No Land For Heroes: Legends & Legacies, #1

No Land For Heroes

A Gaslamp & Western Fantasy

Cal Black

Bearberry Studio

Published by Bearberry Studio 2022

Copyright © 2022 by Cal Black

Book Cover Design by ebooklaunch.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distributed it by any other means without permission.

This Novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

First edition

Contents

Dedication

Indigenous Representation

The Bayou Butcher

1.Playing with Fire

2.Red Hands

3.Goldman National Bank

4.Family Ties

5.Jebediah Willard

6.Hal Stratton

7.Scorched Bluffs

8.Plain old Plainfield

9.One Less Willard

10.Sleepless Nights

11.The Old Road

12.Mister Rivers

13.Strangers

14.Attempts Made

15.Gravediggers

16.The Little Red Book

17.Storm Clouds

18.Blue’s Skies

19.Dirty Deeds

20.Standoff

21.Bigger Fish

22.Seeing Ghosts

23.A Matter of Time

24.Old War Dogs

25.The Path Ahead

26.Bad News

27.The Bayou Butcher

28.Scorched Earth

29.Second Skins

30.Ghost Town

31.White Nights

32.Give no Quarter

33.Line of Fire

34.As Dust Settles

35.Going Home

36.Wyndford

37.Soul Cycles

38.Ghosts

39.Colfield Manners

40.Legacy

41.Lullabies, At Last

Afterword

Acknowledgments

Sneak Peek: No Port in a Storm

Rattling Cages

Retribution

For Mom, who always sent my stories back with edits.

For Anne and Char, who encouraged me to write about cowboy elves, and for always being my first readers.

Indigenous Representation

I understand many readers are concerned about the portrayal of North American Indigenous cultures and would like to reassure you that I involved indigenous voices both prior to and post-publication regarding what is and is not appropriate to include in a fictional world. These people come from a variety of backgrounds and I’ve had extensive discussions with them regarding the portrayal of the Ghost Eye Clan and if that portrayal is respectful. If you are an indigenous reader and have concerns, please reach out. I’m happy to listen and discuss potential solutions with you. If you are a settler, please respect the indigenous voices that have spoken.

It is important to note that I am not telling a story of an indigenous person, but showing that they were a significant part of the ‘wild west’ while deconstructing the tropes often found in those older portrayals. To remove the Ghost Eye Clan would be erasing the presence of indigenous people within the genre, which is harmful in a different but equal way.

I strongly encourage readers to pick up books by indigenous authors if you are interested in learning more about indigenous voices and stories. Plus, they’re awesome books.

-Cal

The Butcher’s in the Bayou!

The Butcher’s in the Bayou!

Careful he don’t find you.

Or you’ll catch his axe

As the muskets crack,

And he’ll butcher you in the Bayou!

—Amelian Nursery Rhyme

1

Playing with Fire

The night’s steady drizzle didn’t bother the stolen horse or its rider. The weather had been hot for the last two weeks and it hadn’t rained in three, leaving the prairie in near-drought conditions. The rolling ocean of tall grasses around them had gone brittle, turning the Prairie’s usual whisper into a dry rattle. Rain would be good, the elven rider thought. Both for reviving the land and for washing away any traces of the crime she was about to commit. 

Mildred Berry pulled her wide brimmed-hat low to cover her white hair. It would be a dead giveaway if she was spotted: there weren’t any other albinistic elves running around this part of the Prairie. Her long ears twitched against the hat’s brim as she tried not to think about the consequences if she was caught.

Previously, she’d mixed coal dust with fat to colour her hair, but it had melted from the heat of her scalp, oozing black rivulets down her face and neck. Effective at terrorizing guards, but messier than the makeshift dye was worth.

Adjusting her poncho to keep out the rain, Millie gave the horse a solid pat on the neck. Max, a mustang gelding, was a frequent and willing accomplice to her crimes. He was always happy to stretch his legs, took payment in carrots, and would never snitch. This late at night, the local lawman—Max’s owner—would be too drunk to notice the horse was gone.

Plainfield’s lanterns glowed on the horizon. It was a weed of a town, springing out of the dirt with the arrival of the railroad. Half its buildings were built from wood that had yet to turn silver, and the other half were whitewashed to look presentable. It was a town hoping to become a city, and Millie hated it. 

Plainfield was little more than a stopover for travellers. Most headed further west to Stonecreek’s mines or south to the swampy rice fields. The north was dominated by thick forests and the fur trade. Very few travellers from Plainfield went east. East led to actual cities, where people called themselves ‘civilized’ and ‘respectable’ and looked down on people like Millie. Cities stank.

The new railroad brought more settlers to the Frontier, making it a little less wild, a little less free with each homestead established. 

How upset would you be if I burnt down your town? Millie asked the horse.

Max snorted and flicked an ear.

Relax, I was only asking, she said. She blew a drop of rain from the brim of her hat with a sharp puff of air. The town would be too wet after the rain. Besides, Millie planned to avoid killing anyone on the job tonight. Missing cargo was easily forgiven by Plainfield’s drunkard Sheriff, but dead bodies would draw the attention of more competent lawmen.

A shrill whistle cut through the steady drizzle. The train was finally leaving, and soon it would chug into sight.

Ready, Max? she asked the horse, nudging him to trot in a little circle to warm up his legs. She’d kept both of them warm and limber, ready for work. Max snorted and pawed at the ground. He was ready to give this new train a run for its money.

Fresh off the West-Colfield train yard, the Blue Bullet was said to be the fastest locomotive in the west. The rumours were that it could outrun a dragon itself, but Millie doubted it. She’d watched the famous train come and go over the last two weeks. While it was faster than the old clunker that used to run this route, the mustang should be able to keep pace with it.

The train whistled a second time and Millie watched the white dot of its headlamp pull away from the orange glow of Plainfield. Soon the blue locomotive chugged past, picking up speed. She pulled her bandana up over her nose and pulled on a set of buckskin gloves she’d kept dry inside her vest.

Millie clicked her tongue, and with the slightest nudge, Max took off. Plainfield’s sheriff no longer galloped the mustang, but Millie made sure to whenever she was in town. They pulled alongside the train easily. Max’s thundering hooves masked by the clanking of steel wheels and the steady chug of the locomotive. One wrong move and she could be thrown under the train. Its wheels would cut her in half in an instant. 

Millie grinned under her bandana. Few things could compare to the rush of chasing down a train.

Looping Max’s reins in a knot so he wouldn’t step on them, Millie placed her hands on his withers and pushed herself up to get her moccasined feet onto his back. Max’s gait held steady on the smooth ground. Millie held the crouch for a heartbeat, for two, waiting for the cargo car behind them to pull far enough ahead. When the one that followed came into reach, she leapt from Max’s back to catch the iron rungs of the train car’s service ladder.

Her gloves gripped the wet iron and held fast. The dry buckskin absorbed the water that made the rungs treacherous. Millie scrambled up the ladder and pulled herself up onto the roof of the boxcar. From her new vantage point, Millie could see that Max was still racing alongside the train, though the Blue Bullet was gaining speed and pulling ahead. She threw Max a thumbs-up. He’d wander back to town once he got tired, and find some tasty carrots waiting in his stall for his work.

Millie adjusted her hat against the rain and counted how many cars were ahead of her. Even at night, Millie didn’t need a lantern. Much like a cat, her eyes could see the train just fine in the low light, a legacy of her long-dead father. Millie was crouched on the sixth, not including the locomotive and its twin coal cars. Turning, Millie scanned the rest of the train for guards but found none. On the caboose, the signal lantern swayed in time with the train, its shutters set to the ‘all clear’ position.

Keeping her weight low, Millie crept along the length of the car and leapt the gap to her target. While the locomotive was brand new, the boxcar was worn and familiar, just like every other car she’d broken into over the years. Swinging herself over the edge of the car’s roof, Millie clambered down its side door. She unlatched it, and bracing one foot against the vertical beam of the doorway, shoved the door to one side.

It stuck. Millie grunted and shoved again. After a moment the door gave way and a human guard squinted out into the rain. Spotting Millie, the guard nodded and motioned Millie to get inside with a tilt of her head. The elf didn’t need a second invitation, ducking under the tall woman’s arm, she climbed into the car and out of the rain.

Everything go alright? Millie asked, helping her partner push the boxcar door closed and latch it in place. No wonder she hadn’t been able to open it.

Yes ma’am, Ryan Collins said, stepping to one side to avoid getting wet as Millie peeled off her poncho and hat, shaking the worst of the wet from them. Ryan’s long, dark hair was pulled back into a tight braid that she’d tucked under the collar of her stolen uniform. She looked stoic, but Millie knew the tiny furrow on Ryan’s brow meant she was worried. The train was late leaving Plainfield. Coal delivery put them behind schedule. Max didn’t have trouble catching us? 

Caught it without breaking a sweat, Millie said with a tiny swell of pride. I left some extra carrots in his stall for whenever he wanders home.

Ryan’s worry disappeared, and she tried to cover a smile with a cough, but Millie caught the way Ryan’s hazel eyes crinkled up in amusement. Tall, powerfully built, Ryan was many things, but a skilled actress she was not. Even after years of practice, she still held herself with a certain poise that demanded people’s respect.

Millie frowned, playing at being grumpy. Ryan wasn’t used to train robbery, and if pretending to sulk helped her friend relax, so be it. People made terrible decisions when anxious. Ryan had wanted this job to be bloodless, and Millie wasn’t about to let her friend make a mistake because of nerves.

Don’t look at me like that, Millie muttered, stepping into the narrow walkway between stacked cargo crates. I’m not going soft. Pulling a tomahawk from her belt, Millie slipped the narrow axe blade in between the crate and its lid. Leaning on the long handle, the elf pried the lid up with a dry crack as the nails gave way.

I never said you were. Ryan said, suddenly the picture of innocence. She held her lantern over the crate and leaned in, just as eager as Millie was to confirm the crate had what they needed.

"You were thinking it." Millie shifted her axe and pried the lid again until she could pull it off completely. Golden straw gleamed under the lantern, but what they were after was beneath that. Reaching inside, Millie shoved the straw aside to reveal neatly packed boxes of bullets that gently rattled with the motion of the train.

One day you’re going to take Max home for real, and we’ll have to explain that, Ryan warned. The faux argument died the moment Millie pulled out a handful of bullets. Thank the Messiah, Ryan said, making the sign of the wheel over her chest.

Spotting it, Millie frowned. Ryan must be more anxious than she’d let on.

I’ll just say Max likes us better, Millie said gently, handing the bullets to her partner. They were rifle calibre, and wouldn’t fit her revolvers. She’d left her rifle at home. Trying to climb around a train with a long gun was difficult, and Millie had no interest in repeating that experience in the rain.

You remember the rest of the plan, right? Millie asked quietly. No last-minute change of heart? 

Distract the guards. Stop to unload. We get what we need. No one hurt, no more hungry bellies back home. Ryan nodded and letting out a slow, deep breath. She straightened her shoulders and slipped the bullets into her pocket. No change of heart. I set up the distraction on the caboose before we left the station. We should have another hour before it goes off.

A distant thud—followed by a whoosh.

The women unlatched the car door and yanked it open. Rain spattered onto them as the bandits watched the caboose go up in orange flames. The distraction had fired early, splashing burning oil out over the caboose’s roof. The alchemical flames devoured everything in their path despite the rain. A fire-wreathed figure leapt from the caboose into the darkness with a scream.

Millie grimaced. So much for ‘no one gets hurt’.

Okay, so. We’re a bit early, but otherwise, the plan stays the same, she said, throwing her pack over her shoulders. Send the guards to the back of the train; I’ll set those cars loose.

Do you think that guard will survive? Ryan asked, pulling the rifle off her shoulder.

Well. Millie cleared her throat awkwardly. She didn’t want to make Ryan feel any worse. She had been the one to plant the device, and it would be too easy for her to feel guilty that it ignited early. Millie might not bat an eye, but Ryan was different. She had morals. "He could."

Millie pulled her bandana up and shoved her hat back into place to cover her telltale pale hair. Stay safe. 

Climbed out of the boxcar, Millie climbed along the sides of train cars toward the caboose. She’d have to be careful: the wetter her gloves and moccasins got, the less they’d grip the slick iron ladders. Jogging across the roofs of the cars would be faster, and keep her gloves drier, but the guards crawling out of the train like ants would spot her easily. Best to leave the high road to Ryan and take the lower one.

The train was curved along a bend in the track, giving Millie a better view of the mess they had made. The orange flames engulfed the caboose entirely and licked at the lumber car linked to it. If left unchecked, the fire would consume the whole train and anyone left inside it.

All hands: put that fire out! Ryan’s commanding voice cut through the chaos of guards yelling and the growing roar of flames. Keep it from spreading! 

Reaching the last car, Millie tucked herself into the space just above the coupling between it and the first of the flatbeds carrying lumber. In the car behind her, Millie could hear horses shift and snort in fear as they heard the crackle of flames. Above, guards leapt from the stockcar onto the stacked lumber lashed to flatbeds. Someone was shouting a spell while others beat at the flames with their thick wool coats.

Ryan peeked over the edge of the boxcar and gave Millie a thumbs up. Returning it, the elf pulled out her tomahawk and slid the spiked end through the lynch-pin’s ring. She braced herself as best she could on the narrow coupling and levered the axe until a jostle in the cars gave her the slack to pull the pin free.

Tucking her axe back into her belt, Millie tossed the lynch-pin out into the darkness, watching the lumber cars fall behind. When the abandoned cars drifted far enough back, Millie climbed the ladder to join Ryan on the stockcar’s roof. She stretched, cracking her back. The burning caboose was fading into the distance and below them, the nervous horses grew calm once more.

Millie looked around to get her bearings. Patches of scrub now interrupted the tall prairie grasses and, off to the train’s right, a massive boulder rose out of the plains.

I’m sorry about the bomb, Ryan said. I should have—

Don’t do that to yourself. Millie reached out and took her friend by the shoulders, looking up into her eyes. "The train was late; we couldn’t account for that. West-Colfield always runs on time. We had no way to know tonight would be the one time they ran late." Under her hands, Ryan’s muscles were knotted tight. The job wasn’t over, they had to stay level-headed to make sure the rest of the plan went off without a hitch.

I suppose, Ryan muttered, looking down. Her shoulders relaxed and Ryan took a breath, about to say something. She looked at Millie and flinched.

Eyeshine? Millie asked, glancing down at the lantern that hung from Ryan’s belt. Her father’s gift: new world elves could see in low light, but their eyes reflected light at certain angles like draconids and cats. Most elf eyes shone green. Millie’s shone red.

Sorry, Ryan said, embarrassed. You think I’d be used to it by now.

Millie shrugged and squeezed Ryan’s shoulder before letting her go. Ry wasn’t the first person to react like that and wouldn’t be the last. Reaching into her vest, the elf pulled out a flask and held it out with a little shake. Liquid sloshed inside, long cold but still effective.

Coffee?

They reached the rendezvous point in good time. Millie reluctantly admitted to Ryan that the Blue Bullet was as fast as everyone said… once it was freed from a third of its cargo. A craggy pile of rock rose out of the scrub ahead of them, a long dead tree trunk sticking out of it at a precarious angle. Behind the rockpile waited the rest of their crew, ready to jump into action at Millie’s signal.

After years of working alone, Millie had grudgingly admitted she needed help this time. She could eliminate the guards and take control of the train, no problem. But hauling several crates of ammunition across the prairie was a different story. Ryan hadn’t joined Millie on the train because she was human, but because the other elf in their crew, Annie, had refused to. Their fourth, Sweetpea, was the only woman on the frontier that was more recognizable on sight than Millie was. A hat could hide Millie’s hair, but Sweetpea had horns that refused most headwear. It was a shame, though. Having either mage would make sending the signal much easier.

Pulling a short bow frame from her pack, Millie strung it with a grunt and checked the string tension. It twanged, telling her that the string had remained dry despite the earlier rain. Neither she nor Ryan was a good shot with a bow, but luckily all she had to do tonight was aim ‘up’. Millie pulled the signal arrow from her pack and unwrapped the scrap of oilcloth from its tip. The pungent stink of chemicals assaulted her nose immediately. Millie switched to breathing through her mouth to reduce the smell.

Ready? Ryan asked. She opened the lantern’s hood to give Millie access to the flame. The flame flickered wildly in the wind caused by the train.

Ready enough. Nocking the arrow, Millie touched the arrow’s fuse to the flame. As soon as it caught, Millie stepped back and drew. She loosed the arrow, the tiny ember of its fuse arc up into the sky. The arrow was still climbing as it burst into bright red flame, bright enough to wash the train in an eerie red glow. But the flare revealed something else, too. The massive scaley bulk of a greater blue dragon, circling overhead.

Oh. Ryan breathed.

The arrow struck the underbelly of the beast and buried itself into the dragon’s skin. It shrieked in pain and its massive head snaked down to bite at the thing now stuck in its abdomen. The arrow didn’t have enough power to hurt the dragon, but the extreme heat of the flare could melt her thick scales. 

The train’s engineer slammed on the locomotive’s brakes as soon as he heard the dragon’s scream. The railcar that Millie and Ryan were standing on jolted back in response, sending them both staggering forward. Ryan caught Millie’s belt, catching her before the elf tumbled over the edge of the car. The Locomotive’s brakes kicked up twin curtains of sparks into the night, dazzling Millie’s vision and ruining whatever night vision she’d had left.

Glancing back up as Ryan helped steady her, Millie saw the dragon rip out the offending arrow and toss it to the side. For a moment she lost the beast in the darkness, her eyes still dazed from the brightness of the flare.

Blinking rapidly, Millie pointed at the locomotive and shouted over the screech of train wheels grinding against the rails. 

Stop the brakes! 

Instead of answering, Ryan grabbed her up and threw both of them backward, onto the car’s roof. Millie wheezed as the impact knocked the air from her lungs. Lying on her back, she watched the dragon swoop down, spewing flame at the shrieking locomotive. The yellow-orange fire spilled over the Blue Bullet and coal cars, its heat washing over where Millie and Ryan lay as flat as possible. 

Shoot the brake lever, Millie shouted again, voice nearly lost in the cacophony of screaming brakes and dragonfire. The coal had ignited immediately, and the roar of flames and the ping of rapidly heating iron warned of impending disaster.

What? Ryan looked at her, eyes wide. 

We need to detach. Millie squinted up at the sky, but the smoke and lit embers flying past them made it difficult to spot the dragon. She’d be back for another pass, though. The locomotive was still shrieking. Shoot the brake! I’ll get the coupling. 

Ryan nodded, grim-faced. Living on the frontier, they were used to dealing with dangerous animals. Dragons this big were things you ran from until you found cover. There was no sense in fighting something as large as a locomotive and meaner than sin.

Millie’s ears perked, catching the heavy flap of wings through the roar of fire. The dragon was climbing again, getting ready for another dive.

Now! she shouted, rolling to her feet.

Ryan got up onto a knee and sighted down the barrel of her rifle. Steadying herself, the woman took a slow breath in, and squeezed off a round. Millie couldn’t stay to see if she’d hit her target. She was already scrambling down the car’s ladder to get at the coupling. She pulled her revolver free, cocked the hammer, and fired. The bullet punched through the iron pin, dead centre. A second bullet knocked what remained of the pin free from its coupling. Overhead, she heard another sharp crack of Ryan’s rifle. 

Jump! she shouted, racing back up to join her friend. Ryan leapt from the train car. Millie dove after her, willing the locomotive to hold until it pulled away from the rest of the train. 

It didn’t get far. As Millie hit the muddy ground and rolled, the locomotive exploded. Super-heated steam tore the Blue Bullet apart as though it were nothing more than a firecracker. Wrapping her arms over her head, Millie pressed herself as flat to the ground as she could. Something hot and sharp bit into her back.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, Millie waited for another few rapid heartbeats before peeking out from under her arms. The dragon shrieked, wings flapping strangely as it retreated toward the badlands. Shrapnel must have hit it, too. Millie’s relief was short-lived. The train’s cargo cars slammed into the wreckage of the coal cars and remnants of the locomotive. The steel of the once-blue engine now glowed a dull red in the night.

Move. Ryan hauled Millie to her feet and shoved her forward. Pain flared in her back but the elf got her feet under her, sprinting away from the wreck into the grass. 

Each car that smashed into the others was a little slower, a little less catastrophic, but the sight still took Millie’s breath away.

The locomotive’s boiler was gone. Heating rods spilled out of the wreckage in crazy coils, twisted from extreme heat and the force of the explosion. The coal cars had scattered their burning fuel out into the prairie, where each lump set soaked grasses alight. The remaining cars folded into each other like hell’s own accordion. The cars closest to the locomotive were already catching fire, and it wouldn’t be long before the fire spread to the car that held the ammunition.

The horses! Ryan shouted and sprinted off back toward the back of the train. 

The what? Millie gasped, pressing a hand to her back. Her glove came away sticky, but the heat of the shrapnel had cauterized most of the wound. A blessing, but it still hurt terribly. Ryan was running in the wrong direction. The ammunition was in the middle of the wreck. 

Staggering back toward the train, Millie nearly fell over as a hawk swooped down from the night air. 

That one, she gasped to hawk-Annie, pointing at the car that held the ammunition. The bird tilted its wings and shifted mid air into a dark-skinned elf who hit the ground at a sprint. At the heart of the fire, Millie saw small clouds forming in the air and a deluge poured out of them onto the burning train. Sweetpea’s work: the rain spell wouldn’t be enough to stop the coal from burning, but it would slow the spread until they could get the ammunition out of the wreckage.

Are you going to stand there and watch, or actually help? Annie shouted over her shoulder. Millie was still catching her breath when a dog the size of a pony barreled out of the grass and ran up to Annie, ready to drag the heavy crates free.

I’m coming, Millie panted. She braced her hands on her knees and tried not to think about how when she was young it didn’t hurt this much to be a bandit. Then again, of all the robberies she’d committed in her life, this was the first to involve a dragon.

Straightening with a grunt, Millie ran after Annie and the dog. She could be old and achy once the ammunition was safe. 

2

Red Hands

The train was still burning when the sun peeked over the horizon, painting the ugly clouds of smoke golden. The four women had offloaded the crates of ammunition and horses before the fire reached them. But now, exhausted and standing in the middle of a scorched patch of prairie, they watched what remained of the famed Blue Bullet burn.

You’ve outdone yourself, Mildred, Annie said, sucking on her teeth. The dark-skinned elf rested her hands on her hips as she studied the wreckage. I used to think Auntie’s stories about you were made up, but destroying a whole train? Impressive. Annie’s braids were pulled back, though one had caught a stray ember and smouldered where it rested against her broad shoulder. The smell of burning hair was masked by the heavy sulphur-musk of dragonfire and the far more pleasant scent of burning prairie. Either Annie hadn’t noticed, or she didn’t care.

You shouldn’t believe everything your aunt says. Millie winced as Sweetpea worked the piece of shrapnel out of her back and the elf scraped the heel of her moccasin against the crate she sat on, trying to get rid of the maker’s mark branded into the wood. The stylized initials ‘F’, ‘A’ and ‘R’ were ones she’d hoped to never see again, but kept turning up like a bad penny. If she were younger, the feeling of ‘getting back’ at the owner of those initials would have been the best thing in the world. Now, a tired, scarred, weary, Millie wondered if she was inviting more trouble into her life. The town needed those bullets. It didn’t matter who Millie had to steal them from.

Now that’s not fair, Sweetpea said, continuing to work on Millie’s back. The arroyan woman’s tail swished against her skirts as she concentrated. Somehow, despite all the fire, Sweetpea’s ruffles remained unscathed. "Millie didn’t ask the dragon to come attack the train." She paused and leaned around to look at her patient with her big mismatched eyes: one blue, one gold. Sweetpea’s expression was warm and kind, despite the smear of Millie’s blood across her pink nose.

You didn’t ask the dragon to help, did you? she asked, lifting her eyebrows. High arroyans were interesting if you’d never met one before. They looked a little like elves and a little like orcs until you saw their horns and tails. Sweetpea’s horns were delicately curled, like her hair. Other than her eyes, Sweetpea was entirely pink: her skin was rosy, her freckles a shade or two darker, and her hair was the softest shade of blush.

No, Millie said slowly. I did not plan on the dragon attacking the train while Ryan and I were on it. She looked over at Ryan. The human was no help, grinning at Millie from where she sat on another liberated crate with the massive dog leaning into Ryan like he hadn’t seen her in years. His massive head rested on Ryan’s shoulder while he was still sitting on the ground, his tail sweeping ash back and forth.

Fyodor was unnaturally big, even for a mastiff.

In hindsight, Ryan said, patting her oversized baby of a dog. It’s a good thing the distraction went off early. Otherwise, things could have been much worse. Fyodor whined when Ryan stopped petting him and he shoved his face into her shoulder, nearly knocking her off the crate she sat on. 

It went off too early? Sweetpea asked, mismatched eyes going wide. What happened? The spell starts when you set it. Was the train late?

I thought West-Colfield always ran on time, Annie said, sarcastically. She was still staring at the tangle of metal that had once been the locomotive. Millie wondered which stories her aunt had told her if the other elf had thought they were just stories. 

New ownership, Ryan offered. The train was late leaving Plainfield. They added the horses at the last minute and they had yet to update the manifest. Ryan glanced over at where the horses waited a safe distance away, grazing on what grass survived the flames. Do you have enough room for them at the ranch, Annie? 

Annie’s ears flicked at the question. Turning, she studied the new herd with pursed lips. 

Should be fine for a while, though we’re not going to keep them all, are we?

It was fine, ’Pea. The charge worked like it was supposed to. Millie said, letting Ryan handle the horse issue. Right now, Millie was mostly concerned about the fingers that were still working on her back. Could we please finish pulling that metal out? 

Oh! Yes, sorry! Sweetpea said, disappearing from Millie’s sight. It’s caught a bit on an older scar, sorry Millie. This is going to hurt. 

I’ll be fine, Millie said. She winced as Sweetpea dug her fingers in a little deeper to grasp the shard of metal. The pain of Sweetpea wiggling the shard loose from Millie’s back was enough to make the elf suck in a breath and hold it deep in her chest. She compressed the air in her lungs until she felt the last bit of metal give up its hold on her flesh. A warm trickle of blood ran down her back, but at least now the metal was out and Pea could stitch her up. 

Here you go, Sweetpea said, cheerfully dropping the twisted piece of metal into Millie’s palm.

Oh, Millie said, staring at it. Whatever it had been, the metal was now twisted beyond recognition. It’d felt larger than it looked, too. Thank you? She tossed the bloody shard aside. Soon this would just be another scar, another story. She didn’t need to keep a memento.

You’re welcome, Sweetpea chirped, settling in to stitch up the wound. She poured something over it that made Millie’s eyes water from how much it stung. Whiskey, from the smell of it. Millie wrinkled her nose.

"This will stop