"I'm afraid to inform you that I am not your lawyer."

That's not what you want to hear from the fella in a three-piece pinstripe suit, one who just walked into the interrogation room, disabled all the cameras, and done a quick sweep for Arcane Bugs and other listening Spells or devices. Then and only then did he feel comfortable enough to take a seat across the table and drop that unpleasant fact. Problem is, there here is Jordan Blake, the local lawyer Mr. Tillman referred me to, so if he ain't my lawyer, that means I gotta find representation elsewhere. Oddly enough, Jordan gives me a silly and frankly overenthusiastic grin which is not at all in line with what I've come to expect from a professional attorney, and an expression wholly at odds with his appearance.

He's a weathered, no-nonsense type, albeit one with soft, pale skin and a distinct lack of callouses to show that his battlefield is the courtroom and the pen his weapon of choice. Don't take away from his bulldog of a demeanour, with a grizzled, determine look to his strong features, complete with a staunch, solid bearing and a jawline that won't quit. The eyes are all wrong though, as the lines around them give the impression of someone with a squinty and perpetually narrowed gaze. Right now, they're wide-open and almost adoring as he rocks in his chair with excitement like a child who can't wait for the play to start.

Reading my puzzled expression like a book, Jordan lights up in awareness and gives his forehead a light smack. "Oh of course," he says with a shake of his goofy grin. "Silly me. One moment if you please." Even as he says it, his gruff and stoic features start melting away to reveal a slender, fair-skinned pretty boy with a head that don't match with the rest of his body. Not Alter Self then, because you can't do any on the fly changes like that. Nor is it a simple Makeup Cantrip, seeing how he changed his proportions, meaning this here has gotta be Disguise Self, a First Order Illusion specifically designed for changing your appearance. Whoever this is, he took on the guise of the lawyer I asked for, presumably so he could get past the Sheriff and Deputies who'd recognize Jordan seeing how he hangs his shingle here in town.

Of course, my first instinct is to slam the table into him same as I did to the Alderman, driving this appearance altering stranger back against the wall while screaming, "Guard! GUARD!!"

Caught off guard, the stranger stumbles back a few steps and sends his chair a clattering before he gets his feet under him, and while I got strength enough to hold him in place, he don't do anything besides stand and smile. "No need for that," the smooth faced fella says, flashing his pearly whites that are straight as his features are symmetrical while he holds me back with only a modicum of effort. "I'm not here for your life. I just wanted a word in private."

Yeah right. "Intruder in interrogation room one!" I bellow, wishing I could use Thaumaturgy to really make my voice boom, but even then, the deputy at the door ought to have heard me shout and peeked in.

"Help! Help!" the stranger shouts, putting on an exaggerated look of panic as his magically amplified voice fills the room and sets my ears to ringing. Adds a few girlish screams for good measure before switching back to his boyish grin. "I cast a Metamagicked Silence around us as soon as I entered the room," he explains, looking right proud as he does. "In my experience, too many law enforcement officials do not respect Attorney Client Privilege as they should. The ends justify the means as it were, so better safe than sorry."

Not a terrible practice, so maybe I ought to start doing the same. Since it don't seem like he's in any rush, I stop shoving on the table because I don't see no point. Idea was to keep his hands busy so he can't sling Spells, but he's got me dead to rights either way, so I might as well hear what he has to say. To further ease my mind, the fella raises his hands to show me his palms, which are thick and meaty and not at all his original ones. From the neck down, he's still Jordan Blake, and even though I can see the vast disparity between his head and the rest of him, I can't pinpoint where exactly where the big guy ends and the slender stranger begins. Goes to show how capable he is with the Spell, on par with anything I seen from Aunty Ray, and that makes me mighty twitchy to see. "Are you satisfied?" he asks, before gesturing at the table between us. "If you don't mind? I find these sorts of conversations work best when both parties are seated."

Still unsure as to what's going on, I pull the table back towards me a bit, just enough so he can right his chair with a single foot while his hands are still raised. Without looking down either, which goes to show that this here is more than a chameleon. This here is someone who's highly aware of his surroundings, and savvy enough to know what he can and can't do. Taking a seat, he lays his palms flat on the table, again to show that he ain't gonna sling Spells, though I can't say I find it all that reassuring.

Since there ain't nothing else for it, I take my seat while making ready to push on the table again, if only to drive the air out of his lungs and maybe stop him from casting another Spell. He knows it too, and just smiles to see it. "Wonderful," he says, looking me up in down with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. "How spectacular. I must say, you have this air about you that doesn't capture well on crystal. The aura of a soldier if you will, a presence that promises violence and bloodshed in a way few can match. A caged tiger is what you are, chained and trapped perhaps, but never helpless."

Which is pretty flattering if I'm being honest. Aunty Ray done shown me a tiger before and that there is one majestic murder floof. One which ain't a Magical Beast, but hunts them all the same, having been known to even hunt Nagas like the ones my big guns are named for. Them humanoid serpent beasts are known for their tough hides, venomous bites, and powerful muscular bodies, with an upper torso that'd make Marcus look scrawny and a serpentine tail that could give the biggest snakes in the world a run for their money. Those massive tails propel them Nagas at lightening quick speeds on land or in water, but don't none of that matter to a tiger. All a tiger sees is lunch, so much so that humans back in the day used to leave tigers be so they'd keep Naga populations in check.

Might well be my favourite old world animal to go along with one of the greatest songs ever, namely Eye of the Tiger by Survivor. That said, I do be more partial to the Magical Beasts like flying Gryphons and fire-breathing Drakes. Course, I much prefer my fire-breathing animals to be cute and fluffy like Cowie, or at a bare minimum cuddly like Frowny. Not that Frowny breathes fire, but you never know.

Regardless of my preferences, this stranger ain't gonna get nowhere by blowing smoke up my ass, so I give him the silent treatment and glower as best I can while wondering how to best kill him if necessary. Don't got a lot of options, what with the anti-magic manacles and proper bindings since I'm guessing the Alderman had himself a conniption and gave the game away. Either way, the stranger don't seem like he in any hurry as he continues to gush over me in an all-too familiar manner. "I am a big fan of your work," he says, leaning back in his chair and getting real comfy, "Which is why I rushed here as quickly as I could once I heard the news. What business you have with Dakota Slim is none of my concern, but I knew something was afoot when so many tongues were wagging to say the same thing."

My eyes narrow to hear the name, and the fella across the table don't miss a thing. "Oh? So perhaps the rumours were true after all. Did you really come all this way just to kill him?" I don't answer, but apparently I don't have to, as the other man shakes his head in dismissal. "No, that doesn't fit. You're no hired assassin, and even if you were, you're smart enough to keep quiet about it." Eyes lighting up in realization, he audibly gasps in a theatrical manner. "Of course! The Cattaneos. They wanted Dakota Slim dead, perhaps even approached you for the job, then spread the rumours themselves so you'd have no choice but to butt heads when you arrived in town. Oh Renato," he says, shuddering for added effect. "If only you weren't so staunchly loyal to that old snake in the grass. Then again, that loyalty is what makes you so desirable, that and the way you wield those revolvers of yours…"

There ain't nothing suspect with what he say. It's the way he says it that creeps me out. Like a school girl pining after her secret crush, only he ain't all that secretive about it as he puts it all on the table with a dreamy, far-off look. I got nothing against the gays, because I'm a live and let live sorta fella. You can love whoever you like, and far as I'm concerned, there ain't no reason not to legalize gay marriage same as the Métis. No good reason at least, especially seeing how folks are quick to bring up the bible even though you supposed to separate church and state.

No, I got nothing against a man yearning for another man. I'd be equally uncomfortable if this stranger here was baring his heart for another woman, so that ain't the problem. The problem is the hungry, almost predatory cast to his features that really throw me off, a desire that's less about admiration and more about possession. He don't want Renato 'Revolvers' Rossi so he can hold him close and whisper sweet nothings in his ear; no, this fella wants him the way a marty wants a chitterrat, one who's looking particularly plump and delicious.

And me? I ain't no prey, and I ain't about to be treated like it.

"This is the part where you get to the point." My terse demand snaps the stranger out of his daydreams, and I meet his eyes with a hard and hostile stare. "Starting with who you are and why I shouldn't beat you to death with this table here."

"Rather unprofessional isn't it?" the other man asks, glancing down at the table legs with a shake of his head. "Not securing the table to the floor, but I digress." Flashing his picture-perfect smile, he gives a little seated bow and says, "My name is Johnathan Lanzetta, of the Manfredi Family. My professional nomme-de-guerre is the Watchman, because my Don gifted me with this lovely Mithril wristwatch here and most people in my line of work are terribly unimaginative."

Great. Another mafioso.

I don't glance at said watch as he lifts his sleeve to show it off, because I ain't taking my eyes off of Johnny boy here. For all his flamboyant flourishes and larger than life attitude, it's all smoke and mirrors, a distraction to keep me focused on all the wrong things so I'll miss what's important. This man here is a killer through and through, and a methodical one at that, as his words and actions are all well rehearsed, or the act comes so naturally that he don't got to work at it. I'm guessing the latter, that this is who he really is and he just enjoys being who he is while letting the psychopath show through. The fact that he's so open about his feelings is concerning to be sure, because mobsters ain't hardly the most progressive of the bunch, so either he's constantly getting in to fights to prove his masculinity, or he's already done that and cemented himself as cold-blooded killer to be feared and respected in spite of his… panache.

"Tick-tock Watch-man," I say. "That's the sound of my patience wearin' thin."

"Right, of course." Follows it up by pursing his lips and glancing up like he's lost his train of thought, but I know it's just to show he ain't scared of me one bit. Not in the challenging sort of way I'd go about it, but he's almost being playful, like he wants me to get angry and make a game of this. I don't bite though, not just yet, and he gives me a look that says, 'maybe later?'. "So as I said, I found the rumours of your impending murder of Dakota Slim most concerning and came here to warn you off. Are you aware that he was waiting on dock with seven of his men, all prepared to gun you down the moment you showed your face? I hear he even had an expert Illusionist standing by to help, perhaps by doctoring the crystal or throwing up an Illusion you could then react to, and make it appear as if you drew first."

An Illusion which wouldn't show up on recording, so I'd likely be judged at fault if I did draw first. Tricksy stuff that, but making realistic Illusions ain't as easy as you'd think. Aunty Ray might be able to trick me into walking into a wall that looks like an open door, but crafting an Illusory threat that'd make me reach for my gun? I'm not sure she could do it, not unless I was already amped up from a fight or sensed some real threat and was a hair-trigger from drawing to start with. Sure, someone could throw up an Illusion of a thug with a gun, but I don't know if my first reaction would be to draw and shoot, as opposed to getting Chrissy, Elodie, and everyone else out of harms way.

Then again, maybe not. Maybe I would draw and shoot at an Illusory gunman. Something to consider in the future, which ain't great seeing how hesitation could get me killed. What if thinking some gunman might be an Illusion makes me hesitate long enough to get shot? Bad way to go, though there ain't all that many good ones now that I think about it, which is a thought exercise best left for never.

Giving the Watchman a careful look, I ask, "Lemme guess. You was the Illusionist on standby."

The other man beams to hear it. "I plead the Fifth," he replies, grinning all the while. "I would so very much love to show you my work someday, but today is strictly business. Now, the Sheriff showing up to arrest you threw a spanner in Dakota Slim's plans, and I saw an opportunity to meet you face to face, so here we are." Leaning in close, he heaves a dreamy sigh and adds, "They say to never meet your heroes, but you, Howie, most certainly do not disappoint."

"You tell Dakota Slim this," I say, ignoring his antics and leaning in to show him I mean business. "Fact, you tell anyone who'll listen. Howie Zhu ain't no hired hitter. I'm a free agent who takes contracts from Uncle Sam and no one else, so unless you an outlaw with a bounty on your head, I ain't interested in you and yours."

"Oh poo," the Watchman says, affecting a little pout. "For the first time in my life, I regret being so good at my job. My record is spotless, as I've never been arrested, much less done anything worthy of a bounty." Nothing the Federal Government can prove at least, a fact that speaks volumes to his competence considering he's ballsy enough to impersonate an attorney and walk into the Sheriff's office so he can talk to a prisoner. "I'll be sure to pass on the message," he continues, still playing the role of harmless pretty boy in a bear of a meat suit, "Though I can't promise Dakota Slim will care to listen. He is so very impulsive, and the only reason he doesn't have a bounty is because he tends to kill any and all witnesses." After taking their scalps no less, as I read the Cattaneo dossier, which got info the Feds would love to get their hands on, albeit no real proof to the crimes outlined within.

"So?" I ask, and the Watchman blinks like he don't follow. "What the hell you still doin' here and when's my lawyer comin'?"

"Oh, no need to worry," he says, sitting up straight and putting on the lawyer's face and changing his whole tone and demeanour. "Mr. Blake is waiting next door, and we will switch places when I step out for a smoke. After an appropriate amount of time has passed of course," he adds, and those gruff features twist into the dreamy, fawning expression the Watchman wore earlier. "Like I said, this is a business meeting, so of course I have business to propose."

Giving the Watchman a humourless look, I ask, "Given what you suspect regarding me, the Catteneos, and Dakota Slim, what makes you think I care for any business with the mob?"

"The same reason we all do things we'd prefer not to," the Watchman replies, waggling his eyebrows with a hint of mischief. "Profit. Obscene profits."

Rolling my eyes, I sit back and say, "Not interested. I ain't no hatchet man, and I want nothing to do with the mob. If you got info on an outlaw with a bounty on their head, then that's another story, though I ain't gonna do nothing about it on this trip. Go on out for that smoke now, and pass the details to my lawyer before you send him in."

"Oh come now," he says with a grin. "At least hear me out. Not that you have much of a choice, what with you being my captive audience for now. May I?" A request that wasn't a request as he reaches for his briefcase before I respond. Pulling out a nice thick folder full of papers, he flips through them until he finds the one he wants before place it in front of me. I don't look down, I just stare him dead in the eyes and match his feigned congeniality with cold indifference and somehow get the feeling he rather enjoys it. Heaving a sigh, I figure if he wanted me dead, he could've killed me by now, so I glance down on the paper to see what's what.

Only to find a map of the Deadlands sitting there before me. A highly detailed map not just of the towns and trails like the map I got, but one with patrol routes, military supply camps, resource farms, and Abby hotspots. Only has names of what Abby be prevalent, some I recognize and some I don't, but either way, I could easily find out more with a few questions to the right person.

After giving me a moment to take it all in, the Watchman points at a central area on the map that looks empty and says, "I would like you to go to a certain location, pick up a certain package, and bring said package back to me without running afoul of the original owners or customs inspections. For this, you will be paid a princely sum of five-thousand American dollars. How does that sound?"

"Too good to be true," I reply. "What's the catch?"

Shrinking back like he been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, the Watchman affects a pout and says, "Well… the goods contained within the package will obviously be stolen, and the original owners are rather protective of their limited supply. They will shoot on sight should any stranger approach their territory, and go to great lengths to retrieve it once they realize it is missing. As such, the package will be hidden close to their borders, so you will have to pick it up without being spotted, though I'm sure a man of your talents could do so easily enough."

"And customs? What's the penalty for being caught with this package?"

"No penalty," the Watchman replies, his smile coming back in full force. "Legally speaking, there is no law against possession of the contents of the package, because the government is still unaware of its existence." Meaning if they were, it'd be a banned substance, restricted material, or just straight up illegal. Still, getting caught with the package won't end well, because the government don't like being left in the dark. The whole point of avoiding customs is so I don't gotta answer any uncomfortable questions, because I'm sure the border patrol at the Deadlands is trained to look out for things they ain't seen before.

It's the wild Frontier out there, with mundane and magical materials aplenty to discover, to say nothing of new chemical, alchemical, and thaumaturgical compounds along with lord knows what else.

While I'm mulling over this, the Watchman does his best to sell me on the idea while outlining the risks. "Thus far, we've been relying on independent couriers to bring us our goods, and Dakota Slim was the only one who has succeeded to date." Don't take much to connect the dots. The Cattaneos don't want the Manfredis getting their hands on whatever it is, so they put me to task killing Dakota Slim. I'm being used as a catspaw in their little 'friendly' competition, because it's not like the Manfredis can go after the Cattaneos for something I done, not unless I cop to killing for them. The Watchman wasn't just here to help out; he was here to make sure I don't succeed, because that would mean they lose the only competent smuggler they got on their payroll.

Or maybe not, because the Watchman's next statement throws me for a loop. "Being an independent courier, Dakota Slim works for the highest bidder, and this time around has been hired by a competitor." Which he can't be happy about, but he's still working with the man for some reason or the other. Sitting upright, he gives me that grin again with a twinkle in his eyes and adds, "This means there will be more than one package up for grabs, though I can only give you the location of one. For the second… well, let's just say that if you so happen to find one on the body of a man you might already be at odds with, the Manfredi family will be more than happy to double your pay. Perhaps even a bonus?"

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Okay. So I was kinda right? I dunno what the Catteneo's got in this game though. They wanted Dakota Slim dead outright, but the Manfredis want more. Honestly though, as far as job proposals from the mob go, this is much tamer than I expected. Grab a package, get it out of the Deadlands, and Bob's your uncle. I want to know more about the contents of said package, but I get the feeling the Watchman won't say much even if I took the job and asked.

I do ask one question though, because tempting as five or ten grand might be, I get the feeling there's still another catch. "These original owners," I drawl, watching the Watchman close for any tells. "Who might they be?"

"Not government," he answers. "Not criminals either, not exactly. They would be if the government became aware of their operations or philosophies, which is becoming more and more likely with each passing year, but for now, they remain in good legal standing."

So folks who found a loophole in the law and are working around it. Depending on what they producing, the jury is still out on how I feel, but curious as I am, I ain't about to take no unnecessary risks with Chrissy, Elodie, and the Askefjords with me. "Gonna hafta be a hard pass," I say, pushing the map away. "I'm not against crossing a few lines every now and then, but I got a few too many dependents with me this time around." Gesturing at the map, I add, "If I do so happen to come across a package, I'll do what I can to bring it back to you, but otherwise, I don't care to know more."

Not for a lousy five grand. I can see why some criminals might risk it all for that kinda money, what with them being desperate and all, but I still got plenty of options even if I want to avoid going north or south along the Highway.

…Well, maybe not plenty, but I got options. Starving is an option. So's getting a real job, though I'm guessing a few weeks at a desk will have me wishing I'd chosen to starve instead.

"How disappointing." Huffing like Astrid does when her ire is piqued, the Watchman sits back in his chair and drums his fake meaty fingers. "And I had such high hopes for our partnership." I can see the gears turning in his head as he considers his options, most of which won't be any good for said dependents. Or for him and me, because if he so much as insinuates a god-damned thing, I'mma come out swinging and ain't nothing the law can do about. He ain't supposed to be here after all, so he's locked himself in the cage with this tiger now, and ain't a damn thing he can do about it.

Kill me maybe, but he don't want that. Nor do he want to die, because if push comes to shove, I'll snap his neck clean and smile all the while. He knows it, I know it, and now we at an impasse, as neither of us can afford to back down. I show weakness, and they'll keep poking at my sore spots until I do what they ask or snap, and if they show weakness, their enemies might catch wind of it and do the same to them. It's funny how the perception of strength is almost more important than actual strength when it comes to criminal types. While I'm guessing the Manfredis are some of the biggest fish in the pond, they ain't so big that they can afford to take a big fight. Not because they'd lose; even if they win, they won't do it without taking a hit, and once there's blood in the waters, it'll devolve into a free for all as everyone swoops in to fight over the scraps.

Much like what happened in Rimepeak, except I didn't just wound the Puglianos. I removed them from the equation entirely and left nothing in my wake. A fact the Watchman remembers well as his smile returns in full force once more. "No help for it then," he says, smoothing his suit jacket as he stands and rearranges his face to look like the lawyer again. "The offer still stands regarding the package, though I fear you will have some troubles leaving town without my help. When I last saw Dakota Slim, he was showing quite a bit of interest in your companions and might well have already acted."

A bit of bait hoping I'll bite and ask for help, but I'm someone who cleans up after himself. "Whatever happens, happens," I say with a shrug, even though I ain't feeling all that cavalier. "And if something does, then I'll do what I do, no matter the cost."

"I suppose you will," he says, his voice changing midway through to a deeper, rougher rasp of a habitual smoker. Fits the lawyer perfectly, and he uses that voice to pound on the door thrice and tell the guard, "I need to step out for a moment, and then I'll be back to speak with him."

Which for some reason means I gotta go back to my cell even though he only stepping out for a smoke. Suppose they're not keen on leaving prisoners unsupervised in their unsecure interrogation room, and I can understand why. Could easily break that table apart and free myself while securing some improvised weapons at the same time, though if they know that much, I don't get why they don't just get a metal table and bolt it to the ground. Inertia I suppose. Credit where it's due, the Watchman does what lawyers do and supervises my transfer to make sure I don't trip and fall or get shot staging an escape, and puts on a whole grumpy act while checking his wristwatch multiple times. Gets a thrill out of it I suppose, showing off the shiny, expensive watch that would likely give his identity away, but the deputy is focused on me and me alone, while the rest of the office is suspiciously empty.

For reasons that soon become clear. Just as the deputy is locking up my cell, the front doors to the office open up and Elodie is frog marched through the door by a pair of nervous deputies. Astrid and Harald follow soon after, all clapped in anti-magic manacles and flanked by four more guards, two of whom got their weapons ready, but not raised. Looks like Sheriff Beauregard went and called for outside assistance to handle three measly Innates, and it gets my blood hot to see them manhandle my friends like this.

Not that Elodie seems to mind all that much, so I don't panic just yet. "Bonjour Howie," she says, lighting up as she spots me from across the way with my face pressed up to the bars. Even tries to come over for a chat, only for the deputies to hold her in place. At arm's length mind you, with only a few fingers on her wrist like they both afraid of getting too close and catching an accusation of sexual assault. Not sure why, as she's fully clad in her buckskin dress, albeit one that leaves her arms bare. Feeble though the deputies' grip might be, Elodie is much too polite to simply pull away. She do make her displeasure known with a big old frown to show she don't much care for their hands on her person. "You say I must come with you, and I come," she lectures, glaring at one, then the other, and for the life of me, I got no idea why they flinch to see it. "Now I am here, and you still hold onto Elodie. This I do not like."

Both deputies blanche and shuffle a little further away while still leading her into the office. As they come into view from around the security desk, I see that they each got one limp hand around Elodie's wrist and one white-knuckled grip on their side-arms with muzzled pointed down and fingers on the trigger. Gets me to seeing red it does, and not just because of their poor trigger discipline, but because Elodie's right foot is covered in blood and ain't no one seen to it.

Still not time to panic just yet. "Sheriff Beauregard," I begin, speaking through clenched teeth. "This how you treat visitors to your town? The girl's bleeding and you marched her all the way here?"

"Do not worry Howie," Elodie interjects, stopping to raise her bare, bloodstained foot and wiggle her toesies. "It is not my blood."

"… Put your leg down Elodie." Glad as I am to hear it, it seems we'll have to have another talk about wearing underwear, or anything at all underneath her dress. While I'm curious to know who's blood it is, I don't ask it out loud because knowing Elodie, she'll say something that'll sound real damning in a court of law. Turning to the Watchman wearing my lawyer's face, I say, "Take them on as clients." Spotting Gunnar walk in through the door with Chrissy at his side lets me heave a big sigh of relief, and I shout, "Gunnar, stop talking. Got a lawyer here for them, so no need to fret."

"They're minors!" he replies, loud enough for everyone in the office to hear. "All three of them. You can't question them without a guardian present. That's me for Harald and Astrid, and Howie for Elodie. She's got the papers." Something Carter and Miss Amelie had drawn up before we left, just in case we ran into legal trouble. I thought they was being extra, but that shows what I know.

Shooting me a look that says he's none too happy at being voluntold, the Watchman turns about and transforms. I don't mean physically or Illusion wise. I mean his whole demeanour, shedding his weird, playful persona to become a gruff bulldog of a lawyer who's none too scared of laying into the Sheriff. "Hear that Beauregard?" he rasps, marching on over with briefcase in hand. "Minors the lot of 'em. You don't talk to them without me present, not unless you're taking lunch orders. You so much as utter a peep and I'll have this whole damn case thrown out for misconduct." Dropping the intensity, the disguised mobster flashes a toothy grin and asks, "What's this case about anyways?"

Sheriff Beauregard is a real sad sack of man, with a big bushy beard and totally bald head sandwiching the droopiest features I done ever did see. On both sides, so it wasn't a stroke or some other medical condition causing it, as he just got loose skin that hangs from his gaunt features. Add in the hunched back, slouched shoulders, and his slow, meandering diction, he looks like the walking definition of depression. "According to witnesses," Sheriff Beauregard begins, lifting a finger to point in Astrid's direction, "After a minor dispute, that young lady there hit Dakota Slim and his boys with a Spell. Then that one," pointing at Elodie, "Put her foot through clean through his chest like it was papier-mâché, before the brother lit up all seven remaining associates, some standing, most downed, with Scorching Beam, a highly Restricted Spell."

"He's an Innate," Gunnar explains, even though no one asked. "He's cleared for it. I have the documents right here."

"Cleared for possession," Sheriff Beauregard retorts. "Not for use, because no one outside of military ever is."

"Stop talking," the Watchman barks, directing his ire at Gunnar before turning back to the Sheriff to hear the rest of the details. While they hash it out, I'm staring at Elodie and trying to process what I just heard. There's no way to reconcile the image of someone putting their foot through someone's chest with the sweet, silly girl just standing there in the office, with her dishevelled green hair held in place by a headband bearing a big yellow ribbon that flops back and forth as she wipes her bloody foot clean on the carpet. Until she sees me staring of course, and gets all sheepish over getting caught in the act.

I know she done it. The blood is all over her leg, a slender, athletic leg that is toned and tanned, but hardly looks strong enough to cave a man's chest in. Then again, I've never really tried to do that myself, so might be it's easier than I think. Or maybe not, and Elodie is monstrously strong. Like Bull's Strength without the Spell strong. When Miss Amelie said Elodie was stronger than we gave her credit for, I figured she was talking about proper use of Wildshape, or maybe it was about inner strength or something. Now? Now I'm not so sure. Even though I only recently revised my opinion of Elodie's overall combat abilities, I find myself imagining her in place of Carter while doing all those flips and spins with that big honking staff without seeing anything out of place.

Gotta say though, the Watchman does a phenomenal impression of a lawyer as he gets the facts from Sheriff Beauregard and handles a few things, like getting the crystal from my bull's head medallion verified right then and there before making multiple copies so it can't get lost. He also demands copies of all their notes before cautioning Sheriff Beauregard against doing anything besides processing his clients. "No questions, no blood tests, not even a friendly conversation," the Watchman barks, with his meaty finger right up in Sheriff Beauregard's face who looks all sombre and downcast the entire time. "You do anything besides dot your I's and cross your T's before I get back, and I'll have the whole office brought up for review."

Internal review, meaning one hand washes the other and nothing comes of it. The fact that Sheriff Beauregard seems so utterly unfazed tells me one of two things; either he's the most laid back and relaxed Sheriff I ever met, or he's bent and everyone knows it so he ain't concerned about any consequences. Given the Watchman's almost paranoid pre-game check to ensure we weren't being listened to, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's probably the second. "Well Jordan," Sheriff Beauregard begins, leaning back to sit on his desk like they're having a casual conversation, "Thank you for telling me how to do my job." Got some real sass for such a mopey looking fella, even though you gotta read between the lines to hear it. "I don't know what I'd do without you. I've only been Sheriff for, oh, gosh, eight years now?"

The Watchman don't respond, just turns to the others and tells them not to say a word about the case until he gets back before storming out to have him a smoke. Don't take him five minutes before he's back, the real Jordan Blake this time around, and I can tell because he's much more aggressive than the Watchman made him out to be. Gets into it with Sheriff Beauregard over his 'asinine' no smoking policy and how it's targeted at him to keep him off his game, and his face goes red with the effort of it. In response, the sad sack Sheriff plays his part well and claims its for the health of him and his deputies, but his people aren't all that good at hiding their smiles. Don't take long before we're all in an interrogation room with the lawyer, who sits down to review the Watchman's notes after sweeping for bugs because it'd be strange if he asked the Sheriff all the same questions only five minutes after the fact.

Which gives me time to get the facts straight from the horse's mouth. "Elodie," I begin, crouching down beside her because the deputies didn't care enough to grab us four chairs despite securing all of us to the unsecured table. "This is important okay? Did you use any Spells before or during the fight?"

"Non," Elodie replies, earnest as earnest can be. "I only kick and stomp the bad man like Papa showed me."

An impressive feat in and of itself, sweeping someone off their feet like that and coming down hard right after. Without Bull's Strength and while carrying Cowie. A good thing too, because he could've gotten into real trouble if he took part in the fight, and Sheriff's don't need to go through the courts to put a dangerous Magical Beast down. I could sue of course, and might even win, but that wouldn't help Cowie if Blue Beauregard out there put a Bolt through his neck. I'm more concerned about Elodie though, so I continue, "Okay… uh… this might be a difficult question to answer, but exactly how strong are you? Like physically? Can you… snap these chains?"

Raising her wrists to give the manacles a look, Elodie frowns and shakes her head. Then tilts it and says, "Mm perhaps?" Grabbing a link in both hands, she gives it a twist and the metal stretches just a bit before she huffs and gives up. "Non, Howie, it is too difficult."

…Hand to God, I'm pretty sure she can do it. She just gave up too soon and don't care to try again. Probably because it hurt her fingers, as she puts the chain down and flings her hands back and forth to ease the pain. Problem is, if word of her natural strength comes out in court, then even if she beats the charges, there's a good chance she'll catch the attention of the AICC. Spells aren't the only thing that can make an Innate inherently dangerous. Or rather, the Spells themselves aren't the only issue they gotta pay attention to. Like I said before, when Innates awaken to a new Spell, they open up a direct connection to the Immaterium, and that can change them in a myriad of subtle and not so subtle ways. Enhanced physical strength is one of them, and while some of it can be chalked up to Elodie's highly active lifestyle, it's looking like she's got some sort of superhuman physique that lets her hit harder while looking all slim and able-bodied as opposed to brawny and muscular.

Or maybe it's a Wildshape thing, because pound for pound, animals almost always have humans beat in terms of pure physical strength. Maybe all the Shaping back and forth combined with the exercise has moulded Elodie's body into a weapon, one standing at the peak of human capability. Much like her daddy, who has the ability to Wildshape, but doesn't during a fight because he's more dangerous in human form than any animal he could Shape into. And this coming from a man who can Wildshape into a bear mind you, while also Summoning three of them big chonky murder fluffs as back up, so that really says something about his skills.

You know, I probably should've suspected he was all natural when I saw them bears. Summoning Spells require Concentration, so he was fighting hand to hand down in those tight tunnels without the benefit of Bull's Strength and still managed to club a bunch of armoured Merhounds to death. Gotta imagine that takes some real muscle, as I seen them shake off shots from the Rattlesnake.

And sweet Elodie? She got that same potential, which I wager would put the fear of God into any townies who knew it.

Looking up, I meet my lawyer's eyes and see that he understands the issue at stake already. "Don't worry," he rasps, even though he don't look all that confident. "She's still a minor, so I can bring a motion to have her case sealed and record expunged when she turns eighteen." Glancing at her papers, he frowns and adds, "Next week."

Didn't know she was a March baby, but then again, I've never celebrated her birthday before. That's a close shave, though a DA could argue to try her as an adult seeing how she's so close to age of majority, and I don't much care for that. As for Elodie, she just sits there and swings her legs, unhappy with the chains and getting antsy in the close confines of the interrogation room. "We'll have to celebrate then," I say, giving her hand a pat which causes her to lean in and rest her head on my shoulder.

"I have never had a birthday celebration," she says, all amazed and full of wonder. "What is it like?"

"Fun," Chrissy says while sharing Elodie's chair, showing she still paying attention even though ain't none of us using ASL. Can't with the anti-magic manacles, but she gives Elodie's head a pat to show she's still here.

"Mm, let's leave it as a surprise then," I say with a smile. "You'll find out next week." Assuming we're out by then, and my smile fades away as I glance at Jordan to double check.

He don't answer right away, but hits me with that good news first. "Howie, you're safe," he says. "Even though they got a judge to sign off on a warrant, they haven't formally charged you and have no intentions to, so at worst, they'll hold you for forty-eight hours before letting you go. I could apply some pressure and get you out sooner, but the other case is more complicated." Tapping the copied crystal, he explains, "Most of the case will hinge on what's on here. If it shows the victims had clear intent to cause harm before Astrid attacked, then they're all in the clear no matter what witnesses might say, but from what I've read and heard, I don't believe it will. Not only was Elodie facing the wrong direction to capture the victims, Harald killed men who were laid out on the ground, so a case could be made to say he used excessive force."

"They were going for their weapons," Gunnar argues. "And they hit my boy first, knocked him right down. He was just defending us the only way he knows how."

"That's the problem," Jordan retorts. "In court, the D.A will argue that this shows Scorching Beam is Harald's first resort under pressure, which makes him a threat to the general public. Could easily see them push for murder one, then offer a plea that includes throwing him at the AICC for lifelong monitoring, if not full-on incarceration for voluntary manslaughter."

In the silence that follows, Elodie picks up her chains to try and break them again, but I reach out to stop her and give a shake of my head. Breaking out of jail won't help Harald none, though it's sweet of her to try and help. As for Harald, he's sat with that thousand-yard stare, one I recognize well. He ain't hearing any of this, though he still got the presence of mind to pat Astrid's hand as she cries against his shoulder and sobs out a muted apology as she thinks this is her fault. It ain't. It's mine. My business with the mob is why Dakota Slim was even watching them, and he only wanted to take them away because he thought I was here for his head. He's dead and gone now, but Harald, Astrid, and Elodie might well be the ones to pay for it.

I should've been more careful, told them to stay aboard while I was jailed or have Gunnar reach out to his contacts for protection. Didn't do much to warn Harald and Astrid about Scorching Beam either, or any of their Spells because I figured Gunnar would cover it. That ain't on them though. It's on me for getting them mixed up in all this, and I'll do everything I can to make it right.

Which isn't much, because I'm as helpless as they are. Can't do nothing besides kneel there and provide moral support while Jordan walks them through their stories again and again. When it's all said and done, he packs his things, warns us against saying anything without him present, then heads off to do what he can to see about getting us out. Gunnar does the same after making sure I'm alright with leaving Chrissy in the Sheriff's Office for a bit, as he's gonna go talk to his contacts to see what he can do. Don't love it, but there's no helping it, and Chrissy knows how to behave. Breaks my heart to see her take a seat in the waiting area and wave at me from across the room. Sweet girl is looking so scared and alone, and even though I do what I can to hold her attention, she soon retreats back into the safe confines of her mind.

"How do you do it?"

Harald's question catches me off guard, as it's the first thing he's said since coming in. We're sharing a cell together, while Astrid and Elodie are next door, but I can't see them and they can't see us on account of the wooden wall separating us. One Elodie could probably kick through, but I ain't about to put that in her head, because she might actually do it. As for Harald, he's just sitting on his cot looking all lost and forlorn, but while I want to caution him against saying anything incriminating, I can tell he's gotta get this off his chest.

So I head on over and take a seat beside him, shoulder to shoulder just to let him know I'm here. We ain't the closest of friends, but we do go way back. He was always a little reserved and mannerly, but he'd still come out and play with me and Astrid whenever I showed up to visit with my daddy. Played a lot of chess together, and I almost always lost, but they were fun times all the same, so it hurts to see him hurting.

I haven't said anything, because I don't really know how to answer, but Harald needs one. "How do you take a life and just… move on? My Spell… it hit those men, and… and they died. Horribly. In so much pain…"

To keep him from saying anything else, I slip an arm around his shoulder, and he leans into it to rest his head against mine. "Given my track record," I begin with a sigh, "I'm not sure you want my advice." Giving a self-deprecating chuckle, I shake my head and say, "But the way I handle it is simple. I don't focus on the act. Instead, I focus on the reasoning. Without getting into specifics of what you did, or maybe without even saying anything out loud, think about this: in that moment, did you have good reason for doing what you did?"

Harald pauses to think, then nods. "Yes," he whispers, and I can tell that's cold comfort despite it all. "They had weapons. Said they were going to take Chrissy and Elodie away, to keep them company while they waited for you. Said to tell you Dakota Slim has your girls and was dying to meet you. Said it like that, and I knew what he meant."

The fires of rage burn in my chest, and despite all my warnings about watching what they say, I can't help but give voice to my rage. "Then you got nothing to worry about. They was dead men walkin' soon as they threatened you. All you done was send them on their way a little sooner."

"They were bad men!" Elodie declares, but thankfully that's all she says.

Harald chuckles to hear it, but there's no mirth in it. "If only it was that simple," he says.

"Except it is." There's something in my tone that even I don't like, and it scares Harald something fierce as he tenses up beside me. "They was gonna hurt them," I say, doing my best to rein my anger in. "They said it they was gonna do it, and they would've done it, so you put them down before they could. Simple as that. Ain't about mercy or humanity. You gotta look out for you and yours, because won't no one else do it. Even if that sad sack of a Sheriff out there was willing to do anything about it, by the time he calls his boys in and gets his ass into gear, it might well have been too late. Besides, he ain't interested in saving lives. No, his job is all about keepin' the peace, and I wouldn't put it past him to look the other way when some strangers get hurt to maintain that peace. Just look at what happened when you done defended yourself. He done dragged you in and is ready to throw the book at you all, while those criminals, those animals were walking the streets as free men. You ain't here because you broke the law Harald. You here because you broke the peace, scared them townies something fierce by showing them what a real man does when his family and friends are threatened, and they don't like that because they all done looked the other way when it happened to them."

Taking a breath, I exhale and count to three while listening to see if the Sheriff is upset about what I said. He ain't, but might just be because he keeping quiet, or maybe he actually can't hear me. Either way, I tell Harald how it is. "So long as your actions were justified, then there's no point losing sleep over it. Instead, think about how you kept your sister safe, and Chrissy and Elodie too."

"Elodie does not need safe keeping," she exclaims, and I can hear the pique in her tone.

"I know you can look after yourself," I say, smiling at her antics. "I'm just sayin' Harald done good is all." Giving a little shrug, I add, "I can't say how this all turns out legal wise, but know that you got my gratitude for this. We've got you the best lawyer money can buy, so we'll fight this out in court if we have to, but don't you feel sad for taking someone out before they could hurt you or someone you care about."

Harald nods. "Thank you." I can tell he has more to say, so I keep quiet and wait for him to find the words. "The way you see things… it's so black and white. Right or wrong."

"Nah." I shake my head. "Black and white maybe, but ain't about right or wrong. I'm happy to live and let live so long as they don't cross my bottom line. Don't threaten me or my family. Don't use the quay my daddy built to smuggle your drugs or guns. Don't step on my toes when you cross my path, and I'll look the other way, because I can't right all the wrongs on the Frontier. I ain't even gonna try." Glancing over at Chrissy who's looking awful scared and sad sitting by her lonesome while Gunnar continues to argue with the deputy on desk duty, I give her a wave and feel my heart sink when she don't wave back, having retreated once more into the confines of her mind. "All I can do is look after me and mine, and help out a little wherever I can."

Not like my daddy. He could do it all, but I guess it's time to come to terms with how I ain't ever gonna measure up. Not in skill, dedication, or self-less acts, and I don't know when it is I stopped trying to be like him, and started on my own path. Wasn't right after he died, or even after I got that letter saying he wasn't no Ranger. Somewhere along the way, I gave up on the dream. I didn't just stop wanting to be a Ranger like my daddy, I stopped wanting to be a man like him too. A selfless man who do anything for anyone without expecting anything in return, all because that's the right thing to do. I suppose that's what Uncle Art was talking about when he said he wanted me to at least try to be a good man, but I gotta say, it don't come natural.

Don't know what it says about me, and don't think I much like it, but it is what it is. All I can do is keep on keeping on as best I can, and hope that's good enough.

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