There are those who wallow in tragedy, and those who rise above it.

  Always a crapshoot to see who’s who in the aftermath, and it breaks my heart to watch Josie fall into the former category. A once bright, cheery, and vivacious young woman has been left crippled by grief, and as the days go by, there ain’t nothing me or Noora can do to bring her out of it. We’re both patient though, as time heals all wounds, or so they say. I ain’t so sure since even if you ignore the part where how a wound could fester and kill you, there are some things time can’t fix. Like how I still got only the one hand and still get weepy every time I visit my daddy’s grave. Here’s hoping time does better for Josie though, so I do what I can to just be there for her when she needs me.

  Which ain’t as much time as I’d like, seeing how there’s so much to do in the wake the Madness. The day after is the simplest, as most folks are still in shock and disbelief, taking shelter in the churches and crying over their losses while the Padre carries out funeral after funeral for the dearly departed. I help out where needed, mostly as a pall bearer, grave digger, and a shoulder to cry on as groundskeeper Larry lowers Mr. and Mrs. Ramirez into their freshly dug plots in the cemetery just next to the church. They got a shared tombstone for the both of them, one they had carved and ready as so many folks out here do, and even their plots were picked out beforehand. The Padre didn’t ask too many questions about what went down, accepting my version of events wherein the Madness got them both, but somehow, I get the feeling he knows and holds out the same hope I do that Mr. Ramirez makes it up to Heaven to be with his beloved wife.

  As for Josie, she don’t say much throughout the whole process, just cries into a kerchief while all dressed in black mourning clothes. Noora stands strong beside her, saving her tears for later when she’s alone with Josie, because she’s learned to never show weakness in public. The Padre says some nice things, then steps aside to start the next funeral a few plots over, while the three of us stand and watch as friends of the Ramirez’s take turns tossing soil over the coffins just once. A final farewell I’m much rather skip when it comes my turn to be put 6 feet under, as I’d hardly want the last interaction my family has with me to be throwing dirt at my face. Ain’t much of a reception after the fact either, because almost everyone’s lost someone and got other places to be, so I sit with the girls until groundskeeper Larry comes by to ask for more help. Can’t say I blame him either, as he’s got plenty of it, what with the other two who normally share his duties being laid up with injuries. Besides given how he gets paid by the plot and is splitting his fees with me, I can hardly turn down the easy work and money.

  Josie and Noora both understand, as they know me well enough. They need time to sit around and grieve, because they’re feeling like they got the weight of the world pressing down on them and making it hard to breathe. Me, I need to work off my grief, alongside any nerves, anxiety, rage, or other emotions I might have, because that’s just how I am. Gotta always be doing something, which really puts a damper on people who grieve in different ways. Can’t be processing no emotions while I’m puttering about offering drinks and snacks or changing out kerchiefs or what not. Lots of folks in the church gather to talk about the dearly departed too, which I hate because it almost always feels like a game of one-up where everyone’s trying to be the most miserable one out of the lot.

  That’s how Sunday goes, but Monday is the first real hurdle after the tragedy, the real test that’ll show how long it takes to recover. Everyone tries to get back to business as usual, except there are too many glaring absences to even feign normality. Every time you think you got your feet under you, something throws you for a loop. Like arriving at the bakery to find it closed on account of how Otis Gibson done got pushed out the second story window by the missus while he trying to club her with a chair. Can’t get no back bacon today neither, not unless I care to butcher it myself, because Hamish done killed two men in a street brawl and the Sherrif’s got him locked in a cell. The pub/diner is closed too, because poor Mrs. Peterson was brutally beaten to death by a mob inside, and Shirley the chef broke a few ribs trying to stop the fight. Roy the bartender, Olav the drunk, and a handful of lucid patrons eventually subdued the Maddened mob, but not before two others died in the process, and all that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

  Ain’t pleasant in the least, because it ain’t just about their deaths no more, but the void they left behind. See, I didn’t know Otis all that well, but I loved his baked treats, and them cheesy brisket and potate pies were a real smash hit. Mrs. Peterson was a busybody gossip, but never meant no harm by it, and taught almost every kid in New Hope at one point or another. Even me, though I didn’t last a week in her class because I was too far ahead of the curriculum, a concept she could never really wrap her head around.

  As for the perpetrators of these offenses, I dunno how I feel about the law holding folks accountable for what they done in the throes of Madness. Hamish is a surly sort, with a face meaner than mean, and while he makes a living killing and chopping up delicious animals for good eats, he wouldn’t hurt a fly unless someone wanted to make a meal out of it. No idea how all the legalities of it are gonna work out, but even if him and them other Maddened folks get off scot-free, I dunno how the community is gonna treat them moving forward. Would make for a real awkward reunion, going back to the restaurant where you done stomped a kindly teacher to death, and I’d hate to have to be there for it.

  Then again, those folks got it easy compared to the ones that done killed their husbands, wives, children, or friends, because now their hands are stained with the blood of their loved ones. A hard burden to bear, and anyone who makes it past this has more than earned my respect.

  Was a whole lot of death that happened here in New Hope, and there’s no glossing over it. The morning paper even got a list of names all printed out, casualties of the ‘Mindspire’s Madness Massacre’. Surprised they didn’t try and squeeze the month of May in there too for extra alliteration, but I suppose Mr. Haj, the editor in chief of the New Hope Herald, thought any more would be too garish even for him. Feels almost unreal to read that list, to put faces to names and know I ain’t ever gonna see them again, which is why I take some time to grieve in my own way, traipsing through town with Chrissy to take in the sights and see what’s changed.

  Quite a bit, which shouldn’t come as a surprise since most people still in town were here because they were deemed essential. Food for example, which makes buying supplies a mite tricksy, or sanitation meaning we got our garbage piling up instead of getting hauled off to the burning pits or Condenser station. Lots of construction crews are a man or three down, and while most old worlders think construction work is unskilled labour, they be dead wrong. Might only be one or two men on a crew who know how to do one specific thing, or at the very least, they do it quick, fast, and really well, which slows down the rebuilding efforts as they all gotta adapt.

  And there are plenty of efforts underway, though so far no one’s put in a world with the Sherrif looking to bring me on and work some hours off.

  By Wednesday, it’s less about grief and more about fatigue, because we as a collective are all tired of it all. We’ve been working round the clock trying to fill in all the gaps we’ve got and make good on what was lost, because only then can we move on from this loss. Problem is, we can’t move on just yet because there’s still so much more we need to fix, including how we ain’t even buried all the bodies just yet. There’s also all the minutia to deal with, like damaged property, lost supplies, or finding a new baker to replace the one we lost, because ain’t no way poor Mrs. Gibson can do the job on her lonesome. Add in how we got traumatized survivors just starting to process what they went through, and we got more drunks at the saloon than ever. That’s with less than half the normal population too, and I hate to think what’d happen if we ever ran out of booze. Ain’t yet time to harvest honey though, so I can’t be making any mead just yet, but I’m sure Clayton’s due to make a real killing the next time his customers come calling.

  On Thursday, Josie finally feels ready to head home for a look-see instead of hiding in the church every minute she can, aside from going to school and back. The Madness scared her something fierce, showed her that the threat of the Mindspire was something real and tangible instead of a theoretical possibility. Can’t say I blame her for her reluctance, as I’d have a hard time going home too if I knew everyone who lived there was dead and gone. I do what I can to be there and support her as we walk through the house, talking her through all the stuff she’ll need to do, like papers to sign and taxes to pay and whatnot, but I’m pretty sure it all goes in one ear and out the other. Thankfully I got Noora there to help as she gives me a look that says, “Shut Up”, and a gesture beckoning me closer. I do as I’m told, slipping my arm around Josie while Noora hugs her from the other side, and that’s all we do as we stand about for a good, long while.

  We don’t stay there for the night. Instead, I bring them back to the church to sleep, only to find them both with their bags packed and ready come Friday morning. In response to my unvoiced question, Josie musters up a small, sad little smile and says, “There are others who need the room more. I’ll be fine at home.” Turning to Noora, she reaches out and takes the other girl’s hand, whose smile and gaze are so full of tender love and affection I’m almost jealous to see it. “We’ll be fine.”

  Doesn’t stop Josie from crying herself to sleep that night, so I hold her close while Noora hugs her from behind. Just like that, a full week goes by as Saturday rolls around again, and on the surface, it’s almost like everything is back to normal. Well, not everything, but close enough that the new normal ain’t all that different from the old. The cracks are there if you know where to look, like how the new baker’s meat pies are called ‘tourtieres’ and don’t got nearly enough butter, or how there ain’t a line at Hamish’s anymore as people take their business elsewhere. The mood is darker overall too, with most staying home as much as they can in case a second bout of Madness comes around. In that same vein, almost everyone’s going around strapped heavy these days, even Noora and Josie who’ve taken to carrying around the cattle prods on my advice. Guns would be better, but those ain’t allowed at school and there’s still the ever-present danger of a weapon ending up in a Maddened person’s hands.

  Hope is a rarity these days here in New Hope, as the Marshal has yet to announce that they’ve found the Proggie. I get why, since you don’t want to rush into a complicated and challenging operation like this one just because folks are getting antsy. That’s how you lose soldiers, and every Ranger on the Frontier is a valued resource, one we’re still years away from being able to replace. I seen them heading out for training in the lake every day, but otherwise, I’m just as clueless as the rest.

  More so in some ways, as Danny reveals one of those cracks I missed during our Saturday morning tinkering session. “I signed on for Basic,” he says, right out of the blue about an hour and a half after I showed up to get some practice in at the workshop.

  Which we spent in near complete silence mind you, since that’s how we both work best and he got his own projects to finish. Like a backorder of cattle prods from all the customers I sent his way, but lately he’s been real fixated on his dreamcatcher or whatever it is. Lead hoops the size of a dinner plate strung up with copper wire patterns, that’s all I see. Some patterns are pleasing, symmetrical, flower-like patters, while others are more like irregular nets, and still more look like geometric spiderwebs, all of which screams dreamcatchers to me. As for his abrupt admission, my first reaction is to say ‘great’ and go on and on about how he made the right decision. Thing is, I been pushing Danny to sign on for almost two years now, and he ain’t ever budged an inch. It’s always been a hard maybe with him, and even though he’s head over heels in love with Tina, something tells me her offer to show him the ropes ain’t what moved him. He’s trying to be casual about it, but I can tell it been eating away at him seeing how he brung the subject up out of nowhere in the middle of work. That’s sacred time to him, because me and him are birds of a feather who put our noses to the grindstone and tune out everything else.

  So the only reason for him to bring it up like this is because he wants to talk about it, and Danny don’t ever want to talk about Basic.

  Still tinkering with the index finger of my latest wooden model hand, I try to keep things casual so Danny don’t shrink away from the attention. “Sound decision,” I say, testing the waters to see how he reacts. “Didn’t know you were leaning that way.”

  “Mhm,” he grunts, a confirmation as clear as any. He stays quiet for a bit, and so do I, giving him the room to speak if he should so choose to, and soon enough, he says, “Never thought I’d need it, working back here like I do. Then the Madness struck and Ma…”

  He just trails off there, and I turn to look at him, though he still got his back to me. “Wasn’t her,” I say, skirting over whatever it is that might’ve happened, because the details ain’t important. “Whatever she did, whatever she said, it wasn’t her Danny. It was the Spell driving her to Madness, just like the Spell’s supposed to.”

  “I know,” he says, though unconvincingly at that. “I know. It’s just… she tackled Manda, tried to strangle her then and there, and I couldn’t pull her off. Didn’t know how to stop her, restrain her, keep her from hurting Manda, Nikki, or herself. Not in the moment at least. After the fact? I came up with a dozen different things I could’ve done different. There’s a bottle of cooking wine I could’ve used to cast Daze. Sleep Spell Cores go for a dollar fifty each, and installing one onto my skitterbots would’ve done wonders to help. Hold Person potions, Hypnotic Pattern projectors, even a simple Living Whip to hold her still without hurting her…”

  Which means he had to hurt his mama, and now he can’t forgive himself. Didn’t know things got so bad here. I dropped by once things settled down to see if everything was alright the night off, but he told me he all was well and to get home safe. Figured his mama was worried about me going Mad in the house, but I guess he was just hiding how bad it was. Ain’t much I can say about that, because I can’t even imagine how I’d feel if I were in his shoes and I had to take a cattle prod to Aunty Ray. So I keep quiet and head over to sit with him instead, putting my hand on his shoulder while he keeps his head down and works. Soon as enough time has passed for him to get his emotions back under control, I say, “You did what you had to do, and everyone walked away alive. That’s about as good as it gets considering what went down. Least you know your shortcomings and are taking steps to fix them.”

  “Ma wants to move,” he says, gesturing off into the distance. “Not to Irongate or Summerbloom, and not just until this all blows over. She’s talking about going upriver, all the way to the West Coast maybe. Somewhere close to Ranger HQ, but less expensive.”

  Much as I’d hate to lose my best friend, I gotta consider it from his shoes, so after a moment’s thought, I say, “Might not be so terrible. You can still do your work elsewhere, and it won’t affect you much. Dunno how much safer it is on the West Coast though, as they get incursions from the oceans instead of the Divide.” Lots of dangerous Abby come from deep waters, and the west coast got a lot of shock resistant ones with a penchant for Lightning Spells, which is why they named it Thunder Bay.

  “This is my home,” Danny retorts, with more frustration than heat, and I can tell there’s more to it than that. This here is also his daddy’s workshop we’re in, where he taught Danny almost everything he knows. These here streets are the ones he done grew up on, and unlike me, he was in town to watch it all go up day by day, instead of coming back every few weeks or months to experience a jarring change. That’s why I ain’t as invested in the town as he is, because it’s no longer the place I grew up in, but that ain’t the same for Danny. New Hope is his home. Always has been and in his mind, always will be, so he ain’t ready to just up and leave like that. His emotions come to a boil as he tosses his tools aside and slumps at his desk, but even then, his skitterbots scamper over to pick up his tools and tidy things up as they’re no doubt programmed to.

  Easy to see he’s having a hard time with all this, and I can’t say I blame him. I’m still reeling from Mr. Ramirez’s death, though I do a better job of hiding it. “How they feel about moving?” I ask, gesturing upstairs to indicate his sisters.

  “They’re scared,” Danny replies, which is a loaded statement, because again, he feels like it’s his fault. If he was stronger or more competent, then they’d have nothing to be afraid of, so he’s failed them too.

  “And you?” I ask, catching him off guard. “You scared too?”

  “No,” he replies, before tilting his head and admitting, “Yes, but I’ve taken steps to make sure the next time around will go different. The skitterbots got Sleep Cores and protocols to use them if we get into a fight. I’ve got a couple potions stashed around the house, and I started carrying a couple vials of alcohol for Daze. Got other plans too, though I’m waiting on materials to move forward, or still working out the kinks.”

  The last is said with a frustrated gesture towards his desk, but there ain’t nothing I can do about those. Instead, I think about what he said, and figure it sounds reasonable, then realize why his ma and sisters are still scared. “You tell them as much?” I ask, and wouldn’t you know it, Danny’s poleaxed expression tells me the answer in so many worries. “Can’t just tell them not to worry. Let them know what you’ve done and what you’re planning. Maybe even talk about them moving into the church for a bit, or ask the Padre to talk to your ma.” That’s the thing about Danny. He knows machines and Artifacts like no one else, but people? He don’t know squat. And that’s coming from me, a man who’s put in a lot of effort into studying the human condition and still don’t understand much of anything at all. Course, I know enough to know it ain’t advice that he needs, which is good because I don’t have any more to offer. Instead, what he’s looking for is support, which I offer in spades, even hinting that maybe the Mindspire won’t be around for much longer.

  Which he reads as my typical faith in Ranger competence, rather than a hint at how the Proggie’s been found, but I don’t feel right spelling it right out. Don’t want to give him too much false hope either, because an underwater battle is gonna be tricky to pull off. Even with Drex Durden leading the way and plenty of Rangers to draw on, there’s a good chance it could take multiple attempts to bring down the Proggie once and for all. Can’t even imagine going into a battle where I can’t rely on Aetherarms or Fireball. I suppose I could always Metamagic Fireball to Frost damage, which feels almost blasphemous to even think, but even then, that’s hardly gonna be enough.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  If anyone can do it though, it’d be the Rangers, and that there is a fact.

  Ain’t much else to be done about Danny’s problems, nothing except be here for him to vent at, and I play my part as best I can. “Whatever might happen,” I say, just to cover all my bases, “You need any help at all, you let me know and I’ll be there.” Clapping him on the shoulder once more to keep him from having to feel bashful, I add, “Besides, I’m sure you’ll have a blast in Basic. Go out, meet some girls, shoot some guns, what more can you ask for?”

  We joke around for a bit before getting back to work, and I finish up putting together my model wood hand lickety split. I’ve come a long way from the first skeletal hand, and now it looks like something you might see on a medical model. Hand’s got a proper shell and everything to hide most the inner workings, while retaining the full range of motion. Which is harder to accomplish than you might think, especially when it comes to your palm and how it can fold in on itself and pick things up with just your thumb or even with no fingers at all if the object is the right size and shape.

  Course the hand don’t move on its own, nor would anyone ever look at it and mistake it for a real human hand. It’s also rife with splinters in the making despite me smoothing every surface as much as I can, but functionally, it’s about as close as you can get to a working hand. For a bit of a laugh, I use a Mage Hand to hold it against the stump of my wrist just to see how it looks, and it hits me hard as I gaze upon what I lost. I know it ain’t a real hand, that it can’t move of its own volition, but that don’t stop me from curling my phantom fingers into a fist and spiralling down into despair when the model doesn’t move one bit.

  The jingle jangle of the shop bell snaps me out of my fugue, and I watch as Danny moves to the door to see who came in. “Oh hey,” he begins, sounding casual as can be only to freeze up like a chitter rat that done just heard something move. Tells me Tina’s here, but she wasn’t the first one through the door, which is enough to get me off my feet as I guess at who it might be. As expected, it’s Josie and Noora leading the way while Tina and Chrissy trail behind as the latter stops to glance at every gadget, gizmo, and component there is on all of Danny’s shelves.

  Coming out from behind the front desk, I greet Josie with a chaste hug and a quick kiss on the cheek once I see that Chrissy ain’t watching. As for Noora, all I can do is give her a look saying I’ll make it up to her later. She ain’t all that put off though, happy to play at being the close friend now that everyone ‘knows’ I’m dating Josie. I ought to practice what I preach and talk to the girls about our relationship and where it’s going, but I got no earthly idea where to even start.

  Not to mention how worried I am I’m gonna screw it all up by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time…

  Curling her arms around my neck, Josie squeezes me tight in a big warm hug before backing away with a smile. “Tina said she was coming over for a refresh on her Spell,” Josie says, her soft smile and big eyes still missing that spirited mirth which made me fall head over heels for her. “So we figured we’d tag along and see what you were up to.”

  Following her gaze, I’m mortified to realize I still got the wooden hand affixed to my wrist, with the Mage Hand clinging gamely on since I ain’t told it to do anything different. “Making wooden hands like always,” I say, sheepishly hiding it away, but Noora reaches out for it and I can’t bring myself to deny her. Instead, I pass it over and head over to Tina to hide my embarrassment. “Hey Chrissy,” I say, after giving Tina a nod. “I’m gonna cast Mental Fortress now.”

  That’s enough to capture Chrissy’s attention as she fixates on me with an almost unnatural focus, straightening up and turning towards me to watch me sling my Spell. Gone are the days when she tells me to stop every time I do something wrong, and instead, she just points at the air above my head as I slowly and carefully Intone, “Cogito – Ergo – Sum.”

  I’m fairly sure she’s pointing out flows of Aether to be aware of, but I can’t see them the way she can, so there ain’t nothing I can do about them. Chrissy also gestures a bit, making like a bricklayer smoothing out mortar before waving her arms like she making a snow angel in the air among various other things. All of which is endearing to watch, but makes no sense to me whatsoever. In the end, I cast the Spell through my Extend Duration Metamagic bead and tap Tina on the nose to denote my target. Though well used to it, she still wrinkles her nose every time I do it, which puts a smile on my face as I watch her shoulders relax as the Spell takes effect.

  “Wrong,” Chrissy whispers as her shoulder slump in an almost petulant manner, like she suspects I’m making mistakes just to infuriate her.

  “Sorry Princess,” I say, more out of reflex than anything else as I reach out to pat her head. “I’ll figure it out eventually. Probably.”

  “What’s wrong about it?” Danny asks, glancing between me and Chrissy. “That’s the Spell, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” I shrug. “I think she can see the flows as I cast it though, and knows how to squeeze it to make it better, so she trying to show me how it’s done.” Chrissy takes a moment to parse through what I said, then nods in a matter-of-fact manner. Then she goes back to inspecting Danny’s wares, poking at this and that with an air of wonder and amazement that I do so love to see.

  As for Danny, he stands there blinking a few times like we just broke out in French and don’t understand what was said. “She can see Aetheric Flows in Spell Structures?” he asks, and I give a little shrug in reply, because I can’t really say that’s what she sees. “What about in Wards?”

  “Probably,” I say, gesturing at Chrissy who’s still snooping through his stuff. “I’m pretty sure she can see flows in general, or at least something akin to them. Could be the effect the flows have on the world around us, like ripples in the water, or the displacement of natural Aetheric flows as new ones are introduced into the mix.”

  I watch the gears turning in Danny’s head as he looks at Chrissy in a new light. It’s not like we been hiding how she is, but we don’t go announcing it either. Most just think she’s simple, except she’s anything but. My daddy thought her lack of engagement was due to sensory overload, which is why he taught us to tap her hand to get her attention and squeeze three times to say ‘I love you’. He said it was because touch is the most decentralized of our senses and therefore the least likely to get overwhelmed, which makes it the best way to get through to Chrissy.

  Hence why it takes Danny three tries to get her attention while calling her name. Even then, it takes a little help from Tina to direct Chrissy’s attention his way, but Danny ain’t as practiced with talking to Chrissy as we are. “Could you tell me more about how Mental Fortress works? No, wait, yes or no questions. Uh… Can you explains the flows for me?”

  “No,” Chrissy replies, before going back to browsing.

  Looking to me for help, I raise an eyebrow in question before arriving at the answer myself. “You been working on a Mental Fortress Ward? Is that what all your dreamcatchers are about?”

  “Yea,” Danny replies, waving at me, and more specifically Chrissy, to head on into the workshop. “I read in a few places that the Native American tribes used them as protective charms, and they worked like Wards before we even knew what Wards were.” Which may or may not be true. Established Wards like the ones I set up for Carter or got on my wagon and lockbox are fairly new tech, around 2 or 3 hundred years old at most. Same with Alchemy and Artisanal Craftsmanship, as they only came into being after Sir Issac Newton laid down the foundation for Cantrips and Newtonian or Orthodox Spellcasting. Arcana Technology is even newer, or at least the part where we create Artifacts without Spell Cores is, since that didn’t come into effect until the 1800s when the Aetheric Revolution caused demand to spike. Since we couldn’t supply enough Spell Cores, we had to improvise, and now we got full on Artifacts powered by Aether without any Cores to speak of, albeit with effects typically limited to Cantrips.

  Which is really impressive when you stop to think about it. I mean a set of speakers is using physics and magnets to replicate what we do with Thaumaturgy, that is project a sound to be louder or quieter than it otherwise would be. A Freeze-box keeps things cold using the Freeze Cantrip, while a television projects Illusions using multiple Minor Illusions, with all that tech controlled by a Central Nexus Unit where everything is wired up to it. As for a Ward, it’s pretty much a physical replication of a Metaphysical Spell, or at least, it’s close enough. If you want to argue that description, you need a university education just to get all the facts straight, so for all intents and purposes, that’s what they are. As for Danny, wanting Chrissy’s help with coming up with a new ward makes perfect sense, as there’s a good chance she’ll be able to spot what’s wrong with the project he’s been working on for almost an entire month now.

  So I ask Chrissy if she wants to look at Danny’s latest and greatest project, something only a few people have ever seen, and she brightens right up at the prospect. Tina follows close behind, because she can see some of those flows too and is just as curious as Chrissy, while I stay outside with Noora and Josie. The former is still poring over my model hand, fascinated by all the moving parts and how it comes together, while Josie is less interested in those sorts of things and just here to keep her company. And see me too, of course, as she offers up a shy little smile that’s got my heart pounding like a rattle drum.

  Slipping my arms around her slim, itty-bitty waist, I pull her in close for a hug and proper kiss. A quick one I don’t want to break away from, but Chrissy and Tina are too close for comfort. “How you doing today, beautiful?” I ask. She likes to sleep in alongside Noora on the weekends, and it wouldn’t surprise me to learn she only just woke up a half hour ago even though it’s almost time for lunch.

  “I visited Mama and Papa at the church today,” Josie replies, with an air of forced indifference about her as she tries to stay strong, and I tighten my arms around her to let her know I’m here. Nestling into my shoulder, she heaves a soft little sigh and melts right into me. “Still seems so unreal, to know I won’t even see or hear them again.”

  “I wish I knew what to say to make all the pain go away.” I hold her a bit longer, and ask, “You wanna hear what I do when I miss my daddy?”

  “Yes.” Leaning back so she can get a good look at my face, Josie’s expression is one of empathy and intrigue, like it never occurred to her that I might miss my daddy too. I get it, because she buys into the whole ‘Firstborn’ thing and thinks I’m like some hero come out of a story sometimes.

  Which I don’t argue against too often, because it’s nice to be admired sometimes. She don’t need the Firstborn right now though. What she needs is her boyfriend, and apparently, that’s me, Howie Zhu. How’d I get here? No idea, but sure would like things to stay this way. “Well,” I drawl, using my chin to gesture out at the main thoroughfare. “I go around reminiscing of stuff we did. Like that time I accidentally lured three harpies into Anita’s grocery store, and my daddy made me help replace all her broken windows and doors with ones made outta Aberrtin reinforced glass.”

  Josie’s heard the story before, as she was in town when it happened, but this is the first Noora’s hearing of it. “You did what now?” she asks, holding my model hand in hers like she’s sizing it for a glove.

  “I’ll tell you the full story some other time.” Much as I love to tell the tale, this here is about Josie, not me, so I get back on track. “How about you think on that, and come up with some places we can go after lunch? I’ll pack us a basket of cheese and crackers and we can reminisce on the good memories for a change?”

  Already teary eyed at the mere thought of it, Josie shakes her head in a quiet refusal. “Sorry,” she whispers, burying her face in my chest. “I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.”

  “That’s alright,” I say, holding her close and making room for Noora to come in too. “Grief don’t got an expiration date. You take as long as you need, and I’ll be here when you need me.” Though that ain’t necessarily true, so while it is probably the wrong time to bring it up, I can’t help but correct myself right here and now. “Uh… well, until tomorrow. I was thinking that long as the Marshal gives me the all clear, I’mma head up to Mueller’s Quay for the week to put a dent in my hours.” The look of shock and reluctance in Josie’s big doe eyes is enough to melt me where I stand, and I almost backpedal on my decision then and there, but I been idle for too long and them hours have been weighing heavy on my head. “I’ll be back Friday night,” I promise, which don’t change her expression none, so I try and explain it best I can. “Gotta finish all my hours before settling down to find real work here in town, and Tina told me Mr. Mueller asked about me when she was last up there.” Only a few days prior, having gone out on patrol to check up on the surrounding communities, like Carter’s, Mueller’s, and Clayton’s. The Sherrif asked me to do it Sunday, but I declined so I could keep Josie company, as she was still reeling from the loss.

  I suppose a week wasn’t long enough then, but I can’t straight up ask how much longer she need me around, now can I?

  “It’s okay,” Josie says, in a sad sort of tone punctuated by a forced smile that leaves me feeling lower than a snake’s belly. “You do what you have to do, then come back to us Friday.”

  I want to explain that I’m doing this for us, so I can get my hours behind me and look for a real job while the two of them are off in Basic. While I’m still flush from my payment for the Proggie, I been spending fairly freely here in town of late, and I’m getting anxious looking at the numbers in my bank account go down without ever jumping back up. Now though, now I’m almost hoping Uncle Teddy tells me to sit tight a little longer so I got an excuse to stay home another week. Instead, I say, “250 hours. I get those done and then I’ll be here in town full-time until you sick of seeing me around.”

  Josie nods and fakes another smile, leaving me at a loss on what else to say, but thankfully I got Noora here to swoop in for the save. “Tell me about this, guapo,” Noora says, holding up my model hand. “You’ve got an articulating wooden hand. What comes next?”

  “Well,” I say, breaking away from our group hug and taking the model from Noora with a Mage Hand so I can open it up and show her the innards. “Next I start figuring out how I’ll move the parts. In a human hand, we use muscles and tendons, but that’s a little difficult to replicate with machinery. Motors and cables would get the fingers moving, but that would make things like fine control tricky to pull off.” Or maybe even downright impossible, as me and Danny haven’t come up with an idea that seems plausible.

  Pursing her lips in a gorgeous pout, Noora huffs and says, “Motors and cables. That’s a lot less magical than I was expecting. I thought you were carving a Totem or something, so you could use it to Conjure up a magical hand.”

  My first instinct is to laugh and dismiss the idea, but then a thought strikes me and I give it a second to percolate. As silly as it might sound, that’s not all that far from my idea of creating a new Spell with parts from Mage Hand and Conjure Weapon. Only difference is that instead of straight up Conjuring the hand, the inclusion of a Totem would imply I’m summoning a hand instead. Which is also kinda silly, except that I recently learned Totems are also used in Wildshaping. The bound Spirit in the Totem not only helps the Caster Conjure up a new form to take, it also helps with the control aspect of the final product. When Elodie Wildshapes into a baby diamondclaw, she don’t become Elodie in a diamondclaw body, or even a diamondclaw in a diamondclaw body, but a mixture of both minds that come together as one.

  That’s how she knows how to run, climb, or even walk on her wrists so her claws don’t tear up the floorboards or bedsheets. Because for all intents and purposes, she is a diamondclaw and always has been, only she’s something more with the inclusion of her own mind. Then when the Spell fades, she’s just Elodie again, and got no trouble walking or running about on her own two feet.

  That’s how the Wildshape Spell works after all, or at least that’s the gist of it as far as I know. When I asked if I could Wildshape into myself only with two hands, everyone got up in arms about Skin-walkers and homicidal maniacs, but what Noora said got me thinking. What if instead of Mage Hand and Conjure Weapon, I looked into a Spell taking elements from Wildshape and Conjure Weapon instead? Without knowing the Spell Structure for Wildshape, they seem like they’re more closely connected than my initial pairing, and Uncle Teddy did say it’s easier to go from a higher Order Spell to a lower one, which is what I’d be doing in this case. Taking Wildshape, a Second Order Spell, and paring it down to something First Order to not shape my entire body, but just a singular missing part of me that I could probably provide the Spirit for already.

  Because what are my phantom fingers if not the Spirit of my missing hand?

  “Hello?” A caramel skinned hand with painted purple nails snaps two fingers in front of my face. “Mission Control to Howie?” Noora says, meeting my eyes in a fit of pique over being ignored for so long. “You there? Or did we finally lose you to your inner monologue?”

  Rather than apologize, I snatch her up in my arms and twirl her about, eliciting a small shriek of surprise from the gorgeous girlie. “You just gave me a great idea,” I say, stopping myself short of kissing her as I register movement from the workshop doorway. Putting Noora down before I give the game away, I casually glance back to see Tina glaring from behind the counter, no doubt calling me a randy goat in her head once again. How right she is, but I ain’t about to admit that, so I pretend not to notice and explain my newfangled revelation.

  When I’m done spelling it all out, both Josie and Noora look a little lost, and while they both try to appear supportive, it’s clear they don’t really understand the implications. “I dunno how successful it’ll be,” I say, being as frank and forthright as I can, “But it’s another avenue of research to go down, which is nice to have. Been banging my head against the wall trying to improve Mage Hand into a proper Spell, so least now I got an alternative to consider when I’ve worn all the other ideas down, even if it don’t amount to anything in the end.” Plus it’s an excuse to talk to Carter and maybe see how Elodie is doing, so win-win for me.

  The girls trade a little look, then titter away into a chorus of giggles for some strange reason or another, and nothing I say will convince them to explain what the joke was. Soon as I give up on understanding their inside joke, I head back into the workshop to save Chrissy from her mounting frustrations as Danny shows her different configurations of his dreamcatchers and asks, “Can you tell if any of these will work?”

  Chrissy shakes her head, and Danny turns the page, but I spot the problem right quick. “Chrissy,” I say, and she turns to me with a doleful little pout that’s almost begging me to bring her away. “Are you saying no, they don’t work?” She shakes her head. “So you’re saying no, you can’t tell if they work?” She nods, and Danny freezes up to see it. Gotta be real careful with what you ask Chrissy, as she ain’t one for nuance, so I try and help Danny a bit. Moving over to the table where he’s got his dreamcatchers laid out, I point at them and ask, “Do you know how the wires should look to make it work properly?” She shakes her head almost immediately, which makes perfect sense. Chrissy’s ability allows her to see the flows of Aether. Doesn’t mean she knows how Aether will flow in certain configurations. Just because we can see the wind blowing leaves about doesn’t mean we know which way it’s gonna go, a concept Danny’s overlooked in his rush for success.

  Crestfallen though he may be, Danny still musters up a smile for Chrissy and says, “Thanks for trying. Sorry if I upset you.”

  “Is okay,” Chrissy says, reaching out to pat Danny’s head. Giving the dreamcatchers another look, her brow wrinkles ever so slightly like when she sees mushrooms on her plate. “Wrong,” she declares, poking at the lead hoop without actually touching it, because she hates how the material absorbs and contains Aether.

  On a whim, I ask, “Can you show us what it would look like if it was right?”

  Chrissy thinks about it for a bit, then nods, and waggles her fingers to create a Minor Illusion of a shiny hexagonal ring. There are no wires strung up inside, meaning Chrissy don’t know the pattern it should look like, but it’s clear her issue is with the lead hoops Danny is using, and not copper wire patterns themselves. “Flow,” she says, pointing at one side of the hexagon then another, though not the direct opposite, only to move onto a third. She moves her finger back and forth a few more times until she feels her point is made, then dismisses the illusion and asks, “Lunchtime?”

  “Of course!” Smacking his head, Danny runs over to one of his shelves and rummages through it for whatever it is he needs. “I was trying to make the weaves contain any incoming Aetheric waves, when instead I should be rebounding them. No, catching them?”

  “Absorb and filter,” I say, catching on to what he’s going on about, and he whips about in wide-eyed glee. “That’s how the Spell works.”

  “Yes! You’re right! How’d you know?”

  I shrug. “Just got a feel for it is all.” That gets Danny to scowling, because he don’t like to put Faith in magic, would rather have it all nice and neat and explained. Which would be great and all, but I think humanity is a long ways away from unravelling all the mysteries of magic, so we gotta put a bit of stock into faith a while longer yet. “You feel like coming out for lunch Danny? Might do the family some good to head out to the church. We having a design-your-own pizza party.” Which is mostly to help save Aunty Ray some effort from having to feed so many mouths. They put their own toppings and sauces on, then into the oven the pizza goes for a few minutes to cook, which is fun and engaging for everyone.

  Plus it gets them out of the church proper, which is starting to smell something fierce.

  Danny being Danny can’t step away from his work, not after an epiphany like this one, so I send Noora and Josie upstairs to talk to Nikky and Manda instead. Nikky’s in their class after all, having been merged with the older kids after Mrs. Peterson’s passing, so I’m sure Danny’s mama will warm up to the both of them right quick. While they’re upstairs playing nice, I take a moment with Tina to see how she’s doing, but she ain’t having none of it. “When was you gonna tell me and Mama about heading out to Mueller’s Quay?” She asks, hitting me with a glare her mama would be proud of.

  “Soon as I heard back from Uncle Teddy,” I reply, feeling a mite sheepish about it. “No sense having either of you fret until I know for certain I’ll be going.”

  Though I’m ready to list out all my arguments again, Tina throws me a curve ball as she huffs and asks, “Why’s it gotta be there then? They’re a curious sort, ain’t they?”

  “They’re a bit strange, I’ll give you that,” I say, remembering their whole schtick with their matching beige clothes and big, vacant, but friendly smiles. “They’re the only ones who got work for me at the moment though, and they’re mostly harmless.”

  “Unnerving more like,” Tina says, repressing a little shudder which I think is a bit much. “They was all asking after you like you was best friends instead of only having been up there once. How’s Howie doin’, did Howie make it home alright, when’s Howie coming up again? It all felt like a bit much, if I’m bein’ honest.”

  “Why?” I ask. “Because people want me around for a change?”

  “Well yeah,” Tina replies, playing it cool for all of a second before cracking a smile. It fades fast though, as she thinks back on her visit to the Quay and grimaces just a bit. “And that Kevin. He stares. I don’t much like that.”

  “Them’s the breaks of bein’ a pretty young thing,” I say, giving her a pinch on the cheeks and scheduling a talk with Kevin first thing Monday morning. Tina beams to hear it, and I quickly change the conversation to what they want on their pizza, while feeling mildly conflicted about my work ethic for the first time ever.

  Much as I’d love to stay home and while the days away with Tina and Chrissy and my nights with Josie and Noora, I got hard labour to finish and a career to begin, even if I don’t know what sort of career that might be. Can’t make enough to support myself doing cargo runs for suppliers, and the military contracts paying for shipping down south pay peanuts for what it is. Construction companies might be hiring, but while I don’t mind the job, Carter read me right and knows it ain’t one I’d choose for myself. A few weeks here and there is one thing, but every day for years without end will age a man right quick. There are other jobs out there, but it don’t matter one whit, because even now, my heart is still set on one job and only one.

  Can’t be a Ranger though, and it was silly to think I could be a Ranger-trained freelancer even when I had both hands, so that dream is dead. I’ll figure it out soon enough though. Got no choice but to after all, as I only got 250 hours to go before a decision needs to be made. Five weeks and counting, that’s all the time I got left, assuming Uncle Teddy gives me the go ahead tomorrow. Said it before and I’ll say it again, but life moves fast out here on the Frontier, and even if I can’t stay ahead of the curve, I can’t hardly let myself fall too far behind, now can I?

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsEND6hrmvM