“Alright, you animal.”

  Calvin panted, psyching himself up with self-degradation. He was sopping with sweat, in front of the post which they had padded with heavy linens to practice boxing. The post was malformed from months of the boys hits, a dark spot having formed at the point of repeated impact. By the late afternoon, it was red with Calvin’s blood.

  “Alright, you monkey.”

  Calvin continued to punch the post. Heavy thunks resounded trough the mountain peak as he relentlessly struck it again. His knuckles were red, blood seeping from the little tears in his skin. He ignored the bleeding and embraced the pain, letting it fuel the bubbling cauldron of emotions in his gut. He tried to control his emotions, as he was told the Six-Guns had to do, by packaging them all up and sealing them below. He wanted to pack his frustration into a box and keep it under lock and key, but he was instead packing it into his punches. It was clear to him that he wasn’t doing such a good job controlling his feelings.

  “Suck it up…” He muttered through heavy breaths, striking the post again and again.

  He thought of Elise; wonderful, beautiful Elise. Her smile was sunshine, her hair was gold, and her magic was amazing. He wanted to lay down with her on the bank of the creek forever, just enjoying her voice. She was everything he wanted, everything he needed. She had single-handedly restored his admiration for the witches and reinforced his feelings of inadequacy towards them.

  “Suck it up…” His hands began to go numb, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flaring and pleading for a break.

  He thought of John, who was accompanying Elise to the Dance. He wondered if the Calhoun could fully appreciate the lady he would have in his arms. He wondered if John would like her dress, or have a good conversation with her. It seemed to him that John might find the whole thing to be a drag. Calvin wondered why she would ask him anyway. She didn’t have to bring her partner Gun, she could have asked him. Calvin knew he would have taken her and enjoyed the entire night. He wondered if John would like the Dance for even one minute.

  “Suck it up!” Calvin shouted. He loaded Resolve into his knuckles, feeling the energy travel through the pathways in his arm to his hand. He struck the post with incredible force, breaking it free from the dirt. It flew back and fell over, kicking dirt up.

  He panted there, the pain in his hand now evident. Increased force did not equal increased durability. His hand was bruised and battered, the skin split open. He looked at it for a moment.

  “Suck it up.” He told himself, his breathing becoming steadier. “I can do that, I can suck it up some more.”

  Logan watched this with Crickett from their spot at the camp. Taking a long draw from his cigar, Logan felt a pang of grief in his heart for the boy. He had come to feel for Calvin, want the best for him. It hurt Logan to see him this way.

  “That’s emotional dysregulation.” Crickett sighed, “Not good for a sorcerer-gunslinger. He’s hindering himself.”

  “I know. But it was good form.” Logan shot him a side eye.

  The old sage shook his head, freeing a few beetles from his long beard. “Yes, but with tunnel vision. He didn’t strike to inflict force. He struck to strike. This is the death of many youngins.”

  Logan stood up with a deep sigh. He slowly trot over to the panting young Gun, letting the dirt and rocks crunch under his boots.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “You broke my post.”

  “I can suck it up, Logan.” He breathed heavily, “Right?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think this is one of those ‘suck it up’ moments…” Logan scratched his stubble, “I think you’re having more of a ‘I’m not ok’ type moment.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of alchemical chewing gum, offering it to Calvin.

  Cal took it and unwrapped it, recoiling at the color. “Raspberry?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Calvin reluctantly popped it into his mouth and started to chew, letting the substances within work on restoring his muscle fibers.

  “Listen kid.” Logan tossed the butt of his cigar onto the ground and stomped it out, “You’re blue about the Dance, I get it. I know the witches won’t touch your privates, but what about a pretty Plaidshirt. They’re not nothing, ya know?”

  Cal grimaced. “I don’t want anyone touching my privates.”

  Logan laughed, “That’s a lie, you’re sixteen. But I was just being crass. What I mean is, there’s probably a lonely Plaidshirt girl in the Sanctuary right now staring at dresses in the window all sad like cause nobody asked her to go. Why don’t you go find her?”

  “Because…” Calvin rubbed his temple, trying to exorcise a headache.

  “Cause what? They’re not floaty little princesses who cast hexes?”

  “Cause they’re not Elise!” Calvin shook his head.

  Logan raised his eyebrows, taken by surprise. He hadn’t realized that Calvin had developed feelings for the uppity witch. Logan wondered how any man could actually like a woman like her, for only a moment. He promptly remembered he was talking about teenage boys. Elise possessed the appropriate hardware, so it didn’t matter how she treated them. Logan understood this.

  “Oh, ok…” He blinked, trying to regain himself, “So, uh, you like Elise.”

  Calvin just looked at him. He wondered if he should have spoken the words out loud. He could see Logan was having a hard time with the idea.

  “Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it, man.” Calvin threw up his hands and turned away.

  “Yeah, ok.” The Bootknife rubbed his neck nervously, “I don’t really know how to help you with that one, Calvin. That’s another Gun’s partner witch. I’m sure this kind of thing has happened before without there being a problem.”

  “I said forget it!” Calvin barked, face flushing with embarrassment. He turned away, leaning against another of the linen-wrapped posts.

  Logan rolled his eyes. “So what are you just gonna get angry about this whole thing and hurt yourself?”

  Calvin grimaced. He felt very accurately pegged. He did not reply.

  “Look,” Logan sighed, “I get you like a girl. But you’re a man now. Men don’t just let things happen, they DO something. You could sit here and accept she is with John, be sad about it, and move on. Or, you could march up there, snag some decent clothes, and meet her at the dance ready to tell her how you feel. It all depends on you.”

  Calvin’s eyes bugged as he processed the options. He hadn’t thought to go to the dance and sweep Elise up. His head turned slowly. The mountain breeze tousled his hair a bit as he looked to Logan. His face was cast in a bright demeanor once again.

  “You really think I should do that?”

  “I don’t think you should do whatever this is.” Logan grumbled.

  “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?” green eyes pleaded to the Bootknife, “What if she says she doesn’t want me?”

  For the first time since they had met, Logan looked visibly uncomfortable to Calvin. He could tell the Bootknife had no answer for him. Cal felt he had reached the limit of Logan’s fatherly advice.

  The young Baird rolled his shoulder, gathering his composure. “Alright, I’m going down to the Sanctuary. Thanks a lot, teach.”

  Logan watched him pick up his bag and start off for the horses. He sighed, wiping his brow. The wind took Calvin away, leaving only Logan and Crickett on the mountain. After a moment of silence the Bootknife returned to his seat.

  “You really care about that kid.” The old sage smiled, “That’s unlike you.”

  “I care about all of them.” Logan kept his eyes on the smoldering firepit, where his coffee was brewing.

  Crickett reached out a hand and pat his shoulder. “I like this new version of you, Logan. Patty would too.”

  “Yeah.” Logan let out a long breath. He scratched his stubble, thinking of the woman he had loved.

  Logan flipped through memories of her in his mind like the pages of a book. It told him a story of a time when he was happy, when he was loved, before that horrible day in St. Louis. At times he wrote alternate endings to the story, where the traitors hadn’t sprung their trap. Benoit wouldn’t have shot him. The Southpaw would not have had to show up. The slaughter would never have taken place. There would be peace, not just for the Posse, but for Patty and Logan. Whenever he indulged in these daydreams, he always wondered what kind of man he would be in that scenario. He believed he was starting to act a little bit like that Logan Denton would act.

  “I bet she would.”