The Crossgreave Gang

The old saloon shook with a low rumble none of the patrons could place. Heavy clouds of dust appeared on the horizon. The birds that had been enjoying the shade of the sagging covered porch flew off in a cloud of their own. 

Sheriff Dillon rose slowly from where he was slouched against the bar as the rumbling grew louder. The sirens on stage stopped their lazy, mid-afternoon singing and scurried  to hide behind the piano. 

"Dolly," the young sheriff said, "fetch me my gun."

Behind the bar, Delilah rolled her eyes and set down the glass she'd been polishing with a satisfying thunk. "Yessir, Sheriff Dillon. Right away." She reached across the sleeping old wizard to the sheriff's left to where the man had thrown his things hours earlier, swaggering in with his shiny new sheriff's badge and spreading out like he owned the place.

The sheriff's eyes were fixed on the horizon. Too easy, Delilah thought. Got to give him a fighting chance. The gun slid easily from its holster. Ducking out of view behind the bar,  she examined the mechanism, reaching out and letting it talk to her. 

Five charms were pre-loaded in the barrel. A glance back at the holster showed an ammunition belt stocked with at least three more rounds. Dillon wouldn't even need to cast anything, the lazy, incompetant rat. That wouldn't do.

Delilah grabbed her favorite cocktail shaker off the bar and emptied the gun into it, just as the Sheriff called out, "Dolly? Gun, woman. Today!"

She allowed herself one more eyeroll behind the bar before popping up and setting the gun in his hand.

The piano was enchanted to play while the saloon was open, but between the excitement and the humidity, it was beginning to sound out of tune. The rumbling of the thing on the horizon had grown and refined. The saloon's waking patrons could now make out distinct hoof beats, though none could quite decide how many horses there ought to be.

Behind the bar, Delilah slipped her hand into the sheriff's holster and removed his pre-cast charms one by one.

The air got dustier and dustier and the noise got louder and louder and just when it was becoming unbearable -- it stopped. Silence. Then, the sound of one pair of boots on the saggy old porch.

Smiling, Delilah hiked up her skirt and drew a narrow blade from her thigh.

Strong, dark-gloved hands slammed the saloon's swinging doors open. The newcomer wore tall, dark boots up over their knees and a dusty shirt covered in stars that shifted like a night on the plains. A wide, black hat was pulled low enough as to hide their eyes, and a red kerchief covered the rest of their face. Their hands rested casually in the deep pockets of their dusty suede jacket while the doors swung wildly behind them.

"Well, well, well," they said at last. "Little Barnaby Dillon finally made Sheriff. Howdy, Barnaby. Looks like some congratulations are in order."

"You will state your name and business before you take another step," Sheriff Dillon said, his voice wavering more than he probably meant it to and the hand holding his gun unsteady.

"Aww, but that's no fun, is it?" said the newcomer. They pulled gloved hands from their pockets and held them up. "Fine, fine. I'll surrender to your authoritarian, no-fun rules." They pulled the kerchief from their face and in one swift movement was at the bar. "Don'tcha recognize me, Barnaby? It's me, Tilly! We were all at school together," Tilly told the small crowd, "me, this fine fellow wearin' the shiny badge, and the beautiful Delilah here."

The near-setting sun glinted in the newcomer's eye. She looked straight at Delilah and winked. Delilah's face went red.

Bang!

Sheriff Dillon fired his gun into the air. Nothing came out. Tilly leaned against the bar and raised one eyebrow.

"Matilda Crossgreave, I shoulda known. You 'n your gang are hereby under arrest."

Tilly was unfazed. "Aww, c'mon now, Sheriff," she drawled. "Whatever for?"

"For creatin' a nuisance and..." Sheriff Dillon glanced at the two tall women dressed like Tilly standing by the door, "and indecent exposure!"

"Aw, what?" Tilly said. "What's that? Bobbie, Parker, y'all hear that? Barnaby here wants to lock us up for indecent exposure." The women at the door looked at each other, then back at Tilly. They said nothing.

"Now you listen here, Sheriff," Tilly went on. "I don't mind you tryin' to lock us up when we're robbin' banks and holdin' up carriages, even if we only do all that to survive. That's your job, an' I got some respect for that. But you stand there and try to lock us up just for existin', and you got yerself a fight." 

Sheriff Dillon lifted his gun and fired once, twice, straight at Tilly's head. Of course, nothing came out but the sound and a cloud of shiny purple smoke. He cursed and threw the gun over Delilah's head. It flew into the case of glasses behind the bar with a loud crash, loud enough even to wake the old wizard who had until now been fast asleep on the bar. 

He startled awake with a terrified mewl, sitting up with wide eyes and shaking from his core. He shook so deeply, in fact, that his body began to shrink in on itself until the barstool held only a small, wiry black cat. Tilly threw back her head and laughed. Her hat fell off onto the bar, revealing a shock of wavy red hair. 

"Well look at that," she said, "you've scared the poor fellow! Perhaps we ought to put him out of his misery."

"No!" Delilah yelled, vaulting over the bar. "You will not hurt him." She raised her sword. The ring on Tilly's finer glinted and suddenly she also had a sword, raised against Delilah's. 

One, two, three, four, Delilah drove Tilly backward toward the door. One, two, three, four, Tilly gained back her lost ground. The dance continued, strike and parry, until Delilah's back was against the bar. Tilly got closer and closer, her blade cutting a line up Delilah's blouse. When they were pressed together to the waist, Tilly murmured a single word and the sword disappeared. Her eyes were locked on Delilah's with an intensity Delilah had missed. Time stretched and rolled over and then their lips met in a searing kiss.

On the other side of the room, Sheriff Dillon nearly choked on his own tongue. The sirens watching behind the piano cheered. The wizard who was now a cat sat on his barstool and licked his paw, undisturbed.

After a long moment they broke apart. Tilly grinned, her arm around Delilah's waist. "Lord, but I have missed you, Dee," she said.

"Well," Delilah said, "you've finally come for me. Now why don't you finish up your fight so we can get outta here."

"You have the best ideas," Tilly said, turning back to the sheriff. "I'll show you indecent exposure." She extended her ring hand toward him, and with the other she took hold of her own shirt and tore it down the middle. "Torpor," she yelled, and Sheriff Dillon slumped against the bar, fast asleep.

Delilah scooped up the cat and tilted her head toward the sirens. Tilly nodded to the women by the door, and the four of them stalked across the saloon to the old piano. 

"Ladies," Tilly said, "my name is Matilda Crossgreave III, and my esteemed companions and I are very pleased to make your acquaintance. My darlin' Delilah here has written me about your situation," she motioned toward the thick leather cuffs around the sirens' ankles, "and I have come to make it right."

Chatter broke out among the sirens. Delilah clapped her hands together three times.

"If y'all can get in a line," she said, "Bobbie 'n I will get y'all's pretty little bracelets off, and then Tilly 'n Parker will set ya up with a horse outside. Remember, the quicker and quieter this goes, the less chance there is of Sheriff Dillon wakin' up again. Got it?"

There was a general murmur of assent, and then the women got down to business. All the remaining saloon patrons had stumbled out into the dusty afternoon heat as soon as the fight had ended, so Delilah pushed the tables together for the sirens to sit on while she and Bobbie whittled away at the enchantments that bound them to the saloon.

When all nine of the sirens were free, Delilah followed Bobbie outside, scooping Tilly's hat up off the bar and setting it on her own head. Outside, thirteen air spirit horses stamped their shifting hooves against the ground and kicked up dust. The freed sirens sat proudly atop their new steeds, Bobbie and Parker were swinging up into their own saddles, and at the front of it all, Tilly held out the reigns to Delilah's horse, Hot Spring, the wizard-turned-cat curled in her saddlebags. 

"We'd best be gettin' outta here, my love," Tilly said, mounting her own horse, "'fore little Barnaby wakes up and decides to arrest us for somethin' real."

"I agree," Delilah replied, kicking a leg over Hot Spring's side. "Ladies!" she called out to the motley crew assembled. "Welcome to the Crossgreave gang!"

And with a kiss on the cheek from Tilly and a tip of her hat, Delilah and the Crossgreave gang rode off into the sunset.