“It’s captain or Captain Butcher or just Butcher.” She struggled to hold the witch of portents’ glowing gaze in her own steely-eyed ranger one. “Everly doesn’t exist. She died a long time ago.”

“Captain Butcher it is then.” The witch didn’t blink. Her mouth revealed flashes of white that didn’t move in sync with the words that came from different directions in the dark, Gothic living room. “Your question.”

“It’s been 10 minutes. None of my guys have come back. Am I playing a different game?”

“No games with you. You don’t need them.”

“Then let’s cut the crap. What’s the prophecy you’re here to share? What’s the warning?”

“Heralds of the Golden Child.” She paused for a long moment, glowing eyes winked out a split-second. “Nine stand, seven fall, ere the Golden Child embraces—”

Captain Butcher waited, but nothing else was forthcoming.

“At least that’s what the others say I uttered over a period of several months. One word at a time, sometimes two or three. Not in the order I recited. It took much work in the craft to decipher.”

“The math isn’t mathing.”

Captain Butcher focused on the most concrete portion.

“You only invited six of us. Who’re the rest?”

“I do not have an answer to that question.”

“That’s it? That’s your big prophecy? Not much to go on is it?”

“We believe it is just a small piece of a vastly greater event or events of grave significance to this entire world. Think of it, as one ingredient to an entire 7-course dinner.”

“Our part to play is small? Then, why come all this way to tell us? I know that wasn’t an easy trip and to do it without our transport.”

“Our divination guided us through each step of this Quest like a mother hen guides her chicks beneath her wings.”

“Quest means I can’t just brush this off.”

“It does add gravitas to our words.”

Captain Butcher chewed on her inner cheek for a long time.

The witch was content to gaze at her like an owl does to a forest mouse foraging through the leafy undergrowth.

“I’m thinking this prophecy is for us as rangers. Active duty rangers. What happens if we just retire? Not partially, but fully. No more missions and Quests. Not even work back at HQ. Might still put in a few shifts at the wall. Doesn’t seem right not to at our levels and experience. Some of us, all of us. Does it make a difference?”

“The path I foresee is for Rayna’s Rangers. Not ex-Rayna’s Rangers. But then again. The call often doesn’t care what one chooses to call themselves. Do you truly think that you can avoid Fate by hiding behind technicalities? Could you ignore everything you are— earned through the blood and tears of decades— just for the chance to change that which is meant to be?”

“Nothing’s meant to be. We make it happen.”

“Then you have answered your question.”

“Thanks, I regret having this talk. I’d rather go back to this morning when I had no idea any of this was waiting for us.”

“Even if the dreams continued to haunt you?”

“That you?”

The witch of portents remained silent.

Which was both intelligent and wise.

If Captain Butcher received confirmation that the nightmares had come from the witch then they were going to have fist-like words. Damn the witches and their curses.

“As long as they stop tonight I won’t have any complaints to kick upstairs to you know who.”

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“Dreams are a natural part of existence. Some are worse than others. But, I believe you will have no cause to involve certain others in the matter.”

“Not even an apology?”

“They served their purpose. Not one of malice, but of encouragement.”

“I’ll disagree on that. All things considered I would’ve preferred a conversation or a letter… any medium would’ve been better than nightmares.”

A sudden thought struck the ranger captain.

“Nine, huh? Does it have to be nine?” she mused. “What about just one?”

“The prophecy is for what is best for this world. We believe deviations increase the risk of… worsening outcomes.”

“What else did you prophesize? That can’t be all of it?”

The witch’s gaze snapped to something over Captain’s Butcher.

“Forgive me. The hour draws near— the hour arrives.”

Captain Butcher blinked away the tears until she realized that it wasn’t water in her eyes. Everything was just starting to get blurry.

“A gift for accepting our game in good sport and in good faith.”

The voice echoed from a distance.

One as far away as the other shore across the ocean.

“Hey, cumstains! What the fuck are you ass dribbles doing in my fucked up vision quest?” Mouthy said. “And what in Satan’s name is this thing?” She waved a black slip of high quality paper with pink, Gothic writing.

“One lifetime pass to live in Wytchraven’s little slice of the Fae realm… apparently,” Aims said, always the quickest on the draw among the original members of Squad 13.

“Look on the back,” Creepy Chipmunk said. “Lots of fine print shit.”

“Hey, so, did anyone else have Pokemon battles?” Spiritwalker regarded each in turn.

“Nope, I just had to eat chicken guts stew.”

Hardhat scowled. “I re-lived the nights my family died.”

“I had that too,” Creepy Chipmunk amended.

Mouthy opened her mouth than snapped it shut like a steel trap.

“Remember that baby eater hunt?” Aims said.

Spiritwalker blanched.

“Which one?”

“Bern? I think? Did that one. And I lost to a little girl in a quick draw. But, all things considered it sounds like I got off lightly. If anyone wants to talk, I’m willing to listen.”

“Don’t rub it in our faces, taint smear.” Mouthy shot him a double finger salute.

He regarded her a moment before simply nodding.

No equally acerbic retort or hurt rejoinder.

Aims’ enhanced perceptions didn’t just make him a great shot. They allowed him to notice the micro-twitches in her expression. The pulsing of the veins in her neck. The tightness of her muscles. She was still in fight or flight mode.

“I won my Pokemon battles, but I didn’t gain any knowledge that I’d consider worth this whole nonsense.” Spiritwalker glanced at his watch. “And we missed Halloween. My daughter is going to be very disappointed in me, which means my wife is going to be very mad at me.”

“Oh, shit!” Creepy Chipmunk ripped his phone out. “No signal, phew. That’ll help the excuse, right?”

“Not my problem, breeder,” Mouthy said.

Captain Butcher let the noise wash over her as she read the slip of paper.

It was a ticket.

One time redeemable, non-transferable.

An out from their fates, she realized.

All they had to do was abandon everything and everyone they had bled for over the decades.

Creepy Chipmunk and Spiritwalker would never leave their families.

The others didn’t have families.

They might’ve had partners, men and women to warm their beds and lives for a time.

Aims seemed to have finally found one that could last.

Mouthy had always kept things casual before feelings became too real to ignore.

Same with Hardhat, although, she had left a handful of men through the decades with broken hearts.

As for herself?

Every once in awhile had been good enough to fill the need for another human’s touch.

“Seems like its going to be bad at some point, captain,” Spiritwalker said. “They wouldn’t have given us an out like this if it was different.”

“I ain’t running,” Mouthy said. “It’s too heavy to get far, anyways,” she muttered.

“Go home, collect your thoughts. Write down what you saw and did tonight. As complete and accurate as you can manage. We’ll meet at HQ tomorrow morning to start the debriefing process. No sense in getting ahead of ourselves.”

“Maybe we can bring the info we got to our own future see-ers. Might get a clearer picture on what we’re supposed to avoid,” Creepy Chipmunk said.

“I got the sense that it’s the opposite problem.” Hardhat sighed. “Avoiding it is what’s going to cause problems.”

“That’s for tomorrow. For now, just—” Captain Butcher blinked.

The front door to her home greeted her.

The armored surface was cold to the touch just like the night air.

If she strained her ears she’d hear he faint cackle of a witch on the gentle breeze.