“Mary, wake up,” I whisper, lightly shaking the older woman. “I’ve got some bad news about our little escapade earlier today.”

“Is that you, Luna?”

“Come on, Mary. We messed up.”

I shoot awake, my mind groggy. It was a dream. That dream. Again. But here I am, safe on board the Constellation, no Slaphand to worry about.

No Mary, either, I think, instantly regretting it.

I don’t know how long it will haunt me. Maybe forever. I left the old lady who had been the first genuine person I’d met in years to die under a pile of rubble. Maybe I deserve this feeling. This anxiety attack every morning when I realise who I am and what I’ve done. What I could have and should have done. What I’ll never have a chance to do.

You ever look back and realize how wrong you were? Realized that once you’ve done it, it’s going to irreparably damage you for years, and done it anyway? Carried this gut feeling in your lower chest every day for months that tells you things are going to end, and you’re not going to like the way it happens?

Happy October, Luna. You’re slipping again.

I lace up my boots, careful not to move my left leg too much. It’s still healing from the nasty bullet wound P-Man gave me two weeks ago. Then, next to the mirror on my dresser, I grab a few pain pills, a lithium pill, and some water, and swig it all down.

My eyes drift to the corner of the mirror, where I see Freckles staring back at me from the bed. His eyes, always inquisitive, are trying to tell me something. If only I could tell what.

“Hey,” Alondra says, appearing in the doorway of my bedroom. She leans against it in the same way my mother used to when I was sick.

“Hey,” I repeat, untangling my hair in the mirror.

“Do you want some help?”

“No. I haven’t even decided how I’m going to wear it today. It’s not every day you go to a funeral, and I need to look my best.”

“You mean unrecognizable.”

“That too.”

“Which church is it at, exactly?”

“It’s the Bayview Catholic Church, or something like that. Why?”

“Just in case you need rescuing later. This is going to be the most public place you’ve been in a while.”

“I’ll be alright, so long as you-know-who doesn’t show up.”

“Yeah, I don’t recommend listening to the radio right now.”

“Let me guess, he’s being praised for saving a family of kittens right now.”

“Not him. Somebody else.”

“What?”

I turn the radio on, despite Alondra’s recommendations, and tune in to my least favorite show.

“I really think you bring up a great point, Artemis,” the radio host says, “but we need to decide what’s going to happen to Carmsborough and the path we’re going to take. This spike in vigilantism isn’t good. It’s harming the police force’s ability to actually do anything good, and in a society where anyone can take up the mantle of judge, jury, and executioner, who’s to stop us from going straight to anarchy?”

“Then we have all the vigilantes, or none,” the other host said. “If we entertain Orion and the Clockwork, or the Blood Moon Pirate, or this new homemade vigilante from last night, then nothing is stopping us from having a hundred vigilantes. We need to move to rejoin the twentieth century.”

“Right, but Orion and the Clockwork are objectively good, and almost can’t be considered vigilantes. They literally work for the government.”

“But with no insight.”

“Sure, but the vigilante last night who stopped that shooting in the Housing District has no basis. We don’t even know anything, other than they wanted to be called “Andromeda.”

“Andromeda?” I say. “This is getting out of hand. First the girl at the shipyard, and now some other rando with no allegiances?”

“I told you you didn’t want to check the radio.”

“Whatever. We’ll deal with this later. The funeral starts in an hour.”

“Meow.” Freckles stretches on the bed, then hops down to join me.

“Be careful,” Alondra calls after us.

“Sure.”

\-----_____-----/

The chill October wind threatens to flood the sky with snow when I, disguised as Laura Emmett, arrive at the church for the funeral service of Smackpants. It’s a mostly private service, but a few people with clearance in the Bijabers circle were invited to join in, for whatever reason. Laura Emmett was apparently one of his accountants, and fit the bill perfectly for me to casually replace without raising much suspicion.

The weathered gravestones around me in the cemetery tell a long story of life in the heart of Carmsborough. It is one of the oldest churches in the city, with some of the more preserved stones reading as old as the sixteenth century. Needless to say, there aren’t many vacancies left, and are probably left to those with a caliber as large as Smackpants.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Welcome to our church,” the priest says at the door, grabbing my hand without my warning. “Are you here for the service?”

“Yes, father,” I say. “Laura Emmett. I work–worked with him. Did the accounting.”

“I’m glad you were able to make it. I’m sure it means a lot to him.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“Please, find yourself a seat. We’ll have our first remarks soon, which I will follow with a sermon.”

“Looking forward to it.”

I step through the arched doorway and into the raised ceiling of the beautifully architected worship hall, or whatever you call it. Pews line either side of a red carpet, which extends all the way down to the priest’s podium at the end. Behind that, a large, black casket rests on a red cloth.

The heating in the stone building is abysmal compared to the storm that is almost certainly brewing outside the colored windowpanes that line the walls. I had initially planned on taking my coat off to allow for more agility, but it’ll have to wait for the right moment.

The right moment. I still haven’t decided when that is. Sometime within the hour, Dancypants will be here, ready to wish his brother well in the afterlife, and I will be here to do the same to him. The problem is, there will be a lot of bystanders no matter when I decide to pull the trigger, and I can’t even guarantee I’ll have a clear shot. This whole idea was very impromptu. As soon as I found out he’d be back in Carmsborough one last time, I knew this was my only shot.

He might not even think I’ll be here. Two days ago, I didn’t know I’d be here.

Even better, Orion and the Clockwork won’t have a clue until it’s too late. No weeks of planning that go down the drain this time.

Fifteen or twenty more people filtered in over the next half an hour, and before long, the priest shut the door and walked to the podium, standing in front of the corpse of one of my most recent victims in a box.

“Family and friends of the deceased,” the priest said, with a slight frown, “I come bringing news that the twin brother of the deceased, Dancypants, will unfortunately not be able to make it to the funeral today.”

What?

A wave of murmurs fills the acoustic space, which dies down when the priest motions with his hands. “I understand the confusion, but there is a reason. You see, the person responsible for his death, The Blood Moon Pirate, is here, disguised as one of us: Laura Emmett.”

His bony hand points in my direction, and my jaw falls. How did they know? How did he know? Is the priest part of the clique as well?

As soon as the first few people stand up and turn my way, I bolt out of the selected pew, toss down the copy of the New Testament I had picked up, and make a break for the door.

“Get me out of here, Alondra,” I yell into my watch.

“What?” she replies, a couple seconds later.

“They know it’s me. He’s not even here. Come pick me up. Now.”

“Uh, okay. On it. Give me two minutes.”

“Did you really think I’d give you another chance to kill me?” Dancypants’ voice says, booming from a speaker near the podium. “I’m on the complete other side of Carmsborough. You’ve failed this time, girl.”

I pull on the door, but it doesn’t budge.

No. I’m not going to fail again.

Most of the crowd sitting in the pews is now standing and walking my way. I’m willing to bet none of them are actual family members and they’re all just goons.

Locked in a church, going to be beaten up by thirty people during a fake funeral service. You almost couldn’t make this up.

Right as one gets close, I toss off my coat and reveal my pistol. I was hoping to save the ammunition for my actual target, but I have to make it to him first. The man takes a step back and fumbles for his own weapon, a knife.

Before either of us can act, a rumbling and a screech fills the air. The Constellation is here, and so is my escape. Then, all I have to do is figure out which church is—

A loud crash sounds off from above us, and in a cluster of dust and debris, Orion and the Clockwork crash down to the wooden floor of the church. The room stands still.

Not the Constellation.

Much worse.

“Thank you so much, Orion,” the priest says. “The Blood Moon Pirate is here, trying to kill us.”

“Spare the talk,” Orion says. “I know you’re all working for Bijabers. Put your weapons down, and maybe you don’t get the full sentence in prison you deserve.”

“Plan B,” the not-priest says. “Kill them both.”

The bulk of the group descends on Orion and the Clockwork, leaving the few that are closer to me to be my victims. I would switch to my knives now, but as they quickly reveal, they’re more than eager to use their guns. I get one shot off before they force me to dive behind one of the wooden pews with their own gunfire. It’s not a lot of protection, but at least they can’t fully predict where I’m at.

The sound of fighting continues, despite me hiding, as Orion and the Clockwork start to plow through a heavy number of the brutes. I peek up to take a few more shots, connecting with one of the men, before once again being forced to hide. After a loud crack, two men come flying my way, crashing into the pew and wall beside me. Neither of them are very willing to get back up.

If Alondra doesn’t hurry, it’s gonna end up being me versus Orion and the Clockwork alone. That’s a fight I definitely won’t win.

I reappear and fire my pistol some more, hitting the other two that were after me. Then, the actual familiar sound of the Constellation’s engines fills the air behind me. Now, how to get outside…

The front of my ship smashes through the front door of the church, creating the second-loudest crumbling noise I’ve ever heard. All heads turn that way, but not before I’m already on my way to the rope hoisted over the side.

Orion, not wanting to lose me again, sprints after me much faster than expected. When I reach the halfway point of the rope, he latches on to the bottom, and starts to scale it quickly. He reaches my shoe at the same time I reach the top, where he holds on tight.

“Let go,” I say, kicking down at him with my free leg.

“I’m not losing you again. You’re going to face justice, Pirate.”

“Maybe someday, but not today. I’ve got a strangely named mob boss to deal with.”

“I’ve seen your face, Luna.”

“Then write it into your memory. You won’t want to forget it.”

I give one hard kick to his face, which sends him falling to the ground. The Clockwork is of course there to swoop him up and rescue him, but not before the Constellation is pulling out and retreating. Orion dramatically looks between me and the scene at the church, deciding which to deal with, and turns to finish off the remaining group of goons as three cop cars pull up.

“What happened?” Alondra asks.

“It was a setup,” I say, retrieving my mask from the cockpit dashboard and putting it on, “and then Orion and the Clockwork made an appearance.”

“What? I wonder how they found out.”

“Who? Dancypants or Orion and the Clockwork?”

“Well, yes. Both.”

“Me too…” I stare at Alondra, who has a puzzled look on her face. Orion and the Clockwork had never been close to finding me for months, but as soon as I have her join the team, there have been two close calls?

Purely a coincidence, right?

Freckles looks up at me. Like earlier, I can’t interpret the look he’s giving me. If he has any insight, he’s not sharing it with me.

\-----_____-----/

“I’ll miss you, brother,” Dancypants says, standing over the grave of his twin. “I’ll make sure you get what you deserve.”

“But who will make sure you get what you deserve?” I ask, approaching the larger-than-life man from behind. He turns around, a tear on his cheek but surprise in the lines of his face.

“The Blood Moon Pirate,” he says. “Well, then, do what you must, you monster.”

“Monster? You think too highly of yourself, Dancypants.”

“Maybe so, vigilante, but at least I operate on morals. You operate on vengeance. When you’ve killed Bijabers, what purpose will you have left? What drive? How will you atone for what you’ve done?”

“I hear therapy is in these days,” I say, leveling the pistol with his head. “Maybe there I’ll have a professional psychoanalyze me, and not a mob boss on borrowed time.”

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“How did you escape and find me?”

“Well, for once, Orion and the Clockwork turned out to be useful. Then, I’ll be honest, it was pure luck. This is the fourth cemetery I’ve looked at today.”

“I will pray for your soul, vigilante. May you one day see where you went wrong.”

“That’s rich.”