Chương 23: Demarcation

"Ogden, Utah." Shrike faces the officer that pulled her over.

"And no driver's license?"

"No," she replies flatly.

"Uh-huh..." He scratches his nose, and adjusts his sunglasses.

"So why are you two here?"

"We're magical beast hunters." Martin says, offering both his hunting license and driver's license. The officer takes them both, returning them after a few seconds with a changed demeanor.

"Thank God, we really need them out here. You two have a current case?"

"Yes," Shrike affirms.

"Great to hear. Oh, can I have your hunting license too, miss? Just wanna check before I let you two off with a warning." Shrike nods, proffering it to him. He takes a short look, and his tone changes for a second time.

"You're a beast?"

"Yes..." He turns away, calling in some abstract bundle of jargon on the radio. He moves his head back over to them.

"Hunter, keep your dog on a short leash. We're just gonna get a specialist out here." Shrike looks at him, intrigued.

"I have nearly been shot at by police before, but never formally reprimanded. Please grace me with your patience as I learn the process." A long silence permeates the warm air, until some sirens start to slowly reach hearing range. A pair of cars pull up, as four more officers, one with a spellbook, arrive. Shrike is ordered out of the car, rather forcefully grabbed and pushed to the ground. Martin keeps his cool, leaving the car but not intervening.

The spellbook officer's book is drastically different than Norwood's. Where Norwood had hundreds of pages, the officer only has a few dozen. Whether it is a conscious choice or just inexperience, Martin isn't sure. After casting a pair of seemingly harmless spells, the officer takes a few steps back.

"She's definitely a magical beast. Hunter, Texas doesn't let beasts join your line of work. We recognize her status, but ask you keep her in line. Got it?" Martin gives a thumbs up.

"Can we go now?"

"One last thing. Magical beast, why are you here?"

"We're searching for a location in the now-gone Texas Republic. I lived within its borders once."

"Really? You expect me to believe that?" The officer magician laughs.

"Okay, hunter, you tell us." Martin calmly explains that Shrike was telling the truth, and that she's 12, 000 years old at minimum. A pair of handcuffs are taken from the patrol officer's belt.

"This isn't funny anymore. Tell us why you're here. Now." Martin drags his hand down his face. He has one card to play.

"How about you let us go, and we offer you our services?" -"Fucking chupacabras." Martin gripes, driving down south.

"Hate those creepy bastards."

"They appear similarly to dogs, correct?"

"Their babies do. This one is a fully grown, spiky looking biped that only comes out at night. No using lights, by the way. These things are fast. First sign of light and they're gone." Shrike goes to say something, but she knows he knows what that means. It's a solo mission for Martin. Martin sets up inside the rancher's attic, pointing his rifle out the window. Looks good. He fires a test shot near the goats, badly startling them, and adjusts his sights in the most minute way.

Shrike sits at the table of their hosts. Mr. and Mrs. V. Apparently, they did not want to give out their names to a magical beast. Mr. V keeps a hand on his very-mundane. 357. Mrs. V keeps a hand on her husband's knee. Shrike scrolls on her phone. SC: Texas is not enjoyable. No one online right now. She slips her phone in her pocket slightly too fast, causing Mr. V to draw his gun. Shrike looks at him with interest.

"That is very impressive draw speed."

"Remember it next time you move too fast."

"Ed- Mr. V runs a class on it. He's real good." His wife says, looking at her husband with loving appreciation. Shrike cocks her head.

"May I see an example?" Mr. V loosens a bit.

"What interest does a beastie have in quickdraw?"

"I am actually here to rediscover something of myself I have lost. My memory is sealed away, but I know it lies within the former Republic of Texas. Any type of cultural artifact may trigger my recollection." Mr. V grunts.

"What kind of memory?"

"I do not know. I am very old, extending back to the time of mammoths, but my existence is broken up by extended periods of hibernation. My most recent cycle, before this current one, was spent in this territory around 1836."

"Yeah? I used to do old school wild west shows. Ain't quite the same time, but maybe worth trying anyway."

"You did? As a marksman?" His wife laughs.

"You've stirred him now. I see it in his eyes."

"We got a bit 'til nightfall. Come on, lemme show you, beastie." Stolen story; please report. Shrike follows him out to a shed behind the house. Besides the equipment, there's a half-dozen rifles in a locked cabinet, both period accurate and modern. He takes one in particular out, and after a quick once-over, offers it to Shrike.

"Springfield Model 1816. Flintlock, still in use around 1836. It's the real McCoy, too. Had a few parts replaced, but it's no reproduction. You ever use one of these?"

"I have never used a firearm to my recollection, let alone this model." Shrike tries to handle it delicately, but Mr. V refuses to let go.

"It's not a damn art piece. It's a gun. You treat it well, but you don't baby it." Shrike tugs on it with more force, and Mr. V lets go.

"I have an old target range behind the shed. Ain't more than a bunch of broken fence posts, but it works fine." He takes a few items from the cabinet, before locking it back up and jangling behind the shed. Shrike follows behind him, gun in hand. Mr. V points to the "firing range" which is exactly as described. A bunch of fence posts are driven into the ground, with sloppy red targets drawn on them. Notably, each of the posts has a hole directly in the center of the target.

"Since you were curious..." He draws his revolver, firing a round into six different posts within seconds. Shrike watches in amazement.

"Wow."

"Yep. Wow is right, though I was a bit off center on the third." He absently spins the revolver around his finger a few times, before reloading it with loose bullets from a deep pocket in his jeans.

"So, ready to shoot that-" He's interrupted by a round that strikes the ground directly at his feet. He draws his gun, and then with an aggravated curse he sticks it back in the holster.

"What the hell?!" he calls over. Shrike waves Martin over, who stands holding a rifle. Martin jogs over, chambering another round as he does. He sees the two of them at the makeshift firing range, and slowly puts it together.

"Shit." Martin says.

"Yeah, shit! What the hell's the matter with you? Trying to kill someone?"

"I heard gunshots, and-""It's the god damn ass-end of Texas, dumbshit! You're gonna hear gunshots! I was trying to show something to your beastie. Go back to the attic. We're doing somethin'." Martin, with a pained expression, trudges back to the house.

"I apologize for his behavior. He is protective of me, despite not needing to be." Shrike shrinks back a bit, ready for her own lecture from their host. Instead, he looks around the largely empty ranch.

"What's with you two? Are you actually a beastie?" Shrike responds by projecting a gleaming light around herself.

"Yes." Mr. V looks at her with suspicion.

"Anyway, I'll load the thing for you. You get to shoot it once, so enjoy it." He takes the rifle back, showing her the process of loading the powder and the ball, and them tamping it down. He hands it back to her.

"Now cock it with that little doohickey there." She does so, keeping it pointed upward, until she raises it up to her eye level.

"Yeah, horseshit you haven't held one before. That's a trained stance."

"Is it?"

"Mhmm. Go ahead, aim at that center post." She looks down the sight. A brief flash of something. She moves her finger to the trigger. As she pulls, she suddenly sees a flash of red, white, and blue outfits as she pulls the trigger. She staggers back after the shot, shaking her head, and blinking.

"You didn't even come close... Wait up, you alright?"

"Yes... yes." She blinks a few more times.

"I had a... a partial memory. Blue and red uniforms with a white cross."

"Texas revolution. Yep, you were there when it happened. So you got your memory back?"

"No... it was merely a brief flash. It is the feeling of forgetting a word you wish to say..."

"Damn." He takes the rifle back from Shrike, returning to the shed.

"Shame I couldn't help more."

"You helped immensely. There will be a limited number of battlefields to investigate. Thank you, genuinely."

"You're welcome, beastie. Pay it back by killing the damn goatsucker." Shrike lays down on the attic floor. Her jeans and jacket outfit's out of battery, but she's fairly warm regardless. She wonders if The Seamster would appreciate a thank you card for his efforts. There hasn't been a single issue with his work so far. Not even a loose thread. With the crack of a gunshot, she jolts up, slamming her head into the slanted attic roof.

Martin fires another, and another as Shrike holds her forehead, forcing herself to stay quiet so as not to distract Martin. When she opens her eyes a few seconds later, he's gone, a few more gunshots from his revolver ringing out. She makes for the ladder, but stumbles down onto the floor before reaching it, nearly blacking out. Her panic is dulled by the pain in her head, as she hears the front door open, followed by someone walking up to the attic's ladder.

Martin is there, a large slash wound on his arm, already bound tight with a bandage.

"There were two of them. Had to drop out the window to get the other one's attention... are you okay up there?"

"Nawnwgw."

"Shrike?" Martin applies another microwaved dish towel to her head, trying not to think how absurd the situation in.

"Thanks again for letting us use your couch, Ed."

"Yep. Can't believe you killed two of those things."

"It's why I always carry at least four knives. Had to stab the other one in the head once it slashed my arm with its gross serrated tongue." He drops a knife from inside the arm of his jacket straight down into his hand to illustrate.

"Anyway, Shrike is absolutely concussed."

"Somethin' really funny about how you showed up to kill a single beastie, and ended up with two dead and one knocking herself out from the sound of your gun." He goes to correct him on how Shrike being injured isn't a joke, but thinks twice about it.

"Honestly, that is pretty funny. She's okay, she heals quick. Right, Shrike?"

"Mhmm." After a night of Shrike's dreamless sleep and Martin checking on her every hour, they say goodbye to Ed and his wife. Martin leaves the two dead chupacabra bodies stacked closer to the road for someone to pick up, and makes for the Jeep.

"Whatcha feeling for breakfast? We could do a drivethrough, or sit down for pancakes."

"I am not certain. My head is still aching." She walks behind him, plodding through the dust. Martin kisses her on the forehead.

"Let me know when it stops hurting so I can start teasing you about it. I'll just flip a coin for breakfast." He reaches into his pocket, flicking a quarter into the air. The Spanish dollar lands on the back of her hand. Tails. She drops the musket unceremoniously.

"Good luck with... whatever you think is going to happen here." She trudges away, the Texan colonists shouting at her to come back, calling her a deserter, saying they'll die without her. Shouldn't have put that on her, she thinks. It's one thing to defend them from some kind of monster, and another to fight a war that isn't her's. They don't realize how lucky they are that the coin didn't land on heads. She walks past people, speaking to none. What is wrong with her?

She remembers nothing, but knows she should feel better than she does. She sits on a fence post in a small town, holding a wicker basket close, ignoring the people who come and try to provoke her. She has seen drunkenness, and wishes she could have that luxury for herself. There's some kind of missing piece in her life. Something she can't quite place, and hasn't been able to for the last three months. With a sigh, she starts walking. Not sure where yet, but she walks anyway.

A year later, having lived off wild game and away from humanity, she has climbed halfway up a mountain overlooking a gorgeous vista, and an absurdly inhospitable lake nearby. She takes the coin in her hand, and flips it. Heads. Finally, she thinks. She digs a hole into the earth, stowing the basket underneath it after dropping the coin in. She is tired of humans. So very tired. She crawls into a small space between rocks, and hibernates. She had no name, and she is not remembered.

"Shrike?"

"Yes. Yes, that is me."

"You okay?"

"Yes. I... remember it now." She tells him of the year and a half stretch of time she spent, the hollowness of it, the meaningless nature of her wandering. How she is scared to feel that again. She holds up the coin to the sky.

"Heads or tails, Martin." He stutters out a 'Heads' as he asks her what she's flipping for. The coin flies into the air, and is caught as she places it on the back of her hand, keeping it covered.

"The wager is simple. To make my own decisions, or to let fate dictate my life."

"What are you talking about?" She smiles, pocketing the coin without looking.

"Nothing at all." When she enters the spirit world that night, sleeping on the floor of a crappy motel, she finds herself alone once again. She lies down anyway, looking up at the illuminant sky. She may not know what deserves life and what doesn't, but she can't be just an observer. She's thrown her lot in with humanity, for better or worse. IR: anyone heard from CZ in the last couple days CA: Now that you mention it, no. DE: I hope it's okay! IR: im sure its fine