The player piano falls nervously silent as the saloon doors swing. This nameless town’s had no sheriff for thirty years; no law but the witch’s law. The witch herself is lewdly straddling a barstool, clearly waiting for exactly this, with a toothy smile and glass of bourbon.
The doll’s feet fall loud and heavy on the floorboards, stetson pulled low, deputy’s badge gleaming dully on its chest. The doxy-dolls in their ruffled skirts scuttle slowly back, clearing the floor.
“Miss,” the doll drawls, ball-jointed fingers flexing smoothly, hovered over the butt of its holstered pistol. “Afraid I’ll have to ask you to come with me.”
The witch sips. “Or what?” she says, in a tone which suggests she’s enjoying herself immensely.
“Or this one will be forced to use the full force of the law, Miss.”
The witch puts the glass down on the bar. Stands, slow and smiling and ominous.
“You’re unarmed, Miss,” the doll says impassively.
“Am I?” The witch pats theatrically at her gunless belt, her empty pockets. “Lawks.” She extends a hand, as if theatrically beseeching mercy. “You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed woman, deputy?”
“Come quietly, Miss,” the doll says.
The witch’s smile grows. She turns her wrist, hand going from beseeching to upright, like an axe blade about to fall on cordwood. Maliciously slow, she folds her ring and pinky fingers to her palm, cocks her thumb, sights down her pointer finger.
“Am I?” she repeats, lower, rougher, hungrier. “What do you think happens if I point this at a doll — one of my dolls, from my own two hands — and shout bang?”
“Well, Miss,” the deputy says, gun hand unwavering. “I imagine we all find out what happens to a doll absolutely stuffed with dynamite and birdshot, with only the spark of its own life holding open a dead man’s switch. This one thinks that’ll sting, even for you.” It reaches up its other hand to tip the brim of its hat to the witch, ever so slightly.
The witch is still a beat, then slowly nods her head, smile thinned, eyes narrowed. “You’d blow all these poor, poor dolls to flinders without a second thought?” she says, saccharine-shocked.
“This one’s given it more thoughts than two, Miss,” the deputy says steadily.
