There was a ladder just outside the blown wall, and Rane followed Arthur as he climbed, his breath harried in his throat. The sounds of continuing gunfire below, as well as the shouting of the gang and the lawmen caught in the fray, were loud. The air was thick with the acrid stink of gunsmoke, hanging like a pall before them in the skies. It was humid and warm, and Rane was beginning to wish she could rip this stupid dress off and cast it into the gutter. Better to fight butt-ass naked than in this fucking thing.

"You hurt?" Arthur said as they reached the roof, looking over one shoulder at her.

Rane, a little winded, shook her head. "No. Are you?"

"Not yet," said Arthur. He was striding toward the edge of the building, guns held loosely at his sides. "Ask me again in a couple minutes. Stay low."

Rane crouched, hunkering at the edge of the roof at Arthur's side. There were more lawmen appearing on the curve of the road now, some astride horses and others on foot, all of them firing with impunity.

"Jesus Christ," Rane breathed. "So damn many of them."

"Yep. I smell a rat." Arthur fired one-handed at a man on the balcony opposite them and he fell from the railing, tumbling head over heels. "We get outta here alive, it'll be a goddamned miracle."

"Protego maxima!" Rane said loudly, aiming her wand.

"What the hell'd you do?"

"Cast a shield over the front of the bank," said Rane. "They'll have a couple minutes to get out."

Arthur looked at her for a moment longer, then placed a hand on the back of her head and drawing her face towards his kissed her hard, the smell of his sweat strong.

"Goddam, you're somethin'," he said, pulling back and looking at her.

"I'm pretty cool, I know."

"Pretty humble, too." Arthur broke away as a bullet whined past them and returned fire, his mouth pulled back into a grim sneer. "Goddammit, where the hell are those boys at?"

"The fuck is that thing?" said Rane, her voice soft.

Arthur turned to follow her gaze. A wagon was pulling up, and on the back of it -

"Arthur, they got a Gatling!" a voice said behind them. Javier was clambering up the ladder, his face shining with sweat. "Take that son of a bitch out before he makes ribbons outta us -!"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

A flash of green light flew from Rane's wand, and the man behind the Gatling gun fell over dead, his hat toppling from his head, falling head over heel to the dirt.

For a moment Rane only stared down at him from their place on the roof, the wind quick and hard around them, her heart beating hard. She felt sick.

"God DAMN but ain't she good?" Javier was saying behind her, thrilled.

"Rane? The hell's -?"

"Nothing." Rane shook her head. She'd never performed a killing curse before, and it was as if she'd crossed some sort of invisible threshold in that moment. She was an auror, and she'd killed scores of men, but . . . not like this. It felt scummy, like taking a man out with a dagger in the back.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the clamor of men climbing up the ladder behind them. They turned, and in a moment the rest of the gang had appeared, Dutch heading their procession, his face harried and his hair in disarray.

"They got John," he said, panting, standing before Arthur and Rane with his hands on his hips, catching his breath.

"What do you mean, they got John?" Rane said sharply.

"Killed?" Arthur's voice was just as harsh, his eyes frightened.

Dutch was shaking his head, still breathing roughly. "Arrested. I couldn't help."

"Well we better go or we'll be next," said Arthur, shaking his head.

"What d'you think?"

Arthur sighed, his breath shearing from between his teeth. "I reckon me and Lenny try to find a way across the roofs, so if you'll cover us -"

"Go with 'em," said Dutch, gesturing at Rane. "You can use that goddamned thing now, so go with 'em and -"

"Wait, but what about John?" Rane's voice was harsh and accusatory, her eyes flashing. "What about John, Dutch?"

"The law took him, girl," said Dutch, shaking his head. "There ain't nothin' we can do, not now. We got overrun. Bullets quit hittin' their mark and they stormed right in -"

"Is he -?"

"No, he ain't. Not yet, anyway -"

"Hey, we gotta move!" said Arthur roughly. He was standing on the roof, still bent at the waist, his guns in his hands, looking back at them. "Otherwise we'll all go the same way!"

"She can handle 'em, Arthur, if they -!"

"Dutch, no." Rane was shaking her head, her eyes forbidding. Arthur was nodding at her side.

"She's good, sure, but there's three dozen of them down there and more comin', Dutch," he said roughly. "Don't be a fool."

"He's right, I can't take that many," said Rane, her hair flying about her face in the rough wind. "Not on my own. And especially not with more aurors around. That Harker guy, I know he wasn't the only one."

"Yeah, alright, go on." Dutch flung a hand. "Make it fast."

"Follow Lenny and me."

Rane ran after Arthur. He was striding across the roofs, his guns pulled. Lenny was ahead, looking back at them.

"Come on!"

"LENNY!"

Rane wasn't quick enough, and for the second time that night she cursed herself for it. The men piling out of the door were faster, and their guns faster still. There was a thunder of gunfire, and Lenny fell beneath their bullets, heartshot, his lean form crumpling on the roof. Arthur, shouting, aimed both his guns and felled the lot of them before Rane could lift her wand, his eyes hard. Running up on Lenny's body he knelt, his face contorted, his eyes wide.

"Dutch! They got Lenny!"

"God damn them!" Dutch cried, but he wasn't stopping, and neither were Micah and Charles. "We gotta go, Arthur, come on!"

"Oh, Lenny. Oh, goddammit all to hell."

Arthur was clutching Lenny's shoulders, his hair hanging in his face, his mouth downturned. Lenny lay on the hot shingles, blood running from his chest, his eyes staring up to the heavens, seeing past them all. Rane reached down and grasped Arthur's shoulder tightly, yanking him up.

"We gotta go, Arthur."

"You know how old he was?" Arthur said roughly, looking up at her.

Rane shook her head. "Young."

"Young enough." Arthur passed an arm over his eyes. "Young the fuck enough -"

"ARTHUR, COME ON!" Dutch shouted from up ahead. Rane clutched his shoulder and shook it gently.

"We have to keep going. He'd want it."

"How the hell do you know what he wanted?"

Rane grasped a handful of Arthur's shirt and yanked his agonized face close to hers. "Would he want you getting killed dead, Arthur Morgan? Is that what he'd have wanted?"

Arthur, his eyes hurt and wide, looked into her face. She released him, her gaze on his.

"Come on."

Arthur cast a final look back at Lenny, his face strained, then getting up with a grunt followed Rane, guns at his sides.

"Up there!" Dutch was shouting. He, Micah and Charles were running along the roof overhead, their boots loud on the shingles. "Careful! There's more law down there!"

"Muffliato!" Rane said sharply, waving her wand.

"The hell did she -?"

"Makes it so they can't hear us. You guys sure do ask a lot of questions."

There was a window up ahead, and Dutch elbowed it, sending glass shattering across the roof, motioning the rest of them in. "Come on, you lot, inside. Arthur, you first."

"Looks like they're heavily patrollin' around here," said Bill, eyes roving over the east side of the roof. Rane followed his gaze. He was right; there were dozens of them even here, armed to the teeth, heads on the swivel.

They climbed into the window, one after the other. Arthur cast Micah a grim look as he clambered inside.

"They knew we was comin'. Just like your lead in Blackwater -!"

"Ain't nothin' like that," Micah said roughly, pointing a grim finger at Arthur as he strode on. Rane, last to climb in, took Arthur's proffered hand as she did, her brow knitted. They filed together into the next room - Bill, Javier, Micah, Charles, Arthur, Dutch and Rane - all of them out of breath and worn down, and Javier shut the door behind them as they collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion.

A moment of silence passed as they caught their breath. The room was dusty, grim and long abandoned, but Rane was grateful for the shelter after the madness at the bank. It had been difficult down there. And costly. She slid down the wall, letting her legs splay out in front of her, sighing.

"What now?" said Bill

"I don't know. I don't." Dutch shut the door, turning to them. "This whole town is filled with cops."

"Well, how long we gonna stay here? A few hours?" Arthur asked. He was peering out the window, neck craning to see the streets below.

"Well, we go back to camp, they're gonna get every last one of us," said Dutch. He was pacing the floor, almost talking to himself, looking at no one. "I know they're gonna be watchin' the roads."

"Maybe we should just give them a little bit of time to clear off and cool down, then," said Rane.

"Yeah, I don't much see we have a choice, Dutch," Arthur agreed. "Maybe we can just -"

"I got it," said Dutch suddenly. He spread his arms expansively, looking at Arthur. "A boat."

"What d'you mean?"

"We stay in here till nightfall, then we sneak on down to the docks. Get ourselves outta here."

"Yeah but where?" Micah asked roughly.

"Anyplace will do." Dutch shoved at Charles's shoulder, who vacated the chair he was in, and Dutch sat down, looking around at them all. He'd adopted his old, unctuous politician voice, Rane noted with a touch of dismay. She shifted, crossing her feet and folding her arms across her chest, watching. This was another grand plan, surely. "We lie low. We come back for the rest in a few days."

Arthur sighed, and sat next to Rane, his back sliding against the wall. When he spoke, he sounded weary.

"I'm guessin' it's that, or we die out there right now."

"Exactly."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help your friends," said Rane abruptly. Arthur looked over at her. She was still sitting cross-armed, the late afternoon sunlight glimmering off the sweat standing at the hollow of her throat, tendrils of hair hanging at her cheeks, but now her eyes were in the black lap of her dress and her brows were knitted. She looked ashamed.

Dutch was looking at her too, and for a moment real emotion flashed in his eyes, free of his bluster.

"Well," he said at last. "Hosea was my oldest friend, and a good man. Lenny, too. But I cannot blame you for that. Wasn't nothin' any one of us coulda done."

"Hosea." Arthur shook his head, hands dangling between his knees, looking at the floor. "Don't that just put a pin in it. And young Lenny. Barely old enough to spit, poor damn kid."

"There'll be a time for mournin'," said Dutch, "but it ain't right now, Arthur. Right now we gotta stay calm and get the hell outta here."

"Yeah, I know. I was just sayin'."

"Who was that man callin' you out?" Micah asked, looking at Rane from where he stood leaning against the wall. "Harker, or whatever he said his name was?"

"Magical Congress," said Rane. "I hogtied that guy a few nights ago. He's an auror, same as me. I assaulted him, and broke a couple of other laws. So I imagine he wants to arrest me for his troubles."

"Laws? What laws?"

"There's an international agreement not to let mug - er, non-magical people know that wizards exist," said Rane, a trifle impatiently. She really didn't want to get into all this again. She swept a hand before her toward her companions. "Obviously, I'm breaking the hell out of that one, for starters. You guys have seen me do all kinds of shit."

Micah scoffed. "Seems stupid."

Rane looked at him, her eyelashes flashing in the sunlight, cocking her head in a way that Arthur thought looked a tad dangerous."Why you say?"

"Well, of course somebody's gonna figure it out eventually," Micah went on, gesticulating. "And what the hell harm could come of it, anyway?"

"There are mass graves full of people murdered by muggles for using their wands as far back as written word, and every single one of them would disagree," Rane told him, her eyes betraying a touch of disdain. "People tend to turn into dumb violent assholes when they don't understand something, as you demonstrated when you tried to put a bullet in my head a couple days ago."

Micah flushed a little at this, giving her a cool look. Charles laughed openly. Javier was smirking, too.

"And no, no one will figure it out," Rane went on, low, picking at the hem of her skirts irritably. "If someone does, we wipe their memory. Obviously it's working pretty well, apart from me. None of you knew before I turned up that there was a whole community of people existing right under your noses, so -"

"Alright, Christ." Micah shifted, turning from her and looking temperamentally toward the far wall. "I was just askin'."

"Is he dangerous, you think?" Dutch asked her. "This Harker feller? The auror?"

Rane looked at him grimly, the sunlight catching on her face and turning her eyes translucent and ethereal. Arthur thought again of her sword spinning around her wrist while she tried to impress young Jack at camp, a piece of metalwork that must have weighed nearly ten pounds, tossed around like it was nothing.

"All aurors are dangerous," she said.

"And what'll he do to ya if he catches ya?" Bill asked, looking curious in spite of himself.

Rane leaned back, letting her head rest on the wall, looking thoughtful. "If I had to take a stab, I'd say that this many violations would get me dead, honestly. He's not gonna catch me, though," she added, smirking at Bill. "He's tried twice already and I'm still kicking. I'm not worried about it."

"What d'you mean, dead?" Arthur said sharply at her elbow.

"I mean capital punishment," Rane replied drolly, meeting his eyes. "Sent to the last reward. A short drop and a sudden stop. They kill you for some crimes, same as muggles do."

"They can't -!"

"Sure they can. You told me people swing from the fucking gallows around here just for stealing a damn horse. What do you think they'd do to someone who broke an international century-old treaty?"

Arthur's eyes flicked between hers, his mouth downturned, genuinely dismayed. Seeing his face, Rane leaned over, nudging him slightly, her eyes on his, feeling a touch ashamed for her levity.

"They're not gonna catch me, so the point is moot."

"Well, we'll certainly have to see to it that he doesn't," Dutch agreed, his voice grim and a little uneasy. He leaned back, crossing his arms. "We most certainly will."

NIGHTFALL found most of them dozing at their repose, exhausted by the day's events and worn on adrenaline. Bill was snoring open-mouthed on the floor, and Dutch and Javier had dropped their hats over their eyes, arms folded over their chests and legs stretched out in front of them, boots crossed. Rane had leaned against Arthur, her head on his shoulder, and he'd strung his arm around her shoulders and rested his temple against the crown of her head, his hat at his side.

"Alright, you lot," said Charles loudly, getting up and stretching richly. Rane and Arthur jolted, looking at one another, then in a moment of almost comedic timing both looked down. Arthur had twined his fingers through hers and their clasped hands were resting in his lap, lax as they slept. They moved away from one another quickly, Arthur clearing his throat gruffly. "Sun's down, time to move."

"You two need a minute?" Micah said, getting to his feet and looking wryly at Arthur.

"Shut up, Micah, before I have her shoot some more sparkles at ya. Did you bring a spare pair of knickers, ya skittish son of a bitch?"

Rane snorted. Even seconds after waking up, he was a snappy bastard.

"You boys shut up," said Dutch, his voice rough from sleep. He was standing before the window, peering out and straightening his hat. The stars hung overhead, but the streetlights, orange and cool, cast his face into sharp resolution. "I don't see nothin'. Maybe they cut out."

"Don't count on it," said Charles grimly.

"Yeah, well. Y'all follow me."

They made their way out of the building, all with weapons in hand, and crept out the front door. The streets outside were damp and deserted, the crickets loud and the humid warmth baking off the stone flagging beneath them. Rane could see the glittering of the water ahead beneath the moonlight. It wasn't far. Across the train tracks and to wherever the hell Dutch had in mind.

"You see one of them boys after you, you say," said Arthur. He was hurrying along at her elbow, half-crouched, gun in hand, and Rane felt a rush of tenderness rise in her chest at his nearness. He was staying close to her because he wanted to keep her safe. If she'd doubted how hard she was crushing on this guy up until now, she didn't need to worry about it anymore. "Don't try to do nothin' stupid like you did back there at that bank."

"If it's a good auror, nobody will see them coming," she replied, still smiling a little in the darkness. "I'm halfway to being crazy about you, Arthur Morgan."

Arthur glanced sidelong at her, his face half-hidden by the night's shadows, and the broad, genuine smile that appeared on his face at these words was so intoxicating that it was all Rane could do not to drop her wand and fling her arms around him right then and there.

"Where the hell did that come from?"

"If I figure it out I'll let you know," said Rane, and then abandoning pretense she yanked him to her by the lapels of his suit and kissed him, helpless not to. One of his hands strayed to her cheek, both of them straightening beneath the Saint Denis streetlamps, the moisture rising around them into the hot sky, their breath shearing between their lips, heedless.

"Arthur! Is this really the best time for that kind of shit?"

Rane and Arthur broke apart, both seeming to remember themselves. Dutch was glaring back at them, gun pointed toward the skies, as were the rest of them.

"COME ON!" Dutch hissed, beckoning angrily. "You two can fawn over each other later, get the HELL up here!"

They did, Arthur looking a little pink-faced, pacing the rest of them. Javier pointed to their left with his pistol as they neared the tracks.

"Law," he muttered. "Lookin' for us, like as not."

"Shit," said Dutch, low. He pointed ahead, grasping Arthur by the sleeve of his shirt. "You see that?"

"You mean to get us onto that boat."

"I do indeed." He turned to Rane, his face half-hidden in shadow. "You think you can keep your hands off of Arthur long enough to distract 'em?"

"I don't think that's going to be possible," said Rane. Bill snorted loudly, placing an arm over his mouth.

"She's funny, if she ain't nothin' else," said Javier, smirking.

"Ain't exactly the time for jokes. Can you or not?"

"If they're just lawmen, sure," said Rane, low. "If they're MACUSA and I fire at them, we're all liable to get our asses handed to us."

"Are they? MACUSA?"

Rane shook her head. "I don't know. Only way to tell is to try to curse them. If they're MACUSA they'll be on us like white on rice, Dutch, and I'm good, but I'm not good enough to fight off ten or eleven aurors. They'd lay me out. Probably wipe all your memories and turn you into a bunch of dribbling idiots, too."

Charles moved forward, crouched behind a crate, eyes sharp in the gloom. "I'll go."

Rane looked at him sharply. "Charles, no."

"Could be they're just a bunch of old fools with guns."

"Yeah, but if they're not -"

"If they're not, they'll run me off so I don't see what they are," said Charles, meeting her eyes. "Same as you said. Either way it'll clear the path. When they chase after me, you lot make a break for it."

"Charles, I don't like the sound of that," said Arthur, looking at him anxiously.

"What are you talkin' about?" Dutch asked Charles roughly.

"You heard what I said," said Charles, and without another word he broke cover and strode toward the lawmen, arms swinging and long hair flying in the seabreeze. Rane watched him go with a faint expression of respect.

"That is about the most beautiful thing I seen all day," said Dutch, low.

"Real brave," Arthur agreed.

"Absolute legend," Rane murmured. Her wand was aimed at the lawmen, watching silently. "Let's hope they're just yokels for his sake."

"If they ain't, you cover him, mi alma," said Javier sharply.

"Abso-fuckin'-lutely."

They weren't aurors, as it turned out. When they spotted Charles, however, he sprinted away, moving with surprising quickness for a man his size, and they followed after him, shouting. Once they'd passed beyond sight, Dutch beckoned, moving forward quickly.

"Alright, come on."

THE boat was crammed with crates - some kind of cargo ship, Rane assumed, though her knowledge of nautical minutiae was admittedly limited - and found cover between some of them. The night was dark and humid overhead, riddled with stars even so early, and the six of them collapsed onto the damp deck, breathing quickly and staring around them. The ship rocked with the tide even anchored, gentle but relentless, the sounds of the water lapping against its sides loud and continuous and the smell of salt high and strong in the air. Rane decided at once that she didn't care for seafaring.

"This boat ain't goin' to Tahiti by any chance?" said Arthur drolly, sliding down onto the plank wood beneath them.

"I don't know," said Dutch, shaking his head. "Maybe so."

"Yeah, well maybe it'll take us to the bottom of the goddamned ocean," said Micah crossly. He looked as nauseated as Rane felt.

"Well, then the bottom of the ocean is where we'll go," said Dutch shortly. "We ain't got nowhere else to go and I'm doin' the best I can."

Micah, looking irritable, moved off toward the hull, laying on his side. Javier and Bill were both doing the same, clearly done in. Arthur remained where he was, sitting at Rane's side, looking over at Dutch, one leg propped up and the other stretched out before him. He was shaking his head.

"John. Hosea. Lenny." Arthur looked at Dutch, his face hard in the low light. "That wasn't good, Dutch."

"Yeah, I know it." Dutch was staring into the night sky, his eyes glimmering. "I know it."

"What are we gonna do now?"

Dutch sighed. Behind them, Bill had already begun to snore lightly, one hand thrown over his eyes. The sound of the anchor being drawn portside was loud, its creak damp and harsh, as was the walkway being flung to the harborside. Setting sail, then. No going back now.

"Guess I'm gonna introduce myself to the captain," said Dutch at last. "Give him some of this gold to secure his silence. Find out where we're heading."

"You should let me," said Rane, starting for her feet, but Dutch placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her back down.

"No."

"I'll just flirt with him a little bit -"

"No, I said. I gotta do this. I gotta do somethin' for my boys tonight that don't go tits up."

Rane settled back at Arthur's side, looking at Dutch as he got to his feet. His face was half-hidden in shadow, but what she could see was naked enough; he felt responsible for all three of their losses that night, in spite of all his pomposity and bombast, and under cover of darkness his true nature was quite clear. When he said he cared for these men like his own sons, he meant it. But the road to hell was paved with good intentions, as Rane had always known, and Hosea and Lenny had found that out. All the charisma and bravado in the world couldn't save either of them from a bullet through the heart. And he, Dutch, would not stop on their account. Not for the first time, Rane found herself pondering him. She couldn't decide how she felt about him, not at the heart of the thing, yet here she was following him into battle like a trained hound, as sloppy-eyed and willing to serve as the rest of them. He was nothing if he wasn't skilled at bewitching them.

"How do I look?" said Dutch, spreading his arms.

"Like a shifty, no good killer on the run from the law," said Arthur, taking off his hat and tossing it to the side.

"Ain't that the truth." Dutch smoothed his vest and straightened his hat, striding out from between the crates, and from the jaunty set of his body he must have spotted a sailor straightaway. Rane and Arthur peered out around the crates after him. "'Scuse me, sir! May I have a word?"

"He's got swagger up to his eyeballs, that man," Rane remarked, settling back against the crates. Dutch's hearty conversation was fading as he and the sailor strode off together. "No damn wonder everyone thinks the sun shines out of his ass."

"Dutch, he's a good man," Arthur said, massaging his chin. He hesitated, as he always did when he said this, smirking. "Relative term, I guess. He always does right by us."

"Did he do right by Lenny and Hosea?" Rane asked before she could stop herself.

Arthur shook his head, sighing. "You won't get no argument from me, Miss Roth. That shouldn't have been. None of it. Not for a sack of this shit, leastways -"

He picked up the satchel of their winnings from the bank and let it drop to the deck, his face screwed up with disgust.

"Hosea and Lenny was worth ten of these," he muttered. "Twenty, even. Good damn men, both of 'em." He paused, then added, "I coulda punched the teeth clean outta his head when I saw them gun that boy down, Rane. Truly I coulda."

"Talk like that don't much abide by Dutch," Micah said from further on down, speaking from beneath the hat he'd rested over his face.

"Yeah, well I don't much abide droppin' eaves," Arthur muttered.

Rane got to her feet, stretching richly. They were really moving now; she could feel the crash of the water beneath the ship, and the flap of the sails was loud overhead. Her initial trepidation had departed her, replaced now with curiosity.

"Come with me," she said, beckoning. "I wanna see. Off the side."

"You wanna see what, a bunch of damn water?" Arthur said, sounding chiding, but he was standing as well.

"Humor me."

Rane strode to the edge of the ship, which was adorned with a cast-iron railing. She grasped it in both fists, swaying with the movement of the boat, her eyes on the seas beyond, and for a moment she could scarcely breathe for the beauty of it. The skies rode overhead, pink at the horizon and heady with stars at the zenith, with a pregnant moon hanging over the sea. The reflections on the waves were glittering, constantly in motion, frantic and yet tranquil. The spray of the ocean against the hull was rough and Rane could feel it pittering against her skin, cool and light as rainfall. The deck beneath her boots was shining and damp from it.

"You ain't never been on a boat before, have ya?" Arthur asked, coming to her side and leaning over the railings, looking amused.

"I've never, no," Rane managed, faint. "Have you?"

"Couple few times, yeah. Never took to the seafarin' life. Me, I like both feet on the dirt if I can help it." He stomped at the planks beneath them, producing a hollow sound. "I don't care much for havin' nothin' but a hunk of wood standin' between me and ten thousand leagues, I guess."

"It's . . . eerie, sort of," said Rane, her eyes on the horizon. "It's like my eyes don't know how to look at something so huge."

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to adjust if Dutch curries that captain's favor. I don't know where we're going, but that there?"

He took Rane's shoulder and aimed her, pointing to their slight left.

"That's southeast, which means we're headed due south, and there ain't nothin' that way for days."

"Dutch has a plan, I'm sure."

Arthur laughed grimly. "Yeah, so he likes to say."

"You don't think he does?"

Arthur sighed, shifting, and glanced over his shoulder. Dutch was still aft with the captain, though; he could hear, faintly, the sounds of his hearty voice over the crashing waves. "I dunno what I believe, just now," he said, turning back to the ocean. "I guess all we can do is have faith that Dutch knows what he's doin'."

Rane was still gazing over the vast seas before them. The air was redolent with salt. Arthur glanced over at her a little surreptitiously from where he was leaning over the railings, shoulders bunched. Her hands clutched the railings, the skirts of Susan's black dress flapping about her legs, and as usual looking on her face made Arthur a little more aware of the heart thumping in his chest. Her hair had begun to come free of the knot she'd made and it was thrown back from her brow in the riotous winds, and her eyes were lit up like a kid at Christmas, peering off over the waters. The moonlight riding on the ridge of her brow and the droplets of sea mist glistening on her chest made her not just beautiful but almost ethereal, not a woman at all but some gossamer deity from a world far more celestial than this.

"Rane -"

"Alright!" a heart voice said behind them, making both Rane and Arthur jump. Dutch was striding down the stairs, taking them two at a time and looking positively spritely.

"What'd he say?" asked Arthur. "I'm guessin' it's good news judgin' by that look on your face."

"Ah well." Dutch shrugged, approaching them. "It'll take a bit more gold, but they're willin' to let us sail with them."

"Where are they headed?" Rane asked, turning and leaning against the railing.

"South. Down from New England. Mostly Frenchmen in the crew, captain says. They're takin' some Pennsylvania coal down to the islands." Dutch was dusting his vest off and looking quite pleased with himself. "Apparently we're gonna be able to slip ashore in northern Cuba in a couple days."

"That so?" Arthur was watching Dutch, speculative. He coughed hoarsely. "What the hell are we gonna do in Cuba, Dutch?"

"Lay low for a while. Then head back, gather the rest of our family. We got money now." Dutch was speaking quickly. "Money and loyalty. And with that we can do whatever we please."

"What if they try to follow?" Rane asked, shifting her weight.

Dutch laughed, a merry sound without a hint of fret. Rane was disheartened by the spirit in it. Listening to the jolly tone he was using, he might not have lost two of his boys six hours ago, one of them his oldest friend.

"They won't. I figure we hold ourselves to ourselves, and this is done and dusted." He gestured to the two of them. "We got a couple bunks down below these boys are willin' to part with. Looks like the rest of these fools are done in, but you two can take one if you want."

Rane peered around him. It was true; Bill, Javier and Micah had fallen fast asleep where they'd landed, obviously exhausted, between the crates.

"I'm gonna go take some time and get to know this captain," Dutch went on. "He seems a good feller. Might play a few hands, drink an ale or two. See if I can negotiate the salary he's askin', maybe."

"Well don't have too much fun," said Arthur. "We gotta stay on our toes, Dutch -"

"Yeah, I know it, I know it." He was striding away even as he waved this off. "Get some shut-eye, you two."

Rane and Arthur watched him as he trotted back up deck, a definite skip in his step.

"Listenin' to him, Hosea might not be layin' on a cooling board someplace in Sanit Denis," Arthur muttered, very low.

"Yeah, well." Rane followed his gaze, troubled, then batted Arthur's arm lightly. "Come on, let's go try to get some sleep."

THE bunks belowdeck were no feather mattresses but they weren't bad. One of the sailors pointed Rane toward a room with just one cot, speaking French in a rapidfire salaam. As a final absurdity he had bowed her inside, waving a hand elaborately, and backed away with a flourish, vanishing from the cabin.

"The hell was he talking about?" Arthur murmured, staring after him in bewilderment.

"No idea," said Rane. "Think he was trying to be sort of gentlemanly, giving me the only private cabin? Maybe? I dunno."

She went in and sat on the bed, bouncing up and down gently. Arthur leaned in the doorway, crossing his feet and watching her over his chin.

"Think that'll suit ya, your grace?"

"Fetch your handsomest cabin boy and a flask of champagne," Rane replied in a florid falsetto, crossing her legs pertly and flapping her hand at Arthur. "And tell him to bring enough for two, I'll be wanting a few holes plugged tonight."

Arthur snorted. A silence fell before them, Rane looking up at him, Arthur rocking on his heels, looking strangely uncomfortable.

"Alright, well, I'll let ya get some shut-eye," he said at last, starting out.

"Stay."

He turned back, looking at her, one hand on the door jamb.

"In here?"

"Will you?" Rane stared up at him frankly. "Please?"

Arthur moved into the room, shutting the door behind him with a snick. "Yeah, if you're sure you -"

"I am."

Arthur pulled his boots off, tossing them into the corner, then, a little hesitantly, began to remove the top half of his suit. Rane lay back on the cot, relishing the softness beneath her, and sighing put her hands behind her head.

"It's not bad," she remarked, gnawing on one thumbnail and watching Arthur out of the corner of her eye. He pulled his shirt over his head and cast it away, rolling his shoulders, and she had a moment to admire the long muscles in his back flexing as he did. "Squishier than I thought."

Arthur fell roughly into bed at her side and slung an arm around her, pulling her close to him, the spring coils creaking beneath them as he did. Rane pressed herself closer to him, reaching over and running her hand over his torso experimentally. He'd never been bare-chested in front of her before. After a moment she leaned closer, feeling his hand roving up and down her back, and pressed her head against the center of his chest. The sound of Arthur's heartbeat, quick and thumping, sprang to life in her ear, the motion of his slow breath beneath her vital and strong.

"What are you doin'?" he asked her, his voice low and gruff, close to her ear.

"Listening to your heart."

Arthur chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in his chest as Rane pressed her ear against it.

"Sorry, darlin', I don't have one of those. Never have."

"Quit acting all tough."

Rane trailed a finger up his side gently, and the cadence within him picked up a little, his breath hitching. She sat up, looking into his eyes, smirking.

"Why are you always so nervous, huh?"

"What makes you think I'm nervous?" Arthur said, grinning at her easily.

"What makes me think you're nervous?" Rane placed a hand on his chest. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

Arthur leaned up onto his elbows, meeting her eyes, his smile fading. "It's not doin' that because I'm nervous, it's doin' it because sometimes when I look at you I can't hardly even believe you're real. Sometimes I feel like I'm walkin' around in a dream."

Rane's smile dropped away, her brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"Just that." Arthur hesitated, then leaning forward placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her, his lips gentle on hers, his cheek rough and bristly. He drew back, looking into her eyes.

"I ain't lyin' when I say it, I love you so goddamned much sometimes I think my heart's gonna explode outta me," he said softly, his eyes flicking between hers.

"Thought you didn't have a heart."

"Well, you said yourself I'm a bad liar."

Rane looked at him for another moment, her eyes on his, her mouth turned down and her hair falling free of the knot at the top of her head.

"Say it," said Arthur, barely whispering. His breath was coming quicker now, his heart pounding hard beneath her hand. "Say it to me, Rane. So I know I'm not an idiot. Because I'm afraid that I am, every goddamn second since I clapped eyes on ya when I rode into that Pinkerton camp."

"You didn't give a shit about me when you -"

"Yes, I did." Artthur's voice was low, his eyes bright, seeing her in her fullness before him. Rane was reminded startlingly of the moment a few nights before when he'd climaxed in her. The presence in his gaze was just as true now. "Moment I set eyes on you tied up, I couldn't hardly quit thinkin' about you, Rane. I tried to tell it to myself that I was just eyesore on a pretty lady I found, but that wasn't it. That wasn't it. And I know it goddamned wasn't, good and well, 'specially now."

Rane shook her head, hesitant. Arthur sat up, pushing her off of him, and with both hands clutched her face in his hands, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Say it. Say it if ya feel it."

"I'm scared to."

The words were out before Rane could stop them. Arthur chuckled without humor.

"You don't strike me as easily rattled, girl."

"I'm not a girl, I'm twenty-seven years old."

"All the worse for bein' a coward."

Rane bristled beneath his grasp, her eyes flashing in the low light of the flame from the lantern hanging on the wall. "Arthur Morgan, I've killed men twice and half your age, I've run through their gullets with -!"

"Yeah, yeah, you're all that and more, we got it."

She tried to pull away but Arthur ignored this, taking her left hand as she did and pressing it back against his chest firmly, placing both his own over hers. Let her feel it. Let her know he wasn't an ephemeral conquest but a man, blood and bone.

"How many men have given theirs to you, Rane? Besides John, I mean. That ain't the kinda cowardice I'm talkin' about and you know it."

Rane recoiled, looking at him, her eyes harsh. "What the fuck kind of question is that, Arthur? Let me up -!"

"No." Arthur held her fast. "Say. Say how many."

"You're asking me how many men I've been with -?"

"No. I'm not askin' how many heartsick fools you took to bed with you, Rane, you damned idiot." He shook her roughly. "I'm askin' how many of 'em told you they loved you and meant it."

Rane looked into his eyes from beneath her brows, breathing quickly. "Many, Arthur. Enough. That what you want to hear? For God knows why?"

"I understand why." Arthur's eyes locked with hers. "'Cuz you're beautiful and strong and goddamned unlike anybody. I get it. Men'd line up in droves to hand you their hearts, I don't doubt."

"This is a pretty fucked up line of questioning."

"Well, it ain't over yet. How many times have you given yours?"

Rane stilled, eyeing him from beneath her brows, her hair falling around her face, her eyes bright and acute. Arthur took her arm and jerked her roughly.

"You don't like to talk about this, I can see, but you tell me that, since you can't bring yourself to say it out loud, how you feel for me, so I'll torment it outta you if I gotta. I ain't shy and I ain't scared. So how many times you give it away? Your own heart?"

Rane, her eyes on his, tense and hostile: "Once."

"You gonna make it twice?"

Rane tried to squirm away from him again, but Arthur would not relinquish his grasp. He meant to know, one way or another. Rane bent hastily, retrieving her wand from the bedside table, and aimed it at his throat, her breath harsh, her eyes wide. Arthur let her go, putting both hands up palms-out, his eyes on hers.

"You gonna curse me or something?"

"I might could do, yeah."

"Answer me."

"Answer you what, Arthur? How many dudes I've been with? What's the dipshit dumbass question you -?"

"Do you love me?" asked Arthur.

Rane looked at him a long moment, her breath harsh in her throat, then dropping her wand onto the floor with a clatter she leaned forward and kissed him, pressing herself against him. His hands were around her at once, strong and firm.

"Do you?"

"Yes." Rane leaned back, grasping his neck in her hands, and her eyes were bright in her face as she looked at him. "Yes, Arthur."

"Say it."

"I love you. I love you, Arthur Morgan." Her voice became rough in her emotion, eschewing her pretense, and she grasped his lapels in her hands, looking into his eyes. "I love you so fucking much I don't know what to -"

It was enough. Arthur moved over her, pressing her against the mattress beneath him, his face against hers, and Rane felt the buck of his hips against her, same as the night before the fire.

"I love you, too," he told her, speaking with his lips brushing hers. "More than I love the life in my chest, I do, Rane."

"You don't want me, Arthur -"

"I do." Arthur pressed his mouth against hers. "Shut up."

He was yanking the skirts of her dress up now, pulling them away from her thighs, his hand running up the long lay of her leg with rough desire, and Rane was tearing at his belt, her mouth on his.

"I love you." She said it again, liking the release of it. "I love you. I love you -"

"I know you do." Arthur pulled back her dresses and in one smooth motion pulled his jeans free and placed himself inside her, thrusting hard. She gasped against his mouth, her eyes on his.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"You sure you love me?" He thrust hard presently, and she gasped roughly against him as he entered her for the second time, her fingers clawing against his bare shoulder, loving the fullness of him filling her with himself. "You sure? You sure you don't just like this part?"

"Yes." Rane took his face in her hands and looked at him. Arthur was startled by it. She'd done it before, but he'd never been with a woman who'd wanted to look into his eyes while he was inside her. "Yes, I like this, and yes, I'm sure. I love you. I love you so fucking much I don't -"

Arthur stopped her words with his mouth, pressing into her, feeling her in her fullness. In a moment, as he reached his climax, his face in her shoulder, he began to cry. He didn't know why, and nor did Rane, who clasped his face in her hands, looking at him in alarm. He wasn't a crying man, never had been; he could count on one hand how many times he'd done it, even as a boy, but here he was in this woman's arms, tears spilling from his eyes like he was ten years old.

"What?" Rane sat up, her hands on his cheeks, looking at him. "What, Arthur?"

"I don't know." Arthur tried to divert his gaze from hers, ashamed to the core of him, but she would not let him.

"No, you say."

"I'm so goddamned scared of you," he said, looking into her eyes, tears spilling from his eyes. "So scared, Rane. So scared of how I feel for ya."

Rane looked at him for a long moment, her eyes moving between his, utterly shocked by the emotion falling from this man who'd given every impression that he was as solid as a brick wall, then leaning forward pressed her mouth on his, as hard as she could, trying to pour all the things she felt for him into it, tasting the salt of his tears.

"I won't let anyone lay a fucking finger on you as long as I live, Arthur Morgan. I'll run them through first."

"I don't need a woman running swords through folks on my behalf."

"Then why are you crying?"

Arthur met her eyes, and in that moment he was as powerless as an arrowshot deer. She saw it and took his face in her hands again.

"You are mine," she said softly. "A'maelamin."

"What's it mean?"

Rane leaned forward and pressed her mouth on Arthur's, looking into his eyes. "It means I'm yours."

"Are you?"

"Until I'm dead."

Arthur looked into her eyes, startled, but she pushed him back down onto the bed, her mouth on his and his hands on her back.