#wolfpackreads
I could lie to the sheriff and tell her I have a posse on the way, but I’ve found it best not to tell tall tales to the folks I want to pay me at the end of the day. She might never find out, or she might have a charm or two on her person. Charmslingers like me aren’t as uncommon as “proper” folk would like to think. Humans all over the west have been figuring out that life is just a tad easier sometimes with a little magic to help them along. They just don’t like to admit it as much because they think it taints them somehow. They’d rather shout slurs at the ones who use it openly. Jealous, I suppose.
That leaves me with one other option—finding a posse in name only. They stay behind, out of my way, and I pay them a set amount upon my return. The best way, really; there’s no risk of betrayal. But the right person has to be a combination of greedy—wanting to take my money, vain—not wanting to mess his pretty face, and without valour—not minding that he looks like a coward for staying behind.
A man walks into the bar and takes off his hat to reveal sandy blond hair. He looks directly at me. His bright blue eyes seem to shine through the gloom, his nose is straight, his teeth all intact as he smiles.
Ladies and gents, I’ve found my posse.
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