking a few times to try and parse his meaning. “I don’t follow. What’s this got to do with sheep and why you tarring ‘em?”

  “Shepherds used to put tar on their sheep’s wounds to protect them from flies,” Edward explains. “As such, it would be foolish to risk their health to save a miniscule amount of money.”

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  “…Okay?”

  Edward rolls his eyes and mutters something about American education, though I myself don’t even have one of those. “No half-measures, Howard,” he says, with a glint in his eye as he leans forward and says, “You sought to appease the criminals, to placate and make peace with them, but there can be no peace, for they will not allow it. They are criminals after all, and it is in their nature to push the boundaries of social convention, else they would not be criminals to begin with.” Sitting back and folding his arms, he taps his talons against his chitinous arm plates, giving off a melodic little chime as he says, “You could have saved yourself so much trouble by simply gunning this Rossi down when you first saw him.”

  Which I suppose is what I should’ve expected from Edward, but it still throws me for a loop. Then, because I don’t want him to think less of me, I sheepishly explain, “I know, but like… Uncle Art, you remember him, Doctor Art Harding? He gave me this whole speech a few weeks before I set out. Said he didn’t need me to be the Firstborn, didn’t expect me to live up to an ideal that can’t no one hardly compare to, but he wanted to know that I was at least trying to be a good man. And I have been. Trying that is, but… I dunno. Most of the times, the easiest way out is to shoot ‘em dead and let God sort it out, but my daddy? He didn’t ever do things the easy way, and I think that’s what made him so great. Because wouldn’t no one have blamed him for bein’ a touch trigger happy, not after all he done been through, but he always gave his enemies a chance to back down.”

  “Because he was a man in love with death,” Edward replies, which throws me for another loop. Aaron and Luther panic to hear it, but Edward ain’t one to mince words as he continues, “He would never admit it, but one look at him in the heat of battle was enough to know where his heart truly lay. With his wife, who had passed on much too young, and whom he yearned to be reunited with day and night. He loved you very much Howard, but you were always competing with death for Ming’s affection.”

  Not all that much of a surprise, not really. A man don’t go out into the wild Frontier and down under dark every chance he gets if he’s mentally stable and well-balanced. Suicidal though? My daddy fought like hell to survive, to make it back home safe to see me, or at least that’s what I’ve always believed. Guess I was wrong, and my heart breaks to hear it, but Edward ain’t ever been great at picking up on social cues.

  “He was never reckless,” Edward continues, smiling fondly while lost in memories of fighting alongside my daddy, “But he challenged death at every opportunity and was left wanting every time. I remember an operation which saw us deep in a Progenitor’s nest with our quarry in sight and veritable army of Fleshweald Brutes. Sentient fungoids who were monstrously strong and regenerated quickly, but were not at all nimble or even mobile. Clearing a path to the Progenitor would have taken much too long, giving it ample time to get away, so your father dashed in, weaving around their ponderous frames and dodging their piercing tendril roots to get in range of the Progenitor, all so he could tag it with an upcasted Hunter’s Mark. Then he fought his way back to us, and we cleared the tunnels of Brutes before chasing down the Progenitor and catching up almost a full day later, with your father holding the Spell the whole while without rest.” Chuckling as he shakes his head, Edward says, “A remarkable man, but do not mistake his dalliance with death for a noble and heroic spirit.”

  Only then does he notice my crestfallen expression, and Aaron’s elbow that’s been nudging at him this whole while. It’s the chitinous plates see, as they’re not exactly as sensitive as skin, else they’d make for terrible armour, wouldn’t they? “Of course, he was most certainly a good man,” Edward continues, doing what he can to recover from the fumble. “And you are too, but a good man does not keep low company. As for Doctor Harding? Not to speak ill of the man, but he is a doctor, one who has taken an oath to do no harm, so it is hardly fair for him to judge you by his own measure.”

  Which sounds totally reasonable, until I remember who I’m talking to. Luckily, Edward is happy to remind me as he continues, “Moral quandaries aside, I really must apologize Howard.”

  “What for?” I ask, resisting the urge to make a pithy comment about shattering the heroic image I had of my daddy, but he feels bad enough about it as is. No need to make him feel worse for telling the truth, especially since he’s being so cavalier about how I done used him to get into the Deadlands to smuggle something out for two separate groups of criminals.

  I’m lucky Edward likes me. If he didn’t, I’m pretty sure he would’ve killed me out of hand for impugning upon his honour or something. Probably should’ve thought about it before I set out to do this, but too little, too late.

  “For your injuries, and my inability to chastise the ones who inflicted them upon you,” Edward replies, and I get warning looks from both Aaron and Luther telling me not to egg him on. “I was most distraught when I heard you were injured whilst under my protection, and I wanted to make things right. Starting with the shooter, this Capitaine Philippe Moreau.” He growls the name, with a slight curl of his lip, and I can see the rage and hatred burning in his eyes before he reels in back in and is cheery Edward again. “I intended to separate him from his skin one strip at a time, but Aaron and Luther convinced me that with all the… shall we say complications surrounding your visit here, it would be best not to draw even more attention down on your actions, or at least not so much that they cannot be swept under the rug.”

  “True,” I say with a nod, then a shake of my head as I continue, “You don’t gotta apologize though. I can handle my own business. I know you got your honour to think of, but this one’s on me, so I’ll thank ye kindly to leave me to it.”

  “So much like your father,” Edward says with a smile. “Such disrespect. You too would make for a terrible Seneschal.”

  I laugh to hear it, which hurts something fierce, and when I’m recovered again, I add, “Same goes for the Order. I’ll handle that one personal. The Capitaine, he was in the wrong, but his reasoning wasn’t all that off, so I’ll let that slide.” Only because I got no other option, as he’s a decorated officer in the French Army who’ll probably get more than just a slap on the hand for shooting a free-holding landowner of the U.F.A with no legally justifiable cause. “The Order though?” Now it’s my turn to growl. “If it wasn’t for them, I would’ve been long gone before the French found me, and probably free and clear of the Deadlands by now. Far as I’m concerned, this gunshot wound is on them, and I intend to make them pay dearly for it, starting with the nightmare that will be my medical bills.”

  “Oh Howard,” Edward says, sound all sorts of disappointed, which is not what I expected until he continues, “This is a British hospital, and seeing as you officially entered the Deadlands as a part of my retinue, this means your medical bills are fully covered by the NHS.”

  “…All of it?”

  “All of it.” Edward shrugs. “If it will make you feel better, we can see about sending a bill to the Federal Government, but I doubt they’ll care to pay it or force the Order to do so in their stead.”

  “…You think I could get an itemized list instead?” Edward blinks to hear it, so I explain, “Even if I don’t gotta pay the bill, the Order sure as shootin’ will. You can count on that.”

  Edward laughs to hear it, while Luther scowls some more. As for Aaron, he seems hesitant to speak up, but does so all the same. “I daresay, Howie old chap, but after hearing the full story, I’m not entirely convinced the Order is to blame for your current state.” Holding up a hand and counting off on his fingers, he says, “If I have it right, you beat the racist boy Richard bloody last spring and sent him running home, then appeared here to steal not one, but two precious shipments of Lord knows what under highly suspicious circumstances. While I wouldn’t say they were in the right to capture you, you have admitted to gutting the boy and leaving him for dead, to say nothing of what else you might have pilfered on your way out.”

  Can’t help but look guilty to hear it, as not only did I take little Dick’s 1911 and wristwatch, I also walked away with their top-secret method of producing Magical Materials. Probably worth a pretty penny, even if it’s a little difficult to profit off of. “Okay fine,” I say, admitting I might be in the wrong here. “They weren’t wrong to suspect me, but they’re still a bunch of Neo-Nazi fascists, so I ain’t about to apologize.” I’d cross my arms if it wouldn’t hurt so much, but I manage a pout and say, “I’d still like that list though. If the Order ain’t gonna pay, I’ll make the Serbians do it. It’s their shoddy planning that got me here anyways. Should’ve never been involved in the down and dirty of it all. The whole point of hiring me was to get their stolen goods out of the Deadlands, so why would they even think of putting me anywhere close to the scene of the crime?”

  “Well laddie, that’s the thing about working with criminals,” Luther says, sounding much aggrieved about it. “They’re sloppy and not the most forward thinking of the lot.” His frown deepens as he gives me a good long look, then asks, “How you intend to make the exchange? Not in person, not as ye are.”

  Warmed to see that he still cares, I say, “I got a plan.” Seeing their dubious expressions, I explain what I have in mind, which earns me a fair few looks while they trade glances amongst themselves.

  “So very much like your father,” Edward murmurs. “Interesting.” I don’t get it, but he leans in and says, “Then I will make you the same offer I made him.” Aaron and Luther trade another glance, but they don’t stop Edward as he says, “Should there ever come a time when you truly desire death, then I would be most glad to assist. You need not ask, or even speak a word. All you need do is set out to hunt myself, and I will understand.”

  That’s… dark. And in character for Edward, as he loves nothing more than a good challenge, which are few and far between. Not sure if I’m up to his usual standards though, as he’d crush me in a heartbeat, but I’m oddly horrified and flattered at the same time. “Much as I appreciate the offer,” I say, after taking a moment to think things through and parse all the non-verbal warnings Aaron and Luther are giving off, “I’m not suicidal. This is a solid plan.”

  All three of them give me the same look. You know the one. You’ve all seen it before. It a smile and a nod, but not a real one. More like a, “Sure buddy. Sure it is,” even though it most certainly is.

  Least that’s how I feel, right up until it comes time to put it into action. Which comes sooner than I expect, as I get bounced from the hospital bed two days later, and politely asked to leave by Knight Commander Blythe who turns out is a fairly laid back kinda guy who’s just trying to do the best he can with the hand he’s been dealt. He wants me gone not just because I’m a liability, but because so long as I’m here in recovery, Edward refuses to go out on patrol, as he needs to safeguard me from the French, American, and Métis who all have reason to dislike me. I suppose word’s gotten around about my antics, and even though there ain’t no proof, if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then Edward will probably kill it for being a duck.

  So yeah. Much as I’d like to stick around and give Edward, Aaron, and Luther a much-needed break, I bid them farewell with lots of hugs three days later once our quarantine period comes to an end. It’s been almost a full month since we set sail from Lake Last Chance, and a lot has happened since then, but now it’s time to head on home again. Gunnar, Harald, and Astrid are all eager to get home and study the Geomantic Lattice. They got all sorts of questions that need testing before they’ll have the answers in hand, and they can’t really do any research here where folks will get to asking. Even then, Astrid asks me a dozen times or more if I’m really ready to leave, which is understandable considering I still get winded after short walks. “Relax,” I say, waving aside her concerns. “I got myself a chair to sit in, and so long as you and your daddy lend a hand, it’ll be smooth sailing all the way home.”

  As it has been so far, other than the beating and the gunshot wound I took. Edward, Aaron, and Luther have already set out on patrol again, because Edward loves the thrill of the fight even more than my daddy ever did, and might well have some of those same thoughts too. Man’s got no wife, no kids, no family to speak of, no one besides Aaron and Luther who are also his keepers. He’s got me, Chrissy, and Tina, but we ain’t here for him, so we might as well not count, and I make myself a promise to write him more and maybe convince Tina and Chrissy to do the same.

  Not Aunty Ray. She’s got no interest in any man who ain’t Uncle Raleigh, and Edward don’t need that sort of false hope and encouragement. Wish I could come back on the regular, but I’m pretty sure all four nations have quietly declared me persona non grata in the Deadlands, and they’re just too afraid of what Edward might do to come out and say it. Besides, I’m a little concerned about how there ain’t been no news of little Dick’s death, or any moves from the Order to hang me from a tree or something. They been much too quiet, and I don’t care for it, so I’d like to get gone right quick.

  So we set sail bright and early after customs lets us pass without so much as a hitch. Pretty sure it was Edward who left word that I was not to be searched or hindered. Ostensibly to keep the French and the Order from catching wind of my movements, which ain’t entirely untrue, and while I never asked him for his help, I do be real grateful for it. Don’t care to find out what’d happen if I tried to Fly on my lungs, because even breathing with both feet on the ground is difficult enough, and my only other option was to hide the suitcases in my wagon and hope no one looks too closely at what’s stowed in the undercarriage.

  Yeah, I doubt I’ll be coming back to the Deadlands anytime soon, not unless Noora actually writes that letter. Doubt it’ll happen, and don’t even know if that’s what I want, but I’m still harbouring those false hopes that Noora will one day fall in love with me the same way I love her, even though I know it probably ain’t meant to be. If it’s just for a fun time, Noora is all for it, but when you get right down to the brass tacks, we just want different things. She wants action, adventure, and freedom, while I want a wife to settle down with and start a family while I continue to have all that action, adventure, and freedom, which is pretty much the antithesis of her desires.

  So ain’t nothing for it. I’ll just mourn Josie and be alone, maybe for the rest of my life just like my daddy.

  A life which might well be shorter than expected as I gear up and head into Ashbend in the dead of night after receiving word of where the meeting would be. Same safehouse as before, the one with the underground meeting room, and I’m even greeted by the same goons as last time. “What is this?” The Serbian asks, the one with the eyes tattooed on his shoulders as he holds his arms out wide to keep his people from doing anything stupid.

  “The packages,” I say, lifting a foot to tap the suitcases sitting on my Floating Disc, and everyone in the room flinches at the sudden movement. Opening my duster so they can see I ain’t strapped, I add, “Even came unarmed like I promised. You’ll have to forgive the cane. I need the help walking, but I’ll gladly put it aside if one of you wants to support me on the way down and back up again.”

  There are no takers, as expected, and Eyes growls, “Not that. That!”

  Now, even though I know what he means, I make a big show of looking around to find what he’s pointing at. Namely the string of vials wrapped around my neck and torso, twenty-four vials in total, all filled with a conspicuously glowing red orange-red liquid that lights me up like the morning sun. “Oh these?” I ask, lifting a vial to show him and dropping it back down to make everyone shit their pants. Smiling, I explain, “These are vials of Impact Oil. Twenty-four of them in fact. Enough to blow up this house, the houses on either side and behind, as well as anything underneath our feet to bury both your bosses in tonnes and tonnes of rubble.”

  Looking to one side, then the other, I say, “C’mon Eyes. Let’s roll. I’m injured and sleepy, so let’s get this over and done with. You sure you don’t want me to leave the cane? If I’m bein’ honest, I could really use the help goin’ down all them stairs. Would hate to slip and fall, you know?”

  The Serbian Enforcer don’t much care for the nickname, but he do slow to help me down the stairs like his life depends on it. Which it do, as a fall would kill us all thanks to the vials of Impact Oil I got wrapped around me. Only eight vials, with the rest being water coloured with Prestidigitation to match the look of Impact Oil. Still enough to make a pretty big boom, but not enough to kill the bosses underground. Not unless I’m standing at the table with them sitting off to the sides, which is why I’m so eager to get downstairs. Luckily, Eyes ain’t ready to die for his boss, or Luka who’s sitting in the meeting room and none too pleased to see how I’ve accessorized. “Bo?e moj,” he says, bolting to his feet as his second moves to stand in front of him, while over on the other side, the Watchman does the same for Don Manfredi. The Don don’t look all that bothered though, which is disappointing because I’m having a whole lot of fun.

  …Yanno, maybe Edward wasn’t entirely wrong about me being like my daddy. Or maybe he was wrong about my daddy, and he’s just like me.

  “Relax,” I say, waving at Luka to take a seat. “I didn’t come here to die, so unless you made plans to kill me, then we all good.” Turning to the Don, I give him a nod and kick the Floating Disc in his direction. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to jump straight to business. Don Manfredi, your package is clearly labelled, so if you’d care to check the goods?” Despite his reservations, the Watchman gets right to it, and I can’t help but tease, “Guess it ain’t all sunshine and roses being the Don’s right-hand man. Ain’t that so, John?”

  For once, he don’t got nothing to say as he gives me a dark look, then calmly and carefully opens up the suitcase to check the contents. Me, I’m plenty curious, but I refrain from peeking because that’s bad manners. More to the point, I’m curious to know if they were planning to double cross Luka and the Serbians, as the other package is right there for the taking and I wanna see how the Watchman reacts. He don’t give the other suitcase so much as a second glance though, just opens the one belonging to them for a brief moment before snapping it closed. “All in good order here,” he says, standing with both hands wrapped around the package before sending the Floating Disc back.

  “Now for ours,” Luka says, gesturing at his second who pulls ten grand out of his pants and puts it on the table in two, neat and fairly unimpressive stacks considering the amount of money involved. “Come,” he says, when he sees me standing there with the Floating Disc instead of sending it over.

  “Not so fast,” I drawl, and the tension ratchets up a fair few notches as everyone takes notice. Pointing at the Manfredis just to make both parties sweat, I explain, “See, their half of the job went off without a hitch. Go to a certain location, pick up a certain package, and bring said package back here to them. That’s what they asked of me, and that’s what I did, so I done delivered as expected.” Wagging my finger at Luka, I say, “Your job though? I was to meet a contact, speak a passphrase, and then bring a package out to you. I done that, but I also done more. I done got into a gunfight getting this package, because your people fucked up. I done killed for said, then got caught up in an Abby attack after the fact. Then I done got captured for it, because all that shootin’ and killin’ made the Order take notice, and they rightly blamed it on me, because your people came up with a shit plan that put me right in the hot seat when things went south. Lastly, I then got shot for it, because your people were also the French’s people, who weren’t none too pleased to learn they’d lost a full twenty men, for which they blamed me. Last but certainly not least, because of my injuries, I had to lean on my contacts to get these packages out of the Deadlands, so I’m thinking you owe me more than just ten large.”

  “We had agreement,” Luka growls, and credit where it’s due, he don’t look like he’s about to back down.

  “Agreement for a courier service,” I retort, resisting the urge to jangle a vial for added effect. “For recovery and protection? That’s a whole different thing, and a whole different fee.” Slowly reaching into my duster pocket, I pull out the medical bill Edward had the NHS people draw up for me. “Seeing how I got shot because your French Legionnaires done botched the job, then I think it’s only fair you pay for my healthcare, as well as a little extra for the additional care I’ll need moving forward.” Shrugging, I add, “Or I could walk away and sell the package to the highest bidder. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s valuable, and I bet there are plenty of legal outfits who’ll be happy to snap it up for study.”

  Luka don’t even look at the bill, which is disappointing seeing how I went to all that effort to get it. “Twenty thousand. No more.”

  I would’ve been content with an extra ten percent, as the Brits don’t charge as much as American doctors. Suppose this package is more valuable than I thought, but I’m a man of principle and I shake my head. “Fifteen will do,” I say, much to Luka’s surprise. “I ain’t here to extort you; only lookin’ get paid what I’m worth.”

  Luka is surprised, then barks with laughter before saying something to his second, who pulls out an extra five grand from his waistband and slaps it down on the table. There’s more under there too, making me think how terrible it’d be if someone shot him in the gut. Just think of how much money would be ruined just like that? Being a trusting soul, I send the Floating Disc over first, and his man checks the suitcase same as the Watchman, with a quick glance before closing it up tight once more. Then and only then does Luka slide the cash over along the table, which I stuff into my duster one stack at a time while resisting the urge to play with it. Mostly because it’s spent Lord knows how long pressed against the underwear of a Serbian gangster, but also because it’d be uncouth to cackle wildly while strapped with so much Impact Oil.

  “Word of advice?” I say, and no one acknowledges the question, but I continue on regardless. “Whatever that is, I hope you ain’t puttin’ it into your bodies, because I get the feelin’ it’s fruit of the poisonous Abby.” That gets their attention, but I don’t say nothing else. I just shrug and say, “You know how them Neo-Nazis be. They all buy into that occult necromancy stuff, thinkin’ the Soulless be the way forward and all that. Saw some shit down in one of their labs, stuff I ain’t gonna elaborate on, but enough to say that the Order do be heavily into the doctrine, if you know what I mean.

  They do. I can see it in their eyes, that existential dread of knowing what they’d just bought is likely distilled from the blood and flesh of Abby. That won’t stop them though, which means the stuff is more valuable than I thought. Hell, if I share what I know and the Feds get wind, they might well throw even more money at the Order if they aren’t already funding this from the ground up. Can’t trust no one these days, which makes it all the more important to ensure that me and mine are taken care of.

  And the fifteen grand I just earned will go a long way towards that.

  “Alright then,” I say, since ain’t no one saying nothing to fill the silence. “My part here is done, so I’ll be on my way. Don’t keep in touch.” Turning about, I hobble back towards the door I came in from with Eyes at my side, only to abruptly turn and add, “Oh one more thing.” Smiling my best smile that don’t reach my eyes, I say, “Either one of you try to fuck me on this, and I’ll make sure you live long enough to regret it. This here? This was me playing nice for a change, and I didn’t much care for it. Next time around, I won’t bother.” Giving the Watchman a look, because the Don ain’t done nothing to really earn my ire, I add, “You be sure to let Rossi know too. I see him or any Cattaneo’s on my docks again, and it’s open season.”

  With my piece said, I exit the room and hobble my way back up stairs, grumbling all the while. I keep right on grumbling as I head out the door into the darkness of night, and through the tangled weave of side streets until I’m out of sight. Then and only then do I take use the remaining duration on the Fly Spell I cast before coming here to get out of dodge. Can’t hardly wait to get back home and put all this unpleasantness behind me. It was fun seeing Edward, Aaron, and Luther again, and I done learned a lot on this trip, but the fifteen grand I just earned and the five-hundred I made killing Abby just don’t feel like enough. Made too many enemies here, and stepped on a whole lot more toes, so many that the money just don’t feel worth it. Ain’t no use crying over spilled milk though, so it’s high time I went home and got back to doing what I do best.

  After a month or three of rest and recouperation of course, though I ain’t looking forward to that at all. Ain’t no helping it though. You reap what you sow, and while I done reaped a whole host of troubles, I might well have sown even more, which means I got no time to waste. Gotta keep on keeping on and stay sharp to deal with whatever life throws at me, else I might end up in the ground just like my daddy, which contrary to what Edward might think, is not what I want.

  Well… not entirely. Don’t got much holding me here, but I got Chrissy, Tina, and Aunty Ray, which I’ll say is more than enough. So sorry Josie my love. Ain’t that I don’t want to be with you and our baby, but I got too much going on here to come join you right quick. I’ll get there eventually though, don’t you worry about it, and it’ll be sooner rather than later if I keep this up.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “This was not what we agreed on.”

  Mia knew full well it wasn’t smart to butt heads with Don Manfredi like this, but she’d been so damn close to avenging her family, she could almost taste it. It seemed so clever; leak word that the Cattaneo’s had sent the Firstborn to kill Dakota Slim, then pit them against one another and see what happened. Mia had been ready to help the Native American scalp-taker deal with the Firstborn once and for all, even if it would have been an unsatisfying victory. Killing him from afar with an Aetherarm was too clean a death for the man who’d taken everything from her, a man who desecrated Daddy’s corpse and dismantled the enterprise they’d worked so hard to build, but she wanted him dead no matter the cost.

  Don Manfredi saw through her schemes though, and sent the Watchman to interfere. Not that he needed to; that meddling Alderman Milton Tremont got in the way first, sending Sheriff Beauregard to arrest the Firstborn before he stepped foot onto the docks in Ashbend. If not for that, Dakota Slim might well have already put a Bolt in the Firstborn’s head, and Mia would be free to go about rebuilding the Pugliano Family without having to worry about him. Even here, all the way on the west coast, her presence would not go unnoticed by the Firstborn if he kept an ear out, and by all reports, he most certainly did. That’s why she was doing busywork like manipulating memory Crystals and working as a stagehand for low-level thugs like Dakota Slim.

  Now she was working with Don Manfredi though, who wanted the Firstborn alive so he could pit the Qink against the Order and see what happens. Nothing happened though, nothing besides a minor scuffle where they captured the Firstborn for all of a day before he escaped. Not before convincing them that he had nothing to do with their missing shipments though, and Mia had no idea how. The Order didn’t pursue the issue, so he must have done something meaningful, as Geoffry Aultman was not one to forgive or forget.

  The Don had assured Mia that he would hand her the Firstborn if he emerged from the Deadlands unscathed, but clearly that hadn’t happened. “And what would you have me do then?” The Don asked, and Mia glowered to hear it. “Sacrifice myself so you might have your revenge?”

  “He’s not suicidal,” she retorted, even though she hadn’t been in the room to see or hear what was said. “Those vials were likely fakes.”

  “Most were,” the Don replied, and Mia blinked to hear it. “At least six were not, which was more than enough to guarantee everyone in the room would have died with him.” It didn’t make any sense whatsoever. What sort of maniac walked around with six vials of Impact Oil just dangling from a piece of twine wrapped around them? Madness is what that was, insanity even.

  “I understand your disappointment,” the Don continued, and again, Mia blinked to hear it. “However, even if he did not take such drastic countermeasures, I would not have acted against him. Not here, not now, not when his actions in the Deadlands would draw a clear line back to us for all our enemies to see. What’s more, even though the Firstborn is currently in disgrace, there are too many significant powers that would stop at nothing to avenge his death.”

  It all made perfect sense, even if Mia hated to hear it. “So what now then?” she asked, putting up a brave front because she knew Don Manfredi wouldn’t think twice about selling her out. Fifteen thousand dollars was nothing to the Don, but money was money, and the Firstborn wouldn’t think twice about paying that much for Mia’s capture.

  “Now, we renegotiate the terms of our arrangement,” the Don replied, flashing that cold, calculating smile as he looked upon her with avarice. Not lust like most men, or even appreciation. No, Don Manfredi looked at Mia and saw potential, and with potential came endless possibilities that he yearned to see come to fruition. “A partnership if you will? You have heard of Seraphim, yes?”

  A drug that supposedly boosted your magical abilities, made it easier to understand the flows and bend them to your will. “Is that what this was all about?” Mia asked, her mind racing to put the pieces together, but even smart as she was, she didn’t dare believe she could outsmart the Mastermind, Maurizio Manfredi. “Getting your hands on Seraphim? So the Order’s been producing it?”

  “Indeed,” the Don replied, holding out his hand to reveal a paper packet of what she assumed was the powdered Seraphim. “And as I’ve recently gotten my hands on some, I am eager to see how it works on someone with your talents.” So he wanted a guinea pig, but Mia wasn’t so foolish as to volunteer to take an untested drug just like that. Nor would the Don expect her to, as he continued, “That will have to wait of course, until after we’ve tested the effectiveness and learned more about the side-effects, but even if Seraphim is unusable in its current form, I would still wish to partner with a talent like yourself.” Waving a hand all around them, the Don said, “This Frontier is yours to inherit after all, you and your generation. I myself have no heir, but you would make for a most excellent one. You’ve the pedigree after all, and are intelligent, determined, and ruthless to a fault, while your ability to survive this past year has garnered my interest.”

  Now that was an offer Mia hadn’t expected, nor did she believe it wholly genuine. The Mastermind was many things, but generous or sentimental was not one of them. This was a ploy, a gambit to win her over, a carrot to dangle before her so she’d work herself to the bone for him, because in her mind, it was also for herself seeing how she stood to inherit his empire when he was ready to retire. Canny old bastard, but at least he wasn’t lusty and handsy to boot.

  So Mia put on her best smile, one she knew wasn’t fooling the Don one bit. “Tell me more,” she said, and they both smiled their fake smiles while discussing the future.

  One that would include the Firstborn’s death, else her name was not Mia Pugliano.

  - End of Book 4 -

  Author’s Note: Whoooo. That was fun. Overall, I enjoyed the book, but I’m not thrilled with how it ended, as I did rush it a bit. Also, I had more planned for Mia than just having her show up at the end. I wanted her to be one of Noora’s comrades in Tammy’s group, one deep undercover and in disguise. That didn’t work out for many reasons though, like the timing of being in Ashbend and with Noora’s group too, or having to explain why Howie or Elodie wouldn’t see through her magical disguise. Maybe even Noora too, as she’s pretty decent with Makeup and would’ve been in close contact with Mia, but yeah.

  So it’s a little more out of left field than I’d like, but I still think it works. The Watchman never says he was working with Dakota Slim, and Howie just assumes it. Even leads Howie to believe it was the Catteneos who leaked word, instead of Mia, which was real fun in the moment. As for the rest of the ending… Well, Edward and co. aren’t all that concerned about Howie’s morality, just his continued well being. I wanted to have more of a heart to heart, and more with Edward, but he’s real hard to write. He’s very sympathetic, but there’s good reason he’s feared, and I couldn’t find a good way to show that without going down a whole rabbit hole of a plotline.

  Then there’s the mind magic shenanigans. I tried to reinforce the fact that Howie is being influenced by Mimics and then Dick’s stupid sexy corpse vampire Mom, but it’s still gonna come across as ‘Howie’s being dumb’. Which irks me, because it does seem like it, but that’s mind magic for you.

  Lastly, Chrissy’s big save was… unsatisfying. I dunno. There’s just something missing from the execution. Too much from the Mimic’s weird ass PoV that got real cumbersome to write in, and not enough impact. I couldn’t find a way to fix it though, so I left it as is.

  Otherwise though? I had a lot of fun with this book. Got to do a whole lot of different things, even if Howie’s back to where he started again. Laid some tracks for what happens next though, so we got that going for him. Little bit of a recovery arc to start, but I got schemes to get things ramping up quick. In story at least. In real life? I need a few weeks to rest and build up a buffer of chapters again. So earliest you can expect the next chapter will probably be February, as I want to be ahead by 10 chapters, which takes 3 weeks and a bit to write, and I currently have zero and want time to relax. So yeah. Thank you all for reading. Merry Christmas, and I hope to see you all again when I’m back with book five.