I had one detour to make on the way to Revelation Springs. I know, I know, pissing Shar off for no good reason ain't smart, but this was a worthy diversion. Plus, Shar hadn't bugged me about it yet.

Dealing with a Yeti was easy, relatively speaking. Abnormally strong, but I could handle a magic-wielding brute with a solid plan, some silver, and a whole a lot of gunpowder. Though, like Shar warned, his power would only grow with time, madness with it, which would make everything tougher. Tomahawk-lady was no slouch either, and the marksman… I was, and always will be, wary of things that enter the minds of other things.

With the music-playing Nephilim, it'd taken time and a melody for that beast to dig into the brains of its hosts. However, that young outlaw and the hawk—that was instantaneous. One mind, flipping back and forth.

If he was a Neph, he was a kind I'd never encountered before. That means he probably wasn't, and I needed some answers.

Did his abilities extend beyond that? Could he work a man like a puppet, not just a bird?

I raised my mirror, checked my teeth. Where I was going, for some reason, I always liked looking my best.

"Must you do that, Crowley?" Shar complained, stealing the view of my not-so-pearly whites as she swirled about in the sheen.

"Well, good day to you too," I said.

"All days are good when Lucifer’s forces are in their place."

"Pleasant."

Timp's hoof slipped on a rock, and I nearly dropped the mirror.

"You must learn to be more careful," Shar said.

I leaned over to steady Timp, then glanced sidelong at Shar. "I thought you'd be scolding me for this little sojourn."

"I have no feud with the Pagans," Shar replied.

"You'll find one. Always do."

"Continue pursuing the bird, and you may yet find the answers to what demon empowered the Yeti. Which is as important as thwarting the possessed themselves. Remember, the steps of a righteous man are ordered by the Almighty."

"Righteous?" I laughed. "Now that's a word I've never been called."

"You have found the path again, Crowley. Follow it and root out this plague of wickedness, and whichever of our endless foes lies behind it."

"Still think it’s Chekoketh?” I asked.

“The rumors suggest he may be up to something.”

“Rumors? I thought gossip was a sin?”

“And we were getting along so nicely, Crowley,” she reprimanded.

"You're right. You're right. Let me know if those rumors flesh themselves out at all, would you?"

"You handle your affairs. I'll handle mine.”

She swirled away. Of course, she had no useful information from on High. However, I'd be a liar if I said hearing from her didn't buoy my spirits. All this friction and butting of heads, at least that was behind us. My holy duty to the White Throne was to banish Hell's mischief from Earth, but if I could root out the demon behind it? That was always a bonus. Got me a longer leash for the next time a poor lass like Agatha cried out, and I couldn't help but stop to save her.

Revelation Springs wasn't too far off course. Though, in the West, it's so rare you find anything that's on the way. But I had friends in high places, so to speak. Only this one wasn't an angel.

I gave Timp a nudge to speed up, but I could tell she was hesitant. A thick fog rolled in as we followed the Devil's River, a few dozen miles north of Dead Acre and due east of Revelation Springs. It was a fitting name if there ever was one. Dead or dying trees spread across the flats like skeletal hands reaching up from the grave. After my experience underground, the whole thing made me shudder.

It was like all the life out here was being sucked up and repurposed within, but up ahead, I could hear life. The falls rumbled and I could practically taste their waters.

Timp whinnied. I felt bad. The incline was steep, and she was getting up there in age.

"Almost there, girl," I said, patting her neck.

Grabbing her mane tight, I leaned in so she could hear my breathing. The fog was so thick now I couldn't see anything else. But she knew the way. One hoof in front of the other, up treacherous terrain to a haven somewhere between Heaven and Hell.

A shadow darted to my right. Timp blew out her nose.

"Steady girl," I said, catching a whiff of the visitor. Many enemies lurked in places like this, but our guest wasn't one. "Friends come in many forms."

The fog swirled, shifting, like Shar's movements within glass only at a much grander scale. I could sense Timp's nerves even though she'd been this way before. Her sinewy neck was quivering, tailing whipping hard behind me.

Then she reared and kicked her hooves.

"Whoa!" I shouted, but she wasn't listening. I nearly toppled off her, trying my best to regain composure.

More fog clouded about and Timp strafed back and forth, doing a short, tight circle. When the fog cleared, a shaggy-haired, droopy-eared dog stood before us. The kind of animal that a ranch-hand might keep around to stir the sheep. A mangy hound that fits in everywhere and is tossed scraps just to keep it from yapping.

"Sorry to drop in on you, Mutt," I said. "Wasn't sure where else to go."

The dog didn't respond, just let its tongue hang out as it panted. A good sign. When he turned and walked slowly, clearing a route through the blanket of mist, I knew I was welcome to follow.

Timp took a bit of jostling to get moving, but she got on eventually. Walls of red stone closed in on either side, a narrowing ravine up a mild incline. Mutt scurried along, hopping over rocks that Timp easily crossed.

The waterfall revealed itself at the narrow end of the chasm. It was wide enough for but a single man to pass, one at a time. Mutt stopped at it, looked back, and barked once before leaping through the watery curtain. I heeled Timp forward, but when we got to the water's edge, she resisted, digging in, and refusing to carry on.

"C'mon now, we could both use a bath." I gave her mane a whiff. "You, especially. Whew, girl, that's rancid."

She shook from side to side and tapped her back hoof.

"Be open-minded," I said with a chuckle.

Another more vehement shake followed.

"All right now. Fine." I sighed. "If you insist."

I hopped down and hitched her to a broken tree trunk. She could be finicky around here. Plus, werewolves roamed these parts. Though they didn't usually care to get too close to the falls—knowing who was out here and all—their howls were often enough to send Timp running. I didn't feel like yet another chase, but she was never one to be forced.

"Wait here," I told her as I stepped forward.

Water gushed over me. I stopped for a minute, putting my head back and running my fingers through grungy hair, pulling at the knots. Scrubbed my face of many days' worth of caked-on dirt and mud too. I had no need to drink but I wouldn't say it didn't make me feel good to swish a bit. Like I was a new man.

On the other side, the fog completely lifted.

No matter how many times I visit what I’ve designated ‘the Garden’—this shelter of the Skinwalkers—I'll never get used to it. Lush, wet plants splayed out before me for what seemed like miles. Ferns with leaves the size of wagons. Prehistoric-like flora. Stuff nobody's seen around these parts for millennia, yet here it was.

I called it the Garden for obvious reasons; it reminded me of the fabled Eden—only thing missing was the snake.

Steep cliffs rose on either side like we were inside the crater of a dormant volcano—which, maybe we were. If this were my home, I'd keep it as secret just as they had for all this time. It was absolutely stunning. Everywhere I looked was green. A verdant oasis in the middle of the dry desert. And in the center of it all was a tall tree with solid white flowers.

Huupi Sokobi, they called it. Best translation I had was the 'Life Tree.' They believed that with its branches reaching up and its roots digging deep into the earth, it was a link between the heavens, earth, and the underworld. United above and below. Beautiful sentiment, I suppose.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Birds soared overhead—some breeds I don't even know the name of. Rodents skittered through twisting branches, playing like they had no care in the world. The dog, however, was gone. Instead, before me stood a young native boy with sharp features. Couldn't have been older than thirteen. Fur-covered rags hung loose from his bony frame, and that same object which seemed like a collar before now hung from him as a necklace.

"You always going to hide around me?" I asked, knowing no answer would come.

Young Mutt—as I affectionately called him since he'd never shared his real name—and I had a history. He'd saved me from werewolves once, and I'd helped him bring a number of them down. I figured if anyone could help me, it was Mutt's people.

Skinwalkers and Werefolk have an eternal feud, you see. Not unlike Heaven and Hell. Shar won't exactly give me the specifics on where they both come from—shocker—but I do know neither are demonic spawn exactly. Probably cursed by the like long ago until, eventually, the condition became normal in their blood. They don't exactly fit the Nephilim mold, which is why I was here.

I always figure Shar knows more than she's willing to share. I think she doesn't want me to know that there's a route to gain power apart from above or below. Or, maybe—who knows—maybe she doesn't know herself, and in this great big Earth God made for us, some supernatural things manifest all on their own.

The Skinwalkers, like her, prefer to keep me in the dark, and I'm content to stay there when I can. All I know for sure is that Mutt's people are helpful when I'm in a pinch and that werewolves are a damn thorn in my flesh.

I never mind siding with good folk. And these people? They're as good as good gets.

I just hope Shar doesn't decide one day that Mutt and his band are scions of Hell enough to need to be banished.

"Why are you here?" Mutt asked.

The young Skinwalker didn't speak much even though his dog-form didn't mind yapping, but his voice seemed older than he appeared. More mature. And he was always straight to the point. I liked that. No beating around the bush or spewing nonsense like outlaws tended to.

"I need you to look at something for me," I replied.

I pulled out the drawing of the lightning hawk markings. His eyes narrowed, and he took it, turning it over to see the bounty. His gaze lingered on that all-too-stereotypical image of the native woman. His lips pursed.

"Don't worry about them," I said. "Just the bird. Now, I mean no offense, but the way it was done, the patterning—it looks native. Only, I don't recognize what tribe it might belong to. I thought Comanche but, something's just a bit… off."

Mutt looked around. A few of his people strolled by wearing bright colors, paying us no mind. They were a peaceful people, at least to me, not yet touched by my kind’s incursion onto land that belonged to their kin. Guess that's the benefit of having a hidden sanctuary like this.

Each of them, like Mutt, could turn into a dog-form on a whim. It didn't take a full moon or inspire bloodlust like with the weres.

If I'm honest, I ain't too sure what the ability does except help them blend in. They're damn good with medicine, too; I'll give them that. Maybe if Ace had dragged me here after shooting me through the chest, I'd have made it and still had a heart beating there. But I digress.

"Well?" I asked.

Mutt studied me momentarily, then pointed to a mud hut across the hidden valley.

"Mukwooru?" I asked.

He nodded, and I didn't dare question him.

And so I went, crossing stairs and paths carved through stone and meager wigwam huts, ducking under unblemished branches, and brushing away spotless leaves. To either side, home after home dotted the path. None was bigger than the next. No way to determine one's wealth or worth by the size of their domicile or the exquisiteness of their clothing.

Mutt's people went about their daily lives around me, fetching water from the falls, tending livestock, and hammering tools into place. Part of me wished I were still alive and living my own way so I could beg them to let me stay. But that was a pipe dream.

Mutt kept ahead of me, and once he reached the hut, he held open drapes made of bones and beads.

"Thanks," I told Mutt.

Then, stepping in, I removed my Stetson, a sign of respect and showing I had nothing to hide. A woman knelt in front of a burning pile of sage. The smoke and smell filled the little wigwam, and for once, I was glad I didn't need to breathe. I could only imagine how that would fill the lungs of a mortal man.

Mutt moved in to stand silently beside her. They had the same chin, nose. Her son, if I had to guess it, though nobody had ever given me that answer.

I knew her. She knew me. She went by Mukwooru. Meant something like "spirit talker" in their native tongue, but I wasn't sure if it was her name or title. Her hair was gray with some streaks of youth left in it, but it was mostly covered by a buffalo skull cap. Her beautiful leather dress was covered with beadwork unparalleled, the long frills at her arms and hems falling like blades of wheat.

She leaned back and spoke quietly to Mutt. I didn't understand most of it—partially because I didn't have a grasp on the intricacies of their speech, but also, her voice was barely a whisper. I did, however, hear how she punctuated it with "Black Badge" in English. I'd shared my favored title with Mutt once, and I guessed he'd passed that along.

"Good to see you again too, Mukwooru," I said, lowering my head in deference. It just came natural to me. Always just hoped I wasn't offending. Didn't know much about them at all, really. Spilling secrets to a dog and getting nothing in return—I was starting to understand the worth of their ability to blend in.

Mukwooru didn't say a word in return.

Like mother like son, I guess.

My stance shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh, right," I said, remembering how it worked. It'd been some time since an incident in Dead Acre with a lovestruck Necromancer. After that, I'd been around the Garden a few times with Mutt. Most recently, I needed some help tracking down a witch's coven doing some kind of voodoo that looked a bit too much like Skinwalking.

Falling to one knee, I rustled through my belongings. A gift for a gift. A simple way of living, yet, one I could respect. Outlaws like I'd been—we lived much the same way amongst our own crew. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, gold for gold, blood for blood, and so on.

My hand rifled through my belt satchel. I knew I’d kept the Nephilim’s harmonica for a reason. I pulled it out quick and practically tossed it on the ground between us, glad for the chance to hand it over to a people that might understand its eldritch power and maybe be able to do something good with it.

"A gift," I said, my words coming out labored.

Mukwooru slowly extended her wrinkled fingers and lifted the harmonica. Nobody spoke, but her beads rattled as she spun it to observe every angle. She brought it to her nose, and her nostrils twitched. Then her lips. Before she could even play a note, a tear pooled in one of her eyes and she lowered it, clutching it to her chest.

I don't know what that cursed thing made her see, but it was enough for her to extend it back to me.

"You keep," she said, accent thick as oil. She dropped it back onto the floor, or rather, pushed it away as if it stunk of shit.

"But—"

She snapped her fingers to silence me. Then, she said something else to Mutt in their language. He handed her the drawing, and I continued staring at the little bone instrument. I should've known the accursed thing wouldn't be so easy to ditch.

Luckily, the gesture of offering it seemed to do the trick. I begrudgingly scooped it up and stuffed it back into the darkness of my satchel.

While I did, Mukwooru traced the lines of the drawing. Her forehead wrinkled into worms while murmuring in her language. I couldn't help but wonder if my handiwork was just so poor I was confusing everyone. Never claimed to be an artist.

"Piasa," she pronounced, finally.

"What?" I asked.

"Pi-asa."

Two syllables. One word. I gathered that much. Still had no idea what it meant, though.

She tapped on the drawing and said the word again. My brow furrowed, and I glanced at Mutt, who flapped his arms like wings.

"So, it's a bird?" I asked.

Mukwooru shook her head. "No. A god."

"Where I come from, there's only one of those," I jested and quickly realized it wasn't the time.

"Born of thunder." She imitated the sound of a lightning strike. "It is the storm. Long vanished. It, and its guardian tribe."

"Extinct?" I scratched my chin, then my head.

"Not extinct," Mukwooru said. "Gone."

I wasn't sure there was a difference, but I didn't argue.

"Where did you see this?" Mutt asked me.

"The man I'm after," I said, taking a small step toward them. I turned the drawing over and pointed at the question mark that represented the sharpshooter. "He had that symbol branded on his back, glowing. I got the impression he could enter the mind of his pet, a hawk. And he used it to attack me. I’ve never seen a power like that. So fast, back and forth. A bit like you folks, though I'm not implying it was you. He used the thing's eyes to help pick off targets from rooftops."

Mukwooru rose from the floor just a little, straightening her curved spine. She looked up to Mutt, then to me.

"Very rare ability." She raised a hand to her chest and tapped. "Skinwalker." Then she poked the question mark on the bounty. "Mind-drifter."

"Well, that's nifty, ain't it," I said, throwing a smirk at Mutt. He didn't seem amused, though. Never did. Getting the boy to crack a smile would be a bigger miracle than the one which freed me from my grave.

"Is it just hawks or…" I asked, letting my thoughts hang in the air.

"You are friend to our home," she said. "But that is all I can offer."

I grimaced, mouth drawing a sharp line. That wasn't enough. I didn't come all this way for riddles. I could get that from Shar. I had to know. So, I did something I was good at. I pushed my luck.

"Well, can he enter your mind? Mine?"

Her glare fixed on me, icier than the Yeti's. What is it about the women in my life, able to throw daggers like that with their eyes?

I didn't relent. "Is he from around here? Are they? The people who worshiped this god?"

She snapped her finger again, and this time, the smoke from the sage billowed in response.

"No. More." Her tone made it clear that was it. She held the bounty paper out for me to take.

I looked to Mutt. He stared back and his expression said we were done.

"Fine, fine." I snatched the paper, not daring to cause any more trouble. Allies were rare enough in these parts."Thank you kindly, ma'am. Next time, I promise to bring something you'll hang onto."

I went to stand, and as I did, Mukwooru lunged over the sage, her face bursting through the smoke, a bit too reminiscent of my angelic handler. Grasping my wrist, she beseeched me with a question. "The Mind-drifter. Will you kill him?"

I eyed her a moment. I wasn't sure what answer she wanted. If I said yes, would she view me as a murderer? But what if she wanted this man dead? She didn't act like his kind were too desirable. I went with what I thought was a neutral response that I couldn't be held personally accountable for.

"If that's what the Almighty intends."

"And if not?" she pressed.

"He's dangerous. He and his crew have killed plenty already and he’s no doubt destined for Hell, much like I am."

"Answer me."

I looked straight at her. I wished I could lie to her, but I knew she'd see right through it. She didn't get a reputation like hers, didn't reign over an enlightened people like hers for not being able to see through a man.

"I wish that were up to me," I said, sighing. "I truly, truly do."

“Your people, always fast to kill. You bring no gift worth taking. Instead, gift me this. Do not kill unless he is truly deserving.”

My mouth hung open, unsure what to say. Deserving of life or death was a question reserved for beings above my pay grade. Sure, the Mind-drifter had killed those who fired back. Who worth their salt in the West hasn’t? And controlling the will of other beings felt deeply wrong to me, but it was only a hawk from what I knew so far. A pet that maybe loved him. And I’ll be honest, sometimes it’d be better if Timperina understood what I was thinking.

The only rules I had to go by were those doled out by the White Throne, and they were as incomprehensible and wishy-washy as ancient texts.

Deserving… what a loaded word.

Mukwooru released me and returned to her kneeling position. Eyes focused on the smokey plume of incense, she flicked her wrist toward the exit. Mutt hurried over to get the drapes for me even though I was already halfway out.

It wasn't the best terms on which I'd left the Garden, but it was honest. Mutt's people always seemed to appreciate that. I just knew, next time I returned, I'd better bring something more valuable to trade for information or help. Otherwise, I might find myself knee-deep between werewolves and Skinwalkers, without a side to choose.