AN: I'm sorry for the delay in posting this, but I've been watching the last couple of weeks here in America with a great sense of horror. Trump's executive orders do not reflect the country that I know and love. I urge all of my fellow American citizens to reach out to their Senators and Representatives, regardless of your age, to speak out about issues you find important (and try to adopt at least one issue that might not be as important to you). Call or write to your Congresspeople as this is much harder to ignore.

I hope the events of the past couple of days reminds us all to treat each other with extra kindness. Needless to say, stand up for those around you who are Muslim, persons of color, LGBTQ+, women, and scientists, etc- they need all the support they can get.


With a lot of fact checking at the library the next day, and some help from the local genealogical society, they were able to narrow down the location of Billy's former home to two possible surrounding towns- Noblesville, which had been Noblestown in the Kid's time, but had since grown, and Greenfield, to the east of where they were.

"We're a little bit off, aren't we then," Billy said in an undertone, glancing out the window at the cold, gray sky.

"Well, we had to start somewhere," Machiavelli argued resolutely. "We're going to start tonight, then?" he asked Perenelle, leaning forward to gauge her reaction.

She nodded, her mouth a thin line. "It's not likely to get any warmer. We might as well start."

"And what are we doing exactly?" Billy interjected, also leaning forward, and resting his hand on Machiavelli's knee without thinking about it. "We just going to go door to door, looking for spooks? Halloween was last month…"

"I thought," Perenelle said, creases forming between her eyebrows, "that we'd start canvassing as close as we can to where we think we might find her. There will be other ghosts," Billy shivered, but she continued, "in the surrounding area and they often pay more attention than you might think."

"I don't want to think about how much ghosts are paying attention to us, thank you very much," Scatty muttered to Machiavelli, who had to smile and shake his head, indicating that he too, would rather not know how often he was being observed.

"They might," Perenelle continued, raising her voice over Scatty, who quieted, "be able to give us clues which would help us narrow down, or dismiss entirely, areas to search."

"And you really want to do this?" Billy asked, meeting her eyes. "We could… put it off a bit…"

"No time like the present," she said wearily. "We should do it after dark so as to avoid detection. While I make contact with the spirits, you'll stay with me. Niccolo and Scathach," her eyes swept over them, and they stopped their side conversation to listen, "will keep a lookout so that we won't be interrupted or discovered."

"Sure," Scatty agreed. To her right, Machiavelli nodded.

"Okay, well, I'm going to take a nap before we go," she decided, standing up. "How about we meet in an hour? We can have dinner and go to whichever town we decide to start with." She patted Billy on the shoulder and stepped out of the room, heading towards the room that she shared with Scatty.

"Are you going to sleep?" Scatty asked both men, looking at them.

Billy shook his head. "Not me. I couldn't sleep last night," he admitted nervously. "I just…" But he couldn't say anymore.

Machiavelli waited a moment, wanting to see if he would continue. When he didn't, the Italian immortal also shook his head. "No, I'm fine. William, it will be okay," he added, because Billy was bouncing his leg restlessly.

"Uh huh."

"Even if we don't find her tonight, that doesn't mean we never will."

"Yeah, Mac, sure," Billy agreed absently.

Niccolo glanced at Scathach, looking for help. She shrugged, shook her head. He looked back at the Kid, who was clearly lost in his own thoughts. "Want a hug, caro?" he asked desperately, as a last resort.

The Kid looked up, and blinked. "Sorry. What?"

"Want a hug?" Machiavelli repeated, feeling a little ridiculous for suggesting it at all.

"Yeah," Billy agreed immediately though. Ducking under Machiavelli's arm, he wrapped his arms around the Italian immortal's skinny middle and laid his head across his chest. "Tell me when this gets weird," he said into Niccolo's armpit.

"Billy, it's always weird," Machiavelli intoned, petting the Kid's hair.

"Oh… well I'm comfy, so I guess you're going to have to live with it for a few more minutes," the American said sleepily. He closed his eyes.

The tactician wrapped an arm around Billy's shoulder. He felt a thrill of pleasure, lower than the pit of his stomach- maybe there was a little hope for the future after all… He couldn't be sure…

"Is he asleep?" Scatty asked and he blinked, realizing that he'd been daydreaming.

"Sorry?" he said quickly, looking over at her. She pointed to the Kid who was still leaning into the other man, his breathing deep and regular. "Asleep? He might have fallen asleep…"

"I'm awake," Billy mumbled. Sitting up, he stretched. "Just catnapping…"

"Sure," Scatty said archly.

"I was," the outlaw insisted lightly, still not moving an inch.

"Maybe you should actually take a nap though," Machiavelli suggested, carding his fingers through Billy's hair. "You didn't sleep much last night and we're going to be up all the night."

"I suppose…"

~MB~

They were again, very quiet, as they drove up. Perenelle offered to drive, but Billy, remembering only too well when she'd stolen his car during the summer, politely declined. He felt a swooping sensation in his stomach. He wanted very much to spill out all of his fears and predictions in that one moment, but at the same time, felt that he would throw up if he said anything at all.

Glancing back in the rearview mirror, he met the eyes of the Italian immortal, who gave him a slight nod, as if to tell him not to worry. But Billy was worried. He wished, for the hundredth time that week, that he had not fallen in love with his tall friend, or that by some miracle the tactician would realize that they were a good match for each other; either way, he wouldn't feel like his stomach had been filled with gravel, the way he felt at the moment. If, at the end of this night, it turned out that they were no closer to finding his mother, at least then he would be able to lie down next to the other man and tell him that he loved him and perhaps hear it back. He longed for Niccolo's redamancy the way some longed for treasure or adventure.

These fantasies bore him almost through the entire journey, though they seemed to distract him a bit, because twice Perenelle had to point out their exit at the last minute and once, he went past their turn completely and had to turn around and work his way back. He apologized profusely, but could offer no explanation for his behavior. How could he tell the others that he'd been thinking about the Italian immortal and the stuff that he would like to try on the other man?

Partly because of the distance and partly because of Billy's absent minded driving, they didn't arrive in the little town of Noblesville until ten o'clock. There were very few lights- apparently the city was saving itself some money by refusing to provide street lamps because even in the middle of the city, there were often large passages of darkness, interrupted only by the lights of their car. As they progressed out the other end of town, these lights went away entirely. Soon, only the headlights of their car sliced through the darkness and these Perenelle suggested he turn off. They were too conspicuous.

Billy obliged her, though it was now very hard to see the road as they had only a partial moon above them. He continued down the road about a half a mile and parked in a cemetery, feeling rather unsettled by their surroundings.

"Right," Perenelle said, in almost a whisper. She shone a little flashlight on their map that they'd marked and in the backseat, Machiavelli and Scatty leaned forward so that they could see as well. "We're not going to start here in the cemetery- there's likely too many spirits here and your mother wasn't buried here, at any rate. We'll go down the road to that farm house we passed. These two will keep guard," she said, indicating the two in the backseat, "while you and I stir up some spirits.

"Alright," Billy agreed, trying to sound as if he was excited by this plan rather than nervous. They all got out of the Thunderbird. Gazing out into the caliginous night, Billy the Kid felt a real sense of foreboding; the farther they went from "civilization", even civilization as laughable as their motel had been, the darker the landscape. Only the luminescence of the moon gave them a little light with which to work. It bounced off of the worn and faded stones of the graveyard, making the atmosphere around them ten times spookier somehow. Billy didn't like being here, especially not after all the Frenchwoman's talk of spirits…

"Right," Perenelle said again, sounding a little more worried herself now. "We're close to where your house should have been, Billy, assuming it was up here… We'll walk a ways then I'm going to lower my defenses- let some ghosts approach. They might be able to provide some clues."

"Okay," Billy agreed, looking disconcerted.

"At least one of you should watch the farmhouse," the Frenchwoman continued. She glanced from Machiavelli to Scathach.

"I'll do it," Scatty agreed at once.

"I'll keep an eye out in the other direction." Machiavelli moved away from them. Billy wanted to call the tall man back to him, he needed him, but it would appear quite odd. He let the tactician walk away, turning to face Perenelle again.

"You said you lived by a river. There's a brook over that way," she pointed out, hastily looking at her own map. "Let's start over there, quietly now…"

Keeping a wary eye on the dark house in the distance, they crept through a vegetable garden and skirted around several large bushes. Billy heaved a sigh of relief as the terrain changed- the ground dipped downward and they were much more disguised than they had been. He glanced around, his breathe misting the air; wherever Machiavelli and Scatty were, he couldn't see them.

Perenelle had stopped in a little landing by the river. He peered down over the edge. The ground almost seemed cut by the little inlet of water. It dropped several feet very suddenly and a broken tree trunk hung half off the land and half in the water. Overall, the river seemed largely frozen. They could just barely hear the gurgling moans of water running. "I'm going to reveal myself to the ghosts now," she said, and his head snapped up to look at her.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with an electrical crackling noise, her aura sprang into light. He was afraid that the brightness would attract the attention of the mortals, but after a moment, the white slipped away and other colors crept forward- traces of yellow, then blue, then purple- before disappearing altogether. He rubbed his eyes where little spots of light danced in front of him. "Where-?" he asked, but she pointed.

Glancing down at the river, he shuddered to see a ghostly form rising up from it. Without knowing why, he closed in closer to Perenelle, putting himself between her and the apparition. Already though, he could see another wispy shape jump down from a tree and then, when she touched his arm, he looked back to see a woman wearing a very long dress standing behind them, as though waiting to be introduced. "They won't hurt you, Billy, sweetheart," the Frenchwoman said, taking his hand.

Billy looked at her a little wildly. He wanted to believe her, but his heart was still hammering in his chest. The woman ghost stepped forward now. He was grateful to find that she was very normal looking, almost kind, despite the fact that she'd been dead for over a hundred years if he was going to judge based on her clothing. "H-hello?" he said to her cautiously.

"We haven't had any of your sort around here in a long time," she said, moving forward. Her gray eyes searched his. He found that if he just looked into her eyes, it was rather like looking at Machiavelli's eyes; for the first time since they'd gotten out of the car, he calmed down.

"We're looking for a particular spirit," Perenelle said behind him. She squeezed his hand. "Billy used to live around here when he was a child."

"Who are you?" Billy asked suddenly, still looking at her eyes.

"In life, my name was Florence Wells," she said in a rather circular manner. "I lived across the river, on my father's farm."

"And how long have you been here?" Perenelle asked, much calmer sounding than Billy felt. He couldn't help but look over his shoulder. A man with a blood spattered military uniform was leaning against a musket, twenty paces away from them. He said nothing but his eyes bored into them.

"I drowned in this river in 1843," he heard the spirit say, but he was following the gaze of the soldier now. They both watched two young boys scampering through the woods. Billy squinted. The taller of the two was a black child, dressed in clothing from the nineteen fifties. The other boy was clearly from much earlier.

"She didn't know your mother, I'm afraid," Perenelle said, surprising him.

"Where'd she go?" Billy asked, spinning on his heel.

"She's gone," the Frenchwoman said simply. "They come and go." She approached the soldier, rather bravely, the outlaw thought. He waited for them, not saying a word. "Pardon me," she said, "but we're looking for a woman who used to live around here."

"What's the name?" he asked, his voice sounding oddly rusty and disused.

"McCarthy. Katherine McCarthy," the Kid said, stepping forward.

The soldier shook his head and Billy felt a sour feeling of disappointment dissolve in his stomach. "There's been no one of that name around here."

"Are you sure? Only, it's very important to me…"

"When did she come from? What time period?" The man sounded slightly bored. Billy told him that she would have come from the mid 19th century and again the man shook his head. "No, there's no one in this branch of the woods… my territory spans the next mile or so… You might check further down river."

With a curt nod, the man spun on his heel. Billy leapt backwards; quite unexpectedly, the back of the man's head was blown apart, a large hole the size of an orange gaping at them from under the man's hat. Perenelle herself had turned a nasty greenish color, but she grabbed his hand and led him away, moving along the edge of the river.

"How will the others know to follow us?" he asked as they slunk through several more backyards and fields.

"I'm going to send up sparks in a minute," she whispered back. "They know to follow them…"

More ghosts were appearing as they moved through the countryside. The outlaw couldn't help but keep glancing behind them. He could see a line of spirits behind them, dotting the landscape in pale puffs of light. Squinting, he searched for Machiavelli and Scatty. "No, they're tracking us, actually," he said in surprise. "How'd they know to do that?"

"Can you see them?" Perenelle asked, glancing behind them now too. She stopped.

"No," he mused. "I can sense their auras. Mac's closer." They waited by the road, in a copse of trees. The Italian immortal emerged first from the darkness, closely followed by the Shadow. Billy was so happy to see the both of them, that he rushed forward and threw his arms around them, knocking their heads together.

"Any luck?" Machiavelli whispered as Scatty twisted out of Billy's embrace, leaving the two men alone together. He patted the outlaw's arm and slipped an arm around his shoulder.

"None," Billy said gloomily. "We've talked to quite a few spirits- I didn't expect this many- but they hadn't heard anything about her, not even when she was living here. I guess it's hit or miss…"

"We're going to try for a bit more before we retire for the night," Perenelle interjected, glancing up at the sky. "We have maybe an hour or two left before it gets too light out. I'll be ready to stop by then anyways…"

She sounded tired but Billy couldn't bring himself to call their adventure short, not when they still hadn't found anything out yet. They all walked into a heavily wooded area, following the river's edge. There were much fewer houses here, though they almost walked into a homeless encampment at one point and had to swing out to avoid detection. "I can't believe there are people out here," Billy chattered miserably. "It's snowing again…"

"I think that will be our last stop for the night," Perenelle told him hesitantly, sometime later. Already the sky was starting to lighten. They'd talked to at least forty spirits in all and had gotten nothing for all their work- no one had heard the name before or met a spirit matching her description.

Now they had to make their way back to the car before it really started to get light. They were forced to turn around and follow their path backwards again, slipping on snowdrifts and accidentally stepping into holes in the ground.

The American immortal felt completely downtrodden. He had dragged them all out here in the middle of the night to walk through the snow and they hadn't found anything out at all. He was surprised when Niccolo slipped a hand around his waist- he glanced at him curiously, but the other immortal didn't say anything- and leaned against him, letting the two female immortals lead. He blushed furiously when Machiavelli pressed a kiss to his forehead.