Shilloh had left early with Wade and Scotty for their night out. They had to stop by a Blightbane workshop that had gunsmithing tools.

  The town was cute, and Scotty said he was familiar with it, though Wade seemed to do most of the navigating.

  It was a somewhat mountainous area, and though it was well populated, it wasn't so big as to be a true city. The caravan was stopping here for a couple of days to restock, make some sales, and pick up goods to sell further down the line.

  It was a lovely little enclave. The area had a view that was to die for. From many spots, you could see an unusually large mountain with the top blown off. It was puzzling both her nature—and a little research—told her that there was no geologic activity that had resulted in such a landmark. But what were you gonna do? Life was weird, magic was weirder, and three mini-apocalypses left all sorts of room for bizarre things to break off from mountain peaks.

  Plus, the weirdness wasn't all bad. The crater at the top of the mountain was home to a surprisingly large lake that was reputed to have crystalline water. Unfortunately, no one wanted to hike there with her. They either cited age, laziness, or that the lake was probably "profoundly, uber cursed."

  Those were all good reasons. But she still wanted to see it and imagine making a cool house on an island in a caldera lake's center.

  Now, with he sun going down, it was hard to see the landscape. But the small streets and cute buildings were illuminated as she and the two other banes left a small industrial building.

  During their short time in the building, she had held and felt more weapons than at any other time in her life. And not all of them had been guns. Scotty had her heft knives, spears, harpoon guns, and shillelaghs. When she tried to pick between the guns on the wall, he had looked at her like she was stupid and did a funky thing to change handles, and make a thousand other tiny modifications that resulted in her walking out with a bunch of new toys. Chief among them were two new guns and an equally new fanny pack concealed-carry holster. Honestly, she was in love with the fanny pack and quietly pleased with the tiny gun snuggled up against her lower leg. It was just at the perfect point to be both hidden by her pants and not require changes to her shoes so they could accommodate a true ankle holster.

  Her old handgun had been turned in and logged. She did not understand how or why, but they had told her that they were square despite her getting two guns and a variety of other equipment. Her protests wouldn't sway them, no matter how she pointed out the math. They stubbornly insisted that the only thing she owed them was to do morning shooting practices while they travelled.

  Scotty had also confided that he could make her a prettier fixed-blade knife at some point. She had been discussing the feasibility of unicorn-patterned pins or rainbow-dyed Damascus when they met up with the rest of their party.

  Agnes was dressed nicely, though not quite modernly. She had lots of jewel tones, a spare pair of orthopedic shoes was poking out of her massive purse, and her necklaces were a bit more 'rustic' than was currently fashionable.

  Birch, in contrast, was wearing a slinky little black dress, tasteful jewelry, expert makeup, and was holding a sheet full of small cutesy stickers. Agnes had a small rainbow placed on her cheek like a beauty mark. Birch's face was absolutely covered in the stickers. Even as they walked up, a massive smile threatened to dislodge a sticker showing a polar bear in fish nets that was dancing dirt on what she suspected was supposed to be the north pole.

  "Hey guys," she said," want to—"

  "Dibs on Shilloh," the crazy, sticker-covered woman yelled, not pausing her stride as she hooked an elbow through Shilloh's, spun her around, and kept walking.

  Scotty jogged after them, "Why don't—"

  "I know you just got her something, Scotty," Birch interrupted. "You want to give me a piece too?"

  The man snorted, "No thanks. I can accidentally discharge a weapon into my own foot. No need to bring in outside help."

  That was all the pause Birch needed to march the two of them to the end of the street. He tried to argue, but was forced to stop pursuing when Agnes did not follow them, and Wade refused to leave her alone in a new town.

  Shilloh watched it all happen with amusement. Once they were far enough that there was no concern of being overheard, even by Were ears, she finally asked the question.

  "This is you proving to me you're not a drug dealer?'

  "Yup."

  "And why is it secret?"

  "This involves other people's personal decisions. Ones I'm not going to spread without consent."

  "I fucking swear," the cartographer muttered as they moved off the main street and into a part of town with more townhouses and minivans parked along the street. "Everything around Agnes becomes consent, after care, and part of a fetish."

  "Yeahhh. I know. Isn't she the best?"

  They turned down a new residential street. Birch gave her an impish smile and stopped them under a street lamp.

  "Okay, I considered not showing you this until after, but I think you might act out if I don't give you a heads up."

  "Oh?" Shilloh gave her an arch look. "Well heavens. Lord knows you wouldn't like to be seen around any sort of spectacle."

  The other woman snorted and handed her a small case. While Shiloh looked, she carefully removed all the stickers from her face.

  The case resembled a compact, somewhat inexpensive zip-up clutch. But, upon second glance, she realized it was more appropriately sized to be a glasses case.

  Shilloh unzipped it, saw the vials, and read the label on them.

  "Oh," I said.

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  "Yup."

  "You said it's hard to get cause the military wants it?"

  "They empty out most of the big-name producers. It makes sense if you think about it. Training up a hot-shot magic user is very expensive; they want to keep them young, mobile, and aggressive as long as possible. "

  "Huh. So you find the labs that want to be private, and stay separate from the government."

  "Or ones are unusually ethical and want their products to be used in a certain way."

  "And the caravan boss guy?"

  "Has a brother. I invested early on in his caravan business, not understanding that moving this was the heart and soul of why he started the business."

  "Well damn. I thought it was like ecstasy or a party drug."

  Birch shook her head. "Nope, this is all above board. The licenses are a pain, especially at first. But the right connections, the right lawyers, and a community of passionate people make it possible. Plus, it doesn't need to be refrigerated. That means its value per square inch and weight is very high. Good business for caravans who don't want to pay for freezers and repairs."

  "I notice a plural when you mentioned caravans."

  Birch smiled at her. It was warm and happy, not wild or frantic, unlike some of her other smiles.

  Rather than answer, Birch took them across the street to the back of a two-story building marked by a big red cross at the front door. The upper story had a residential look, while the ground floor featured very professional-looking curtains and the feel of a renovated residential space transitioning to a business. Once at the back, she knocked on a door next to several large trash bins and waited.

  A woman yelled and told them to wait as she came down the trails to answer the door. She had reading glasses hanging from her neck and a beautiful cardigan on.

  Birch handed over the case, said she was an investor in the caravan, and wanted to know if there had ever been issues with deliveries or products.

  The two exchanged small talk. Birch was thanked with great professionalism and warmth for getting her some of the vials a few days before the proper delivery. Her usually eccentric demeanor was reigned in until it was just a bit more friendly than you would expect from an investor. Though her charisma and the late hour made it feel somehow appropriate

  Before long, they were leaving, "Goodbye, Doctor Wynne. I'm glad to hear everything has been smooth. Have a good night. One of the usual people should be here with the full delivery soon."

  They walked back towards each other in silence for a while.

  "Testosterone," Shilloh said. "Who would have guessed?"

  "Most people. I don't act like a drug addict."

  Shilloh looped her arm through Birch's and patted her shoulder, "Oh, honey. Bless your heart."

  ~~~

  They returned to the others, both with a few new stickers on their faces and clothes, and started making their way to a place Scotty had suggested. It was primarily a restaurant, but had a dance floor that opened up a few nights a week. They were lucky; tonight was not the weekly swing dance club or anything formal, just pure stress relief and revelry.

  Part of the way there, Wade pulled her aside. "Hey, Shilloh. Tell me if this is too weird, but I could have sworn I heard Agnes talking to Birch about Jasque, and I just wanted to check in."

  She narrowed her eyes, unsure where this was going. "Okay."

  "She was saying she would, well, do some rough stuff to him. Is everything okay? I know you don't like him, but he thinks you have a lot of potential. And I just wanted to make sure he wasn't being too pushy or anything."

  Rough stuff? The older woman was the heart of kindness, patience, and communication. Birch might idly talk about beating a man with a coin-filled sock, but not the loving older woman who made her cookies.

  "Agnes? You're sure it wasn't her repeating something back to Birch or telling her it was a bad idea."

  "No. In fact, I think that Birch is pretty fond of Jasque. She seemed at a loss for words."

  She had to bite her lip so that she didn't react. "Oh. Well, what exactly did Agnes say about him?"

  "I said," the older woman called back, "that if I had a free night, I'd hang that boy up by his wrists and make him scream before I moved on to the candles or clamps."

  "Oh, what the fuck," Shilloh groaned, face-palming and trying to keep the images out of her mind. "Seriously, Agnes? Jasque?"

  "I was only talking about his body. Not everything needs to be a spiritual connection."

  She decided to take pity on the befuddled and concerned man next to her. "Sorry, Wade, didn't mean torture. Agnes is what the average person may call hyper-sexual and deeply perverse. Those things are considered a fun evening in the sort of books she reads."

  "I'm all for a good joke, Deary. But I would appreciate if you kept the joshing to private places. BDSM is very normal, very healthy, and you never know if a member of the community may hear the word 'perverse' and have their feelings hurt."

  "Fair," she said to her older friend before turning back to Wade. "Better to say that Agnes is a filthy-minded woman who is dedicated to the spicier things in life."

  The Were looked back and forth between them. "I don't. I mean. You were talking about screaming and clamps, is that—"

  Agnes nodded and smiled happily at him. "It's all true," she said. "I am, among other things, a passionate amateur sexual educator, a vigorous member of the BDSM community, and a very dirty girl."

  Shilloh thought she would remember that moment for the rest of her life. Birch was nodding in a very supportive way. Scotty started snapping like he was doing coffee shop-style applause at open-mike night. Wade was blinking: caught between curiosity and confusion. And, for her part, Shilloh was just glad there was finally another person who would be aghast with her.

  Between Scotty's unflappability and Birch's hero worship, she had started to seriously wonder if she was the weird one for being so shocked.

  "To be fair," Scotty said, walking up to Agnes and offering her his arm, "The confusion is understandable. Jasque is the person who most people want to put in the unfun sort of dungeon."

  "Let's not be cruel," the older woman said, looking at him with a mild but still affectionate reproof. "No one deserves to be hurt like that. It damages us as much as them to let that in our hearts."

  "What about an ex?" he said.

  Agnes ignored his attempt at humor, "No one."

  "But what about—"

  "Honey," she said, stopping him in his tracks. "We've all rode faces we should have peed on, but that doesn't mean we should forget what's right."

  As one, the entire group started laughing. Agnes took it with incredible grace and a twinkle in her eyes..

  Wade moved back towards the head of the group to ask Agnes about any interesting stories she had from teaching sexual education courses.

  Unfortunately, that left Shilloh at the back of the group as they all entered the part of town that was full of bars.

  A drunk man was smoking in front of a dive. He was probably a regular, because there was a small bucket full of ash and a stubbed-out cigarette that looked like the same brand he smoked. All of it neatly set by the lamp post he was leaning against.

  "Hey, hot stuff," he leered at Shilloh. "Let me get you a drink."

  The others had already passed him, so she pressed herself closer to the wall across from his lamp post. "Sorry," she said, "in a hurry."

  Her answer was not correct. Like a troll bestirred from under its bridge, he put an arm out, blocking the way.

  "Straight to the chase then. I got a good lottery ticket today. I'll give you three hundred to see under that shirt. Look," he leered, reeking of cheap booze as he fumbled some cheap plastic beads from his pockets. "We can even have Mardi Gras early."

  By that point, the others had noticed and turned around. Scotty glowered profoundly and disentangled himself from Agnes to come get her. Wade, though, was two steps ahead of the other man, and his face looked eerily, unnaturally empty.

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