I drew a bead on the target, putting the glass sight of my scattergun at the center of the paper.

  "You sure I ain't gonna accidentally hit someone?"

  Felt very strange shootin' it what was basically someone's backyard. I had gone out into the woods to practice as a boy. Mama would've tanned my hide otherwise. Never knew when a shot could go stray, and the last thing you wanted was a ricochet kill someone's bronto or putting a hole in their daughter or son.

  "We are fine, Mister Roche," Ernie assured, "there are wards on the walls and windows, and I warned the kids to stay away. We are all perfectly safe."

  "Okay."

  I pulled the trigger.

  Time slowed. The world blurred.

  It was like someone had tied a string to my britches and attached it to a runaway wagon, I was tugged back through space, the kick of the shotgun's blast moving me impossible fast.

  So fast that when I came to, I was already falling on my ass in the sand, a bit dazed, and a lot confused.

  "You good Roche?" Raph asked stepped over to look down. He offered a hand, but I shook it off and rose on my own. Felt like I'd been slugged in the arm by an Uruk ranch hand. That was goin' to bruise.

  "I'm fine. Damn, kicked me right over though."

  The Ability claimed I'd be able to, somehow, use the now absurd kick of my shotgun to close distance, dodge, pivot and all that. I had high hopes for it when the Bastard was dealin' the cards, seemed like a great choice for a man who liked to shoot and run.

  Now?

  Not so much.

  After a few more attempts, a few more bruises, and my long johns thoroughly filled with dirt, I was thinkin' the Douce et Doux Drift was a Douce et Dud. These boots just weren't made for dancin' and worse, now I couldn't even handle my own gun.

  "Well, it might be useful for something," Raph said, stroking his chin.

  "Like what? This Ability has crippled me." I said tossing off my hat and slingin' the sweat and grit from my brow. It was rare that I got frustrated enough to think of givin' up. Sure I'd quite, I'd run, I'd lie, cheat, steal, and fight. But never... Ain't none of that was giving up. My daddy, an old soldier, he would always talk about the better half of valor.

  Discretion.

  "Do or die he'd say, that's for the damn birds. You can always run, boy. The goal is to make sure the other guy is the one doin' the dyin', see?"

  I remembered that.

  I remember what he'd say after too.

  "... but there's a difference between sense, and cowardice. A coward doesn't look for the fight to come, he looks away. He looks away and calls it done. Don't you ever do that, Lorcan. Or I'll tan your hide like a-"

  "...Roche?"

  I looked up, blinked, and frowned.

  "Oh, sorry. I was thinkin' about my Daddy. What was the question?"

  "I said, I want you to try something for me," Raph said as he grabbed my hand and hauled me up. He was stronger than he looked, and he was looking like a whole lotta muscle under that tunic and silk vest.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  "I think the issue is two fold. First, you are anticipating the shot now. The added recoil has made you gun-shy, I see it a lot in first time shooters. The fear of pain is a natural reaction. But it is poison in a man like you."

  I nodded.

  "Yeah. That sounds about right. Gettin' spooked sours my aim."

  "Exactly, which is why we need to override that fear. You are a survivor, Roche. You have natural coraje. But I think without a true threat, without the adrenaline and the heat of battle, your survival instinct is fighting with you instead of for you."

  I frowned, "Okay. That sounds right, but I still don't see what you're gettin' at-"

  He drew his sword, and a pearly grin split his full lips.

  Oh.

  Okay.

  It's like that.

  "Now, keep in mind," Raph said as we each began to step toward opposite ends of the sand pit, "I will stab you. It will hurt. But that's the point."

  "Yeah, you'll try I'm sure."

  "That's the spirit, Roche," he said, his eyes narrowing a bit, and a faint ripple of mana resounded in the air as he struck the tip of his sword against the stone behind him, "now. I will begin, and we will trade blows until you can no longer stand. Don't worry about hitting me, I am confident my defense is adequate for a mundane bullet."

  I set my scattergun aside and hovered my hand over the pistol at my right hip.

  We stared at each other for a few moments, just the wind and the sound of distant ocean and seagulls. The warm sun beatin' down overhead, the scent of stale blood and sweat lingering in the air...

  Then damn Ernesto dragged a chair up to the sandpit, the stone screeching in protest until he stopped and sat, "Oh! This will be good, a dance between two monsters. Two martial men of skill and grace. It's straight out of la romanza-"

  Click.

  I cleared leather before he even so much as drew breath. Time slowed as I watched the mana vibration of his sword pulse through his body as he charged.

  Damn.

  This was a bad idea.

  But, it was his bad idea.

  My gun hand rose and the shot rang out.

  Blur.

  Slippery as an oiled snake I twisted and slipped through the sand. A flash of pain lanced across my chest, a bright red line of agony. I spun, senses reeling as I tried to block out the pain in my wrist that nearly match the clean, weeping cut that crossed my ribs.

  Reflex put the barrel of my revolver in place as Rapheal backstepped and strafed, flicking around the arena of sand like some kind of demon. His rapier moved like a flash of silver light.

  Bang!

  Tink!

  Another gut-wrenching sensation of movement as the blast dragged me through the air. This time though I kept my head, enough to realize I might've scored a hit, if Raphael hadn't knocked the fuckin' round from the air with his sword.

  Now you just don't see that everyday.

  A bit of blood ran from the side of his mouth where a stray fragment of the lead shot had tagged him.

  "Already better, but not good enough-"

  Blur.

  My wrist snapped, my arm jerked back, and I felt the gun fly free from my grasp.

  Pain.

  I tumbled and spun. His thrust had broken my balance and then my own momentum had pulled me down.

  Blur.

  My body was dragged across the sand as his blade cut a thin red line along my thigh and he followed the attack up with a brutal kick to the ribs. I had no doubt that if he meant it, I'd already be dead.

  As it was, the blow sent a new wave of pain and nausea through my body, and a deep, aching throb that told me at least one of my ribs was broken.

  Blur.

  No.

  Not this time. I kipped up and reached for the other pistol.

  A cold, sharp kiss of metal drew a red line across my hand, but the tendrils that made my limb parted and split. Let the rapier pass through as I brought it up. Then they closed around the steel. The whole fight I could barely keep track of Raphael's movements. They was just a blur, a trick of the eye. But just this second, I had him pinned.

  The barrel of my pistol was pointed up, aimed right at his pretty chin as his rapier was lodged in the grotesque forest of my left arm.

  I looked him in the eye, and he looked at me and something I didn’t have a name for passed between us. Like respect, mutual and, almost warm, but more. A kind of realization, one that maybe put us closer than we meant.

  Then-

  Click.

  "Uh... I think I win?" I asked as I pressed the barrel to his skin.