The Cowboy

  I was not prepared to be this trained. It must be her doing—or my doing. My head is still spinning at my circumstances; finding out that you can connect with your past incarnation is wild. The upside is that I inherit her skills and abilities, one being supernatural reflexes. That helped with being outnumbered and dodging all the gunfire. I immediately marked all their handguns and, with a quick draw, shot them out of their hands. One bullet for each gun since my six rounds were spent, and I quickly brought out my second revolver and kneecapped all six men.

  I don’t like finishing off people—well, not me. I’m not against crippling, especially men like Zack. I have been tailing him, and he was one mean son of a bitch. I don’t mind people hustling—when your means are limited, you turn to whatever helps. You can be a criminal, but it does not mean you have to be an asshole. Zack is the reason I believe this. He somehow finds time, apart from hustling for his boss, to beat his kid and wife in his off time.

  “Fucking bastard!!” Zack yelled in pain while holding his knee.

  I holstered my revolvers and approached the vehicle with the crate. I hummed a Panic! at the Disco song as I walked past the goons. As I uncovered the crate, I could feel the miasma of the artifact.

  “Oof, this one is an ugly one. You boys are lucky I stopped you,” I said as I reached into my duster for the blessed liquor.

  “What are you doing? Do you know who you are fucking with?!” Zack said as he tried to get up.

  “Why do all y’all say that? I wouldn’t do this otherwise,” I said as I poured the liquor on the crate. I then pulled a match from my matchbook and set the crate ablaze. As I turned, I could see Zack’s face turn white.

  “Don’t worry, your boss will take it reasonably well. Unless he’s not reasonable?” I said as I turned to leave.

  The Boss

  His name was Alejandro, and he was the power player in Los Angeles. He got shit done, as he liked to say. Everything was good—nobody messed with him, and the cops didn’t touch him because he was careful. All was good until tonight.

  “Tell me again what happened,” Alejandro said as he looked at Zack, sprawled on the floor.

  “As I said, boss, it was a cowboy… Boss, please, let me see a doctor,” Zack coughed between his words.

  The boss responded with a sharp kick to Zack’s ribs.

  “Do you understand how important this is, pendejo? Huh? Do you know how much money we’re going to lose, not to mention the reputation this ruins?! And one weirdo dressed as a cowboy took out seven of my men?!” Alejandro yelled, following his words with a kick to Zack’s skull.

  His agitation didn’t fade, even as he beat Zack.

  “Take him to the Butcher. He better be thankful I still need him!” Alejandro commanded, pouring himself some whiskey from the nearby bar. Pedro and Alan, his right and left hands, watched in silence.

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  “If only I was there, boss. This wouldn’t have happened,” Alan muttered as he picked Zack up.

  “No, your task was more important.” Alejandro gestured to Pedro. “Go rat hunting. There’s no way the weirdo hit us without inside information. Put a bounty on the cowboy. I have a feeling he’s going to be a problem, and I want to get ahead of it.”

  Alejandro took a sip of his whiskey. He wasn’t ready to let go of his power.

  The Cowboy

  My late-night activities always have a downside. The night makes cops more vigilant, making it harder to get home. Then there’s sneaking back into bed.

  I’m 24, and yes, I still live with my parents. I’m not afraid of them; I just don’t like the questions. Where were you? Why so late? What are you doing with your life? Questions I don’t even have answers for.

  Luckily, the dogs in the house knew better than to bark when I approached. The caramel-furred pit bull, Sisi, greeted me excitedly.

  “Shh, keep it down, Sisi,” I whispered as I passed my chihuahua, Fresa—the one I was worried about since she was the loudest.

  I made it to bed, hiding my outfit and weapons in the false bottom of a drawer. My phone read close to 6 a.m., giving me barely three hours of sleep. I kept turning in bed until exhaustion finally took over.

  The dreams started like they always did—in a meadow, lying down, watching the sky. But I was in a different body. My body. But it was a woman’s.

  “Cinder Winters! Where in blazes are you?!” a deep voice called.

  Cinder was terrified. She quickly rose from the grass. “Yes, Daddy?” she said, gripping the sides of her dress.

  She was wearing one of those 19th-century dresses. I could feel her fear, her resignation—she knew this would never end. She would never escape this.

  Daddy’s face was red with rage, his belt in his hand, its weight all too familiar.

  “Why am I hearing from little Suzie’s mother that she caught you kissing?!! There is no way, because my girl is a nice, God-fearing lady!” he roared before backhanding her, stopping just short of using his knuckles.

  “Daddy!! Please stop! We weren’t doing anything indecent!” Cinder cried, shielding herself with her hands. She was lying, but she could never admit that to her father. She could never tell him that kissing Suzie felt more real than kissing Joey, the farmhand.

  That would only bring more pain.

  “Don’t you lie to me, girl!!” he shouted before striking her with the belt.

  With every whip, the scene changed.

  She was in the mud, beaten by the butt of a rifle. Her attacker wore a gray Confederate uniform. Cinder countered, reaching for the hidden knife in her boot, dodging his next strike, and stabbing under his arm. She didn’t stop—her blade struck again and again until the final blow met his throat.

  The soldier collapsed, gurgling. Cinder caught her breath, scanning the ground for her revolver. Just a few inches away. She grabbed it and inspected it before turning back to the soldier. He was still clinging to life. His injuries were brutal.

  “Please… help me,” he croaked.

  Cinder chuckled bitterly. “After the shit you pulled? Look, if you just wronged me, I’d end your suffering.”

  She twirled the gun in her hand as she spoke, her tone shifting. “But since you hurt and raped a whole free family just to get supplies… Well, if hell exists, you’re getting a head start.”

  She turned away, grabbing her hat and placing it on her head.

  Whistling, she called for her horse—Joey. She had named him after her best friend, her first kiss. When Joey found out who she was, he took it in stride and stood by her side. From the time she fled her family to her journey after her father was killed by her mother, and then her mother’s suicide shortly after, Joey had been there. The most loyal friend she had.

  They hung him in Pale Mountain for pleading guilty to killing a group of men. Important men. So important that their heinous crimes were dismissed.

  It should have been her in the noose.

  But Joey had told her, Run and never look back. Keep the past in the past, just look around you.

  His words didn’t ease her guilt. He had been doing good. She had just been tagging along.

  I jolted awake. The dream still clung to me. My phone screen glowed—6 a.m.

  It was going to be one of those days.