SAINT Denis was relatively slow for the late afternoon, and Rane was a little relieved to see it, not least of all because she had no doubt that there were MACUSA prowling around this city somewhere. The less people around for this, the better. She'd never been on this side of a true crime before - hell, she'd spent most of her adult career being the one who stopped this sort of thing from happening - and the realization of this fact brought a faint smile to her face as they drew near the center of town. Her father would have had some choice words if he could see her now, trotting along behind a bunch of iron-wielding gauchos in ten-gallon hats, off to commit grand larceny. Christ, all this was strange.

Truthfully, between being kidnapped twice, shot, hired on as a tentative gun by a gang of outlaws and getting mixed up with Arthur and John, she hadn't had much time to think about everything that was happening, and she found herself ruminating on it now, of all times. Memories were beginning to return to her, strange ones that sometimes made no sense. The night before, she'd dreamed of Remus Lupin, looking harried and filthy, dying in front of her, struck down with a killing spell. It had been so clear she'd woken halfway convinced she was on the bridge of Hogwarts beneath the growing rain, and even the words that he'd said to her moments before he'd fallen, touching her cheek bracingly - Enough, we haven't finished yet - rang in her ears as if he'd spoken them seconds ago. The heartwrenching horror she felt as he collapsed at her feet, her closest friend, was fresh in her gorge when her eyes sprang open on the cot in Clemens Point, nauseating and close. And on the heels of it came the shock that she'd forgotten all about Remus until that morning, that he'd somehow slipped her mind - Remus, a man who she'd shared board and bottle with for ages, a man who had held her against his chest and wept with her after Sirius had been killed. She couldn't decide what was worse, the guilt or the sense that she was losing her goddamned mind for allowing him to just vanish from her memory.

There were other snippets that were coming back to her, sometimes moments, other times names - Iliwynn Talaeos, Bill Weasley, Albus Dumbledore - but they were only that, pieces of a puzzle full of too many gaps to get the full picture. And the feeling of her own death, something so blurry she could only get the outlines of it - looking up at the early dawn, rain falling from the sky, faces around her, the sound of her father weeping. None of it made any sense. But she sensed that it would, if she continued to dig. It was there, all of it. Just buried. She felt sure of it.

"You okay?" Arthur asked at Rane's side, making her jump a little. "You look like you're miles away."

"Yeah." Rane looked at him, smirking. "Just thinking how pissed off my dad would be if he could see what I'm doing right now. Just . . . casually committing felonies. He'd put his foot so far up my ass I'd polish his boots with my toothbrush."

Micah and Lenny both burst out laughing at this from up ahead. Rane's eyes remained on Arthur, a little smile playing about her face. He'd donned a dark gray suit, slicked his hair back, shaved and eschewed his hat, and he looked impossibly handsome in the afternoon sunlight, not like a roughly-hewn outlaw but like a polished gentleman. She examined the angular jawline this had exposed, smooth and sharp, his eyes glittering beneath his brows, startlingly blue. The guy had no idea how good-looking he was, and it was a new phenomenon for Rane. Sirius had always known, had wielded it on occasion and teased her about it, had even developed a reputation for his handsomeness, but Arthur Morgan . . . he was completely blind to it.

"What're you lookin' at me like that for?" he asked, catching her eye and smirking.

"Nothing," said Rane, low. She cast her eyes towards John, who was riding beside Dutch, markedly out of earshot. "You clean up nice, is all."

Arthur flushed, turning from her and clearing his throat.

"Yeah, well." Arthur sounded gruff, and Rane smirked again to herself. "Anyway, this robbin' shit, it ain't nice but it's gotta be done. It'll be over with quick if it all goes right."

"Well, things ain't gone right much lately for us, cabrón," said Javier grimly, glancing over his shoulder at Arthur. "From Blackwater on down. Were I you, I wouldn't get my hopes up too much."

"He ain't lyin'," John agreed glumly from up ahead.

"No, he ain't," Arthur agreed, low.

"Will you boys have a goddamned modicum of faith?" Dutch said stridently from up ahead, turning to them. He was heading the caravan, his horse's coat gleaming beneath the sun, the chains on his vest glinting. "Go easy through town, now. Quit with all your carryin' on. I see Hosea's wagon up ahead, we're nearly there."

Rane peered ahead, her horse's hooves clopping on the stone flagging beneath them. She could see the bank beyond, visible through the humid afternoon haze, crammed into the corner of a building.

"What happened in Blackwater?" she asked, looking at Javier curiously.

Javier pulled back on the reins, falling into step with her opposite Arthur and looking over at her.

"I'll tell ya what happened in Blackwater, mi corazon," he said, dropping his voice to a confidential murmur.

"Javier," said Dutch warningly. "Don't you evoke no evil right now, not on the cusp of it."

"She oughta know, Dutch," said Arthur. "'Specially with her walkin' into this blind."

"Blackwater ain't got nothin' to do with this, Arthur."

"Nah, maybe not, but if you're gonna talk about the good parts, you gotta talk about the bad ones too," said Arthur, not standing down. His eyes were on Dutch's back as he rode along, hips rocking with his horse, eyes blue and sharp. "It's only fair she knows what she's gettin' into."

"Arthur, she'll run scared you start in with that -"

"No, I won't," said Rane, quiet. "I promise I've seen worse."

Dutch sighed, shaking his head, but he turned away and didn't argue further. John was looking backwards at them, listening, his face long. Javier turned back to Rane, eyeing her from beneath his bowler.

"When you hear these boys talk about Blackwater, they mean about a ferry robbery couple months back, in a little town down southwest. It all went sideways, the law was onto us right off the get-go. Sold out or set on, made no difference."

Rane was watching him. "What happened?"

"Shot up, mi alma," Javier went on. "Rain of bullets to rival the veriest Summer hailstorm -"

"Why is it you always gotta recite like a damn poet about this shit?" John asked from up ahead, sounding grimly amused.

"Couple few of us taken in, one of 'em tortured," Javier went on, ignoring this. "We barely got out with our lives."

"Matter of fact, some of us didn't," said Dutch from up ahead, head still turned from them. "God rest their souls."

"Mac and Davey," said Arthur, shaking his head. "Poor damn kids."

"And Jenny," said Lenny without looking back, his voice low.

"Si," Javier agreed, nodding. "Jenny, too, 'lil thing we picked up on the side of the road, not much younger than you, hermosa. The law was on us quick as the simoon's desert winds. We had to run off into the Grizzlies to shake 'em, mi querida. Snow up to our eyeballs for weeks, and no pretty little thing like you to warm us up with your fancy stick, or anyway else. Ain't that right, Arthur?"

"Yeah, that's right. And quit callin' her that," Arthur added suddenly, glancing sidelong at Javier warningly. "She ain't your querida, Javier."

"Lo siento," said Javier, looking amused. "Just tellin' the story, is all."

"Hush, you lot. We're comin' up on it." Dutch's voice was low and cool. "Rane, ride on up here with me a sec. Arthur, you too."

Rane kicked her horse into a canter, pacing Dutch. Arthur did the same on the opposite side of him.

"I gotta ask you, girl, for your protection," said Dutch as she did, looking longways from his horse at her. He'd spiffed up for the event, and he looked handsome indeed, with his black curls falling from beneath his hat and his dark eyes flashing out at her, knowing and cool. Rane could see why Molly O'Shea guarded him so jealously. "You afraid of what them boys told you?"

Rane paced him with her horse, and met his eyes with hers, solid and undaunted. "No."

Dutch looked at her for a long moment, his eyes flicking over her face, assessing her.

"I ain't never met a woman wasn't scared in some way."

"You never met me."

"That sounds like a load of bluster."

"Well, you look in my eyes and tell me I'm scared," said Rane, and leaning forward met Dutch's eyes, her hazel on his brown. "In any way."

Dutch did, searching her. She was tall, lean, beautiful on her horse, her long hair wavering before her face in the breeze cast by her horse and her eyes bright beneath her dark brows.

"No. I don't believe that you are," Dutch said softly. He halted his horse, looking at her. "And before the sun sets you'll show me. Won't ya?"

"Yes." said Rane.

They dismounted and hitched their horses opposite the bank at the side of Hosea's wagon, all of them strung up tight as guitar strings, Rane not least among them. Dutch alone seemed quite at his ease; he leaned against the fence at the side of the road, tipping his hat back, eyeing the building before them with all the polite interest of a man observing the curios in a museum.

"Here." John touched Rane's shoulder. He was holding a bandanna in his hand. "Take it. Cover up your face when it gets goin' so we don't have law on us later on."

Rane took it, looking up at him. His eyes lingered on hers, and she reflected on him for a moment unhappily. He was terrible at concealing himself, even now, hours after the fact. The look on his face was wistful and wounded, the afternoon sun falling over him. He'd cleaned up for the event as well and without his hat he looked handsome and very young, his brows knitted and his dark hair swept back.

"John -"

"Take it," said John, shaking the bandanna at her, his voice gruff. It hurt him to see her looking so beautiful, her hair tied back to expose the angles of her cheekbones and the black dress clinging to the arc of her long waist. Those eyes had looked into his while they lay face to face in an overpriced bed in this city not long ago, while he confessed his heart to her like the idiot he was, and the pain was still too near. "Go on, take it. I don't wanna look at you no more."

Rane was stung by this, but she took the bandanna. Before she could say any more, John turned away from her, moving toward Dutch, his shoulders hunched. She watched him go, frowning.

"Leave him be, mi querida," said Javier at her elbow, following her gaze. "A man refused ain't one to bedevil, 'specially by the one who done the refusin'."

"I told ya to quit callin' her that, Javier, don't make me tell it again," Arthur muttered opposite him. He was looking around warily, one hand on the butt of his revolver. "Where the hell are all the law? This is makin' me nervous as hell."

"Relax. They ain't got no cause to be here yet," said Dutch. He'd lit a cigarette and still looked quite at his ease, the tendrils of smoke rising before his lips. "We're just waitin' for our sign."

As if his words had summoned it, there was an explosion on the other end of the block, loud and echoing, sending a rise of black smoke into the air. Rane and Arthur both jumped, whirling around.

"Fuck!" Rane gasped.

"Goddamn, I love that Hosea!" Dutch cried merrily, starting for the bank. "Come on, you lot, let's get this done!"

Rane started forward with the rest of them, still staring toward the explosion. Arthur grasped her elbow, looking at her.

"Just follow Dutch." He pulled his bandanna over his mouth, his blue eyes flicking between hers. "Time to work."

THE bank was crowded, and when they entered Rane was disheartened by it. She glanced sidelong at Micah and Javier, both pointing guns toward them and shouting, and felt a little swoop of cold in her belly. They were outnumbered. She wondered if any of them were armed.

Rane drew her wand and pulled the bandanna John had given her over her mouth, doing a quick headcount as she approached, eyes flicking between them. Seven or eight, with another half dozen in the next room being rounded up by Bill and Javier. Arthur strode toward a suited man standing near the middle of the room and grasped his lapels roughly, throwing him toward the vault.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery," Dutch was saying stridently. "You ain't got nothing to worry about if you do just what we say."

"Which one is the bank manager?" said Rane. She wanted to get this done quick, before someone decided to pull a gun and put a bullet in one of them.

"This fool right here," said Arthur, toeing the cowing man on the floor before him with his boot. "Ain't ya, you -"

"Stupefy maxima!"

There was a bang and a brilliant flash of red light. Dutch, Bill, Micah and Charles staggered back, shouting in alarm, and Lenny actually fired an involuntary round into the ceiling, spraying flecks of wood everywhere. Everyone besides the teller beneath Arthur dropped to the floor, their limbs crumpling beneath them.

"What in the hell?" Bill said, his voice uncharacteristically faint. "What in the hell -?"

Dutch's eyes went from the Stupefied bank patrons now littering the floor to Rane, his mouth slightly agape.

"I told ya," said Arthur, glancing over at him. "You believe me now, Dutch?"

"You killed 'em! All of 'em!" Micah said, his tone shocked and accusatory

"They're just knocked out." Rane was striding toward the teller, who looked up at her with clear terror. She drew her sword with a clang and rested its tip against his shoulder, eyeing him. "Now, if I wanted to kill someone, I'd open up his throat with steel. Get up, honeybunch."

For a moment the teller simply quivered on the floor, staring up at Rane, his hands held palms-out before him. Arthur clocked him on the side of the head with his pistol.

"Well you heard the lady, get the hell UP!" he roared, and the teller did, whimpering, still gazing at Rane's blade with dizzy fear.

Dutch dragged his eyes from Rane with an effort, turning to the rest of the gang, all of whom were still watching her. "You boys quit gawkin'. That bullet Lenny put into the ceiling is liable to draw the law, I need you on your damn toes. John, you and Charles keep an eye on the street. Rest of you fellers start checkin' these folks for valuables."

"Can you open that thing?" Arthur asked Rane, tilting his head toward the vault. "Do we even need him?"

Rane placed a hand against the vault's heavy door, then rapped sharply on it with her knuckles, producing a deep, resounding clank. "I don't think so. Too big."

"Well, then you best start gettin' busy, boy," Arthur snarled at the teller, and pulled the hammer back on his gun, aiming it at his head. "Open it."

"With a quickness," Rane added, "unless you want your inside to become outsides."

THE teller was motivated enough, and a few moments later the vault door swung open with a creak. Arthur cracked him on the head with his pistol again, this time much harder, and he crashed to the ground, limbs akimbo.

"How we lookin', Lenny?" Dutch said loudly as Arthur dragged the teller aside and dropped him unceremoniously on the floor.

"Nothin' yet," Lenny replied over his shoulder. "We oughta hurry, Dutch."

"We been in here too damn long already," Micah agreed.

"When are all these poor sods gonna wake up?" Bill asked. He and Charles were still searching the pockets of the Stupefied patrons littering the floor.

"Couple hours. Depends on -"

"Rane, hush up and get on in there! Open that big bastard up!" Dutch ordered sharply. "This ain't the time!"

Arthur tossed her a satchel which she caught, sheathing her sword. "Take all you can carry. Dutch and me'll look through the drawers."

Rane strode toward the safe, aiming her wand. "Alohomora."

For a moment she wasn't sure it was going to work, but then it sprang open on its hinges, revealing stacks of bills. Rane knelt before it and began to shovel cash into the bag. Behind her, Dutch and Arthur were rifling through the many drawers along the walls.

"Think we got a problem out here!" John shouted suddenly.

"What?"

"Just get out here!"

Dutch, Arthur and Rane emerged from the vault, making their way to the window, where John and Charles were huddled against the wall, guns drawn, peering outside.

"DUTCH! GET OUT HERE! GET OUT HERE NOW!"

This voice was coming from the road. Rane took a spot next to Arthur, her wand at the ready, looking around the corner. Her heart sank. There were dozens of men outside the bank, all with weapons trained on them. One of them had Hosea by the wrist and was guiding him roughly into the road, a pistol aimed at his head. And at his side -

"John." Rane looked over at him sharply. "Is that the guy that was in our room the other night?"

"Sure does look like him," said John, low.

It was. Rane was almost positive. That horseshoe mustache was tough to forget. A moment later, she didn't have to wonder anymore; she saw him draw his wand, keeping it low at his side, and twirl it surreptitiously. She couldn't hear the words he spoke, but she could see them forming on his lips nonetheless: praecano horribilis.

"He knows I'm in here," said Rane, low. "He just blocked anyone from performing magic."

"What?" Arthur looked at her sharply. "For how long?"

"Couple minutes. Long enough."

"Somebody musta squealed," said Dutch, drawing his revolver. He lifted his voice to a shout. "Mister Milton? Let my friend go, or folks, they are gonna get shot unnecessarily -!"

"Your friend? Why would I do that?" Milton cried back. The auror at his side stepped forward, and though he didn't draw his wand, Rane could tell his fist was clenched around it in his pocket. She wasn't sure if he would use magic against them once his curse subsided, especially in the presence of so many muggles, but she didn't want to find out.

"There's a girl with ya," he said loudly. "Send her on out here too. We want 'em both."

Dutch's eyes cut to Rane momentarily. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, mister -!"

"Harker. Percival Harker." The auror continued to watch the windows of the bank warily. "And you don't need to remember my name, boy. I get what I came for and I'll be on my way."

"What the hell does he want with you?" Dutch asked Rane.

"He's MACUSA," Rane muttered. "Magical law."

"Dutch, I ain't got much more patience for this shit!" Milton said loudly. He jerked Hosea roughly. "Come on out here nice and easy!"

"Milton -"

"No, Dutch! It's over! No more bargains! No more deals!"

"Mister Milton, this is America! You can always cut a deal!"

"I've given you enough chances," said Milton, and shoved Hosea into the street, his weapon leveled. Rane saw what was about to happen in Milton's face a split second before it did, and her heart seemed to seize in her chest. She grasped Arthur's wrist, her grip vicelike.

"Arthur -"

There was a moment in which Hosea simply stood in the road, moving toward the bank, as if trying not to bolt for its safety. Then Milton fired, the report loud, echoing. Blood dashed from Hosea's chest, and he fell forward onto the stone flagging, his boots scrabbling in the dust, clutching himself.

"NO!" Dutch's voice was rife with grief; there was none of his bluster and charisma now.

"GOD - DAMMIT!" Arthur bellowed at her side.

"There's your deal, Dutch!" Milton was calling, his voice cold.

"GOD DAMMIT, KILL THESE BASTARDS!" Dutch shouted, and then all hell broke loose.

RANE wasn't the only one taken by surprise with the gunfire that erupted between Milton's men and Van der Linde's boys; Percival Harker went for his wand at once, clearly safe in the knowledge that no muggle was going to notice it in the fray. Rane saw him wave it before him - a Shielding charm, probably - and then scowl, cursing, as nothing happened. She felt a fierce rush of satisfaction. He'd played himself the same as her.

Without her wand, she was down to her sword, and in order to use it without relieving Arthur and Dutch of a few limbs in the upswing she needed to get to the door, so that was where she presently headed, half-crouched against the hail of bullets. Arthur, from his spot in cover against the window, looked at her in alarm, his eyes widening.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN'?" he roared over the crash of gunfire.

"I CAN'T USE MAGIC!" Rane bellowed back, looking at him over her shoulder. "I TOLD YOU!"

"RANE ROTH, DON'T YOU OPEN THAT DOOR OR I'LL KILL YA MYSELF!"

Ignoring him, Rane flung it wide, and immediately a flurry of bullets rained in, their assailants seeing this unexpected gap in their armor and firing for it, striking the wood of the doorframe and spraying splinters. John and Charles ducked away, their guns aiming out the windows, but they needn't have worried. Her sword was flying in the space of a second, not just deflecting now but aiming what she deflected back at their attackers, and in spite of his grief and fear Dutch could not help but stare helplessly at her. She twirled the sword around her wrist with such deft expertise that it was impossible to track her motions, her hair flying around her face, the black dress's skirts flapping about her lean waist, the clangs of the bullets riding off her blade loud and sharp in the bank. And men were falling now on the road, struck in the throats and the hearts and the foreheads, not arbitrary but as calculated as if she'd fired them from a gun of her own. Now her sword switched hands, as quick as a dragonfly, and even in her left it was adroit. Her eyes were set on the man who'd called her to come out, angry and cold, and Dutch realized with a shock that she was about to stride out there toward him. Swordplay or no, she'd not survive that, and he couldn't let that happen.

"MISS ROTH, GET OUTTA THAT DAMN DOOR!" he bellowed.

"You ain't so good without your wand, are you?" Rane said loudly. Harker was fumbling two-handed with a pistol he clearly knew nothing about, ducked behind a crate. "You better think twice before you cast that spell like that while one of the Eldar is armed with steel next time, you son of a -!"

He fired a bullet at her, his aim unsteady, and Rane let it fly back at him. It winged him, striking his arm and sending him shouting onto his back, the gun clattering from his hand.

"DUTCH!" Arthur was glaring over at her, his eyes wide and fearful as he shot at the lawmen. "GET HER OUTTA THERE BEFORE I -!"

"RANE!" Dutch said loudly, trying to pour all of his authority into his voice. "GET THE HELL OUT OF THAT DOOR, I SAID!"

Rane did, ducking away, bullets whining past her and striking the far wall, sending Bill and Lenny ducking. Dutch smashed the door shut, snatched the hem of her dress and yanked her close until they were nose to nose, meeting her eyes.

"You mind me next time, girl." He thrust her away roughly. "Can you use that goddamned thing in your pocket yet? Because if ya can, I got an idea."

"I dunno. That spell that he used doesn't last long, but -"

"Well, if you can," said Dutch, "blow the hell outta that wall over there."

He took her by the shoulders and pointed aft. Rane broke away from him, the gunfire still whistling past, and aimed her wand at the wall Dutch had indicated.

"Reducto!"

Nothing happened. Rane shook her head, then resettling her stance, shifting her shoulders and shaking her head, aimed her wand again, her eyes narrowing.

"REDUCTO!"

The wall before her shattered in a shockingly loud crash of brick and mortar, and she fell backwards against the bank counter, her eyes wide, as shocked that her spell had worked as anyone else. Harker's spell had clearly ended.

"ARTHUR!" Dutch shouted, not allowing this display to halt him. He had crouched behind the counter. "YOU ALIVE?"

"Just about!" Arthur ducked from cover and skidded to a crouch at Dutch's side, hair in disarray and guns smoking slightly.

"You get on up to the roof and cover us," said Dutch, looking sharply at Arthur. At the windows, John and Charles were still firing at their assailants.

"Dutch -"

"Get up there. I'll cover the rear and we'll get 'em outta here," said Dutch, looking sharply at Arthur.

Rane cast an anxious look at the front of the bank. "Dutch, I can help out here -"

"You go on," said Dutch, and shoved at Rane's shoulder roughly. "Do as I say."

Rane did, following along at Arthur's heel.