The morning sun had just started to creep across the sky as the Deputy dismounted from his horse. Thatch was the sort of horse that would ride into just about everything without hesitation and yet today he was squirly. The older horse pranced and nickered as though it had caught a strange scent on the wind. Even though there was no wind; no stirring of the grasses that the Parker’s grazed their animals on. The foothill ranch was prime estate for the second oldest of the Job rancher families. There were three of them, three large ones that is; a few smaller ranches populated the scrubland to the east of Job but they were only minorly successful in their endeavor due to the inferior quality of the grazing.

Dismounting Thatch at the edge of one of the cattle fences Henry wrapped the horse's reigns around a fence post. The animal seemed relieved to not have to go further than the edge of the pasture. Ernest had sent for the Deputy in the small hours of the morning. Leaving his still sleeping daughter Henry had rode for the outer pasture following Ernest’s directions. The ranch owner had returned to his own family with haste. Apparently a cattle hand had woken him in the middle of the night. They had heard the lowing of the cattle as though something were wrong with them. When the ranch hands had rode out to the pasture the cattle were clustered in the far corner of the pasture. What they found in the pasture didn’t bear mentioning. Ernest had simply told the Deputy he would need to see it for himself to understand.

Crossing the pasture Henry finally caught the scent that was making Thatch skittish. It was the smell of a violent and fearful death. There was a pile of something lying in the field as Carter approached. It quickly became apparent what the pile was, pulling up the bandanna around his neck Henry did his best to not breath through his nose. The object was what was left of a cow and it had died horribly. The animal's entrails had been splattered all around the opened carcass. Bending to the dead animal Henry peered at it. There were claw marks on what remained of its skin and the wounds had a ragged edge.

Walking the area around the dead animal The Deputy peered at the ground searching for tracks. If it had been a bear attack then the animal should have left prints. The search was in vain and Henry knew from the star that it would be. Something about the way the corpse had smacked of something more than a simple animal attack. The fact that it appeared as though the animal had simply been ripped open seemed to indicate that the cow had been targeted for some reason beyond feeding on its flesh though it did strike Henry as odd that the cow seemed less messy than it should have been given the nature of its death.

After further consideration of the scene it finally dawned on him what was bothering him about the corpse. For such a large animal it seemed like there was a lot less blood than one would expect. Pursing his lips Deputy Carter began the walk back to Thatch. Climbing the fence he mounted the horse and started back towards Job proper. No doubt the town would be buzzing soon enough. It was rather odd for a bear to show up and attack cattle since usually the ranch hands were good about driving them off before they could take the cows; not that bears were a common problem since it was rare for them to venture out of the forest to the lower foothills where the cattle grazed.

---

After a quick stop at home to make sure Anna was situated with the Jackson’s for the day. The family ran a hardware and tool shop two houses down from where Annabell and Henry lived. Leading his nine year old daughter over to the Jackson’s home Mary opened the door to greet the pair. Mary was a middle aged mother of the four Jackson children and might be the only other person in the world who cared about Annabell as much as Henry did. Ushering the young Miss Withers inside Mary turned back to the deputy.

“A pair of the Parker’s ranch hands came in today looking to purchase shotguns…” Mary let the comment hang in the air as henry looked away running his hand through his hair as he pushed his hat back to comb his hair. When he didn’t respond immediately Mary pressed further. “They said something killed a cow last night. Said it escaped without a trace and that it left the corpse in the field as though it weren’t interested in a meal.”

The Jackson’s weren’t a stupid family but they preferred to remain as ignorant of the supernatural as best as possible relying on Henry to keep them safe as he had proved time and again he could.

Finally meeting her questioning gaze the deputy nodded. “Something killed a cow, not sure what. Could just have been a bear but the corpse was strange. Keep the door locked tonight okay? Oh and maybe let Anna stay here? Not sure if I’m going to be home and I much prefer her to not be on her own when strange things start happening.” Mary studied the worry lines in Henry’s face for a long moment before she spoke.

“You think a storm’s coming?” meeting her eyes again for a brief moment Henry’s right hand went to rest on the tomahawk in his belt.

“Can’t rightly say what I think just yet. I’m holdin out hope that this was an isolated incident but you know how these things are.”

To the surprise of both adults a voice came from just inside the doorway.

“It’s okay Dad, Leroy says we’ll be alright so long as we stay inside. He says the bad things don’t like the light.”

The hairs on the back of Henry’s neck stood on end from his daughter’s comment. Mary visibly stiffened as well. Both of them had thought Annabell had gone to find the other children but it was clear the young girl had not left the entry way. Leaning to his right Henry looked around the door. Sure enough his daughter stood in her dress and petticoat with Him. In her arms.

Leroy.

The damn cat always gave Henry the creeps since it seemed to be far more intelligent than any cat had a right to be. It stared at Henry and Henry stared right back at the big black yellow eyed Tom that was Annabell’s constant companion and guardian, or so his daughter said. Mary shivered as she turned to look at the young girl and her cat with something bordering on fear.

Taking this as his cue to leave Henry put his hat back on. “I’m off to tell Abraham what happened. Church social is tonight so I expect I’ll see you all there. Take care now, thank you for keeping an eye on Anna, it means a lot.”

Snapping out of her study of the cat in Anna’s arms Mary nodded. “Stay safe out there Deputy.”

Henry nodded as he stepped off the porch of the Jackson house and started towards the Sheriff's office.

---

Elias knawed on some meat while he watched the sun rise. He barely slept...again. His thoughts seemed lost as he opened the door and went to where he kept his horses and mule. He kept two as if he was worried something would happen to the big stallion named shadow. The horse was more likely to injure someone or something with bad intention then get killed itself. Elias prepped the horse with simple reigns and a simple well used saddle. He then gently urged the horse out for his day to begin.

Elias rode in rather early a top a horse so dark a red it was basically black. He dismounted at Malcolm's saloon and silently strode inside his eyes shadowed by his black hat. He found a table toward the back and sunk into it settling in to wait. As people gathered in the began to talk and talk they did. His head tilted at the odd rumor of the cow. Something had killed a cow and left no trace. His brow raised as the various different patrons added various different touches to the story. Elias always found that part interesting. People adding their own touches to make the story more scary or mysterious. Though the parts that sounded true were the parts that had his skin crawling. He itched at his arm....he was going to be molting soon and it was always irritating.

As he itched he stood and strood back out quickly mounting the large horse and headed to The House of Angels. Or as liked to think of it, his second home. He settled the horse and made his way quietly inside. He did not like what he heard and he did not like the idea of leaving his girls unprotected today. He settled into a chair by the door and waited for the activities of the day to start. Scratching at his arm and letting his amber eyes glaze as his did so.

---

---

Perched upon a stool before the establishment's wooden bar, Jonathon hung his head over the glass he gently gripped within the palm of his hand. Allowing it to occasionally slip free, he then endlessly twisted it betwixt his fingers, allowing it to rotate with a low and dastardly sequence of scrapes. His eyes all the while fixated upon the honey colored liquid which lurched ever upwards with each spin of the glass. It was only after had eavesdropped on the other patrons that he abruptly halted the movements of the glass with a firm grip. Turning his head ever slightly towards his shoulder as his curiosity peaked. Thus, it was with baited interest that he continued to listen. Determined to ascertain whether what he had heard was more than just a colorful tale. A few choice words later and he confirmed it - or at least, made up his mind to believe it. However, it wasn't the circumstances of the cow's demise which spurred him to action, but instead a name.

"Deputy Carter." He spoke the words with a hushed sneer. Recalling a memory as the man's face flashed into his thoughts, only for his attention to be abruptly snapped away. As a man bearing a black hat suddenly raised from his seat and strolled towards the door. Although his motive for doing so was inexplicable, the young man let his gaze follow him as he made his way out. Having at this point half turned himself from the bar, Reeves then slid himself back around. Shooting a man whom had now taken a interest in him a brief, albeit dismissive glance. When the fellow looked away, Jonathon simply emptied the glass. Tapping the fingers of his false hand upon the counter as he contemplated his next move. For three days he had cased the town, only now resolving to attend to his affairs; and yet more questions seemed all he had found.

"Helluva Town."

Catherine "Kitty" St. Sebastian

Catherine's Home -> House of Angels

---

---

It was a day like any other.

While that may be boring for most of the population, to Catherine, it wasn't. Because her days usually consisted of having fun. How many people could say that their job allowed for certain luxuries? Not many, she reckoned.

As she made herself up, setting her hair up and detailing her face, she got dressed in one of her favorite outfits. A light pink corset dress and her favorite black stockings and garter. It left little to the imagination and that is just how she liked it. She made a nice living working at the House of Angels and she thanked her lucky stars that she is where she is. Having had an unfortunate childhood, she didn't believe then that she would be a successful adult, much less happy. But she was. Was it because she had a job where she can satisfy her needs and get paid? Was it because she had a job that relied on her looks, those of which were abundant? Was it because she had abilities that no mere mortal had? Maybe all of the above, she thought with a wicked grin.

She fancied herself up some more and headed out to the House of Angels. She would smile and wave, bid a good morning to those she passed by. She was sure she heard rumors about her and her heathen ways. She waved them off. Jealousy, she figured. These old biddies that walked around with their hand grasping a Bible needed to live once in a while. She did pay particular notice of a rumor about a cow being killed. It wasn't unusual for livestock to be killed off in some way, whether it was wild animals or a rowdy bunch of young people, but the particular way this cow met its end intrigued her. She was definitely a nosy person. It made her excited! Perhaps some people that came in would know and she could gently coax out some information! That would show the Deputy she wasn't just a pretty face in a glorified sinner's den!

She came to the house and smiled sweetly at Elias, manning his usual post. She loved the man deeply. He cared for the girls under his care and made sure they were protected and looked after. Him and the Madame were quite the duo. No one messed with the girls and if they did, they soon would regret it. She could take care of herself, though, but she enjoyed playing the damsel now and then. "Hello Elias. Ready for a fun day? she asked the man. She winked at him and proceeded inside to see what events would happen today.

The skies were clear and the air was warm, and it was a miserable bloody wretched day.

Cullen Smith slumped morosely through the brightening streets of town, squinting. Someone’s wife or daughter or parasol-twirling step-sister called out a Good Day to him, and he mumbled something that might have been a distracted “You too.” It was early for most of these people, but for him? ...He couldn't even tell anymore. Digging and hammering and tending by day, and then God only knows what come sundown. Three years of turbulent midnights. And last night had been a rough one. Maybe even worth talking to Marks about. Almost.

Lost in thought, he barely noticed that he’d arrived at Jackson’s.

Well. Time to get this miserable bloody errand over with.

He put one foot on the lowest step and then stopped dead at the foot of the porch as the door swung open and he found himself right in the path of the Deputy Sheriff. Smith quickly turned his back, leaning against the post and fumbling in his pockets for paper and tobacco, pointedly scanning the street and the horizon; mentally reminding himself to finally get a proper cowboy hat so he could lower it forward over his eyes and give both of them a thin excuse to pretend he was somebody else.

Carter was a good man, at least. Probably.

Town like this, who even knew?

---

He stepped into the Jackson’s store, letting his eyes adjust to the merciful shade.

“Jackson.” he murmured, making eye contact with a large barrel of tacks.

The storekeeper nodded, warily.

“Smith.”

And lo, the formalities were over.

“...Yeah. So. Need a box of nails. Matches... “

He dropped a cracked shovel-head onto the countertop with a thump, the dark metal smeared with rust.

“...Repair job on that.”

“Hnh. I’ll be horsewhipped.” The shopkeep half-lifted the broken iron blade, examining the crack. “You hit granite down the cemetery..?”

---

He was panting, skin slick with cold sweat. Both men just stood there, gulping down night air. The thing between them groped nervelessly for the iron lodged in its skull and then lay still, silent and unmoving in the darkness.

“...Nice work, Scrooge.” rasped the gravedigger at last. The accountant swallowed, drily.

“Thank you sir.”

Smith gripped the haft of the shovel and yanked, lifting the ruined blade. He turned it in his hands, blood glistening in the moonlight, before tossing it back to the ground, nodding toward it.

“...Still coming out of your pay, though.”

---

Cullen cleared his throat. “...Scrooge did it. Also goin' to need two more boxes of bullets,” He patted the Smith and Wesson model 3 six-shooter stuffed into the waistband of his pants -- One of these days he’d get a proper holster to go with the hat. “Usual caliber.”

The Lady of the house looked over from her busywork at that, piping up with a note of something between desperation and relief in her voice.

“Oh -- You’re nervous about this business with the cow too, Mister Smith?”

“What c--” he cut himself off, paused.

Lie, whispered his better wisdom.

“...Right,” he half-shrugged, vaguely, wiping his mouth on the back of one dusty sleeve. “The cow. Well,” He sniffed, raising both eyebrows in an attempt to look interested, “...Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Parker’s boys were here before you, buying up buckshot. Even Deputy Carter said it weren’t normal, and I could tell he was holdin’ his words...”

Smith scratched the back of his hair, felt his attention fading. She was scared. He could almost smell it. That weird, familiar feeling: the terror of others. She was scared and she needed to know they were all in this together... Even him...

“--right there in the middle of the night? Folk are saying it was ripped right open, but nothing was eaten--”

The shopkeeper cleared his throat, laying the pouch and boxes onto the counter. “Mary, come on, that’s enough now.”

Smith studied the floorboards. Dust and wood shavings. Musty rays of sunlight. He rolled the paper and stuck the end in his mouth without waiting for permission.

“Yeah. Well.” He jerked the revolver a few times, flipping the heavy cylinder of the gun in and out of position in a motion of nervous, compulsive habit. “Maybe it was suicide.”

His gentle reassurance was met with thick, glacial silence.

He coughed, awkwardly, glanced to one side and there was Carter’s kid sat on the stairway, watching him with those unreadable doll’s-eyes. The cat hung in her arms, staring at him and growling. This, this was what happened when he left the shack. Disaster followed like a starving buzzard. Well to Hell with it. He was going for a drink and then maybe he’d get as much as a wink of sleep before it was time to get to work again.

Cullen slid the money across the counter, stuffed the iron back into his pants, bundled up the goods under his arm. He mumbled something that might have been “Always a pleasure,” and stepped out, squinting, into the warm, clear, horrible sunlight.

House of Angels->Outside House of Angels

---

Elias jumped slightly at the voice that yanked him from the doze he was in. He stood and gave a rather sheepish smile at Cathrine while puling off his hat. The movement caused his rather strange hair to fluff out and he took her hand and kissed it. The movements smooth and then he pulled back. "Hello Cathrine. I am always ready for a fun day" he held his hat in one hand while his other moved to his neck and began to scratch with a bit of intensity. The look of annoyance in those amber eyes betraying only irritation at the itch.

While Elias figured out what exactly Cathrine was, he had ensured what he was continued to be a secret. Even though he liked the girl, he did not trust her enough to give away his most carefully guarded secret. His head tilted as he studied her. "You look lovely this morning." Another smile, this time a rather slow smile before his hand moved to his arm and itched with aggression. He sighed and put his hat on his chair. "If you need me I will be outside." A small nod before he went outside and pet the muzzle of his horse. His keen eyes taking in the outside world and watching for anything suspicious.

He raised his hand to itch a third time, but paused at the sight of a bump. A low grumble escaped him as he pressed the bump causing a rather vibrant red feather to emerge. A glance around before he pulled the feather with a wince and slipped it into a pocket. The molting would only get worse which meant tomorrow he would be staying inside. Staying inside and dealing with feathers going everywhere...he hated this. Molting was the worst part of being a bird. Well...mostly a bird. Elias swept his hand through his hair causing it to tussle and somehow stylishly get messed up in the process. A lone strand fell forward as he looked back out.

Ms. Golightly appeared not long after her brother did, drawn as ever by some invisible, maternal tether. As she descended the stair from her room at Malcolm’s, her gloved hand gliding along the bannister, William was already sat at a table in the saloon, donned in his bowler and unblemished, white collar. Comically, he found himself surrounded by grizzled veterans of the unbathed West, looking like a show dog among… well, not wolves. Something more like mangy coyotes, perhaps.

Already, she noted, he was deep into a game of gin rummy with his new fellows. It was not yet noon and already there was a pitcher between the four of them. And judging from the stack of bills in the center of the table, William was well on his way of needing to borrow from the funds his sister had brought with them.

The only discernible reaction to the scene from Ms. Golightly was the upward flick of a delicate eyebrow as she turned to make her way toward the bar.

She seated herself at the far end, carefully arranging her skirt as to not get scuffed by the dusty ends of her boots. A small book was laid on the surface in front of her and subsequently opened to a page marked with a red ribbon. The top of the page was marked with the day’s date, and some mundane thoughts already jotted down while Ms. Golightly was still in bed this morning.



While Ms. Golightly reread her own writing and debated on whether she had anything to add, the dull end of a stylus pressed against her lip, she felt the shadow of the barkeep descend over her. A brass belt buckle appeared in the upper end of her peripheral vision.

“Just a glass of clean water, please,” she bid him without lifting her head. The shadow receded without ceremony.

As the rest of the room gradually bled into her reluctant awareness, Ms. Golightly snuck a ghostly look at the crimson-cloaked character seated at another part of the bar, who was presently twisting a glass between his hand. Odd character. The first time she’d seen him, the starkness of his peculiar dress had drawn a startled gasp from the city-bred woman. So far, however, he seemed mostly the morose and thoughtful sort.

The look he gave to the man leaving was more than a little unsettling, all the more reason to leave the strange fellow alone. As her cup arrived, she diverted her glances once more.

A roar of laughter erupted from the card table as William threw down his hand. Lost again, Ol’ Billy. Ms. Golightly turned her head to watch as they clapped their hands on his shoulder and shook him jovially. Had to wince when she noticed the smudge of dirt left behind on William’s otherwise clean shirt.

Pronouncing his defeat to the lads, William stood and brought the empty pitcher to the bar. Ms. Golightly was already writing a few new thoughts into her journal as her brother leaned in beside her.

“Always need to be everyone’s friend, don’t you,” she greeted evently.

“Don’t be sore just because you haven’t got any.” William’s reply was absorbed with a tight-lipped look. Marion’s retort was swallowed and saved for a less compromising moment. Her brother slid the pitcher across the bar, summoning the stout, apron-clad keep. “Refill for my friends and I, would you kindly?”

“Are you going to be capable of mounting a horse in a few hours, William?” Ms. Golightly did not conceal her irritation.

Her brother lowered his voice and waited until the barkeep was out of earshot to reveal a sliver of his true self.

“Swill here is watered down as it is, I’ll be fine.” William further provoked his sister by nudging her with his elbow. Marion’s stylus slid across the page in a sloppy line, and she glared at him. “Hear about that dead cow, Mary? Spooky thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, why won’t anyone shut up about it?” Ms. Golightly clapped her book shut and tucked her stylus into the spine. “Honestly, the stories you hear about this place, and all anyone can talk about is a dead cow. We lost a horse to exhaustion on the way here. Any number of things can kill some sickly heifer.”

William took this with a shrug, deciding his sister wasn’t the best audience for this sort of thing. The local townsfolk were much more superstitious and prone to spreading wild rumors.

Marion bobbed her head discreetly to her left, toward the stranger in the red cloak and myriad buckles.

“Between you and me, I’d like to know more about where that man learned to dress,” she added with a conspiratorial smirk. It was mirrored by her brother as he retrieved a newly filled pitcher. Instantly, Ms. Golightly’s mirth disappeared into a frown. “I’m not going to henpeck you, William, just be ready to leave by noon.”

“We agreed on one o’clock and you know it. I’ll be ready then.” And then he was gone, stained shoulder at all.

With that, Ms. Golightly opened her journal again to read her new additions, the tether feeling once more taut between her and her older brother.

The early morning sun was warm on the brown leather of Deputy Carter’s knee calf length duster. Thatch’s reins were slung over his left shoulder; leading the horse behind him. All too often he forgot what it was like to simply walk the streets of Job. Once upon a time he had come here; a run away, outcast, pariah. When Henry had first set foot in Job he had thought it was merely another town on his run to California. The Transcontinental railroad was going to lose its race against the Pacific Railroad and he wanted to be on the winning side for once. So much for Southern honor and doing the The Right thing.

Henry’s clanking spurs marked his progress down the main street of Job. The Sheriff’s office was closer to the outside edge of town but his march through the main street took him past all the usual sights: Dainties, The Silver Strike, The House of Angels, The Western Union, the list went on as Henry continued on his walk. As his eyes scanned the faces on the wooden walkways in front of the buildings he avoided the handful of stares. No doubt the news of the dead cow had gone ahead of him and given how things like that spread like wildfire in Job there would be more than a few people that would come by the office. Those who were curious, those who thought they could help, the generally scared. No doubt Abraham was already in the process of running people off while he waited on his Deputy’s report.

Looking behind him as the sun crept across the sky Henry sighed. It was going to be a long day still and already he felt as though he’d done a full days work. Hiking the reigns of Thatch further up on his shoulder Henry continued towards the office. Hopefully this would be resolved without much more blood shed, but something about the carnage told Henry that was not going to be the case. With a final heavy sigh Henry reached the front of the Sheriff’s office. Taking Thatch’s reigns he tired the horse to the hitching post in front of the office. Ascending the two steps of the front of the office he squinted back out into the open street. Scanning it he adjusted his hat down to shade his eyes.

Some days the whole damn town seemed like maybe it might actually be alive and drawing breath. A great sleeping monster that had lured all this poor solves here to die. Today was one of those days.

Turning the Deputy walked into the Sheriff’s Office.

---

Deputy Carter had been quite surprised to find that Abraham had not been in the office when he arrived. No doubt the eccentric older Sheriff had gone to attend to some business. Collecting a stack of mail and telegraphs that no doubt had been sitting for a good three days Henry settled into his chair at one of the Office’s two desks.

Setting his hat on the table next to his feet Henry frowned at the first Telegraph. It was another warrant. The Marshal’s periodically dispersed them to the towns in a county that had a telegraph station. Sometimes they got lucky and caught however they were looking for but it was pretty rare. This one looked like it was from back east which seemed odd but Henry dismissed it as he continued to sort through the mail.

---

Three hours passed as Henry sorted through the majority of the mail and other logistical things that required the Sheriff’s attention. There was no doubt that Abraham had left so that Henry would deal with the mail and telegrams.

Setting the last one down the Deputy finally put his feet up on the desk and dug in the bottom drawer of his desk before producing a bottle. Uncorking it he took a long draft from it before settling in for a long contemplative moment. Really he needed to see if Abraham was going to be back in a timely fashion. Before the end of the day he needed to ride out to the Garcia Ranch and the McClancy ranch to see if either of them had experienced a similar problem recently.

Taking a second pull from the bottle, Henry finally returned it to the bottom drawer and began the process of writing responses to two of the letters. Both of them were to the Marshals, in the past month Abraham and he had dealt with two of the Warrants which had come across their desk. One of the men, a train robber from back east had wandered into town and tried to make off with a payroll from the Jackson-Leeland mine. The poor fool hadn’t gotten far before a couple of miners had gotten their hands on him. Anthony Jackson had shot the bastard in the face himself when he’d been brought into the mining office down the slopes from the entrance of the mine. While Leeland was the kind of person who would have let Abraham deal out justice, Jackson was someone else entirely. A self made man to compliment his partner’s history of noble upbringing. It really hadn’t surprised Henry that Anthony had dispatched with the problem personally.

Following that Abraham and Henry had been attempting to locate another warrant who had come across their desk. The evil son of a bitch was some sort of cannibal freak who liked to eat the intestines of children. Deputy Carter had tracked him to an abandoned shack in the hills above Job. The two of them had exchanged lead for the better part of a half hour before Abraham had arrived. After the Sheriff’s arrival Abraham had given the man one chance to surrender himself. When the murderer had responded by trying to shoot the Sheriff, Abraham had told him to cover the front of the shack. Henry was still not sure exactly what had happened since Abraham had told him that when he’d gotten the drop on the Murder the man had pulled a knife on the Sheriff and the two had fought for control of it. It seemed like a plausible explanation given the stab wounds all of the man's body. The funny thing was that Henry had never managed to find the knife after twenty or so minutes before Abraham had told him to come off it.

Henry continued to write his letters and contemplate as the sun crept past its zenith in the sky.

Jacelyn sat, her petite feet dangling of a branch. Below her, Mr Magpie, sat. Mr Magpie was a shaman, much like her only very different. He was Chereoke, far from here and only passing through. He had asked for her to talk to the local Cayote and the tribes it represented. He asked for safe passage on his spirit journey like so many before him. Jacelyn had accepted to speak on his behalf, as the local Cayote God spoke to her quite often. Tricksters were untrustworthy, but Foxes existed back home to so she knew all too well its cunning ways. The First people and their tricksters were no different, and they respected her ways.

“I am done, Owl Who Speaks.” The old man said as he got up. ‘Owl Who Speaks’ was the name the Tribes had given her when she first proved to them her abilities. She held onto that name with a sense of reverence. “Are you sure this is all you need from me?” He inquired.

“Yes, Mr Magpie.” The strange young woman spoke in a faraway voice. “This tree respresented pain for so long, it was beginning to draw bad spirits. With your blessings, it should returnt to bloom come next spring, and bring with it life.” Jacelyn voice wavered, as if trembling with unbidden emotion. “Thank you.”

“No, Owl Who Speaks. It is I who should be thankful. Many of the Pale Folks spit on our traditions, putting up wooden building and brandishing their symbols as if to ward off the rest of the world. They forget the bond we share. You do not. You are like me, a walker of spirits and of the lands.” With that, the old man began to move away from the oak, and with it the city. She watched him go, head tilted much like that of her namesake animal. Then, she breathed in sharply and closed her eyes as seconds later one of said birds landed in the trees branches.

“What news Brother owl” She asked, her voice carrying with unseen winds, dissipating into the etheer like smoke. The owl let out a hoot that carried no more meaning for mortal ears then any other. But to the shaman before it, it carried words and emotions.

“Ah. Yes. The undertaker certainly seems to be busy.” She nodded. “I wonder if it is a sign of things to come.” She began walking towards town and to her Tea House, bare feet seemingly untroubled by the elements. She let out a low whistle as she strolled, seemingly carefree despite her alert eyes and sharp senses. A illusion of folly, to fool those that not yet had woken to the truth of her nation. A deception well nurtured and kept as it afforded her an advantage. She found an alarming amount of lies in this town. Shapes upon shapes, spirits wrapped in secrets and debts unpaid and shackling those bound to them. She found storms within hearts of men, and dead things wearing human guises. Flames and Ice, bound to mortal flesh and hearts carved out or rock and bone. Only Job could allow for such a strange mix of people.

She of course, knew far more the most, her little Tea House was neutral ground, afforded such status by the fact that she helped all, no matter twisted or strange. Under her roof, there would be no violence, only peace.

---

Sleep seemed a burden in this town. Something that drifted on the winds of the plains; an allusory bedfellow of which they all chased. There were times when Buor’Kut believed the only ones in this place who slept properly were the ignorant, those who knew not the damnation that nipped at their heels, and the wicked, those who had already allowed the serpent of corruption to warm itself upon their hearts. That left the rest of them, the slightly less wicked and slightly less ignorant, grasping for the sandman while their sheets became twisted coils coated in sweat. It would be hard to know where he sat on the spectrum and the weighing of such things was not the monotonous wail that kept him from sleep. He had no internal monologue that begrudge people their pasts, but yet, after all these years, he was still unable to shake his own.

When he had finally drifted off to sleep it had been with the help of some tea Jacelyn kept in stock. The concoction would have likely found itself in a legal debate at to usage had the States caught up to her homeopathic endeavors, but surely no one in Job would question something as fickle as tea when they were so busy covering up their own scandals. It was one of the reasons he liked this place. It was one of the reasons he had actually let himself sleep in so that when he finally cracked open those maple tinted eyes to the already blazing sun he didn’t allow himself to become concerned with his lack of guardianship. He rolled onto his back and felt the sturdy wood of the bed creak beneath his 7 foot form, eyes raising to the ceiling with his movement. They lingered there as he contemplated his purpose for the day. The Mint, as always, was getting out of hand and creeping into the Lavender, so that needed to be handled. He should probably make a bundle of Linden to take over to the Garcia ranch and see if they’d be willing to spare some fresh milk in trade.

The large man sighed and it rustled across the room as he drove himself to his feet. His rough skin cracked into a smile as he noticed the fresh pitcher of water placed near the basin in his room. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he took care of Jacelyn, or she took care of him. At least it meant she was awake, though mayhaps she hadn’t slept yet. The girl kept hours that made even his head spin. He rinsed himself, noting the gentle hints of cedar wood oil in the water as he scrubbed it across the prickling facial hair and down his neck. He started to dress, still pulling a button up shirt across his hulking mass as he entered the hallway. “Jacelyn?” His voice boomed through the house with little effort on his part, and then he strained to hear the gentle murmur of response. He received nothing and while his face fell into a slight pout it was probably for the best. She could be chattery when he first awoke and it was better he start to tend to his duties before getting wrapped up in stories. He would have no such luck.

Barefoot, he crossed the garden path from home to teahouse, weaving between a myriad of herbs, plants and trees, some common and others appearing almost alien in the Nevada landscape. Midway across the yard Frances slung himself from a tree and onto Buor’Kut’s shoulder. The monkey chattered away as they entered the back of the teahouse and headed towards the shop’s entrance, crossing through a room decorated with “perches” of all variety, mainly padded chairs and small tables. The side of the room was lined with shelves, some holding a variety of books while jar upon jar of tea and herbs littered the others. He squinted through the curtains at a form on the porch, at first thinking it may be Jacelyn but then the movements seemed to expectant for his graceful cohort. He swung the door open with a smile as the woman’s eyes fell to his chest and then quickly darted upward, to the monkey who had grown silent and then back to his grin. “Greens, oh goodness, I thought you must be out. I was thinking of checking the garden.”

“I apologize Mrs. Parker. Is there something I can help you with?” His accent was slight, but still remained coating his words in a foreign tinge that would likely never be lost. A large palm held the door open a little wider so that the woman could step in and then busied himself with opening some of the curtains to illuminate the room.

“Please, call me Caroline, always so formal with you. You aren’t exactly newcomers anymore” She grabbed at a stray hair and tucked it back in place, now that he actually looked at the woman she seemed a bit, frazzled. She was usually the picture of perfection when she came into town. He said nothing and hoped she would continue. “It’s all this trouble with the cow. It’s making me absolutely sick. Sick I tell you. I was wondering if you had anything that could help with my stomach?”

At this Buor’Kut frowned ever so slightly. “Jacelyn seems to be out and it is her expertise that keep us in business you know. I tend the garden.” He thought for a moment and pulled a chair out for the woman. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll see what she has already made. I’m sure she will be returning shortly and then she can wrap you up something more for home.” He crossed to the bar area where a few jars sat with premade mixes for the more commonly requested. He put the water on and decided on chamomile, something simple, but good for nerves. As soon as it was done he handed the woman the cup and took a seat across from her. “Now, what is all this about trouble with a cow?” If he knew anything, it was that sometimes when people came for tea, what they really wanted was someone to talk to, and so it seemed as Caroline Parker launched into her story about all the dreadful events of the evening. As the details were revealed a pout settled itself on his features.

This didn’t sound like their trouble, but trouble was trouble.

Coincidences are funny things.

For example, if Cullen Smith hadn’t stopped to take a drag on his rollup and contemplate the cruel joke of human existence as he loitered in the dusty, sun-baked street outside the store, things may have turned out differently. He might have gotten that daytime nap he so badly wanted. He might have forgotten about the church social that night.

And he absolutely wouldn’t have seen the Whithers kid and her creepy damn cat stroll out the back entrance and vanish behind the neighboring fence.

Smith frowned, watching, cigarette dangling from his mouth. Pretty sure she didn’t have Uncle Hank’s permission to be lighting out like that. Damn careless of the Jacksons to say the least. Not that it was any of his nevermind, of course. Wasn’t his damn kid. She was, what, ten? Or something? Old enough to make her own decisions about wandering around without supervision. None of his business, really.

None of his business.

Still...

He took another long drag and tossed the crumpled paper cylinder aside, pacing around to the other side of the building in the direction they’d been heading, into the short, looming shadow of the Jackson’s store. Hell with it. Morbid curiosity was the only kind he still knew.

--------------------

A half hour later the gravedigger shoved his way through the squeaking wooden doors of the Silver Strike, more determined to have a drink than ever. The heat was thickening outside, and even in the merciful shade of the saloon, he could feel the sweat beading on his neck. He’d lost them? How had he lost them? There was nowhere else they could have gone. Job wasn’t exactly London Fair; he should have made the corner with time to spare, more than enough to have seen which direction the kid and her miserable bloody fleabag had headed. But no. Nothing. Even the tracks seemed to turn back on themselves.

Mysteries. He paused, hefting the heavy boxes under his arm. Waste of bloody--

“Hey, mister Sith!”

Cullen let out a breath as a bunch of rough-round-the-edges town ne’er-do-wells started thumping on their table and hollering in his direction. He set his sights on the bar and kept walking.

“Well if it ain’t the hound of Job, all done buryin’ bones in the backyard--”

“Look like yer about ready for a pine box yerself pardn’r--”

“--Mmhm.”

“Why so gloomy pardn’r, ain’t you done dug youself up a ladyfriend yet?”

“HAW!”

“--Funny. Nice. That’s good,” he muttered, adding a highly specific expletive under his breath.

He slouched across the floorboards and the establishment’s single threadbare rug, morose and half lost in thought, so determined to ignore everything and everyone around him that he nearly collided with some fop in a bowler carrying a pitcher of marked-up booze in the process. Middle of the bloody day and the dregs were already here. Stupid cow. Sodding Whithers kid. Not worth wondering about. Best not to get involved in other people’s troubles, or their secrets. He had enough of his own of both.

He nodded, grimly as he made his way up, thumping the jingling boxes onto the bar. Fitzroy greeted him with a grunt and a tolerant glower.

“What’s your poison, son?”

“Black Dog.” Smith replied, folding his arms on the countertop, not bothering to sit down, “And make it a double so I won’t have to ask for another, yeh?”

“Mighta known,” lamented the barkeep, “Ain’t no one else around here drinks that slop.”

“Enh. A little taste of home. You know how it is”

“Mhmm.” Fitzroy pushed the glass across the counter. “Tastes awful.”

Smith took it carelessly in one hand, pausing.

“...Yep,” he said, and knocked it back, making a gruesome face as it went down like midnight on the moor.

He swallowed with difficulty, trying to hold back a coughing fit and casting a weary, furtive glance around the bar. Mercifully there were only two other paying customers at the bar, sat to either side of him at a polite, safe distance. A buttoned-up governess or something, sketching in a notebook and casting occasional dark looks at the card table, and some drifter in a red poncho, hunched over a glass and rapping on the bartop with some sort of armored gauntlet.

Smith didn’t know him. He didn’t need to. He knew bad news when he saw it, and that was bad news painted in forty-foot high lettering. You could have put a rattlesnake on the other seat and he wouldn’t have known which was safer.

He didn’t know the woman either. Schoolteacher, maybe. Looked like someone who liked rules. Smith glanced back over his shoulder, following her intermittent gaze. The fop was back at his seat at the card table without a care in the world, and the regulars were well on their way to skinning him alive. Maybe literally in Jimmy’s case. Was never quite sure about that one.

He took another mouthful of the Scotch, feeling it scour in his throat and blossom like hot tar in his stomach. Yeah. This was just what he needed. In. Out. And then a few hours of sleep before...

“Trust we’ll be seein’ you at the church social tonight, Mister Smith?”

...He’d forgotten.

“...Bloody church bloody social…” He buried the words in the bottom of his glass and tipped it back all the way. Another raucous cheer went up from the table behind him as someone lost another fat pile of money. There was no rest for the wretched.

Finally putting his pen down the Deputy stood up and stepped out onto the porch of the Sheriff's office. Still no sign of Abraham which on its own wasn’t cause for concern. Looking up at the sky he noted that the sun was starting to creep down towards the horizon. It was amazing that he hadn’t been called on to sort out some sort of disturbance of the peace. No doubt the people in town were on their best behavior for the most part since there was going to be an event this evening and no one wanted an evening with the vast majority of god fearing people in one place. It meant that everyone could get together and relax and the vast majority of those who did not attend such functions were free to go along with their evening of debauchery free from any possibility of judgement. It was a funny thought but the church socials were a sort of cease fire between those that the christians of Job dubbed degenerates and those who enjoyed their drink, drugs, gambling and whoring more openly.

The last item on his list of things that the less upstanding would be enjoying this evening prompted action. Father Marks always extended an invitation to the House of Angels. Most people thought of it as distasteful even though to his knowledge none of the girls to date had accepted. Henry wasn’t sure if it was because the proprietor forbade the girls from going or if the girls understood the significance of the evening for their client base. Regardless Henry was always the go between for the invitation and besides that, Elias needed to be officially warned that strange things were afoot. About a year ago a methuselah, a several century old singular vampire, came through Job and was in the habit of ripping over the necks of whores and the homeless. It was probably best to make sure Elias was aware that he should be on the lookout for any strange individuals this evening. Not that Henry seriously expected them to be in danger it was just that while he had no idea what was going on it was best to keep the potentially vulnerable aware.

Making the walk down the street to the front of the house of angels Henry steeled himself and pressed through the front door. It was always strange being in such a place and it was not always a good idea for him to be seen there given that he was the town's Deputy twenty four hours a day every day of the year and frequenting such an establishment would not have looked good for his character. It really wasn’t that Henry thought he was above such things but he needed the people of Job to respect him and find his character flawless enough to continue handing down the law.

If they only knew…

Pushing through the front door Henry stood awkwardly in the front parlor of the establishment. The Deputy never knew what to do with himself here when he had not been called upon to handle a patron, a murder or something else pertaining to his job. This was different, he was a messenger for the town's Reverend. No doubt Pharrah would let him stew until Elias noticed or until a few of the girls had tried to get him to pay for time. It was all a game for the Madame and not one that Henry particularly enjoyed playing. Still. Henry was in her house only so often and he was the sort who played by the rules regardless of if he liked them or not.

@Themerlinhawk

---

Elias had been watching the sun set. Knowing full well that this would put where he was standing in darkness, he did not seem to mind. He loved watching the sun fall below sight even though this was the time when trouble came prowling. Though, the town seemed rather quiet this time around. His mind traveled to thoughts on why until his attention was caught by the approaching deputy.

Elias tilted his head as he watched the deputy approach. He raised a brow before shrugging and silently following the man of law inside, grabbing his hat from the chair as he did so. Elias had a feeling this visit had something to do with the church social that his girls were always invited too. He was too, but he usually did not go. He was half tempted to accept, the annoyance of itchy skin reminded him how bad of an idea that was. He waited a few moments before clearing his throat.

"Deputy Carter, pleasure as always" He tipped his hat then motioned toward the seats. "Why don't you have a seat?" He sat and looked up at the man. "What do I owe this visit too?" He offered a smile, though that seemed to fade fast as he soon found himself scratching at his arm once more with annoyance. He really had to find something for his itchy skin problem, but then again, who could help him with that without killing him after realization. Annoying problem...or death. Not the best options.