"I hope you didn't eat my pie," McGavin said aloud and stick-tapped his way to our booth.

Neither the Saint nor her followers made any aggressive movements, so I cleared my throat and said, "Hey McGavin, the Saint of Shadows is here to see us."

He paused. "Is that so? That bitch didn't eat our pies, did she?"

The insult brought Preston to his feet but a hiss from the Saint reseated him. "Ah. Terry McGavin. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you."

"The pleasure is all yours, sexy lady." He leaned to me then and whispered, "Is she a sexy lady?"

I didn't want to admit it but also didn't want to lie to a blind man. "Yeah. Kind of. In a scary way."

"Whew. Good. I don't want to be mislabeling people."

The Saint waved a hand. "You can stop whispering. I hear all."

"Right. Good ears you got. How is it that you're strolling around in the daytime? They make sunblock that strong now?"

The Saint smiled fiendishly. "There are ways around it. I don't enjoy the risk, but I couldn't put off meeting Mr. Walsh here any longer. Time has always been on my side, but I'm ready to put this long-standing feud to rest."

I leaned to McGavin. "She did something outside. It looks like night. All the windows are dark."

McGavin nodded. "Thanks for the update. Damn black magic. Always a pain in the ass."

"Mr. McGavin, I don't understand your presence here and that lack of knowledge vexes me. You're a retired assassin who lost his vision after a deal gone wrong with a demon. Didn't really read the fine print of that contract, did you?"

"Nope. I got snookered in that deal. I can't offer up any defense."

"Just as you can't hope to defend Finnigan from me. Even in your prime, you were just a mortal with a gun. Now you need a stick to find your way to the bathroom." The Saint leaned back on the stool. "I have no desire to kill an old dog like yourself. Once upon a time, you'd have been lined up on my side in this confrontation. You could find your way back you know? It's possible that I could restore your sight. We'd just have to come to terms. I could use someone like you. Or rather, someone like you used to be. I can bring your shadow back to you, fill that hollowness inside yourself."

My heart skipped a beat at the thought that McGavin may consider the offer. While I still wasn't sure what good he would be in this conflict, the idea of having nobody standing with me was horrifying. With his visor-glasses and bushy mustache, I couldn't get a read on him, so I fidgeted nervously until he spoke.

"No thanks," McGavin finally said and I let out a too-obvious sigh of relief. "I think we've already established I'm not very good at cutting deals with you nefarious types."

The Saint frowned, openly disappointed. "Don't be too hasty. This offer won't come again. No one refuses me twice."

"Again, I must decline. I learned my lesson the hard way a long time ago."

"Fine. Then do me this one courtesy and learn a new lesson today. Stand aside. While I admire your bravery for standing between Finnigan and me, there is little you can do to stop us from taking him. I'd hate to subject Finnigan to seeing such bloodshed during our first meeting."

My head swam with conflicting thoughts. There was something oddly soothing about the Saint's voice, and her argument made sense. The display outside the windows had finally quashed all remnants of my supernatural skepticism and we were significantly outnumbered. McGavin was an annoying weirdo for sure but I didn't want to see him die for me.

"Thanks, McGavin," I said to him. "But why don't you just grab some pie to go."

"Sound advice Finnigan," the Saint agreed. "Take two pieces. It's on the house. Go in peace and live out the rest of your days as you see fit. Believe me, I have no desire to hurt Finnigan, as long as he complies."

McGavin stroked the downturned handlebars of his mustache. "Finnigan, you have a kind heart. It's very noble of you to send me out of harm's way even if that meant leaving you alone in the clutches of this vile creature. And you, Saint, you are indeed a vile creature that thrives on lies. I know, because I was also a vile liar for most of my days. I don't need sight to see what you are because I know my own kind."

The Saint stiffened at the insult. "You choose death then?"

"Oh, absolutely I do."

"Have it your way. Finnigan, you may want to hide your eyes. This will be messy." She motioned to her followers and each drew a weapon. It was a motley assortment of armaments. While Preston had his baton again, mostly they wielded various types of kitchen cutlery. One man had a hammer and the small, woman with the spectacles brandished a screwdriver. It occurred to me that, with the exception of Preston, these had been just normal folks who grabbed whatever weapons they could as they rushed out to do their master's bidding.

The cultists advanced.

"And there it is," McGavin proclaimed and snapped his fingers.

This caught the Saint's attention and she held up a hand. Her followers paused. "Change your mind?"

"Not at all. You see, normally my vision is just blackness. Nothingness. But at certain times, when exact criteria are met, it'll change. It starts with silvery wisps, like clouds in the moonlight. Those expand until they encompass my entire vision. Then they divide, swirl together into these wraith-like specters. These attach themselves to beings in my presence, marking them, outlining them in the dark. And, once my foes have been singled out, my vision returns." He tapped his glasses. "They don't call me the Deadeye because my vision is dead. They call me the Deadeye because I can only see when death arrives." He pulled off the glasses. The cataracts were gone, his eyes clear and blue. "And it's here."

"Take him!" the Saint shouted.

In a flash that would shame the fastest quickdraw artist, McGavin had his pistol pulled and he shot Preston right between the eyes. His head snapped back, the bullet exiting the skull, and spraying the Saint with blood. The others rushed but McGavin, with smooth, mathematical precision, downed each with a perfect kill shot. Six more rounds. Six more downed followers. In the time it took me to gasp, it was over.

The Saint, still seated on the stool, glanced around. "Well, that was unexpected. I suppose I should have researched your condition more thoroughly. Still, my followers are the definition of expendable and I have plenty more on the way."

"That doesn't help you much right now," McGavin said.

"You're right. It doesn't." She swiped a finger along her face, coating it with Preston's blood and grey matter. Like a macabre lollypop, she popped it in her mouth and suckled it clean as I fought the urge to vomit. "I can't help but notice you didn't shoot me. I wonder, is that because death didn't paint a bullseye on me for you?"

"I can see you just fine." McGavin aimed.

"Prove it." She stood up.

McGavin fired, emptying his clip at her. These shots were different, lacking the supernatural precision of his seconds earlier killing spree. The bullets struck her haphazardly, some even missing. Still, at the close range, even a novice gunman should have killed her. While she reacted like a normal person getting shot repeatedly—stumbling back with each strike—the bullets didn't penetrate her. The slugs flattened against her skin and then clattered to the tile floor.

"Ouch," she said with a smile, her teeth outlined with Preston's blood. "I knew it. I admit, while I underestimated your abilities, you clearly don't have the means to injure me. Such blunt force tactics will not avail you."

McGavin ejected his spent clip and slapped a fresh one in. He backed up, using his body to nudge me away from the Saint. A futile gesture, as there was nowhere to go.

"Now then Deadeye, I'm going to come over there and disarm you. Then, I'll let Finnigan decide if I should snap your neck or tear out your heart. It'll be good practice for all the difficult decisions he'll have to make in the near future."

I winced at how awful that sounded. McGavin had come through for me in a big way and I certainly didn't want to have to pick the manner of his death. But as she advanced, I couldn't think of anything to save us. I glanced outside at the darkened street. There was a bank directly across from us and I could faintly see the glowing digital sign that scrolled the time and temperature.

One-fifteen pm.

It was still early afternoon out there. The Saint hadn't altered time and sped the world up to nightfall.

"McGavin," I said, "shoot the windows."

"Huh?"

"Do it."

The Saint hissed at my command, tensed to lunge, but McGavin didn't need supernatural assistance to hit such a target. One bullet shattered the window next to us and blinding light flooded in. The beam created a wall of sun between us and the Saint and she fell back as if touching an electric fence.

"I should have thought of that," McGavin said to me. "I'm getting rusty in my old age." In rapid succession he blasted out the remaining windows, flooding the diner with blink-inducing sunlight.

The effects on the Saint proved instantaneous. Her exposed skin reddened and blistered, steam rising as the flesh charred. Her feral howls of pain almost made me clap my hands to my ears. She scrambled away, leaping backward over the counter and disappearing through the door to the kitchen, leaving a trail of smoke to mark her passage.

"Damn it," McGavin swore. "We almost had her."

"She's cornered though, right? Trapped?" I figured this was strategically true, not that I was eager to pursue her.

"The Saint in a windowless room is never cornered." He glanced outside. "I'm sure plenty of townsfolk heard those shots. We need to go before the police show up."

"Maybe we could use some police assistance?"

"No. We can't trust anyone. The Saint excels at seducing people to her cause. If we get arrested, I'd very likely die in a jail cell as the police hand you over to her after the sun goes down." He put a hand to his face, pinched the bridge of his nose, and blinked. "I don't have much time. Let's move."

There were witnesses on the street, babbling on cellphones and craning their necks to see what had transpired in the diner. McGavin's warning about more Saint followers rang in my ears.

"Wait," McGavin told me and stopped on the sidewalk, searching frantically through his pockets.

"What?" I asked hurriedly.

In the distance came sirens.

"There," he exclaimed with relief. He pulled out a small leather booklet and opened it. "Sorry. I only have a few seconds."

I peeked over his shoulder to see what could be so important as to delay our escape. Inside the booklet were plastic sleeves. Inside each was a photograph. He flipped through them with speed and I couldn't get a good look until he lingered on the last one—a photo of a woman and a little girl. Both in yellow sundresses with matching wide-brimmed hats. Their smiles were gorgeous.

Inside my head, I was dying to scream and drag him towards the car, but my heart kept me still and left him to his moment. He stared at the photo, tracing a finger along their faces, tears falling on his cheeks. I watched this until his eyes changed, the corpse-like cataracts swirling back, and the curse resumed. Only then did he close the book and slip it back into his jacket.

"Sorry. I have a very limited window to ever see them. I can use your uncle's magical glass but it's not the same as real sight." His voice had lost its joviality, heavy now with emotion.

"It's ok." I took him by the elbow and led him to my car, opening the passenger door for him. As I did, I took stock of the witnesses. At least two of them caught my attention with their ramrod straight postures and passionless expressions. They watched us with cold indifference as if ordered to do so. "Shit."

"More followers?" McGavin asked knowingly.

"I think so."

"Fuck 'em. We'll meet them all soon enough."

As I sped out of town I asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm right as rain. Don't worry about me," he said, the usual cockiness starting to creep back into his voice. "I'm just upset neither of us got to try the pie. We'll have to go back when this is over. Your treat, of course."

Chapter Words - 2151

Total Word Count - 17,420