June, 1938

  Dressed in his finest shirt and pants, Calvin waited with Team Bootknife on the metal bench outside the Smoky Mountain Sanctuary administration building. He and Buster were flipping a coin back and forth, trying to catch it in the air using Resolve to track it more precisely. Buster accidentally flicked the coin onto the alchemy book in John’s hands. Glaring, John swiped the coin.

  “Would you guys stop fidgeting, damn!”

  “Well he’s been in there for an hour, gotta be!” The rodeo clown bounced a bit on the bench.

  Buster had on a fresh face of makeup for their big day. Calvin had only ever seen a clown once before Buster, but he had seen pictures of them. He noticed that the rodeo clowns wore significantly less makeup than most circus clowns. Buster’s own coat of paint covered down to his jaw, and up into his forehead. It wasn’t heavy and bright white. Though Buster had explained the significance of the exaggerated features, Calvin thought the getup wasn’t as crazy looking as he might have imagined before meeting him.

  “Stop pissing and moaning, I can hear you from inside.” Logan pushed through the door, stepping onto the porch.

  Calvin, impatient to set out, quickly hopped up. Buster followed with a grin.

  “What were you even doing in there?” Asked John, closing his book.

  Their teacher stretched his arm a bit. “I was processing your forms. There’s a shit ton of paperwork getting you boys out to the lake today. We can’t just walk up onto the Green Coven’s land like we’re getting milk from the neighbor.”

  “Paperwork?” Buster trotted over. He pushed an accusatory finger to Logan’s coat. “You were in there for an hour.”

  Logan gripped his hand and twisted it around, forcing a yelp. “This stuff takes time, dumbass. I don’t like sitting in there filling out forms neither.”

  Buster howled until his hand was released. He held his wrist with a groan.

  “Come on, boys. Let’s hit the road.”

  Team Bootknife stepped out into the busy Sanctuary road. Other young guns and their mentors went back and forth, all performing their duties during Summer Solstice time. Several of them had new witches with them, the girls excited to see the fortress-like Sanctuary for the first time. Workers in plaid hustled about on normal business, keeping the Sanctuary in working order. As they walked by, Logan nodded to a few other guns his age.

  “So, we are scheduled in the cue for later this afternoon.” Logan lit up one of his cigars. Its chocolate aroma wafted by as it burned. “The Summer Solstice.”

  “Summer Solstice!” Buster threw his hands up in excitement.

  “Summer Solstice!” Cal joined in, hardly able to contain himself.

  “Summer Solstice?” Buster draped an arm around John’s neck, wiggling his eyebrows.

  John shook his head with a smirk. “Summer Solstice.” He couldn’t resist.

  “Shut up you apes!” Logan barked. “I’m trying to talk!”

  The boys fell quiet. This drew the attention of the Guns in the street for a moment.

  “The Summer Solstice, what to expect.” Logan continued in a level tone, “Today is the day you will each enter a pact of partnership with a witch from the Green Coven. They have trained, as you have, to hunt dangerous beasts and dispel curses at your side. The Green Coven is located on Emerald Lake, somewhere in the Smokies here. Nobody is trusted with the exact location, so the Coven has a witch to perform a Translation Hex and take us there. Her name is Helen, she will perform the hex for us at 4:30, at the Coven office up the road. The paperwork says the winds of magic are fairly calm today so we should have no problems.

  “Um, hey Teach!’ Calvin raised his hand

  “What?” Logan gave him a languished look.

  “What’s a Translation Hex?”

  Logan rolled his eyes, “Always with the simple questions. A Translation Hex is the kind of spell that transfers physical matter from one position to another along a single plane. The physical plane, in this case. The effectiveness of the spell is based off the health of the magical field between the two points. The reference for these points is usual an object, like a charm. We start at one point and pop up into another, in no time at all. Time is a different plane. This is called Translation. Ain’t you never paid attention in Math class?”

  “Well… yeah…” Cal sounded a little deflated.

  “Six-Guns gotta be smart. That’s what sets us apart from the average dingleberry who can throw together a little magic. You need to keep at your studies. Now can I finish?”

  Calvin nodded. “Yessir.”

  Logan puffed some smoke, “Alright. So when we get where we’re going, you will be approached by the girls of the Green Coven. All you gotta do is stand there, in a Resolute State, maybe answer a few questions. Be polite. Some of the girls may wanna make a pact, some may pass. It’s no big. There’s gonna be one or two at the bare minimum who approve. The girls need to resonate with your Resolve. If more than one offer a pact, the Coven handles it. Then you get the one they decide on. You don’t say shit. Hear me?”

  The boys nodded, following his train of thought.

  “If I catch you making comments, I’ll smack the piss and shit out of you. We respect the Coven and all its members. Now these are young women, you animals will act appropriately. Not only that, but they’re witches. They channel their magic through emotional energy. They need to be treated properly or they might have magical issues. I catch you acting even the slightest bit disrespectful, I’ll slather you in honey and dump you on an anthill.”

  “That’s kind of harsh…” John shrugged, “You think we can’t handle it?”

  “I think you’re a bunch of 16-year-old boys.” Logan shot back, “I’m not dumb. I was your age once.”

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  “That was the 19th Century.” Buster chuckled.

  “Easy way to damage your other hand.” His teacher remarked.

  Buster fell silent again. As they continued down the street, Logan let out a sigh.

  “I understand you’re excited. I would be too. But honestly, it’s a lot of responsibility. Especially if they get really close to you. You have to be responsive to their needs.”

  Logan stopped walking. “If you don’t, they have problems. We don’t hurt the witches. Ok?”

  His voice had dropped all the rough edge it normally held. It sounded to Calvin as if he was almost pleading to them. His eyes were heavy with melancholy.

  “Alright… I understand.” Cal responded.

  “I hope you do.” Logan continued on, regaining his prickly tone. “Now we got time to kill until 4:30. I have something for you ingrates, been waiting to surprise you.”

  “A gift?” asked John. That was the last thing he expected from the Bootknife.

  Logan stopped in place, gesturing to the building to his left. “They’re ready.”

  In unison, the boys let out a gasp. They were standing in front of the Smoky Mountain Sanctuary gunsmith office.

  The door swung open and Buster tumbled into the shop, Cal and John following close behind. The walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of different bullets in boxes. They all had fancy labels, denoting the kind of bullets within. Behind the counter, many rifles sat in racks. The Six-Guns were named for the pistols on their hips, but it was not uncommon for them to carry lever action Gallagher Pattern rifles, named for the Posse’s second Grand Gunsmith, Sheldon Gallagher. Acting as the highest smith in the Posse from 1873 to 1899, Sheldon Gallagher was responsible for the designs which a good deal of the Six-Guns carried on them in the 20th Century.

  The smith at the counter was nowhere near as prestigious as the late Gallagher, but Tennessee’s own Roy Marr was known as one of the more skilled in the East. The wrinkly man in his plaid shirt smiled at the young Guns who had walked into his store.

  “Well!” He let out a jovial chuckle, swiping at his long grey whiskers, “What can I do for the aspiring young sorcerer-gunslingers today?”

  Logan stepped in after them. “Order for Logan Denton, Roy. How’s it going?”

  “Ah! Today is good. My wife is in a good mood, that’s always good.” Roy’s attention drifted. “Oh! The pistols. Why yes, now I would have been done with them sooner if you had put in your custom order forms when I asked for them, Bootknife…”

  Logan rubbed his neck, leaning on the counter. “Uh, yeah…. Sorry… You got ‘em or not? Postage said they were ready.”

  The gunsmith laughed. “Yup! All shined, tuned, calibrated. The Gellerite is good quality, you boys were favored by It With No Name. It hasn’t been so nice these past couple decades, so I like to see good Gellerite like this now and again.”

  Cal wondered what he meant by that. It never occurred to him, having carried that hunk of metal from the Cherokee village to the Sanctuary, that the quality of the ore received could vary. He just assumed that Gellerite was Gellerite. This wasn’t the first time he had heard comments about the state of the Posse over the past few decades. It wasn’t obvious, but he started to suspect things were not so good now as they might have been before.

  Roy stepped through the door behind the counter. Buster looked over to Logan, eyes narrowed.

  “What did he mean by that? Did you slack on some paperwork, Teach?”

  “Honestly I never passed a student before,” He shrugged, “I assumed you guys would fail my test. There would be no need for custom engravings if you did. Sorry…”

  John rolled his eyes, “You’re an asshole. I’m surprised they let you take on student Guns at all.”

  “You and me both.” He grinned.

  The gunsmith came back through the door, holding three leather gun belts, each with a shining pistol in the holster. “Now I like to think I can feel out how It With No Name is feeling by the Gellerite it hands out. I been working on Gellerite from the Cherokee Site for decades, so I know.”

  The boys were all too fascinated with their pistols to pay any attention to what he was saying. They looked over the guns on the counter.

  “Now this one is for…” Roy looked at the paper in his hand, “Buster Haime.” He slid one of the gun belts over.

  Buster snatched it, immediately throwing it around his waist. The Gunsmith gave Calvin and John their respective belts. As the boys tried on the belts for fit, Roy had to smile.

  “Your pistols are MD Mark 5 Obliterator pattern revolver pistols. The best wheelgun technology of the 1930’s, you ask me. Some guys swear by the old versions, but this old man here swears by innovation and iteration.” He held his thumb up to his chest, smiling brightly.

  Cal slid the gun out of its holster, marveling at the sound of Gellerite clearing leather. It reminded him of the night Louey saved his life. The sound of the pistol swiping into position just before the shot was unforgettable. He smiled, feeling just a little bit close to Louey now. There was his father too, whom Cal knew carried a gun just like this on his hip wherever he went. Logan mentioned that Billy Baird was famously left-handed. Cal, holding the pistol in his left hand, felt closer to his father than he had in a decade. They were both men now, both gunslingers, both lefties. He had to smile.

  He looked at the gun, studying it closely. It was a bight steel color, with engraving patterned into the barrel and chambers. He noted the words ‘Manus Dei’ engraved on the barrel.

  “Hey Teacher, what does this mean?” He pointed out the words to Logan.

  The Bootknife pulled his own pistol, the same model, and gestured to the exact same words on the barrel. “The words are pronounced Manus Dei. It means Hand of God.”

  “Oh…” Cal held his pistol close, trying to process that information.

  “Every pistol in the hands of Grady’s Posse has ‘Hand of God’ written on it.” Logan elaborated, “This is not a toy, it’s a weapon. You will take life with that. It is the hand of God on this Earth, liberating souls from this plane. You better show that weapon some respect.”

  Cal’s eyes traveled down the engraving on the spruce handle. “Survivor” He dictated.

  Logan nodded, “I called you a survivor, when you passed your trial. That belongs on your weapon. May you survive, Calvin Baird.”

  John noted his own handle had the Calhoun family rose carved into it, only it was modified. “The Calhoun Rose has three thorns on it.”

  “I know” Logan shot him a look, “I’m betting you’ll be more deadly than those before you, so your rose has five.”

  John fell silent, studying the handgun. He found Logan’s words weighed quite heavy on him just then. The shadow his heritage cast often seemed too tall to be free of. He could see his teacher had considered him for the person he was, not the family he came from. He was starting to have second thoughts about the Bootknife.

  “How did you know to put this on my pistol..” Buster’s voice held none of its usual springy comedy. He looked to be on the verge on tears. On the handle of his handgun was the Fleur de Lis, the Lily of the Louisiana Laughing Clown.

  “It’s not hard to figure out, Buster.” Logan’s eyes remained shadowed in his hat brim, “Your clan are great friends of this Posse. Your ancestors, and your father, are proud of you Buster. You deserve to carry the Lily.”

  “Whoa, Buster.” Cal smiled, “Your dad carries that symbol too?”

  “Everywhere he goes.” Buster sniffled. “It’s Cajun. Our clan comes from French jesters and mimes…”

  Calvin pat him on the shoulder, “I like it. That’s awesome. Maybe I can meet him sometime.”

  Buster started wailing tears of joy, “I’ll take you to meet him right now! Let’s go!”

  “Not right now, dumbass.” Logan glared, “Get it together, you don’t wanna be teary-eyed in front of the girls.”

  Standing straight, Buster wiped at his eyes. “Yes sir! I’m ready for the girls!”

  “No you ain’t.” John said flatly.

  Logan butt in, “Shut it! Now, I have something else for you.”

  He reached into his coat and pulled out a bundle of cloth. Unwrapping it, he revealed three knives in sheaths, each about six inches long. The leather was finely crafted by members of the Cherokee Nation, bearing embroidery of red and blue.

  “Now, not every young Gun learns to knife fight so early. But I want you to be ready for anything. In due time I will teach you how to use these.”

  Bemused, the boys took their knives. Calvin unsheathed his and looked it over. Polished Gellerite shined in the light of the store. He admired the craftsmanship in silence, his mind traveling to Logan for a moment. This was all oddly thoughtful, for him. A lot of time had to be put into customizing these for the team. Calvin started to see that there was more to their prickly teacher than met the eye.

  Logan smiled, “You guys wear those belts well. Maybe you’ll survive a few days on the road. Come on, let’s get moving. We don’t wanna miss our appointment.”