“So what exactly do you pn on doing out here?” Liah asked. She huffed slightly, her breath curling in front of her in foggy tendrils

  “I was thinking recently. I’m really cking in firepower.” I said, pushing off against the ground with one of my poles.

  “Bull fucking shit. I was there, I saw what you did to that mansion!” A slight hiss could be heard

  “I mean magical firepower. Any old person can knock down a building with enough or the right amount of explosives. But that’s hardly what I’m being paid for.”

  “Last I checked you were being paid to be an archivist.”

  “I think we’re long past that being the only part of the job description. Most archivists don’t get told to do hits on immortal alchemists. And I do have a professional obligation to improve my skills. Why else do you think I signed up for Latin this semester?”

  “If you’re so concerned about that, then we really shouldn’t be all the way out here.” She gestured at the surroundings with a ski pole. Snow-shrouded trees surrounded us, looming over the well-groomed trails as the twitter of birdsong echoed through the hollow.

  “The mountains feel like the perfect pce to work on improving skills. Especially mountains as old as these. Can’t you just feel the energy?” There was a vibrancy to the crisp winter air, the smell of snow, and even the sluggishness of the trees in their winter rest. You could practically swim through the nguid energy of the season, to say nothing of the sharp edge held by the risk of snow and starvation. Every season had its own delicious fvor, and it was best to immerse yourself fully in it to really grasp the feel of it.

  “Only the energy in the air. I have practically no energy left to speak of.”

  “If you’re that tired I’d carry you, but then we’d lose the deposit on the skis. They’re rentals after all.”

  “You’re really getting too good at hiding your thoughts.”

  “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

  “Surprise? You sure as hell surprised me! I’m still not happy at this level of bait and switch! You kept on talking about a perfect winter resort weekend, and how you’d teach me how to ski, and this is what you have me do?” She may have been unhappy for some reason.

  “Well I didn’t lie. I taught you how to ski, and now we’re having a fun ski weekend out in the beautiful snowy mountains.”

  “You didn’t say it’d be cross-country skiing!” She stomped one ski against the ground.

  “Well I could hardly work on improving my connection with the magic of nature by spending half the day sitting in a ski lift.” Don’t get me wrong, alpine skiing is fun, but it’s much harder to just take your time and appreciate nature when speeding down a crowded slope trying to avoid running into snowboarders. Plus I never could get the hang of moguls.

  “That may be, but that was incredibly misleading. And why does cross-country skiing have to be so much work?”

  “I know, isn’t it such a great work-out? Plus it’s world better than trying to hike through the snow. Having a ski lift do all the work is fun, but this is all about the connection with the season. This past incident really drove home how much more effort I need to put into my magical craft over my tactical craft.” It’s called witchcraft after all. Something you practice and improve.

  “And yet, you’re still carrying a rifle.” She had long since gotten used to the handgun that was part of my daily carry.

  “Who said ritual has to involve casting circles and lighting candles? And the whole fancy chanting and eborate set-up Sandra and our boss use just don’t work for me.” I continued skiing.

  “But really, a gun? I get what you’re doing, but it just strikes me as odd that this ‘ritual’ involves taking pot-shots at Thumper.”

  “’Pot shots’ is exactly right. This is going to be dinner after all. It’s much cheaper than eating out.”

  “Is it? You had to buy the rifle, which I know wasn’t cheap.” Of course not, it’s a biathlon rifle. I’d always wanted one. “And I saw the receipt for that non-resident hunting license. Plus all those add ons.” She huffed, partially out of annoyance, and partially out of exertion.

  “I know, it’s absurd isn’t it? I know our state isn’t so stupid about hunting license pricing. Who’d have though West Virginia would be so inscrutable and overpriced? I almost feel bad for the taxpayers who covered the tab. I did put this trip down as an agency team-building exercise after all.” That, and the rifle was necessary equipment for doing my job. It’s “technically” correct, which is the best kind of correct. Could I have just used one of the many .22 rifles I already own? Sure, but that’s not as fun as buying a new rifle. And this one’s an absolute tack driver. My game bag already had several hares and a brace of squirrels.

  “And weren’t you previously super concerned about making deals with supernatural beings?” Said the supernatural being I was in a very real and binding contract with, that was approved by a judge in the State of Marynd and recognized in all fifty states of the Union as well as other territories. “Okay, I get your point there. But-”

  “Coming to an understanding with these other beings is nothing that could ever come close to what we have.” I patted her head, though the effect was somewhat muted by the gloves and her knit cap. “Not to undermine the seriousness of what I’m attempting to do but it should be btantly clear how much I love you. I just want more power, or at least more versatility, to protect what we have.”

  At that, Liah blushed. I think. Or her cheeks could just be red from the cold. Though the embarrassment I felt over our bond made me suspect it was the first.

  “Plus I don’t want to get outdone by Sandra and the Boss. We have our pride after all, Mrs. Nature Spirit. Do you really want to be outdone by a bunch of Abrahamic magical traditions? Stodgy, eborate rituals in dead nguages isn’t the be all end all of magic.”

  “Again, I get what you’re saying, but still, a rifle?” I stopped patting her head and turned back to the trail. I pushed off, the quiet rhythmic wishp of the skis muted by the woods and snow.

  “As much as I love archery this is far more convenient. Using a rifle over a bow really doesn’t change the end result anyways. It’s weird, isn’t it? Such a rge portion of witches nowadays worship a Goddess of the Hunt, yet so few get involved in hunting. Not even gonna get into the theological implications of all that. Though gods and goddesses tend to have multiple specialties and domains they reside over, so hunting isn’t necessarily an important part of venerating a deity who presides over the hunt when they also are a Goddess of the Moon, skiing, or maybe forests and mountains.”

  “I’m just amazed you can talk so much while skiing.” Liah huffed.

  “I know, I’ve been ramping up the cardio tely. I really don’t want to get caught out of breath, especially if there’s another situation like the ones we’ve been getting caught up in.” We’d been having way too many of those tely.

  As we continued down the path, I enjoyed the bright sunlight pying through the tree branches. The air was refreshing, and the sounds of the woods were like music. The slight burn in my legs as I pushed forward down the path were a constant reminder of being alive and in the present, a world away from the myriad of concerns and stresses of life down in civilization.

  Just being in the woods, in nature and a part of it, an active participant in the struggle of living against predators, enemies, my own metabolism constantly needing fuel, and nature itself. A struggle shared by any other living creature. There’s a savageness to it, sure, but being aware of that aspect of it doesn’t do anything to change the fact of it all.

  The world was kill or be killed anywhere, as I had learned recently. You could starve or freeze to death in a city just as much as in the mountains. You could be killed by a predator, two-legged and vicious, in a city just as much as a four-legged one in the forest. But the wilderness was more wild, less tainted by the every day thoughts and concerns and rationality that the millions of inhabitants of the city and suburbs let out into the world.

  A rustle in the distance caught my ears. I stopped, looking, and saw the source. A squirrel, searching through the snow for its stash of nuts. I unslung the rifle, and raised it to my shoulder. Aimed, centering the squirrels head in the center of the rifle’s diopeter sights, and inhaled, holding my breath. The rifle swayed slightly, and every time the squirrels head was in the center of the sights my finger would slowly tighten on the trigger, until finally

  *bang*

  The rifle, while not technically hearing safe, was only a .22, and hardly let out the booming report of a center-fire rifle. I hardly heard it as I watched the squirrel drop. Another one for the stew, to become a meal for tonight, tomorrow and the weeks to come. I retrieved it, put it in my game bag, and continued skiing.

  We went on a bit longer, when a feeling washed over me. A nagging feeling, at the back of my mind. At once, without being able to rationalize it, I knew it was time. I removed my gloves, ready to work my craft.

  While it was serving part-time duty as a game bag, the pack I was wearing had more than just a main pocket. I reached into one of the side pockets and grabbed a pstic bottle of red wine. I had transferred it over the night before, both to reduce weight and to reduce the risk of broken gss. Off to the side of the trail was a rock outcropping, fnked on both sides by pine trees. And in the outcropping was an indent, a perfectly round bowl of stone.

  Liah joined me at my side, hesitantly, in her cat form. As I approached the outcropping, I began to say an incantation, pouring the wine into the stone. And once more I reached into my bag and pulled out a corpse.

  The hare, white except for the red hole where it’s eyes used to be, shot out, I pced next to the wine. I drew my knife. Not a fancy athamé like you’d find at a new age shop. Most of those aren’t even sharp. This was an honest, working knife. Specifically a fifteen dolr Mora in carbon steel. While fancier specialty pieces can have their pce, this wasn’t that sort of ritual. A few quick cuts and some pulling freed the white pelt from the hare, and the skinned carcass went back into a pstic bag. And the offering, the pelt, found its pce next to the wine.

  I sank my blood-soaked hands into a drift of fresh snow next to the altar, scrubbing them clean. They were cold, but that barely registered as I dried them on the dangling end of my scarf.

  Liah and I didn’t speak, but instead continued onwards down the trail, deeper into the winter woods. And as we did, clouds appeared on the horizon.

  AnnouncementI wrote this one a while back while working on the newest chapter for this series. I kind of had a tiny bit of an event happen though, but now that I'm getting the 100k from insurance to fix the damage I can get back to writing. The irony though, for a series that started as home-ownership wish fulfillment being put on the back-burner because of home ownership.