The day of the dance approached quicker than Calvin thought. He found he didn’t have as much time with Elise as he had hoped. She spent much of the days leading up away somewhere with the other witches. He and the rest of the young Guns trained hard up until that September Saturday. Early in the morning the boys left for the Sanctuary to prepare, except for Calvin. He got up, as he always did on Saturdays, and started with pushups.

  Logan took note, coffee in hand, as Calvin continued to press on alone with the pushups long after the boys and their witches had all left the camp. Calvin pushed himself to exhaustion without saying a word. By the time Smallmouth had packed up, Calvin was beet red in the face and dripping with sweat.

  “He’s not doing so well, huh?” Smallmouth pulled out a cigarette.

  “I’d say he’s doing fine.” Logan shrugged, offering his lighter, “Top form, even. He’s getting very strong, that kid. Got good Resolve too, for a newbie.”

  Smallmouth took it and lit up the cigarette. The first draw of the tobacco always hit the older Gun just right, laced with rejuvenating alchemical substances. The smoke tumbled up into the crisp morning air. It made a pale imitation of the cloudy mists settling along the slopes of the Smokies in the distance.

  “You’re gonna have to get a clue some time, Logan.” He drew a bit more. “I’m out of here. See ya Monday.”

  “Yeah good luck with the horse lady.” The Bootknife chuckled.

  Smallmouth waved him the bird, deciding not to engage. He started off toward the horses. Logan turned back to Calvin. The young Baird was laid out now, having finished his pushups. He panted on the ground before shakily picking himself up. Without a word, he stared running down the mountain.

  “What’s gotten into that kid?” Crickett bumbled up beside Logan. He watched Cal disappear. “He’s not going into town like the others?”

  “I guess not.” Logan went and sat down on the stump nearby. “I think it’s the dance. He doesn’t have a date.”

  “I was wondering why he didn’t have any partner witch.” Crickett ran a hand through his bug-infested beard. “I just assumed it was because of that mark he’s got.”

  Logan’s eyes flicked over. Crickett stood there grinning, as if he had just unraveled some mystery.

  “That’s pretty much it.” He sipped his coffee, “What do you know about it?”

  Crickett let the wind from down the mountain bring fresh, earthy smells to his nose. His musty cloak fluttered a bit as he contemplated.

  “Honestly, next to nothing.”

  “You and me both.” Logan chuckled, “I know it’s some Yellow King bullshit. I’m sick of that stuff. Hard to understand.”

  Crickett looked to the ground as he searched for the proper way to respond. “Yes… Unfortunately with the Old Ones, the more you attempt to understand the harder it becomes. Ignorance is often the best defense against them. This is why I know nothing about it.”

  Logan looked up to him, processing the wisdom of the sage.

  “Honestly, kinda smart.”

  “Kinda?” Crickett snickered, “That’s the only right way of dealing with it. The Old Ones WANT you to dive in head first. That’s how they get you. The world sucks eggs, and they know that. They pull on your hardships, turn you against yourself.”

  Lowering his gaze, Logan thought about that for a long moment. He knew the Yellow King would have a field day with him. He had been told, by the very woman who once loved him, that he had too much on his mind; burdens too heavy to carry forever. He knew that young Calvin had enough too. He felt bad for the kid, found his situation just a little too tragic. When he caught himself feeling this way, he was reminded that there was still some humanity left on the edge of the Bootknife.

  “Don’t worry, youngin.” Crickett sat down next to him, “While the Southpaw’s son is up here with me he’s fine. I can handle it if he goes down that path.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “You make it sound like Calvin will turn on us.”

  “Well, it’s never out of the picture. There’s a lot of Old magic within. I’m willing to believe it could happen if Calvin were properly conditioned for it. I think this is actually the goal of the Cult, can’t see any other reason to corrupt children like this.”

  Logan turned his head a bit, “You got a grim mind, Crickett.”

  The old sage let out some genuine, hearty laughter. “Can’t survive this long in the Posse without one.”

  ^^^

  Elise floated past the massive stone gates of the Smoky Mountain Sanctuary, taking in the sites of the main road. The Sanctuary had impressed her from the very beginning, brimming with shops, houses and magical facilities. Most of the people out and about were dressed in Plaid, the helpers of the Posse. She found them curious. Turning to John, she poked his ear.

  “What?” He jolted his head away from her finger.

  “Hey, what’s the deal with the Plaids?” She sounded genuinely curious.

  John blinked, “The Plaids? What do you mean, they’re the Plaids.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But nobody ever told me about them. You’re a noble gun, right?”

  The young Calhoun nodded, walking along with his hands in his pockets.

  “So you probably been around them your whole life. Tell me about them.”

  The fresh smells of bread and cookies danced across his nose as they passed the bakery. John looked for a long moment at Elise. She seemed much more comfortable around the Guns than when she first made her pact with him. He could tell she had come a long way. He too felt much more comfortable talking with her as the months passed.

  “Well,” He started with a shrug, “The Posse is an entire organization, not just a collection of gunslinger-sorcerers. The Plaids ARE the Posse, for every one of us Guns, there’s at least ten Plaids working around the clock to keep places like the Sanctuaries running. They operate mines, ranches, farms. They build things, they do surveys and track movements of supernatural threats. The Plaids are not beneath us Guns, like some people might think. We owe it all to them. A lot of Plaids sacrifice everything, including their lives, to keep America safe. They don’t use our Alchemy or Resolve. They’re all guts and grit, that’s how my dad tells it.

  “That’s pretty cool.” Elise smiled, “It seems like you cowboys have a lot of respect for them.”

  Elise’s attention was drawn to a nearby bench on the side of the cobbled street. Another Green Coven witch sat there impatiently with her arms crossed. The silver hair was unmistakable, it was Elise’s own sister Winona. Her lavender eyes were stormy with aggravation. Elise pulled John over.

  “Hey Winny.” She raised an eyebrow, “What’s got you all upset?”

  “Oh, hey sister.” She said flatly, “It’s Joe. He promised he would go dress shopping with me at the tailor’s today, but he’s a no-show! I can’t believe him, we’re supposed to be preparing for the Dance!”

  “What a slouch.” Elise rolled her eyes, “You should hit him with a Hex of Itching, that’ll show him.”

  “No… He’ll just walk it off if I try that.” She sighed, “Anyway, is this your Gun? I never got a look at him.”

  John felt Winona’s swirling magical signature as she studied him. Like Elise, she had an intense energy about her. He could tell that she too was a hassle for her Gun. Elise felt a very unfamiliar feeling come over her as her sister continued to look John over. With each passing moment she became more uncomfortable at the thought that her sister was appraising her Gun.

  “Hey, take a photograph or something.” She shoved John a step away, her voice harsh.

  She wasn’t speaking to John, however.

  A thin smirk grew across Winona’s face. “Oh…” She started in a playful tone, “Is somebody feeling a bit… territorial?”

  Elise glared at her sister, who now had on the biggest grin. “No, you’re just a creep is all. Come on, John! We got to prep for the Dance too.”

  John waved a bit, “Nice to meet you, Winona.”

  “Don’t talk to her! She’s being weird.” Barked the younger witch.

  Elise tugged John along, continuing down the road. She could feel her heart beating harder. She couldn’t believe she was actually acting jealous, but the inclination had overcome her suddenly. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t get this way with Mavis, but then again Mavis had never paid much attention to John. Her hair began to float just a bit as she spooled herself up.

  “Hey now.” John placed a hand on her shoulder. His touch was not firm and commanding, as it had been in Kitty’s Saloon months ago. His hand was gentle.

  “You’re ok. I’m right here, alright?”

  Elise felt a bit of that Calhoun confidence and it wound her down. Her churning magic calmed. She breathed out. Now embarrassment had replaced her jealousy, and she continued on in silence, trying to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened.

  Her gaze wandered to a familiar poncho on one of the Guns. She recognized the short poncho, embroidered with the pattern of bright triangles which made the Delta symbol repeating across the cloth. It was distinct. The man was dressed in fancier Six-Gun attire, but she really only noticed the poncho in the bustle of the street.

  “Hey! Joe!” She called out. The Gun continued on, fine leather boots trotting along the cobbled road.

  Elise pushed up to him, John following curiously. She floated over and tugged at the Gun’s poncho. “Hey! Winona is waiting for you back there. What’s the deal, Joe?”

  The Gun stopped and down at her. This was not the redhead Tornado Joe, but an older man with a blonde hair. If Joe’s eyes were the blue of sparkling shallow sea water, this man’s eyes were the blue of the deep ocean in a storm. A neat blonde goatee covered his chin. Despite his apparent age, his skin was very fair and free of blemishes. It was clear he cared for his appearance, like the Gun she had mistaken him for. Elise was taken aback by the shape of the man’s face. He looked exactly like Calvin.

  John’s eyes bugged. “Um, Elise…”