Wanted

Yellowtusk, December 1779.

The Band of Lovers’ branch outpost was emptier than usual with the non-affiliated rangers having all been sent home early for the holidays. The sun had long set and the cold, dark winter loomed outside the warmly lit interior of the building. The night was clear, but just like every year, the residents of Yellowtusk, and the rest of the Valley Strip, hoped for the oh-so rare snowfall. Conditions were right for a white-sheeted holiday weekend, but no flake wisped through the air just yet.

Armani Anderson, dressed in a white and red knitted sweater and jeans—far more casual than her usual duty-wear—walked with heels clacking down the main hall of the outpost. She plucked a few pieces of dirt from her sweater after having carried in fresh vases of cold-weather flowers—primroses, hellebores, snowdrops, starflowers, cornflowers, and winter heaths. Armani’s own gardens were selectively kept to bloom year-round, including her magnificent roses which would normally struggle in the dry heat of the desert, and more so in the biting cold of the Valley Strip’s cruel winter. But Armani’s supreme knowledge in botany kept the red roses alive all year long and displayed brightly by the front gates of the outpost’s entrance.

Around the sides and back, however, Armani kept seasonal flowers ready to be picked and used for any occasion. As she walked and plucked, Armani looked around at the fine decorations put up for the season, and monitored the work of her fellow rangers for setting up the party she was hosting that evening. In over nine years of being a doyenne, it was only the second time Armani would be hosting the other doyens at her branch building for an informal occasion, and the first time they would be bringing their families and loved ones.

Approaching the grand front double doors, Armani heard chatter outside and footsteps stomping up the wooden front porch steps. She opened one door for Feather and Slasher (both dressed in their own winter garb) who walked in lugging kegs of prized local ale. After the last barrels were brought into the foyer, Slasher carried in a tote bag which had a fluffy, gray tail poking out the top. He placed the bag on the ground and released Barnabas into the hall.

Barnabas comfortably wandered about and disappeared into one of the lounges leading from the foyer. Armani watched the cat, then turned to Slasher with a puzzled expression.

“I thought you weren’t bringing Barnabas,” she said in her half-whisper tone.

Slasher stretched his back and prepared to carry the kegs to the outpost’s rear lounge, then said, “Sorry. I didn’t plan to at first, but ya know I didn’t want to leave ‘im alone at the Wall’s place.”

“He stays alone there all the time,” Armani refuted. “I just didn’t expect him to make an appearance is all.”

“Well, people’ll just have to deal with it,” Slasher said and hoisted a keg up and walked through the foyer toward the back of the building.

“Let’s hope nobody’s allergic.”

“Good thing I didn’t bring Fipo, too,” Feather added.

Armani walked down the front hall to one of the meeting rooms that she had converted for the evening into a dining room for a buffet-style array of food for guests. Of course, she also set out snack trays in both lounges and throughout a couple of the first floor’s halls for people to pick at throughout the night, as well as out back where several tables and chairs had been set up with several portable fire pits to warm those choosing to convene in the yard. Orator was in the makeshift dining room setting out the last of the plates and utensil trays, and helping with any snack trays still needing to be placed. The sleeves of his double-layered shirt were rolled up revealing his arms which, at this time, were still flesh and blood.

“Things are looking lovely, Eddie,” Armani said as she passed through to the full-sized kitchen. Orator simply smiled and nodded.

From the kitchen, delightful smells of cooked meats and vegetables wafted and mixed with the lingering scents of pine and rosemary from the candles burning throughout the outpost. The Wall dodged Armani as she entered the kitchen and lifted a large silver platter over her head, twisting around and saying, “Excuse me, miss. Apologies.”

Armani inhaled deeply and sighed with pleasure at the smell of the Wall’s splendid cooking. The Wall placed the platter on a counter next to one of the ovens and gestured for Armani to come over. “Please, sample anything and everything,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure it all tastes fantastic,” Armani replied, waving a reassuring hand. “It’s extra hard to watch my physique during the holidays, especially when you’re in town, Milton.”

“Come on, now, miss,” the Wall said with a smile and walked to the other side of the kitchen where another woman stood over a boiling pot of mushroom stew. “You’re a hard-working doyenne. You can afford an extra plate once a year!”

The woman making the stew was Sylvia “Lassie” Yates, another member of the Band of Lovers. She looked at the Wall with her fair, freckled face and nervous hazel eyes. Her shoulder-length, auburn hair was neatly tied up in a small bun. A single silver rod pierced her left ear to match one of the many ornaments in Armani’s ears. Lassie frowned at the Wall when he approached.

“I think I messed it up,” she said shakily.

The Wall, who towered almost a foot taller than Lassie, grabbed a ladle from a ceramic bucket on the counter and tasted the stew. “This is actually very good,” he said and smiled.

“You sure it ain’t too much salt?”

“You did exactly as I instructed.”

Armani chuckled, taking a few steps across the kitchen. “Don’t be so anxious, Sylvia,” she teased. “I’m sure you’re doing great. Milton wouldn’t let you do any wrong.”

Sylvia pointed to the back of the kitchen. “I already burned one o’ the hams,” she whimpered. Armani looked at another tray on the back counter with a blackened loaf of meat and grinned nervously.

“That was on me, miss,” the Wall said. “I stepped away for too long. Lassie didn’t know any better.”

“It’s okay,” Armani said, loosening her smile. “We have plenty of food, and the second ham looks wonderful. I’ll leave you two to it.”

After Armani exited the kitchen, Lassie turned to the Wall who had moved away to work on other foods. “Lady Love is so nice,” she said. “Always so encouragin’. I ‘ave no doubt she’ll become the best doyenne ever.”

“She’s already the best doyenne ever,” the Wall said with a chuckle.

“Yeah,” Lassie sighed. “I can’t wait to keep learnin’ from ‘er fer years to come.”

In the backyard, Payton Serrano, Rene “Gold Teeth” Giles, and Rudy “Fool” Ortega made sure the tables and snack trays were all in order, then moved on to set up the last of the warm-white string lights. Small bulbs also surrounded the yard, running along the iron fence, and trailed around to the front, as well, where they illuminated the beautiful rose bushes. Armani peaked out back through the sheer curtains covering the back windows and nodded in approval. With things coming together, Armani floated around and helped where she could to finish things up before the guests arrived, all dressed warmly in festive reds, whites, greens, blues, blacks, and browns.

Soon, the outpost’s front doorbell rang, and Armani greeted the first arrivals: Angel Eyes and his group, the White Snakes.

“So wonderful to see you all!” Armani said and welcomed the five rangers inside who quickly made themselves at home and mingled with the Band of Lovers while eyeing the delicacies.

“My mother apologizes for not being able to make it,” Angel Eyes told Armani while removing his heavy, brown coat and matching rancher hat. “My father is ill, so they’re unable to visit this year.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Armani apologized. “Give them my well wishes.”

Soon after the White Snakes settled in, the bell rang again and in walked another doyen, Frank “Cobra” Stewart, and five other rangers—about half of his group, the Scale Corps. Locking one arm with Cobra was his wife, as well, and behind the couple were Cobra’s parents. When Cobra removed his hat, his wife gently fixed his normally unkempt black hair and greeted Armani with a pearly white smile.

After the Scale Corps came Archie Prince, Armani’s close friend and owner of the Esprit Rose hotel and homeless shelter in Yellowtusk. His normally extravagant dress was replaced by a hyper-festive outfit with golden bells, black patent leather-pointed shoes, and a fluffy hat to top it off.

“Oh, Armani, darling,” he said with arms wide to embrace Armani in a hug. “How are you?”

“So, so good, Archie,” Armani replied. “And even better knowing you could make it tonight. I was worried you’d be too busy.”

“Don’t flatter me, hon,” Archie laughed, then added to the side, “Kidding, of course. Please do keep it up.” He removed his coat and blew warm air into his hands. “If you could take time out of your busy schedule, then it was noproblem at all for me.”

Not long after, the final two doyens arrived. The hulking Nicholas “Gore” Shepard and his comparatively tiny wife thanked Armani upon entering the outpost along with the three members of Gore’s group, the Heralds of Justice. Then, a little later, Solomon “Wildfire” Burts, alone, strutted into the building with a stern expression.

“Glad you could make it, Solomon,” Armani said cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Wildfire replied and moved rudely past the foyer toward the rear lounge without acknowledging any of the other guests.

Finally, Armani opened the front doors to welcome her own parents, Reginald and Lucine Anderson, who entered with wide smiles and open arms.

“Armani, we’ve missed you!” Lucine said and hugged Armani tightly.

“Good to see you,” Reginald said and wrapped an arm around his daughter.

“I’m so happy you could make it,” Armani said with a brief smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to.”

“Well, we don’t get to see you so much these days,” Lucine replied as she and Reginald removed their coats. “You hardly spend any time at your office in the Big City.”

Armani shrugged with no reply.

“My goodness,” Lucine said after getting comfortable in the foyer with her husband and Armani. “It’s quite noisy in her already, hm? Such a rowdy group you run with.”

“What did you expect?” Armani asked, lowering her tone from the high-pitched greeting voice she had been using during the guests’ arrivals. “I told you it would be a lot of people.”

“Hmph,” Lucine pouted and walked through the front fall to another part of the building with her husband in tow.

As the night went on, Armani mingled with the other doyens and talked with their teams as all the guests enjoyed the merry setting, delicious appetizers, and each other’s company. Some rangers stepped out to the backyard to play horseshoes and smoke cigars around the fire pits while others talked over the appetizers placed in the dining room and halls, waiting for the Wall to bring out the main courses. Lucine and Reginald kept quietly to themselves in one hall by the front lounge where Archie found them and approached with his ravishing smile.

“Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, my friends!” he cheered and held out his hands in which he carried three glasses of sparkling wine. He handed the two in his left hand to the couple who accepted the drinks gratefully.

“Oh, why if it isn’t the lovely Archie!” Lucine said and smiled, leaning in for Archie to kiss her cheek.

“You are looking stunning as usual, Lucine,” Archie said, then turned to Reginald. “And Reginald, you dog. When did you trim your beard? You look fantastic!” He said the last word with a bit of bite and a scrunch of his nose.

“Good to see you,” Reginald said with a brief wave and a warm smile.

“Oh, Archie,” Lucine said and wrapped one arm around Archie’s waste. With his wife occupied, Reginald stepped a few paces away to a snack tray on a small side table next to the front lounge’s entrance. Lucine continued, “Why can’t Armani find a man like you to settle with instead of hanging around this crazy lot.”

Archie laughed and sipped his cider. “She’s doing well enough for herself I’d say. A man like me would only slow her down, even as great as I am.”

“I wish she’d find some stability in her life,” Lucine sighed and leaned away from Archie.

Reginald returned with a handful of small pastries and crackers, some of which he was actively chewing on and wiping crumbs from his mustache.

“Let’s go take a look out back, Reggie,” Lucine said, taking her husband’s arm and dragging him down the hall.

“I’ll see you around, then,” Archie said and raised his glass. Once the couple had their backs turned and were out of earshot, Archie dropped his smile and groaned.

Cobra turned as Lucine and Reginald approached and raised his cup of beer in greeting, saying, “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, how’re you?”

“Hm? Yes, good, good, thank you,” Lucine said dully as she walked by without looking at Cobra and dragged Reggie past. Reggie smiled, mouth still full, and raised his hand of pastries. He mumbled something but Cobra couldn’t tell what he said.

Cobra watched as they exited through the back door and his smile also faded. He turned around to face his wife and Armani who were making friendly conversation.

“Yer mother doesn’t seem too merry,” Cobra said to Armani.

Armani slanted her mouth and said, “Ignore her. My parents aren’t exactly big fans of doyens, and that includes me.”

“That’s just like you,” Cobra’s wife chimed in. “Keep tryin’ to be friendly even if someone don’t like you.”

Armani sighed. “My parents never liked that I became a ranger.”

“Nobody’s parents like it,” Cobra said. “It’s a dangerous line of work. Ain’t that right, Mrs. Stewart?” he added, turning to his wife who giggled and pulled herself closer to him.

“Just feel lucky that you git such great benefits, or I don’t know if I could’a beared to marry ya.”

The couple laughed with each other and Armani leaned against a side table in the hallway. “Yeah…” she sighed.

In the foyer near the grand staircase leading to the second floor, Truth swaggered over to Kai “Scar” Osborne of the Heralds of Justice and spoke in a confident tone.

“Hey, Scar,” he called. Scar turned around from the conversation he was having with another member of his group. “The White Snakes are challengin’ the Heralds o’ Justice to a game of horseshoes. What d’ya say?”

Scar smirked and finished his cup of beer, then said, “Okay, you’re on! I’ll gather my team.”

“Nice,” Truth replied. “Meet out back.” But his confidence quickly diminished when he found Faith and Promise going drink for drink, and Promise clearly lacked the constitution for the challenge.

“I think I’m good,” Faith answered once Truth told them the Heralds of Justice had agreed to a horseshoes match.

“Wha?” Truth exclaimed. “But ya just agreed to play, like, five minutes ago!”

Faith shrugged.

Holding a beer, Promise lifted his head from the arm of the reclining chair he sat in and rubbed his eyes. “I’m still in,” he said groggily.

Truth gave Promise an uncomfortable glare. “Fine,” he said. “I guess Scar’s group could use the handicap. You an’ short stuff’ll almost make up a full player.”

***

Meanwhile, at a library in Coyote Run, Mabel sat at a small table in one corner with a stack of books piled on the chair next to her. Her worn shoes were tossed on the floor beneath her chair as she gripped the carpet with her dirty toes. She sniffled and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her ragged shirt, staring intensely at the page of a thick book displaying pictures and information on various types of minerals.

“Sed-i-men-tar-y,” she said slowly, sounding out each syllable. “Sedimentary rocks.” She looked at some of the pictures and blew away a strand of hair that had fallen over her nose. “Rocks’re boring,” she said, then closed the book and placed it on top of her stack. Then, a finely dressed man, young with combed hair and a clean face, approached and cleared his throat to get Mabel’s attention.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said in a flat tone. “The library’ll be closin’ soon. I’ll have t’ ask ya to leave promptly. I can put those books back fer ya if you’d like. I assume ya don’t have a card to check ‘em out.”

Mabel sniffled again and stood. “No, I don’t,” she said and slipped on her shoes and exited the library swiftly. The cold bit her with a ferocious gust when she opened the heavy wooden door and stepped out onto the dusty street. The winter sun had already set, and its warm rays had left hardly any heat on the streets. She huffed and watched her misty breath float away in the icy breeze before making her way to a street lined with bars where gamblers stood on the side of the road, rolling dice and dealing cards with their reddened hands.

She had spent the last of her pennies the day before, so it was time to play beggar and squeeze any petty change she could from generous (or pitying) passersby. Unfortunately, it was too cold to ditch her shoes or wrinkle her sleeves up to enhance her pitiful look, but her current state was sorry enough, or so she thought. Greedy gamblers were hardly the crowd to beg money from and, like most days, it took her a couple dozen attempts to get even a small reward.

“You poor thing, so filthy,” one woman said without giving Mabel anything in return for the insult. “Sorry, no change fer ya,” another person said. “Ew,” spat a third.

One man placed a hand on her shoulder, saying, “Go just up the street there and you’ll find the sheriff’s department. They’ll be able t’ help ya.”

Mabel thanked the man, but didn’t take his advice. “Please leave me alone,” one woman said, holding her young son’s hand and quickly rushing away. “Bother somebody else, pest,” another man said. “Just find somewhere to lie down and die,” an older lady hissed.

Mabel was used to it, but it still hurt to hear, especially with the higher ratio of begs to insults given fewer people were out that evening and most didn’t want to stop in the cold to humor a homeless girl. The cold not only kept people off the streets, but also limited the time Mabel could spend doing her routine; so with only a couple pennies and hurt feelings from more than enough harsh looks and swears to show for it, she soon gave in to the need for warmth and made her way a few streets over.

That one bakery always has an open flame out front, she thought and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as she walked. Along the way, she pulled a loose, dusty blanket from atop a crate at the edge of an alley and threw it over her shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it helped keep at least some of her body heat contained. She continued flexing her toes in an attempt to keep her feet warm and cupped her frail fingers over her nose and mouth.

Around one more corner, Mabel spotted the glowing flame in front of the bakery. There were two large stone ovens on the concrete patio in front of the bakery with plenty of wood nearby to keep both fires raging all day while the bakers worked. A warmly dressed couple stood by one of the ovens drinking from steaming cups and chatting quietly. Mabel stood by the other oven and got as close as she could without burning herself to let the fire heat up her skin quickly. She removed her shoes and placed them on the edge of the oven’s opening as she shuffled her feet in the dirt underneath the standing stone structure to gather any residual heat seeping beneath the bricks.

Mabel closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling suddenly exhausted and wanting nothing more than a hot drink and a cozy place to sleep; something she thought about every year when the temperature dropped. She daydreamt of snow—which she had never seen in real life but had always heard about as a child living in Thorntree. Snow was very cold, she knew, but looked so soft and cozy in children’s books’ drawings that thinking about burying herself in it made her feel warm inside.

She opened her eyes halfway and allowed herself to be mesmerized by the flickering flames deep inside the oven, hardly noticing the bakery’s door opening and slamming shut behind a bulky figure swiftly approaching the oven she stood at. When she finally noticed the heavy footsteps, she turned and saw the backlit silhouette that towered high above her head. It was a hefty woman with tied up hair and an apron. She held a large rolling pin in one hand and rested it on her shoulder. She began to lift the rolling pin as she spoke and got close to Mabel.

“Cold out, aye?” the woman said in an accent unfamiliar to Mabel; it lacked the twang of the Valley strip but wasn’t plain like of someone from the Ridge.

Mabel straightened out and slid on her shoes, quickly backing away and saying, “Oh, sorry. No need to use that. I’ll leave.”

The woman stood still and gave Mabel a curious look, then gasped and lowered her rolling pin, moving it behind her back.

“Oh, dern,” the woman exclaimed. “I’m so sorry aboot thit! I didn’t mean to scare ye.”

Mabel turned back around and looked up at the woman. Her fat face and plump stance appeared more friendly on the second look, so Mabel waited for the baker lady’s reply.

“I juost saw ye oot here, an’ ye seemed so frigid. Thought, maybe, ye’d laik to come inside fer a minute an’ warm uop.” The woman turned aside and gestured toward the bakery’s door. Mabel slowly approached and walked past the woman who followed the girl inside.

A little bell above the door rang as they entered, and Mabel was greeted pleasantly by the scent of fresh bread and cake. The baker lady walked past Mabel and waved her to come in farther and pointed at a table for Mabel to sit at. Mabel sat in the wooden chair by her designated table and kicked her feet, confused about why she was even in there. Then on second thought, she was just glad to be out of the cold, and happy she avoided conflict with the host toting the rolling pin.

She looked around and saw oil lanterns hanging from the ceiling. A long counter followed the opposite wall and displayed various breads and pastries behind foggy glass. In the back corner was a door behind which the baker lady disappeared. In the opposite corner, a thick-armed man kneaded some dough and monitored rising loafs in an oven. After a few minutes of waiting, Mabel heard the door at the back of the room swing open, followed by the baker lady’s heavy footsteps until she appeared in Mabel’s peripherals at the side of the table.

Mabel looked up at the woman who now held a large, fluffy, golden-brown loaf of bread which still steamed and smelled heavenly. The baker lady fetched a bread knife from the long counter and cut into the middle of the loaf, then cut a thick slice and handed the slice to Mabel.

“Go ohn, eat uop,” she said, smiling down at the girl.

Mabel slowly bit down on the bread and her mouth was filled with a warm cloud of dough, butter, and honey. “It’s delicious,” she said with her mouth full.

“We’re baykin’ a whoole buhnch of it fer a local charity. We try t’ doo somethin’ laik thit every year.”

“Ay!” the man in the back suddenly shouted. His accent was familiar, like that of a Valley Strip native. “You givin’ away bread to street rats again?”

Mabel, who was for once feeling somewhat welcome somewhere other than the gutter, stared down at her dry, dirty hands with a frown.

“Ooh, waht’s one loof?” the baker lady replied in a playfully bickering tone. She turned back to Mabel, saying, “Come ohn, doon’t maind ‘im.” She led Mabel back to the front of the shop, fetching a small paper bag on the way, and opened the door. “Feel free t’ stahnd ‘round the ohvens fer as long as y’ laik.”

With a wink, the baker lady closed the door, and Mabel could hear the couple yelling back and forth a couple phrases before the baker lady unleashed a cackling laugh. Mabel looked down at the paper bag which the baker lady had handed her. Inside were the two halves of the loaf the baker lady had cut. Mabel held the bag tightly, confused as to why the baker lady had invited her inside to begin with and even more so about why she would give free food to Mabel, someone she didn’t even know and who had more than likely tried to steal from their shop out of desperation before.

As she walked to the edge of the patio, she thought about how long she could make the bread last through rationing. Maybe a week, she thought, or longer if she was smart about it. But her hunger was ravenous. Her stomach hurt even more than usual now that she had the means to satiate it in her hands. Suddenly, without much of a second thought, she scarfed down the entire loaf while squatting by one of the ovens. After she finished, she took a deep breath of the cold winter air and looked into the now empty paper bag.

Pathetic, she thought. That could’a saved me a week’s worth o’ work. Or I could’a tried savin’ up some money fer…something. She wasn’t entirely sure what she would save up for. There wasn’t much she could buy with a handful of change that would last long. A new pair of shoes maybe? That would take a while to save up for. Or maybe a coat for the wintertime?

That thought reminded her of the biting chill all around her, making her shiver as she stood. She thought about walking back into the bakery and begging for another loaf, or maybe lying and saying that some bully kids stole her loaf, but for once she couldn’t bring herself to bother the innocent workers, and she knew going back would surely evoke a brawl between the two people with differing opinions on helping her. The baker lady had been so kind to Mabel and Mabel used it all up in one go. It was her own fault now. She crumpled up the paper bag and tossed it into the open oven, before stepping off the patio and finding a quiet place to sit. Any alley would work.

Mabel spotted the hood of a carriage sitting upright on the ground at the entrance to a nearby alley. The rest of the carriage was nowhere to be seen, but the hood was still in good condition and leaned against the wall creating a makeshift shelter. Mabel wrapped her dusty blanket tightly around herself and plopped down under the carriage hood, pulling her knees close to her chest and rubbing her feet together. She also spotted a small, metal tray near the wall, likely used by another beggar before, and placed it out in front of her sticking just outside the alley.

People passed by as the evening grew darker and much colder. The rare donor flicked a single penny into the tray and said something having to do with happy holidays or prayers. Mabel didn’t look up most of the time from her upright fetal position until she heard a light shuffling of tired, old feet that stopped just in front of her. Her head stayed low, only looking at the man’s feet, but she heard his soft, gentle voice.

“I think I finally believe in holiday miracles,” the old man said through raspy breaths. Then, a heavy CLANK made the metal tray by Mabel’s feet jump and rattle. Mabel kept her head low and watched the man’s feet turn away. “I’m sure you’ll have a big win, too. Soon.” Then, the man’s feet shuffled away, and Mabel’s eyes were drawn to the metal tray. She saw a white paper roll with small, black print on it. She slowly leaned over and picked up the roll. It was heavy, definitely containing more than just a spool of paper.

Mabel twisted it in her hands and read the text— “10 SILVER COINS” in tiny letters. Her eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet, looking around for the benefactor who was already long gone. She clasped her hands around the roll of coins and looked around, worried that if anyone saw what she held, they would try to take it. She stalked back to the carriage hood and wrapped her blanket around herself again as she squatted, then scratched at the paper to tear open the roll. She wasn’t very familiar with the various tiers of currency, but she recognized silver when she saw it.

She took slow, steady breaths, the mist from her mouth fogging up the printed circles of shiny metal which denoted their value on one face and in smaller text translated that value to the more common value of dimes.

This is 100 dimes, Mabel frantically calculated. One hundred… That was more money than she had ever held in her life. She looked around again feeling as though everyone was watching her. She took a deep breath to calm down and popped out a single silver coin, then dropped the rest of the roll into her right pocket along with the couple of pennies from the metal tray. She stood again, keeping the blanket around her shoulders, and thought of what she could spend the money on. She tried to think rationally. Obviously, food was her biggest concern, and she had to remember that this money wouldn’t last her forever.

She stepped out of the alley and made her way back to the bakery. Offering a single silver coin and asking how much bread that would get her brought laughter from deep in the baker lady’s belly.

“That’ll git ye moor than ye can carry,” the baker lady said.

So, Mabel was given five dimes in change and a large, brown paper bag with six-and-a-quarter loafs of fresh bread. The baker lady told Mabel the loafs would stay soft for a week-and-a-half and Mabel was back on the street with her bounty of nourishment. She walked down the freezing cold street—which became emptier and emptier the longer the evening got—and wondered where she could store the bread to keep it out of reach from both the rats and other vagrants. Then, she noticed a glow of multicolored light coming from the middle of a crowd formed in the middle of the sandy road. Mabel could hear oohs and ahs and the small crackling of fire.

Then a loud POP came from the crowd followed by a puff of white smoke, but instead of screams and panicked running like Mabel had expected whenever she heard a gunshot—which was more often than she liked in Coyote Run—the people instead cheered and clapped. Mabel cautiously approached the crowd and squeezed through the tightly packed mass, making sure to hold tightly to her bag of bread and protect her pocket so no prying hands could snatch a loose loaf or her bounty. Being in the middle of the crowd, Mabel felt warm and snug with coats and furs packing her in.

Poking her head between a couple torsos, Mabel saw a few individuals walking around holding sticks with red, blue, white, and green sparks flashing on their ends. The blinding twinkles slowly moved down the stick, stopping and going out just above the holders’ hands. Other people at the front of the crowd held the sparklers, as well, and passed newly lit ones around to one another. Then the hosts of the light show lit what looked like a tiny piece of dynamite and tossed it away from the crowd where it quickly exploded and produced a brief flash and thin wisps of colored smoke.

Mabel flinched at the sight and sound, but when the crowd cheered again, she found herself entranced by the display and caught up by the energy of the moment. Another performer lit a small, blue ball wrapped in paper and tossed it away from the crowd. A few moments later, the ball released a plume of blue smoke. A third person tossed a small disc on the ground, and it spun rapidly around while spraying white and green sparks into the air. The lights and sounds mesmerized Mabel, and she found herself cheering and clapping along with the crowd at each pop and flash.

One of the performers came around with more sparklers and handed one to Mabel, telling her to make a wish, then moved on to the rest of the crowd. Mabel watched the twinkle move down the stick. She held the stick at the very bottom, afraid that it might burn her before reaching the end of the colored portion. The performer had told her to make a wish, so she looked up into the brisk night sky which twinkled with white stars. She watched the still darkness surrounding the winter constellations and made her wish silently.

The sparkler fizzled out and Mabel looked at the burnt stick in her hand, then tossed it onto the ground and squeezed herself out of the crowd. As she walked away, she found herself grinning. She wrapped her left arm around her bag of bread and fingered the extra coins in her right pocket to make sure they were still there. It was time to find a place to sleep for the night, and she made her way through the tiring streets of Coyote Run with a slight skip in her step just as a few glittering flakes fell from the sky.

*** 

“Oh, come on!” Truth exclaimed. “You guys git at least one horseshoe ‘round the ringer every round!” Back in Yellowtusk, the White Snakes and the Heralds of Justice were on their third game of horseshoes with the Heralds of Justice having won two games already. The third game’s score was already eleven-to-seven, Heralds up. “Let’s go, Virtue. Put more arc into it!”

Promise lay face-down in the grass. “This game sucks,” he grumbled.

“Dude,” Faith said, kneeling over Promise and grabbing one of his arms. “Let’s get you some water.”

Truth watched as Faith guided Promise toward the back porch and looked around at the rest of the sparse crowd standing outside. “Anybody fer a tag-in?” he called out.

Lucine sat at one of the tables in the yard and Reginald stood to one side with a plate of additional goodies he picked up along the way.

“These people,” Lucine groaned and waved a disapproving hand at the outdoor group by the porch. “Just ridiculous. Can you believe our daughter chooses to associate with such rabble-rousers?”

“Hm?” Reginald replied while stuffing his face. “Mhm.”

“I mean, she loves her flowers. Why doesn’t she pursue a career with those rather than hanging with such uncouth crowds. Are you listening, Reggie?”

Reginald swallowed a mouthful of chewed cookies and chocolate and nodded while staring down at his plate. “Yes, dear, of course.” Then plucked a fudge pastry from the pile with a blissful, “Ooh, delightful.”

Back at the horseshoes pit, Gore approached having heard Truth’s plea for a replacement teammate for Promise. His hulking stature was even more intimidating backlit by the lights on the porch. His fuzzy, handmade sweater depicting a snowy field of spiny cacti and white-capped mesas clung tightly to his incredibly muscular form. His slicked back hair, bushy beard, and mustache were as white as the snowy yarn.

“Did I hear an open slot fer this game?” he called, his wide shoulders swaying with each monstrous step.

“Oh, crap,” Scar groaned as his leader picked up one of the White Snakes’ horseshoes. “This isn’t fair.”

“Fair?” Truth barked back. “I’ve been playin’ with half a team until now.”

“Don’t worry,” Gore said. “We can still come back.” He turned to Scar with a shining grin and a wink. “Don’t think because you’re my own group that I’ll go easy on ya. When ‘ave I ever? Ha!”

“Damn it,” Scar said. “Gore’s really frickin’ good at this game!”

Truth smirked at the sound of that and prepared to throw his own horseshoe.

Virtue stood a few feet away awaiting her turn, red-nosed with arms crossed and shoulders lifted. She watched as Faith patted Promise’s back as her fellow ranger vomited off the side of the porch into the grass. Faith then held up a glass of water to Promise who shook his head before vomiting again, then gladly took the glass and chugged the refreshing liquid.

“You have a crush on Faith, right?” Payton asked, suddenly appearing beside Virtue and snapping the tiny ranger out of her daydream.

“What?” Virtue asked, jumping at the sound of Payton’s voice. “Huh? No. I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“No?” Payton teased and gently elbowed Virtue, then kneeled in the grass and watched Faith support Promise on the other side of the yard.

“Absolutely not. I could never be with such a party animal.” Virtue sniffled and continued watching Faith and Promise. “I can hardly stand to be around that drunk with our current relations.”

Payton shrugged and sipped from cup of her beer. “Yeah, you’re right. Wouldn’t be a good match. And datin’ a coworker would be messy.” She stood and stretched, then began walking toward the porch. “Want a drink, er a snack?” she asked, turning back to Virtue.

“Cocoa, please,” Virtue replied, cupping her hands around her nose and mouth and exhaling warm air.

Payton gave a thumbs up and walked inside. Virtue stared at Faith, watching her gentle treatment of Promise and continuing to force water onto him even when he denied it. She saw Faith’s genuine and caring smile as she said something to Promise and patted his back. Faith sighed out a puff of mist and combed her hair behind her ear with one hand, then looked around at the rest of the crowd. When she spotted a couple of other partygoers staring at Promise she barked at them and Virtue giggled to herself.

Suddenly, Truth and Gore cheered and high-fived, catching Virtue’s attention and bringing her into their celebration. Gore lifted Virtue up and tossed her around like a child as Truth gloated in the faces of the rest of the Heralds of Justice about the ultimate comeback.

“Put me down!” Virtue shouted and Gore’s smile quickly faded as he swiftly set Virtue back on the ground.

Inside, the main food dishes were set on the long supper table serving as the buffet for the evening. Large, rectangular pans rested on thin racks with short tins of flammable wax underneath to keep the food warm. Sliced ham, potatoes, steamed vegetables, green bean casserole, fresh corn bread, and a large pot of Lassie’s mushroom stew were among the dishes. The Wall leaned over with a box of matches trying to light the last bowl of wax underneath the pan containing the ham.

He used three matches, but the wax wasn’t igniting. Annoyed, he groaned, stood and stretched his back. He sighed, then took another match from the box and was about to strike it when someone spoke as they entered the room.

“Havin’ trouble?” The Wall turned to see Wildfire walking over with his hands in his pockets and a bored expression on his face. “Got you, big man,” Wildfire said and leaned over. With a snap, a small flame ignited on the end of his right pointer finger and with a flicking motion, Wildfire flung the ember onto the wax which ignited immediately.

“Thank you, sir,” the Wall said and turned to walk back into the kitchen; then Wildfire spoke again.

“So, is Lady Love really all that?” he asked.

The Wall paused and turned slightly back around, then replied, “Excuse me?”

“I haven’t gotten to know ‘er very well over the years, but I mean, she seems kinda entitled and prissy. Like, is she really that big of a deal? I know everyone here treats ‘er like a damn star. I get it, she’s young, she’s pretty, and I can see how likeable she is. But, come on, what’s she got goin’ fer her? Bein’ the youngest ranger to ever be promoted to doyenne status? Big whoop.”

The Wall faced Wildfire and stood silent for a moment, then inhaled and squeezed the box of matches in his fist.

“She’s a great leader,” the Wall replied with slight agitation. “She takes care of her people and puts them before anyone else. Sure, she can get a bit caught up in her work when striving for perfection. There are a lot of eyes on her constantly waiting for her to fail, so you can see why she’d be so stressed and tries to hide it with feigned confidence. Or why she might act rashly sometimes to perform for her superiors and exceed expectations. Not that you’d understand having the second strongest spell among the doyens.”

Wildfire’s eye twitched at that last statement and he grinned, then his smile faded and he turned away from the Wall. “Hmph, whatever,” he said with a shrug. “Was just wonderin’ what her own team thought of ‘er, but I guess I couldn’t expect anythin’ other than suckin’ up to ‘er. That’s why I’ve never been one fer havin’ my own team. Love ain’t all that impressive, you ask me.” 

With that, he stuck his hands back in his pockets and exited the makeshift dining room. The Wall watched him until he was out of sight, then huffed and stomped back to the kitchen.

Once given the word, Feather made the rounds inside and out to let everyone know that the main food courses were ready. It wasn’t long before every guest made their way to the buffet-style display and piled mounds of food onto their plates as a light flurry of snow was building up outside. Barnabas slinked between the guests’ legs and under the table searching for any dropped bits of food, tickling anyone he brushed against. The smells of the food alone were enough to win the favor of everyone present, but once they had their first taste, they were all begging for recipes and offering the Wall jobs as a personal chef at the doyen outposts or their offices in the Big City. The Wall accepted the compliments with pride but kindly rejected any offers for alternative employment. He was also sure to mention that Lassie helped cook, to which she modestly reacted with a reddened face and nervous laughter.

Armani, having already finished a small plate of food, found Lucine sitting solitarily in the back corner of the front lounge. Other guests occupied the lounge, as well, but none were near Lucine. Reginald was in the adjacent hall picking at the snack trays once again.

“I see dad’s choosing the pastries over the main dishes,” Armani said, taking a seat next to her mother on a sofa. There was a small lamp table between the sofa and her mother’s chair on which Lucine had set her champaign flute, and a low coffee table situated in front of both seats which had a few empty plates and cups.

“Your father already ate his dinner,” Lucine said after swallowing a bite of ham and gesturing to the empty plate closest to her on the coffee table. After another bite and a delighted moan, Lucine continued. “That Milton Cummings is a marvelous cook,” she said with a gentle wave of her hand, “even for a ranger. He should have gone to culinary school, not that silly Ranger Academy.”

Armani sighed. “Do all of your compliments about my coworkers have to be paired with insults?”

“Oh, I don’t mean to insult them, darling, but so many rangers have so much potential wasted on the line of duty. They’re short-sighted when it comes to career options. But I don’t hate rangers, you know.”

“I know that, which is why I never understand your apparent attitude every time we talk about my job.”

Lucine clicked her tongue and placed her plate on the small table next to her chair. “I just worry about you, darling,” she said, reaching to place a hand on Armani’s knee.

“I appreciate it, mom, but really, the danger shouldn’t concern you. I’m very good at what I do, and my team is always there to back me up. And if I do suffer my end in the field, then so be it.” Armani placed her hand atop her mother’s. “I’ll have gone out doing what I want to be doing; protecting you, and everyone else.”

“I understand you love your work,” Lucine said and flipped her hand to grasp Armani’s. “The danger isn’t what worries me. I’m thinking about your future, your happiness.”

“I just told you that I’m happy as a ranger, and it’s a very stable career path. My future is secure, especially as a doyenne.”

“No, no,” Lucine scoffed and took her hand back. “I mean companionship.”

“Ugh, mom,” Armani groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you want to find a man to settle down with? You keep yourself far too busy with work. You’re 33 years old; your prime years are almost up.”

“What does that mean?” Armani challenged, taken aback.

“Have you ever considered starting a family?” Lucine continued. “Is there no one in your life you want to be with?”

“I don’t need anyone else to make me happy. I’m fine with being busy with work, it’s what I like to do.”

“And it’s hard work and you’re so smart and capable, which I’m immensely proud of, but you could apply your smarts elsewhere, no? You seem so stressed all the time in this line of work.”

“That’s because every time we talk, you bring up things that stress me out,” Armani grumbled. “Not to mention that I have a ton of extra pressure on me being the only woman doyenne.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Lucine said, waving her hand in disregard. “You’re not even the first female doyenne. That hard work’s been done for you.”

“I was also the youngest ever promoted, and that’s come with a lot of pressure and discrimination on top of not even being from the Valley Strip.”

“And endure that for what? No appreciation from the public; certainly not.”

“No appreciation from my own mother, apparently. And what are you talking about? People here in Yellowtusk do appreciate me.”

By then, anyone standing nearby idly chatting had noticed the increased intensity of their conversation and their bickering and began to distance themselves from Armani and Lucine. Their argument had also started to attract attention from across the lounge and the adjacent hall.

“You could’ve done so much with your other talents,” Lucine retorted. “If you had stuck with botany, you would be world famous. Just look at the roses outside, in the desert, in the winter, yet still in bloom. You’re wasting yourself here, Armani!”

“I am serving the greater good!” Armani asserted. “I love them dearly, but my flowers are a hobby. And why do I need to start a family? My team is my family. I support them financially, I care for their wellbeing, I make sure they feel wanted and spend my time trying to give them an easier path to better lives, and they do all of that for me, too. What do I need a husband for? I make plenty of money, also!”

“And when you live a long life, prayers be, what then? What does it all amount to if you have no children, no grandchildren, no one to carry on your legacy?”

Armani couldn’t help but chuckle. “What, you think I’m someone who needs my history preserved to feel satisfied?”

“I think you ought to be remembered for something other than dying at the hands of some filthy, low-life outlaw. Look at that damned mentor of yours, Irving Craig. I’m sure he aspired to find his true love and retire and die surrounded by loved ones, but no. He’s dead in the dirt and the only one who got famous from it was his killer, but even he’s hardly in the public eye anymore, either. Probably some washed-up old fart of an outlaw by now.”

Armani stood with fists clenched and stared down at her mother, eyes red with rage and held-back tears. At the pause in their argument, the lounge was silent. The few other guests who remained in the room watched from the opposite corner or the doorway, stunned, intrigued, and embarrassed for the doyenne. Reggie leaned back, still holding a plate of hors d'oeuvres, and peered into the lounge with a frightened side eye.

Armani took a deep breath and blinked long, failing to keep the first tear from escaping. Her eyes shot open again. “You have no right to speak ill of him,” she said quietly. “Not here.”

“I don’t want you to end up like him,” Lucine, now noticing the quiet room and everyone staring at them, said in a whisper.

Armani shook her head, then turned and stormed from the lounge, turning in the hall and making her way for the foyer.

Lucine looked around at the last few guests in the lounge with a scowl, saying, “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare at a familial feud?”

Just down the hall, Cobra saw Armani wiping her reddened faced and stomping out of the lounge. He frowned and turned to his wife who was also watching the woman doyenne’s upset retreat.

“I’m gonna go talk to ‘er,” Cobra said, to which his wife agreed. He handed her his cup and empty plate and walked swiftly to Armani who had just put her hand on the railing of the grand staircase.

“Lady Love,” Cobra called, and Armani stopped, looking slightly over her shoulder. “Care to talk?”

Armani nodded and led Cobra up the grand staircase, then up another set of stairs leading to the third floor where she walked with him to her office which looked out over the backyard. The Band of Lovers were outside in the increasing snowfall, losing desperately at horseshoes against Gore who was on a team by himself.

Cobra looked around the office. It was much like his own at his outpost building in Rust Town in the Dry Prairie. Lots of central flooring covered by a fancy rug with sofas to the left and right. A low table was between the sofas on the rug and a cabinet was behind the right-side sofa against the wall with trinkets and bottles of expensive liquor on display behind the locked glass doors. A bookshelf was next to that. Straight ahead past the rug was Armani’s long desk that formed a square U-shape around her luxurious leather chair. To the left, high on the wall hung a large, magnificent portrait of Irving Craig. On the ground below the portrait was a similar portrait, this one of Armani, leaning against the wall.

Armani sunk into her office chair and placed her elbows on the desk, burying her face in her hands. She took a deep breath, then brushed her hair out of her face and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Cobra slowly walked around the table in the middle of the room and rested a hand on Armani’s desk.

“Parents,” Cobra said softly, “gotta love ‘em.”

Armani sighed and leaned forward, looking down at the desktop. “Somehow,” she murmured.

Cobra cleared his throat and moved behind the left-side couch and looked at Armani’s portrait, then up at Irving’s. After a few moments, Armani spoke behind him.

“It still doesn’t feel right to take this down,” she said.

Cobra nodded and leaned against the back of the sofa. He looked over his shoulder at Armani who still sat at her desk.

“You’ve been a ranger fer over a dozen years,” Cobra said, “and a doyenne fer most o’ that. That’s more than a majority o’ people can say at yer age.” By that point in his career, being 15 years Armani’s senior, Cobra had already grown tired of his everyday hustle, and his eyes showed it. “If ya ask me, you deserve to take yer place among the best of the best. Yer career proves it.”

Armani looked up at Cobra briefly, then gazed at the portrait of Irving.

“Yer team respects you; the other doyens respect you, and everyone here in Yellowtusk treats you like a celebrity. You’re the people’s doyenne. Those goons in the Big City only give you a hard time because they’re scared of how great you’ve become so quickly, and they know you have a lot of influence thanks to that greatness. They also know you aren’t the biggest fan of how things’re run, so if you desire change, you’ll actually have the power to make it happen. So, chin up, and hang yer portrait. I’m sure there’s another good spot in this whole building that Irving can hang out.”

Armani laughed softly at the pun, then looked down at her portrait and stared at her younger self from a decade prior. “I’ll need to update it first,” she said. “That bob did not do my hair justice.”

Cobra chuckled and stood straight when Armani arose from her chair and walked around to the front of her desk, then leaned against it.

“Thank you, Frank,” Armani said.

Cobra nodded, then walked toward the door. “Don’t be too long now,” he said.

Armani nodded back and smiled as he shut the door behind him, leaving Armani alone in her office. Armani pushed off her desk and walked over to Irving’s portrait, staring up at his towering painted stature. Then she reached into the collar of her sweater and pulled on one of the many silver chains around her neck to reveal a heart-shaped pendant. She held the pendant in her palm and stared at its shining visage. Suddenly, the pendant became very warm, and Armani gasped, then closed her hand around it.

Closing her eyes, she said, “I can feel you. You can feel me, too, can’t you?” Then, with a deep sigh, said, “Oh, my sweet, sweet moon. How much longer?”

***

Meanwhile, in the city of Thorntree—a recently developing symbol of modernity—Sly flipped through some documents at a deputy’s office. Among the papers was a bounty pamphlet. It wouldn’t be long before the updated copies were sent out just after the new year. He skimmed through the other documents on the counter next to him including the day’s newspaper, reports of outlaws’ recent whereabouts, maps of Thorntree and nearby cities, and a list of home addresses in Thorntree. As he looked intensely at the addresses, another ranger approached heading for the exit. It was Remy “Whiplash” Reeves from his class at the Ranger Academy.

“Evenin’ Sly,” Whiplash said.

“Oh, hey,” Sly replied, not having noticed Whiplash at all.

“New assignments?” Whiplash asked, peering at the papers in Sly’s hands. “You takin’ any time off fer the holidays?”

“Not really,” Sly replied. “I normally visit my parents up on the Ridge, but they’re vacationing this year and I didn’t want to take too much time off, so I figured I’d get the overtime. Holiday pay makes it all worth it.” He finished talking with a thumbs up and a twinkling smile.

“Plenty fer ya to do, I’m sure.” Whiplash sniffled and put his hands in his pockets. “You’re workin’ fer Lester Langely, right?” Sly confirmed. “I heard news that people’re protestin’ his reforms. Sounds like he’s gettin’ heat from the people above ‘im in the Government, too. Apparently, he’s been doin’ some shady stuff.”

“Yeah…” Sly said, rubbing a finger against the newspaper in his pile of documents.

“Just be careful. You’re a decent guy, Sly.” Whiplash smirked.

“Only decent?” Sly asked with a grin. “Well, he practically signs my paychecks, so as long as that’s the case, I’ll do my job as instructed.”

Whiplash laughed and pushed open the exit. A harsh breeze intruded, bringing in a few wisping snowflakes, and Whiplash waved goodbye to Sly. “Take care, buddy. Happy holidays.”

“You, too.”  Sly quickly warmed up again after the door shut. He took one last look at the list of home addresses, then at his map of Thorntree with various small buildings in the western residential sector circled in red ink. Wrapping his poncho around himself and covering half his face with a scarf, he stepped out into the bitter cold ready for another long night of hard work.

***

Hours into the party, Armani’s guests were still merrily talking and playing games. The food the Wall had cooked was nearly depleted with only a few spoonfuls of green bean casserole and half-a-dozen pieces of cornbread remaining. Much to Lassie’s delight—but also still embarrassment—the pot of mushroom stew was the first dish to be emptied followed by the ham (the non-burnt one) and the potatoes.

Lucine and Reginald stood idly in one of the rear hallways enjoying the quieter atmosphere now that everybody had eaten and were calming down thanks to their full bellies. Reginald’s eyes were heavy, and he put all of his remaining energy into snapping them open every time they drifted shut. Lucine sipped the last drops of her drink, then yawned.

“Well, Reggie,” she said, placing her glass on a nearby side table. “I think it’s about time we depart. I can still feel these rangers’ eyes watching me like I’m some sort of zoo animal. This kind of attention always drains me.”

Suddenly they heard a commotion from the foyer and adjacent halls, then turned in that direction. “Be careful,” one voice said among the growing chatter. “Don’t drop it!” shouted another. Investigating the bustle, Lucine and Reginald saw a tall ladder placed in front of the double doors at the front of the building. Atop the ladder stood Feather who was balancing Fool on his shoulders, slightly wobbly while Truth and Slasher held the ladder in place. Fool hoisted the giant portrait of Irving Craig above his head and tried to catch the chain on the back of the frame onto a thick hook that had just been nailed into the wall above the entrance.

“That cannot be safety-compliant,” Angel Eyes said, standing with the other doyens in the crowd.

After a couple more back-and-forth attempts, Fool finally successfully hung the portrait on the hook, then straightened it. Slasher and Truth helped Feather step down the ladder until Fool could place his feet on the bottom rungs. The crowd clapped and various hoops and hoorays rang out through the foyer.

“This is ridiculous,” Lucine grumbled unamusingly and approached the crowd to find her way to the doors when she saw Armani approaching from the grand staircase. Reginald looked around the crowd with a content expression. When Armani reached her parents, Lucine said with a frown, “Oh, there you are. We’re leaving, my dear. I do hope you think over our conversation tonight so we can stop having such discussions every time we see each other. It pains me to see you welcoming such troublemakers into your life and place of work.”

Armani looked her mother in the eyes and took a deep breath, then reluctantly moved forward to hug both of her parents. When she stepped back, she met her mother’s eyes again.

“This is my branch outpost,” she said with a straight face and stern tone of voice, then looked up at the portrait above the entrance. “But it’s also his, and everyone’s who came before him. I’m his legacy, and my team and my future successor are mine. Whether you like it or not, you have to accept it.”

Wildfire then chimed in from the crowd, saying, “You got a problem with us, you take it up with us. She ain’t our boss. I’m right here if you wanna criticize.”

The Wall, at the back of the crowd, grinned at Wildfire’s partial defense of Armani.

Lucine glanced around at the rest of the guests gazing upon her with looks of disapproval and spite. She turned back to her husband and said, “Perhaps one more drink before we go?” Then she grabbed Reginald’s arm and dragged him back toward the rear lounge. As they moved away from the crowd, Reginald looked over his shoulder to smile at Armani and gave a thumbs up from behind his back.

Cobra and his wife walked over to Armani, and Cobra rested a hand on Armani’s shoulder. He smiled and said, “Don’t worry about her.”

“I won’t,” Armani sighed.

“Parents,” Wildfire said moving past them toward the buffet. “Who needs ‘em?”

Armani flinched when she felt a heavy arm wrap over her shoulders, crushing Cobra’s fingers. Cobra yanked his hand away and waved it in the air to alleviate the pain from Gore’s inhumanly large muscles pressing his fingers into Armani’s shoulder bone. Gore leaned against Armani with only some of his weight so as not to knock the comparatively small woman over,  and bellowed a hearty laugh.

“Come on,” Gore boomed. “The Band of Lovers has yet to best me in horseshoes!” And as the crowd dispersed, Armani, Cobra, and others followed Gore as he dragged his wife along toward the back doors to continue their night of festive fun.

***

The next morning, the sun shined brightly in the frosty blue sky, sending rays through Curtis’s bedroom window at Midnight’s ranch house in Dry Creek. Curtis’s eyes watered when he opened them to the blinding sunlight, then shot open when he realized it was already late morning. He sprang up in bed before stopping and remembering that Midnight had gone out of town three days prior, and he wouldn’t have to get up early for training until Midnight returned. All three days he had woken up the same way, and he didn’t expect to do so any differently for the remainder of his days off.

Curtis lay back down and closed his eyes to rest for a few more minutes, then slowly got out of bed and remained in his pajamas as he made his way downstairs. The house was quiet; not much different than when Midnight was around, but the wintertime always brought about an extra stillness to the ranch, and Midnight’s absence amplified the silence to Curtis even more knowing that his own voice was the only one present. He drowsily trudged down the stairs and rubbed his tired eyes now that his pre-realization adrenaline had worn off.

At the bottom of the steps, Curtis’s bare feet touched the cold hardwood floor, and the quiet sound of a sniffle caught his attention. Curtis flinched and jolted his head to the study across the hallway to his left. Midnight sat in his lounge chair—a rare sight to see on any occasion—reading a book and sipping a glass of water. Several emotions flooded Curtis upon seeing his adoptive father figure home earlier than expected. First, he was relieved that the sound he heard wasn’t an intruder, then his heart sank at realizing that this meant that his break was already over.

He also felt nervous that perhaps he had misremembered the day that Midnight had said he would be back and that he overslept on a day which he was supposed to wake up early, but then realized that Midnight would have woken him up if that was the case. His spirits rose again remembering that the last time a scenario like this occurred, Curtis was given the gifts of his new name and his very own six-shot revolvers. Curtis swallowed his spit and walked into the study with quiet steps. Midnight looked up at him with a gentle smile and kind eyes and set his book down on the arm of his chair.

“Good mornin’, sir.” Curtis said. “I thought you’d be gone fer a few more days.”

“And letcha miss valuable days of training?” Midnight replied in his quiet, raspy voice. Curtis’s heart sank again. Midnight chuckled and sipped his water. “I’m jokin’, son,” he said. “You deserve t’ rest, and one more day won’t disrupt yer progress.”

“Thank you, sir” Curtis said. “I can git breakfast started if you’d like.”

“That sounds great. I’ve already taken care o’ the horses.”

Curtis moved to the kitchen and Midnight stood to follow. A few minutes later, Curtis presented Midnight with a simple fare of fried eggs and bacon with juice, and together the two sat at the kitchen table and ate quietly. After a few minutes, Midnight broke the silence.

“Aren’t ya gonna ask how my trip to the Big City was?”

Curtis swallowed a mouthful of eggs and apologized. It wasn’t typical for Curtis to ask Midnight about his travels or personal affairs. He hadn’t even known that Midnight was going to the Big City specifically.

“I went to see another play,” Midnight shared. “It’d been a while since I’d gone to that theater; the same one I met you at a couple years back. And funny enough, there was another young man sittin’ outside just like you had, awaitin’ the unlikely generosity from any o’ the theatergoers. Unfortunately fer him, I can’t afford havin’ two young men to take care of right now. He reminded me of you in so many ways. It’s a shame that such a festive and welcoming time of year still sees plenty of people left out in the cold.”

Curtis sat quiet for a few moments, staring at the food he had begun to take for granted. Then he looked up from his plate and thanked Midnight.

“I’m incredibly grateful fer everythin’ you’ve done fer me,” Curtis said.

“I know,” Midnight stated. “And, to be honest, I’m thankful fer you, too, Curtis. You’re a great help around here and it’s always so enheartening to watch a young spellcaster develop his abilities.” 

Midnight set down his utensils and finished his juice before continuing. “It may be premature, but I could see myself leavin’ many o’ my things to you when I’m gone.”

Curtis nodded slowly. “Thank you, sir,” he said again and finished his food.

After Curtis cleared and cleaned the dishes, Midnight stood in the kitchen and looked out the window at his empty field which would be freshly planted come spring. Without turning to look at Curtis, Midnight spoke.

“Is there anythin’ you’d like fer the holidays?” he asked.

Curtis thought for a moment. “You mean, like a gift?”

Midnight nodded, still watching his barren fields.

Curtis thought more. He was a bit shocked at the question. Aside from his revolvers, Midnight had never gifted anything to Curtis, and Curtis considered shelter and food generous enough to never ask for anything more. Midnight had never asked what Curtis wanted.

“I…don’t know,” Curtis answered after a long, contemplative silence.

“Nothin’ at all?”

Curtis hesitated, then decided to take the chance while it was presented to him. “Well, I… I’d like to have my own horse someday. Y’know, one that’s all mine, an’ that I git to raise an’ teach to behave however I want it to. A strong an’ loyal one, too.”

Midnight nodded, then said, “Horses’re expensive, especially the good ones. But perhaps I can make it work one day, once you’re ready to be yer own man in the wider world, that is.”

Midnight dug into his coat pocket and walked over to Curtis, then withdrew a few silver coins and dropped them into Curtis’s hands. With a smile and his kind eyes, he whispered to Curtis.

“Enjoy the rest of yer day off. Tomorrow, we git back to it.” Then, Midnight walked toward the front door and pulled his black hat down low.

Curtis stood frozen by his confusion about Midnight’s extra generosity, but after a moment took the change and walked back upstairs to his room to dress, then met Midnight on the front porch. Midnight slowly swung on the love seat hanging from the porch’s roof and watched Curtis walk through the dead, white-sheeted grass toward the road that led into Dry Creek proper. Once Curtis was through the iron gate, Midnight raised his hand to his chest and felt the silver heart-shaped pendant through his shirt. The pendant grew warmer with each passing second, and Midnight took a deep breath through his nose, then blew out a puff of mist. “Soon,” he said quietly.