Revelation Springs was mostly put back together after our last encounter. Buildings patched up where they could be, knocked down where they couldn’t. It’s no simple task to erase a great big gash in the earth.

  “Come see where a Yeti split Revelation in half!” the criers would call out. Of course, they’d invent some other story behind the cause of it since only I knew the grim truth. But since when did those who write the news care to be honest anyway?

  The carnival grounds were barren, and I suspected it’d be some time before anyone showed up here for one of those again. All the debris had been cleared away and the comely church towering over sat proud and inviting as any. One day, things would even out. Time had a way of it once all the bullet holes were filled, and dead bodies buried.

  In fact, the only place that didn’t appear to have been repaired at all was the old Dufaux Estate on its hill just outside of town. Ruins remained within its lonely walls, a charred husk of a once pristine mansion. A vestige of its former glory. And a stark reminder that the ruthless baron who’d lorded over the town was disgraced and exiled. It looked more haunted than anything, with some bit of shelter left amidst its collapsed walls and cellar.

  A perfect place for a bunch of shapeshifting hounds to hide out and gather supplies. Either they’d look like strays to passersby, or worst-case, outcasts from the Indian ghetto Dufaux had built up to work the quarry. They’d be so invisible, they might as well be ghosts.

  “You want to hide them there?” Rosa asked, no doubt noticing my fixation.

  “Sure do,” I said. “At least let the old bastard do some good.”

  “And us?”

  “Picklefinger will put us up and not say a word. We’ll stay there ’til the next train, then hitch a ride out of this hell hole.”

  She looked to be pondering the idea. “To where?”

  I shrugged. Truth was, it didn’t matter. Distance was our ally now.

  Rosa shook her head, her words saying the opposite. “I trust you.”

  * * *

  We rode into Revelation under the cover of night. Darkness in a town like this lends itself to obscurity in more ways than one. Besides the obvious, folks would be so hammered out of their gourds, they wouldn’t even stop to wonder at the sight of strangers—even some who looked like us. Plus, we snagged a few cloth covers from the closing markets on the way in to throw over our heads and shoulders, making us look like a couple of stragglers rolling into town after the storm.

  Got one for Mutt too, who walked upright alongside us. Couldn’t very well have him traipsing around town with his pecker flapping in the wind. Mukwooru and the rest had skirted the town, and were now waiting at the desecrated mansion.

  As expected, and desired, nobody paid us much heed. A lot of law enforcement were killed last time I was here, so my guessing was they didn’t have the numbers to fret over a few visitors. And judging by the man who got tossed through the window of a saloon as we went by, probably not much room to police anything.

  “Déjà vu,” I said, remembering having been tossed through glass not long ago, only to then be thrown into lock-up and be jailbroken by Rosa.

  “Wait here with Timp,” I told Mutt as we stopped outside Picklefinger’s place. It’d taken the brunt of the damage when Ace instigated a shootout in the town square. Unlike most places, Picklefinger had apparently chosen to leave all the bullet holes on the facade intact. They were almost decorative.

  The porch was crammed with whores whistling at anyone who would listen. One with fire-red hair that danced around her shoulders like a shy lover came at me. Her face was powdered white, lips painted yellow, and her voice was laced with sex.

  She got exactly one word out, and I think the glare Rosa threw at her might’ve stolen the breath right out of her corset-constricted lungs. Ever the gentleman, I repaid the favor when a drunk puking over the railing muttered something coarse at Rosa.

  Otherwise, we kept our heads down on the way through Picklefinger’s batwing doors. Inside, the usual carousing was well in swing. Some ruffians played five-finger fillet at a table in the corner, causing me to look down at my hand. Though it was reattaching itself nicely to my arm, it was a reminder of when I’d lost a finger here.

  More threw darts in the opposite corner, and all manner of sinning went on in between. I strode right up to the bar while Picklefinger poured out a couple of drinks and waited quietly until he noticed me.

  Joshua “Picklefinger” Hayes’ frostbitten finger tap-tap-tapped on a glass, an uncontrollable twitch he’d had as long as I’d known him. He’d shaved his head since we’d last spoken, no doubt tiring of the crown of red that surrounded a hairless pate. Lost some weight too.

  He turned toward me, and his bushy red beard lifted at the corners from a truly genuine smile. “Well, feck me sideways, it’s Crow—”

  I brought a finger to my lips to hush him. His brow knitted.

  “We’re trying to lay low,” I whispered.

  He picked up an empty glass and started cleaning it with a rag. “Bringing trouble again, are ya?”

  “Always,” I joked. “Got some bad types after us. You remember Rosa?”

  “Aye, of course. How could I forget such a beauty.” He took her hand to help her close to the crowded bar, then kissed the top of it. “Sazerac’s your drink, aye?”

  “How charming. You remember,” Rosa said, blushing.

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  “That’s the job,” he said, but I knew better. There wasn’t a pretty lady who ever crossed these doors whose drink Picklefinger hadn’t memorized with intent.

  I leaned into Rosa’s ear and whispered, “One to steel your nerves, that’s it. We have to be ready for anything.”

  “You’re no fun.” She looked as disappointed as she sounded, but nodded.

  When Picklefinger returned with her drink, I leaned closer to him as well. “I need a favor, Joshua.”

  “Uh-oh, using my Christian name. It must be bad.”

  “I need you to clear this place out and cover any mirrors you got down here. And we need a room, mirrors covered in there too.” With Judas’ cross, I was as invisible to them as vampires, but Rosa wasn’t. Hadn’t been a problem in the Garden, but my people are awfully fond of admiring themselves.

  His cheery demeanor faded. “A lot of money you’d be shooing out my doors.”

  “That’s not all. I need extra clothes, food, and water sent to the old Dufaux place. Got some friends hiding out there in need of a fresh start. You can send it with my compatriot waiting outside.”

  Picklefinger’s face grew stern. “This here’s a tavern, Crowley. Not a store. And definitely not a charity house.”

  I flashed him a look. One thing those close to Picklefinger learn is that he takes care of his own. A lot of folk from his homeland across the sea come out here seeking a life, and he cares for them if he can—room and board, whether it’s one man or a whole Irish family. Does his best to get them work until they get things sorted.

  I’d passed through so often over the years, we’d come to know each other, even became friendly.

  One such traveler under his watch turned out not to be as… human as others. A disguised Nephilim with a taste for human flesh who thought he’d found a ripe bunch nobody would miss. Picklefinger thought the fellow vanished after I intervened. I never told him I’d put a bullet through the monster’s heart, but such is life.

  In the end, I knew that—more than anything—deep down, Picklefinger was a decent man.

  “Say I could help,” Picklefinger said. “Business is just picking up again in these parts after everything. Money’s tight.”

  “I’m good for it, you know that,” I offered.

  “Please, Joshua, was it?” Rosa interjected, taking his hand and batting her eyelashes. “They’re refugees. Good people. Just… lost.”

  He looked into her pretty green eyes, then sighed. “How many are there?”

  “Honestly, I didn’t count,” I said. “I’ll just say more than usual.”

  “You’re putting me in a tough place, Crowley.” He said it, but Rosa was still working him with her feminine wiles.

  I leaned in on my elbows, hiding my less-than-presentable hand under my armpit. “Last favor I’ll ever ask of you, friend. I know times might be tight, but no doubt there’s more to go around with Dufaux out of the picture. I wonder who’s responsible for that?”

  Picklefinger chortled. “You always were a wolf in a sheep’s frock. Fine, I’ll help you under one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “You stay the feck out of Revelation after this. You done good by us with Dufaux and all, and I know your heart’s in the right place, but bad happenings cling to you like a shadow. I think it’s time you move on.”

  I chewed on my lip. Sometimes the truth is hard to hear, and it seemed everything Wendigo had claimed about me was ruminating in the minds of others. Was it the nature of being a Black Badge, or was it me?

  “I’m thinking the same thing,” I said to him.

  He nodded at me, then kissed Rosa’s hand again. “You, my dear, are welcome back any time.”

  She smiled. “As much as I appreciate that, I’ll stick with James.”

  “James, huh?” He looked back and forth between us like he was appraising two steers at an auction. Half in awe, half wondering at the price of such an arrangement. “I suppose some ladies like the company of ruffians who stink to high heavens. Goddamn. Everything else will cost you. Baths are on me.”

  We shook hands—no kiss for me—and that was that. Next thing I knew, he’d pulled his shotgun out from behind the bar and cocked it.

  “Alright, everybody out!” he shouted. “I got business.”

  None of the inebriated patrons were eager to leave, so he fired and blew a chunk through the floor. “I ain’t asking! Get the feck out!”

  That got people moving. Some of the rough types lingered like they hadn’t heard him, but a second shot got the point across. It helped to be a fixture of the community. In a lot of places, you try and shut down a good time, you’re bound to take a licking. Picklefinger only had to endure some angry cussing before folks filtered out.

  “I’ve got to ask,” Picklefinger said as he put down his shotgun, and started stacking as many clothes and rags as he could find. “Why’m I covering mirrors?”

  “I’m superstitious,” I replied.

  “I may look like a cow, Crowley, but don’t feed me shit.”

  “Honestly, it’s safer if you don’t know.”

  He chuckled. “That’s all you needed to say.”

  I whistled by the entry and waved Mutt in. He hitched Timp by the water trough and made his way up the steps.

  “This here is Mutt,” I said, throwing my arm around the boy’s shoulders. “He’ll take whatever you can offer to his people.”

  Picklefinger stopped working and stared. “Jesus, Crowley. You’re helping redskins again?”

  Mutt lowered his head.

  I bit back a response, knowing that if we needed Picklefinger’s help, I couldn’t argue.

  “They’ve done more for us than we ever could have asked,” Rosa said, taking a small step forward. “We owe them our lives.”

  “They kept you on this Earth?” Picklefinger asked, again rummaging through items left behind by patrons over the years.

  Rosa nodded.

  “They’ve got good taste, then. All right, kid.” He handed Mutt a couple articles he’d found, then said, “Cellar stairs are through the back. Take what you need but stay out of the oak barrels. You hear me? That’s the good stuff.”

  Mutt bowed his head, and after a light push from me, he scampered through.

  “And this.” Picklefinger held up an armful of black leather. “Is for you.” He handed it to me. “You look like a fool without your duster.”

  I let the jacket fall, holding it at the collar. It was as he said, a black duster not unlike the one I’d lost in Crescent City. And he was right, I felt naked without it. I nodded. “First my hat. Now this?”

  “Gotta keep you looking good for the lady, amirite, Miss?” He glanced over at Rosa, who finished her drink and slammed the glass down loud enough to announce a subject change.

  “Boys,” she said, “if you don’t mind, I plan on taking you up on that bath.”

  Picklefinger smirked, then reached back under the bar and slid a key across to her. “I’ll set you up in the big room and get it filled. Mr. Crowley here joining you, or do I need two sets of linens?”

  The question left me speechless.

  Rosa scooped the key up with a single digit and sauntered to the stairs. “He’ll be staying with me and keeping me safe, I hope. I’m just a helpless damsel who can’t defend herself.”

  Picklefinger laughed. “I reckon that ain’t true, but simpler for me.”

  I watched her ascend without looking back. Either the drink had loosened her up, or she was finally feeling back to her wily self, able to talk fresh alongside the likes of any outlaw.

  When she was out of sight, Picklefinger shook his head at me. “One day, you’ll have to explain to me how a woman like that fell into your lap.”

  “More like I fell into hers,” I admitted.

  “What a place to be.”

  “It ain’t like that.” It came out a bit sterner than I’d meant it to.

  “Whatever you say. Just don’t let whoever is after you hurt her. Would be a sin against God to damage such perfection.”

  “Against God.” A pitiful little laugh slipped through my lips. If only he knew. “Say.” I clapped him on the shoulder. Just as Rosa had been, I was eager to change the conversation. “You wouldn’t happen to know when the next train is rolling through, would you?”

  “To where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  He scratched his beard. “Tomorrow, I think. Is it Tuesday?”

  “Do I look like I know?” I chuckled.

  He did too. “No, you absolutely do not. You look like Hell reborn if I’m being honest.”

  “You ain’t far off on that count. Look, I’m gonna help the boy and check the train schedule while it’s still dark. If anyone comes knocking while I’m gone—”

  “I’ll blow a hole in ’em. It gets boring only putting them in the floor.”