Shargrafein’s mirror rattled around in my duster pocket, so I shoved that son of a bitch into one of Timp's saddlebags before moving on.

  Even as Agatha took my hand to lead me into the brush, I asked the question I often found upon my mind in those waking hours when sleep escaped me. Why not curse more like me? Make an army of Black Badges. That way, it ain't no damn hitch when one of us decides to roam a bit and help someone in need?

  I suppose it's a staffing issue. Imagine trying to run a railroad from across the Atlantic, let alone between worldly realms. And trust me, among ruffians like me, I'm damn pliable. Always was the type to join a crew of outlaws, not start one. Knowing when and how to take orders is just part of the game. Hell, sometimes it's harder than leading.

  But occasionally, in this endless cycle of unlife, I can't help but do something for me. I’d spent my past lifetime doing wrong by a lot of people. Serving the White Throne feels good sometimes, but I couldn’t just ignore a lady in peril because Shar needed me. An angel should understand my need to atone, shouldn’t she? Shouldn’t she give a damn about Agatha too?

  "It's just this way," Agatha said, freeing the grimy hem of her flowered dress from some thicket before pushing onward. The moonlight caught her freckled cheek as she glanced back, glinting across sticky tears.

  I paused and let go of her hand. Something had changed from the road. No tremor in her tone, no wobbly knees or hands itching to grab onto anything for support. She grew steady as a field surgeon, her every step composed despite bare and bloodied-up feet.

  Meanwhile, dried stems snapped under my boots. Hardened dirt crunched. Each sound drew my right hand freshly to the pearl grip of my pistol. And the—this time—unmistakable howling of a wolf. Maybe a whole band? That got my left hand down too.

  Wasn't a werewolf pack, I didn't think. They were usually in more mountainous regions where hiding was easy. Here, it would be all too simple to get caught feeding. However, in these times, you never know. More years I'm around, the more Americans and immigrants flock to these previously wild parts—the weirder things seemed to get.

  "You sure this is the way, Agatha?" I asked, more as a way to gauge her level of self-possession.

  Naturally, those words brought a swell of Shar's displeasure to me.

  Imagine having an itch on your bones, impossible to reach but you’d still scratch off all your skin trying.

  That's basically it—what it feels like when Shar's angry. I’d sensed it all across the searing star burned into my chest. Problem is, I also tended to feel it when when something Hellish was about. Makes it damn difficult to decipher one from another. On the one hand, Shar's pretty much always pissed at me. On the other, there's often demons and the like lurking around.

  Robbed of nearly all feeling, a burning on my chest was the one Heaven saw fit to leave me with. Not the touch of Agatha’s hand. Or the kiss of a cool breeze. No.

  So, in my humble opinion, Shar and her masters could wait a goddamn second.

  Agatha reached the crest of a ridge before turning to wave me on. No words, just the beckoning. I picked up my pace, but I kept my wherewithal, checking the shadowy places before, finally, tugging on her back collar. She didn't stop. Didn't react. So, I moved ahead of her and stuck out my arm.

  "Sorry, miss, but I'm thinking I should go first." She stared at me blankly, but she stopped this time. "And no, it ain't ’cause I think you can't handle yourself. But only one of us is armed."

  I gave my holsters an audible tap. It was as much to remind her I was packing than to ease any of her fears. Something wasn't right, and I still wasn't sure she wasn't luring me right into the waiting arms of some bandits. Ace Ryker and my Scuttlers were never above or afraid of using damsels to trap wannabe heroes after all.

  Agatha simply kept staring. Finally, a fly landed on her cheek to sip the salt of her tears. I thought for sure it would stir her to action, but nothing. Didn't even swat it away. Maybe she was being sincere, after all.

  Poor girl. In total shock. As if no parent or teacher had ever thought to warn her what happens when you go off adventuring into the wilderness with some boy.

  No matter. No use in looking back. Too late for could-haves. So, I went forward, her following close behind.

  I scampered down an incline littered with sharp rocks and brambles. My foot twisted on one, and I grabbed a thorny vine to slow my descent. It kept me from sliding off into a ravine, but those suckers filled the fingers of my glove, and, for a rare occasion, I was thankful to feel nothing.

  Once steady, I turned to lend her a hand, knowing that if my boots and gloves were so susceptible, she'd be in dire straits. Except, Agatha didn't seem to have any trouble at all. I suspected she'd just been this way before and knew what to expect.

  I skirted along a thin ledge, a narrow stream gurgling below. Again, the canine howled, and I searched the ridge across the way.

  Then it hit me. Not a wolf or a coyote. A recent dustup with werewolves back in Dead Acre must've had me on edge, hearing things that weren't. That howl belonged to a train whistle—a couple of miles out, by the sound of it.

  "There's a fall right where the tracks cross," Agatha said. She'd been silent so long, I nearly slipped from the jolt of it. "Lyle said it was 'his spot.' Loved listening to the water."

  "Don't they all.” I chuckled mirthlessly. All these decades later, young men were still up to the same tricks. "How far down?"

  "Can't miss it."

  "That ain't why I ask. You hear that?" I closed my eyes and took a whiff of the brisk evening air. The water. The wind. Dead branches rustling.

  "Nothing," I answered for her, taking her lack of response as understanding my meaning. "If something got him. Well…"

  "Oh, please, don't say that!"

  Agatha started crying anew and very nearly hurled herself at me. I was lucky to catch her before we both found ourselves tumbling down the steep slope to what was sure to be her death and my inconvenience. I could still break bones, though they tended to not stay broke long. Gets tiresome, snapping the pieces inside my flesh suit back into place and waiting to heal, but all-in-all, it beats death.

  "Careful, now, miss," I said.

  "I'm sorry." She sunk back, wiping her eyes and smearing dirt. "I just… I don't—I can't think it. That Lyle… We're going to be married, him and me. He said so."

  It took ample effort to hold back a grin. Oh, to be young and na?ve again.

  "Just try and be careful," I said. "The pass narrows up along here—"

  A groan echoed, soft and reeking of pain and fear. The sound of a man in trouble.

  "Stay here!" I ordered.

  Within a step, I had both my pistols out, hammers pulled back. When you ain't afraid of dying, moving along ledges like these is a cinch. So much error in balancing is caused by fear. Without Agatha as a concern, I barely thought about it, and I was on the other side in moments.

  Another groan. I skipped an incline, leaping down and holding my Stetson atop my head with the barrel of my pistol—another thing I wouldn't suggest to those fearful of a bullet to the brain. I touched down on the landing of a small cave halfway down. The ravine ran to my left. Above, train tracks crossed a short bridge. I had trouble believing it could support the weight of a locomotive, but I've been wrong before.

  And wouldn't you know, just like Agatha had said, on the other side of the pass was a thin waterfall feeding the stream.

  As I gained my bearings, Shar's judgment stung at me worse yet.

  "Oh, quiet, you," I told her aloud, knowing somehow, some way, she was listening.

  I whipped around with my pistols raised and edged slowly into the cave's open maw. A kerosene lamp burned nearby, running low and barely casting more than a hazy orange glow.

  That whimper came louder now from within the darkness.

  "You Lyle?" I asked the night.

  I got no immediate reply, so I asked again.

  The agony he was in became evident with his next moan.

  "Hold on," I said, pushing in deeper, following the sound of his voice. "Keep making noise so I can find you."

  He listened, but the shape of the cavern made it hard to tell where his voice was coming from, sending echoes every-which-way. I carefully made my way to the lamp first and lifted it. When my pupils adjusted, the first thing I saw was blood. So much blood, fresh as a baby's breath.

  Amidst it all lay a pathetic-looking man, hunched up against the wall. His flesh was sallow and his cheeks gaunt. Through the tears in his shirt, his ribs bulged like the ebony keys on a piano. He looked completely starved.

  He'd clearly been here a while. Longer than a while. This man was on sitting on death's doorstep, and something was purposefully keeping him alive. His right leg was a stump above the kneecap, wrapped with rags to stem the bleeding. Was that to keep him from running?

  "Christ in a handbasket,” I whispered

  I hurried to his side and knelt there. Despite his pained groans, he didn't seem panicked. Just like Agatha, he seemed to be in a state of shock. Then his head swiveled slowly, and he affected a thin smile.

  Blood all around us, missing limbs, and darkness… that smile was more terrifying than any of it.

  "You made it," he said, teeth coated in blood.

  He reached out to touch my cheek, fingers so frail that the skin seemed pointless. I grasped his wrist.

  "Who did this to you?"

  "We're going to be married, Agatha and me,” he said. “Didn't you hear?"

  "Yeah, I heard.”

  Talking to him wouldn't get me anywhere. Starvation clearly had him hallucinating. Awful thing to say, but he'd be better off dead. Even considered delivering the blow myself.

  The strangest part was that the rest of the cavern appeared to be vacant. All this blood, it couldn't have come from only him. His leg was gone. No bones. No weapons. No chest of belongings if some manner of bandit holed up here.

  "Isn't it pretty here?" My gaze snapped up to spot Agatha by the mouth of the cavern, walking slowly my way.

  I raised both pistols at her.

  "Have you lost your ever-loving mind, Missy?" I pointed one of my Peacemakers Lyle's way and said, "You said he was in danger."

  If she heard me at all, she ignored.

  "Our parents said we couldn't be together." Agatha’s voice was barely above a whisper. "We were going to be married… here. In secret."

  "Our secret," Lyle added from behind me.

  I eyed her warily as she closed the distance between us. Was that menace in her eyes? Was she not what she appeared?

  "They say if you listen closely to the water, it's like God's playing a song just for you." She closed her eyes and hummed and short, sweet melody.

  "There ain't no God here," I said, ready to blow a couple holes through her if I needed to. Looking back at Lyle, I yelled, "What the hell did you do!"

  Agatha continued humming, and that same melody grew louder from elsewhere, picked up by what sounded like a harmonica. Now, I can't feel much outside Shar’s nagging, but those notes, they resonated with me, down deep into my bones. I found myself unable to move, halfway between crouching and standing. Mesmerized.

  The train whistle sounded again, temporarily drawing my attention upward but just as quickly, I felt entranced again.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Behind Agatha, a shadow unfurled from within the crisscrossing beams of the railroad bridge. I witnessed the curved horns atop its head first, big as wagon wheels. Long, sharp claws scraped along the wood before the creature dropped, landing on two cloven hooves. Moonlight illuminated a face that was half-man-half-beast. At least what I could see of it through the tussles of my straggly hair.

  Gun to my head, I'd call it a giant goat-man, but that'd be a disservice to most goats. And this thing… intimidating wasn't even the word. A mortal man would likely have soiled himself then and there from the horror.

  Situations like this are why I keep my weapons loaded with silver bullets. They put men down fine enough, and that particular metal has a nasty effect on creatures not meant for this world.

  I once heard a rumor it was because Judas Iscariot took silver in exchange for the betrayal of his Lord. Don't know if it's true, don't even really care. Like I said, I'm happy to follow the lead rather than take it. Do my job, keep my head down. Right now, that meant blowing holes in Billy Goat Gruff.

  Only problem was, presently, despite my best efforts, I couldn't pull the triggers.

  The ugly beast had a harmonica made of what looked like bone pressed to its lips and played music sweet as an angel's harp. Like my hands, the rest of me was seized up. All I could do was stare as it clomped closer.

  With it so near, I could see now that it bore even less a likeness to a goat than I'd originally thought. In the center of its face, it had a single eye as big as my whole damn head. It shone like moonlight, bright yellow, a dark slit for a pupil.

  "What are you?" Lyle asked me.

  My eyes shifted enough to see Lyle still on his rump. Wasn't like he was going anywhere with only one leg. Except, now, he eyed me in a way similar to the beast. Like he wanted to eat me.

  "Many humans have come here to die. To feed me their fear. Their souls. The essence of their lives."

  It was evident now that he was speaking in the creature's stead. Even his voice had dropped an octave or two. The beast was using Lyle and his would-be fiancé like mouthpieces while his own played that incessant tune. If I hadn't already hated the screeching instrument, I did now.

  "You are afraid, even if you tell yourself you aren't," Agatha said. Her voice, like Lyle's, had gained a cavernous quality.

  I found myself unable to respond, as if my lips were sewn together by some eldritch force. In a few long strides, the creature was upon me. But then, it stopped. That big ass eye looked me over, up and down. The creature knelt, studying me. I could feel it in my head, scratching around.

  My chest itched something fierce, too, and it wasn’t just Shar’s ire.

  This was a Nephilim—the result of the heinous act of Lucifer's Fallen sticking their vile little peckers where they don't belong. In this case, thousands of years ago, that meant the Early Children, as Shar likes to call them—human women. I can't imagine the scene at those births. Though, they don’t all come out looking as bad as this goat beast.

  In fact, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to what those foul fornications created, or what their creations then conjured. Everything from vampires to fairies and every wretched thing in between.

  All I know is they keep me busy. Job security. As long as Nephilim remain on Earth, it keeps me out of Hell a bit longer, even if demons like Chekokath decide to stop causing grief.

  What precise kind this one was, I wasn't sure, but it one was one of the lesser Nephilim. Thankfully. The more sophisticated ones usually closer resemble humans, able to blend in. But that don’t make these more monstrous, brutish types any less worthy of fear.

  Fear can be like drowning in ice water. You just suck down a little bit, and it fills your lungs, ever-expanding until you can't take it anymore. Even if you’re dead like me.

  Before I’d kicked the bucket, I couldn't spell faith. But once you come to terms with being brought back to life, you got no choice but to have a little.

  I finally forced my mouth to form words, and with great effort, began reciting one of the few things I recalled from studying under Father Osgood as a kid growing up in Granger's Outlook.

  "And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul—"

  "You have a body," Lyle cut me off in the voice of the lesser Nephilim, "though no life runs within." The beast cocked its head at me like a curious hound while Lyle spoke. "Where is your soul? You are empty."

  With its free hand, the beast lowered my arms. It spread its fingers across my entire torso as if tracing the points of my star-shaped brand. Long, sharp nails raked across my chest. It drew gashes but no blood—just a sort of flaky dead flesh.

  It circled me, and a sickly greenish hand curled over my shoulder and crawled up my neck.

  "Where is your soul?" Agatha said, repeating her lover's words.

  Soul is never a word you want to hear from a Hellish being. They feed on souls, and this one… well, it seemed to have developed a liking for playing with its food. Hard to believe somewhere down the line, this thing had human ancestors. Or at least one.

  Or maybe it ain't. Whatever anything from Hell is capable of, men have done just as bad or worse. Only difference is men are born weaker.

  Nephilim have all sorts of twisted, unique abilities, and apparently this one’s songs could send a body into a trance, hypnotized, allowing it to control another's actions with a combination of melody and thought.

  Controlling others… Hands of God may all have differing opinions, but there was no unholy power that unsettled me more than that one.

  Currently, my thoughts and my sight remained my own, likely because of Heaven's hold on me, but otherwise, I was its puppet as long as it played. Most times, monsters like this one lurk in the darkness—the stuff of legend. Sometimes, they cause too much a ruckus, and then the White Throne dispatches me. Why wait?

  Looking at Lyle and Agatha, my heart hurt. I thought about Shar and why she'd told me to stay on the path and not veer. Why were these two not worth the trouble, yet a couple of supernatural bank robbers were? Why were the countless others this vile beast made victims any less important than some stolen money?

  "You are unable to die, yet stuck here to live," Lyle began, and then Agatha joined him to simultaneously say, "Like me."

  "I'm nothing… like you…." I strained to respond.

  "My minions did well to lure you here," Lyle said as the beast encircled me. "But they are so feeble. Disposable." The beast extended one of its razor-sharp talons to Lyle's chin and slowly dug in. The thing tore through the soft flesh of the man's throat and peeked out through his open lips. The poor man kept talking like it didn’t affect him. "Vessels for blood."

  "You stop that, now!" I warned. "Let him be."

  It was strange. Without true feeling in my limbs anymore, I moved mostly out of habit. Muscle memory. But without control, it was like I was floating in the ether, formless. All I could hear over the hypnotic music was the soft rattle of my guns in my shaking hands, struggling against the Nephilim's influence.

  "But you. You are… strong. You’ll make a fine prize for the Fallen Ones," Agatha said. "Perhaps then, they’ll see I’m worthy of standing at their side.”

  One of my pistols slipped from my grip. I didn't want it to, and yet there it went, clattering to the stone with all that deadly silver in the chamber. A chord played, and I took a step, then another, and another still, toward the young woman. I couldn't fight it.

  "Lyle and I, we're going to be married," Agatha said.

  "You'll be together soon enough." My lips and tongue moved to speak those words even though it wasn't what I was thinking. The beast had my mouth now. Next thing I knew, the one pistol I still held dropped, and my hands extended toward Agatha. My eyes were frozen facing hers, but in my peripherals, I noticed the beast still shuffling around me.

  "That's all I've ever wanted," Agatha said.

  Against my will, I clutched Agatha's throat and found myself squeezing. Her aloof expression turned to horror as the goat creature seemed to release her from its mind-control and let her express her true feelings as she saw the man she'd sought to save her crushing her windpipe.

  She couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.

  God, do I hate it when Shar is right. What’s the worst place for a Black Badge to be? Falling prey to a Nephilim that can somehow wrestle dominion away from the White Throne and use me as it pleases.

  "No!" Lyle screamed, bloodcurdling and full of rage.

  The melody modulated keys, and my body spun, dragging Agatha with me. Now I was facing Lyle, who crawled along the floor of his own volition, free of hypnosis now too, it seemed, digging his nails into rock, desperate to move faster. Blood poured from the wound in his throat while the Nephilim pinned him by the shirt with the tip of a hoof so he could only watch.

  "I feel their fear," the beast spoke through me this time and I didn't like it. "I am their fear."

  Agatha's trembling lips went purple. Veins bulged along her neck and around her temples. My full weight folded her flat onto her back. I had a fleeting reminder of the way my old boss Ace Ryker thought he could treat all women before I turned on him. I tried to use that memory as fuel to force me to relinquish the hold I had on her, but it was useless as teats on a bull. The beast’s effect was too strong on me.

  As Agatha went over, kicking and clawing and screaming, a necklace tumbled out from the neckline of her dress. A golden locket that I guessed Lyle had purchased for her back when he'd professed his love. Probably the most exquisite item she owned. The thing was so polished, it may as well have been a mirror.

  "Snap out of it, you fool!" Shar bellowed, a shade within the reflection. Her voice struck me like a thunderclap, and her presence momentarily broke the trance. I found myself in control again.

  Thank Heaven for young love and its obsessive need to prove itself with gifts and trinkets.

  Agatha gasped for air as my hands unclenched, and before the beast could react, I dove into a roll and retrieved my fallen pistols.

  I didn't turn to fire at it. I knew I wouldn't have long unless I somehow landed a kill shot. Instead, I shot two rounds straight at the ceiling, keeping the guns as close as I could to my ears without accidentally burning them off.

  The ringing made me deaf to everything else. Dizzy too. My eardrums would heal like every part of me tends to, but without that particular sense, the Nephilim couldn't control me.

  I staggered to my feet where one of its massive, clawed hands swatted me aside. Once again, I lost possession of my damn pistols while I rolled into the wall.

  Pawing for the rifle on my back, I flipped to my side to find that the beast had a screaming Lyle by the waist. How that man was still living, I did not know. The beast’s jaw unhinged, ready to engulf the man in a single bite and leave no trace that he'd ever existed.

  I fired, clipping the beast on one of its horns and blowing half of it off in a flash of white-hot smoke. It unleashed a primal roar so shrill it shook rock from the ceiling. A second shot took it in its shoulder, causing it to drop Lyle and stumble back.

  Hands free, it raised its instrument again and frantically began to play. What looked like smoldering steam rose from where the silver bullet was still lodged beneath its skin, but it didn't seem to care much. I’ve been shot by silver and it hurts like a son of a bitch. This thing was no weak Neph.

  My third shot went wide when Agatha grabbed hold of my rifle.

  "Let me go!" she shrieked, and I knew she wasn't talking to me. I would've apologized if there'd been time, but instead, I pushed back and jabbed her in the chin with the middle of the barrel.

  I didn't intend to hurt her, or did I?

  That's when I realized the ringing in my ears had stopped, and my aim was swaying toward her like I was about to tear her open. The injured Nephilim was regaining control. I screamed at the top of my lungs before it could, and the echoing of my voice drowned out its music. Swing my rifle back, I put another bullet straight through the bastard's chest.

  A werewolf… that would have put it down, but even as the silver sizzled through the beast’s fur and flesh, and swirling light filtered out, it only seemed to get madder.

  It charged, scooped up Lyle's body, and flung him. I tackled Agatha out of the way as his body soared over us before shattering against rock and landing in a heap.

  She threw herself onto him and pawed at his chest. But I'd heard the crunch of bones. He was dead. Put out of his misery, I reckon, before having to live in this harsh world with such injuries—though Agatha wouldn't see it that way.

  The only good part about it was that her wailing further reduced the beast’s song to background noise. I sprinted toward the cave's exit, firing my rifle one-handed behind me, putting round after round into the Neph until it clicked empty. A thing that size, I made sure to spread the damage around, chest, arms, and legs. Anything to slow it down.

  The onslaught made it attack versus trying to entrance me any further. I dipped under the swipe of a claw, tossed my rifle, and went to draw my silver-coated hunting knife from its slot in my boot.

  The monster was fast. Damn fast. One of its hooves kicked back and caught me in the chest, sending me flying out of the cave. When I landed, I slid, rolling over the edge of the ravine. I managed to catch myself on a protruding root. The force of it probably jerked my shoulder out of its socket, not that I’d felt it.

  Made it difficult to pull myself up, though.

  Patting the back of my belt with my free hand, I unhooked my lasso just as the beast grabbed my right arm. Its strength was obscene, raising me before its monstrous face as if I were a plaything. This was the view so many poor mortals had likely called their last before it had devoured them soul and all.

  Its eye wasn't just yellow up this close. It was roiling like a portal to the planes of Hell itself. Felt I could give a wave and old Lucifer would wink back. I braced for its attack. Only, the beast didn't unhinge its jaw.

  No, instead, it lifted its instrument with the other hand.

  "You're mine!" Its black, leather-like lips didn't move, yet the words rattled around in my brain, projected within my own thoughts.

  At the same time, the train whistled again, louder this time. The bridge over the crossing juddered violently.

  I looked straight into that big yellow eye and said, "Sorry, friend. I'm already taken."

  Then I whipped my lasso out and snagged it around its massive, intact horn. Thing about the ordinary-looking strand of onyx-black rope was that it was blessed by the angels themselves. Given to me after I was revived—one of the perks of being a Black Badge, I reckon.

  The moment it ensnares a being not meant for this realm, the weight of Heaven's judgment falls upon its victim like a hammer should they deserve it. Wish it worked on normal men, but as Shar always says, it’s never too late for the “Children to repent of their sins.”

  Good for them.

  As expected, a shaft of searing bright light descended like a pillar of fire from the clouds. The Nephilim froze, giving it a taste of losing its functions like it'd inflicted on so many others.

  Its mental grip on me loosened. I leaped onto a strut supporting the bridge. Though it shook from the rumbling of the train above, I held fast, climbed upward, pulling myself onto the tracks with the grip of my lasso still in hand. To my right, the train barreled toward me. The conductor was surely aware of me now, ringing that whistle as loud as could be. The beast roared even louder.

  Now, I'm not exactly sure what would happen to me if I was pulverized by a steam engine at full speed; if my body would reform or be left a pulp of blood and mashed bones. Would I be forced to live on as sludge stuck to wheels and gears?

  I had no plans to find out.

  I waited until the last possible second and jumped off the other side of the bridge. The Neph was tall, so I didn't need it to go far, but the momentum of my jump hoisted it up across the bridge. I dropped to the rocky landing hard enough to tear the soles of my boots. My rope came spiraling down, followed by the thud of the monster's head at the end of it, tongue hanging out of a slack jaw.

  I could hear nothing over the racket of the train zipping overhead, but I turned and saw the beast's body sliding off onto the other side of the landing, innards cascading out of it like chunky rabbit stew. I thought about all the people that might be represented by that goo and nearly spewed.

  It didn't last long. Its body began to disintegrate into blackish dust, fading away to bits. Banished to Hell, whatever was left of it. Motes of light danced around my lasso, and the Nephilim’s head followed until it vanished in a wisp of darkness and light.

  "Back where you belong," I muttered, knowing full well that now I was talking tough at a thing no longer even in front of me. But I only mustered the will to speak just then, when all that was left of it was imprints in the ground. That, and its bone harmonica.

  After I finished recoiling my lasso, I knelt to retrieve the instrument. It seemed like nothing special. I brought it to my lips and gave playing a note a try, andcrushing bleakness overwhelmed me like a wave. It was like I could sense all the dead parts of me.

  I jerked back, then exhaled slowly before I found resolve. The thing was clearly still tainted by the dark magic of a Nephilim. So, I stuffed it in my belt satchel for safekeeping. Better with me than in the wrong hands, plus, supernaturally enchanted items are rare in this world. I couldn’t stomach getting rid of it just yet.

  The sense of dread eroded fast after it was away. Out of sight, out of mind, I reckon.

  A part of me wanted to play it again. Unpleasant as it was, at least it was something new to feel.

  But hearing Agatha's cries as the train distanced snapped me out of feeling sorry for myself. Nothing ever gets you used to the sound of pure, gut-wrenching grief. Even if I'm around for another two hundred years, which I suppose I might be, it'll still cut to my core.

  "Yeah, yeah, I know, Shar," I said, knowing my guardian angel was shaking her head in disappointment. "But I can't just leave her there."

  I snapped my shoulder back into its socket on a crossbeam, rolled out my neck, then strode back toward the cave.

  Shar could hold her horses. Besides, I needed my guns.