27 bones. 19 intrinsic muscles. 20 extrinsic. 34 tendons. 120 ligaments.

That’s most of what you’ll find in a human hand aside from the skin, and everything you need to keep it fully functional. Considering the human body only has 206 bones in total, having more than 10% packed into each hand really sells how important they are to our continued existence. From an Artificing standpoint, the human hand is an actual marvel of engineering, and a challenging design to replicate given the complexity and precision involved. Danny warned me about this on day one, but I didn’t understand the sheer scale of it all until we sat down and charted out what I had to do to even stand a chance of success.

See, the first step when building something is to determine what you expect it to do, and the human hand does a whole lot of things is many different ways. Even something as simple and mundane as picking up a pencil to hold in hand can become exceedingly convoluted when you get right down to brass tacks, because there are just so many moving parts to it all, and so many different ways to go about it. Do you twist your hand to pick up the pencil between your thumb and index finger so you can start writing as soon as it’s in hand? Or do you grab it in hand then give it a bit of a twirl until you’ve got it where you want it? You could also pinch the midsection, then hold it loosely and let gravity bring the point down, then tap it against your desk or paper until it’s in the familiar writing position.

That’s not the end of it either. Do you hold your pencil properly, between thumb and index finger while braced against your middle finger? Or do you clutch the tip between all three fingers instead? I seen people grip the pencil in a fist too and write like they drawing with chalk, while my daddy would hold it like a brush, with his index finger at the back end of the pencil and his pinky down near the tip, while the other three fingers held the pencil around the middle. All of which is not only possible, but also perfectly natural for the human hand to execute, without too much strain or effort. Even more intriguing is how the various grips differ in the amount of control and precision they offer, but it’s still possible to write or draw beautifully no matter how you hold it.

All this just to hold a pencil. How many other things do you use your hands for? Eat your food. Tie your shoes. Buckle your belt. Button your shirt. Wipe your ass. Pick your nose. Wash your face. Preferably not in that order, but that’s what you use your hands for, and it’s that level of function I’ll need to build into my prosthetic automaton. It’s a replacement for my hand after all, so if it can’t do it all, then what am I putting all this effort into it for? I might as well just go with a plain old metal clamp and call it a day. Course, there’s also the middle ground to consider, crafting an automaton hand that’s only good for shooting, which in and of itself is complex enough unless I limit it to using one gun and one gun only. Or modify the guns I do use so the grip, trigger, and stock work with whatever I make, but the degree of precision, articulation, and fine control I’d need is still a tall order to be sure.

One step at a time though. Don’t focus on what I can’t do, but what I can, and what I can do is learn how to build me an articulated model of a hand. From there, I’ll build me a mechanical model that functions identically, and then figure out where all the extra bits will go, like the dynamo, storage tank, and other stuff like that. Then and only then can I begin planning out the Etch, one that will allow me to Imbue the mechanical prosthesis with Spirit so that it can animate semi-autonomously thanks to the power of Arcana Technology.

Which’ll happen eventually. Sometime way down the line, because right now, I’m still stuck on stringing the metacarpal bones together. Palm bones pretty much, five of them which connect to the wrist and allow for that wide range of motion. Stifling a groan when the pieces don’t align properly for the umpteenth time, I lean back from the desk to stretch it out and reset. “I should just get an actual human hand to work with,” I say, drawing a shocked look from Danny. “Oh don’t give me that. How you think Uncle Art got that model skeleton in his classroom? He didn’t carve all them bones out by hand, I’ll tell you that much.”

“That’s a real skeleton?” Danny’s face blanches to hear it, and I can’t help but smile to see it. “We used to play with it like a prop and make it dance!”

“Yea, that’s how I know. Got me chewed out for disrespecting the dead.” I shrug. “Way I hear it, someone donated their body to science, so after they died, Uncle Art stripped the meat clean off the body, took the bones apart, then individually plastered each one before stringing them back together.” Creepy is what that is, and from Danny’s expression, I can tell he agrees, but he’s also a little intrigued because he loves him a good puzzle.

Me, I prefer card games, which is why I’m having so much difficulty here. Could’ve been so much easier though, because I had me three donors for hands just two days past, except I fed them all to Abby like a fool. Then again, I would’ve had a hell of a time trying to explain why I got me a human hand in my saddlebag should the fellas at the gate choose to search me. Which they do more often of late I’ve noticed. Maybe because Sherrif Patel is keeping a closer eye on me, or maybe they didn’t appreciate my joke about smuggling in a diamondclaw, even though that wasn’t no joke and I was telling them the truth. Either way, it wouldn’t do my reputation any good, getting caught smuggling human body parts even if I got good reason, but I’ve no idea how to go about procuring hands in a legal and aboveboard manner.

Can’t just go down the thoroughfare and find yourself a shop that sells them. Well, maybe the second-hand store. Ha. I should go in and ask. I bet Mr. McDermotty would get a real laugh out of that one. Wish I’d’ve thought of it first, but Noora beat me to it. Wonder what she’s up to?

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Danny pushes past the idea of reassembling a whole human skeleton, probably because he got dreams of building himself a man-shaped golem one of these days. “Whatever,” he says. “Having a human hand wouldn’t help. The learning process is a part of the automaton creation procedure. You have to understand how it works mechanically in an intimate fashion, because it’s your Spirit that will be guiding it. The better you understand the mechanical model, whether that be intellectually or intuitively, the more control you automaton will have when it comes into being.”

“It can’t figure out how to move on its own?”

“No Howie.” Ain’t a hint of exasperation or frustration in his tone, only patience and understanding as Danny sets his tools aside and comes over with his four-legged skitterbots scurrying alongside him. Kneeling at the side of the desk, he waits until his three automatons are sitting front and centre on the desk to continue. “They’re not golems. They have no brains to think and learn with,” he says, letting them sit up, roll over, and turn about to show me how simple and barebones the mechanisms are. “Structurally, they’re four triple jointed legs attached to a frame that houses the dynamo and Aether tank. Add in a few servos, pressure and position sensors, and traction pads, and that’s pretty much the basic design I went with.”

“You know, aside from all them extra gadgets and gizmos you packed into those legs there,” I say, pointing out the internal compartments housing all manner of tools stuffed into Danny’s skitterbots. Each of which is unique mind you, meaning he came up with at least three different designs and Etches. I’m pretty sure he’s made dozens though, having redesigned and re-Imbued his skitterbots multiple times since the day he made them some three years ago. To prove my theory, I give one of the skitterbots a pointed shove, and watch as it stumbles, rights itself, and moves back into position to continue its posing, all without so much as a thought from Danny.

Who gives me a look, one that says I’m playing the fool. “Yea, sure,” he says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “But you’re looking at the final product that took me years of studying and tinkering to accomplish and wondering why you haven’t made something several times more complex in less than two months time.”

“Fair point,” I concede, heaving a long sigh at the long road ahead. “Patience never was my strong suit though.”

“You’re telling me.” Gesturing at his posing skitter bots, Danny goes back to the point he was trying to make. “What I’m saying is that they’re able to move like that because I built and programmed them to move like that. I didn’t just put them together. I envisioned how they were going to move, how’d they’d run, crouch, jump, or climb, and I did that by playing around with the articulating models and seeing what was and wasn’t possible. That knowledge was then passed on to each skitterbot when I Etched in the Aetheric circuits, ones that do more than just dictate the flow of Aether, but the flow of Spirit as well.”

“See, that’s where you lose me Danny. Everything makes some sorta sense until we get there.” Pointing at the skitterbot that’s standing upright with its front legs raised to the roof, I run my finger along the glowing purple Etches and say, “See, these runes I understand. Besides directing Aether to all the bits and bobs, you got all sorts of stuff going on. Like this Etch here? Adds resistance so you can move past this section without activating what’s behind it, unless the Aetheric charge exceeds a certain threshold. Here? Directs the flow of Aether left or right depending on which direction you need the leg to go, and when it’s not flowing, also locks the joint in place, but not so tightly that it’ll snap under too much weight.” I point out the functions of a few more Etches I’ve identified over the past few weeks, ones I read about in all them books he gave me to read. “Thing is,” I say, having proven my point many times over, that I understand the Etches through and through, “What I don’t see is any Etches for storing information of any kind, so where’s it keeping all that Spirit that lets it know how to do what it does?”

“Everywhere,” Danny replies, which throws me for a loop. Gesturing at the Etches, he says, “When you Etch out a circuit, you’re not just leaving marks on or in a medium. You’re utilizing your Spirit to carve out the Aetheric channels to direct the flow of energy. Metaphysical channels, in a metaphysical medium that is fixed to a physical object. Don’t ask about the physics, because I have no idea how that works. No one does, but that’s what’s happening.”

Which I already knew, but Danny knows that. Doesn’t stop him from explaining things in whole, because that’s just how he is. Thorough. Meticulous. A perfectionist even. Whereas me, I’m hasty and impatient, and I’ll stick with what works until it doesn’t anymore, which is why I need convincing that this is all worth the extra effort. Danny knows this too, so the fact that he’s put up with me for so long instead of telling me to pound sand shows how much he cares. “The difference between these Etches,” he says, pointing at his skitterbot, before pointing at whatever it is he’s working on, which far as I can tell is a dreamcatcher like what you find in Métis kitsch shops. “And these ones, is subtle. Structurally, they serve the same function, directing Aether to where it needs to go, but conceptually, they’re about as different as a newspaper article versus a script for a play. One reports facts and opinions in a structured form, whereas the other shows what the actors are supposed to say, but also notes regarding what they should do or how they should sound and whatever.”

“Same letters, same words, but different purposes.”

“Exactly,” Danny says, his eyes lighting up to see that I get it, because he’s having trouble explaining it. “It’s a matter of Intent. When you Etch an Artifact, there’s no Intent. Everything you need will be in the circuit itself, whether that be in the Runes like the stuff you pointed out, or the technology present, like servos, signal diodes, valves, and capacitors.”

“Okay.” With him so far, but I expect to lose him soon enough.

“With an Automaton, there’s more to it than meets the eye,” Danny begins, still trying to figure out the best way to say it. “You’re not just building an Artifact, you’re casting a Spell of sorts, going through a Ritual to Imbue the Automaton with your Spirit so that it can act in a semi-independent fashion. That’s why every piece has to be built by you, not just put together, but smelted, moulded, carved, and polished all by yourself, because it’s all a part of the creation process.”

And now I’m lost, because that there was one giant leap that don’t seem possible. First off, what sort of Spell gives life to a puppet? Second, how can you have a Ritual if the steps are never the same? Thirdly, if Danny is right, then it means every action I take while building my automaton becomes a part of the Ritual, a process which could take days, weeks, months, or even years, so how is it possible for the Spell to maintain cohesion in all that time?

Yea, magic is equal parts science and faith, but the problem with faith is that it don’t always come easy.

I don’t say as much right away though, give myself a bit of time to mull it over. While I do, I can’t help but push another skitterbot just a bit, because it’s fun to watch them stagger and right themselves. This time though, I really study how it arrests its momentum and rights itself before scooting back into line. Natural wouldn’t be the word I’d use for it, nor can you really call it smooth, as it stops, straightens, then moves back into place, one step after another. A real, thinking creature would do all three steps simultaneously, or at least have them meld together into single action that makes it impossible to say where one step ends and the next begins.

That’s what I want, the smooth, natural movement, not stiff, pre-programmed processes. Thing is, it ain’t about what I want. It’s about what I can do. Adapt and thrive, and for now, that means taking whatever I can get, because even though an automaton prosthetic would be far from perfect, it trumps almost every other idea I can think of while also remaining within the realm of possibilities. Modifying Mage Hands through familiarity or creating a brand-new Spell Structure to suit my needs sounds great in theory, but I could work the problem for decades without any guarantee of success. Won’t stop me from trying, but I’d be a fool to put all my eggs in that basket when I could invest a year into Artificer studies and come out with something more useful than a metal clamp fixed to the end of my stump.

So I give Danny a nod of thanks and go back to fiddling with my wooden hand bones, trying to get them to fit together without bunching together or falling apart as soon as I let go. He goes back to working on his dreamcatcher, which looks more like an arts and crafts project than any Artificing work I seen, but I haven’t asked because I know it’s way beyond my pay grade and he’d only waste his time explaining things to me. Which is doubly precious since he also playing the role of coach and cheerleader too, so I do what I can to keep out of his way as we putter about on our projects in silence.

Danny’s workshop is also the backroom of his storefront, so every now and then the front door will open and a customer walks in. There’s a bell hanging in front of the door to let us know, so when the bell rings later that afternoon, Danny heads on over to see who it is. “Oh, uh. Um. Hi,” he says, with only one foot out of the workshop before freezing in place. I know exactly what’s happening here, so I stand up to go help him, because I’m worried extended exposure to Tina will melt his brain. I can watch his face turn red in real time as he stammers and struggles to find the words, all tongue tied and twisted in knots over seeing a pretty face.

“Hey Danny,” Tina says, waving at the both of us as I poke my head through the doorframe. “Hey Howie.” Chrissy’s there too, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder with the faintest hint of a pout and frown etched on her porcelain features. The fact that she’s even doing that much means she’s feeling downright miserable, so I give Danny a little nudge to get him through the doorway and out front for a proper conversation. As for Chrissy, she perks up about a second after she hears my name. Suppose it takes that long for the words to register, but she finds me soon enough as I step out from behind the counter to greet her with a hug.

“Hi Howie,” she says, burying her head in my chest while clutching me tight.

“Hi.” Squeezing her hard and swaying side to side, I give Tina a raised eyebrow, and she just shrugs in reply to my silent question. “You gonna say hi to Danny, Chrissy?”

“Hi Danny.”

Danny stammers out a reply, while shooting shy glances at Tina and trying out different poses in the doorway. Not because he trying to show off, but because he done forgotten how to stand like a regular human being. It’s all the blood rushing to his head that does it, because his face is already red as a tangpear and growing redder by the moment, which can’t be healthy. “So you come out to stretch your legs?” I ask, and Chrissy nods, still frowning and pouting ever so slightly with her arms latched around my torso. Patting her head ever so gently, I commiserate with poor Chrissy for a moment over how she been stuck in the church all week. An hour or two is the most she can manage before the persistent Dissonant Whistle gets too much to bear, and there’s nothing we can really do about it.

Despite the name, Protection from Aberration doesn’t actually do much protecting, just deters Abby from coming close. It’s like spraying tuskwulf urine to scare chitter rats away. It’ll do the trick well enough, but it won’t stop them if they’ve got a mind to go a certain way. That’s why it ain’t so popular a Spell, because end of the day, all you’re doing is magically shouting ‘go away’, similar to the signal I found down the mine shaft in Pleasant Dunes. The only other benefit of the Protection Spell is increased resistance against mental or Spiritual afflictions, like the aforementioned Dissonant Whistle. Sure, it seems nice in the moment, but like the Padre said, you usually only see those sorts of Spiritual attacks from the Soulless, and the only confirmed bunch are currently confined to the northwest corner of the coast. Otherwise, it’s all gobbos and Ferals, which is why most places don’t both putting up Protection Against Abby. It ain’t cheap, and you can only fit so many wards in and around your house before they start interfering with one another, so why waste the real estate on a niche Ward when you can have magical Force Barriers to block Bolts or Sanctified Thresholds to strip Spells off of Abby and render them unable to register Aetheric signals?

Or just cheap out and set up Alarms, because chances are, if you got Abby troubles around the homestead, a Protection from Abby Ward ain’t gonna cut it.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Since Chrissy found it in her to get up and out of the church, I figure study time is over for today. “Why don’t we go pick up some pastries from Otis and bring them up to share with… Nikky and Manda.” Can never remember their names right off the bat. Or which one is which. Gremlins the both of them.

“Uh,” Danny stammers, and I catch a note of alarm in his tone, so I turn to see what’s up. One look at his anxious expression tells me everything I need to know, because I’d forgotten his mama wasn’t one of my biggest fans no more.

“Or we can eat outside at the bakery?” I ask, much to Danny’s relief, and I glance up to see if he wants to go invite his sisters anyway, without letting his mama know who he’s having them with. Being the good big brother that he is, he sees us off like we parting ways, then heads up to coincidentally see if his sisters want to go for a stroll. A shame we gotta tiptoe around like that, but I ain’t gonna hold it against Danny. Or his mama for that matter, because she got a right not to like me, same as Carter got a right to not want me around Elodie.

Even if they both wrong, but that’s a whole other thing.

Coincidentally, we run into Josie and Noora on the way over to the bakery, and they sashay on over to say hello. Noora’s got the walk down pat, strutting her stuff with effortless ease, while Josie’s a quick study who’s doing her best and making a good show of it. They both such slim, itty-bitty gals, so even though the effect is subtle, the sway of their hips still draws the eyes. Noora’s got that cool confidence with her long, dark locks all brushed over her right shoulder as her hazel eyes drift here, there, and anywhere except to meet mine, while Josie bites her lips and shoots me sheepish glances to see if I’m paying attention. “Hey there handsome,” Noora says with a wink while slipping her arm into mine. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Noora’s got a way of capturing your attention. When I first spotted her across the way, she was all slouched and withdrawn, one hand stuffed in her too small pant’s pocket and the other holding a cigarette between two fingers. That all changed soon as she saw me, as she straightened up and arched her back while her free hand went up to fix her hair. Which was perfect to start with, and has subtle purple highlights in it today, ones she put in herself using Prestidigitation. Got the makeup to match, with purple eyeliner and lipstick that really catches the eye and blends in well with her caramel skin, and it’s got my eyes tracing the outline of her lips as she flashes her slight, almost teasing smile while pressed up against my arm.

My right arm, which she takes without shying away, unlike most people who work real hard to pretend it don’t exist.

Though not bold enough to come in for a hug, Josie unconsciously strikes a little pose when she greets me with a cheery, “Hey Howie”, with her hands folded behind her back while leaning ever so slightly forward. Her eyelashes are all aflutter too, and I can’t help but notice the half-Latina brunette has picked up Noora’s manner of dress. Or undress as it were, with a too-small button up and her shirttails tied up above her midriff, over a hip-hugging set of low-waist jeans. She’s wearing more makeup too, a touch of black eyeliner and peach pink lipstick that pairs so well with her warm, honey skin tone. Top it off with a pair of bronze hoop earrings and a bright red ribbon in her hair tied in a bunny ear bow, and it’s all a stark reminder that little Josie Ramirez ain’t so little any more.

“Hey you two,” I say, drinking in the sight without being too obvious or appreciative about it since my sorta-sisters are right here. They all trade greetings too, especially Josie and Chrissy, who have the same exchange every time they meet where they fix up each other’s ribbons. Birds of a feather they are, each one thinking the other is absolutely adorable, and they love to hug it out too. As for Noora and Tina, they ain’t as close, but they do that thing girls do where they pretend they’re the best of friends whenever they see each other. Confusing is what that is, because you can still be polite and cordial without going overboard, and leaves me doubting if Josie and Noora are actually interested or if they just being friendly.

Course I invite them to the bakery with us, because why ever would I not, and the five of us head off all arm in arm in arm. Draw a few stares on the way there, but I’m used to it, and Noora weathers the attention like water off a duck, asking me what I been up too since we saw each other last week. I outline the broad strokes, tell her about my trip up to the quay and surrounding communities, as well as my run-in with Abby at Carter’s compound. Don’t say word one about Elodie or their shapeshifting abilities, but it’s still gossip enough to keep the conversation flowing.

“Only been a week since the Mindspire went up and Abby activity is already rising like crazy,” Noora says, taking one last drag from her cigarette before putting it out against the side of a trashcan and tossing it inside. That’s a plus in my books, and doubly so because it don’t come natural to her. Grew up in Pleasant Dunes where everyone flung their cigarette butts on the floor willy nilly, but she uses the trash cans here. You’d think that’d be a normal thing to do, respect the cleanliness of our streets, but I know people who live here and can’t be bothered to throw away their cigarette butts into the trash, so it’s nice to know Noora ain’t like that. “How bad you think it’s gonna get?”

“Not bad enough to threaten New Hope,” I say with a shake of my head. “Ain’t like the Coral Desert, where you got a swarm of Proggies working together. No, my daddy uprooted every Proggie within twenty-five klicks, and we ain’t see any attempts to help this one out, so that means it’s likely a loner.”

“A swarm?” Josie asks. “Like multiple Proggies in a group?”

“Yea more or less.” Giving a little bob of my head to let her know it ain’t all cut and dry, I explain, “Best we can tell, Proggies got a hierarchy. Swarm, hive, herd, whatever you want to call it, it’s clear they got some sort of pecking order, with lower-ranked Proggies taking after higher-ranked ones and spawning all the same Abby. One theory is they got familial lines, working and learning from the Proggie that spawned them, while others think its some sort of cloning thing, where spawned baby Proggies ain’t actual full-blown Proggies, and are just relays for the main Proggie no different from a Synapse. Could also be a debt thing, where baby Proggies gotta pay back their momma’s for all the biomass that went into birthing them plus interest.”

“Whatever the reason,” Tina interjects, stopping me before I can get to the real juicy theories, “This one has been kept isolated and underfed for the most part, since it’s been kept contained to the lake or thereabouts.”

“I wouldn’t say underfed per se.” Stopping at the bakery door, I slip my arm out of Noora’s so I can open the door before remembering once again, I don’t got a hand. And things were looking so good up until now. She don’t miss a beat and opens the door instead, slipping in first so I can hold it open for everyone else. Even gives me a wink on her way in, which earns me a glare from Tina like I done something wrong. Me, I ignore it all and head in last with Chrissy, saying, “Whole lot of biomass in the lake alone, much less the forests, hills, and mountain around it. We’re pretty sure it gets enough to get by and has been building up an army for years, but the thing about Abby is they ain’t as patient as Proggies. They get restless and antsy always foraging without a fight, so every now and then, they break ranks to go out on a raid, which is why we get harpies every half year or so, instead of one big aerial raid all at once.”

That gets everyone in the bakery looking anxious and alarmed, everyone except Chrissy and Tina. Doesn’t stop the latter from giving me a look like I should’ve known better, and truth is, I probably should. Keep forgetting folks prefer living with their heads in the sand, so I change the subject and give Otis my best and brightest grin. “Mr. Gibson, how you doin’ this fine day?”

He responds with warmth and good cheer, telling me all about his cheesy brisket and potate pies, which we all get a slice of. Danny and his sisters show up soon after and I get them the same, and we spend the next little bit chatting and eating various baked goods outside on the sidewalk. No more talk of Abby, Proggies, and Mindspires, which leaves me with little to no material to talk about, so I occupy myself with stuffing my face and nodding along like I agree with everything everyone saying. It’s always awkward when folks talk about stuff like school and homework and other stuff I didn’t ever do, or gossip about their teachers who I’ve only met tangentially. Mrs. Peterson the disciplinarian, Mr. Kilgore the Killjoy, or kindly Mrs. Benett who goes the extra mile to help Noora catch up. It’s stuff I never went through, and truth is I’m glad I didn’t, because most of it seemed like a waste of time considering the lackluster educations they come out with.

Let’s be honest here. Reciting the names of the presidents in the order they were elected ain’t ever gonna be relevant in the real world, whereas multiplying two-digit numbers in their head is pretty useful. I can’t do the first, and people look at me like I’m an idiot, but when I do the second, they think I’m weird. Bass ackward is what that is, no two ways about it.

After her third pastry, Noora steps aside to light another cigarette, and I glance over in amusement. “Mind me asking how you get those?” Raising an eyebrow in mock disapproval, I say, “Law says you gotta be eighteen to smoke.”

Noora don’t miss a beat and snaps back with, “But only sixteen to fight or fuck. That doesn’t seem strange to you? Government won’t let you smoke or drink because it’s bad for you, but go on out and fight Abby or stay at home to pump out kids.”

“Noora…” Embarrassed by her forthrightness, Josie tries to get Noora to back down, but girl’s got a point.

“Never considered that angle,” I reply. Then to drop the subject, I glance at Danny and ask, “You make up your mind about Basic?”

Danny shakes his head, not wanting to get into it, but Tina latches onto the subject like I knew she would. “No you haven’t made up your mind, or no you ain’t gonna join?” Mumbling something barely comprehensible, Danny somehow gets his point across to Tina, who asks, “Well, I think you should. Teaches you a lot of good information I think everyone ought to know, like basic Aetherarm safety and what to do in an emergency.” Then she gets to the fun part, which is why I brung it up in the first place. “They making us stay on for an extra six months too, but they said part of our duties will be teaching the new boots, so if you do sign on for the next class, I can show you the ropes.”

Now Tina, bless her heart, doesn’t understand how Danny is head over heels in love with her, so she don’t know the effect of what she’s saying. I do though, so I know Danny is probably gonna sign on first thing tomorrow. Glancing at Noora and Josie, I say, “You two should think about it too. You’ll be sixteen by year’s end, so you’re both old enough for the course. Nothing says you gotta be Rangers when it’s done, but I guarantee the training will prove useful no matter what you choose to do.”

“I’ve never even fired a gun,” Josie says, looking scared and mousey as can be.

“I have.” Pursing her lips and scrunching her nose, Noora exhales a mouthful of smoke and wryly adds, “Not sure if I hit anything though. Could barely keep the gun straight.”

“Well if that’s your only concern regarding signing on for Basic, I could bring you out to the gun range for a bit of a lesson. Same with you Danny, if you wanna come.” I could use some practice myself, and don’t think nothing of it, but somehow the offer gets Josie and Noora to exchanging glances while Tina glares at me from the side. Got no earthly idea why though, so I wipe some crumbs off of Chrissy’s mouth and pretend not to notice anything going on around me. “How about you Chrissy? You feeling up for a trip to the gun range? Not today, but sometime this week maybe?”

“No,” Chrissy replies, taking another dainty nibble of her honey cake. “Too far. Home?”

“Sure.” No doubt to see how the animals are doing, because she misses being around them for most of the day. A shame I couldn’t take her to visit Elodie. They would’ve had so much fun together, because they both have this pure and innocent perspective on all things in life, able to find joy and happiness in the simple things. They also both love animals and prefer non-verbal communication, so while I was hoping Elodie’s liveliness and spirit of adventure would rub off on Chrissy, Elodie could’ve also learned a thing or two from Chrissy’s calm, tranquil demeanour and grooming habits.

Wouldn’t surprise me to find a whole bird’s nest in that girl’s thick, untamed hair, looking like it ain’t ever known the touch of a brush.

Noora and Josie run off to finish whatever errand they was supposed to be running, while Danny bring his sisters back home too. Both groups get a paper bag full of pastries, and Tina’s got two to share with Aunty Ray and the folks at the Church. Catch more flies with honey after all, so now they know what’s what after I denied them breakfast this morning, I make a peace offering in the form of delicious baked goods. Feeling right proud of myself for even thinking of mending fences with those awful, awful people, I lead the way home and greet Cowie with a smile, while Tina continues to scowl off to the side. “What are you so sour about?” I ask, only to get the darkest of looks in reply.

“I been invitin’ you out to the range for weeks now,” Tina says, her arms crossed and cheeks puffed. “Me and Sarah Jay both, and you keep blowin’ us off, but now you up and offer to take Noora and Josie on a lark? You were all, ‘oh, I love the purple hair girlie’, and ‘that shade of peach pink lipsticks suits you so well’.” The voice she makes sounds nothing at all like me, because we already sound similar enough when we speak normally, but that doesn’t stop Tina from sounding all exaggerated and mocking. Rolling her eyes with a scoff, she asks, “Seriously Howie, Noora is one thing, but now you got your sights set on Josie too? After that whole fiasco with Elodie, I’m starting to think you really are a randy goat. We need to hose you down with cold water to keep you from getting all ornery and upset?”

“Said it before, and I’ll say it again. What happened with Elodie was a misunderstanding.” One I don’t think I’ll ever live down, especially since Chrissy thinks she’s owed a sleepover now. “Secondly, I was just acknowledging the hard work them girls put into their Cantrips. Noora been working on Prestidigitation ever since Pleasant Dunes, and I don’t think I ever seen Josie in Makeup before. That sorta thing deserves a little ‘atta girl’, you know? Encourage them to learn more Cantrips and Spells.”

Fists on her hips and baby blues at full strength, Tina hits me with, “Then how come you don’t ever compliment me, huh? I could use some encouragement too.”

“You ain’t wearing any Makeup and I’m the one who did your hair. What you want me to say?”

Don’t think the truth has ever once made a woman less angry, not when they rip snorting mad. “Anything,” Tina declares, and hand to God, she stands there and waits for my compliment like she’s owed one. “A woman ain’t just her hair and makeup.”

The easy thing to do would be compliment her, but I’m contrary like that. “You dressed in Ranger tans and work boots, plus you got no jewellery to speak of besides the necklace I done gave you.” Eyeing her up and down in search of something to say, I stifle a grin say, “Honestly Tina, you ain’t giving me much to work with.”

Which is a mistake, because if I thought she was angry before, that one really sets her off. “What about last week, huh?” she asks, advancing on me with her brows furrowed in rage. “You didn’t say word one about the dress I wore for my birthday, but praised Chrissy’s to high heaven.”

“You was both wearing the same dress, so the compliment applies to you too.” Rolling my eyes when she seemingly disagrees, I gently pop her puffed cheeks with one hand. “You looked very lovely in your dress Tina.”

“What colour was it?”

Shit. “Blue.”

Tina scoffs. “Lucky guess.”

It was, but I ain’t about to admit it. Instead, I open my arms in offer of a hug, one she takes right quick. Despite the big huff, she melts right into my chest same as Chrissy did, which Tina hasn’t done in years, and it’s a stark reminder of how she’s also afflicted by the Mindspire same as her sister. So I hold her tight and squeeze her shoulder three times to let her know how I feel, and she squeezes right back with a vengeance. “Well, at least you’ll be away from the Mindspire come tomorrow,” I say, wishing I could go along just to be sure she’s safe, but Songbird’s gonna have to learn to fly on her own soon enough. “A day’s riding with the convoy should see you out of range, and then its three days free and clear of the Dissonant Whistle.”

“Can’t hardly wait,” Tina says, though she keeps her face buried against me while she talks. “Even if it’s just routine guard duty making sure all them townies get to Summerbloom safe without getting lost along the way. Should be a walk in the park.”

Here’s hoping. “Oh right. That reminds me.” Breaking off the hug and ignoring Tina’s pout, I pull out a piece of paper I scrawled out last night and hand it over. “That’s for you.”

Narrowing her eyes, Tina reads off the text in the first few boxes. “I want to speak to your superior. Where are the facilities. When can we see a menu. Do you know who I am. What is this, Howie?”

“Townie bingo,” I say with a grin. “Every time one of them says something on that chart, you cross it off. See how long it takes to get five in a row. I’m betting you’ll have bingo within the first few hours, and get every box ticked off by the end of the week.”

“Oh come on,” she says. “It can’t be that bad.” Smiling as she reads off a few more, she glances up and sees my grin, one that is equal parts pity and relief. “Right?”

“You’ll learn soon enough,” is all I say, and she pouts to hear it. Ain’t no job worse than babysitting townies, so I’m glad she’s ready to ride out without me. Won’t lie and say I ain’t worried, but she gonna have to learn to do the job without me looking over her shoulder, and this here is a fine job to start with. Small chance Abby attack a large, well guarded convoy, because even if they do some damage, they’ll have a hell of a time getting any biomass back to their Proggie. That’s the name of the game after all, Feed the Proggie, so I suspect the satellite communities around the lake are gonna get hammered hard these next coming weeks. The attack on Carter’s compound failed horrendously, but there are plenty more communities all along the shore, and I wager most ain’t half as well defended. Then again, I’m pretty sure Carter’s compound is about as safe as New Hope, considering they got miss Amelie there to guard them, a veritable living, breathing tank of a diamondclaw that can kill anything within reach.

Here's hoping they don’t get attacked a third time, and that Mueller’s Quay is still standing at the end of the week so I have somewhere to go for the rest of my hours.

Chrissy spends a good hour cuddling with the animals before I call an audible and carry her home. Poor girl is so starved for animal attention that she stayed out far past her limits, so I tell her I’ll bring her by every morning when I do my chores if she’s feeling up to it. She holds me to it too, up bright and early the next morning to knock at my door, which I had to keep locked so she wouldn’t slip in unnoticed. Tina’s already gone by then, having woken up before the sun was up to get a head start on the convoy, leaving me to keep Chrissy company for the week. We fall into an easy routine, with me bringing her back home every morning so I can do my chores, then out for a stroll before heading back to the church. Ain’t much to do there, but I keep her company all the same, because if I leave her to her own devices, she just gets lost inside her head. Long as I’m around though, she’s happy to draw, play music, tease the kids with Illusions, and more, so I do what I can to keep her engaged. In the afternoon, when Aunty Ray is mostly done with her work, I bring them both out for another stroll and find us something to eat. On Monday, we have ice cream at Miss Dawsons. Tuesday we stop in at Anita’s for bapple chips. Wednesday, I bring them both to the saloon for a fizzy soda and some fries, and Chrissy seems to really enjoy herself even though the Mindspire is only getting worse, not better.

Every night is dedicated to studying Mental Fortress, trying to piece together the wooden hand now that I got all the pieces carved and made, and some dry-fire drills so I don’t make a fool of myself when I try to teach. Progress is slow, but evident as the idle days fly by. Blink and its already Thursday, which is when I agreed to take Noora and Josie out to the gun range, so I leave Chrissy with her mama and a promise to make this up to her before picking up my students from school in my wagon. They both looking lovely as usual, and they’re all smiles and sunshine as we head out, though I do stop off at the Ramirez’s household to make sure Josie’s parents are in the know. Not that I think they’d lie and sneak out, but it’s always good to be sure. Trust, but verify after all, and Noora makes a few snide comments about me being a goody two shoes, while I hit back by calling her a delinquent and bad seed.

Feels good to be back on the wagon again, even if Cowie is less than thrilled to be put to work, but he got his pride and wouldn’t stand to see no horses hitched to his wagon. He ambles on gamely while Josie and Noora both shame me for dragging him out like this, as if I had any other choice. Cowie drinks it all up, playing the role of poor, pitiful bull to get more coos and promise of treats from the girls who adore him so. No idea when he won over Noora, but he’s got the cool, calm beauty fawning over him with hearts in her eyes, ones that only got fire for me. Not a bad fire, but a dangerous one, as I ain’t so sure if I can handle the heat for all that much longer.

I get a brief reprieve when I drop in at the office to see Rudy, who’s all smiles and good cheer after so many weeks apart. He’s also less than subtle when he sees my companions, winking and chortling as he sends me off to the most isolated pistol range, the ‘tactical’ shooting range which is just a regular shooting range covered in urban clutter. Not the best choice for a beginner lesson, but not so bad that I care to switch out, so I hand them each and unloaded Sturm and Kitiara Squire while going over the basics. Josie is too scared of the weapon to focus much on the lesson, but Noora absorbs everything I say, a quick learner who avoids the most common mistakes because she actually listened to the who spiel I gave.

So fixated on the lesson, I almost yelp when I go to show her how to hold the weapon and Noora leans right back into me. I ain’t talking about shoulders against my chest neither, as she’s got her whole self plastered against me, melting into my body like she made of water or something. Gives me a grin too when she sees that the cat’s got my tongue, and pouts a little when I get back on track and straighten her out.

Then Josie does the same, though without the same bold confidence. She just sorta falls into me and gives me a scared little smile, and I find myself short of breath. Gotta clear my throat a fair few times before I can speak again, and even back off for a drink of water shortly after. Don’t know what they playing at, competing for my affections in such an open and forthright manner, and I got no earthly idea what I’m supposed to do. Sit them down for a stern talk I guess, but then that’d mean an end to their games. So I keep mum and try not to let things get out of hand, while also enjoying the attention and affection. I know it’s wrong to play games with their hearts, but it’s nice to know I’m wanted. Especially after everything that’s been going on, what with folks in town talking about exiling me, and Danny’s mama not liking me no more. Can’t forget Carter warning me away from his daughter, so a bit of harmless flirting and mildly inappropriate contact is just… wonderful, really. No other way to describe it.

Of course, me being me, my conscience won’t let me go on like this, so after a half hour or so of this back-and-forth dalliance, I clear my throat and gesture for them to put their guns aside for a tick. “Look,” I begin, not entirely sure what I’m about to say, but absolutely certain I’m going to regret it. “You are both lovely and wonderful young ladies, and I very much am flattered by the… attention.” Getting lost in the memories for all of a moment, it takes me a bit to find the strength to carry on. “But uh… well… it ain’t proper, and among many other uncertainties, I don’t want to be a point of contention between the two of you.” Would make for a really awkward ride home for one, if I picked one and rejected the other here and now.

“Oh?” Noora asks, grinning like a cat. “Look at you with your big ego. Why would you ever be a point of contention?”

My stomach drops and throat closes as I panic at the thought of having grossly misread the situation, but it’s too late to back out now. “Um… because… all this… and you know… gotta choose one of you to pursue… and whatnot.”

Josie’s cheeks go bright red as she stares down at her feet, while Noora hits me with a smug and confident shake of her head. “Josie is mi hermana, my ride or die, and I would never let anything come between us.” Gently lifting Josie’s chin with a single finger, Noora looks the other girl in the eyes and leans in for a light and all too provocative kiss before both turning to me with a hungry, predatory gaze. “Besides,” Noora says, slipping her arm around Josie’s slim waist while the lovely Latina responds in kind. “Why you gotta be so serious? We’re all just having fun here, and what fun would it be if only two of us could play?”

And as she crooks her finger at me and Josie shyly bats her eyes, I realize that Tina’s right. I am a randy goat after all, and I will make no apologies for it. Not today at least. Maybe tomorrow, but even if I do, I won't have no regrets.