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TO Rewrite: B4 — 1. Calamity’s Rider
🕑 Added 2025-05-13 22:29:27 +0000 UTCPoV:
1. Grace (Our Calamity Jane Runaway!)
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Morning light filtered through the dusty windows of Den Sports Bar & Ale House, a hole-in-the-wall bar that had become Grace’s unofficial headquarters since the world’s second transformation. News broadcasts dominated the screens mounted on the walls, each channel showcasing a different facet of the chaos that had erupted overnight.
Grace Alexander swirled amber whiskey in her glass, silver-plated pistol resting on the counter beside her. Occasionally, she’d run her hand over the cool metal, reflecting on her life, on where she ended up… On the cataclysmic event she’d been a part of the day prior. Even the Second Oscillation didn’t live up to that calamity that Rachel had triggered.
It wasn’t the only thing bugging her. Although, which topic she was deflecting from could be debatable.
The unfamiliar weight of a store-bought black Stetson pressed against her head, a poor substitute for her mother’s worn hat—the one she’d had since running away at sixteen, the one that had mysteriously vanished after their return from Ali Baba’s realm.
Her fingers tapped the rim of her glass as the morning bartender silently slid her another drink without asking—they’d had a few good chats already. The man had tried cutting her off before the chaos happened, but after watching her down three bottles of whiskey with barely a slur, he’d abandoned the effort. Some legends had unusual requirements—hers was whiskey, and plenty of it. And right now, she needed a distraction.
“…another herd of crystalline bison reported near Yellowstone, their bodies appearing to be made of some translucent, living gemstone and having grown four times their typical size…” announced a reporter on Channel 5, looking simultaneously terrified and exhilarated.
Channel 7 showed more dramatic footage—the Great Lakes glowing neon blue beneath an unusual full moon that seemed to touch only the lakes last night, despite it supposed to be a quarter moon. Channel 9 broadcast images of trees in the Amazon that had begun growing upside-down, their roots stretching toward the sky while their branches burrowed into the earth.
“…It’s hard to say exact numbers at this time, but current statistics support an initial approximate of one in sixty-five previously unaffected humans experiencing transformation during the event,” stated a government spokesman on Channel 12, his voice strained despite his attempt at reassurance. “The president will address additional details in his morning address. Transparency and security are our number one priority.”
Which is it, bud, transparency or security being that number one? Grace chuckled to herself while snorting into her whiskey.
The official numbers were almost certainly sanitized—she’d heard Barbara and Tom arguing about the true statistics earlier that morning, and it sounded a lot closer to one in thirty or twenty-five. Maybe they wanted to slowly ease the population into it.
A sleek black cat with a split tail—their tips crimson—hopped onto the stool beside her, golden eyes regarding her with unsettling intelligence. The bartender moved to shoo it away, mumbling, “How did a cat get in here? The last thing my brother needs is me letting animals in when the world’s animals are going crazy.”
“Hol’ up, bud,” Grace intervened, waving him off. “Let the little fella be. I‘ll vouch for any mess it makes. Put it on Scarlet’s tab.”
The cat blinked slowly, then stretched a paw toward her glass.
“Hang on there, ya thief, I didn’t mean the spirits!” Grace chuckled, moving her whiskey out of reach. “Last thing I need is a drunk cat on my conscience. Don’t tell me ya are one of those speakin’ animals they’re talkin’ about on the news?”
The feline seemed almost amused, settling on the stool and curling its tail around its feet without comment. It watched the news broadcasts with the same intensity as the human patrons, occasionally flicking an ear when particularly dramatic footage appeared. The bell on its foot jingled a little from its jump onto the high stool.
“You understand what’s happenin’ out there, don’t ya?” Grace mused quietly while observing the felion. “Hey, Joe, maybe the cat does deserve a little drink. What do you think?”
The man shorted and shook his head. “No can do, hoss. My little brother gave me the keys to this place for the soldiers and to keep up morale, not get PETA on his ass,” he said nodding to a few other early morning soldiers who laughed and raised their glasses thankfully.
“Yeah?” Grace hummed, leaning against the counter and spinning circles with her shot glass on the countertop. “Also to make a good penny, subsidized by the US taxpayer. Hmm? I gotta pay but the soldiers don’t.”
“Business is business,” the private grinned. “Gotta look out for family.”
“Naa. I got ya,” Grace drawled. “Second Oscillation’s got everyone’s panties in a twist. Though, you probably don’t wear any panties, bein’ a cat and all. Unless you’re a beastkin…or a cat that can turn human. Mythickin cats probably need custom undies under that fur, though.”
She laughed softly at her own joke, a few of the soldiers joining her.
The cat stared at her, then delicately extended a paw to tap against her hand before pointing at its ear. “Meow.”
Grace’s stomach shook with silent laughter as she downed her glass. “Mmm! Spoiled thing, huh? Alright, alright.”
She scratched behind its ears, earning a rumbling purr that seemed too deep for the cat’s slender frame.
“Ain’t you sweet,” she murmured. “Bet you’d help me find my hat if you could talk.”
The cat’s purr intensified, golden eyes half-lidding with pleasure. “If only I had a lil buddy that could find out where it went.”
“Mrrow.”
When Grace turned to signal the bartender for another refill, the feline silently hopped down and vanished into the shadows beneath a nearby table. By the time she looked back, it had disappeared entirely.
“Well, okay then. Guess ya had your fill of love for the day… The life of a cat.”
The bar’s door swung open, letting in a slice of harsh morning light that cut across the dimly lit interior. General Tom Dallas stood silhouetted in the doorway, his uniform immaculate despite the early hour and overnight activities. His eyes found Grace immediately, and he strode toward her with military precision.
Every man present jumped to their feet and saluted him, excluding Grace. It didn’t take long for him to dismiss their formalities, but he was a four-star general, after all.
“Miss Alexander,” he greeted, claiming the stool the cat had vacated. “At least, men, and I’d like some privacy.”
“Yes sir, General!”
They swiftly shuffled away as he addressed her again. “And here I thought you’d return to the residence Omen is currently using after our last chat.”
“General,” she replied, tipping her new hat and giving him a wink as he scowled at the prize pool of glasses stacked across the bar in front of her. “Fresh from another post-apocalyptic briefing, I see. What’s the damage control look like today or is this not the setting to be discussing such things? Scarlet hasn’t called, which means the boss is still fighting demons in her dreams.”
Tom didn’t bother with preliminary small talk. “It’s a total mess across the nation, much more of a catastrophe around the world. We’ve seen significant developments within the Crow Nation’s reserve, as well. Environmental alterations that weren’t on any of our prediction models,” his voice lowered so only she could hear, clearly overwhelmed. “Forget the human change, we’re stretched thin as it is and now animals are being affected by the Seeds and the damn planet itself is changing.”
“I mean, we’re talkin’ about the boss’ effect here, General, misfortune incarnate,” Grace translated, draining her glass. “Sounds on brand.”
Tom ran his hands over his bald head before rubbing between his eyes. The bartender held up a bottle from a distance and Tom raised his hand, denying it.
“…That’s exactly what Barbara told me. It’s getting out of hand, though. Trees bearing fruit that weren’t there yesterday which grants minor and temporary powers for thirty minutes. Animals displaying unusual behaviors—including speech, in some cases. Three separate natural springs have emerged, all with apparent healing properties—one being out of Israel’s temple that has everyone in a tizzy.” Tom’s voice was low, ensuring only Grace could hear. “The Mystics of the Crow have been performing rituals since dawn, delaying our meeting due to their spirits trying to communicate with them which…isn’t exactly reassuring.”
“Higher being politics now?” Grace whistled softly. “Sounds like Mother Nature’s havin’ one hell of a growth spurt. I saw the World Tree grow taller, and saw the damage to the UK parliament building from the roots—”
“That’s old news,” Tom muttered, looking at the screens of the sports bar, unable to keep up with the flood of information. “The parliament building and Big Ben have been seemingly absorbed into the structure of the World Tree. The UK government is going crazy over it. I asked Anthony’s team to check it out since they’re on the site but they’re pretty over their heads with…other matters already. Still, they said they’d join Merlin and Arthur in investigating it… Apparently it’s as if the whole thing was converted into wood and it grew around the interior.”
“Sounds like one hell of a shindig,” Grace drawled, a crooked grin tugging at her lips as she accepted the glass slid her way. “But what’s that got to do with you darkenin’ my doorway, sugar? You runnin’ from somethin’—or just couldn’t resist hearin’ a little southern sass face-to-face to break up all that political yammerin’?”
He gave her a slight frown, looking her up and down as she once again finished her shot. “If you’ll recall, I need someone from Omen to be there, considering how influential Rachel’s little team has been, and she’s counting sheep, as you might say…”
Grace barked a dry laugh, tapping the rim of her glass. “Hah, lookit you, General. Gettin’ the hang of the local tongue.”
“Right, well, they’ve requested a meeting after their mystics finish communicating with their spirits. Plus…I did need to get away and clear my head,” he muttered, glancing at the news feeds again. “We have a handle on things stateside with all the resources the president issued with emergency powers but getting those to certain places is proving logistically challenging. The last thing I need is the Crow starting trouble due to their gods… I’ve heard enough divine politics from Rachel’s faction.”
Grace leaned back on her stool, one boot propped up on the bar rail, letting out a long exhale like she was sick of the whole rodeo. “So, let me tally this up. Rachel’s playin’ possum, Alexa’s cuddled up with her man, and Maria’s out cold patchin’ up the wreckage. Forget the feather butt chick, she can hardly figure out what she wants to do.
“And Scarlet? She’s clingier than a cactus burr and won’t budge from Rachel’s side, which, by my count, leaves lil’ ol’ me—greenhorn rep from Omen, stuck cleanin’ up the mess like some whiskey-soaked deputy no one asked for.”
She rolled her neck, hat tipping back to expose the lazy fire simmering in her eyes. “Honestly, was hopin’ that bloodsucker’d sink her teeth into this mess. Talkin’s more her speed, unless we’re talkin’ tall tales. Calamity Jane ain’t exactly known for her diplomacy, General, and neither am I… Reckon the hat’s a dead giveaway.”
Tom leveled his gaze at her. “Like it or not, you’re all Omen has at the moment. You’re our Omen representative.”
Grace barked out a harsh, humorless laugh, hand curling tighter around her glass as the weight of it hit her gut like a sucker punch. The idea of sittin’ at long tables with polished boots and poker-faced suits made her stomach turn worse than bad whiskey.
“Hell, I figured you were jokin’ last night. Haze the new girl, give the runaway a taste of the big leagues. I barely know half the folks in Omen, Tom. I ain’t no suit. What in tarnation am I supposed to do—tip my hat and smile pretty? I’m good at shootin’ things and throwin’ punches, not mendin’ fences—unless we’re talkin’ about actual fences,” she mumbled with a tilted head. “I’m good with a hammer and nails.”
She blew out a breath, hat shadowing her eyes again as she tipped it forward, voice gruff. “Ain’t never been much good at playin’ politics. You sure you wouldn’t rather throw me at somethin’ that needs shootin’? I can call Scarlet.”
Tom seemed to consider her words, his frown showing he hadn’t expected the pushback, but she was no politician. He rubbed his jaw and looked her straight in the eyes as several soldiers averted their gaze from across the room, all too far away to hear their low conversation.
“Over the past month or so that I’ve known Rachel, I’ve seen few that could keep up with her… That could handle the type of person she is. Obviously, the Seeds select people for a reason, and you survived Ali Baba’s realm.
“You witnessed Rachel stare down cosmic forces. You’re one of the few who’s seen what’s really out there, Grace.” Tom’s voice lost a fraction of its steel, softening just enough to sound like a man worn thin. “And more important? What I learned yesterday is that you understand people. The regular, boots-on-dirt kind. Most of our allies and diplomats don’t. That makes you valuable right now, even if you don’t see it yet.”
Silence stretched. The tension between them hung heavy like the static before a dust storm. Grace let the words sit a beat, drumming her fingers against the bar, eyes hooded beneath her tilted hat. After a moment, she groaned and lifted her head to meet his gaze.
“Fine,” she drawled at last, but her tone stayed sour, like old whiskey. “But don’t expect me to gussy up for it.” She flicked a finger at her rumpled flannel and jeans, lips curling in a lazy smirk. “This is as high society as I get, General.”
Tom’s eyes swept over her appearance. “…That’s fair, but you look like you slept in those clothes…in the bar.”
“That’s ‘cause I did,” Grace shot back with a lazy smirk, rolling her glass between her fingers. “Spent more nights sharin’ a stall with Jim than I did under a roof. This here’s downright luxury, all things considered. But sure, I’ll hose off if it makes the suits feel better. Might swing by that clothin’ store, see if my mama’s hat’s found its way back.”
Tom rose, smoothing down his uniform like brushing away something heavier than dust. “There’s time. And for what it’s worth…” He paused, voice dipping softer, more human beneath the clipped edge. “It’s been…nice, talking to you, Grace. No hidden motives. No layered chess game, like it is with Rachel. Just you.” He offered the ghost of a smile. “Anyway, meet me at the base in two hours. Barbara will handle the protocol nonsense.”
Grace snorted, waving a hand toward the bartender to see if she could squeeze in one last bottle for the road. “Base, huh? You mean that big supercenter with a fancy tent in the parkin’ lot?” She tipped her hat back, grin sharpening. “Suppose it’s got parkin’ for the Crystal that decided to occupy the space and enough room for the brass to strut around pretendin’ they got it all under control. It’s a good photoshoot.”
As he turned to leave, Grace caught his sleeve. “Level with me, General. How bad is it after the Second Wave? Not the sanitized version you’re feedin’ the public.”
Tom’s expression darkened as a few soldiers’ eyes darted their way at her action. “The Crow seems to think the Crystal’s ‘spiritual waves’ have tripled overnight and it has them spooked. You know what Rachel’s intel says.” He paused, searching for words. “A Spirit of Conquest that has deities terrified, so take that at face value,” he muttered so only she could hear.
Grace stared at him for a long moment; she could feel the storm of calamity rising by the minute. “Well, shit. I don’t got a good feelin’ about this.”
“Eloquent as always, Miss Alexander.” Tom’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “We didn’t pick our fights, but we still need to prepare for it. Tomorrow it opens. Now, the meeting. Two hours. Don’t be late.”
After he left, Grace waved off the men she’d chatted with through the night, the barkeep happily charging Scarlet’s card that she’d left for him. Once she stepped outside into the cool Montana morning, it all came flooding back the moment she laid eyes on it.
The Crystal loomed in the distance, a massive, translucent tetrahedron jutting from the earth. As Grace watched, her gut tightened with that familiar sensation of impending disaster. She blinked, and the Crystal’s shape had changed—that one blink.
Now, a perfect cube sat in its place, the devices around it seemingly instantly moved to reflect the exact distance it had been from it in the first place. The color went from purple to soft pink, the ambient glow around it shifting to an ominous red from its previous blue.
“Just my luck,” Grace muttered, watching as military personnel began scrambling, reports flying between radio operators. Tom jogged across the parking lot to meet Barbara and several officers who had gathered near a command vehicle, their expressions grim at the immediate development.
Stay and see if I can help or…walk away? Nothing’s going to happen.
Grace knew the feeling in her bones—the approaching calamity wasn’t happening right now, just building toward something bigger. If Rachel was right, tomorrow would be when it finally opened, not today. But this transformation certainly escalated things.
Saddle up, cowgirl. She adjusted her borrowed hat and sighed. Focus on what you can control now—shower, something to eat, and maybe find ma’s hat before meeting with the Crow. I’m sure this will come up in the discussions.
Shaking her head, Grace summoned Jim and hopped on his back while guiding him away from the chaos. Just another day in the world where a hare girl broke the strings of fate, vampires are billionaires, and Grace Alexander—high school dropout, runaway, and worst daughter in the world—somehow ends up as a corporate representative to mystical Native American elders.
“What a time to be alive,” she muttered, and headed for the motel near the clothing outlet for soldier’s use to clean up.
The hot water felt divine against Grace’s skin, washing away the grime and tension of the previous day. After her shower, she’d returned to the clothing store where she’d gotten her replacement outfit, hoping to track down the strange woman who’d helped her. That, expectedly, didn’t bear much fruit.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the middle-aged woman at the counter said, looking genuinely puzzled. “We were closed yesterday due to…uh, personal reasons,” she muttered with the flash in her eyes and shift in posture that said it was related to a man.
“But I was here,” Grace insisted, pushing her replacement hat back on her forehead. “Tall lady, pushy as a ranch hand at brandin’ time—gave me a cow-themed bikini? Kept yammerin’ on about her soldier husband like he hung the moon and stars? Coulda been yer sister by the look of her?”
The woman shook her head. “Just me and my daughter run this place. Yes, my husband is serving here, which is how we’re still running the store, but I was certainly not here yesterday, and my daughter was with her boyfriend, who sent her on this…ridiculous wild goose chase yesterday.”
Grace sighed, her suspicions growing heavier than a pregnant heifer. “Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Ugh. Any chance you’ve spotted a worn brown cowboy hat? Got more character than a three-legged coyote—it was my mama’s.”
“Haven’t seen any hats like that, dear, but I’d be happy to order you a new one… Did you say she sold you a cow-themed bikini? Because…we don’t have anything like that here in stock.”
“Huh... Well, now ya got me all itchy wonderin’ how she knew my exact measurements,” Grace mumbled, scratching her temple. “And no thanks, it wouldn’t be the same and she, uh, gave me this one, which I bet isn’t in your stock as well.”
“I’m sorry… I can submit a report about it? Nothing I’ve seen is missing or out of place. I have been a bit frantic since…well, my daughter got the ability to see past events.”
“No problems. Everyone’s got their problems now. Anyway, with that behind us, can I get a new set of clothes—similar to what I got on? I’ve got the card number and stuff if you need it.”
“Sure! Right this way.”
Now dressed in fresh clothes but still wearing the unfamiliar black hat, Grace met Barbara and Tom at the arranged meeting point. The newly transformed crystal loomed behind them—no longer a tetrahedron but a perfect cube, its pink surface pulsing with ominous red light.
Barbara looked even more tense than usual, her knuckles white where they gripped her sidearm, keeping an eye on the thing. Tom was surrounded by a huddle of communications officers, each feeding him updates through earpieces and tablets.
When Tom finally broke away to join them, his expression was grim. “The Crow seemed to be right. I’m starting to wonder if White and the Crow mystic we sent in there and the team will make it back in one piece.”
“Well ain’t that just the cherry on top of this shit sundae,” Grace muttered. “Any idea what triggered the change? You got the specs on how bad this is?”
“Our guess, Rachel’s comment about the Spirit of Conquest,” Barbara replied curtly. “As for the change, yeah…it’s bad. We’ve never seen a pink Crystal, but it probably is the next stage to purple, which means worse than High Rolls.
“No change in size, which means the same number of people can enter. The blue glow tells us we’re going too slow and to hurry the conquest up… Red means a new event will happen soon.”
Grace squinted at the transformed crystal. “Mysterious things, are they? I’ve never dealt with them before, but I guess the boss has. It doesn’t open until tomorrow, though. Right—”
Their conversation was interrupted as a group of figures on horseback came into view.
“About time,” Barbara commented, her Marine posture snapping back into place. “They’ve been postponing this meeting for the last few days and keeping us on a line with vague information. As crazy as Rachel’s information is, at least it’s upfront.”
“Someone’s on edge,” Grace chuckled. “Their mystics didn’t tell ya it would turn into a giant pink sugar cube?”
Tom sighed and turned toward the approaching riders. “I know you’re frustrated with them stonewalling us, Captain, but they have skin in the game.”
“It’s not only that, General,” Barbara muttered, holding herself firm and Grace noticed clear distrust in her gaze. “With what some of Egypt’s deities are doing, trying to blackmail the president by using his daughter as leverage, can we really trust them? I feel something…less than flattering when I’m around them.”
Grace kept her peace, hands shoved in her pockets as Jim hovered near her but her mind connected dots she’d heard from short conversations with Scarlet.
Well, Barb’s got good combat instincts, but she’s also a Catholic saint. Could be a conflict there? I bet Tom’s put that into the equation. Also doesn’t hurt to be prepared.
“Chief Running Elk is leading them. That’s a change. He refused to leave the reservation before, having us go to him,” Tom noted, his voice lowered. “Their reserve is nearby and is affected by this Crystal as much as ours. Could they have their own agenda? Most likely, but they’re also here to help. And Grace, just remember, you’re representing Omen now. So try to be…”
“Professional?” Grace suggested with a grin. “Diplomatic?”
“I was going to say respectful of their culture, but those work too.”
Grace laughed, adjusting her hat as the riders drew closer. Six figures on horseback approached at a measured pace, their expressions solemn. At their center rode a weathered man with silver-streaked hair bound with eagle feathers, his bearing dignified and proud. Beside him was a figure that immediately captured her attention—a lean man with the head of a coyote, amber eyes seeming to glow with their own inner light.
When Chief Running Elk and his delegation halted before them, Tom stepped forward with a respectful nod. “Thank you for meeting with us, Chief Running Elk. This is Captain Barbara Hall from our special operations division, and Grace Alexander, representing Omen PMC. There are a few others who will meet us inside from other PMCs.”
The chief dismounted with fluid grace that belied his years, his gaze immediately drawn to the transformed crystal. “General Dallas. The spirits grow restless. I foresaw this change and it is but the first sign of what approaches.”
The coyote-headed man—clearly a mystickin—dismounted as well, his movements predatory and smooth. “I am Wakalapi, Mystic of Apsáalooke, our great First Maker.” His voice containing subtle yips and growls beneath the human words. His amber eyes studied Grace with unnerving intensity. “The Second Wave has awakened old powers in our lands. Many of our warriors have grown in strength and new power awakens within us.”
“Now would that be a good thing or a bad thing, sugar? Pleased to meet ya!” Grace replied, extending her hand. “Grace Alexander, Legendkin of Calamity Jane—though I reckon ya’ll already knew that with the whole voodoo stuff.”
She caught a wince from Tom.
Did I already mess up? I just said hello!
Wakalapi’s muzzle twitched in what might have been amusement as he clasped her hand. His touch carried an electric pulse, like static in dry air that made her check to see if her brown hair had been frazzled.
“Yes. The spirits have spoken of you, Calamity’s Rider. I was shown a vision of you before a dying world, darkness threatening to consume you as a bright light awakened to chase away the evil.”
Grace blinked at the unexpectedly accurate assessment of Ali Baba’s realm collapse, but maintained her easy smile. “Well, ain’t that somethin’. Hope ya didn’t look too deep into a hare with dozens of eyes. I got enough chills watchin’ that myself!”
The mystic’s ears flicked forward. “Old Man Coyote sees much that others miss… Your leader is one he hopes to meet soon. Her connection to the greater deity circles could prove beneficial with our own goals and aspirations. I understand she is recovering.”
Grace gave him a smile but inside she was starting to see an angle. Prove beneficial to your own goals and aspirations? Okay, bud. You just lookin’ to have a seat at the big table? What kind of goals and aspirations are those, too, huh? As far as I know, Rach doesn’t really even got a goal. She’s just chargin’ into chaos.
As they were led into the military command center, Grace noticed how the soldiers gave Wakalapi a wide berth, their eyes tracking his movements with a mixture of fear and fascination. Maps and monitors lined the walls, displaying real-time data from sensors arrayed around the Crystal—which was seemingly totally devoid of all presence except for sight. Technicians spoke in hushed voices, occasionally glancing nervously at the Crow delegation.
In the meeting room, Wakalapi produced an ornate pipe, its bowl carved with symbols that seemed to shift when Grace tried to focus on them. “Chief.”
The elder sat with a deep frown and nodded before Wakalapi turned to Tom. “With your permission, I’d like to show those gathered what we’ve been shown.”
The general nodded.
The coyote mystic packed the pipe with a mixture of herbs that filled the room with a sweet, earthy scent when lit. He drew deeply before passing it to Chief Running Elk, who did the same. Grace lifted an eyebrow, reflecting on old Western movies she used to watch as a kid.
Well, I’ve never smoked before, but sure, why not indulge in the culture?
When it reached Tom, he hesitated only briefly before accepting it.
“The smoke carries truth between worlds,” Wakalapi explained, amber eyes fixed on Grace as she leaned back, crossed her legs. She watched the uncertain military officers and Myths or Legends from PMCs take it. “It brings clarity to that which would remain hidden and opens the soul.”
Now, I don’t know about that open soul part, but nothin’ ventured, nothin’ gained. Bottoms up! What’s up with my bones vibrating? Is that supposed to happen? Feels kind of nice, actually. Never thought I’d like a spiritual bone massage.
As the pipe made its way around the table, Wakalapi began to speak, his voice taking on a rhythmic quality that seemed to resonate in Grace’s bones.
“Since the Great Change—what you call The Oscillation—the veil between worlds has thinned. But after last night’s Second Wave, that veil has become…” he searched for words, “…permeable in new ways.”
He gestured toward a map of the reservation, where several locations were marked with symbols. “These places have changed. Waters heal wounds and sickness. Plants nourish in ways not seen since the stories of old generations. Animals speak of visions and omens.” His clawed hand tapped the crystal’s location on the map. “And this…this prison grows restless with its captive.”
“All very mysterious like, an’ all, but can we get a clearer picture?” Grace asked, being the first to speak as she leaned forward and surveyed the symbols and images he crafted in the smoke. “Your spirit has an antenna we can wiggle around for a better signal—maybe your ears?”
A few of the officers suppressed a snort as Tom gave her a narrow-eyed stare through the smoke. She could have sworn Barbara had a snicker, though. The chief was dead-pan, but Wakalapi seemed to smile a bit at her joke.
“Clarity is in one’s inner eye, not in the lense that blinds us to the spiritual realm… Breath in the smoke and accept Baaxpée—the power transcending the ordinary. Listen without your ears, see while blind… Accept what truths lie beyond the veil.”
Grace breathed in, trying to do exactly that—it was fun!
Then, as the smoke grew thicker, in the blindness, she saw glimpses of what he described, felt a pressure in her chest tug her seemingly high. Not necessarily into the atmosphere, but a place behind it. She saw HER.
“They speak of a woman with hair like spun gold and eyes that hold the sun,” Wakalapi whispered, describing the shared vision. “They say she comes with another behind her—one with chains that both bind and protect. They say she brings conquest disguised as peace, yet bondage as sweet as honey.” His ears flattened against his skull. “Tomorrow, when Father Sun reaches his highest point, she will emerge from the Crystal, bringing…life.”
A heavy silence fell over the room as the swirling smoke filled their vision.
“Life?” Tom muttered. “I see her, this Spirit of Conquest… No, it’s hard to look at her.”
“Like the sun in the heavens,” Chief Running Elk gruffly stated. “She speaks of power beyond comprehension. They warn of enemies, seeking to claim her power for their own—a great Tower of pride and dogma.”
A few murmurs spread through the quiet PMC legends and myths but Grace tuned them out as they spoke to one another, she was too focused on the blurry image of the blonde.
“Hol’ up—a human is going to attack us? She looks like a woman to me.”
“No,” one of the myths muttered, “I see her more clearly. She has elf ears and is…incredibly beautiful. Unnaturally so, and with eyes that shine like stars… Is that just the vision? It almost feels like she can see us.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tom stated. “The question is, is she an enemy? What can you tell us about White and your mystic on the inside?”
Wakalapi tilted his head, considering it for a moment as the vision hazed and showed various shapes Grace had a hard time making out. “The spirits are…divided. It is why you cannot see a clear picture with that question. Awacháaxpa Axxaáhche’s path to building a suitable defense for our arrival has…failed.”
The smoke momentarily parted, allowing Grace to see the stunned realization on the mystic and chief as he continued, accepting the pipe to draw in again and exhale.
“Both Axxaáhche and His Awacháaxpa met their ends by the maw of Death… Figures linked with the very essence of that which separates souls. A force…the Spirit of Conquest seems to have tamed.”
“And White?” came a hostile voice from the corner—Red’s voice. “I can’t see a thing…and my nose is burning. Where’s White? She couldn’t have been taken out by some pretty blonde lady. It’s White we’re talking about.”
Grace didn’t want to say it but a mystic empowered by some lesser divine spirit seemed a lot more sturdy than a Fablekin CEO but Little Red seemed to let emotion rule her more than logic.
Wakalapi puffed out another long stream of smoke, his voice sober. “…There are other factions within the portal, as you informed us, General. Creatures of…shadow and light and insectoid beings. Something more profound is coming—more gates opening. I see a young woman with white hair…her skin aging rapidly.”
Grace could practically feel her own teeth ache at the growl and grinding sound that came from the wolf.
“Some spirits see prosperity and hope under the Spirit of Conquest’s arms, others, subjugation and fear her potential wrath… Her instability. But all agree—she is power incarnate, and power rarely comes without cost.”
“Well, that’s about as clear as mud,” Grace muttered, earning a sharp look from Barbara. “What? I’m just sayin’ what everyone else won’t. In essence, our forces on the other side got got.” She summoned her pistol and spun it around in a circle. “I can’t tell you any mumbo jumbo about spirits unless we’re talkin’ alcohol, but I can say a calamity on par or maybe even greater than my boss is comin’. I can feel that much. We should prepare for a fight.”
“While spirited you are, young woman,” Chief Running Elk stated, voice low and hard, “our answer is clear. We have performed the Medicine Lodge ceremony and consulted with First Maker… If we battle, we will lose. The signs suggest this being—this queen—does not come alone, yet she could win alone.”
“Great. And who does your First Maker say accompanies her? The light and darkness creatures? The death beings?” Barbara asked, pen poised over her notepad. “We need details in order to properly prepare, even if we may lose, that doesn’t mean we stop fighting.”
“That…is more challenging,” Wakalapi sighed, closing his glowing eyes and drawing in the smoke. “We can see a servant who wears blood beneath her skin—a maid?”
“Well, okay, left field much?” Grace snickered. “I guess if the blonde is a queen, sure.”
The chief held up his hand. “It is more than that. This Spirit of Conquest is a prisoner herself…who once ruled another realm. And chains…many chains that sing with voices older than mountains…older than the world itself.”
Grace resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the cryptic prophecy. “I’m with Barb here. Any chance your spirits could give us somethin’ a bit more tactical? Like, should we be preparin’ for a firefight, or rollin’ out the welcome wagon? My [Calamity Sense] is tinglin’ for the former. She wants conflict, fellas.”
Wakalapi tilted his head, studying her with those unsettling amber eyes. “The boundary between conflict and harmony is thin as morning mist, Calamity’s Rider. You should know this well. Just because a river flows with vigor does not mean its path is directed at you should you move out of its way. Your leader—the one who breaks fate’s designs—would understand this duality.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got little ol’ me, cowboy. Rachel’s still recoverin’,” Grace replied, defensive. “I’m callin’ it how I see and feel it. But I’ll pass along your message when she wakes up… If she wakes up before tomorrow. She may be in a hospital bed in the corner.”
The meeting continued for another hour, with the Crow representatives sharing details of environmental changes to their lands and the rituals they’d performed. Tom outlined military preparations—multiple PMCs on standby, the Mexican airship within striking distance, strategic positions around the Crystal.
Overall, it all sounded good. No, great! They’d have dozens of legendkin and mythickin on site. Yet…she still felt that uneasy gut twist that said, ‘it’s not enough.’ And that was a scary thought, considering what they had. Scarlet bloody reaper herself would be watching, and if the stories she heard from the bloodsucker were true, she was practically a goddess in the flesh.
As they concluded, Wakalapi approached Grace, drawing her slightly aside. “You carry much weight for one so young. I can see you struggling to find your way in the dark, running from your own guilt,” he observed. “The burden of your legend. The absence of your mother’s gift.”
Grace stiffened, lips becoming a line. “Not…great with talkin’ to women now, are ya, bud? My hat, you mean? You wouldn’t happen to know something about that now, would ya?”
The mystic reached into a pouch at his belt and withdrew something—a small coyote feather strung on a leather cord.
“Consider this is a gift from Old Man Coyote,” he said, pressing it into her palm and making her lift an eyebrow. “It will not return what was taken, but it may help you see through deception when others are blinded by an illusion from your past. Take it to where you believe you lost it, burn it, and breathe in the smoke. You will see the truth.”
Grace closed her fingers around the talisman, oddly moved by the gesture. “That… Huh. Now, if this works, I may forgive prying into my life. Until then, I’ve got my eye on you, buddy…”
He chuckled and stepped back as they tried to air out the smoke within the tent. “A guarded heart is often the greatest prize to win over. We will stand together tomorrow, when the Crystal breaks and the High Queen emerges… Whatever happens, I will do my best to keep you safe.” Wakalapi said, his muzzle splitting in a canine grin. “Until then, walk with Trickster’s blessing, Calamity’s Rider.”
They moved outside, Grace playing with the gift in her palm as the Crow delegation mounted their horses and rode back toward their lands.
“Well?” Tom asked as they watched the riders disappear into the distance. “What do you make of all that? There were a few points of new information from that, which makes me wonder how powerful their spirits are compared to the deities around Rachel.”
Grace shrugged, adjusting her replacement hat. “Yeah, not my rodeo. But either we’re about to meet some kind of divine royalty, or your mystic friend has been smokin’ more than mystical tobacco in that pipe. Either way, tomorrow’s gonna be one hell of a show…”
Tom’s expression remained grave. “Every unit we can spare has been mobilized. The Mexican airship is fully armed and on standby. I have over ten thousand men and national guard here, setting up for the worst. El Santo volunteered with Paul Bundy to be at the front. And Fable is on edge… I can imagine how antsy they are, especially after what they just heard. Black and Red are… No, I shouldn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, probably for the best,” Grace said with a dismissive wave. “I’m still collectin’ myself from the calamity the boss caused. Speakin’ of sleepin’ beauty. I should go check on her anyway, see if Scarlet’s made any progress wakin’ her up and explain the details.”
Waving goodbye to Barbara and a few soldiers she’d gotten to know from the bar, she hopped on Jim and made her way back to the house they were using.
Grace found Scarlet outside Rachel’s room when she arrived, her unnaturally still form leaning against the wall in a way that would have been uncomfortable for a human. The vampire straightened when she saw Grace approach, her movements fluid and precise by Grace’s sharp eyes—she moved so unnaturally, and she didn’t even notice it.
“How’s Nam and the boss doin’?” Grace asked, nodding toward the closed door.
“Still unconscious,” Scarlet replied, her voice carrying its usual energetic lilt despite the concern in her eyes. “Her soul still looks pretty bad after the whole 7th Wall break thing. Maria says it’s like someone took sandpaper to it but she’s making progress.”
Grace winced. “That bad, huh?”
“She’ll recover. Rachel always does just in time for the big fight.” Scarlet tilted her head, studying Grace with an intensity that was slightly unnerving. “Something’s bothering you… Do I make you uncomfortable? I don’t want to.”
“Bah. Naa. You’ve got the energetic, innocent vamp girl thing goin’ for ya. No, it’s my hat,” Grace admitted, taking the replacement off to glare at it. “My mama’s hat, actually. Been missing since we got back from that magical catastrophe and I went to change my clothes… Another one of the boss’ misfortunes, no doubt.
“I went to this store yesterday to get new clothes—you know, after Rach basically stripped me naked for some ungodly reason.”
“Eesh. Yeah…” Scarlet winced. “Rachel’s misfortune works in weird ways sometimes.”
“You’re tellin’ me!” she huffed, throwing up her hands. “Catch this. And this strange lady helped me out—knew exactly what I wanted, way too pushy—my exact measurements. But when I went back today, the owner swore they were closed yesterday and nothin’ was even sold! It’s like a ghost was sizin’ me up!”
Scarlet’s expression darkened. “Okay, uh-huh. That sounds…suspiciously like someone’s MO that we’ve unfortunately been stalked by recently. I’ll check it out, but honestly, with everyone I know, it sounds like something Aurora, eh, fake Aurora would do.”
Grace scowled, reaching into her pocket to rub her hand against the talisman. “I was afraid of that. From what I’ve heard, that woman always has a motive. Why she’d target me is a bit of a mystery, though. I’m practically a nobody.”
“No, she always has a motive,” Scarlet confirmed grimly. “She’s super manipulative and uses sex appeal to get away with murder. She has musical powers, can shapeshift, and do all sorts of things. She’s been one of the few people who have gotten the better of Rachel.”
“Whoo!” Grace scratched the back of her neck with a hiss. “Thanks for that. That’s not comforting at all, sugar. Well, if you hear anything, let me know. I don’t like not having it… It always reminded me of my mother.” Grace sighed, her usual bravado faltering as she rubbed her elbow, feeling naked without it. “Ya know, maybe I should take it as a sign. Strip her of the power of holdin’ it, ya know? Maybe…I should call my ma.”
Scarlet pushed her lips to the side, Grace seeing conflicted emotions swirling in her bright blue eyes. “I don’t want to pry… I don’t know your situation. But if you feel like that’s what you need, then I’m all for it. I…sort of wish I could do the same,” she mumbled, a mix of what Grace took as anger and hurt crossing her face before she snapped out of it.
“Anyway! Yeah, tell me everything that happened at the meeting. What’s going on? I saw the Crystal change.”
Grace let the conversation go and went over everything that happened, letting the black-haired teen question her and act in control. It was easy to tell she was spiraling without Rachel, but at least she was trying.
Once done, she muttered, “So, what’s your read on tomorrow? Think we’re meeting some divine queen, like the mystic said?”
“I don’t know,” Scarlet admitted, left fang poking into her lip. “But whatever it is, the big players we know of, like Izanami, Hades, and the major factions are all scrambling away. That part about the Tower of pride… No, maybe it’s nothing. Rachel mentioned something like that and how Aurora went against an organization called the Tower to prevent Christ’s thorns from being stolen from Maria. If it’s the same people… That could be a problem.”
Grace nodded, straightening her borrowed hat. “See, that’s why you should have been at the meeting, sugar!”
“I know, but what if Russia came back to finish the job?” she growled, crossing her arms and looking at the door. “I…don’t like leaving Rachel defenseless, especially with fake Aurora on the loose.”
“Fair enough, Fangs. Well, I’d better get some rest before tomorrow’s big show, but first…I need to investigate something,” she mumbled, playing with the feather in her pocket. “Let me know if Sleeping Beauty decides to join the land of the living?”
“Of course,” Scarlet promised. “And I’ll look into your hat situation with my eyes. If it’s around the city, my eyes can filter everything out to find it! Maybe she has a way to hide from my sight, but the hat might be different.”
“Yeah, maybe. Thanks! Just don’t go drinking the milk before checkin’ if it’s spoiled.”
“What…does checking spoiled milk have to do with this situation?” Scarlet asked, bewildered gaze and circling eyes seemingly trying to piece together the meaning.
Grace snickered and patted her on the arm. “Just a little southern humor. Also, why would fake Aurora give me a cow-themed bikini? What’s that about?”
This time, Scarlet’s face dulled. “Yeah, she’s a pervert. Don’t try to find a reason. She probably just wanted to see if she could get you to wear it for the laugh of it all—cowgirl, cow bikini.”
She shook her head while walking away. “The worst part is…it actually feels and fits better than my bra! Maybe it’s some clue to go check out a pool or something…or nothin’ at all but a joke to make my head spin. Haha. Anyway, I need to find myself a bottle before I drop dead.”
As Grace walked away, the weight of responsibility settled uncomfortably on her shoulders. If Rachel doesn’t wake up tomorrow, I’m Omen’s face to meet this golden cosmic boogeyman…
She paused at the foot of the stairs, catching sight of Maria passed out in the back through the kitchen sliding glass doors sunbathing.
Can I handle that, ma? I’m always up for a good adventure, but this feels different… Whatever happens tomorrow doesn’t feel like an adventure. It feels like… I can’t even describe it.
She pressed a hand against her breast, feeling the rapid pulse of her heart.
It almost feels like…I’m going to die. But if that happens, then it happens. That’s life. Just another day in the life of Grace Alexander, reluctant legend and accidental soldier in a war between forces I barely understand.
At least the whiskey’s good and the pockets are deep.
Grace got her bottle and went back to the clothing store, but paused outside, holding the feather in her hand. She thought about it for a moment and thought better of it.
I’m not sure what kind of trap or world I’m walkin’ into. I should consult Rachel since I don’t know if I’m falling right into the Crow or fake Aurora’s plan. I’m plum out of my league here! No, get some sleep and think on it. I don’t want to be the thorn in Rachel’s side after she brought me into somethin’...somethin’ I’ve been missing. People who believe in me.
Putting it back in her pocket she went back to the house and laid down on the front room couch, setting her alarm. A tinkling bell caught her ear as she set her phone down, and she spotted a cat sitting on the chair across from her—not black, but white, with a fluffy, split tail. The crazy part? It was wearing her mother’s hat!
“Meow.”
She sat up and the cat was gone in a blink.
Rubbing her eyes, she thought she heard the fading jingle of a bell, but nothing.
“Okay, Gracey, you’re starting to see things. Time for bed… Bottoms up!”
She was always one who could sleep with a little spirit in her. She closed her eyes, leaned back, and let her dreams take her.
When she woke up, it would be an hour before the supposed golden queen made her appearance. Tomorrow, hopefully Rachel would be the one waking her up.
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