June, 1934

  A black Dodge sedan sped past the wooden sign perched on the side of the road, which read “Cassadaga – Spiritualist Reading Turn Left.” Signs like these could be found in most small towns where readers had planted their roots. The sedan did not turn left, its driver seeking more esoteric services than card readings.

  As the road wound through the Florida back country the pavement gave way to dirt paths, the passage of time and tires having ground ruts along the way. As the sun traveled higher into the Eastern sky, the car traveled closer to its destination.

  Deep in the heart of the Volusia county town of Cassadaga stood a large house; its construction elegant, but not ornate. Surrounded by thick woods, it was the only structure of its kind for miles in any direction. Such a place may have been too rural for most townsfolk, but not for the inhabitants of the house. As the sedan pulled around the circular driveway, several figures stepped out onto the wide porch, each of them a woman in a black dress. These were witches of the deep Florida wood. They watched as the rear door of the sedan opened.

  Out stepped a man clad in the trappings of an old Western cowboy, his wide hat shadowing his face. Slung over his shoulders was a worn poncho, embroidered patterns of suns running the length of it. A gun belt slung across his waist, with a brightly colored pistol glimmering in a low hip holster. The sight of the otherworldly metal put the witches into a state of unease, each of them stiffening sharply. The only relaxed when another woman in a lacy black dress climbed out of the Sedan, taking the gunslinger’s hand for support.

  The woman stood up straight, swiping at her auburn hair. She shot the gunslinger a warm smile before stepping clear of the car door. With the gunslinger behind her, she faced the witches on the porch.

  “Madeline, of the Green Coven.” She bowed curtly, “I wrote ahead. You keep a lovely home.”

  The ladies all looked to their superior, witch in a large black hat. The pronounced point and elaborate stitching of the hat signaled the nobility of the witch’s station. Her face betrayed her age, her eyes betrayed the breadth of her arcane wisdom, and her gait betrayed an apparent injury from long ago.

  “Themastine, of the Palm Coven.” She touched her hand to her chest, “Forgive our reaction, but your letter didn’t mention a Gradyman. The younger ladies of this house have never laid eyes on a gunslinger-sorcerer before. You shouldn’t have brought him.”

  Madeline settled on a confident smile, her purple eyes surveying the sister witches on the porch. Her companion in cowboy clothes remained silent, one of the more observant men of his craft. She found herself grateful, as always, of his clarity regarding the sensibilities of coven witches. She raised a hand, fingers spread, revealing the ring on her finger.

  “This Gradyman is Louis Cobb.” She let the ladies get a good look at the glimmering diamond set into her ring, “He has been dutifully pact bound for decades. He belongs to me, and vice versa. He’s the reason we are here, so I hope that will suffice.”

  The elder witch stood in thought for only a moment. It was enough that a witch superior, such as Madeline of the Green Coven, would trust this gunslinger enough to marry him. She needed no other convincing, and neither did her peers. She nodded to the woman on her right, who went and swung the double doors open.

  “Welcome, Madeline and Louis Cobb. Let’s get you some cold tea, and get on with the divining you requested.”

  As the pair of travelers stepped onto the porch, Madeline noticed the looks of awe her husband brought to the younger witches. The Gunslinger said nothing, and kept his eyes forward, but she knew it must’ve been amusing for him to see.

  “Don’t let it go to your head, Lou.” She teased.

  He smirked, “Who, me?”

  Lou Cobb knew very well there were covens of witches all over America who, like this one, chose not to interact with gunslinger-sorcerers like him. The events of the past few decades, ones Lou would have preferred to forget, could not be forgiven by many of America’s covens. The respect of a superior witch like Madeline superseded their discomfort, however, and they looked to him instead with amazement. Any Gradyman who kept a pact with a witch for so long, and was fit enough to earn her heart, was one they couldn’t help but admire. Such a thing did not come easily, and not from one so high as Madeline.

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  They were brought to the large reading room, where a circular table of ancient stone sat ready for them. There were no electric lights in the home, instead the room was lit by floating candles burning unnaturally bright. The light danced along the surface of the stone, drawing out its weathered patterns.

  “Take a seat,” Themastine gestured to the chairs lining the table, “And we will begin.”

  Lou pulled out a chair for his wife, watching the elder witch open midnight black box. The workings of the covens always unnerved him, though he had long since learned to stifle the discomfort on his face. Their magic was far different from his, and they never truly gave away how it all worked. The witch pulled out a small bag of something, and small obelisk of glossy black. He believed it to be obsidian, but as with all the arcana of the covens, he couldn’t truly be sure.

  Themastine took her seat just as he took his, setting the obelisk on the table. “I will begin the divination. But you must tell me what I am looking for.”

  “Tell her I’m investigating the Cult of the Yellow King, and I need to know if there is any activity here in Florida.” Lou knew better than to address the witch directly, as such a disrespect might override their trust in Madeline. His face was angled to his wife.

  “Why might the gentleman be so interested in forces as malign as those?” Themastine’s face darkened.

  “Darlin’, please tell her that I have been tasked with monitoring their movements, especially near the Evergla-“

  “I do not wish to hear Gradymen speak of the Southern Veil, as if it concerns them at all.” The elder witch cut him off, “The Posse should dispose of all notions regarding that holy place.”

  Lou pursed his lips, his eyes lowered to the table top. There were times to speak, and times to remain quiet.

  “Would you please divine on Yellow Cult activities, sister Themastine?” Madeline smiled warmly. She placed a hand on Lou’s thigh, offering a soft squeeze of reassurance.

  The witch sighed, “Of course. Forgive my intemperance, Mister Cobb. When you get to be my age, you forget your manners sometimes.”

  “Tell the witch superior that I took no offense.” Lou said to his wife, a Tennessee twang stirring up in his voice.

  “Very well,” Themastine sat up straight, “I will now begin salt divination under the protection of Obsidian. I will ask that you place a warding seal on the Gradyman, sister.”

  Madeline waved a hand, a spark of purple flashing from her fingers. She tapped Lou on the forehead, leaving a bright rune glowing as she withdrew her hand. The elder witch began to chant in a language the gunslinger could not understand. She poured the contents of the bag out onto the stone, it appeared to be bright white and pink salt. Lou felt the energy in the room shift and churn. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, letting the witch perform her ancient magic. He felt Madeline’s hand on his thigh again, finding reassurance in her touch. This sort of divination took a deeper understanding of the process than even Madeline had, and it took an equal amount of magical energy. Lou knew he had to drop any and all of his own magic to zero if he wanted the divination to go right. The chanting rose along the intensity of the energy around him, until it all dropped into silence.

  Opening his eyes, he found the elder witch sitting back. Her purple eyes had gone a milky white, and her mouth hung open limply. He waited for her to speak.

  “The fingers of the Yellow King reach out across the Sunshine State.” Her words took on a deeper tone, floating like a wafting smoke. “They seek to claim and consume. They seek a child.”

  Her boney finger stretched out to him, “This child, you will see, and you will know. They will claim him, as they claim others. They want him badly for his parentage.”

  Lou furrowed his brow. He didn’t understand what she meant.

  “You will struggle with them, Man of Grady. You will struggle on and they will show you the hatred of their King. The acts they will perform, that which you will witness, will serve their Yellow master. You will find futility, faced with their designs, Louis Richard Cobb.”

  Sensing her husband’s question, Madeline butt in. “Where exactly, sister?”

  “They muster south of here, along the Saint John’s. Find their icons, and you will know them.”

  Madeline preferred not to watch the elder witch come out of a divining state, it was never a pretty sight. She stood, tapping Lou on his shoulder, and walked out. The two nodded to the other witches, who stood in the hall with clasped hands, before leaving the large house. Their driver waited for them, and they came down the steps to meet him. Lou hadn’t spoken a word, something his wife had been keenly aware of.

  The gunslinger stepped and fidgeted, clearly unsatisfied with the reading.

  “Divining is the art of the possible.” She told him as she released the run still etched onto his forehead, “It’s not fate, only a cluster of potential futures.”

  “Yeah, I get it Maddy.” He sighed, rubbing his chin, “Still didn’t sound good. I’d better go on and hurry.”

  She nodded, offering him a loving smile. “You better. I’m going back to the Smokies to tend to business. You got this?”

  “Yeah…” He paced a step, eyes downward in thought.

  “Hey.” She grabbed his poncho, “Hey look at me.”

  He stopped dead, snapping from his focus to meet her lavender-eyed gaze.

  “I love you.” She spoke softly.

  He responded in kind. “I love you too.”

  She leaned in, laying a kiss on his lips. That was territory well claimed by the witch, having pioneered, explored, and surveyed it for two decades. He enjoyed her warmth, reciprocating softly. As they kissed the driver went round to the back and opened the trunk of the car.

  After letting off, she looked him over with a grin. She plucked an auburn hair from his poncho as she summoned a floating broomstick from the open trunk. Taking her seat, she looked to her husband again.

  “Go on and save that child, Lou Cobb.”