November, 1934

  A Six-Gun stood adjusting himself in a long mirror, in his hotel room. Bathed in the early morning light, Tornado Joe preened himself. He was a man who took pride in the way he looked, sporting fine boots, crisply treated black jeans, a tailored shirt and a leather vest. Joe fixed the buttons on his vest, studying himself with a small smile. Looks weren’t everything to him, to be sure, but his appearance offered him opportunities to meditate. Any time he stopped to adjust himself, or suiting up in the morning, these were silent times where Tornado Joe reflected on the man in the mirror. Who he was, where he had been, where he was going; all mirror thoughts for the talented Six-Gun they called the Tornado. What appeared to many to be vanity, was in actuality introspection. This irony was not lost on Joe, it always teased out a chuckle.

  Joe threw on his poncho, a black article which hung loosely to his stomach, adorned with a repeating uppercase Delta letter. He ran his finger along one of the Deltas, thinking of the man who had taught him everything he knew. He wore the Delta to honor the master Six-Gun Billy Baird, who he had not seen in some time.

  “Gonna need you today, Baird…” He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his thick hair. Tornado Joe was known for his deep red hair, which he liked to keep cut to shoulder length. This didn’t help the vanity charges.

  “Hey, you gonna get up today, Pouty Princess?” He looked back to the hotel bed.

  Tangled in the covers was a mess of silver hair and fair skin. Intense violet eyes glared from the silver jungle.

  “We have lots of time… come back and play with me.”

  Joe chuckled, grabbing his black hat. “You play rough, Winny. I need some time to heal. You bite harder than a Rougarou.”

  “I can heal you right now.” The witch Winona Grey pouted. “Then we can get back to it.”

  “I’ll get you breakfast.” Joe had his own little games with her, with well-studied strategies.

  “Hm, deal” She grunted. Winona slid out of the bed, unashamed to expose herself to her Six-Gun. She ran her hands through her long silver hair, her magic shimmering as she fixed it properly with just a touch. Running her hands downwards, Winona made her deep purple lipstick appear on her lips and dressed herself in a flash. Joe watched on, admiring her work. He loved how the witches used magic to prepare themselves. They could clean themselves up, groom and dress with spells that altered the reality of the world. It was trivial to magical beings like the Green Coven witches. Tornado Joe, himself a man of meticulous grooming, found himself a little envious of their powers.

  Her appearance now perfect, at least in the eyes of the Six-Gun in the room, Winona began to float in the air. She appeared to sit as if perched on some invisible chair. This was common for a lot of the witches, particularly the younger ones who very easily mastered low-tier levitation on themselves. Floating on broomsticks was popular among the older witches, a tradition passed down since before the time of the Six-Guns, but these days the witches basically levitated themselves instead of the broomsticks.

  “Breakfast, Joseph.” She spoke his name formally when she felt like giving orders.

  Joe grabbed his gun belt, a piece of handcrafted leather with a silver belt buckle, and clipped it around his waist. Before he could head for the door, somebody knocked on it. When he opened the door, he discovered another of the Green Coven witches. He could tell them apart from a mile away by the frilly black clothes they liked to wear, usually lacy conservative pieces. Much like the Six-Guns and their wild west attire, the Green Coven witches looked out of place in modern society. Nobody questioned them, however, not if they knew who they were. This witch was much shorter than Joe, a petite young lady with a pointed black hat and a pair of thick round glasses on. She held a large tome in front of her in both hands, looking anxious.

  “Huh.” Joe mused, surprised to see another witch, “Can I help you?”

  Winona was immediately interested in the woman at the door, drifting behind Joe with an eyebrow raised in suspicion. She anchored herself to Joe by wrapping her arms around his neck, head on his shoulder while she floated in the air.

  “Y-yes hi. Are you Tornado Joe?” The witch at the door asked, her face flushed with nerves.

  “That’s me, who’s askin?”

  “I’m Ivy!” She squeaked, “I’m here on study, I sent correspondence via Coven channels to Sister Winona. I’m here to shadow her in her duties while you hunt.”

  Joe turned his head to the witch on his shoulder. “Winny, you didn’t say we would have a shadow. Figures.” He rolled his eyes, “Ok, Ivy, you must be just about ready for a pact, huh?”

  “Yes sir.” She nodded politely. “This is my last study before I get to pick. I hope I can pick a nice and handsome Gun.”

  Winona found that just a little too flirty. “Best to watch your tone in the presence of the Guns. Especially ones with a pact.”

  Her face now beet red, Ivy shook her head vigorously. “No no! I’m so sorry Sister, I didn’t mean to be forward!”

  “You’re too mean.” Joe turned to Winona again. “I oughta call our pact off myself, see how that suits your temper.”

  That quieted the silver-haired witch.

  Joe returned his gaze to Ivy. “Come on then, little lady. It’s breakfast then the hunt.”

  The hotel lobby had a breakfast menu. Satisfied with the selection, Joe sat the two witches and himself at a table. He sipped coffee from a ceramic mug as he watched the wait staff bring their ham and eggs.

  “Thank you for breakfast, Tornado Joe.” Ivy bowed her head a bit to him once the servers had left. Winona shot her a stink eye.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  Amused by the dynamic of the two purple-eyed women in front of him, Joe let out a chuckle. He took another sip from his coffee. “It’s no problem. I got some cash on me for now, so might as well have a good breakfast.”

  He took another sip, voice sinking as he looked out the front window to the street. “Besides. We have a real hunt ahead of us today.”

  “That so?” Ivy leaned in. The younger witch had never been on a hunt before, but she had gone through all manner of schooling with the coven on what it could entail. The idea that she was about to participate in a real hunt with a genuine Six-Gun tickled her to the core. She had made the support of the Guns her life’s mission, something she felt she had not yet truly started, until now.

  “Yeah, but I’m gonna be honest with you, Ivy.” Joe’s blue eyes flicked to her from the shadow of his hat brim, “I wouldn’t have picked this for your first hunt. Today, we are hunting a Skinwalker.”

  “Skinwalker!” Ivy gasped, reaching for the hefty tome on her lap. She placed it on the table, the silverware clanking with the impact. “Skinwalker… I learned about that, but it’s always a good time to refresh!”

  Joe observed the tome’s cover. Leatherbound, the black book had many symbols on it he identified as the inter-Coven Witch iconography known as Tisch. Though he could not read Tisch, Six-Guns were forbidden to do so, he could recognize the symbols when he saw them. He watched as Ivy flipped through the pages hurriedly until she reached the one she was looking for. Winona leaned in, herself curious about what the tome had to say about Skinwalkers. Joe leaned back as Ivy read from the page.

  “Oh! It says here that Skinwalkers are incredibly dangerous shapeshifters!”

  Winona tilted her head, giving her sister witch a withering look. “Uh, yeah. That’s the basics.”

  “Well, I still want to study up!” Ivy looked hurt. “It says here to let the Six-Gun handle it himself, and be ready to cast a wound binding spell, or poison cleansing hex.”

  “Poison cleansing would be a waste of your energy” Winona told her, “Most of the Guns carry antidotal salves or candies. Joe has some.”

  Winona made a habit of checking Joe’s equipment regularly to make sure he had all the necessary items. She wanted him to be fully stocked for everything. Though she had very high confidence in Tornado Joe as a Six-Gun, having personally observed him in action, she tended to worry over the small things in life.

  “Oh! That’s a great tip!” Ivy perked up, feeling as if some key knowledge was being handed down from her older, more experienced sister witch.

  “The good thing about today’s hunt,” Joe butt in, “is that we know the general whereabouts of the Skinwalker in question. The killings have all been within the shantytown here in Richmond. So, what you two can do is set up a Blue-type barrier around the shantytown, so the Skinwalker can’t get away from me. In a closed off space, I can take it out.

  Winona nodded, chewing on her eggs. This was a solid plan in her mind, knowing that Skinwalkers could use their shapeshifting to elude any hunters, particularly in an urban environment like Richmond where they could assume alternate identities freely and with very minimal shifting. She and Tornado Joe would have executed this plan without the need for communication on this subject, as they had perfected this scheme for hunting the particularly elusive entities of the land. Blue-type barriers were formed of a string of warding runes casted by the witches, so the barrier could go up much faster with two witches instead of one preparing it. Smirking, she felt a little appreciation for her nosy sister now.

  “So, what’s a shantytown?” Ivy found herself confused. The fifteen-year-old had lived almost her entire life on Green-Coven grounds and had little conception of urban organization.

  “People have been callin’ them Hoovervilles lately.” Joe answered, striking a match on his boot. He had a cigarillo in his lips. “These are little cities of the disaffected. Places of poverty, usually poorly constructed. It’s been way worse in the past few years.”

  Joe brought the match up to his mouth, cupping his other hand around it to preserve the light. He lit his cigarillo, drawing in the mix of custom herbs and tobacco. His breakfast finished, it was time to prepare his body for combat with a Skinwalker. For a Six-Gun, preparation was half of the battle. The witches in front of him, even the younger one, were magical beings capable of protecting themselves with the supernatural force of their magic. At the end of the day a Six-Gun was still human. He needed every advantage he could bring to overcome the unnatural horrors of the world. Preparing his body with alchemical substances to alter its composition was one of the steps a Six-Gun took to stay alive. When it came to Skinwalkers, Tornado Joe had to prepare his mind as much as his body. The cigarillo was laced with an herb called Mantis Wing, which increased focus and loosened the nerves.

  “Oh!” Ivy watched him with a wide grin, “That’s a special cigar! You’re getting ready for the fight, huh?”

  They taught her this was what their Guns had to do, and she had even practiced concocting such aids herself, but never before had she seen a Six-Gun use the cigars and such in person. This was all too exciting to the witch, it was fascinating to watch the cool composure of the man as he readied himself to fight something as horrifying as a Skinwalker. It was too much for her to contain.

  Winona shook her head, trying to remember when she was so green. She felt like she had known Tornado Joe forever, even though it had been only three years since she was Ivy’s age. It hadn’t been too long since she herself daydreamed about the kind of Gun she might run with. She had to admit, she understood what had Ivy so excited. Joe was that kind of man that just pressed her feminine sensibilities, especially when he was in a serious mood as he was now. He was calm and composed, exuding a subtly dangerous aura. He was like a timber wolf in the hunt, muted and smooth, but overwhelmingly lethal. It was intoxicating, she couldn’t deny it. It only made her want him that much more. She was not so surprised by Ivy’s mood.

  While Joe most definitely appreciated the attention from his Partner Witch, this was not the reason he carried himself the way he did. For a Six-Gun, his life was on the line. To face down supernatural threats like a Skinwalker, or even human threats like a gang of criminals, he had no choice but to remain sharp like a knife. Unlike the witches and their magic, which came from their hearts and bent them towards the whims of their tempers, Resolve stemmed directly from the mind. It was a particular kind of magic which demanded calm concentration. There were times when Resolve could be amplified by strong emotional states, but this was advanced Resolute technique, which was unreliable to those who hadn’t had extensive training to that end. Grady taught his Guns to be the composed shooters they were, simply to survive. The attention from women like Winona was a bonus.

  At times, Joe felt himself a servant of her fancy. He understood the need for the Green Coven witches to follow their hearts, but it was a chore to manage her little quirks. However, Joe gratefully took on that labor. Winona was an excellent witch, he acknowledged this without saying it, and her powers had on more than one occasion saved his life. Furthermore, Tornado Joe had found himself struck by feelings of his own for Winona. He didn’t know if this was natural, or the result of some hex on her end. These sorts of manipulations were not unheard of among his peers. Joe’s attitude towards this thought teetered between indifference and mild concern. He was in the hands of a Green Coven witch, after all, a place many in his position had found himself. It was not a bad place to be, the labor Winona Grey required paid dividends.

  “When we go on the hunt, I’ll need you to contain yourself.” Winona finished her meal. “He has to focus, no giggling girlies.”

  “Yes of course, I’m sorry Sister.” Ivy adjusted her glasses. “Do you think it will be tough, the hunt?”

  “Well, Joe was right. This is a bit above what I would be comfortable with for my first hunt. But if you follow my lead and stay on the periphery, you will be fine. The Skinwalker will have enough to handle with Joe coming at it.”

  Joe stood up, leaving a few dollar bills on the table. “Alright, let’s hit it. Time’s a wasting.”