Clean up is a bitch.

  Ain’t no avoiding it though, unless I care to risk prison time, so best to do things right. To start, I walk the house and clean up all the brass I spent, particularly the 7.62x51mm cartridges since I was the only one shooting them. Doubly so since I got the ammo from Clayton, and while I wiped them down and repacked them, better safe than sorry. 7.62 NATO they call it, to differentiate from all the other 7.62 ammo out there. Makes a man wonder why a Soviet gun fires NATO rounds, and it’s pretty interesting, in that the Ogre’s Bane was designed round about the time of the Second World War, when the Allies were supplying the Soviets with ammo and the Soviets produced guns to match. Little slice of history there, as Soviets typically use 7.62x39mm for their assault rifles and 7.62x54mmR for larger rifles.

  Facts I focus on to keep myself awake and alert while picking brass up off the ground.

  The next port of call is to get rid of the recordings, because this whole fight got caught on candid camera and I don’t need that sort of evidence floating around. Since I know Mia was watching from inside the saferoom, that’s the first place I check, and lo and behold, I find a wall full of monitors I’m tempted to rip out and bring home. Expensive stuff, even though they just crystal screens with a bunch of tubes and diodes and shit inside, but alas, they’re heavy as sin and I’m in no shape to be carrying all that out. Don’t take much to find the crystal storage system, which ain’t nothing but a tray with wires, circuits, and other doodads etched or soldered on, as well as three hexagonal quartz crystals that are long as my hand and thick as two fingers. With crystals that large, there’s probably months of recordings on each one, but I doubt there’s anything incriminating on them. Mobsters are smart enough to talk in code 24/7, which is where Mia went wrong, so I doubt they dumb enough to carry out business at home when they know they on candid camera.

  So I collect all three crystals to destroy in what might well be the most roundabout method available, using the Primal Savagery Cantrip to sharpen my fingernails and turn them into an Acid delivery system. Five drops of Acid at a time, that’s how I destroy them crystals, because crushing and grinding them up ain’t good enough. Takes a good while, so much so that I get halfway through the first before realizing I ought to make better use of my limited time. Pocketing the crystals, I mosey on out back and use Prestidigitation to clean up all my blood, alongside a liberal application of Water Sphere and Control Water to clean things extra neat.

  All of which is only necessary because I don’t want to burn the house down. Not after Francis back there mentioned his books, which might prove useful should the Feds manage to find them and crack the code. A big ask, I know, especially with all the red tape regarding jurisdiction and chain of custody for evidence and whatnot, but so long as there’s a chance to clean up more criminals on the Frontier, I gotta at least let the Feds try.

  On the plus side, I take apart every camera on the premises and confiscate the Record Video Spell Cores contained within, as they’re pretty common, but also highly in demand, so they ain’t all that cheap. I’ve no intention of selling them, since I got a feeling I’ll need a good security system moving forward, and these Record Video Cores gives me a good start. What’s even better is the cut from the safe’s proceeds belonging, the single portion I didn’t burn up with Fireball, one belonging to the fella I shot before talking to Mikey and Francis. Wasn’t expecting much, but inside the rucksack, I find a baggie of gemstones, about two kilos of Abertin, and various 100g bars of gold, silver, and platinum to boot, which gets me to picking through the cinders to salvage whatever I can. Last but not least, I snag Mikey’s intact Abjurer’s badge to melt down for scrap, as it’s about a 150g of pure Orichalcum that can handle high heat and is probably worth more than everything else I’ve packed away combined.

  Honestly, I don’t even know how Orichalcum is made. That’s how rare and expensive it is, so waste not want not.

  Not a bad score, even if I ain’t all that concerned with material gain. Doesn’t mean I’m willing to leave it all behind for someone else to benefit, since this windfall is better off with me. Leaving the building unburned ain’t ideal, but I content myself with dragging Francis’ battered body away atop a Floating Disc. By now, the sun has risen and folks ought to be getting a start to their day, but the people of Brightpick know better than to come out before someone gives the all clear. No idea who’s gonna do that now that the Mafia is more or less taken care of. Who knows? Maybe the Sheriff will get off his corrupt ass and do his job for once. Lucky for me, I don’t come across anyone besides the odd face peeking out from the window, ones that disappear right quick soon as they see my cargo floating along behind me. Bring it right out to the southern gates I do, taking the main street with gun in hand, my goggles over my eyes, a kerchief over my mouth, and not a care in the world, because I want everyone to see what happens when you fuck with me.

  You get your hands shot, feet burned, teeth kicked, and torso melted with Acid, that’s what.

  I dump Francis at the gate, leaving him spread eagle in all his grisly glory on the ground, then scratch out two words in the dirt above his head. ‘Frontier Justice’. That’s all I got to say, and all that needs to be said, so I head on out to put this town in my six. My stolen horses ain’t far from here, and they got a mighty thirst and hunger when I find them, so I focus on their needs before climbing up into the saddle and making a beeline for Mueller’s Quay. Terrible idea really, as it’s a long, 12-hour ride that’ll bring me closer to the Ranger reinforcements no doubt headed towards Brightpick, when I really want to be riding away.

  Still a trip I gotta make all the same, but I won’t lie and say I’m optimistic about my chances of getting away clean. I don’t pay no mind to the facts though, just focus on staying in the saddle while slowly melting the crystals with my Cantrip by tap-tap-tapping away with my Acid-infused talons. Keep off the road too, because even though it’ll slow me down, it’ll give me a chance to see or hear any traffic before they spot me. A tough ask if I’m up against Rangers, but I’ll take every advantage I can get while I still can.

  Thankfully, my caution is rewarded about 3 hours into the ride, when I come across the very people I’m looking to talk to. They make for a strange sight to be sure, a bunch of overweight men, women, and children carried atop of Floating Discs or sitting in one of two stagecoaches driven by 8 blonde horses that ain’t horses at all. No, they’re Conjured Constructs, which is different from Summons, but I ain’t all that clear on the finer details. All I know is that even though they look like living animals, they don’t move like them at all as them steeds get to hot-stepping along with heads raised and legs in perfect sync. I ain’t talking about paired movements, but rather all 8 of them cream coloured ‘horses’ be moving at the same clip, like soldiers in formation with eyes forward, chests puffed, and heads held high on parade march.

  That’s some serious magical juice right there, as each one of them horses is a Third Order Spell. Conjure Mount, which as the name suggests, doesn’t necessarily mean you summon horses, but far as I can tell, most do. It’s a favourite with the Chevaliers, who use it to summon all manner of Constructs to ride for about 8 hours at a time, usually ones that can fly to really make things interesting. Cheaper than feeding a Magical Beast, and if someone shoots it out from under you, you can just summon another one as you please. Real convenient if not for the fact that it’s a Third Order Spell, and I always figured there were better uses for that sort of juice than Conjuring up a flying horsie.

  That said, even allowing for skill and familiarity with the Spell, 8 Conjured horsies is a whole lot to invest in time-limited transportation. Even if you can get a two or three for one deal like Carter with his bears, that’s 3 or 4 Third Order Spells from presumably one Spellslinger, since the chances of there being 2 Magus level Spellslingers familiar with the Spell laying low in Mueller’s Quay is lower than low. Then again, that’s assuming they Orthodox Spellslingers, while Luisa herself told me she was something else. Maybe it’s some of her old ways that she taught the others, a Ritual of sorts or something, and Conjuring 8 horses that move smoother and faster than any horse I ever seen ain’t all that taxing. Still impressive though, which means I shouldn’t underestimate the strange, smiling, food-obsessed folks who I been working alongside for weeks.

  A lesson learned too late, as I spot a head swivel towards me, only for the rest to do the same when that first one points me out. The convoy comes to a sudden halt, smoother and faster than any real horses could manage, especially considering how heavy laden their wagons seem. A familiar figure steps out from the lead carriage, and Mr. Mueller does a little stretch, balling his fists and driving them into his lower back while arching up to face the sky. Then and only then does he call out, but not in a loud, booming shout. “Howie, come on out and let’s talk,” he says, sounding like he’s standing only a few meters away as he raises both hands and waves. “I know you must’ve heard some stories, so we’ve come out to clear things up, but we all in a race against the clock here.”

  It’s not a Minor Illusion allowing him to speak with me so plainly, as he’s gotta see me to sling one, and I done melted back into the shadows. Nor is it Thaumaturgy amplifying his voice, since he’d be a lot louder if he was, which leaves Bardcraft same as Clayton. Man’s throwing his voice to a point very close to where I’m hidden, and he can only do that if he knows more or less where I am.

  How’d they spot me though? A question asked and answered, but not quick enough. Mervyn’s son Lynn was a real ace with Detect Magic, and so’s Kevin, so it shouldn’t come as any surprise to learn there are others who can spot my Magic too, as my Hearing Protection, Mage Armour, and Wildshaped Hand are all still going strong. I dunno what it is they see, because I don’t see much with Detect Magic myself, not unless I look carefully, but that’s on me. With nothing else for it, and because I don’t see no one carrying any weapons, I ride on out for a talk. With the Ogre’s Bane in hand of course, and my Mage Hands on the twin Judges out in the open, as I done already burned my bloodied, tattered jacket and flatcap soon as I left town. Don’t got much else to draw on besides my Mage Armour, as I done used my last Barkskin potion in the big house. Got an Entangle Grenade, a couple Flashbangs, and a Fog Bomb or three, as well as Potion of Melding and a dozen Fumigation Potions to round things out, because I didn’t have cause to close the mines down for another week.

  Almost did it anyways just to say ‘fuck you’ to the Feds, but that’d only punish the regular folks working hard to raise three towns south of Redeemer’s Keep, so I figured best to live and let live.

  All in all, a poor arsenal to go into a fight against magically adept cultists, but Mr. Mueller is being so cordial and down to earth about it, I can’t really bring myself to treat them like criminals and outlaws. The smiling denizens of the quay all greet me in their customary manner, like I’m back for another week of work or something, but Mr. Mueller waves them all off and they back down real polite like. Me, I scan the crowd and see Becca and Brittany, Kevin and Holly, Brenden and Susan, and plenty others, but it’s the one’s missing that stand out. Like Lauren, who’s absence speaks volumes when I see her husband Mervyn standing there with his smile, but their son Lynn all red-eyed and ruddy cheeked.

  Easy enough to guess what happened, but it’s jarring to see how happy go lucky most the adults are, while the kids are all shell-shocked and grieving.

  Mr. Mueller grins like it’s just another day on the docks, rocking back and forth on his heels with his thumbs in his belt while looking me over with keen eye. “You look like death warmed over,” he says in a joking tone, and I might be imagining it, but he seems like he got a fair few new wrinkles around his eyes today. “Must have been some fight up in Brightpick.”

  “Hear tell y’all seen your fair share of action too,” I reply, glancing over the audience to see how they react. Like I done complimented their cooking for the most part, all bashful and proud, though the younger kids don’t react much, while the older ones are serious as can be. Including Kevin, who got his jaw squared and back straight as he stands with head held high with his sister at his side, almost like he’s daring me to say word one about him and his being cultists. I ain’t ever one to back down from a challenge though, so I add, “Heard some other things too. Disturbing things. Things I don’t want to believe, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.”

  Mr. Mueller don’t say nothing, and I don’t list out what I know, because honestly, it ain’t much. The empty crab traps weren’t for catching crabs, but feeding Abby. The gathering in the middle of the night was probably for some nefarious Ritual, while their morning Rituals allowed them to all but ignore the Mindspire might well have been tailor made for it, passed down by the Proggie direct so not to disturb its congregation of cultists. The beige clothing was probably to keep Abby calm, as opposed to any cattle or hoggis, and now that I think about it, I don’t think there was any big buyer for their foodstuffs. No, I think they used their herds as bait to lure the Proggie out of its nest so they could save it from the Rangers, because I done accidentally let slip that they were moving on it soon enough.

  A betrayal which hurts more than anything else, if I’m being honest. Thought they were friendly, forthright, salt of the earth people, when in fact they was anything but, calling me over to their Quay for their own nefarious reasons rather than looking to help me out.

  “Look,” Mr. Mueller begins, with a hangdog look that is all too convincing to be anything besides genuine. “I know what you thinking, but let me explain.” Taking a deep breath, he glances around at his people and says, “Yes. We are what the world refers to as cultists, but we don’t worship Progenitors, nor do we worship Aberrations. What we worship is the Nahuatl faith, one started by the Aztecs and practised throughout most of South America for thousands of years until it was vilified by the Espa?a Conquistadores following their failed attempt to colonize the continent.”

  “So you telling me you don’t got a Deviant stashed away in one of these wagons?” I ask, willing to give them the benefit of a doubt.

  “Oh we do,” Mr. Mueller responds, far too casually for my liking, but he sees me grip my rifle right and doesn’t flinch one bit. Keeps his thumbs in his belt too, showing he ain’t waggling no fingers, which I appreciate, but don’t make me feel any safer. Mostly because I don’t see Luisa in the crowd, and I overheard Francis calling her their High Priestess, which gotta mean she’s got a good amount of juice in the Spellslinging department. “You don’t understand though,” Mr. Mueller continues, with the look of a man struggling to find the words to say what he means. “It’s not the Aberration we worship, but rather the soul within.”

  “Aberrations don’t have souls.” The words come out as a snarl, the hatred bubbling out from within, because I done spent my whole life killing Abby and seen them do things no creature with a soul could ever stomach.

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one,” Mr. Mueller replies, cool as a cucumber despite standing unarmed in front of a man who just racked up a three figure kill count in the last 24 hours. “According to the Nahuatl Faith, we believe that the Progenitor is a vessel for change, a creature that connects our world to the thirteen Heavens and nine Netherworlds. Since our world is so full of life, and the Heavens and Netherworlds devoid of it, the Progenitors consume what is here to replenish teotl within those other worlds, and it does so by taking souls and transforming them into a vehicle that allows for the transfer of teotl back to the other worlds.” Seeing my blank stare, Mr. Mueller explains without asking. “Teotl is a sacred energy that flows through all of existence, the stuff of stars, Spells, souls, and more. It is the very fabric of reality, that which shapes the cosmos and is made manifest by natural phenomenon and conjured through works of art, drawn from Faith and Emotion and harnessed through Rituals and acts of devotion.”

  “…So Aether?”

  I ain’t being flippant. I’m genuinely asking, which is why Mr. Mueller grimaces, but doesn’t get upset. “Aether is akin to candlelight,” he says, “While teotl is the stuff of suns. Similar at first glance, in that they both give off heat and light, but the more you look into it, the more different it becomes, and not just as a matter of scale.”

  Which I don’t really understand, since I don’t know much about suns or stars. Seeing that, Mr. Mueller heaves a sigh and says, “For your purposes, think of it as the difference between a Spell Core powered by Aether, and an Ability powered by Faith. Similar, but different in almost every way that counts.” That does the trick, because at least I understand one half of the equation, and know enough about the second to admit ignorance. “Suffice to say that even though the Heavens and Netherworlds contain Aether, they lack the spark required to turn it into teotl, while our plane of existence overflows with that much needed ingredient. Don’t ask what it is,” he says, cutting me off before I can speak. “I don’t know either.”

  “Okay,” I say, keeping my head on a swivel as I watch out for the Deviant, which has got me on edge ever since he admitted of its existence. Even a baby Deviant can be dangerous, same as a baby Proggie, so I don’t much like knowing there’s one lurking out of sight within 50m of my person. “So you think the Proggie is an engine of Divine Energy, and you feed it to… do what? Bank heavenly dollars for your next life?” Seeing so many eyes narrow in offense, all from the older folk and all at once, I heave a sigh and explain, “I ain’t being flippant. The Qin burn paper money so folks in the afterlife can pay their tolls and bribe the judges for a better life on their next spin in the cycle of reincarnation.”

  Which smooths their collectively ruffled feathers, and Mr. Mueller replies with a shake of his head. “No, we make our offerings for the souls trapped within. Give them food that reminds them of who they were before they were changed, so that they might find themselves again.” Which strikes a note with what Carter told me, albeit in a whole different octave. “More practically,” he continues, seeing that he’s losing me quick, “Is that feeding the Aberrations and carrying out our Rituals make them no longer see us as prey.”

  Shrugging, he continues, “That’s how we all got on board to begin with really. We were all sick and tired of losing friends and body parts to Aberrations every other week, while the Rangers made promises they couldn’t keep. That’s when I found Luisa, living out in the wilds by her lonesome, and when she told us why Abby left her alone, we went along with her just to try it out. That’s how desperate we were Howie, willing to cook a five-star meal for mudkippers and merhounds and leave it out for them to eat.” Which explains why they cook so much and never have any leftovers. Then again, if they wasn’t feeding Abby, then all that food would go to them anyways, as well as their bodies to boot.

  Can’t say I approve, feeding Aberrations like that, but can’t really blame a man for being desperate enough to try. That said, I can blame them for other things, so I purse my lips and make ready to fight as I aim for a nerve with my next words. “So you switched sides to back Abby in their war against humanity,” I say, my narrowed eyes taking in every face and hand I see, ready to open up the instant I see a threat. “You used to be a soldier, so you ought to know what we call folks like that. Traitors and turn coats, and you know what happens to them.”

  “We have no betrayed humanity,” Luisa says, her voice coming loud and clear from a carriage behind the crowd, and the matronly woman steps out from within a second later. “No more than the people of New Hope have betrayed everyone outside their walls. We needed protection, so we sought it out from those who would provide, but we have no harmed others in the process.”

  Meaning Aberrations, not the Rangers, and it stings to hear her words ring true. Yeah, the Feds don’t do much of anything for folks outside of official towns. Seen that for myself firsthand, so why should it come as a surprise when folks go to great lengths to protect themselves? Still don’t make it right though, because Abby is an enemy to us all, one that will turn on Luisa and the rest should the Proggie ever grow hungry enough. A fact I ain’t shy about sharing out loud, though in much nicer words. To my surprise, Luisa nods along and explains, “Yes. This I know, for my Abuelita told me so. The Progenitor, it is merely a vessel, a tool, one that will consume all that it can for that is its purpose, but this is not so for Aberrations. They are its servants who serve it in order to serve the Gods, unaware that we too serve the same Gods they revere.”

  Now things are getting weird, and I don’t like it one bit. Luisa sees it as she wanders on over with a pursed lip glower. “You doubt because you were raised to wage war against them,” she says, coming to a stop in front of me and frowning even more when I don’t dismount from my horse. “But the Aberrations are not your enemy.”

  “I seen different,” I reply, flashing back to all the scenes of gruesome battles I been in and grisly scenes I’d picked apart in search of clues for what happened. “They’re monsters who delight in hunting and killing, who drag living prey back to their Proggies to serve as incubators and sustenance. They’ll scale walls and pillage a town with murderous glee and snack on a man’s living flesh without mercy or hesitation. If that don’t scream enemy of humanity, then what would?”

  “Wulves will hunt humans,” Luisa retorts, matching my stare with an intensity of a true believer who won’t be told otherwise. “And yet, humans tamed them into dogs to hunt alongside them. My ancestors tamed the Aberrations, woke the souls trapped within to reclaim their humanity and fight alongside them against Progenitor and enemies both. With their new allies, they conquered vast swathes of lands and rules uncontested for thousands of years because they protected their people from Aberration attacks. Did you know? A Progenitor will stop at nothing to kill a Deviant, for they see them as predators, competitors, and traitors to their cause, but my people scoured the continent clean of them, a feat unmatched by any other civilization in history. The Aztecs offered safety and abundance to all under their rule, until the would be Espa?a Conquistadores turned the world against our faith.” Gesturing at herself and the people around her, Luisa adds, “We are no conquerors though. We gave only the dead over to the vessel, sacrificed only the willing and the judged, and for this, we were rewarded with strength, safety, and prosperity when the Gods smile down upon us.”

  Seeing my doubts etched clearly on my face, Luisa snorts and turns away. “I will show you. Matías!” She calls, raising her voice in volume and pitch like I do when I’m talking to Cowie. What follows is a torrent of Espa?ol which goes by too quickly for me to understand, save to say that it seems like she’s coaxing someone out to say hi. Which proves correct as a big, white, froggie head pokes out of the carriage Luisa just same out of, one that slowly blinks as it acclimates to the light. I aim my Ogre’s Bane to kill off what’s left of the one Proggie my daddy never could catch, but Luisa turns on a dime, steps in front of the barrel, and gives me a matronly glare that keeps me from lighting the thing up.

  Well, that and the fact that the froggie done pulled his head back in. Only to peek out again, this time showing only it’s eyes, like a scared kid looking out from the doorway. Annoys me to see such human mannerisms in an inhuman monster, but Luisa coaxes it a little more, sounding all cheery and bright, and wouldn’t you know it, the froggie steps out. Or rather oozes out, as it sorta pours itself down the stairs until there’s enough white gooey stuff to turn into a thick froggie leg. Does the same for its second leg, then its rotund lower body and barrel-chested frame, all while its head is still inside the carriage and peeking out from the door mind you. When everything under the neck is already standing and waiting outside, the head finally comes out too, with the pieces all coming together into a rotund, white froggie with no claws or talons to speak off, and frighteningly human mannerisms as it wrings it froggie fingers and dawdles outside the carriage.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Ven acá, mi amor,” Luisa croons, which I know enough to know means, ‘come here my love’. Odder still is the fact that the froggie responds, its head perking up and eyes darting over as it goes does to all fours and slowly hops on over. Well, hop might be stretching it, but it moves about how you’d imagine an overweight frog would, though there are times when it seems to stretch more than it should while bits and bobs of it float out of place every now and then. “You must forgive him,” Luisa says, still standing right in front of my gun as the giant, white frog arrives at her side, looming over her in height and at least thrice her width, yet hunkering down to look over her shoulder from behind her back while fixing its pitch-black eyeballs on me. “He is afraid, for he remembers you well, and fears that you will kill him as you did his kin.”

  Blinking a few times to process what she said, I put the pieces together and reel back a bit. “This is the skinny white ranakin that almost did me in at Carter’s,” I say, giving it a glare while wishing I had Mental Fortress handy to protect against Mind Whip and other Enchantments. “It’s also the one that done stole Clayton’s people.”

  “All at the behest of the Progenitor,” Luisa explains, using a tone that says in no uncertain terms her boy is not to blame. “Before we broke him free of his chains and brought him back to himself. The Progenitor needed flesh and succor, to replenish what it spent building the Mindspire, so all its minions were tasked to hunt, my Matías included.” Turning to pat its chubby cheek with a smile, my stomach flops to see it lean into her touch, acting all fond and meek for some reason or another. That’s a Deviant, one with strength enough to tear us all apart on a whim. With a gooey body like it has, I bet Bolts would pierce right through it without doing much of anything at all, though I ain’t ever heard of no Abby like this.

  Luisa don’t care though, because she don’t see a monster. She see’s her son, which is just all sorts of crazy. “When my boy died,” she begins, her mind a million miles away, “I gave his body to the Gods as the old ways decreed, set his body upon an altar and sent out the call. The Aberrations answered, arriving soon after to carry him away to be reborn anew. Though it was many years before we were reunited, I knew it was my Matías the second I laid eyes on him, so skinny and weak. Then and there, I made my connection with him, opened my heart and soul so that he might see me for who I am, his mother who loves him so.”

  Not gonna lie. If that wasn’t a massively overweight Aberration, and some sort of Magical Beast instead, I would say they do look awful close and familial, but I know Abby don’t got no hearts or souls. Nor do Deviants, but I hear they got intelligence and cunning in spades, making me think this here is a game. It’s gotta be, a trick to make these folks feed and protect it while it’s still weak and feeble, and I won’t be convinced otherwise.

  Luisa don’t pay me any mind though, talking about how happy she was to see him again, and know that her son had come back to life. “So for a time, I watched over him as best I could,” Luisa continues. “Oh how I worried for his safety, knowing his soul was bound to serve the Progenitor, one that had grown mad in recent years. It yearned to be free of the constraints placed upon it by the Rangers for some time now you see. Half-starved and never able to fill its belly, the Progenitor raised the Mindspire to rid itself of its pests, not understanding that this would be its undoing. A raid every other month and a dozen lives a year? This is easily ignored, but a Mindspire disrupted too much trade and economy, a cardinal sin in the eyes of greedy, power-hungry tyrants of the Federation.”

  Heaving a sigh that I can’t help but empathize with, Luisa continues, “So our hand was forced. We made our preparations, watched how you manipulated the flows of the Mould Earth Cantrip, and designed a Ritual to bring us down into the depths of the earth.” Which is almost the craziest thing she’s said yet, and that’s a high bar to leap over, but she don’t give me time to ask nothing as she tells all. “Once there, we hatched out plan to do away with the mad Progenitor, spent days luring it into a trap with our cattle and hogs, then struck it a death blow once it was caught and complacent. Once it was dead, I feed its essence to my Matías so that he might reclaim all that he’d lost, but still he was not whole, and I despaired.”

  Turning to me with a smile that is both warm and frightening to behold, Luisa claps her hands in supplication. “Then you come, and say you will bring war to the Puglianos, and I understand what the Gods have planned for us. Together, we lure Ignazio out of his fortress, and give him over to my Matías to have his revenge.” As if on cue, the froggie’s belly splits apart, and out comes the Don himself, all wide-eyed and terrified and very much still alive, albeit naked and totally out of it. He just pops out and stands there, seeing, hearing, and saying nothing, eyes white and mouth agape in a silent scream. “My boy, he will not let this one die quick,” Luisa says, and the only upside is how green in the gills so many of the other cultists get, including Mr. Mueller and Kevin. Luisa don’t see it though, as she’s fixated on my expression, one that’s got no mercy for the man stood before me, since it’s more or less what I had planned for Mia. Only difference is Ignazio’s gonna be breeding a Deviant, and I don’t know enough about the subject to say if that changes much, other than to say that Deviants don’t reproduce all that often.

  “Now my son is returned to me,” Luisa declares, and the froggie leans in to touch its head against hers, like it’s in full agreement, which is frightening on so many levels. “No longer will he hunt the innocent, and once he has come into his strength, he will become our Aspect of Gluttony, a guardian with power enough to protect us from our enemies, human and Aberration alike.” Reaching a hand out to me, Luisa continues, “And you! There is a place for you at our side too, the ōcēlōtl who made all this possible. We cannot stay, for the Rangers will find clues of my Matías’s existence, and they do no understand what he is. Too many escaped out into the forest to spread word of what we are, and the Church will come for us too, as they have sworn to eradicate all knowledge of the Faith for it threatens their own.” Eyes wide with hope and fanaticism, Lusia says, “So I ask you, Howie. Come with us. Protect us from those who would slaughter us unjustly. It was the Gods who strove to bring us together, and so the Gods still have plans for us all, and together, we will find our place here in this world. We will gather the other Aspects to us, and become the new Lords of the Night, wielding power enough to protect our own and ensure none shall ever harm us ever again.”

  I meet Luisa’s eyes for long seconds while working out how I feel. “All that sounds good and well,” I begin, unable to deny the truth. “Problem is, I ain’t as optimistic. Won’t just be the Rangers and the Church coming after you. The whole world will hunt you down once they hear there’s a Deviant on the loose, one being helped by humans no less.”

  “So come with us and protect us,” Luisa pleads. “We are no warriors, so it is your guidance that will make us complete, bring us away from the danger and see us through to safety while my Matías is still weak. This is your purpose, why you were brought before us, and why our goals aligned to these ends. We are no monsters, you know this in your heart. We are but people seeking to survive, no different from any others you or your father have spent your lives helping.”

  Which strikes a chord in me, because it’s a mission I don’t hate. A goal, an objective, a reason for living. To guard and protect, same as always, but problem is, I don’t believe that Deviant is worth protecting. “I’m sorry Luisa,” I say, gripping my rifle tight. “But that ain’t your son. Your boy died, and that there is a Deviant taking advantage of you.” Though she bristles to hear it, I push on through and continue. “You know it’s an Enchanter, right? Probably got all sorts of mind magics worked up on you, something as simple as Friendship and Charm or complex as Enthrall and Beguile.” Or Dominate, which is a 4th Order Spell, but who knows what a Deviant can do? They’re the worst of both worlds, an Aberration with the intelligence and Spellslinging capabilities of a Progenitor, and this one seems to be in the process of transforming. That’d explain the goop, because even though it looks like a fat ranakin right now, that won’t necessarily be what it ends up looking like after it’s completed its metamorphosis.

  “This is my son,” Luisa declares, unwilling to even entertain the possibility of being bilked, and there ain’t nothing I can say to change her mind. She knows it, and I know it too, except unlike me, she’s ready to act the moment things turn sour, while I’m still trying to do this gently as possible. There’s no warning, no finger waggling or chant, just a look and a grimace from Luisa as the Spell takes shape. The air hardens around me as my entire body goes stiff, unable to move so much as an eyebrow thanks to the Hold Person Spell cast upon me. Can’t even move my eyes, which are locked on Luisa’s, whose expression is fixed with misplaced conviction as she heaves a long and tired sigh. “I am sorry,” she begins, and for what it’s worth, I believe her. “I had hoped you would see it, for you are blessed by the Gods, but you are too fixed in your ways and unwilling to open your heart. Perhaps this will change with time, but for now, we have not the time to waste arguing with you on this matter, or worse, coming to blows.”

  Reaching out to pat me on the knee, she sets my wounds to tingling with the familiar feel of a Minor Regeneration Spell, then declares, “We leave now. Do not follow us, or we will have no choice but to defend ourselves. Know this to be true, Howie. Never have we harmed any innocents. I have never ordered my Matías or any Aberrations to attack anyone, nor will I unless we are attacked first. We only seek to survive, and the old ways have given us hope when your Federation would deny it to us. Not in malice, but indifference, yet to the dead, it is all the same.” Heaving one last sigh, she adds, “Should you change your mind, then work hard to come find us, and we will accept you with open arms. Otherwise, do no cross our paths, for though we cannot see eye to eye, you are still ōcēlōtl, our benefactor and friend.”

  I can’t really argue her point even if I wasn’t frozen in place atop my skittish horse, who stamps the ground and stands in place out of sheer fear as the Deviant eyes me from behind Luisa’s back. Not like he fixing to eat me either, but like he curious and interested enough to remember my face. It blinks, then blinks again, only the second time, its black orbs clear up to reveal a startlingly human pupil fixed in a sea of white, with eyes brown as Luisa’s and human as any I ever seen. All the while, the cultists get back on their wagons and Force Discs, muttering heartfelt apologies and statements about how they wished things were otherwise, or that I should look at things from their perspective and be more understanding. Truth is, if what they’re saying is true, I don’t really have anything to say about what they’re doing, save that I think they’re being played by a Deviant that’s gonna eat them one of these days.

  Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe their Gods are the real ones, and Christianity is made up and make believe. I’m already halfway to believing the latter, though that don’t bring me any closer to believing in Luisa’s Gods either. Mostly because if she’s right, then her Gods are the reason why Josie’s dead, so that they could lead me onto this path I’ve embarked on, and that I cannot abide. The sheer anger sets me to trembling within the Spell, and I focus on that in an effort to break free, send my rage and grief to crash against my invisible restraints.

  All for naught though, and while I’m struggling against the tide, Mr. Mueller is the last to come up, with his boy Kevin beside him. “This is for you,” the big man says, tucking a thick folder into one of my saddlebags and giving it a good pat. “That paperwork I said I’d help you with, and something of a surprise that might not be all that pleasant.” Heaving a sigh, he explains, “I was against it, because I figured it’d bring you all sorts of grief, but Luisa insisted because she wanted you provided for should you not come along with us. ‘Free to carry out his good work’, as she framed it.” Knuckling me gently on the shoulder like we chit chatting at work, he grins and adds, “Rest assured, this was all done without using any of our connections, since they all gotta uproot and get gone while the going is good.” Heaving another sigh, Mr. Mueller adds, “You might be in for a rough time. Our Faith is vilified and any association with us is gonna be seen in a negative light. I’m sorry about that, but if anyone can take it, I know it’d be you. Adapt and thrive, Howie. Adapt and thrive.”

  Though I got no idea what he’s going on about, Mr. Mueller clears his throat and adds, “Even though we had ulterior motives for asking you to work up here, you should know that I have always been genuinely grateful for what your father did for me. I’m sorry to have used you like this, and I wish things could’ve been different. You take care of yourself now, and I hope that we can one day meet again under better circumstances than we parted.”

  Having said his piece, Mr. Mueller heads off back to his carriage, leaving Kevin hanging back for a word. “You might’ve guessed it by now,” he says, though I don’t got no idea what he’s hinting at until he comes right out and says it. “But that argument you caught me having with Da? It was about this. I didn’t know anything about the Faith until after we worked together. All I knew is that we put out food in those traps and Abby left us alone. Night before we set out to dig though, Da sat me down and told me everything, outlined everything they done as well as their whole plan to kill the Proggie and create a Deviant. I thought it was crazy, but he told me all the ways the Abby have been keeping us safe this last decade and a bit.” Which means Matías was probably our age now that I think about it, but that’s neither here nor there. Instead, Kevin says, “You know who convinced me to accept it? You did. Because like you said, the world is ugly out there, and my Da? He’s just doing what he needs to in order to keep his people safe.”

  Which is a real kick in the gut, considering how conflicted I am over all this. Kevin has a bit more to say, mostly about all the books he done left behind and how he’d appreciate it if I either claimed them for myself or found good homes for them all, and some other small minor things. He ain’t done when the cultists are all ready to leave, so he rushes off just before they head out towards Brightpick. Moving at a fair rate of knots too, far as I can tell, though I only hear them for a minute. Not because they gone too far to hear, but because they done Spelled themselves to move silently I think. Which they didn’t do before so they could alert me to their presence I suppose, a goodwill gesture I didn’t notice at first.

  And still the Hold Person Spell keeps me locked in place, leaving me to wonder exactly how long I’ll be stuck here for.

  A few minutes at the very least, which is impressive considering the Spell only lasts 1 minute at base and requires Concentration right off the bat. Fact is, it’s still going strong when Carter appears before me without warning almost 10 minutes later, looking mighty concerned as he soothes the terrified horses and inspects me for injuries. He doesn’t say anything, just looks past me to convey something with that stoic expression of his. A few moments later, the Spell unravels around me and I can move again, so of course I turn to see who’s behind me. It’s Miss Amelie, which shouldn’t come as no surprise, except it is because she’s all furry and huge what with being a Diamondclaw and all. Still terrifying, but also rather cute, as is Elodie who scampers around in circles before me and spooks the horses something awful.

  “Thanks,” I say, dismounting just so I can feel the ground beneath my feet and find my bearings again. Regret it soon as I do, because everything hurts and the only thing keeping it at bay was the Red Sun balm and inertia. “What’re you doing out here?”

  “Caught wind of a battle last night,” Carter replies. “Went to see what was happening, and found a bunch of cultists slaughtering mafiosos.” Giving me a level look, he says, “Your work, I presume?” I shrug and give a sheepish nod, but before I can defend myself, he continues, “So I watched and waited, then followed them out, because a re-emergence of the Nahuatl Faith is a threat to us all. Luckily for me, you’ve mentioned their ability to see the flows of Aether, so I was able to remain concealed with help from my Amelie, where we were fortunate enough to overhear most of your conversation.” Yeah, Abjuration would be the way to go about it, hiding the flows of Aether from someone with Detect Magic. Illusion would just be more flows to see, and same with Conjuration or any other School really. Abjuration is in the business of Warding and confining, so blocking off the flows should be possible, though I’ve no idea how to go about it.

  As for Elodie, she seems much cheerier since I last saw her, though it’s difficult to gauge her mood in baby Diamondclaw form. Once she’s done scampering about in circles, she pops up on her hind legs and wraps her arms around my waist for a hug, which don’t get me wrong, is cute as all heck, but all sorts of wrong knowing this here is an actual person, not an animal looking for head pats. Still, I oblige her with a few all the same, and she squeaks in delight, while her mama looms over the both of us leaving me too scared to look up.

  As for Carter, he’s scary too, but in a different sort of way, all still and silent as a statue while his daughter digs my grave even deeper with her animalistic affections. He don’t mention it though, just watches as I awkwardly separate myself from her and flip through the thick folder of papers Mr. Mueller handed over to get my bearings. Since Exile was on the table, the safest thing to do is to divest myself of all holdings, which is what I needed his help with, and he came through. Starting today, Chrissy owns the house in New Hope my daddy left to me, so even if I’m Exiled, it stays in the family instead of going to the government. As for me, I’m the new owner of a Federal homestead situated on the plot of land where I dug out the foundations of a warehouse, one I imagine they never planned on putting in to begin with since they just wanted to see how I used Mould Earth.

  Luckily, I caught on to what Uncle Teddy was hinting at, how the Feds would automatically reject any attempt to register a homestead outside of town after the fact. It’s that last bit he really wanted me to hear, because it turns out, getting Exiled from New Hope doesn’t affect any homestead claims outside of the town itself. Should I already have an existing one outside the town before being Exiled, it will still be recognized under Federal Law, meaning they can’t take away my status as a Freeholding landowner, just make me someone who ain’t welcome in New Hope. Still lose my licenses and all that, but I don’t need one to carry outside of town, so there’s that.

  Luckily, when I brung it up with Mr. Mueller and suggested laying a claim on the wulf den, he offered me the warehouse instead and said I can build my home right atop it. Didn’t know it’d come with so much extra baggage, but it is what it is. As for the unwelcome surprise, it takes me some long minutes to figure out what it is, because I ain’t all that current on my legalese. “Shoot,” I say, soon as I figure it out. “I see what he meant about the court of public opinion.” Carter don’t say nothing, but Miss Amelie leans in a little closer to see what all the fuss is about, while Elodie, sits by my feet and rests her head against thigh. “They figured the Feds would take away their rights to their homesteads since they’re pretty much abandoning them, so they transferred ownership of all their property into a trust.” Flipping a few pages, I scan the dense writing until I’m sure of the facts. “A trust I’m in sole control of.”

  So I own a lot of land now, and can sell to whoever I like at whatever price I care to. Makes me look real connected to the cultists, but they didn’t leave me any way to get in touch with them or mention anything about what to do with the money. Plus, I’m guessing there are gonna be all sorts of tunnels underneath the village, perhaps even some leading down into the Proggie nest, and plenty of Abby who are used to heading that way for a quick and delicious meal.

  Still, it’s awful nice of them to go to such lengths to see that I’m provided for, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was touched. There’s even an amendment in here to rename it from Mueller’s Quay to Ming’s Quay, seeing how my daddy helped build it. Makes it really hard to hate them, and in fact, kinda makes me wish I heard them out a bit. “I don’t get it though,” I say, glancing up at Carter for answers. “How can Luisa be a cultist? I thought she was from Colombia.” Carter blinks, like he don’t understand, so I explain, “Ain’t that in the U.F.A? You know, where they built the White House.”

  Carter coughs, and for a second, his stony mask cracks, though I’ve no idea why. “That’s the District of Columbia, with a u,” he says with a shake of his head. “The country of Colombia is situated on the northwestern corner of South America. Not to be mistaken with British Columbia, which is a Métis province on the west coast.”

  “…Y’all old worlders ought to be more inventive when naming places,” I say, upset that I dismissed any possibility of Luisa being of the Nahuatl Faith just because I thought she was American. Heaving a sigh, I add, “Well, least I won’t have to worry about finding a place to live now.”

  “You should worry,” Carter says, reaching out to pat my shoulder in a rare show of familiarity. “The Nahuatl Faith is universally reviled for good reason.” Seeing that I don’t get it, he sighs and explains, “You heard the Priestess, Luisa? They see the Progenitor as a vessel of change, one they all seek to make use of, because they believe that is how they become Gods themselves. The Deviant is not merely their protector. It is their guardian deity, their patron of the magical arts, the source from which many of the Faith draw their power from. That woman Luisa? Judging by her words, she has already linked herself to the Deviant, her mind and Spirit both. This gives her power, but also warps her mind in dark and insidious ways, like an Aether touched Innate but on a much deeper level, for the influence stems not from the blood or past existences, but from the Deviant she herself is linked to, a creature whose appetite for death and destruction knows no bounds.” Looking me dead in the eyes, Carter adds, “One whose mind bears similarities to a Synapse, in that the Deviant forms a hive mind with its spawn.”

  “So she’s sharing her mind with a Deviant?” I ask with a frown, and for some reason, I try to find some wiggle room to justify Luisa’s actions. “Can’t be good, but can’t always end in disaster though, can it? The Aztecs were around for thousands of years after all, and while there are Innates who go crazy and a fair few are kinda loopy, there plenty more who live perfectly functional lives without any murderous tendencies.”

  “Perhaps,” Carter replies, giving me a look that says he doesn’t believe it. “Keep in mind however, the Aztec Empire controlled all of South and Central America for thousands of years, but they ruled only in name. They cared nothing for governing the lives of their people, as their only concern was their yearly tithe of blood slaves. Living sacrifices slaughtered in bloody Rituals meant to appease their Deviant Aspects, ones named after what most would consider sins like Gluttony, Lust, and Obsession. Then there were their Lords of the Night. Humans who willingly merged with Soulless Aberrations to become what they believe to be deities themselves, ones on par with Immortal Monarchs. Though the details are lost to history, it is believed that the Ritual to become one such deity requires a blood sacrifice of hundreds of thousands of lives, and at the height of their power, the Aztecs had nine such Lords, a feat which cost no less than a million lives and might well have cost millions more. If this Luisa possesses the knowledge and drive to accomplish such a thing, then she has all but declared her intention to wash the Frontier in blood so that she and others like her might rise to godhood.”

  A disturbing thought to say the least, but I still can’t bring myself to think the worst of Luisa or her misguided congregation, especially with the likes of Mr. Mueller and Kevin. It’s one thing to point fingers at history, but until they’ve actually done something terrible, I feel like it’s only fair to reserve judgement. If we were going by past mistakes, then the Americans don’t got clean hands neither. They slaughtered the women and children of their Native American allies to steal their lands, enslaved black people and kept them enslaved long after the rest of the world turned on the concept, and dropped Aetheric Bombs killing hundreds of thousands of people in Nippon to forever change the face of warfare.

  Pretty sure every other nation of the old world got skeletons in their closets too, so I say live and let live until someone fires the first shot.

  One thing’s for sure though, a fact I come to terms with as I head on out to meet up with Clayton and get our stories straight. If I wasn’t gonna be Exiled before all this, I sure as shooting will be once all these ties to cultists come to light.

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

  This was all Mia’s fault.

  Daddy was dead, the Family in tatters, and the Firstborn still at large, but none of that haunted her as much as the fact that she was responsible for it all. In luring the Firstborn over to Brightpick, she’d brought disaster to her doorstep and was left with only Mama fast asleep on the couch beside her, and a single protector in Louie P who was growing more antsy with each passing hour as he paced about in the other room. None too quietly either, stomping about and muttering under his breath about this and that, with a wild and dangerous look in his eyes every time he glanced her way. Better if she’d left him behind, because he wasn’t of much use anymore, too scared of the Firstborn to fight back and too proud to admit it. Daddy didn’t see how Louie P unravelled in the fight, how Uncle Mikey had to yell and drag the capo along to get him into the fight, or how he cowered behind a wall as soon as the Firstborn showed himself. Would’ve been better off giving Mia his share and shooting Louie P, because now she had to guard against him and the Firstborn both.

  It was only a matter of time before the Firstborn arrived, and when he didn’t appear in the first hour, Mia figured he was playing games, like a well-fed marty pouncing this way and that to corner a blind chitter rat. Then a second hour passed, and she found hope in her despair, because maybe, just maybe, she’d thrown him off their trail. In the third hour, Mia almost unravelled in a bundle of nerves, because there was no way he could’ve missed their tracks, since she was just hiding in a Family safehouse that he had to already know about, seeing how he hit the poker room upstairs not 12 hours ago.

  Then she fell asleep, only to be rudely awakened by the sound of her door smashing open as Louie P shouldered he way past the deadbolt without so much as a knock. The man was huge and powerful as could be, his muscles brimming with the energy of the Bull’s Strength Spell he was so well known for. That magically enhanced strength wasn’t of much use against the Firstborn, but it was more than enough to terrorize Mia and her Mama who’d just been scared awake. “Enough waiting around,” Louie P growled, with an intense stare that Mia didn’t much like as his hungry gaze took her figure in and that of her mother’s. “The Qinks long gone by now, run off so he won’t get pinched by the Feds. We should follow suit, hit up the vaults and leave with everything we can carry.”

  “No,” Mia replied, and the man snarled to hear it, but she sat up straight and met his gaze to show that she would not be cowed. “We stay and we wait. There’s only so much we can carry, but I stand to legally inherit daddy’s estate which the Feds will have no cause to seize. Same with Uncle Iggy’s estate, so we need to sit tight, then lawyer up when the Rangers arrive and do everything in our power to avoid getting taken into custody.” Where the Firstborn might well be able to reach them, which was the most terrifying aspect about him. He’d done so much damage seemingly by himself, so what might he do if he started calling in favours? All Mia could do was hope he was content with the destruction he’d wrought and leave her be, but she wasn’t planning on sticking around to find out. “Once the paperwork goes through, then we liquidate and leave, but we need to wait for a death certificate to be issued before my lawyers can process the paperwork.”

  Then she would run, but not with him, though she had yet to share as much. It’d just be Mia and Mama, because they couldn’t trust anyone else, as evidenced by Louie P’s voracious gaze. “Nah,” he said, striding over with a wild grin and reaching out to grab her. “Fuck that. You’re not in charge here bitch. I’m your new daddy now, and you’re gonna learn to listen when I speak, you and your mother too.”

  As his arm stretched out, Mia’s readied Spell came to life in her fingers as she coalesced the dark shadows into an illusory blade. One capable of severing arteries all the same, as she demonstrated by slicing Louie P’s wrist in just the right place, following it up with a stab to his gut. Then a second, third, fourth, and fifth stab as he stood there in shock, her Shadow Blade plunging in and out of his stomach as quick as she could drive it in and out, coating her arm, chest, and legs in warm, sticky blood. For a moment, she thought it over just like that, as Louie P stared in shocked surprise, only to bellow in rage several seconds too late.

  The man still had strength enough though, as she found out when he grabbed hold of her wrist with his one working hand and squeezed. Even over her own screams, Mia heard her bones snap as he lifted her off the bed and held her in the air like a fresh caught fish. “You fucking whore!” he screamed, flinging her back into the wall and driving the air out of her lungs. Mama screamed and rose from the couch to shield Mia, but Louie P backhanded her across the face with all his might. There was a crack of bone and spurt of blood, then Mama’s body fell to the bed silent and still, her neck twisted at an impossible angle and eyes empty of life, then Mia saw nothing but red.

  Throwing herself at Louie P, she slipped under his wide haymaker and drove her Shadow Blade between the 3rd and 4th ribs, just like Daddy taught her. The effect was instantaneous, unlike with the slash to the wrist or gut stabs, and Mia collapsed alongside the bigger man before crawling back to Mama’s side. There was nothing to be done, for Louie P’s enhanced strength had killed Mama in a single blow, all because Mia had invited disaster into her own home.

  How long she knelt there and cried, she couldn’t say. These tears weren’t just for Mama, but for Daddy and the Family too, a Family that only existed in memory now. When she finally stopped sobbing, she took a deep breath and stood, her legs shaky and body still covered in warm and viscous blood. These would be the last tears she ever shed, this she vowed, because it was her weakness, her ignorance, her callow inexperience that had done the Family in, a grave mistake she would learn from and overcome.

  The plan remained unchanged. She would collect her inheritance, then skip town and disappear, travel far away to where the Firstborn would never find her, but not so far that she could never return, because she intended to do just that. He’d shown her the strength one man could wield, and she would seek out that strength for herself, to become not just a Phantom like her daddy’s namesake, but a Specter to haunt him for what he’d done, and eventually kill him with her own two hands. She would need help to do so, people to train her, protect her, and eventually support her when she was ready to take her revenge, so she intended to spend every last cent of her fortune rebuilding her Family again. Not the Pugliano Family, because the Firstborn would see her coming from a thousand miles away. No, she’d need a new name, a new Family, and time to train her and her soldatos to take on the Firstborn, a difficult task to be sure. He had his strengths, but she had hers too, as well as burning desire for vengeance that would not be quenched until she destroyed everything he held dear like he’d destroyed everything of hers. This she swore on the blood of her Family, her parents, uncles, and everyone she’d lost last night to the Firstborn, a butcher’s bill that would only be paid in full after she’d bathed in his still warm blood.

  Howie Zhu was admittedly the Firstborn of the Frontier, a man standing at the forefront of their generation, but Mia Pugliano was also a child of the Frontier, one close enough to see his shadow and determined to catch up or even surpass him. All would come in good time though, because revenge was a dish best served cold, and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.