“Flappy.”

  Though hardly expecting to be greeted by a puffed-up kiccaw with nubby wings afluttering, I look past the proffered bird to give Chrissy a big grin and say, “Why hello there Chrissy. Hello to you too Flappy. Nice to finally put a name to a beak.”

  Making the most of the opportunity, I reach out to give Flappy’s rotund belly a poke, only to stop when Chrissy pulls him back into her arms and gives me a look. A neutral one if you wanna describe it, as her eyes are open and relaxed, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks lacking tension and forehead free of wrinkles. Despite the dearth of discernable emotion, I can tell this look is one of reproach as she shelters Flappy from my thrusting digit and gives me all the side-eye she can muster. “No poke Flappy,” she declares, giving the bird a soft kiss on the head and a nuzzle to make it relax in her embrace. Leaning over to put the bird down, she gives it a little pat and I smile to see it fold its wings and blink in pure bliss, so utterly contented with its lot in life here in town.

  Taking this opportunity to throw my duster on the rack, Chrissy gives baby Cowie a pat and a kiss before picking up another kiccaw and holding it out same as the first. With her hands gently cupping it from under the wings and its chest facing forward so it can narrow its eyes, puff up its belly, and stretch out its wings when she holds it out for me to inspect. “Frowny.”

  “I can see why this one is Frowny,” I reply, slowly reaching out so the glowering bird can inspect my hand, only to draw back when it tries to give me a nip. “He don’t like belly pokes neither?”

  Chrissy, bless her heart, tilts her head and blinks to ponder on the question, before looking at Frowny then back at me. “No.” The bird gets a cuddle and kiss same as Flappy, and I’ve barely got time to get a single boot off before she holds out a third kiccaw for me to greet. “Terrance.”

  Warms my heart it does, because I love animals with regular human names. There’s just something so endearing about it, so I give the bird a little nod and say, “Pleased to meet you Terry.”

  “No.” Reaching out to pinch my cheek ever so softly for being silly, Chrissy adamantly corrects me. “Terrance.”

  “Oh. My sincere apologies for being overly familiar, Terrance.”

  Calling out from the kitchen, Aunty Ray hollers out and says, “Chrissy, let Howie come inside before you introduce him to the whole flock. All the heat’s gettin’ out.”

  “Okay Mama.” Though still wearing the same neutral expression as always, there’s a sullen cast to Chrissy’s posture as she stands aside to wait, watching me close because she wants to make the most of our limited time together today. Guess she’s finally named each and every kiccaw, even though they’ve been around for months now. I’m told it’s because she’s trying to pick names that suit them, though if I’m being honest, I can’t tell Flappy and Terrance apart. Frowny I think I can pick out, unless one of them other kiccaws starts glowering too, at which point we might have a problem.

  Fact is, we might have one already, as I finally get my boots off and into the house proper, stepping carefully through a whole flock of kiccaws gathered up around Chrissy. After closing the door to the mudroom behind me and giving my sweet sorta sister a big hug, I raise my voice and ask Aunty Ray, “When’d you start letting the birds live in the house?”

  “When it got too cold for them out in the barn.” Whipping around from her post in front of the stove, Aunty Ray hits me with her patented glower, with her head titled, shoulders squared, and one hand on her hip. “That’s what happens when you bring a bunch of desert birds home to winter in a forest by the lake. They get cold and spend all the livelong day huddled up for warmth so they don’t freeze to death.”

  Ah. Knew it might be an issue, but it sorta slipped my mind since I ain’t been around to see them much. “Well,” I drawl, glancing at all the round birds scattered across the living room while they live their best life. “At least they easy to house train. Took Tina all of a minute to get them to stop making a mess up top my wagon, so there’s that.”

  Aunty Ray doesn’t dignify that with a reply, just huffs while turning around to flip whatever she’s got cooking before moving the pan off the heat and twisting the dial to turn off the stove. Gives a tiny sigh of satisfaction when she does though, pleased as peach to have her new Aetheric stove-top, one powered by a dynamo fixed to the side of the stove instead of wood thrown into its belly. Ain’t actually new, as I pulled this one out of Mr. Mueller’s kitchen and brought it here for her, but not before ruining 3 other Aetheric stoves trying to figure out how they worked. Wanted to build her one new, but that wasn’t in the cards, not without Danny there to help me along, so I gave up after a month and figured second-hand would do.

  Glad to see Aunty Ray likes it though, and it buys me just enough goodwill to avoid a harsh pinch of my cheeks when she marches on over to give me a hug. “It’s so good to see you,” she says, squeezing extra hard to show she missed me followed by a big kiss on the cheek. “Now, get to memorizin’ those names, because them kiccaws are goin’ home with you. They’ll be fine in the barn with your horses and cattle to warm things up, unlike here where they’re all alone save for the wallies who love the cold outdoors.” Feeling me tense up in preparation to argue, Aunty Ray pulls back and hits me with a scowl while picking up baby Cowie to hug, who’s utterly distraught because Chrissy is too busy for cuddles. “Don’t you sass me. You the one who brung them home from the desert, so you gonna have to look after them. This is exactly why I done told you never to mess with the wildlife, much less abduct them on a lark without so much as a thought of their wellbeing.”

  A double jab, since she’s also talking about Elodie which ain’t entirely my fault. “Technically,” I begin, all meek and demure as can be, “Tina was the one who brung them home.”

  “Only because you allowed it,” Aunty Ray retorts, giving my hat a swat to turn off the recording once she’s got Cowie all cradled like a baby. Follows up by snatching it off my head and tossing it onto the rack with practiced ease while I wince because I done forgot to take it off myself. Not only have I been wearing it around all day at home, I been so used to keeping the camera running 24/7, I plum forgot it was still going. Proves she can really feel it, as she says it makes her teeth hum, whatever that means. Thinks it’s the Record Audio Core, as opposed to Video, though I’m not sure why either would do anything of the sort.

  Ain’t why she don’t like being Recorded though, as she says she only wants to look her best if she is, though I think she looks great. Still a couple weeks shy of 38, but same as the Padre, Aunty Ray looks closer to 25 and is downright gorgeous to boot. Got her hair all done up in a loose up-do, with her corn-silk hair all wrapped up in a fancy knot with a ponytail still trailing out, looking like she ready for a photoshoot or something. Aside from a bit of red on her lips and nails and the wedding ring on her left hand, she don’t got much of any Makeup or jewellery at all, yet she still looks regal as can be with her skin so fair and smooth, while her Innate Brand makes it look like she’s wearing a golden tiara around her head with a diamond-shaped sapphire no bigger than the tip of my pinky set in the centre. Add in her big blue eyes, milky white skin, and shapely, full-figured frame, and you got yourself a drop-dead gorgeous woman who earned the Callsign Siren for good reason.

  For the first time in all my years though, I’m seeing a few faint lines around her eyes. Barely even noticeable really, but there all the same, no doubt because she’s been so fraught with worry and concern these last few months. She don’t say much else, just stands there with one hand cupping my cheek while studying my face same as I study hers, and I can tell she don’t much like what she sees.

  I knew I should’ve shaved before I came. Didn’t think about it until after I set sail, because I don’t grow enough facial hair to need daily shaving. Or even weekly, but it’s been much longer since I took a razor to my face. Or washcloth for that matter, as I ain’t looked in no mirrors lately. Don’t much like what I see in them, so I avoid it wherever possible. Suppose it shows, but Aunty Ray don’t say nothing, just purses her lips and pulls me in for another hug, one that lasts so long I feel compelled to fill the awkward silence while Cowie nuzzles us both. “Sorry I took so long getting here,” I begin, then for some fool reason, add, “Stopped off at the cemetery on my way over. Saw the Padre and had a word with him for old times sake.” I don’t add to it, but Aunty Ray squeezes me all the tighter, and I squeeze back.

  When she’s finally all hugged out, she gives me another kiss on the cheek before sitting me and Cowie at the kitchen table where Chrissy got a fourth kiccaw for me to greet. “Stella,” she declares, and for once, the bird don’t puff its chest and stretch its tiny wings out. Instead, she just sorta settles in Chrissy’s hands, all round and orb-like as it tilts its head and blinks in curious greeting, like its waiting on me for something or the other. “Belly poke,” Chrissy says, quickly adding, “Softly,” after the fact.

  So I do just that, and Stella closes her eyes, flutters her nubble wings, and stretches out like she ticklish, making her by far my favourite bird of the bunch. “Hello there Stella,” I say, giving her belly a gentle rub and enjoying her antics a little more before moving on to the next bird. Pointing at one that’s pecking at my sock, I ask, “What about this one?”

  Chrissy heaves a soft sigh, which is rare and sweet as can be. Picking the kiccaw up, she holds it up right in front of my face and emphatically enunciates, “Flap-py.” To be fair, it lives up to its namesake and flaps quite a bit before going full stretch, but how was I supposed to know which one it was before it got to flapping?

  “Sorry Chrissy,” I say, smiling despite her obvious frustration. “It’s just… I don’t want to sound birdist or nothin’, but all these kiccaws look alike. How am I supposed to tell them apart?”

  Taking the seat beside me with a huff, Chrissy sits the bird on her lap and points at Flappy’s forehead, which got a stripe of white amidst its mostly brown colouration. Not a continuous stripe, but close enough since his feathers all lined up in a way so that little bit of white forms a line almost like a unibrow over the kiccaw’s big, round eyes. All the birds got that stripe though, so I don’t see what it is I’m supposed to be looking at until Chrissy puts a second kiccaw on her lap and points at an indent on its brow. “Frowny.” To be fair, the indent does make it look like the bird is frowning, so I gotta give Chrissy props for that, until she grabs a third bird and points at seemingly nothing on its brow and says, “Terrance.”

  “Hang on a tick.” Gently grabbing Frowny off of her lap, I study Flappy and Terrance side by side until I can make out what she’s trying to show me. It ain’t much, just the slightest bit of unique twist to the line in their feathers, a slight upraised slant on either side for Flappy and a barely perceptible zig zag for Terry. Sure, it’s unique enough to tell them apart, but I wouldn’t even notice it if they wasn’t sat side by side with Chrissy pointing it out, which only goes to show how incredible her pattern recognition skills really are. So with nothing else for it, I set to taking Photos with the Cantrip and making a list of the order in which the birds are introduced and the mark in their brow that sets them apart, because if Chrissy feels it’s important I learn all their names, then I’mma do my best to learn them.

  That’s what family does after all. Might not mean much to me, but if it makes Chrissy happy, you can best be sure I’ll move heaven and earth to do it.

  Doesn’t take long to get them all in order, though I still got some studying to do before I can identify each kiccaw at a glance. Aunty Ray comes in clutch with lunch to save me from Chrissy’s bird naming pop quiz, and I’m right grateful for it, even though I know it’s all because my sorta-sister can’t bear to see her birds go. It’s only temporary though, and I promise to bring them back come Spring while taking the winter to come up with a solution that’ll let them stay with her year round.

  As for the food, Aunty Ray done cooked up a big spread with plenty of my favourites, including flaky meat pastries and a muskari steak, all cut up into strips so I can eat with just a fork. Even though I got the Mage Hands and Wildshaped Hand, I’m still going about most my days with just the left, which Aunty Ray noticed without me having to say so much as a word. She knows about the Spell and the work I’m putting in, as I talked it out with her more than once to pick her brain on the subject, but she was never one for book learning when it came to her Spells, so she didn’t have much to say.

  Still, she knows what I can do and understands why I want to keep it hidden, so she goes the extra mile to make things easy for me wherever she can. It’s the small things like this that make me miss her so, because if not for my family here in the house Uncle Raleigh built, and sweet Josie and our baby in the cemetery, I could say goodbye to New Hope and never set foot inside this town again.

  For much the same reason, after lunch is over and the dishes washed, I’m more than happy to settle down on the couch with Chrissy and Aunty Ray for a spot of conversation, with the two of them all snuggled up on either side while we all snack on roasted alabaster nuts. Was a time when I’d bristle at the close contact, make faces and complain about stuff like propriety and personal space, but after a few months of quiet living all on my lonesome up in the quay, I’ve come to cherish these days with family. Sucks that Tina’s busy with her Ranger training and won’t be done until 5p.m which is when I’m supposed to be gone, but thems the breaks of being Exiled. Only allowed to come into town during business hours from Monday to Friday, and barely tolerated outside of them, so I haven’t seen much of her at all. Or Danny, who’s going through Basic with Noora, who I see a little more often since she won’t take no for an answer when she decides she wants to come up to the quay for a weekend. Tina, Chrissy, and Aunty Ray have been asking to come visit too, but it ain’t safe up there so I haven’t allowed it, which means they gotta make do with the rare times I come into town for business and supplies.

  Like today, though truth is, I didn’t really need to come in to town, so much as I wanted to. Mostly because I gotta have an uncomfortable conversation with Aunty Ray, one I know she ain’t gonna like, but it’s gotta be done all the same. “So,” I begin, awkwardly segueing into the subject after a few hours when I realize time is running short. Got Chrissy nestled in on arm, while I lean into Aunty Ray’s shoulder, three peas in a pod up on the couch in front of the roaring fireplace. “My yearly trip out to the mesa is coming up. Figure I’ll set out on the twenty-first, take my time goin’ slow and careful on the way up, then get some huntin’ in on my way back like usual.”

  Because you don’t want to go into the badlands guns blazing. Sure, you’ll kill a lot of bugs and probably get some good Cores, but all that noise and bloodshed will bring whole swarms down on you as them starved Abby come looking for good eats. Aunty Ray makes a non-committal noise, because she don’t much like me going out there by my lonesome, but knows well enough why I gotta do it. Problem is, I been coming to terms with my own mortality more often than not, and I’ve realized there are some things I can’t really explain in a last will and testament, especially if I can’t control who reads it. Got plenty of secrets I don’t want no one to know, because the only sure-fire way two people can keep a secret is if one of them is dead.

  Problem is, some secrets gotta be shared, because if I suddenly pass away, then won’t no one know what to do about it. Hence this difficult conversation, one I’m unable to look Aunty Ray in the eyes while we’re having it. “I was thinkin’,” I drawl, doing my damnedest to sound casual and cavalier as can be, “That might be time to bring Tina along for the trip this year. She’s almost done her Ranger training, and the last letter she sent said she got a good chance of getting stationed right here in New Hope, so chances are she’ll have to patrol the badlands sooner or later. Since that’s the case, why don’t I bring her along this time around and see how she fares? Should be safe enough, as I could show her the best routes and walk her through all the do’s and don’ts. Give her a crash course as it were, and bring her up to the mesa to pay her respects to my daddy. When we was up in the desert, she talked about how she missed him and wanted to know more about how he passed, so I figure this would be good for her, get a bit more closure as it were. When that’s done, I can see how she does on the hunt and make sure the Rangers are teaching her right, plus earn us a pretty penny which is always nice. Then maybe head up to Mount Rimepeak to teach her how to snowboard, assuming she’s kept up with practicing her Floating Disc.”

  I’m rambling now, but I can’t stop myself because Aunty Ray ain’t made no move to speak. The woman knows how to sweet talk her way into or out of anything, but she also knows how to wield silence like a weapon. The longer she waits, the more it feels like a dagger stabbing into my side ever so slightly while slowly but surely putting on the pressure without so much as uttering a peep. Despite knowing what she’s doing, she’s got me backpedalling from my initial stand and explaining how I ain’t talked to Tina about it yet, and could call if off if she don’t feel comfortable. Even offer to ask Tim to see if he’ll take time off for Christmas and join us on the trip, or maybe hire on a team of Rangers if that’d make her feel better. Would hate to do it, since it means showing Rangers how to get up the mesa unscathed, and while I trust Tim without question, I don’t trust much of anyone else.

  There’s also the fact that besides me, my mama, my daddy, and his 3 killers, the only other person who ever been up on the mesa is Uncle Raleigh. Went up there to help my daddy bury my mama shortly after they met, and he told my daddy to keep his cards close to his chest. That’s why we never brought anyone else up there, and why I’m the only one alive who can do it without risking any of the traps we done left behind.

  “Okay,” Aunty Ray says, after I done dug a hole big enough for me and a family of fifteen to lie in. “Sounds like you got it all figured out.” This calm acceptance is not what I expected, as I figured I’d be in for a long argument before she saw things my way. Course, things are never easy as you’d hope, because Aunty Ray tilts her head like she just had a thought. “If that’s the case, why don’t we come with? I’d like to pay my respects to Ming and Lina too.” Says my mama’s name like it’s an English name, even though it’s Li Na, but my daddy never cared, so I never thought nothing of it neither. “How about you Chrissy? You want to come with to visit Uncle Ming’s grave?”

  “Uncle Ming?” Looking all hopeful and forlorn at the same time, Chrissy turns towards me and her mama with tears in her bright, violet eyes. “Yes. I want to visit.”

  “Now hang on,” I say, my heart breaking to see Chrissy so down in the dumps, but I gotta nip this in the bud before it gains too much traction. “This ain’t a pleasure trip we about to take. We headin’ out into the badlands and campin’ out next to the Divide.”

  “I know,” Aunty Ray says, patting my cheek to keep me calm, but it ain’t doing the trick. “You said it was safe enough though, and I trust your judgement.”

  “Safe enough for me and Tina.” Sitting up straight so I can look Aunty Ray in the eyes, I pat Chrissy’s knee to soothe her sour mood over being ousted from her comfortable spot with her head on my shoulder. “I been goin’ up there for years, and she almost done her trainin’.”

  “I was trained too you know,” Aunty Ray retorts, looking miffed as can be as she crosses her arms and gives me a look. “Got more training than Tina has, from before the Advent, and learned plenty along the way. I been to the Divide too, carried you in my arms all the way down into them dark depths and came back without so much as a blister.”

  “Yeah,” I say, cutting myself off before I do something stupid and mention how long ago that was, which she will no doubt take as an attack on her age. “But what about Chrissy? She don’t got no training. Not to mention how you had a half-company of trained soldiers all around you last time you went, all vets at the top of their game.”

  I ain’t talking about my daddy neither. He was there and went down into the Divide with them, but he was greener than green back then, so it’s a good thing the Marshal brought the best of the best. Tim and Uncle Raleigh were only middling compared to the rest, like Marcus, who ran a team on Delta Force in the old world, and Sam Horne, a Pathfinder who done served two tours in the horn of Africa and killed more Abby than most will see over the course of their whole lifetime. He’s a Storm Caller now, the equivalent Pathfinder Rank to Marshal, one you don’t get by collecting bottlecaps. They had Edward Elton with them too, one of the most powerful and deadly Innates to walk through the Gates and onto the Frontier. Not to mention both his handlers, the Warden Aaron Bailey and the Sentinel Luther Rawlings, Protectorate Knights who got the job as Edward’s handlers simply because they were the only Knights around strong enough to keep him in line.

  When Edward’s feeling generous that is. Which is most of the time usually, and I hear he even stopped trying to kill them after he accepted them into his family’s service. Not that they asked to join, but Edward’s old-blood British nobility, a lord of something or the other, and he puts a lot of stock into noblesse oblige and all that.

  Regardless of his quirks, Edward’s a real heavy hitter, and so were his handlers, but even then, they almost died down in the Divide. Might well have if not for the humble Preacher James Rigsby, who lived through the disaster in Australia and was airlifted away mere minutes before the Old World governments glassed the whole continent with Aetheric Bombs. Instilling a lifelong hatred of Aberrations into the now Captain of the Knight Templar, and he’s spent his life since killing them with a vengeance and donating all the proceeds to the Templars save for what little he needs to survive.

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  James Rigsby wasn’t the strongest of the bunch who went down into the Divide, nor was he the deadliest, but his faith in the bible and hatred for Abby makes him one-man killing machine when it comes to Abby. Got a nasty Turn Aberration Ability that’ll render every gobbo in line of sight into melted goop, and that’s just his opening move, as he’s an Evoker who might well come second only to Captain Ava Jung on this side of the Divide. Can instill Radiant Damage into his fire Spells to hit Abby extra hard, as if your run of the mill Fireball ain’t nasty enough, and can also throw up a Barrier of what he calls pure Faith, since it’s another Ability same as Turn Aberration. Seen it stop a charge from a dozen Behemoth Bugs before coming apart, and then he threw up a second Barrier to buy him time to melt them all with his Spells. Crazy is what that is, as he got both offense and defense down pat, mixing Faith and Orthodox Spellslinging together to make something more than the sum of its parts.

  As for the last member of the Marshal’s crew, that was Uncle Art acting as medico. Never thought much of his abilities out in the field, but having recently seen the strength and versatility of potions and Alchemical concoctions for myself, I’ve since reconsidered my stance. Though older than anyone I’ve ever met, he’s still a big, burly sort standing at 6’2, and with prep enough, could probably do a good bit of damage with his Spells and supplies. Then there’s the Marshal himself of course, a Battlefield Controller and tactical genius capable of reshaping the battlefield as he pleases, trapping Abby in place or funneling them into chokepoints where he can use his patented Flamethrower Spell to maximum effect.

  That’s who Aunty Ray travelled with the last and only time she set out into the badlands, a who’s who of big names that’ll make anyone this side of the Divide sit up straight. In contrast? This time, she’ll have me, Tina, and Chrissy along for the ride, which is a far cry from what it was. I ain’t selling myself short. I’m damn good at what I do, but I doubt I can even match my daddy’s abilities when he went down into the Divide almost 18 years ago. Sure, I got more Spells and better guns, as he was still learning Cantrips and using slam-fire, single-shot Aetherams, but you gotta remember, he didn’t just travel into the badlands like that. He made a life out there with my mama, my very pregnant and scared mama who couldn’t move around much, meaning he built them a house and secured them enough food and water all by his lonesome in less than half a year’s time with nothing but his hands and the tools he could build.

  As for me? I ain’t even started on my new house just yet, which is still an empty pit with a bunch of bricks and covered timber inside. All of which I purchased mind you, alongside the tools necessary to build with, but it’s been months and it’s all still sitting there. Not because I don’t got time, but rather because I haven’t got the inclination to chase down architects or get things done, not when I got some 37 houses and attached acreage to maintain all by my lonesome.

  Despite all my well reasoned arguments saying this is a terrible idea, Aunty Ray claps back with a heated statement of her own. “Howie,” she says, once I done run out of steam, “You said it’d be safe enough for you and Tina right? Then that’s good enough for me. I can look after myself and Chrissy. Our safety ain’t on you.” Reaching out to cup my chin, Aunty Ray gives my cheeks a good hard squeeze as she glowers all petulant like before softening to a sympathetic stare. “I know you scared to lose someone else, and I’ve been patient, but I’m done waitin’ for you to find sense. Instead, I’m gonna show you that I’m a big girl who can look after herself and her daughters both. That way, once this trip is over and done with, you’ll finally feel ready to let us come visit you at home on the weekends.”

  Instead of me coming out here once or twice a month, where she knows I got it rough. She don’t say nothing about it, but she sees the dark looks thrown my way and hears all the muttered gossip about me. She also knows that it ain’t safe up in the Quay, since there ain’t no one there besides me, but she’s tired of only seeing me every now and then, and wants us to be a full-time family again. Fact is, despite refusing to leave the town in the midst of the Mindspire, she was ready to uproot herself and sell the house Uncle Raleigh built just so she could be close to me, and I was the one who wouldn’t allow it. This is her home, her slice of the Frontier where she made all those memories with Uncle Raleigh, and I wasn’t gonna let her give it all up for me. She’d do it in a heartbeat, because that’s what family does, but I couldn’t live with the guilt if I let her.

  Nor could I live with the guilt if I got her killed, or Chrissy and Tina for that matter. Aunty Ray reads it right off my face, without me having to say a thing, and she throws her arms around me and pulls me into her warm embrace. “Wasn’t your fault you know?” She says, and not for the first time either, but I still need to hear it even if I never believe it. “Wasn’t your fault Josie died. Was theirs. They killed her, and you couldn’t have done nothing about it.”

  Pretty lies I’d love to believe, but ones I know in my heart of hearts ain’t true. I could’ve kept her from dying if I was smarter about it, had done my due diligence and worked to keep her safe, or kept well away like I should’ve. I didn’t though, threw caution to the wind and delegated our safety to others in my stead, and she paid the price for my negligence, her and our baby both.

  There’s no arguing with Aunty Ray though, as she’s already decided to come along for the trip, which means I’m gonna be real busy the next three weeks getting everything ready. Can’t even ask Tim to come along, because I done already did, and he said he’s got an operation he can’t walk away from just yet, a Proggie hunt that’s supposed to take place soon enough. Can’t ask the Marshal either, because we ain’t talked in months, nor am I inclined to trust anyone he might recommend.

  Not because I think they might do me harm. It’s because I’ve long since learned the Rangers interests are not always aligned with my own. Same with the Pathfinders, Protectorate, Knights Templars, and more, meaning I can’t really ask anyone else for help either. Especially considering all the rumours about my affiliation with the Cult of Aberrations, which to be fair, haven’t all been entirely untrue. I did work with Cultists to bring down the Pugliano Family after all, and technically, I did accidentally leak how the Rangers were gearing up to make a move on the Proggie, which was enough warning for the Cultists to get in ahead of them and kill the Proggie for themselves. I even admitted the second part to the Marshal, because I had to let him know there was a Deviant loose on the Frontier. That’s the worst part I think, the fact that I done broken his trust so badly that he’d even think I would betray him like that, use what little I knew about the Ranger operation to help a bunch of Cultists out. Which I did, but not knowingly or willingly, so that’s gotta count for something, right?

  All in all, my quiet afternoon with family ends all too soon, even allowing for the stressful argument I been having for the last hour with Aunty Ray. Got a schedule to keep though, and a literal deadline to get myself on the other side of the walls, so I bid them both farewell and head off with Cowie and eighteen kiccaws in tow. They’re all stacked up in two covered cages, with plenty of bedding and hot stones to ward off the chill, but even then, they don’t sound all too pleased as the Floating Disc sled carries them along behind me with a chorus of melodious ‘kics’ and ‘kaws’. Earns me a fair few strange looks as I head over to my lawyer’s office, but I tend to draw those all the same, so I pay them no mind and head right on in when the secretary Mrs. Monroe waves me on in.

  Leaving Cowie to watch the birds and hides, I stride on into the cluttered office with a crystal in hand, one I plucked from my bull’s head medallion before leaving Aunty Ray’s. “Got another one for you,” I say, making sure to stop recording before I began, because the last thing I want is for the Sheriff or guards to find out about the case I’m building before I’m ready to bring it against them. Assuming I ever do, as it’s more of a just in case than anything else, because it’s always better to be safe than sorry.

  Accepting the crystal with one hand, Donald Tillman gives me a nod and notes down the time and date before handing it over to notary beside him. Mr. Nichols is the notary’s name, and he don’t say nothing as he gets to inspecting the crystal to make sure it ain’t been tampered with. He’s trained to do so, and licensed to certify recording crystals for legal use, which is why he’s in the room with us. Does some technically majiggering with his tools before giving the crystal his seal of approval, a literal stamp and Illusory Mark on some official looking papers that say the events recorded on the crystal have in no way been modified or tampered with before making a copy of the crystal and papers for him to bring away. This way, if anyone cries foul over the recording at the trial, Mr. Nichols has an unaltered copy to bring forth and show that ain’t nothing been changed.

  Which he keeps in a state of the art safe that don’t no one have access to besides him, one kept in the bank under the Ranger offices no less. Might seem over the top, but given my current reputation, I gotta dot my I’s and cross my T’s to even get the chance at a fair trial, so this is what’s gotta be done.

  Because if one day, I do so happen to snap and kill Dave for drawing a gun on me, I can point out all the times I didn’t kill him and show that he just happened to catch me by surprise this time. Truth is, despite having all the justification in the world to kill him where he stands every time he pulls his gun, I’d probably still be sentenced guilty by a jury of my peers since everyone’s so gung-ho about getting me gone. Sad truth is what it is, but that’s how things are around here these days, and I don’t care much to fix them.

  Soon as Mr. Nichols is done and out of the room with his copies of the crystal, Mr. Tillman jumps into full lawyer mode. “Now Howie,” he begins, all sour faced at the familiarity because I asked him to never call me Mr. Zhu or Howard, “I understand you wanting to build a case against the city guards, but I’d say you have more than enough evidence to compel a settlement and even get the guard in question fired. If you would allow me to file the case for you today, we could have this all sorted before year’s end.”

  “Nah,” I say, same as every time before. “Not looking to jam anyone up or earn a paycheck. Just wanna cover my bases in case the worst should happen.”

  Now here’s why I hate lawyers. See, I said what I said and I meant, ‘In case I get heated and shoot Dave in his ugly face’. Mr. Tillman knows this, or at least can guess as much given what else I’ve said over the last few months, but he tells himself I mean ‘in case I myself am shot’. He knows that ain’t why I’m doing all this, and even knows I might well be building evidence so I can legally murder Dave one day soon, but he don’t pay it no mind because legally speaking, we both in the clear. Morally? That’s questionable at best, which is why Dave is still breathing, but morals ain’t never entered the equation with Mr. Donald Tillman.

  Lawyers. You’d think they’d be all about black and white, right or wrong, but no. They all operate in shades of grey, looking for ways to turn black into white and the other way around, because they ain’t about upholding the law. They here to circumventing it, and despite my own extralegal affairs, I don’t like that much. At least I ain’t never pretended to be anything other than what I am, a man willing to step outside the law to get things done. Mr. Tillman? He’s a wulf in a suit, a man who professes to abide by the law, but does everything he can to pervert it on behalf of his clients.

  Which included the Pugliano family, until recently that is, which is why he came to me to offer his services. Heaving a sigh, Mr. Tillman nods and puts the crystal away for safekeeping, as he’ll be taking it to the bank to place in a safe deposit box I rented out for this express purpose. “As you wish,” he says, since he’s paid his retainer whether he bring a case forward or not. “I take it you still have no desire to purse any legal avenues regarding your Exile?”

  “Nah. Any word on whether the Sheriff’s Office is bringing charges against me?”

  “Not a peep.”

  We go over a few other matters, mostly about the property up by the quay, but there ain’t much to say since ain’t nothing changed since we last talked. When we run out of topics to cover, I pull out enough cash to pay his retainer for the next year, then ask, “Same rate, or should I tack on something extra?”

  “The same rate will do,” he says, which is good, because I’m already paying him a damn fortune. Least I can afford it, but I might have to liquidate some assets soon enough since I’m running low on cash. Still got plenty of valuables in precious metals, Aberrtin, gemstones, and other such things, but haven’t had much in the way of income lately, while I been spending out the wazoo on boats, materials, and maintaining the properties and such. A minor issue to be fair, but still something to concern myself with as I bring Cowie and the kiccaws out to the docks where I get the birds settled in on the boat. Park their cage in the living area and get a fire going in the stove to warm them up, while tossing in a few handful of grains for them to munch on. Then it’s a matter of settling in to wait while the guards all watch me like a hawk, as if I could reach into my weapon’s chest and go on a killing spree at any moment now.

  Honestly? The longer they stare, the more likely it gets, so the fact that the chances ain’t zero means they right to be worried.

  I pay them no mind though as I sit on the docks and play with Cowie. Not them guards in the tower or the ones that find every excuse to wander on by, not even Dave who’s here in his civvy skivvies since his shift is done for the day. I can’t show up before 9am, but guard duty starts at 6am, meaning he been off duty for about 3 hours now, but had nothing better to do than come by to watch me leave. With his personal sidearm no less, a junky Ranger 1851, the little brother to every revolver in the Ranger line. The Rattlesnake and El-Ministers the guards carry are part of their kit, meaning Dave has to hand those in at the end of his shift, leaving him with a single-action, 22-10 revolver that’s inferior even to the Squire the boots are equipped with. Wears it on his hip with his jacket held open no less, as he leans on a lamppost barely 10 metres away, which is how I can see so much of his gun. Gotta be an antique old as my daddy’s Rattlesnake, since Mr. Kalthoff stopped making those after a few months in, when he met up with Danny’s daddy and built better tools to make better metals and guns.

  Whatever though. I don’t let Dave’s presence shake me, or distract me from Noora’s grand entrance a few minutes later. Got a whole gaggle of boots with her, Danny included, who wanders on up with a confidence that I find mildly unfamiliar. 5 months of training will do that to a man, and bulk him up too, making him look lean rather than rangy and awkward like he used to. Really looks the part with his Squire on his hip under his army issue jacket. Looks the fool with his army cap on though, what with his reddish curls poking out from all angles underneath, but he’s changed a lot in the last few months what with all the exercise and what I imagine has been better eats. Between getting fed by the Rangers and selling the patent on his completed Mental Fortress Ward which he finally perfected, he’s doing well for himself and I couldn’t be happier for him.

  Tina’s happy too, though still utterly oblivious of his feelings as she throws herself into my arms, which can’t be easy for Danny to see. He don’t sweat it though, not like the scowling horde of enamoured boots who followed her here like a puppy without a leash. Me, I wave off her requests to come visit too and tell her to head home soon, mostly because I know Aunty Ray gonna want to talk to her first. I do let slip a little hint regarding our planned snowboarding trip though, just to make sure she listens. That’s enough to light up her smile, and she bolts off to talk to her mama quick as she can, before doubling back for one last hug and a promise that I’ll be back soon enough.

  As for Noora? She is a sight for sore eyes, even if I ain’t entirely sure where we stand. She’s grown a little taller, and filled out in all the right places too, but what really hooks me in is how confident she is in her skin. Of which not much is shown at all, though she still got the top two buttons on her Ranger issue collared shirt undone, while her jacket hangs loosely off both shoulders. Wears her army cap backwards with a bit of a tilt, giving her a chic, urban sorta vibe, one accentuated by the functional French braid she got her purple highlighted hair in, with her eyeliner, lips, and nails to match. The dark metal Squire on her hip ain’t much to look at, but her shiny silver shock gauntlet is a piece of pretty tech, a shapely metal glove that fits like a skin and can deliver a Merciful jolt of Electric damage same as a cattle prod. Seems a bit extra for something you could just learn a Cantrip for, but it’s a great piece to learn the basics. Guess Danny helped her finish it up, or someone else did, because I certainly didn’t, even though I knew she was real interested in all the work I was putting in to craft me an Automaton prosthetic.

  She don’t mention it though, just hangs back until it’s her turn to greet me. “Hey handsome,” she purrs, after I’ve said my piece with Danny and Tina and the two of us are left mostly alone on the docks, save for the audience full of boots and guards watching from nearby. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Training ran a little long.”

  “Well worth it,” I reply, but rather than smirk, Noora purses her lips. All of a sudden, my heart drops, because I know what’s about to happen, have seen it coming for weeks now even though she still comes to visit and share my bed every now and then. Things just ain’t ever been the same since Josie passed, and while we kept right on trucking along, something was bound to give eventually.

  Which is why it comes as no surprise when Noora comes right out and says it. “Tammy back there?” she begins, gesturing at some girlie in the crowd who I’ve probably met but don’t care to recollect. “Her parents own a shipping company that runs routes all the way to the west coast, but they’ve been having issues with bandits and Abby in recent days. They asked Tammy to keep an eye out for any promising hires, and she said I’d be a shoe in for the job. Pays really well and they go all over the Frontier, so I accepted the offer and will be leaving with her after Basic.”

  “I see,” I say, because what else is there to say?

  “Tammy’s home is five-day boat trip away,” Noora continues, knowing I’ve seen the writing on the wall, but unable to get right to it. “And they have plenty of unclaimed land that’s already been cleared out nearby, so I’m in talks to sell Josie’s place and stake a claim out there. I’ll pay you back the three grand you gave me, and maybe more depending on how much the house sells for.”

  She sputters out, since that’s all the small talk she’s got, leaving only the heavy stuff to wade through. After a short pause, I help her out and say, “Makes sense. No point going back and forth all that way, so might as well start planning for the future.”

  One that don’t include me it seems, which is the subtext neither of want to touch on. So we stand there in awkward silence, her with her hands in her pockets, me with mine folded in front of my stomach, and it’s a long minute before I find my voice again. “Well,” I rasp, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat, “Don’t worry about the money. I wish you all the best, Noora.”

  “Howie.” Giving me a look that’s less woe and more exasperation, Noora reaches out to take my hand. While I don’t exactly flinch, she can tell I don’t want to be touched either, so she stops short and bites her lip, trying to find the words that would make this alright. Ain’t none to be said though, so she’s quiet for a bit, until it all bubbles over into frustration and she hits back with, “Can we just sit down and talk about this?”

  “What’s there to talk about?” There’s no heat in the words, no accusation or anger, just a plain statement of fact. “You’ve made your decision. It’s a good one. Get you a home out west where there less Abby, and a job that’ll let you see more of the Frontier just like you’ve always wanted. I’m happy for you.”

  “You don’t sound happy,” she says, giving me a look that is both accusation and apology.

  “Well, happy for you don’t mean I can’t be sad for me,” I say, and the open honesty takes her by surprise. “I’ll be fine though. Knew you wasn’t ready to settle down, that you always kept your options open and exits close. Told you months ago, if you want to be here, we’ll figure it out together, but if you want out, I won’t do nothin’ besides cry to watch you leave.” Heaving a sigh, I shake my head and say, “Don’t got much tears left to me, but don’t change the facts none. This is your decision, like I said it was, so I accept and support it, even if I wish things were otherwise.”

  It's all very practical and matter of fact, but I can’t let myself get emotional, not here, not now, not in front of this crowd. At least Tina ain’t here to watch, and I doubt she knew about Noora’s decision either else she’d have given the game away with her hangdog expression. Like the one Noora’s wearing now, all sad and lost like I’m the one leaving her instead of the other way around. I ain’t trying to be cold, but since the bell been rung, why drag things out you know?

  So I take the coward’s way out and say, “Well, if you need any help with the paperwork, you should ask Aunty Ray. We had a good run, but I gotta head home.” She don’t say nothing, just stands there all teary eyed like she don’t understand why I won’t talk things out, so much so I can’t force myself to walk away. “What then?” I ask, with more heat than I mean to. “What is it you want to talk about? What else is there to say?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she whispers, and if my heart hadn’t already been broken twice, the tears in her beautiful hazel eyes would shatter it to pieces. “It’s just… I know you won’t leave, and I don’t want to stay, not when there's so much to see and do out there.”

  “I know.” Reaching out to stroke her cheek, it takes everything I got not to wrap her in my arms when she leans in to my touch, but I hold fast because I don’t know if I can make it through a second goodbye. Not even sure if I can make it through this one, which is why I been trying to rabbit, but it seems she needs more than a fast farewell. “Still did though. Hurt me that is.” I eke out a sad smile as she lets out some sorta mix between a sob and a laugh, because she knows it’s true. She didn’t talk it out with me, ask me my thoughts on the job offer or see how I’d feel about tagging along. Then again, I done already rejected her when she asked me to run away after Josie’s funeral. Couldn’t do it then, and can’t do it now, so I suppose she saw the writing on the wall too.

  So I say what she needs to hear, and what I don’t want to admit, because I love her so, and she don’t love me the same. “Ain’t no one’s fault,” I whisper, leaning in close to touch my forehead to hers, and she shudders and sinks in because she’s so relieved. Relieved to hear the truth in my tone and know I don’t blame her, ain’t angry because she’s leaving or hate her for not staying. “We had a good run,” I conclude, because that there is the truth, but what I don’t say is that I hope she’ll one day realize she’s made a mistake and will come back to me in time.

  Because as beautiful as hope may be, I got no hope for our future together. I’m just a page in her history, one she’s ready to move past, and I am genuinely happy to see her find the strength to move on and strike out on her own. She got courage in spades, enough to overcome her past and push forward into the future. I just wish we could’ve pushed forward together, but I guess it ain’t to be. Why would it? Even though we both loved Josie, Noora’s made her peace, is ready to move on and find new love and happiness, while I’m still clinging to my grief because it’s all I got left.

  “Everything alright?” Interrupting our literal tête-à-tête, Dave wanders over with his hand on his gun to see what’s what, and all my sorrow turns to ash in the heat of my rage. Noora senses it too, feels me tense up and take a deep breath in a barely restrained effort to keep myself in check, and she places her hand on my chest to hold me back. Dave don’t see it though, walks right up without a thought in his head, which I can tell because he asks, “He bothering you?”

  “No,” Noora replies, far too quickly. “We’re fine. He’s…” ‘My boyfriend’ is what she was gonna say, but freezes up because that ain’t true anymore. Instead, she takes my left hand and grips it tight against her cheek with her sweetest smile, because she knows I got my hatchet and knife on my left. “There’s nothing wrong. We’re just having a private conversation.”

  “You sure?” Dave asks, giving her what he probably thinks is a reassuring look, like he can handle whatever may come when he’s only still breathing because I don’t to deal with the hassle that’ll come from killing him dead. With plenty of cause mind you, in justifiable self defense any number of times before today, but Dave is so dumb he could swim through a pool of brain eating bacteria and come out same as before. “Because if he’s bothering you – ”

  “He’s not,” Noora clarifies, turning off the charms as her tone turns harsh. “But you are, so if you could please leave us alone?”

  “Shoo fly, shoo,” I say, because I know that’s exactly how to get him to stay. Gently moving Noora to my left, I make sure she ain’t between me and Dave and gesture at Cowie to hold firm. Can’t have him getting involved, or risk harm to any bystanders, so I take a wide step to the right too, which gets Dave all twitchy as he pivots to keep me in front of him. Ain’t nothing but my boat behind me now, so I give the portly guard a sneer and ask, “What? She said she’s fine and asked you to leave. You heard it. I heard it. So why you still here? Does make me curious though, Dave.” The boots have all come in close, and one fella, some fool named Randy who sweet on Noora and hates me something fierce, he tries to usher Noora away only to get rebuffed and glared at. Works for me though, as I put her out of mind and look Dave dead in the eyes from less than 5 feet away. “Hypothetically,” I begin, making no effort to mask my disdain, “Let’s say Noora there were to say she wasn’t fine. That I was bothering her. What the fuck you think you gonna do about it, Dave?”

  Put that harsh uptick on his name, the same one that turns the word ‘boy’ into an ugly slur. He hears it, and don’t like it none, as his expression turns all dark and grim. “You watch your tone,” he says, eyes flicking down to my hands which I got folded in front of my stomach again, but even that’s got him all nervous and twitchy. Though ready to draw, he also standing on the back foot, meaning he’ll be backpedalling soon as he pulls and have no stability to speak of when he shoots. Pathetic is what this is, especially since I don’t got a gun, but I ain’t about to let him off so easy.

  “Or what, Dave?” I ask, with a little tilt of my head. “What you gonna do? Bet you been dreaming of this for months now, how you gonna put me in my place. Go on then. Let’s see it.”

  “You will show me proper respect, boy,” he snarls, shrinking down even further so he bent at the waist like the letter C, and it’d be comical if it wasn’t so sad.

  “That’s the thing,” I say, shaking my head. “I been giving you far more respect than you deserve, because you ain’t deservin’ of none.” That straightens him out, as his pride overcomes his fear and he even inches forward a tick. “I’ve killed outlaws I respect more than you. Look at yourself Dave. Your fat ass is a fuckin’ joke, ready to rabbit the second I look your way even though I ain’t done nothin’ to no one. I ain’t even armed, yet you still standing there with your hand on your gun trying to look all tough and in control. Your shift ended hours ago and you ain’t got no cause to be here, much less approach me, and yet here you are. So I’mma ask you again Dave,” I say, breaking eye contact to give him a second to muster up what little courage he got. “What the fuck you gonna do, you spineless sack of shit?”

  He pulls his gun of course, because that’s what all weak men do when they want to appear strong, but I’m quicker and close in to headbutt him hard. As he reels back from the hit, I grab his wrist just as the gun clears his holster. Fool that he is, he had the hammer cocked and it goes off all the same, delivering a Bolt into the stone dock by his foot. Unwilling to let things end here, I drive my elbow into his nose and am rewarded with a satisfying crack. As he goes down hard, I lift his gun and hand both out of the holster, then break his wrist and fingers wrenching it out of his grip to clatter to the stones below, all while twisting his arm straight back until it pops out of his shoulder and keep going for good measure, a series of events that happen in the blink of an eye and elicit a howl of agony from the stupid bastard’s throat.

  I yearn to do more, drive my knee into his chest and beat him bloody, or draw my hatchet and sink it into his skull instead of letting him off easy and giving him a chance to come at me again. I stop myself short though, because I done missed my chance, so I glare at Randy instead, who’s dumb enough to draw his Squire and point it straight at me. Though Noora’s got her hands clamped around his wrist with the Etches on her shock gauntlet glowing and ready to deliver a jolt, she don’t want to use it since the fool already has his finger on the trigger and the hammer cocked to boot. So instead of laying into Dave like he deserves, I give Randy a sneer to tell him I see him for the coward he is, and decide I don’t much care for him either. “Best aim for the head,” I say, surprising both him and Noora, because we can all see he’s aiming centre mass. Tapping my chest, I explain, “I’m wearing armoured plates, and that Squire don’t shoot more than once a second, so if you pull that trigger, and you don’t kill me with your first shot, then you can damn well be sure I’mma kill you, Randy.”

  Takes a few seconds for my words to sink in as I stand over the groaning, bleeding Dave with my hands well away from my weapons. I done read Randy true as the coward averts his eyes and lowers his gun with shaky hands. Noora plucks it right out his hands, but I pay it no mind as I put my hands behind my head and surrender to the guards, who get a few hits in while cuffing me up and dropping me to the ground. Gonna be late getting home, but wasn’t like I got much waiting for me, so I rest my bleeding head on the stone docks and lawyer up while feeling somewhat relieved to be going to jail.

  Sucks for the kiccaws who’re stuck in their cage, but Tina or Aunty Ray will get them and Cowie soon enough, and I don’t gotta talk to Noora anymore. Hell of way to get outta an awkward conversation, but all things considered, I’d say well worth the hassle.