The trick to waking up early without an alarm is to drink water before bed.

  Not too much, because then you wake up halfway through the night, but enough so that when you do wake, you really gotta go. It’s an old Native American trick for when they had to get up early for raids, or at least that’s what I been told. Despite his moniker, Native American Frank is not the authority figure he pretends to be on matters of his people’s heritage. Fact is, he didn’t even know about his ancestry until after he signed on to settle the Frontier and the standard blood tests revealed he was 33.5% Native American. Fun guy, Native American Frank, but he wouldn’t know a dreamcatcher from a lacrosse stick if one smacked him across the head.

  Thing is, waking up is only half the battle, because the temptation to slide back under the covers is powerful indeed. Triply so when you got two gorgeous girlies there waiting for you, as I do here tonight in Josie and Noora’s room. They’re still staying in the smaller bedroom, as neither one is ready to move into the master bedroom, and I don’t blame them. Plus, I kinda like sharing a double bed with the both of them, because even though it’s a bit of a cozy fit for three, getting in close is kinda the whole point of cozying up under the covers, now ain’t it?

  Ain’t much light in the pre-dawn gloom, but I can still make out their lovely features, with Josie lying on her back while Noora sleeps on her stomach so she can throw an arm and a leg over the other girl. The thin cotton comforter don’t leave much to the imagination and it takes every ounce of self-control not to lay down beside Josie and pincer between me and Noora. Doesn’t help when Josie reaches up to take my hand and gently tries to pull me back in, but I kiss her fingers and hold fast because I got a busy day ahead. “Go back to sleep, my beauty,” I whisper, nuzzling her soft and silky hand as I do. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Or you could stay,” Josie whispers, her big doe eyes all sad and soulful. “Get back into bed and hold me until the sun rises.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” I reply, matching her same sleepy intensity as I kneel and lean in for a kiss. One that starts at her cheek, then moves to her lips, lasting far longer than it should and is all too difficult to break off. Still, break it off I do, pulling back from her hungry lips and intense stare that promises so much more. “I gotta go though. I wanna finish my hours quick as I can, then go looking for real work to put money on the table.”

  “Is it because you keep buying us stuff?” Josie’s voice is so soft and hesitant, it makes me weak in the knees as I hold back from wrapping her in a big bear hug. “You don’t have to, you know? I just want you.”

  That earns her another kiss and cuts into my limited window of opportunity to get out of here unseen. “Sweet as sugar you are,” I whisper. “I ain’t worried about my financials though. I just want my hours done so I can start work on our future.”

  “Our future?” Josie’s smile is a sight to behold as she tests the words on her tongue. “How responsible of you.”

  “Can’t have me any other way,” I quip, though there’s more truth in that than I care to admit. If something needs doing, I like getting it done right quick, like having my taxes all done and paid for by the end of January instead of waiting until end of April like most folks. That’s why all the paperwork stacked up on her desk is driving me insane, but I ain’t been pushing her because she’s still grieving. “Plus, I want to start planning that trip of ours, and find a job with flexible enough hours that I can take time off if the Rangers take you boots out on a field trip before winter.” Doubt they will since we due for an Abby attack out the Divide sometime soon. Then again, the Rangers might bring them up to Meadowbrook for some field experience, and I wouldn’t mind checking in on Simone to see how she’s doing. “Believe you me,” I continue with a bit of a growl, “I’d love nothing more than to spend all day in bed with you, but we both got things to do and places to be. You need anything, anything at all, you ask Aunty Ray and she’ll handle whatever it is. Otherwise, just go to classes, eat well, and sit pretty until I get back.”

  “What if I want another kiss?” Josie asks, her voice matching my husky hunger.

  “Well, you can still ask Aunty Ray,” I say with a smile, which earns me a playful slap on the arm. “Would be a little odd, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and I’m sure she’d be happy to oblige.” Now that I got her laughing, I give Josie a third and final kiss, before leaning over her to kiss Noora too. Who’s awake, but not awake enough to do more than purse her lips and pat my cheek before going back to hugging Josie with a sensual purr. “I’ll see you both Friday night.”

  With that, I head out the door before I get drawn into that tangle of limbs and never find my way out again. I slip out the back door so I can check the front and make sure there’s no looky-loos hanging about. Mostly for the sake of the girls’ reputations, though I admit I don’t want to get caught looking like I’m taking advantage of a girl in grief either. Poor Josie does her best to hide it, but she’s hurting real bad and wants to keep me close. Part of me says I should stay here, except there ain’t nothing I can do to help her. It's usually Noora who comforts her, while I sit there like a log and pat Josie’s back and pass her kerchiefs whenever she needs them. Ain’t much of a call to sit around all week, especially since she spends her days in school and her afternoons doing homework.

  Which I see as mostly pointless, but they are about to graduate after all, or at least Josie is. Teachers want to keep Noora around another year at least to help her catch up on everything she missed, but if you ask me, she don’t need it. She’s a smart girl, so aside from some help with math and science, Noora knows about as much as she’ll ever need and then some for most any sort of career. Maybe something related to Arcana Tech or Artificing, as she seems interested in that sort of stuff. Or sales if she don’t want to study, as Noora can read most folks like a book and be mighty convincing when she wants to.

  As for Josie, I’ve no idea what she wants to do, and now hardly seems like the time to ask. Does great embroidery though, and fancy pieces like the kerchief she made me fetch a premium, since not just anyone has the time and effort to spare on frivolous decorative pieces. If she can do lacework, then she got a crazy lucrative career ahead, because rich folks love that stuff and will throw money at anyone who knows how to do it even remotely well. Josie’s a smart cookie too, so any sort of office work is right up her alley, or she could work logistics or communications for the Rangers and make a decent pay doing that. Even if both would prefer to be homemakers and look after our children, I can earn enough for all three of us to get by so long as I get back to hunting Abby again. Could’ve made a killing these past few weeks laying ambushes for kippers, doggies, and froggies all along the shore, but with only one hand and no rifle, the juice didn’t seem worth the squeeze for risking my neck like that.

  That’s all I can think of as I bring Cowie and Old Tux out onto the open road, of my future with the two lovely ladies who’ve stolen my heart. The irony don’t escape me neither. Two months ago I was wondering how Errol and Sarah Jay could have ever fallen in love so quickly, and now here I am planning out the rest of my life with Noora and Josie after a four-week dalliance.

  My biggest worry is about how this gonna go over with the family. Atypical relationships ain’t exactly out of pocket for me, what with how close I am with Chrissy and Tina. It’s the latter that worries me more, because I don’t know how she gonna react. Aunty Ray will disapprove, but she ain’t ever stopped me from going my own way, while Chrissy won’t think much of it at all. As for Tina? Who knows. Time was when we was two peas in a pod and knew everything about the other, but nowadays, I can’t fathom what’s going on in her head most days.

  Don’t think she’s cotton onto our predicament, but she has been giving me suspicious glares more often of late when she catches the three of us hanging out in dark rooms. Might be she’ll be the first to put all the pieces together, but even if she don’t, I’ll have to tell her eventually. Thing is, after seeing how she reacted when she found me in bed with Elodie, I’m worried the truth will drive a wedge between us if Tina don’t approve.

  And truth be told? I got no real reason to think she would. It’s 2007, not the 1920’s where every man had a wife and a mistress. I ain’t no mobster neither, or some scumbag who don’t know how to treat women right. Don’t got any excuses except to say I didn’t plan for none of this, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure neither of them want for nothing.

  I got nothing to worry about the other way around at least. Josie’s a rare one who understands my bond with Chrissy. Taught me how to braid her hair after all, when most girls her age would’ve told me to get lost. She’s been around enough to know Chrissy will always be a big part of my life and accepts it. Noora sorta gets it too, but I still catch those strange glances of hers when I take Chrissy’s hand or talk about how cute she looks with her hair done in ribbons. Ain’t an issue, not yet, but Noora don’t understand how a man can love a woman without wanting to bed her. That’s partially why we’re in our current situation in fact, because she knew she liked me, and Josie liked me too, and Noora figured the only way to keep the both of us was… well, you get the gist.

  So yea. Things are going great, but I ain’t under no illusions that it’ll be smooth sailing from here on out. Even if the town don’t get up in arms about our polygamous relationship, there will be plenty of speedbumps to smooth over along the way. Right now, we pretending Josie is my girlfriend and Noora is just a friend, but I dunno how long the sultry, caramel skinned beauty will willingly play second-fiddle for. Ideally, I’d find a way to marry them both, but I’ve no idea who to ask or how to go about finding out about that sort of thing. Could always go up to Métis territory and have Josie marry Noora instead, seeing how they recently announced the legalization of same-sex marriages. Not sure if a Métis marriage license would be recognized down here in Federation territory, but it’s worth looking into for the benefits if nothing else. Taxes and stuff, though I’m not sure if a same-sex marriage is better or worse than a polygamous relationship in the eyes of the puritanical Christian majority that makes up the U.F.A, and New Hope in particular.

  It’s funny. Americans love to talk about how the original pilgrims were fleeing from Great Britain due to religious persecution, but that’s only half the story. I ain’t saying they was lying, as the truth is, it was illegal to worship any church aside from the church of England at the time. Thing is, them pilgrims weren’t fleeing because they thought the Church of England was too restrictive, but because it wasn’t restrictive enough. They felt that the Church of England retained too many practices from the Roman Catholics and wanted to ‘purify’ their worship and return to simpler times, when they could stone a man for praying to the wrong god or a drown a woman for being a witch. There’s more to it of course, but that’s the general gist of why they was called Puritans. Driven too, seeing how they left Europe and went to the Americas, where they laid down a deeply religious foundation that still persists some two-hundred plus years later on a whole different world.

  Which is a little conflicting with the American tagline, but ‘Land of the Free, provided you abide by our numerous religious restrictions’ don’t really roll off the tongue now, do it?

  Course, not all Americans are so uptight about religion, but those who are certainly speak the loudest. Means I’ll have to find a way to navigate through those treacherous waters sooner or later, though I’ve no idea where to start. I hear about polygamous religious sorts all the time, and they usually live outside of town with 10 or 20 wives, so I suppose that’s always an option. Problem is, I only want the two, and I don’t want my kids growing up isolated and alone, because that’s how you end up with a socially starved child like Elodie. Who I spot a couple hours later hiding behind a tree just outside of Carter’s compound and watching as I approach. I wave at the green haired girlie expecting her to run up for a hug, but she ducks behind the tree to hide, so I make my way over towards her. She don’t run, just stays out of sight until Old Tux circles around with a happy little whinny to greet his new favourite friend.

  “Hi Elodie,” I say, with a big warm smile stretched across my face, one I don’t even have to work at as she wraps her arms around Old Tux’s face. Got her emerald-marked cheek pressed against his temple as she rubs her face against his, but she ain’t smiling all that much today in spite of our long separation. Or maybe because of it, I realize, as she finishes greeting Old Tux and stretches her arms out for Cowie, who squirms out of his blanket sling in his rush for more nuzzles. Undeterred, I let the two of them get reacquainted while Elodie does her best not to look at me, and wait until she puts Cowie down so he can run off his excess energy to ask, “So… how you been?”

  She doesn’t answer, just sorta pouts and turns away. Old Tux takes it upon himself to comfort her, giving her a few nuzzles to the arm before resting his head on her shoulder. Though still silent, Elodie can’t resist tickling his chin and patting his cheeks, so she can’t be all that upset. “You don’t say?” I ask, carrying on our conversation all by my lonesome, which gets her to frowning. “Interesting times we live in. Well, pleasant as this has been, I can’t be sittin’ here chit-chattin’ the day away. Got things to do and places to be, so I’mma head on up for a word with your daddy and be on my way.”

  Which really puts a burr in her saddle as she meets my eyes for the first time today with the mother of all puffed cheek pouts. “You say you only stay home for a week,” Elodie says, stomping her bare foot in an adorable fit of pique, and I wince to see it. I get it, she goes barefoot and wears a loose tunic so she can shift at a moments notice without having to go through all the rigamarole of kicking off boots and unbuttoning a shirt, but a pair of slip-on moccasins would go a long way to protecting her feet. “You say you go find work up in Muller’s Quay and pass by here twice a week, but I wait many days and still you do not appear.”

  It's both adorable and alarming that she’s gotten so attached so quickly, and it hurts to know it’s only because she’s starved for social attention. “Well – ” I begin, in an effort to explain, only to get cut off right quick.

  “Now you are here,” Elodie continues, turning on me to cross her arms and give me a glare. She’s got a real expressive face she does, and part of it is her full, thick eyebrows which shimmer with a hint of green as they twist and contort with her every smile and glower. “But not for visit. You do not bring Chrissy or Tina or Mademoiselle Rachel. You only stay for a word, and then you go.” Filling her cheeks with air once more, Elodie turns her back on me again to show how upset she is, only to spoil it all by glancing back to see my reaction. Which is a smile, because she’s too cute not to, and of course, it gets her all fired up some more. “I am not happy,” she declares, all frowny and pouty and upset that she has to even say as much, so I do my best to put on an appropriately contrite expression. Then and only then does she nod in approval, only to go back to ‘ignoring’ me while Tux and Cowie do what they can to entice her to play.

  Reaching out to pat her long, voluminous hair, I resist the urge to break out my brush then and there to straighten out all them tangles. “Sorry Elodie,” I say, my heart warming as she leans into the touch and even smiles because she thinks I’m learning since I gave her the pat without her having to spell things out. “That was the plan when I told it to you, but you know what they say. Even the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

  All bright-eyed and cheery smiles again, Elodie hugs Old Tux’s head as he lifts her up off her feet, though I suspect she’s lightly jumping to make it much easier for the horse to lift her. “I do not know this saying,” she says, as direct and forthright as always. “It is a strange one, yes? Are mice not good at planning?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I say with a shrug. “That’s just how the saying goes.”

  “If you do not know,” Elodie begins, as she takes a second leap into the air propelled by Old Tux’s neck, “Then why do you say it?”

  “Because repetition is the mother of learning,” I say, pulling a quote out of nowhere to end the conversation. “Either way, something came up and I had to stay home. Like when a bunny comes across a predator and has to hide in its burrow for bit.”

  “Bunnies do not hide,” Elodie retorts, acting like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world as she leaps a third time while hugging Old Tux’s head. “Bunnies attack. They do not do it very well, but they never hide.”

  Which is why it’s a miracle there’s as many bunnies as there are. To be fair though, my first instinct was to go on the attack too and wipe out the Mafia right quick, so what’s that say about me? “Well you get the idea,” I say, shooing her off of my horse. “Now quit gettin’ Old Tux all riled up. He still on the clock and gotta carry me for another hour yet.”

  “And then it is playtime?” she asks, so very concerned about his schedule as she pats his nose to calm him down. “He has not played for many days, else he would not be so eager.”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Which is true and leaves me feeling all sorts of put out, because I really ought to be putting more effort into enriching Old Tux’s life. A quick jaunt out in the ranch and a handful of short walks throughout the week ain’t hardly enough to keep him happy, but I ain’t been around enough to feel comfortable leaving the horses to free range. Patting his neck in silent apology, I say, “I’ll make sure to set some play time aside today. Promise.”

  Not to say Elodie doubts me, but she takes a moment to think it over before lighting up in delight. “I know,” she says, hugging Old Tux again. “I will go with you to Mueller’s Quay, and play with Tux and Cowie there.”

  I don’t know about that, but I don’t want to be the one to break her heart. Still, I ain’t about to give her any false hope either, so I lean forward to pat her head again and say, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. It’s still very dangerous out, what with the Madness that went down last week, and I’m thinking your parents won’t want you wandering so far from home. Maybe another time.”

  “I will ask Papa,” Elodie says, skipping away with Old Tux at her heels and bringing me along for the ride. “Come come.” The man himself is working the whipsaw with Raja, but they both stop short as they see Elodie and me approach. I wave in greeting from atop Old Tux, unable to get a word in edgewise as Elodie hugs her papa and lays out her whole plan, much to his chagrin. Yea, the man don’t look none too pleased to hear it, though to be fair, he don’t look less pleased than usual, which is to say he got a surly sorta-neutral expression pasted across his face as he takes it all in.

  Rather than answer in the negative as expected, he meets my eyes and asks, “Would you be open to leaving your horse here with us for the week? I will go with you to the Quay and bring your horse back here, then return Friday afternoon when it is time for you to leave.”

  “Uh… Sure,” I say, though I can’t tell if Carter wanted me to say no and be the bad guy here. Not the most expressive sort, and I’m left trying to read between the lines as he nods and waves another person over to help Raja with the whipsaw. From there, Carter sends Elodie inside to tell her mama, leaving just me and him to wait at the gates. Unable to stand the empty silence, I ask, “So how’d the Madness go for y’all? I know Tina came by to check in, but she said y’all pretty much waved her on by and said y’all were fine.”

  “We had a minor scuffle,” Carter replies, which is about as good as saying nothing at all. “A few bruises and scratches, nothing more. My Amelie, she protected the children and kept things from getting out of hand.”

  “A formidable woman,” I say, and wouldn’t you know it, the man puffs up to hear it. “Glad nothing came of it. Was bad in New Hope, worse in Riverrun, and I been hearing horror stories this last week as tales trickle in from the homesteads. Then there’s all the increased Abby activity, though I know y’all are covered there.” Carter grunts, and in his mind, that’s the end of the conversation, because he don’t want to hear any more. Or maybe he does and he’s just a terrible conversationalist, but I ain’t about to trauma dump on the man. “Oh right,” I say, in order to keep the one-sided conversation going as I reach into my duster and pull out an envelope. “That info you gave me bore fruit, so there’s the payment. That’s just for the actionable intel, so once they bring the Proggie down, there will be another, bigger payment, since fruit of the tree and all that. Paperwork’s in there, so look it over.”

  Carter nods and tucks the envelope into the mailbox by the door without so much as a second glance. “I’d stay out of the waters for a few more weeks too,” I continue, because I can’t help myself. “Rangers are gonna be runnin’ trainin’ drills for underwater combat, so they’ll probably have questions if they see some old world sea lion swimming about. They have manes? Sea lions that is. I know regular lions do, but I figure a mane would really slow you down in the water.” Aquatic cats. Strange that, seeing how I’m told they’re like meaner marties with longer legs and a hatred for water. Scary stuff.

  Carter don’t answer, just gives me a look, so with nothing else to talk about, and no way to gently segue into it, I go for broke and ask, “By the by, and I’m just asking here, so feel free to say no, but I was kinda hopin’ you could maybe share the Spell Formula for Wildshape.” Carter just looks at me with the same neutral expression as always, and I can’t help but keep talking. “Can’t really ask the Marshal about it, as it’s a Restricted Spell, meaning even if he does know it, he won’t teach me. Problem is, I was thinking I could use the Spell to fix what ails me.” I wave my missing hand for extra emphasis. “Not by Wildshaping into a person, but by paring down the Spell, or incorporating parts of it into Conjure Weapon or Mage Hand to… you know. Work up something to replace what I lost.”

  Carter continues to stare, which is unnerving as all heck as I explain my whole thought process on the matter in excruciating detail, and even bring out my articulated wooden model for him to look at. “I can Conjure up a hand just fine already,” I say, deciding against doing it here and now if only because I’ve no idea what sort of work is waiting for me up in Mueller’s Quay and how much Spellslinging I’ll need. “Problem is getting it to move. Conjure Weapon ain’t all that suited for making an articulating hand, just a metal one that stays as an open palm or closed fist. Doesn’t move around on its own either, which is why I wanted to merge it with Mage Hand to start with, but now I’m thinking Wildshape might be the better way to do it. Got the ‘hand Spirit’ ready and everything too.” Waggling my phantom fingers as I Intone the chant, I Conjure up a Water Sphere to show him what I mean. “Fingers are long gone, but that don’t stop me from waggling them for my Spells, which is interesting to say the least.”

  Not that Carter would agree, or maybe he does. Man’s a closed book, an enigma wrapped in a mystery that I cannot even begin to unravel, especially when he comes back with, “Interesting. I will think on it.”

  “Okay then,” I say, not entirely sure how to feel about his answer. A little hopeful, since he’s the type to tell me no outright if that’s what he’s planning, but I have no idea what it is he gotta think about before telling me yes or no. Much as I want to ask, I’m worried that might annoy him into just coming back with no, which is something I’d do if I was feeling petty. To make matters worse, I still got more to say, but now I’m worried I’ll overstep and ruin my chances to learn Wildshape. I take a half minute to think it over, which is about a half minute more than usual, and since I can’t convince myself to keep quiet, I open my mouth once more.

  “So about Elodie,” I say, which sure gets Carter heated right quick as he watches me with a wary and guarded expression. More guarded than usual at least, which I overlook as I plough on through and hope I don’t end up with my foot in my mouth. Or his foot up my ass, as it were, since I’m pretty sure Carter could beat me like a red-headed stepchild. “You said y’all moved out here and started this community to help socialize your kids, which is great and all, but uh, and this is just my two cents, it ain’t enough. Not for Elodie at least.” Carter sighs, and I take that as permission to keep talking. “I been here all of two minutes and I can already tell she’s spent the last few weeks just watching and waiting for me to come by. Ain’t because she’s all that fond of me either, regardless of what she might say. Pretty sure it’s just because I’m the only person she really knows. She didn’t even come out to say hi to Tina now, did she?”

  I know for a fact Elodie didn’t, because I asked Tina point blank, and she said she didn’t see hide nor hair of the green-haired girlie. Carter sighs again and nods. “She said she was scared of the other girl, the one with the white fox familiar. And the other boy, who had shoulders broad as a horse.”

  That’d be Kacey and Big Alfred respectively, though I don’t see what’s so scary about either one of them. “Well,” I say, getting to the point I been trying to make, “Maybe you could bring her into town for a few days. I won’t be around the next few weeks, so spending two or three days in town to make new friends might not be the worst thing in the world. She’s a bit old for schooling, but the teachers might have some suggestions to help enrich Elodie’s life out here.” Glancing at the hoggidilla pen, I add, “Or you know… maybe get some more animals around, cleaner, friendlier, and cuddlier ones for her to play with.” Sitting upright in alarm, I study the hoggidillas a little longer before asking, “Those ain’t Wildshaped people, are they?”

  “They’re just hogs,” Carter replies, and I can hear a ghost of a smile in his tone even if his lips don’t twitch. “They’re near blind enough that they can’t make out shapes, and our scents don’t change as much as you’d think when we Wildshape. They mostly look after themselves and make us look more legitimate when we bring them out to root for truffles to eat or sell.” Gross, but I ain’t one to yuck on someone else’s yum so long as they ain’t hurting no one besides themselves. If they wanna eat Abby food, then they welcome to it. “Most other animals don’t take well to people who Wildshape into massive predators on a whim.” Patting Old Tux on the neck, Carter adds, “Which is what makes your horse so special. He knows what we can do, but doesn’t mind it much.”

  Meaning they shifted around him without my notice before I knew what they could do. Interesting. Don’t much like knowing I was the slowest of the bunch, behind a bull and horse to pick up on the clues, but them’s the breaks I guess.

  I don’t push Carter any more about his daughter, because I can tell he loves her and only wants to protect her. I get it, wanting to shelter her from the ugliness of the world and keep her safe from the Michael Dipolio’s of the world, but doing things this way shuts out the good with the bad. Plus, if Elodie makes some new friends, then maybe she’ll see that I ain’t so great and find another boy to fixate on and free me from that burden. As an added bonus, she’d be a great friend for Chrissy, able to understand her without having to talk to her and maybe even teach her how to come out of her head like Elodie taught Old Tux how to play.

  And is still teaching, or so it would seem, as we set out soon after once Elodie gets back and Carter transforms into a hulking blood bay stallion. Had to turn around once he got to dropping trou, and I don’t much like knowing he going around nekkid as the day he was born, even if he is a horse. Elodie don’t mind though, nor does she ride on her daddy’s back like you’d think, and instead hoists her arm over his shoulder and does the same with Old Tux. My ornery old mount don’t much like standing so close to another horse, but he don’t nip at Carter the way he would if it was Fifi, Ivory, or any other horse. Instead, he tolerates the intrusion upon his personal space and lets Carter take the lead as they canter across the trails carrying Elodie in between them. Who’s still not wearing shoes mind you as she gracefully skips across the ground like a skater moving across ice, with her feet touching down but never for long as we make record time up to the quay.

  It’s some mighty fine horsemanship there, and doubly so when she hops up onto her daddy’s broad back without missing a beat. Then and only then do we slow to a stop, once her feet are out of harms way from getting chewed up by the rough ground. There’s still a short walk before I get into the quay proper, which I suppose means Carter don’t want them seeing his daughter. Having met Kevin, I can understand why, as even though he don’t seem all that bad, don’t no one like a man who gawks at their womenfolk. Hopping off of Old Tux, I pat his neck to say goodbye and grin to see him hot-stepping about, prancing on his hooves and ready to go another round.

  Maybe he’d be happier retired with Elodie, though I’d sure hate to see him go, as he a part of my family same as Cowie, Chrissy, Tina, and Aunty Ray.

  Bidding my daddy’s horse a fond farewell, I leave him to Elodie and Carter, except Elodie ain’t so ready to leave just yet. Sitting up top her horse daddy’s back, she gives me an expectant look, then glowers when all I do is wave goodbye. “Hug or headpat,” she says, leaning dangerously low in her seat for one or the other, and I’ve no idea how she does it without a saddle. So I quickly pat her head while standing ready to catch her, but she sits right back up all too easily showing off her core strength. She ain’t even breathing hard after propping herself up between two horses for so long, and while I can do something similar and hang off the side of the saddle while Old Tux is at full gallop, it takes a lot out of me to do it without breaking my neck.

  “I’ll see you again Friday,” I say, waving goodbye once I got all my saddlebags off of Old Tux. Give him another pat on the nose too, and stop myself short from doing the same to Carter. “Sorry,” I say, rescinding my hand from the blood bay stallion who looks like he ready to trample me good. “Habit. Bye now.”

  “Bye bye Howie!”

  Only now realizing that we’re parting ways, Cowie leaps out of his sling a second time and trots off after Elodie, which is both adorable and infuriating to behold. The furry little traitor ain’t ever wanted to separate from me, not even to stay with Chrissy while I go out to work, but now it seems he’s ready to shack up with Elodie. He looks awful sad about it, giving me a big, wide-eyed look of innocence even as he circles around beside Old Tux, and Elodie’s expectant gaze is just the nail in the coffin for any objections I might make. Least now I won’t have to worry about him getting any cow gal’s pregnant, because he a real Casanova when it comes to the girlies. Whatever. It’s only five days without my partner, in a safe community that knows how to handle their own considering I ain’t heard nothing about casualties from out this way. Even Gunnar lost a few people, and I hear they were well-prepared for the Madness, with wards laid down and potions readily available among so many other things.

  Probably because they get along so well, farfetched as it sounds. Can’t think of any other reason why the Madness wouldn’t affect them, as I show up on the outskirts only to be greeted by warm cheer and open arms. “Hey there Howie!” Mervyn says, all too enthusiastic for a portly, balding man dressed in all beige who’ve I’ve only met in passing before. “Good to see you again! C’mere you!”

  Despite my obvious reluctance and upraised hand, Mervyn throws his big flabby arms around me and hugs me close. Doesn’t squeeze super tight or nothing, just gets right in there and rubs my biceps while his arms are wrapped around mine. I don’t much enjoy being hugged by people I don’t know, but he don’t mean nothing by it, so I do my best to fake a smile as he breaks away and gestures for me to follow. “You’re much too thin for a growing boy,” he says, giving my bicep another squeeze. “Strong as an ox I bet, all tough and wiry underneath that jacket, but you bulk up a bit and you’ll be that much stronger. My wife Lauren, she’s got a wonderful beef brisket and caddish stew on the stove, and it goes great with one of Donna’s world-famous sourdough bread bowls. The stew is actually based on a Qinese recipe you know, because the caddishes we grow here are closer to white Qin radishes or Nipponese Daikons as opposed to the red radishes most Americans are used to.”

  “Interesting,” I say, because it kinda is, as I do love learning little tidbits and facts like that.

  “I’ll tell you all about it over a bowl of stew,” Mervyn says, grinning from ear to ear as he escorts me arm in hand to his house, like he afraid I’m gonna run away.

  To be fair, that’s exactly what I’m fixing to do. “Sounds wonderful Mervyn, but I’m gonna have to take a raincheck,” I say, much to his disappointment. “I need to talk to Mr. Mueller, get some papers signed and start the work day. Was hoping to get a solid 10 hours in today, or 8 at the very least and do 12 tomorrow.”

  “Oh don’t worry about that,” Mervyn says, waving my concerns away. “I’ll send my boy Lynn in to tell Mr. Mueller you’re here, and he’ll make sure you get your 50 with time to spare.” He gives me a wink, though I’ve no idea why, as I’m still coming to terms with how he gave his boy a girl’s name. “Lynn!” he calls, as he bursts through his front door. “Run on down to Mr. Mueller’s and tell him the Firstborn’s here.”

  A shriek of what I hope is excitement sounds out, followed by a thundering stampede as the fattest kid I done ever seen trundles on down the overworked staircase. I ain’t talking about someone who just hefty either. I’m talking full on meatball of a teenager in a beige shirt and shorts that are straining to contain his bulging frame. “OmygoditstheFIRSTBORN!” Lynn shrieks, all in one go without any room between words, and he tippy taps same as Old Tux only a lot slower and harder. I’d fear for the hardwood floors if not for young Lynn’s lacking stamina, which he more than makes up for in raw, unbridled enthusiasm. “You have so much magic,” he gasps, all wide-eyed and amazed as he looks me up and down like a movie star. “How’d you get so good?”

  “Magic?” I ask, blinking a fair bit since that’s hardly what most folks comment on first. “Uh… You can see that?”

  Lynn nods, and his proud daddy Mervyn claps his back with a grin. “Lynn here is a Diviner same as you,” he says, swelling with pride as he does. “14 years young, but he’s been practicing Detect Magic for a full year now and keeps it going for most hours of the day.”

  Which is a rude awakening indeed, because I only ever use the Spell to check for magical traps, signs, or signals. Didn’t know you could use it to see how powerful a Spellslinger is, so I stifle a sigh while adding the Spell to my ever-growing list of things to practice. “That’s mighty impressive,” I say, without even having to fake it, because at his age, I doubt he can sling more then 3 or 4 First Order Spells a day. Either he’s very good at keeping Detect Magic going, or he knows how to use the Ritual instead, both of which are remarkable achievements for a kid so young. “Give it a couple years, and maybe you gonna run into someone who’s excited to see you too.”

  Lynn blushes to hear it, and Mervyn’s grin grows even wider. “You’re gonna give the kid a big head,” he says, mussing Lynn’s hair and sending him on his way out the door. “Have a seat,” he continues, pulling me inside and leaving me no time to take off my boots, making this household about as American as can be. I can’t fathom why people would do it, trek around in their boots inside their own house, but apparently I’m the weird one for taking them off and leaving them by the door.

  Ain’t my roof though, so I’m happy to play by Mervyn’s rules as he introduces me to his wife Lauren, who is just as enthusiastic as her son is only in a different way. The heavyset woman takes one look at me and clucks her tongue before switching out the big bread bowl she was cutting into for an even bigger one. Like salad bowl big, which she hollows out with some expert knife work before setting the excised bread onto a plate. From there, she fills the whole bowl up with a hearty helping of thick, aromatic stew, with giant clumps of fatty brisket and browned chunks of caddish cooked so soft that they come apart with a touch. Won’t take no for an answer either as she sets the bread bowl in front of me alongside the excised bread and a plate of mashed potates with the most delectable gravy I done ever tasted.

  “It’s the butter,” Lauren says, when I praise her gravy to the high heavens. “Lots and lots of butter.”

  Said it before and I’ll say it again, with cooking like this, it’s no wonder everyone here is fat. Can’t say I blame them either, because even though the massive and surprisingly delicious sourdough bread bowl of stew seems like it’s too much for me to finish, it’s so delicious I can’t stop myself from bringing spoonful after spoonful to my mouth. After eating nonstop for the better part of fifteen minutes, I’ve barely made a dent in the thing, though I long since polished off the mashed potates and even started on the second serving I never asked for, but didn’t have the heart to refuse. We make small talk as I stuff my face, and according to Mervyn, they ain’t been attacked by Abby for months now. While the Madness caused a fair few bruises and plenty more hurt feelings, didn’t no one die from it neither. Which I suppose makes sense considering how out of shape most of these folks are, and I might soon be after this behemoth of a meal.

  “Oh, Donna’s sourdough bread with Lauren’s beef brisket and Mervyn’s sweet caddishes.” Rubbing his hands as he limps in on his one good foot, Mr. Mueller shakes his head in visible envy. “You lucky dog you. That there is a meal fit for kings.”

  “Emperors would be so lucky,” I reply, because like always, it never hurts to compliment the chef. “Good to see you Mr. Mueller. Sorry to make you come up all this way.”

  “Nonsense,” he replies, grinning from ear to ear as he accepts a bread bowl of stew of his own. “Couldn’t hoof it up here fast enough as soon as little Lynn told me what his mama was cooking.”

  “Amen to that.” There’s no fear of not leaving enough for Mervyn, Lauren, and Lynn either, as there’s a whole cauldron of stew sitting up top the stove, and enough mashed potates to drown a man in. We eat our meal and make small talk until there ain’t no more left to eat, leaving me feeling fuller than a well-fed tick and no earthly idea how I’m gonna work a full day now. Or even half a day, as I could use a good long nap after a meal like that, one that’ll tide me over for at least a day or two until I’m ready to eat again. Don’t take Lauren much effort to twist a promise outta me to come back later for dessert though, as I showed up too early for it to be ready. A good thing too, because if I ate any more, it’d come right back up post haste, which is still a real risk as I waddle my way down the cobbled street with Mr. Mueller in tow.

  “We’re putting in a new warehouse to store all the extra stone,” he says, pointing out where the foundations are all marked out and ready to dig way off on the edge of town. “Won’t be as much use once we got boats on the lake, but we all figured it was better to future proof while we can. This here is as close a port as you can get to the mines, as it gets real marshy up on the northern side of the lake, so we’ll be set to handle anything that comes out of Mount Rimepeak and is destined for the West Coast.”

  Man’s got vision, I’ll give him that, more so than most. Mr. Mueller ain’t just concerned about today and tomorrow, he’s thinking ahead to 5, 10, 15 years from today and laying a foundation that will pay off in spades. He mentions a few more things, and I ask questions about the dimensions we’re working with, a right proper colossal warehouse larger than the town hall even. Seeing my wide-eyed surprise, Mr. Mueller chuckles and shakes his head. “A warehouse this size would be nothing back home,” he says with a grin. “Could fit four, maybe five big rig trailers at once, which isn’t much when you’re talking warehouses.”

  I’ll have to take his word for it, because try as I might, I can’t really imagine a vehicle so large you could only fit four or five in so massive a space. To hear Mr. Mueller tell it, my wagon wouldn’t even be half the size of the cab, which is where the engine and driver go, while the trailer itself would be ten metres long and almost two metres wide. Big enough to fit a herd of 20, 25 horses at least if they don’t mind squeezing in, or a dozen if you wanna give them enough room to turn around during the trip. Which is absolutely crazy to me that there can be a vehicle that huge, and I can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to drive one of them big rigs around.

  Forget the talking convertible. I’d much rather drive a massive truck. Think of all the Abby corpses I could fit in that thing…

  “First things first though,” Mr. Mueller says, as we arrive at his home. “Let me show you your room so you can get your things unpacked and into your uniform.”

  “Uniform?”

  Mr. Mueller chuckles. “It’s a little joke of ours. I’m sure you’ve noticed we all dress in beige or tan. Very drab and boring. Helps keep the cattle and hogs calm though, so we bear with it. Those ranch fences? They’re just wood and nails. Won’t stop any bull or boar that wants out, but they mostly keep to the boundaries because they’re polite, so I figure the least we could do is dress in simple colours to keep them from getting all riled up.”

  Which actually explains a lot, and I do my best to pretend like I wasn’t all weirded out by it to begin with. After heading upstairs in my boots and changing into my beige uniform though, I can’t help but wonder what I’ve gotten myself into as I look into the mirror and see a drab and cheerless drone set to join the others at work here in Mueller’s Quay. None of the clothes fit properly either, as they at least two sizes too big and hang off my skinny frame like sails on a boat. Nothing for it though, so I put on a happy face and head back down so I can get to work.

  Adapt and thrive, that’s their mantra ain’t it, so I best get to adapting so I can thrive right quick.