Living One Target At A Time

Janet staggered in, the crooked, batwing doors banging behind her punctuated her dramatic entrances. A few heads looked up, hands straying from their powder compacts briefly in concern which soon morphed into thinly veiled annoyance once they saw that Janet hadn’t burst in because she had been distressed. Shaking their heads in exasperation, the occupants of the storage room returned to their business.

Janet spared a single glance and then burst out,

“I need Noel. Right now! Where is she?” Her hands tugged at her corset in impatience until she spotted their bartender’s rugged raven hair in the corner and made a beeline towards her without hesitation. A few gawked at her courage; it was an unspoken rule that you did not disturb Noel when she was meditating. 

“Wonder if they’re gonna knock another galley west today. Ain’t it their third this week? Bit risky, I say.” Lotte remarked. No one agreed verbally but that’s what all of them were thinking. 

Janet leaped at Noel and shook her frantically. You might have been imagining her with trembling hands, a sheen of sweat on her face and her eyes widened with terror but none of those would be correct. Instead, a wild grin had settled up her lips and her eyes had gone as cold as the blood in her veins. Noel cracked her eyes open, her cream apron fluttered softly as she landed back on the group, in stark contrast to the charcoal murderous intent radiating off her. 

“What.” It was a statement. One that also promised a week without her memories, wandering helpless in the canyon at the mercy of nighttime predators if she failed to produce a proper reason for disturbing interrupting Noel’s session.

“Well, I-“

“This better be worth it. Because of you I have to wait another 11 days before trying to contact Asa. And by that time her murderer will have beefed another three women!” She balled up the bloodied corset she’d been holding up until now and tossed it aside.

“I need you to conjure a storm.”  Janet knew her proverbial clock was ticking. She needed to get her request out now, so she rushed through the rest of her words without stopping. “Not like the last minor storm either. A grand one this time. One that’ll shake Deadwood to its core. I found ‘im. Found the deadbeat who touched Sylvie last time.”

Noel frowned and her anger drained away. She could distantly hear that someone was telling her that her shift would be starting in five minutes. Another hour of pretending to be something she wasn’t, watching as her guild had to suffer. 

“Go on. And make it snappy.”

Janet cheered inwardly but didn’t let it slip as she was prone to do. She had Noel’s attention and she wouldn’t risk losing it. “Heard him. He’s planning to take her with him this time. Went on a bender and was blowing it to his buddies. It was the usual: ropes, drugs and a quick getaway but it was unusually detailed, and he sounded serious even if he was drunk. I wouldn’t have paid him any mind otherwise.”

It had been tempting, of course, when Sylvie had cried about it into her shoulder last week. The night had echoed her sorrows. Both Noel and Sylvie’s familiar had mourned the loss of her innocence at such a young age, even if they had known that it was inevitable with the life they lived. Soldiers weren’t that noble, locals weren’t friendly, the law wasn’t an ally and humans that weren’t humane at all. Their magic couldn’t be used every time something like this happened or they’d exhaust themselves of their reserve. 

But now, now when Sylvie might be in real danger, when one of their own might be taken from them, Noel’s magic begged her to loosen the rein she had cast over it. Let it go, just once more. 

“This is our third this week, right?” She told it to be quiet just a bit longer. An excuse had arrived, but she had to make sure she didn’t give into her urges again.

“Who cares about that? My blood’s itching to harden again. It’s getting way too chilled again and I don’t want my appendages to break off again.”

It was true. Noel could feel the particles in Janet slowing down, flowing languidly rather than sharply. She would have forced her blood to thaw but Janet had protested against it vehemently several times before like a petulant child at physician’s office. She claimed that it didn’t feel natural and her magic often fell silent in dissent afterwards. It felt as if it had abandoned them. She understood so she didn’t offer.

“Meet me at Deadwood Gulch tonight at 9 am sharp. Don’t forget to bring the pest we have to deal with.”

Janet winked. Knew that since she had succeeded in convincing Noel to go along with her plan, she could afford to be humorous now so she asked, “Should I lure him in with that potion you brewed yesterday? It’s still fresh so it won’t kill him before we do. Or should I ask May to let loose one of her scents? She said she’d developed a special one lately that worked like a charm on the customers. It’s surprising since she wasn’t supposed to get one until next month.”

“Don’t involve May in this. You know she’ll probably create an illusion at the edge of the canyon and entice him into pushing himself off. Just use you ‘feminine wiles’. Never failed us before.”

Janet laughed, the kind of laugh where your shoulders shake, and your stomach hurts and you hiccup. It wasn’t often that they were content enough to do it and a few people startled. Smiles, guarded smiles, were common but laughs were hoarded for special occasions. And Janet laughed now, not because of the joke, but because her magic thrummed in pleasure at the prospect of being let out. 

She was about to throw in a rejoinder when Lucille reminded Noel that it was her turn. She stood up, strapped on her arm garters, made sure that any residue of her aura was removed and then strove out of the storage room unceremoniously. Janet was amused until she was ambushed by what seemed like a thousand voices begging her to take them along too. The children were especially restless since they wanted to try their abilities anywhere and everywhere and opportunities were rare. She couldn’t wait for tonight too. 

“The terrible price of living, ain’t it? To live through others dying?” 

          -J.D. Jordan, “Calamity”