He may not win the laurel
Nor trumpet tongue of fame;
But beauty smiles upon him,
And ranchmen bless his name.
Then here's to the Texas Ranger,
Past, present, and to come!
Our safety from the savage,
The guardian of our home.
-Here's to the Ranger
Quackity paced up and down his office, the ancient floorboards creaking, sunlight trickling in from the dusty window. Sam's telegram was crunched in his fist, his rifle out on his desk, his blood boiling, a problem writhing in his head like a worm.
He needed to kill that angel.
Quackity had murdered, tortured, cheated, and worse for the control he held over the west. Everyone far and wide knew of the infamous mayor of Yucca Falls, the man who knew no mercy. Quackity relished in his power and knew he'd go through hell and back to keep it. And once he'd captured Dream and learned how to raise the dead, Quackity would have power over the afterlife. He'd be the strongest man in the desert.
But this angel.
From his experience, angels didn't take too kindly to necromancers. Quackity knew that Iz or whatever he called himself was going to kill Dream and necromancy in the west forever. Quackity couldn't let that happen.
Quackity had no idea how to kill a god or anything close to it. But he knew someone who did.
Sam's telegram said he'd reach Yucca Falls by dusk. That left Quackity with four hours to sit and wait. Wait with this infernal worm gnawing on his brain.
Quackity had about worn a rut in the floorboards by the time Sam stepped into his office, road-weary and sunburned.
"'Bout time." Quackity stopped his pacing and leaned against his desk.
"I got here as fast as I could." Sam slid off his dusty coat and hung it next to the door. "What's goin' on? People are talkin' about—"
"There's a blazing angel in my town, Sam. And I need him killed."
Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "You can't kill a god, Quackity. No matter how hard you try."
"I can't kill a god," Quackity said. "But I know who can."
Sam stared at Quackity through half-lidded eyes. "George?"
Quackity grinned. "George."
Quackity and Sam huddled on the church doorstep, backs to the dark street. The business of death, Quackity knew, was best done at night.
"He's probably asleep." Sam pounded on the heavy oak door again. "Why d'you need me to talk to the reverend?"
"I need leverage," Quackity said. "Folks are a lot better at listenin' when they're outnumbered."
Sam shook his head. "I'm exhausted, Quackity. Can't we come back in the morning?"
"I want the angel dead by then."
Crickets chirped out in the dry prairie, the distant mesas silent and still. The church sat at the very end of Mainstreet, secluded and quiet. Perfect for quiet reflection and worship.
Also perfect for plotting murder.
Finally, the oak door swung in a crack. Reverend George poked his head out, eyes still groggy with sleep. His nose wrinkled in disgust when he recognized Quackity and Sam.
"Ain't it a little late, Mayor Quackity?" George said. "What d'you want?"
"Mind if we come in." It wasn't a question. Quackity grabbed the door, preventing George from pushing it closed.
George's gaze drifted up to Sam and back down to Quackity. "Don't have much of a choice, do I?" With a heavy sigh, George pulled open the door and stepped aside.
The church was as silent as a tomb, the pews as imposing as headstones. The stained-glass windows painted the moonlight eerie colors and the candle smoke drifted up the aisle like ghosts.
Quackity marched right up to the pulpit and stood facing the chapel. George rolled his eyes and sat in the front pew, Sam following him.
"What's the sermon today, Father Quackity?" George yawned.
"There's an angel in my town," Quackity said, "and I need him gone."
"You tried asking him nicely?"
"I'm lookin' for a more permanent situation."
George raised his eyebrows. "You tryna kill a god, Quackity?"
"I'm gonna do more than try."
"Yer stupid." George drawled. "Didn't ya learn anything from last time?"
Sam nodded. "You almost got yerself killed."
Quackity gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to touch his scar. "This is different than last time."
"How so?" George asked.
"Yer gonna help me."
"Am I now?" George sat up and crossed his arms. "Why should I?"
Quackity tapped the gun at his waist and Sam fidgeted with his sheriff's badge. Defeat fell in George's eyes.
George sighed and slumped in his seat. "What do you need me to do?"
Quackity grinned. "That's more like it."
George tossed the book onto the pulpit. The leather cover was faded and worn, the pages yellowing and wrinkled. Carefully, George prised the book open to the first page. The smell of must rose into Quackity's nose.
"This is everythin' we know 'bout killin' gods," George said. He gingerly flipped to the next page. Quackity squinted to see a faded drawing of an angel. Unlike the one he'd met in the saloon, this angel had feathered wings and billowing robes.
"Where'd you get this?" Sam asked, keeping a healthy distance from the book.
George shrugged. "Found it."
"It doesn't matter where he got it," Quackity said, "what matters is if it's telling the truth. You ever tested this stuff out?"
George gave Quackity a look. "No, Quackity. I don't generally go about killin' gods."
"Then how do you know that it works?"
"Look, you came to me for help. You wanted what I know 'bout killin' immortals, and I'm giving you what I know about killin' immortals."
Quackity chewed his lip, still skeptical that this book held such dark secrets. Killing a god had to be easier than this. But, what did he expect, really? The west and its creatures and magic were still being discovered and explored. That's what Quackity loved about it. There was still so much for him to conquer.
"Alright. What does your book say about Death's Angels?"
George scanned through the book, lifting each page one by one, the ancient paper crackling like fire. The deeper into the book George delved, the more Quackity sensed a sudden hush in the chapel, goosebumps crawling up his back, foreboding bouncing in his gut, a slight shift in the universe, as if whatever that book held wasn't meant for him to see.
"Here." George planted his finger on three words scrawled at the top of the page.
Angels of Death.
The accompanying picture made Quackity shudder. The ink soaked deep into the paper and spilled into the seams and dripped down the edges. It depicted a human figure with tendrils of darkness flowing off of it like water and huge wings unfurling from its back. Its glowing eyes stared straight into Quackity's
"What's it say?" Sam asked. He refused to step close enough to read it.
George adjusted his glasses. "Angels of Death are an especially peculiar breed of immortal. They cannot die, for they have never known life." George paused. "Sorry, Quackity, looks like you're out of luck— Hey!"
Quackity shoved George to the side and ran his finger down the page, scanning for any way to kill the angel. His heart thudded in his chest and his palms began to sweat. There had to be a way, there just had to—
There.
Quackity smiled. "In order for an angel to die, it must be introduced to life. An angel must have its power revoked, making it mortal. It can then be killed like any other human."
Quackity's words echoed in the empty church. He listened to them ring, a wicked glee rising in his chest.
So. Even the gods can die.
"Thanks for the help, George." Quackity slammed the book closed and George winced. "C'mon, Sam." Quackity headed down the aisle to the church door, Sam hurrying to follow him.
"Quackity!" George called.
Quackity stopped, his hand on the door handle. He looked back to George at the pulpit, the candlelight flickering on his glasses.
"Be careful," George said.
Quackity marched down the street, head held high, a smile on his face that refused to go away. The moon was bright tonight and all of Yucca Falls was brushed in white and blue.
"Quackity…." Sam walked alongside him, wringing his hands. "Are you sure—"
"I've never been more sure about anything in my life."
"This is crazy, you know that? I mean, how are we supposed to strip an angel of its power?"
Quackity patted his book. "It says it all in here."
"And what if that book is wrong?"
Quackity stopped outside his office and looked at Sam long and hard. His coat hung over his shoulders, bags under his eyes, a bit of fear under his lip. His sheriff's badge was crooked on his chest, the gold still dusty from his trip.
"Sam," Quackity said, "if this book is wrong, that angel is going to kill us both."
"Exactly—"
"But, it's worth the risk."
Sam sighed and looked up at the stars, his hands clenching and unclenching, unsure of what to do.
"Why do you want to kill that angel, Quackity?" Sam asked. "What do you want so badly?"
Quackity stood next to Sam and pointed out to the horizon where the mountains blotted out the stars and the endless prairie marched on to the end of the world.
"I want the west, Sam. I want it all. In this life, and the next."
"Maybe we're not meant to have that much," Sam said. "Maybe we aren't made to have that much power."
"I am." Quackity stared out at the stars, reigning in the sky, too many to count, too many for the universe to contain.
And he wanted them all.
As much as Quackity wanted to kill the angel that night, it simply wasn't possible.
The only way to get rid of the beast's powers, according to the George's book, was to force it to breathe in "life." Quackity panicked for a second, not having a single clue how to force "life" down someone's lungs. Then, he turned the page.
"Recipe for Life," Quackity read out loud. "Huh."
The text was faded and the inked handwriting sloppy and messy. Quackity pushed his candle closer to the book and squinted at it. If George spent all day looking at dusty old books like these, it was no wonder he needed glasses.
Recipe for Life
-7 Sego Lily Bulbs
-1 Shattered Molar
-6 Drops of Blood
Grind up sego lily bulbs and shattered molar with a sandstone rock. Combine the powder with the blood.
*WARNING: THIS RECIPE IS TO BE ONLY USED ON ANGELS AND GODS. THE USE OF THIS ON HUMAN CORPSES WILL RESULT IN THE UNDEAD*
Quackity shuddered. He'd dealt with the undead before, and it wasn't pleasant. Before Dream had discovered the necromancy book, Quackity had tried most anything to bring people back to life. Though he'd managed to raise a few corpses, he had yet to resurrect anyone.
That was about to change.
The Sego lily bulbs would be difficult but not impossible to obtain. Quackity knew of a Native trading post near Redrun that would be willing to sell him a few. As for the tooth, Quackity knew plenty of people with teeth. He also knew plenty of people with blood.
Quackity wouldn't sleep until this angel was dead. So, he got to work. He hitched up his horse, filled up his canteen, packed his bags. As soon as that sun rose, he was headed out into the desert.
Quackity debated whether or not to invite Sam. He'd gone to bed, exhausted after chasing down Dream for the past three days. He didn't want anything to do with this "angel stuff" and just wanted to arrest Dream. That's all Sam ever wanted. His desire and passion made Sam the best sheriff Quackity could ask for. Quackity would definitely bring him along.
Bags packed and determination pulsing in his bones, Quackity faced the rising sun. As the heat hit his face, he felt powerful enough to beat a god.
