Horseman: Crockett and Crane, #1

By Kyle Robert Shultz

Todd Crane is on the run from the law.
Good thing he's got four legs.

 

But even the magic ring that lets Todd turn into a centaur isn't enough to help him escape from Marshal Amy Crockett, who's got a bone to pick with him. Something about selling not-entirely-legal magic potions. No big deal, right?

Hang on. It gets worse. There's a downright terrifying monster roaming across the West...even worse than the usual monsters one finds out there. A creature that could leave the United States of Neverica in ruins.

The Headless Horseman is back.

Todd and Amy are the only ones who might be able to save the day. Fortunately, they've got help...in the form of a guitar-playing dragon shifter and a book-loving gorgon.

Yes, this is the western you've been looking for. Enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kyle Robert Shultz
• Release date: May 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781982992248

Book preview

PROLOGUE

In which I briefly explain Neverican history.

Magic’s always been a part of this great land—ever since the first battle-spell was cast at Salem, and the War of Realms began.

In 1776 E.A. (Ever After), we told the King of Camelot that we could run this country just fine on our own, thank you very much. He disagreed, and sent an army of enchanters and monsters to put us in our place.

Fortunately, we’d learned of a secret from the Originals—the people who settled here long before we did—that could take away the magic the King’s forces used. We made it so they couldn’t access their runes and cast spells so long as they were on our soil. Then we fought with our own magic, based on herbs and potions they didn’t know how to use. In the end, we sent them packing back to the Old World and never heard from them again. These days, they’re probably pretending we don’t exist so they don’t have to remember how we whupped them.

Unfortunately, we had a disagreement amongst ourselves about how to govern the use of magic in our new country. That’s how the War of Potions got started. It’s over now, but things are still a little tense. And out here in the Wild West, those tensions can boil over into big magical shoot-outs pretty quickly.

The marshals patrol the frontier trying to keep order. I just try to make a dollar here and there—not always by the most savory means.

My name’s Todd Crane, and I hunt monsters.

This is the story of how I met U.S. Marshal Amy Crockett.

She hunts…well…me.

1

CENTAURS ARE BETTER THAN HORSES

In which I get arrested by a really annoying marshal, chased out of town by a gang of hoodlums, and victimized by a horrible pun.

The United States of Neverica

Aventura Territory

1891 E.A. (Ever After)

Y ou’re under arrest.

I blinked in surprise at the young woman sitting across the table from me. Up ‘til now, I’d thought our conversation was going pretty well.

Pardon? I raised my voice to be heard over the din filling the saloon. The torrent of talk and laughter was getting louder and louder as the night wore on. The men and women gathered here spent most of their time whispering in back alleys and putting on a cautious front in polite society to keep their careers in unauthorized magic from being discovered. Now that they were finally someplace where the law couldn’t touch them, they were taking the opportunity to live it up and make some noise.

I leaned closer to the girl. Mind repeating that? I don’t believe I heard you right.

Yeah, you did, actually. The corners of her mouth curved up into a tiny, satisfied smile, and she raised a mug of thunderwort ale to her lips. Her green eyes sparkled in the flickering light of the aether lamps on the walls. Her slender frame was clad in a red blouse and dark blue pants. Men’s pants, we would have called them ten years before, but these days it was becoming common to see women wearing them. The young lady looked to be about my age; twenty-five, twenty-six, maybe.

But you said I’m under arrest, I protested. Which I’m not.

She nodded defiantly, causing a few locks of her wavy, auburn hair to fall over her forehead. She reached up to brush them back. This may come as a shock, but I’m actually a marshal. Marshal Amelia Crockett.

I gave a low whistle. "The Amelia Crockett?"

Yes. And I’ve come a long way to hunt you down and put you in jail, Mr. Crane.

I pulled off my hat and ran my fingers through my shaggy blond hair, mulling over this development. Well, that explains the glamour charm. My gaze fell on the glittering blue pendant around her neck. Or rather, the thing that looked like a pendant.

She frowned. You noticed?

Yeah. I’m good at noticing things. I narrowed my eyes a little, focusing them to see through the glamour. It was a rare talent, but one that I’d gained after years of practice. The marshal’s visage flickered, just for a moment. The pendant became a small cloth bag on a leather string, stuffed with the necessary ingredients to make her look like a different person. Her real face was as pretty as the fake one, though the features weren’t the same. The true color of her eyes was hazel; her hair more of a chestnut-brown.

That’s good, I said. "Real good. But there are only two alchemists in Neverica who can make a glamour strong enough to fool me. The real question is, how did you manage to see through my charm?" I reached under my vest to touch the bag hanging around my own neck. The one that was supposed to make me look a few inches shorter and ten years older.

I didn’t, she confessed. But I’ve been following you for quite a while now. I know every face you use. All fifteen of them.

Sixteen. I save one for emergencies. Makes me look like a little old lady. Not my favorite.

Marshal Crockett drew herself up and addressed me in a stern, official manner. Todd Ichabod Crane, I’m arresting you for wanton misuse of magic and defiance of the Salem Accords.

I rolled my eyes. In other words, hunting monsters and selling potions without any permits. Good grief, Amy, you don’t have to be so melodramatic about it.

Amelia, Amy corrected. She leaned forward, and I felt something hard and metallic poke me in the ribs. Just so you know, I’m aiming a gun at you. A magic gun. It does a lot of things you won’t like.

I flashed her a triumphant grin. You think this glamour is all the magic I’ve got? I’m wearing a warding amulet, too.

She coolly returned my smile. How nice for you. My bullets are charmed to cut right through that.

Of course they are. But you can’t shoot me in here. I jerked my head toward the crowd of desperadoes filling the saloon. You won’t outlive me by more than a few seconds.

This is the Bunyan Falls saloon, she scoffed. People get killed or worse here every day. The survivors just mop up the evidence and get on with their lives.

Good point. However… While keeping her talking, I’d been carefully removing something from the pocket of my vest—a tiny glass vial. I popped the cork off with my thumb and tapped the bottle against Amy’s gun hand. You know what this is?

She flinched slightly as the glass touched her skin, but refrained from pulling the trigger. What is it? she demanded.

It’s a reversal potion for glamour charms. You know how they get stuck sometimes, even when you take them off your neck? I like to keep something on hand to get rid of them. It’s hard switching to a different glamour if you’ve still got traces of the old one hanging on.

Amy froze. What are you playing at, Crane?

Please, call me Todd. And I’m not playing at anything. Once I dump this on you and everyone can see your real face, you’ll find out pretty quickly that this isn’t a game. I glanced around the room. I don’t pay enough attention to the papers to recognize you on sight, but I imagine most of these ladies and gentlemen do. And they won’t take kindly to finding you in their sanctum sanctimonium.

Sanctorum. She spoke through gritted teeth.

Really, Marshal, I gotta ask—what were you thinking? Riding right into Bunyan Falls to arrest me? That’s like walking into a nest of rattlegriffs.

I know what I’m doing, she snapped. But the look on her face said otherwise.

And anyway, she continued uncertainly, if you spill that potion, you’ll get it on yourself. You’re using that glamour because you’ve probably cheated all these people in the past. I’m surprised you were stupid enough to come to Bunyan Falls in the first place.

I considered this, then nodded. You have a point, Marshal Amy.

Amelia.

But here’s the thing—I don’t bother about trying to be smart. I find that wisdom often gets in the way of a man being rich.

She gave me a look of disdain. Yeah, that sounds like you, all right.

And so far as spilling this potion on myself is concerned…well, if you shoot, I’ll be dead, or whatever, so what does it matter? I shrugged and smiled at her.

The glare she was giving me could have melted steel, but I could see her resolve wavering. The gun barrel pulled away from my ribs. Look, she said, in a more measured tone. Why don’t we just discuss this calmly and rationally? No point in either of us flying off the handle.

I winked at her. That’s better. Now—

At that moment, something unfortunate happened. For some reason, a man sitting at the bar and nursing a large mug of wandroot whiskey let out a war whoop so loud that it shook the rafters. The shout was one I’d heard many times fighting in the War alongside the Swampers (another name for the Southerners). Maybe he was remembering his glory days on the battlefield, firing cursed bullets at the Steamers. Or maybe he just suddenly felt like yelling at the top of his lungs. I have moments like that. I could sympathize with the guy.

Even though his sudden shout caused me to splash the potion all over myself and Marshal Amy.

There were two loud pops and a puff of smoke—the unavoidable result of nullifying a glamour charm. Once the fog cleared, our true faces were visible to the whole saloon. And thanks to the noise, all eyes were now on us.

The piano player ended his song with an off-key chord. All the chatter in the saloon died shortly after the music. For several long, uncomfortable moments, Amy and I sat looking out at the sea of surprised faces.

It was Amy who finally broke the silence.

I’m going to kill you, she hissed at me.

It’s her! At a nearby table, a fashionably-dressed, dark-skinned woman who looked as if she came from Southern gentry pointed an accusing finger at Amy. Marshal Crockett. I’d know her anywhere.

And he’s Crane! bellowed a portly minotaur with a missing horn, rising from the bar and jabbing a three-fingered hand in my direction. Todd Crane! That miserable snake who traded me a dragon egg for one of my horns! Turned out to be just an imp egg instead!

I really hope they kill you first, said Amy. I want to watch. She rose from the table and reached for the pistol at her left hip.

I jumped up and grabbed her arm to stop her. No gunplay. Not yet. Let me handle this.

You already handled it. Badly.

We can sort out whose fault this is later. It’s yours, by the way.

You—

Just follow my lead, don’t shoot anybody, and keep your mouth shut.

Her eyes blazed, but she didn’t say anything else.

I turned to the other saloon patrons, who were looking more and more homicidal by the minute. Sorry, I said, raising a hand in apology. Real sorry, folks. Little accident with some glamour-reversal potion. I glanced down at the empty vial, then threw it away with a tinkling crash. Spilled it all over the place. Dang the luck; clumsy me. But on the bright side— Quick as a flash, I pulled five more vials from my vest pocket. —I have plenty more.

Before anyone could react, I tossed the bottles into the crowd. They shattered, and smoke billowed as glamour after glamour dissolved in a series of pops. The magic continued in a chain reaction, jumping from person to person until not a single glamour remained intact.

I’d been wanting to try that distraction for a while now. It worked even better than I’d expected.

Glamour charms are quite common among the Neverican criminal classes. Nearly everybody is pretending to be somebody else, just in case. Most of the time, they’re not being paranoid. When you do a person wrong in some ordinary way, it’s already bad enough for you. When you do them wrong with magic, you’ve got ten times more trouble on your hands. These people weren’t like me. More than half of them were ruthless killers; the rest of them were worse. They’d caused plenty of pain and suffering to each other over the years. And now that everybody knew who everybody else was, things were bound to get ugly.

This is the part where we run, I told Amy, as the saloon erupted in angry shouts. I grabbed her hand.

She yanked it free. You can just point. You don’t need to drag me.

Oh, for cryin’ out loud. I motioned to the swinging double doors. Come on!

We rushed forward, but nearly collided with a satyr who was trying to strangle a lanky man in a brown shirt. He appeared to be succeeding, until the man reached up and wrenched his hands free. Then the human uncorked a potion and gulped it down. Armor made from rock materialized around his entire body, giving him the appearance of a brawny troll. He lunged at his attacker with a roar, and they continued to grapple right in front of the doors.

Okay, not that way, I muttered. The window.

Amy glanced at the plate glass adorned with the words NOOLAS SLLAF NAYNUB in garish red and purple paint. (It made more sense from the outside, of course.) What, she cried, we’re just going to smash through it?

A tall dryad swathed in bark and leaves swung a tattooed man festooned with amulets against the window, shattering it to smithereens and sending him rolling across the street.

Well, now we don’t have to. I smiled at the dryad and touched my forehead in a brief salute. Thanks!

Without a moment’s hesitation, the dryad lunged at us and shouted something uncomplimentary in her native tongue. Amy drew her pistol in a quick, fluid motion. I noticed that she had one of those new guns charmed to create bullets out of thin air—no need to reload. After making sure she had the right chamber lined up with the barrel, she aimed and fired at the dryad.

The tree-woman stopped in her tracks, looking surprised. Her limbs locked into place, and frost spread across her from head to toe. Before long, she looked like a very realistic and angry ice sculpture.

I nodded. Nice shooting.

Don’t waste time admiring it! Amy jabbed an elbow into my ribs. In this heat, that charm won’t last long! Get moving!

She leapt out the window with me following close behind. The sun was sinking toward the canyon wall on the horizon, a dull red orb in a bright-pink desert sky. The buildings all around us were weather-beaten and dilapidated, their windows cracked, their roofs falling in. Bunyan Falls was pretty much a ghost town aside from the saloon and a few other places of business—mostly stores selling illegal magical ingredients.

Over there! I pointed to a red-and-blue medicine wagon across the street, a welcome splash of color in this drab little town. TODD CRANE: PURVEYOR OF POTIONS, CHARMS, AND MAGICAL NECESSITIES was emblazoned on the side. I’d glamoured it to hide my name, but apparently the chain reaction I’d started inside the saloon was spreading even farther than I’d expected. I doubted glamours would work anywhere in Bunyan Falls for several days, at the very least. I should have taken the time to repaint the thing; that would have been safer.

Jump in, I said to Amy, and let’s get out of here!

Amy stared at it in disbelief. We’re using that to escape?

That’s the plan. You got a problem with it?

A big one. She pointed to the empty harness spread across the wagon shafts. There’s no horse.

I fired the horse, I explained. We had an argument. Words passed between us that could never be forgotten.

Amy shook her head. Great. So who’s going to pull the wagon, then? You?

Good guess. I twisted the dull brass ring on the index finger of my left hand. It made a low humming noise, and bolts of blue lightning exploded from it, lifting me into the air. The magic formed a crackling storm cloud around my lower body, hiding my legs from view. Seconds later, it dissipated to reveal that my waist was now joined to the body of a paint draft horse.

Amy guffawed. Seriously?

I frowned and spread my arms. What now, Little Miss Critical? You don’t like the color? I swished my tail in annoyance.

You pull your own wagon? That’s ridiculous.

"On the contrary; it’s very sensible. I do a better job than any