.

The black four-door Mustang slowly prowled down the puddled road, its headlights shining before it in streaks of yellow-gold. An owl hooted twice from the oak that towered at the edge of the cemetery, took flight, and flapped off into the sky. Leaves blew across the damp pavement as the Mustang pulled up to the gates and stopped.

The front doors opened and two men climbed out. One was stocky, with thick shoulders and an imposing figure, the other tall and grim-faced. The man on the driver’s side stretched and nudged his door shut as the other man carefully scanned the area. The driver moved to the rear door and pulled it open, and a half-smoked cigarette dropped out onto the pavement with a faint sizzle. Then a small, thin man in his early thirties exited the car and stood, pulling on a pair of expensive leather gloves.

“Flash” Sentry—known as Brad Sentry only on his birth certificate and driver’s license—glanced at one of his former band mates now bodyguards and held out his left hand expectantly.

The New Canterlot City cemetery was about as far from Pendragon Castle as one could get and still be within the city limits. As lively as New Canterlot City was at night, that was how dead this place was—at least, that was what Flash Sentry thought when his car entered the cemetery grounds. He had come to the cemetery to pay his respects to an old acquaintance and business associate who had met a tragic end just a few days before at the hands of a vigilante.

Flash felt guilty for missing his friend’s funeral, but it was too dangerous for him to be seen there. Who knew who might have been there to scope out young underworld types like himself; the press, the cops, the Feds, even the Dragon. Better to visit Ragamuffin one-on-one. Nobody snoops on you at two in the morning.

Still, to be on the safe side, Flash had brought his former band mates along for the ride. The big man, Brawny Beats, reached back into the passenger seat and handed his boss a funeral wreath studded with small velvet bows. Flash transferred the wreath to the crook of his right arm and held out his left hand again. This time, Brawny handed Flash a large silver flashlight. Flash clicked the flashlight on and waved it experimentally at the nearest trees.

“You guys wait here,” Flash said as he walked off.

This would only take a minute.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Sentry,” Brawny Beats replied with a vigorous nod.

He and Ringo leaned back against the car and watched as their boss headed off through the big iron gates. The owl hooted again from somewhere inside the cemetery and Brawny Beats’ eyes darted left and right as thunder rolled in the distance.

“They’re sayin’ the Dragon killed this guy,” he said.

“I know,” Ringo replied as he pulled out a cigarette, stuck it in his mouth and struck a match. “Who’d a’ thought.”

Just then a rustling sound came from the bushes just inside the iron fence.

“What was that?”

The two men craned their necks at the line of dark foliage.

“I dunno, but it—oww!”

Ringo shook his hand as the match burned the ends of his fingers. Both match and cigarette dropped to the ground.

“Jeez,” he said.

.

Inside the cemetery, Flash Sentry followed his flashlight beam along the narrow path.

A yellow moon illuminated the graveyard dotted with stone crosses. There was no sound except the crunching of his shoes on the coarse gravel.

Soon, Flash found the gravestone. The pale beam picked out the newly installed grave with a single dime-store vase of red and white carnations at its base. Flash played the light over the granite monument, stared at it a moment, then looked at the wreath in his hand.

“Tsk, tsk. Ragamuffin, Ragamuffin...” Flash shook his head and heaved a sigh as he tossed the wreath at his former associate’s final resting place. The dark ring sailed through the air like a life preserver and struck the base of the small vase, tipping it over onto its side. Water and carnations spilled onto the grass. “You always were such a loser.”

Then he turned back toward the path that led back to his car.

He had only walked a few steps when he heard something. Not a voice, exactly, but a faint sound that seemed to drift on the wind. He listened. It sounded like... his name.

“Flash...”

Flash stiffened and reached into his coat pocket for his gun.

“Who’s there?”

Startled, Flash spun around, shining his flashlight in a wide arc in the direction of the sound, over the dozens of gravestones littering the field around him. He took several steps backward. His heel hit something solid and he turned to shine the light down on the vase lying near Ragamuffin’s headstone. When he lifted the flashlight again in the direction of the ring of graves, he raised his free hand to his head and scratched his scalp. No one was there—just the owl staring at him through the darkness.

Flash sighed in relief. That last thing he wanted, or needed, was to come face-to-face with the Equestrian Dragon.

He returned to the path, but stopped dead in his tracks when he was confronted by a mist billowing up out of the ground between him and the church. He stared at the roiling cloud, frozen with fear, as it parted before him. A pale flash of movement showed suddenly at its center, as if rising directly from the netherworld. Then a figure appeared within.

The cemetery was poorly lit, and the figure was far away, so Flash couldn’t be sure. But he thought it was the Dragon. As the figure came closer, it seemed to glide on the black cloud that surrounded it. Flash didn’t remember seeing any smoke tailing the Equestrian Dragon, but that didn’t mean he didn’t use it.

A steel-tipped cane swiped through the remainder of the smoke, revealing a ghastly being in a black suit, and it stepped toward Flash Sentry, the flashlight wavering in his grip.

“You aren’t the Dragon!”

Flash wasn’t taking any chances. While the figure was still too far away to do anything about it, Flash pulled out his gun, took careful aim, and fired. His first shot hit the figure dead-on. So did the second shot, and the third, but still it kept coming. Flash emptied all his bullets into the thing—still it came. What was this guy made of?

Flash didn’t have long to wait to get his answer. A moment later he was face-to-face with the strange being. And now he could see that it wasn’t even human. Flash didn’t think it was possible, but this black-suited figure, with a grinning skull-like face, was more frightening than the Dragon ever was. Flash was terrified—and his fear grew when the creature spoke.

“Flash Sentry,” it said in a haunting, unearthly whisper. “I have come for you.”

Flash stepped back as the thing moved forward, as if it were floating on the black mist. He wanted to keep shooting but remembered his gun was empty. Instead, he swung his weapon at the figure. Flash’s attacker lifted an arm, and Flash felt a flash of pain as the gun was torn out of his hand. Flash looked toward the gun on the ground—and saw it had been sliced in half!

“Get away from me, you freak!” Flash shouted, his boyish features contorted in fear. “Who are you? What do you want?”

In response, the figure pointed its cane at Flash. There was a curved, razor-sharp blade, like a scythe, attached to the head of it.

“I am Death,” he said. “And I want you, Flashy-boy.”

As Death raised his scythe-cane over Flash’s head, Flash turned and ran in terror. He raced past Ragamuffin’s headstone, his heavy shoe scattering the carnations, crushing red and white petals into the newly turned earth. His labored breathing broke the stillness of the cemetery as he raced over the sloping lawns, his flashlight beam darting frantically in front of him. His heart pounded in his chest as he mounted an unfamiliar rise.

“Brawny! Ringo! Guys!” he called out.

“Come on!” Brawny Beats shouted.

Flash ran deeper into the cemetery, tripping over tombstones and staggering through gnarled tree branches. He had to put distance between him and the smoke that followed him until he could think of some way to defend himself against his assailant.

Soon he found it—more precisely, he tripped over it. As he fled the grim-faced reaper, down the other side of the hillock, Flash’s knee collided with something hard. He crashed into a wheelbarrow piled with sod and digging implements. As he fell, his flashlight flew out of his hand, into the air, and it shattered when it hit the ground. Flash pitched over onto his side, his arms flailing as he fought for balance, coming down hard against the dirt-filled wheelbarrow. He ended up on his back, the wheelbarrow upside down on the lower half of his body. And even though he knew the flashlight wouldn’t do him any good, Flash groped along the ground in a vain attempt to retrieve it. As he tipped the wheelbarrow back onto its wheel and pushed himself up from the damp grass, his hand brushed against a sturdy wooden handle. He felt along its length, encountering a perpendicular sweep of cold metal. Then, when his eyes finally adjusted to the moonlight, he saw what it was: a pickaxe! Flash crawled to his feet, grabbed the implement, lifted it with a small grunt of satisfaction, and kneeled behind the wheelbarrow, waiting for Death to appear before him.

“Time to pay for your sins, Flash Sentry,” an eerie voice suddenly spoke out.

Flash gulped.

This time the voice came from much closer.

It was coming from directly behind him!

Flash stood perfectly still for a moment, brandishing the pickaxe like a weapon. Then, in one motion, he hefted the pick over his head, whirled around, and charged toward the sound of the voice, but the reaper drifted back into the mist and vanished.

Flash wiped the sweat from his brow as the thing reappeared in the shadow of a grove of tall dark trees with skeletal branches. He sliced through the mist with the pick, but Death was ready for him. As the pickaxe came down, Death raised his right arm, swiped his wicked blade through the air. The metal flashed in the darkness and it connected with the pick, slicing it neatly in half with a crack, just below the blade. Flash staggered back as a sudden jolt traveled up his arms. His eyes bulged as the metal head of the pick sailed through the air and embed itself into the ground in front of a small tombstone, leaving Flash holding only the handle.

Flash looked at the shaft he still gripped in his hands. Out of breath and full of fear, he stiffened when he heard his name again. He lowered the wood, clutching it protectively in front of his chest. And not a moment too soon: Death was in front of him now, coming straight at him, floating on the dark mist. Flash wavered but stood his ground. He was prepared.

“All right, creep. Catch!”

Flash drew his arm back as the apparition neared him... then flung the shaft of wood like a spear with a cry of rage. It made contact with the black-shrouded figure, plunging deep into its chest and out its back. Death raised his ragged arm and pulled the stick out of his torso and threw it to the ground at his feet. Then, his face contorted with rage, Death started to advance on the helpless boy once again.

“What the--?” Flash asked.

Flash turned and stumbled off into the darkness. He ran without looking back, until his heart and lungs could stand no more. He collapsed on his knees at the side of a weathered headstone, trying to catch his breath until a small sound at his back made him look over his shoulder, eyes wide with panic. Death was still coming!

“He was up here!” Brawny Beats shouted.

“Boss! Flash, where are you?” Ringo called out.

“Guys! Hurry!” Flash shouted as he ran deeper and deeper into the cemetery.

He had no flashlight, no gun, no pickaxe; nothing to help him defend himself or escape. He squinted in the moonlight. All around him were gravestones and statues.

He leaned heavily on one of the gravestones, then took a deep breath and pounded up a low hill to his right. He must be nearing the fence. He saw a figure standing near the top of the hill. It was dressed in pale garments, its head turned away from him, and there was no mist billowing around its legs. Was it a caretaker, a gravedigger? Maybe it was one of the boys, come looking for him. Could he be close to the gate? He trudged up the hill, squinting intently at the dim outline. When he was a few feet away he saw it was a huge stone angel, its arms raised in an attitude of prayer.

He took another step forward... and then the ground gave way.

Flash Sentry fell into an eight-foot long rectangular hole, six feet down, and his face slapped against mud when he landed, face down on the patch of wet ground, with a heavy thud. He raised his head, mud dripping from his cheek and brow, and pushed himself to his feet. He was frightened, dazed, the wind knocked out of his heavy body, and then he looked up. On the ground directly above him, the eight-foot-tall marble angel looked down on him, looming pitilessly over the open pit. Flash gasped in horror as he staggered back to the other end of the hole. He’d fallen into an empty, freshly dug grave!

He heard a soft snapping sound and turned to look at the other end of the grave. He reached up, trying to lift himself out, when a cloud of smoke began to billow across the ground above him, over the edge of the opening as he watched, obscuring the night sky. As it dispersed, the tall dark figure with a pale skull for a head became gradually visible, and Flash held his breath as Death appeared at the end of the grave.

“You always were a loser, Flash Sentry,” Death said as he looked down on Flash.

In desperation, Flash turned and stumbled the short distance to the head of the grave, where the statue stood. He reached up and began to claw at the soft loam above his head, trying to grab hold of anything that would help him get out. His fingers pulled clods of earth loose from under the statue’s base, down onto his mud-streaked face, as Flash tried to scramble up the wall.

Flash continued trying to paw his way out of the hole, but it was no use. All he’d succeeded in doing was digging away the dirt at the edge of the grave. He looked back toward Death at the opposite end of the grave, but Death just stood there. Then Flash’s right hand struck the base of the stone angel and he began to sob.

“Farewell, Flash Sentry,” Death’s voice faded as the apparition disappeared into the mist.

Flash turned around to find the far end of the pit empty except for a haze of dispersing mist. He blinked up at the stars for a few seconds, dumbfounded, confused.

“That’s it?” he wondered. “He’s just gonna leave me here?”

Flash Sentry gasped.

He thought he heard another sound, faint, nearby. He looked back and forth between the ends of the trench. Nothing. Maybe the thing had just wanted to frighten him, after all. He leaned his palm against the side of the pit for support as he fished for a handkerchief in his coat and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. The faint sound came again. He searched the edges of the trench where the apparition had stood, eyes narrowed.

Then Flash noticed something strange. Behind him, a tiny curl of black smoke reappeared next to the towering stone angel and wound itself around the base. A pebble slipped forward and dropped into the grave with a muffled sound as the base tilted slightly. Flash looked over his shoulder as the shadow of the angel crawled up his back. Slowly, the statue began to tilt forward and Flash screamed as he raised his arms in a futile gesture as the angel fell toward him.

And Flash Sentry kissed the angel.

.

A short time later, Flash’s old band mates finally found their boss. They were able to follow the dark prints his rapid footsteps had left in the dewy grass. After searching through the graveyard for several minutes, a muffled crash sounded, then all was silent, and they came upon a curious sight: a marble angel had fallen face first into an open grave. They mounted the low hill near the heart of the cemetery, looking around anxiously. The stars seemed cold and tiny, and the rim of the dark sky was shrouded with pale clouds.

The footprints led them to the partially filled trench. One of them shined his flashlight into the hole—and that’s when they saw their boss.

“Oh, man!” Brawny Beats said as he turned away in horror.

As Ringo peered downward at the edge of the pit, his flashlight slipped from his nerveless fingers.

“Jeez,” he said.

As they walked back to the car, they saw a flash of movement out of the corner of their eyes. That’s when they spotted a dark, shadowy figure standing atop a far-off hillock, next to a gnarled tree in the moonlight. They lifted their guns and started firing furiously at it.

The shadowy figure stood perfectly still for a second, then turned and disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving the two bodyguards to draw one conclusion.

“It’s the Dragon!” Brawny Beats yelled. “It was the damn Dragon!”

.

The nineteenth-century town house was located not far from Livingston, the once-fashionable section of downtown New Canterlot City now known as the Projects. Because of its proximity to an area where burglary and murder were almost daily occurrences, the windows of the old brownstone were covered with thick bars of wrought iron, making it obvious that whoever owned the place wanted to keep any uninvited visitors out. It also lent a prisonlike air to the somber building, which persisted even in the bright light on the morning following Flash Sentry’s death.

Inside, a single ray of sunlight fell in measured blocks onto the worn arabesques and faded geometries of an ancient Saddle Arabian rug inside the shadowy den that centered the top floor apartment. The room was silent except for the irregular clinking sound caused by metal against porcelain and the equally irregular susurrus of an old man’s breathing.

Timber Spruce sat hunched over in a big comfortable chair that had grown much too large for him. His face was an unhealthy color, the sallow skin pulled parchment-tight across the planes of bone beneath. A plastic tray stood before him on spidery metal legs, and on the tray were his morning cup of pale yellow tea, a bowl containing one half of a small pink grapefruit, and a copy of the New Canterlot Gazette. The painfully thin man stirred the spoon in his tea, took the spoon from the cup, and set it carefully on the saucer. Then he reached for the newspaper as he brought the cup to his pursed lips and sipped at its rim.

Timber Spruce reseated the cup with trembling fingers and turned his attention to the pinkish hemisphere that constituted his breakfast. He maneuvered a slice of the tart fruit onto his spoon and mumbled it past his lips as he unfolded the paper. He blinked in surprise as he scanned the front page... then his blood ran cold.

In the center of the page was a file photograph of a thin-faced young man with warm eyes and a cocky sneer: Brad “Flash” Sentry. Timber Spruce’s eyes grew wide with terror and recognition in their sunken sockets as he read the bold headline above the photo:

SECOND MAN SLAIN!

It couldn’t be!

His eyes darted over the page before focusing on a sketch artist’s charcoal rendering of a dramatic figure shrouded in dark shadows, which appeared next to the second caption:

EQUESTRIAN DRAGON GONE WILD!

The spoonful of grapefruit slipped unnoticed from the man’s skeletal fingers and clattered onto the plastic tray. Then the cup of tea fell from the tray, shattering as it hit the floor. Timber Spruce began to wheeze, bolting out of the chair, clutching at his throat in pain, the newspaper falling to one side as the tray collapsed on the other. His glance darted from window to doorway, his wheezing growing more frantic as he staggered back to the overstuffed chair and leaned on it for support. Clutching his chest with one hand, he felt at the back of the chair with the other, for the cool surface of the oxygen tank resting on the floor. Then, like a man dying of thirst, he dragged it out, fumbling with the plastic mask before he pressed it up against his face to cover his nose and mouth, and took big greedy gulps of the life-giving gas.

Soon the tightness around his chest began to fade. Trembling, exhausted by his exertions, he slumped back into his chair, breathing in spasmodic gasps from his ordeal. His rheumy eyes stared down in horror at the newspaper lying scattered on the rug. The picture of the Equestrian Dragon seemed larger than life. It filled up his field of vision, sending chills down his spine. He kicked it aside and shook his head in despair.

Timber Spruce was a man with a problem.

.

Councilwoman Vignette Valencia was angry. But her anger was kind of amusing, Captain Shining Armor thought as the young female politician paraded back and forth in front of the captain’s desk at the police department.

“What do you mean you won’t?” Vignette shouted. “I’m sure the Dragon means well, but he’s still a vigilante. And by the definition of law, that makes him a criminal just like the rest. You have to go after him!”

“He didn’t do it. Period,” Shining Armor stated impassively, making Vignette’s histrionics seem all the more out of place.

Several other high-level police officers exchanged glances as they watched the encounter between their boss and his outraged adversary.

“You have two eye-witnesses—” Vignette snatched a double ribbon of polygraph recording paper from the large hands of Sergeant Spearhead, each length attached to an unflattering mug shot of one of Flash Sentry’s henchmen. “—and their lie detector results.” She flung the records down on Armor’s cluttered desktop. “What more do you need?”

Sergeant Spearhead shook his head as Shining Armor rose from behind his desk, his own anger finally beginning to show on his face. He swept the tangle of Dragon-related newspaper clippings and photographs off his desktop and dropped them into the wastebasket with a savage wave of his arm.

“It’s all garbage, Miss Valencia,” he resounded matter-of-factly. “You want him? You get him. There’s no motive, no proof, and I’ll have no part of spending the taxpayers’ money to bring him in.”

The already fuming councilwoman sneered as she jerked the door open and marched out of Shining Armor’s office. The door shut behind her with a resounding slam. The assembled officers flinched, Sergeant Spearhead eyeing the door’s pebbled glass window as if waiting for it to shatter. When it remained intact, he pulled a toothpick from his jacket and stuck it in the corner of his mouth with a sigh.

Officer Silver Sable and two more uniformed policewomen stood waiting in the reception area outside. Vignette Valencia smiled at them as she plucked a small container from the inside pocket of her jacket, confidently popped a small, white breath mint into her mouth and asked softly, “Well, ladies, any ideas?”

.

Half an hour later, Captain Shining Armor’s Dodge Challenger barreled away from New Canterlot toward the cemetery. On the outskirts of the city, the sleek black car parked outside the grounds where Flash Sentry had met his angel of death for the first and last time.

Strips of yellow police tape cordoned off the scene of Flash Sentry’s demise. The massive statue hung suspended above the trench in a thick bundle of chains attached to a crane.

Along with Sergeant Spearhead, the Captain began by retracing Sentry’s trail from his car to the gravesite. It was a real mystery who was responsible... and not only who, but why.

“Flash Conceptions is a real estate development company,” Shining Armor said. “Could be he was on somebody’s hit list for one of his projects.”

“Maybe,” Sergeant Spearhead replied. “But for the past several years the company’s been dealing primarily with urban development--condo conversions, updating retail space, and the like. This hardly seems like the kind of target anyone would single out.”

“Aside from the shell casings belonging to Sentry’s weapon, no signs of other shooters present,” Shining went on. “Whoever did this didn’t use a gun. They chased him into a hole and used a statue to crush him. That doesn’t sound like business to me... that sounds more personal.”

“You think they’re trying to make a statement?” Spearhead asked.

“Most definitely, but in doing so they’re also creating a pattern,”

Far from the tatters of police tape, out of sight, the Equestrian Dragon had begun his own investigation. He started by surveying the scene of the overturned wheelbarrow. Soon, he stood over the grave of Dick Ragamuffin. He knelt down to feel the ground around the headstone.

“There seems to be some kind of residue on the lawn,” he spoke softly into a portable tape recorder. “It could match the traces I found on the fragment of boat glass at the pier. It’s not much to go on, but then again, it’s been that kind of a day,” he concluded as he clicked off the tape recorder.

While searching around the graveyard for other clues, something caught his eye and he turned his head in surprise, looking at his surroundings as if seeing them from a new angle. The Equestrian Dragon suddenly realized he had wandered into a familiar section of the cemetery. He marched up the short but steep hill, his pace quickening as he realized his destination.

He strode through the grounds, between many granite obelisks of people that had been given rather gruesome deaths—one man executed by firing squad, another torn apart by four wild horses, and one that had been buried alive—until he eventually stood before the marble memorial he had erected in honor of his parents: a large monument with a statue depicting a man and a woman riding a chariot being pulled by two horses rearing up.

The Equestrian Dragon bowed his head respectfully after reading his family’s credo:

“Bidh sinn gu toilichte a’ sgrios an fheadhainn a tha airson ar sgrios.”

“Libenter eos perdimus, qui nos perdere volunt.”

“We gladly destroy those who want to destroy us.”

Not just pretty words... a way to live.

He had visited hundreds of times before, but never in the form he had chose to wage the war on evil that he fought in their (and his fallen allies’) names. He hoped that somehow they could see him standing there and prayed they would be proud of him. He prayed for something else too—and an instant later, his prayers were answered.

“Ya’d think they could afford a weed-eater,” a woman’s voice murmured. “Sorry, Mom, Dad, but the whole world’s goin’ to seed.”

The Equestrian Dragon’s head came up in shock. He took a step back, turned, and peered through the dimness between two other stone markers.

A young woman was standing not far from the monument.

She knelt at a neglected grave, her fists tugging at a clump of stubborn weeds that had sprouted at the base of the headstone.

It was Applejack Smith! He began to step forward—but then stopped himself.

“I’m not Spike Zenith now,” he thought. “I’m the Equestrian Dragon! If she saw me like this... She would hate me. And why shouldn’t she?”

He stepped back, and as he did, his back hind claw crunched a small stick on the ground.

Startled by the sound of the twig snapping, Applejack rose to her feet, the weeds dropping from her fingers. She turned to look over her shoulder and came face-to-face with a man clothed in black, standing in the shadows of a tall, stone angel.

“Spike?” she asked. “What’re ya doin’ here?”

“You would never believe me if I told you,” he answered as he stepped out from the shadows of the monument.

A look of barely controlled anguish was visible on his face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized as he turned to leave.

“Spike, wait,” she said. “I just wasn’t expectin’ to see anyone out here. Are ya okay?”

“I’m creeping around a cemetery in the middle of the night. Does this strike you as normal behavior?” he asked her.

“Hey... I’m here, too,” she told him. “Seriously, Spike. Why are you out here?”

“Applejack, have you ever felt like your life was supposed to be something different?”

She nodded.

As her fingers traced the names carved into the stone, she and he both remembered the last time they were here together.

.

New Canterlot City Cemetery, 1988... Ten Years Before.

In a strange way, Spike found the cemetery comforting. After several years of constant travelling abroad, he had recently returned to Equestria. Now he was faced with an endless stream of parties, dinners, and get-togethers that never allowed him a moment’s peace. He knew what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He just wasn’t sure how he was going to do it. And with all the social engagements he’d been subjected to, he doubted he would ever have enough time to himself to figure it out. So he decided to come here whenever he could; to stand before the graves of his fallen allies, pay his respects, and silently ask for their advice.

It was late autumn then, too. Brown and gold leaves blew through the cemetery as Spike stood with a brooding expression on his face before the marble monument that was his parents’ marker. The wind had pushed his collar askew and his dark hair was disheveled. He held a pair of long-stemmed sunflowers in his hand.

As he knelt solemnly to lay them on the manicured grass at the foot of the headstone, he heard a voice nearby.

“That’s right,” it said. “And if Granny gets any more protective, she might as well dig a moat around the farm.”

Spike lifted his head in surprise and turned to see a young woman he once knew--but didn’t recognize--standing among a group of tombstones a short distance away. She was nearly as tall as him, which meant she was close to six feet, she smelled like apples, and her hair was the color of summer wheat. Her back to was to him, and even though there was no one else there, Spike could only conclude that the woman was talking to someone else besides herself.

“She isn’t talking to me,” he thought. “She’s probably talking to someone in her heart.”

Spike nervously stepped closer as she continued.

“It’s time like these I wish you were around to—” She stopped suddenly as the breeze lifted her blonde hair. She was reaching up a hand to smooth it back when Spike’s shadow crept into view on the ground beside her and she turned around to face him. “Yes?” she inquired.

Spike’s eyes widened. Finely arched blonde eyebrows drew together over a straight nose and cheeks dotted by the most beautiful freckles he had ever seen. Her voice was a silky Southern drawl, soft and feminine, and as strong as everything else about her.

“Excuse me,” Spike stammered under her stare. He was struck by her beauty. “I thought you were saying something to me.”

The young woman raised her eyes as if gauging the distance between her and him.

“No,” she answered shortly and abruptly turned away.

“I’m sorry, my mistake,” Spike said uncomfortably.

He stood for an awkward moment, looking at the graceful lines of her back.

He’d obviously interrupted something and figured he’d better leave.

From the corner of her eye, the young blonde woman spotted Spike walking off. A mischievous gleam appeared in her eye. She looked at the gravestone at her feet and smiled.

“Do ya know who that was?” she asked, just loud enough for Spike to hear. “Spike Zenith—ya know, Zenith Industries. I’ve seen him around campus. Very moody. Kinda cute, though. Don’t ya think?”

Spike couldn’t help himself. Again, he stopped to listen. And again, when she looked back over her shoulder, she looked somewhat displeased.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I heard my name,” Spike said. “I thought—who are you talking to?”

The young woman brushed a wisp of hair back from her cheek and answered, “My parents.”

She pointed to the grave at the foot of the tree and Spike looked at the words chiseled upon the stone:

In Loving Memory
Bright Macintosh Smith, July 2, 1942 – February 1, 1984, Devoted Son, Husband, Father
Buttercup Smith, July 3, 1942 – February 1, 1984, Beloved Daughter, Wife, Mother
Gone But Never Forgotten

.

Spike flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh,” he replied, looking from the marker to the bright-eyed young woman. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s okay,” the young woman said. “They don’t have much to say today.”

It was then that Spike caught the scent of her: sweeter than magnolias. She spoke her mind with a saucy accent, knew what she wanted, and knew how to get it.

She caught his sidelong glance.

“I’m not the only one who talks to their loved ones, ya know,” she said defensively. “It’s just that when I talk to them out loud, I can imagine how they’d reply. I can hear ‘em, like they’re right here. Sometimes I dream I’m at school, waitin’ for my Granny to pick me up. But she doesn’t come. Instead, my parents drive up, and we get in the truck and we drive back to my real life in Ponyville. That’s usually when I wake up. But for a moment, I’m happy... till I realize that I’m still alone.”

Spike understood, all too well.

He looked at the blonde, and he looked at the grave, and then--in his heart--he knew just what her parents would say.

“Your dad thinks you’d be a shoo-in for rodeo queen... and your mom wants you to know that you’re never alone. They are both always looking out for you,”

She smiled at him... then turned and headed for the path.

Spike hesitated for a moment before following her. He caught up to her and they continued side by side down the path toward the cemetery gate.

“And what about you?” she asked. “Were you here to talk to somebody?”

“I made a promise,” he said solemnly as they walked.

“A secret promise?” she guessed.

He nodded as she turned to study his face.

“Have ya kept it?” she asked.

His expression stayed sober. “So far.”

They reached the street outside the cemetery. A staid pickup was parked at the curb in front of Spike’s convertible roadster. She walked over to the truck and opened the driver’s door. Then she turned to Spike and extended her hand in a formal gesture. “Applejack Smith.”

He shook her hand. “Spike Zenith.”

“I know. ‘The richest man in Equestria,’” she said with a wry smile. “So tell me, with all that money and power, why do ya always look like ya want to jump off a cliff?”

Spike smiled in spite of himself. “Why should you care?”

“I don’t.” She slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the truck roared to life. “Dad was askin’.”

Applejack put the truck in gear, put her foot to the gas pedal, and pulled away from the curb... and Spike smiled to himself at the thought of running into her again.

.

A few short years later, on the main street outside New Canterlot University, a black Rolls Royce, the vanity plate of which read FNGRICH, pulled up to the curb. In an effort to curb their daughter’s “wild antics”, the parents of Diamond Tiara Rich were sending her to NCU.

“Randolph, can you drive around the corner, please?” Diamond Tiara asked.

“Why?” her father, Filthy Rich, asked. “The entrance is right there.”

“Dad, these are public school kids,” his daughter replied. “I’m not showing up for orientation in the Rolls.”

“What, you want us to trade in our car for a helicopter, just because you flunked out of every private school we ever sent you to?” her mother, Spoiled Rich, inquired, staring at her daughter with cold, mean eyes. “You’re starting new here, that means no more parties. You know what it did to your marks at Grant. This time, you’re going to concentrate on your schoolwork. I see another D, you don’t see another check.”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” Filthy told his wife. “I hate it when you drink.”

“I drink to get through the day,” she replied. “I was a talented, well-educated woman. I could have been someone--”

“This wasn’t for me,” Diamond Tiara commented.

“Of course it was,” Filthy Rich said. “Don’t ever be ashamed of who you are.”

“I’m not ashamed of who I am. It’s just...”

“Just what, Diamond?” Spoiled asked her daughter.

“Forget it,” she said as she clambered out.

“I should have driven Diamond Tiara up myself,” Filthy Rich thought.

Although he did his best to try to be a kind and devoted father, and gave his beloved child every luxury and comfort, he still felt she needed a mother’s care.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to face my friends again,” Spoiled Rich told herself.

“Just pretend they’re a mirror,” Filthy Rich retorted.

“You’re so funny, honey. Actually, I’ll confess to them that I’m married to a moron. And that way, they’ll feel sorry for me and forgive me,”

“This ‘moron’ built you this fabulous life,”

“Oh, that again, I forgot. That’s right, honey. You did everything and I did nothing,”

“Refresh my memory, will you, please? What exactly have you done in the past five years? I know. You’ve done lunch. You’ve done chemical peels. You’ve done collagen. You’ve done liposuction. And you’ve done breast implants. Without me, you would be nothing,”

“Here’s a thought, darling. Since you’re so good with fire, maybe you should write a cookbook: How To Roast Your Own Nuts. What do you think?”

“You know what I think? I think I’m tired of busting my ass while you sit around on your ever-widening one, criticizing everything I do,”

“I have spent the last six months busting this ever-widening ass, and for what?”

“What is this really about, Spoiled?”

“I am pissed off because if I had just stayed in school instead of wasting my time on you, I would probably have my own business by now. I gave it up to help you,”

“Oh, please, you gave it up because you were afraid you might actually have to finish something!” Filthy Rich heaved a sigh. “I am tired of this. What used to work in this marriage just doesn’t work anymore.”

“Oh, God, here it comes: the divorce talk again,”

“Spoiled, we’re both wasting our time. What’s the point?”

“If you want out, just say the word,” she told him. “Do you want a divorce?”

“I need a divorce!” he shouted.

“Good! And we’ll split everything!”

“Split what? We don’t own anything. All we have is debt. I’d be glad to split that with you fifty-fifty,”

“Fifty-fifty? Not on your life!”

“Then it’ll get ugly,”

“I can do ugly. I’ve done you for the last twenty-six-and-a-half years,”

“You stopped doing me after ten,” he stated.

.

Inside, as the students assembled in the auditorium for orientation, Rainbow Dash skidded into her seat just as the bell rang.

“Oh, yeah!” she exclaimed. “I am good!”

“You may have made it this time, Miss Dash,” the Headmistress, Abacus Cinch, said. “But you had to break three rules to do it: no skates on school grounds and no food in class.”

“That’s only two,” Dash snapped in reply with her mouth full.

She finished her green apple, hurled its core at the trashcan across the room... and missed.

“Littering; three,” Professor Youngermane stated.

After the students settled down, Abacus Cinch introduced the key members of the faculty. As well as Dean Cadence Amore, the head of student discipline, there was Miss Diamond Rose, languages; Miss Lemony Gem, etiquette and social graces; Miss Harmony Melons, literature and art studies; Professor Youngermane, mathematics and applied sciences; and Dr. Trotland, history and social studies.

“Before you begin your individual class orientation, I have one announcement to make,” Headmistress Cinch said. “There will be a T.V. crew and accreditation committee here on Wednesday. I would like four of you to help me show them around the school, to represent New Canterlot University.”

All the while, the school’s janitors, custodians and groundskeepers spent the majority of the morning scrubbing, dusting, sweeping, mopping, sanitizing and sterilizing, cleaning the cobwebs out of the corners, raking up leaves and weeding the flower beds. Abacus Cinch wanted the University to look extra good that day because a potential new benefactor was coming.

“I haven’t seen so much elbow grease in a dog’s age,” Applejack said as they exited the assembly room. “Ya’d think royalty was comin’.”

“Just who is this guy, the Chancellor?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“He might as well be,” Sunset replied. “Heard of Spike Zenith? He’s got serious bank.”

The name ran through Rarity’s mind, finally sliding into place. She had heard of him, at least by reputation. What little people did know about him was the fact that he was a very reclusive, secretive, conceited, extremely grouchy snob who grumbled and growled at everything and everybody. And not only was he very wealthy, he lived in a big castle with a pond out back. In the winter, he could skate on his frozen pond, but he didn’t. He lived alone in that big old house; he wouldn’t even let someone come in to help him clean it. And he didn’t believe in having friends.

He also owned an enormous manufacturing company that supplied the entire Equestrian military with weapons to fight the government’s wars. Almost every business he touched turned a solid profit. But in this area, he was especially famous for his extremely generous charitable contributions and scholarship endowments. Just last week she had glimpsed him on the news, handing a ten thousand dollar check to Fluttershy, who volunteered at the animal shelter.

That’s when Rarity realized that this was the same man whose scholarship program they were all on, and so--in a sense--was paying for them to go to school there.

“Spike Zenith? The Spike Zenith?” she inquired. “He’s the richest man in the state, and the richest man in Equestria, if not the world.” She sighed. “Now there’s someone who’ll never have to work.”

“Ugh, I don’t even know the guy and I hate him already,” Rainbow Dash said.

“So he’s back from bein’ overseas, huh?” Applejack asked.

“He’s an only child but his parents were, like, shepherds or something,” Sunset said.

“Whoa, time out! Isn’t Zenith the name of that company that makes those awesome T.V. sets?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“Electronics, as well as aircraft, motorcycles and luxury watches,” Pinkie replied.

“Then why does he work if he’s already loaded?” Dash asked. “I wouldn’t!”

Suddenly, they heard a rustling behind a stack of boxes in a corner.

“What was that?” Dash asked.

“Shh, be very quiet!” Sunset Shimmer whispered.

“What is it?” whispered Fluttershy.

“I think it’s over there,” Sunset kept whispering. “I hope it’s not that. It couldn’t be.”

“What?” Dash and Fluttershy both asked.

Sunset motioned for them to come closer and said, “Yesterday, I read that a panther escaped at the zoo.”

“Yeah, right,” Dash scoffed.

“I’m not kidding,” Sunset replied. “Don’t make any sudden moves, just head toward the door. It could be anywhere.”

“It’s probably just a mouse or somethin’,” Applejack said dismissively.

“What if it’s not a mouse?” Fluttershy asked. “It could be a snake.”

“Hey! There’s nothing funny about snakes! Don’t joke about that!” Rarity told her. “There is nothing funny about slimy reptiles! Nothing!”

“Maybe it’s a big, huge python,” Dash chuckled.

“Enough!” Rarity shouted. “It’s a mouse. Snakes are supposed to live in the wild.”

“Well, this whole area used to be woods, but as we have taken over their habitat, the snakes have become suburban dwellers,” Fluttershy said. “They could be living right in our own backyards... or somebody could be breeding them. All one would need is a cardboard box and a light bulb.”

“Why would anyone want to breed snakes?” Dash asked.

“Well, snakes are clean, low-maintenance pets,” Fluttershy shared.

Rainbow Dash shook her head as they made their way outside and Rarity asked, “So, Fluttershy, any chance I can borrow your cashmere belly sweater tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she replied. “That’s what best friends are for.”

“Hey!” Pinkie exclaimed. “What about me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pinkie Pie,” Rarity replied. “We can’t wear Fluttershy’s sweater at the same time, we’ll stretch it out.”

“No, Rarity, I meant, aren’t I your best friend, too?” Pinkie asked.

Rarity blinked and then smiled.

“Aww! Well, of course you are, sweetie,” she said as she hugged Pinkie. “And that’s why I’m going to borrow your leopard-print sandals tomorrow.”

Suddenly, Rarity gasped and then froze, her lips slowly parted.

A suave, young-looking man with chiseled features casually swung his blazer over his shoulder, atop a fitted black shirt tucked into perfectly pressed pants.

“Who is that?” she thought. “Who is that man covered with the abundance of pheromones?! That man oozes sex appeal from every pore!”

Rarity gazed at him longingly, transfixed with rapture, as her mouth hung open. Her legs weakened at the first sight of him. With his confident manner, roguish good looks, and tall and powerful body, he exuded authority and—God help her—such potent sensuality. Forbidden yet so soothing for the eyes; he made her heart and body ache.

“Rarity, what is it?” Pinkie asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Yeah, you’re starting to drool,” Sunset added.

“I think... I think... I’m in love!” Rarity sighed. “I must find out... who he is!”

“Getting a man of that caliber to fall for me sure would feel good,” she added in thought. “It would be like winning a trophy.”

Rarity could easily get any man under her spell—they were all powerless against her.

A sly smiled played at her lips as she strolled over to him.

“Is it just me, or does Rarity fall in love more often than Spoiled Rich maxes out her credit card?” Sunset asked them. “And don’t I know him from someplace?”

“I’m Rarity. Nice to meet you,” she began as she approached the man at the fountain.

“I doubt it,” he replied. “But it’s polite of you to say so.”

His words were courteous enough, even though his tone was not—and she didn’t miss his quick once-over as he glanced at her legs and her blouse, perfectly cut to show off her curves without being overly revealing.

“Wow. How badly have your previous girlfriends been treating you that you don’t even recognize common decency when you see it?” Sunset Shimmer asked him.

“I have never had a girlfriend,” he stated rather crudely.

“Oh, is that so?” Rarity asked.

“Dating is not for everybody. On the other hand, living in a deluded fantasy is probably the only way to survive this Tartarus on Earth,” he answered.

“So, what do you say we go out after class?” she asked him coyly, tucking her hair behind her ear, leaning in close to him as she did so. “I’ll even let you buy me a nonfat latté.”

“Sorry, but I’ve already got plans,” he said. “I’m going to the mall with Applejack.”

“Applejack?!” she thought. “Are they going out!?”

Rarity felt as if she’d been struck with the blunt end of a claymore (the sword, not bomb).

“Well, no big deal,” she replied. “I was only trying to be nice since you’re new in town.”

Spike shook his head as he walked away from Rarity, who was rejoined by her friends, as well as two other students, Coco Pommel and Sassy Saddles.

“I envy you,” Coco told Rarity. “You actually got up the nerve to talk to him.”

“So, come on,” Sassy said. “Tell us, what kind of guy is he? I bet he’s stuck-up, right?”

“No, actually, he’s more... well...” Rarity started.

Then she hung her head as she reflected on her experience with him thus far:

1: He was polite, at first, and not particularly warm.

2: His overall tone conveyed a general lack of interest (especially in her).

3: He said that he’d never had a girlfriend.

4: He told her he had plans with Applejack.

“If there was no #4, I’d call him obnoxious,” she thought sadly. “Maybe I’ll just tell them he’s weird.”

“Don’t worry, Rarity,” Fluttershy said. “I’ll buy you a nonfat latté after class.”

“Besides, wouldn’t you rather hang out with us, your friends, than some dimwit playboy?” Sunset Shimmer asked.

“I guess so,” Rarity replied half-heartedly. “Only I just can’t help it! He wants me.”

“You think every guy wants you,” Rainbow Dash told her.

“I know, but Spike’s different. And call me crazy, but I just have this thing for unattainable men. I’ve got to find a way to get his attention off of Applejack and onto me!”

“Girl, I admire your pluck,” Pinkie said, “but Spike Zenith is way out of your league.”

Rarity didn’t have to worry about competition from Pinkie Pie or Rainbow Dash, and Sunset Shimmer didn’t seem to be interested in Spike either—she believed that girls of such low character could never be a threat to her. But Rarity did have a very one-sided rivalry with Fluttershy. The kindest, quietest, and most mature of them, she was still the perfect balance between cute and innocent. But her thick thighs, shapely calves, and slender ankles, combined with her newfound affinity for high heeled shoes made for a stunning combination, turning heads all around town.

Her other rival was Applejack. A small-town beaut with a yen for horses and a room full of rodeo ribbons – hardworking, honest and responsible, sweet as blackstrap molasses, sharp as pine needles, and as beautiful as a cloudless Cartolina sky – all the things Rarity wasn’t.

“I’m not jealous,” Rarity said.

“Curious thing about jealousy, it usually stems from insecurity,” Pinkie told her.

“There’s no insecurity here. However much I’m not jealous, I’m twice as much not insecure,” Rarity replied. “I just have to find a way to get closer to him. If I can find something he and I have in common, he’ll toss her like a day-old muffin and come running straight to me!”

“Yeah, I do not get your taste in men, like, at all,” Rainbow Dash commented.

Just then, the intercom beeped and Dean Amore’s voice echoed through the halls.

“Will the following students please report to the Headmistress’s office immediately? Applejack Smith, Fluttershy Breeze, Rainbow Dash Hothoof, Pinkie Diane Pie, Rarity St. Germaine and Sunset Shimmer, thank you.”

.

Abacus Cinch was a woman of good family, but all she had ever learned as a child was how to dictate, how to intimidate, and to keep her nose high in the air... oh, and how to keep others on their toes. When she was still the principal of Crystal Preparatory Academy, Cinch held the students to very high standards, as well as a very strict code of conduct.

She had made that clear when she first “welcomed” them to Crystal Prep.

“I am not here to be your friend,” she had said. “I am only here to educate you.”

It was upon the untimely death of New Canterlot University’s last headmaster, however, that Abacus Cinch’s true nature was revealed... after she somehow got his job. Cold, cruel, and bitterly jealous of her students’ charm and beauty, she was grimly determined to forward the interests of herself and her own “precious reputation.”

Thus, as time went by, the university fell into disrepair. For the generous contributions and scholarship funds were squandered upon the vain, selfish and stupid athletes, while Cinch became a shameless sycophant when it came to anyone who showed any kind of interest in giving the school money.

Now, as Applejack, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Rarity and Sunset Shimmer stood across from the headmistress--who had been pacing back and forth behind her desk until the six girls walked in--they could clearly see that the arrogant Cinch didn’t pay much attention to what anyone else wanted, only to what she wanted. That’s why she was happiest of all in that office, where nobody could question her orders and everything was just so.

“Comfortable?” she asked them.

“Not particularly,” Pinkie answered.

“Anything I can get you, juice, coffee, rack of lamb?”

“Just what did you want to see us about?” Sunset asked.

“Let me answer that question with another. Why are you trying to destroy my school?”

“Excuse you?” Rainbow Dash countered.

“Do any of you know who Marego Oneupher is?” Cinch asked them.

“Oh, yes. She’s New Canterlot University’s most accomplished alum and a lovely woman who so generously donates money to help fund the history department,” Rarity replied.

She was all that and then some.

Not only was Marego Oneupher captain of the cheerleading squad, voted “most likely to never do anything for herself” and a winner of New Canterlot University’s science fair--Cinch made a clock powered by potatoes, Oneupher made a prototype portable music player--but in their class’s production of The Blizzard of Claws, Marego was cast as the beautiful Evil Queen, while Cinch was Tree #3. Marego also snagged the university’s biggest dreamboat, Champ Hunk, plus she got the whole school to call Abacus Cinch “Pigeon Legs.”

“Wrong!” Cinch stated. “She was this school’s most accomplished alum and was the woman who used to fund our history department... before she was hospitalized for nearly swallowing a toad.”

“Not a toad, a frog,” Fluttershy corrected her. “Frogs are green and cute, whereas toads are larger, heavier, uglier, and give you warts. What we witnessed was five thousand healthy frogs bred from a genetically deficient hereditary line.”

Cinch pursed her lips as she approached her file cabinet, pulled open one of the drawers, pulled out each of the girls’ permanent records, and began to read from them.

“Miss Dash, chronic tardiness, talking in class, repeated loitering by the boys’ locker room... and Miss Breeze, I see here that, from past performance, as well as your parents’ somewhat limited financial resources, you have been admitted on scholarship... with no severe mischief before today. So, ladies, tell me, why did the two of you conspire to smuggle the frogs for dissection out of the biology lab?”

None of the young women responded.

“Now listen to me carefully, my little write-offs!” Cinch growled at them. “For years, you six have single-handedly alienated every wealthy donor we’ve had! Welding schools are outdrawing us! We’ve lost so much money that red is our school color! Inner city schools have better computers than we do! Bosneigha wants to give us money!”

This was bad.

The University had only one decent benefactor and they had (unintentionally) driven that hard-to-get money away. New Canterlot City and the University needed new blood.

“Now I’m going to set up a meeting with Spike Zenith--are you even listening to me?!”

“Yes, ma’am,” they finally answered.

“Spike Zenith is the last rich man in this city! He is also a history buff who is considering donating a ten billion dollar grant to this school. And I want that money! If you do anything to mess this up, I swear I will...” Cinch quickly recomposed herself. “Just remember, your futures depend on it. I’ll let you know how to handle it, since I’ll be watching you. Now go!”

As they left, Cinch took a sip from her coffee mug, grimaced, then pushed a button on her desk’s phone and said, “Dean Cadenza, the cream has turned again.”

.

Later, after classes had ended for the day, Rarity returned home just in time to hear her mother announce that she was off to her day at the local spa.

“You girls behave yourselves,” Cookie Crumbles told them, “and Sweetie Belle, don’t bother your father. He’s finally cleaning out the basement.”

As her mom headed out to the car, Rarity ran after her and asked, “I’m in charge, right? You did tell them I’m in charge?”

“Calm down, Rarity,” her mother said. “Nobody has to be in charge.”

“But what if there’s an emergency?” Rarity asked.

“Like what?”

“What if a meteor falls out of the sky and crashes into the house?”

“If that happens, you’re in charge,” Cookie Crumbles replied.

Rarity walked toward the backyard to find her sister sitting at a drafting table she had set up there while Apple Bloom and Scootaloo constructed some wild contraption.

“Mother said I’m in charge conditionally,” Rarity stated.

“Whatever,” Sweetie Belle replied.

“What are you doing?” Rarity inquired.

“Homework,” Apple Bloom answered.

“The school year just started,” Rarity said.

“That’s cool. You wait till the last minute, then,” Scootaloo countered.

“Well, I’m watching you three,” Rarity said as she headed back into the house. “And Mother said I’m in charge... conditionally!”

Rarity was just about to call up one of her friends on telephone when it rang, and when she answered, it turned out to be the very same friend she was planning to call.

“Hello? Oh, hi, Sassy! No, I can’t go to the mall right now. Mother just went to the spa. She left me in charge. Well, you know, conditionally. Oh, if you go, can you see if Spike’s there? No, he’s the cute one that runs Zenith Industries. Yeah, he totally glanced at me the last time I was there. I just about died. No, I told you, I can’t. I’m watching my sister and her friends. Yeah, and they never get into trouble because Mother never catches them. One of these days, though, I’m going to see to it that she catches them red-handed... Will you hold it down? I am trying to use the phone!” she shouted before continuing her conversation with Sassy. “I mean, I’ve been a friend of Coco’s longer than Berryshine, so I should have been invited to that party first. I don’t care if they were lab partners. We were locker neighbors, and locker neighbors trumps lab partners every time... I told you, I can’t go!”

That’s when Sassy suggested that Rarity bring Sweetie Belle and her friends with her. Then Rarity hung up and darted outside, announcing that she was taking them to the three-story palace where wall-to-wall shopping and bargains abounded.

.

Out of the 99 kiosks at the New Canterlot City Central Mall, there were 60 restaurants, 20 screens at the movie theater,19 clothing stores, and three beauty boutiques as well as the same number of nail salons. From Apple Democracy to Celestia’s Secret, there was everything from lingerie to luggage and shoes galore, food, fun, fashion and so much more. And the doors were all on a magnetic time lock, so once they shut at night there was no way out until morning.

After arriving at the mall and discussing their plans (and by “discussing their plans” that meant “Rarity deciding to split and meet up with her own friends for shopping and manicures after lunch”), Rarity gave Sweetie Belle some money--only five bucks--and told her, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo to meet her back where they were in two hours.

And she promptly ditched them to peruse for great clothes and great deals.

Rarity ran until she caught up with Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy and Sunset Shimmer, who were standing in front of her favorite store.

“I’m here!” she called out to them. “Sorry I’m late!”

“It’s about damn time!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed. “Interrupting my afternoon snack and nap, you’re the one who wanted to go shopping, not me.”

“I said I’m sorry,” Rarity replied.

“So, what’re you gonna buy?” Pinkie asked.

“A dictionary,” Rarity stated.

“What? Why? Can’t you use the one you already have?” Fluttershy asked.

“Well, no, not anymore. Not since I may, or may not, have defiled it by highlighted all of the sexual terms in red,” Rarity answered.

“Seriously?!” Dash shouted. “You’re like a seven-year-old boy!”

As they spoke, Rumble and another boy walked up to them.

“Hey, there,” Rumble told Rarity. “Has anyone ever told you you’re cute?”

“Are you free?” his friend asked. “Do you wanna hang out with us?”

This kind of stuff always happened whenever the other girls were out with Rarity.

“So, what do you wanna do?” Sunset asked her.

After a brief moment of silence, Rarity finally said, “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Whyte Lox, from school,” he told her. “You said you were interested in meeting some new guys. Well, here I am!”

“You must have misunderstood,” Rarity replied. “We were talking about men, not boys.”

And Lox hung his head as he turned and walked away, crushed.

“Remember how I’m always telling you that you’re too picky?” Rainbow Dash asked Rarity. “This is what I’m talking about, and also why you can’t find yourself a boyfriend.”

It was true. Sure, bewitching them was easy enough, yet Rarity’s lascivious nature and her own insecurities caused her to reject every guy that attempted to make a move on her. In order to hurdle this mental barrier, she had begun a search for an inexperienced male whom she would bestow “the right” to be her first.

“Do I, or do I not, have the right to choose a good-looking guy?” Rarity huffed in reply. “But it just seems like all the good-looking ones are so used to having sex. There probably aren’t any hot guys left on Earth who are still virgins. Finding one is practically impossible.”

“You are seriously messed up!” Rainbow Dash shouted. “You know that?”

Giggling, Pinkie Pie led them through a sea of thigh-high boots and crystal-encrusted flip flops, to get to the sale items at the back of the store.

Rarity searched through the various marked-down displays until something caught her eye: a corduroy button-down fleecy tee.

“Some twit put this on the wrong rack,” she snapped. “It’s not half-price.”

She never paid retail.

Grinning, Rarity bit her lip as she approached the clerk at the register, a slender poindexter with dark brown hair, blue eyes behind large glasses, and a peach-hair mustache.

“Excuse me, Gizmo--such a handsome name--but this garment seems to be hung incorrectly. It was on the half-price rail. And even though the stitching is subpar, and the color is off by at least one shade from the designer’s runway prototype, I am willing to negotiate a reasonable price that would benefit us both,” she flirted with a flip of her hair.

And she charmed him into selling her the shirt she desired.

Meanwhile, Rarity’s little sister and her friends sat at a table in the food court on the other side of the mall, in front of Carnivore King. Originally founded by the true YMCA (Young Males’ Carnivorous Association), it was known as “the restaurant where the carnivore is king.”

“For a limited time, you can choose from the new voracious value pack, a bucket of popcorn shrimp, or the classic carnivore night owl combo, a tender cut of juicy bacon-wrapped filet, two jumbo shrimp kebabs, and a six-pack of tall boys,” one of the employees advertised. “That’s twelve cans to any average person.”

“How does Rarity expect me to have fun on the little bit of money she gives me?” Sweetie Belle was saying.

“I don’t even get the little,” Scootaloo replied, “just the bit.”

“I can’t do anything with the fifty my father gives me,” Diamond Tiara, who had just happened to be passing by, put in.

“Fifty cents?” Apple Bloom laughed. “I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad.”

“That’s fifty bucks, penny pinchers!” Diamond Tiara replied as she walked off.

Truth be told, after getting her hair and nails done, and buying a double decaf latte with mocha sprinkles and a new purse, Diamond Tiara was two dollars in the hole.

Sweetie Belle continued to flip through the pages of the Apple Democracy magazine she’d been reading until she stopped on the page featuring the picture of a trendy, new limited-edition green leather jacket.

“Cool,” said Rainbow Dash as she, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Sunset Shimmer, Rarity and Rumble joined them.

“Thank you,” Sweetie Belle told her. “Can you explain that to my father who believes that I don’t need it?”

Of course her dad, a former professional football player, had plenty of money. But he was not about to buy it for her. Even if he wasn’t a parent, he believed that people--and especially children--needed to understand the value of money. So if Sweetie Belle wanted that cute jacket, she would have to earn it.

“Well, if you need it, I have a suggestion,” Rainbow Dash said as she pointed to the “Help Wanted” sign in front of Taco Hut across the food court.

“A job?” Scootaloo asked. “Between my friends and your friends the best idea we can come up with is minimum wage? Ugh!”

“You’re missing the point,” Dash told them. “There’s a big difference between earning an honest wage and begging mommy and daddy for more allowance money.”

“Well, forgive me if I can’t see you taking responsibility for anything more than yourself,” Rarity replied.

“Hey, I learned everything I need to know from cop shows and music videos,” Dash said.

“It’s true,” Pinkie confirmed. “That’s how she learned to speak Trotish.”

Just then, Fluttershy’s brother, Zephyr Breeze, walked up, holding a big piece of cardboard that had “Will work for movie tickets” written on it in big black marker.

“Zephyr, what are you doing?” Fluttershy asked.

“Trying to raise me some quick dough so I can see a movie,” he answered. “You want to help your little brother out?”

“We don’t have anything to give away,” Rainbow Dash replied.

“I’ll work for it,” he told her. “Do your nails? You know you need it. Or how about I do your hair?”

There were plenty of places where they could work even if finding a job would be tough. But the competition for anything that was a Zenith Industries property is fierce.

Everyone wanted to work for Spike.

“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a thousand businesses in this town,” Dash said.

“Actually, the exact number is nine-hundred-thirty-six,” Pinkie corrected her. “What? I counted one day out of sheer boredom!” she told them.

That’s when Pinkie spotted Mr. Zenith himself, buying an extra-tall hot chocolate with whipped cream, and he thanked the barista as he handed her a fifty dollar bill.

“So that’s what General Grant looks like,” Dash said, admiring the man’s currency.

He pocketed the cash but dropped the rest of change, which rolled across the ground, but Pinkie was quick to scoop it up and return it to him.

“Is this yours? How come it’s so shiny? What’s your favorite color? Do you like juice or milk with your cookies? Do you play hopscotch? And what is that smell?” she asked. “It’s you! Ooh you smell so good, or do you smell this good all the time?”

Fluttershy giggled. “Sorry. Pinkie is really curious.”

“Yeah, hi there, I’m Pinkie,” she introduced herself properly. “Oh, you know that already. What comes next? Oh! What’s your name?”

“I’m Spike,” he replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Pinkie sneezed and Spike reached into his jacket for a handkerchief.

He held it out to her and said, “Here, have a tissue.”

“Tissue? I don’t even know you!” Pinkie laughed. “Get it?”

It took a moment, but Spike got the joke.

Pinkie, who thought he was pretty cute, tried to strike up a conversation with him, but she could tell that he was way too busy.

“Maybe we can get together later?” she asked.

“Actually, I would be tickled pink,” he said honestly.

“Oh, my favorite color,” Pinkie giggled.

Spike would have said more, but he stopped and turned when he heard the sound of motors revving outside the building, and Dash, Pinkie, Rarity, Sunset, Fluttershy and Rumble all followed him as walked out into the parking lot.

A short distance away, two thugs on a pair of low-slung motorcycles were doing doughnuts in the parking lot. The two men were uniformly tall, burly, and clad in black leather.

Suddenly, the two tapped the kickstands down with their heels and sat straddling their bikes as they spotted Applejack, who was still in her New Canterlot University skirt uniform and walking straight toward them.

“Why is this happening?” Fluttershy asked.

“The schools here have some of the highest graduation rates in the country,” Spike told her as he removed his jacket. “There are a lot of people who are upset by that.”

“So, what, are you gonna help her?” Rumble asked.

Fluttershy clutched at Spike’s arm as he started forward.

“I can’t just stand by and watch,” he said.

“You don’t have to worry about Applejack,” Sunset Shimmer told him.

“That’s Applejack Smith?” Spike inquired.

For a brief moment, Spike had forgotten that this was the same beautiful blonde that he met in the cemetery all those years ago. It had been so long, he almost didn’t recognize her.

“You know her?” Pinkie Pie asked. “She just transferred here as a junior.”

“She’s really super strong,” Dash said. “If you butt in, you’ll only be getting in her way.”

“But she’s outnumbered,” Spike stated.

For a moment, Applejack and the bikers simply scowled at each other.

“Is she gonna lecture them?” Rumble thought.

“I don’t want any fuss out of ya’ll,” she told them. “Get outta here or ya’re gonna get hurt! I won’t trouble ya’ll if ya just leave peacefully. Ya don’t want to get hurt, do ya?”

Enraged, the first biker, whose hair was pulled back into a greasy ponytail, started up his engine and shouted, “Hope you got yer insurance paid up, babe!”

The second biker, who had a shaved head and a face like a pug, took a tire chain from the back of his bike and looped it around his hand several times before swinging the other end of it over his head while the first guy produced a six-inch switch blade from inside his jacket.

Fluttershy watched the display of weapons with growing terror. She jammed a knuckle into her mouth to keep from crying out. Then the two bikers stepped on the gas and shot toward Applejack with their weapons ready.

Behind Applejack, on the sidewalk, the girls watched in horror as the biker with the chain revved his engine and charged Applejack. And she just stood there, not moving a muscle, as the thug barreled toward her.

An instant later, Applejack did start to run. But she began racing toward the motorcycle thugs. Fluttershy raised both of her hands to her mouth in fear—but just as Applejack was about to crash head-on into the motorcycle, she jumped onto the bike’s front fender. The thug barely had time to understand what happened as Applejack landed a solid punch on his nose, knocking the chain out of his hand as he fell back.

Out of control, the motorcycle skidded out from under Applejack and the biker, sending them both flying through the air. The biker crashed to the ground in a heap—but Applejack instinctively somersaulted through the air and delivered a pinwheeling roundhouse kick to the second biker (the one wielding the switchblade) in the head, knocking the blade from the other man’s fingers, and him to the ground with his accomplice, before gracefully landing on her feet just behind the fallen thugs.

The ugly knife went skittering along the pavement and stopped right at Spike’s feet as Applejack returned to him, but not before telling the guys on the ground, “Don’t call me ‘babe’.”

“Thank God, you’re all right!” Fluttershy said. Her face was white. “I was so frightened.”

Rainbow Dash gave a hoot of victory, pumping her fist into the air as she heard the sound of police sirens in the distance.

“Cheese it!” one of the thugs shrieked. “It’s the cops!”

“Every man for himself!” shouted the other.

But they didn’t get away.

Back inside the mall, Rumble accused Applejack of setting the whole thing up.

“Faked it?” she asked.

“Yeah, there’s no way a girl can beat a guy!” he said. “I’ll bet you paid them to let you win so you could gain popularity. Or... maybe you didn’t offer money, something else, perhaps. Maybe you’re the kind of girl who would offer a guy a little bit of her you-know-what.”

Applejack glanced at Spike, who took a step back. He was not going to back Rumble up.

“I’d turn and walk away if I were you,” Applejack advised. “Or don’t ya care that ya may not be able to walk to school anymore?”

“We’ll see who’ll be the one who won’t be able to go back to school,” Rumble replied.

“What a sorry excuse for a man,” Applejack thought.

“This is your day,” she told him. “I wasn’t going to fight any of the students here, but it looks like I’ll just have to make an exception in your case.”

“You’re so cute, bluffing like that,” Rumble said. “I’ll bet your knees are quaking.”

One look at Applejack’s legs and Spike could clearly see that they were not shaking. They didn’t look weak at all. In fact, those calves and thighs had a luscious, feminine curve to them. Thick and strong with well-toned, beautifully defined muscles, Applejack’s legs looked like they had been masterfully sculpted out of the most precious marble.

She looked at Spike again and asked, “Will ya vouch for me that this was self-defense?”

“Sure,” he said. “He’s the one instigating it, after all.”

“Okay,” Applejack replied. She looked at Rumble once more and said, “Come at me.”

She really did want to make this self-defense; a smart move on her part.

Rumble retorted, “Don’t be so sure of yourself,” and charged.

And it was at that particular moment that Spike suddenly put all of the pieces of the puzzle together—he remembered that there was an unbelievably strong young woman who was also very beautiful. She went around beating up dumb guys who harassed good people. She was very tall with impressive strength for her gender. She tried to confess her feelings to a boy she liked, but he rejected her, and she had been thrown out of her previous school for fighting before transferring to New Canterlot High, causing many rumors to spread that she was a delinquent and to avoid her.

That’s what he’d always heard, at least.

And now, he was witnessing firsthand that the rumors were true.

Rumble went high with his swing, which missed, as Applejack went low and launched Rumble into the air with hundreds of kicks from her right leg delivered in rapid succession. She spun the whole three-hundred-sixty degrees and kept on kicking him, this time with her left leg.

“Wow, he’s really flying!” Spike thought.

The blows landed on him so fast that they didn’t even sound like kicks, but more like one thousand shots from a machine gun. Applejack didn’t just beat Rumble... she clobbered him.

And even though she put everything she had into those kicks, she didn’t knock him out. But she had made him unable to stand... at least for a little while.

“Did I go too far?” Applejack asked.

“At first, I thought, maybe,” Spike admitted, “but then I remembered, he may be small but he’s resilient. Trust me, he’ll be fine.”

Applejack glared down at Rumble and said, “Don’t challenge me again.”

“Damn her!” Rumble whimpered.

.

The next day, Rarity sat alone at a table in the food court at the mall, waiting for the other girls to arrive. She couldn’t stop thinking about Spike being with Applejack. To be thwarted by a low-class woman like that was unthinkable, but if Spike thought not being “the cream of the crop” was going to be enough to get rid of Rarity, she believed he would be dead wrong. She refused to accept that he preferred “that unrefined farm girl” over her.

“GRRRR! That man! He’s got to have some sort of weakness... There must be a limit to what he can resist!” she thought angrily. “No man can resist me. So why doesn’t...?”

That’s when she spotted the man standing in front of Carnivore King with a to-go cup of hot cocoa in his hand.

Spike’s smile faded as he caught Rarity peeking at him from behind one of the table menus, and he became irritated by the displeasure of having to see her again.

He looked her right in the eye and, almost completely out of the blue, said, “You have one younger sibling, a sister. She’s small for her age. She flicked ink at you the other day.”

“Is there ink on my face?” Rarity inquired.

“No. However, there are two drops on your ear,” he said, pointing to it. “That particular shade of blue is almost impossible to wash off. A very impetuous act on her part but you’re far too experienced to react rashly, which is why your mother lent you that necklace you’re wearing. Hardly the gems of a dress maker...” His eyes narrowed. “And ye did a fair job looking me up and down while ye perused the menu. Do ye like what ye see?”

Rarity felt her face heat. Her subtle inspections hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Then she tried a more direct approach.

“You’re a handsome man. Surely people have told you that before.”

“Your accent is also strange,” Spike went on. “You’re not from these parts.”

“My parents are from Whinnysota,” she replied. “Everyone who hears them talk knows right of the bat.”

“Of course, I can understand your pride after learning about your background,” he said.

“I-I beg your pardon?” Rarity stammered.

“Oh, come now, Miss St. Germaine, I know all about your illustrious family,” Spike said. “There’s quite a streak of skullduggery in your bloodline. Don’t tell me you’re going to deny knowing anything about Grapeshot St. Germaine, the pirate.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Rarity lied.

“You also come from a prominent family of witches, starting with one who’d been hung during the trials in Stablem in the sixteen hundreds; and your generosity... Bluebeard would be so proud of you,”

“Bluebeard...” Rarity nearly choked on the word.

“What do you want from me?” he said at last.

“I want you to be mine and mine alone,”

“Do you really know the meaning of the words you’re saying, little girl?” he asked.

Rarity didn’t respond; she couldn’t. She was too shocked by the sudden, casual appearance of Applejack, who had shown up wearing a basic plaid shirt and faded blue jeans.

“Those are your normal clothes?” she asked. “You don’t have a shred of femininity! And you call yourself a woman. Don’t you understand how much potential you’re wasting? Do you not know what a waste that is? Are those even girls’ clothes? Are they men’s?!”

Rarity motioned to the pink camisoles, lace miniskirts, sleeveless chiffon tops and loose balloon skirts in a window display nearby.

“That’s beauty anyone can acknowledge,” Rarity said. “Those are the kinds of clothes that have beauty written all over them. How can you not be interested in things like that?! Your lack of personal style, your nonexistent fashion sense and your inability--or even wanting--to put any effort into your appearance is pissing me off!”

“I just don’t care about things like that,” Applejack replied.

“Then how did a super-strong freak like you manage to enthrall Spike Zenith? You have some secret technique, don’t you?! That’s the only logical explanation as to why he would be able to resist someone as beautiful as me! If I could catch a man like that, my beauty would be even more magnified! It would be unstoppable! I can’t accept this! Tell me, right now, what method did you use, woman!?”

“Rarity...” Applejack slapped her across the cheek. “That’s enough of this!”

“What was that for?” Rarity shouted.

“Why do ya get so brazen? Quit tryin’ to one up yerself! Everyone already knows how cute ya are without ya havin’ to resort to behavior like this! Just what are ya tryin’ to prove!?”

“They laughed at me!” Rarity bawled. “But if I make enough people think I’m beautiful, I’ll finally be able to get back at them!”

Spike and Applejack were taken aback by her outburst. She had attracted quite a crowd, including Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy and Sunset Shimmer, who had finally arrived.

“Do you really think that?” Applejack asked. “If ya want to get back at them, then face them head-on! Be strong enough to take them on alone, without draggin’ anyone else into it, least of all people who’ve got nothin’ to do with it! I don’t know what happened to ya, or what ya’ve gone through, but I do know that the ones who laughed at ya are sure to acknowledge how beautiful ya really are.”

“You knew that from the moment you first locked eyes with me... didn’t you?” Rarity asked Spike. “That’s why he rejected me!”

“If that’s true, then what’d ya attack her for?” Applejack asked.

“I just did what you would have done and confronted the bitch head-on,” he replied. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Wait a minute, why did you mention my sister?” Rarity asked. “Where is she?”

Then, as if on cue, Sweetie Belle came running across the food court, out of breath.

“I found you!” she panted.

“Were we lost?” Pinkie asked.

“Classic!” Rainbow Dash laughed.

“What is it?” Fluttershy asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Scootaloo needs help!” Sweetie Belle cried. “Come on! Let’s go!”

Apple Bloom and Scootaloo had been arguing whether or not a tongue would stick to a metal pole in cold weather, snow or no snow. So Apple Bloom dared Scootaloo to stick her tongue to one of the street lights in the parking lot on the far side of the mall.

“I triple dog dare ya!” she had said.

Apple Bloom had created a breach of etiquette, by skipping the triple-dare and going right for the throat. And Scootaloo accepted as she approached the nearest light pole, her spine stiff, her lips curled in a defiant sneer.

Spike was already running through the parking lot when he heard a voice calling, crying out to him. He turned to see Scootaloo urgently waving him over. When he got closer, he walked around to face her and saw that her tongue was stuck to the light pole.

“Halp!” she exclaimed, a heavy slur muffling her speech. “H-Hey, mithah! Cah yuh hep me?” she lisped. “Muh tongue’s thtuck! Please!”

She was genuinely terrified. If she had been a little older, she would have let him do anything he wanted to her (even do her in her ass) if it meant getting her unstuck. Fortunately, Spike knew exactly what to do. He wasn’t about to leave her there, even if it was just to find someone to help. He told her not to worry and that he would get her free from the pole... but not by pulling. He told her that he would get her out by generating some heat.

Luckily, he still had more than a few drops of hot cocoa left in his to-go cup.

“I got you... almost there,” he said as leaned toward Scootaloo and slowly, gently poured his cocoa onto her tongue, successfully loosening it from the metal pole.

Spike held her, bridal-style, in his arms and Scootaloo let out a quiet grunt, a squeak, as she rested her head against his chest.

She secretly loved being carried.

“Your suit’s ruined,” Rarity said when she saw Scootaloo’s tears on Spike’s jacket.

“Clothes can be replaced, Rarity,” he said. “People can’t.”

Even after the police, the fire department and the paramedics arrived to make sure she was okay, which she was, Scootaloo refused to rat out Apple Bloom to anyone, though Spike suspected as much.

“Thank you, Dr. Horse,” Fluttershy said after the fuss died down. “Spike, Dr. Horse said you did a great job.”

“I didn’t do anything special,” he replied.

“That’s not true,” Rarity said. “You kept Scootaloo calm, even better than Fluttershy could have. And she babysat my sister and her friends for five years.”

The girls didn’t know why they couldn’t thank him... at least out loud.

Sure, he was a standoffish jerk, but he’d practically saved Scootaloo’s life.

And he did have a way of always being there right when they needed him.

“Let me let you in on a little secret: I’m not half as bad as I make myself out to be. It’s to weed out the people who just suck up to me. And you are definitely not one of them. That is what impresses me the most,” he said. “I may be wealthy, but money can’t buy friendship.”

“Yeah, ya did well, Spike,” Applejack stated. “Ya really do have a way with people.”

“Face it, stud, you’re one of us now,” Rainbow Dash added.

As the girls surrounded him in a group hug, Spike noticed Rarity looking up at him and said, “What?”

“It’s just, a little while ago, you called me by name,” she observed. “You never said my name before.”

“So?” he asked.

“It’s just that I think you like me more now, is all,” she replied.

“Maybe he’s decided to be a bit nicer to me,” she thought.

“Pffft! Don’t get excited,” he said. “I still think you’re a high-stepping snob.”

“Well, next time, I’ll be so perfect that not only will you fall at my feet, I’ll make you melt!” Rarity promised.

None of them would ever forget about that.

“Come on, girls,” Rarity said. “Just because we can’t go to a movie like we planned doesn’t mean we can’t go out for a nice evening.”

“I still can’t believe you can actually eat at Taco Hut,” Spike commented after he’d offered to escort Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo home. “You know those people hork in the food, right?”

“What, you mean in everyone’s food?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“No, just the people who disrespect them,” he replied.

After he and the three younger girls had left, Whyte Lox, the guy Rarity had turned down the other day, suddenly snatched her purse and went right on by her... toward Applejack.

“Stop right there!” Applejack shouted. “Hand it over!”

“What does that girl think she’s doing?” Rarity thought.

Lox kept running as Applejack said, “If ya’re not gonna stop, then I’ll have to make ya!”

She grabbed the creep by his arm, pulled him up over her shoulder, and threw him to the ground before the police hauled him away.

“He was huge, but you took him on anyway!” Rarity exclaimed. “You’re completely reckless!”

“Why, because I’m not a ‘normal’ girl?” Applejack asked. “Or because, for a woman, I’m too strong? Sorry, but this is the kind of person I am. I’m sorry if I made ya worry. A lot of people get angry at me for it, and tell me to be more ‘ladylike’. But I think it’s best to be true to yerself, be the person ya really are. That’s what I believe.”

“That’s the kind of excuse I’d expect from a woman who doesn’t even know the meaning of the word feminine!” Rarity retorted. “That’s why I can’t forgive a girl who won’t even try to act like a lady! If you don’t clean yourself up a bit, you’ll be left crying when he abandons you in the end.”

“Who?” Applejack asked.

“Spike, of course,” Rarity replied. “He likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t. He just enjoys bein’ with me,” Applejack said. “He and I don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“Somehow, I can’t help but feel kind of sorry for him,” Rarity admitted. Then she gasped and screamed, “Your sleeve is ripped! That’s what you get for buying cheap stuff. I won’t be able to find anything really suitable for you, so tell me your sizes and I’ll make you something.”

“‘Make’ me something, ya mean, like, clothes?”

“Yeah, you’ve got good looks at least, so I’ll figure something out,”

“No, that’s okay,”

“I said I’m doing this!”

Rarity had already given up on giving Applejack a makeover.

“Another waste of time,” she thought.

.

Now, Applejack smiled as she and Spike moved across the sloping lawn and halted by the gate of the deserted cemetery, her thoughts lost in memory.

“What’re ya lookin’ at?” she asked. “If ya’ve got somethin’ to say, just say it.”

“Whenever you’re nostalgic, you get really flustered and look even cuter than normal,” he said with a smile.

“Oh, and what about you?” she said, fighting off a blush. “Spike Zenith, babe magnet...”

“Please, don’t call me that,” he stated. “I’ll see you later.”

Applejack didn’t want to leave him. Truthfully, she would have followed him to the ends of the Earth if she could.

“Oh, Spike, if only ya knew...” she said under her breath, watching him step into the deepening darkness.

.

Back in New Canterlot City, councilwoman Vignette Valencia was still hopping mad.

“I’m telling you, it’s vigilantism at its deadliest,” the young, smartly dressed politician was saying as she gave a statement to the pack of television and news reporters that had gathered at the steps of City Hall. “How many times are we going to let this happen? How many times are we going to let this Dragon cross the line?”

“She’s playing them like a revivalist preacher,” Inky Quills murmured to Press Release on the sidelines. “Watch—now she’ll go after Shining Armor.”

On the fringes of the crowd, Captain Shining Armor stood next to Sergeant Spearhead and listened until he could stand no more.

“I’m sorry, Councilwoman, but you can’t blame the Equestrian Dragon for what happened to Ragamuffin and Flash Sentry,” Shining Armor said.

Inwardly, he was cursing his impulse that had made him agree to attend this impromptu press conference. He snorted. Press conference, indeed—the way Valencia ran things, it was more like a public indictment of Armor and his methods.

All that was missing was the tar and feathers.

Inky Quills repressed a sigh. He could see that Vignette was on the verge of working herself up into another fire-and-brimstone frenzy again. The woman made some sense once in a great while—but she had too much flash and far too little substance for anyone to take her seriously. Watching the crowd’s reactions to the councilwoman’s charges, Inky had to admit that Vignette was a world-class manipulator. Poor Shining Armor didn’t stand a chance.

“And why the Tartarus not?” she thundered in retort and outrage as she turned on the police captain, who had been standing behind her. “He was there! He’s a murderer, Captain. And it’s not just my opinion. A lot of people, including the police, I might add, think the Dragon’s every bit as evil as the crooks he occasionally manages to apprehend.”

The councilwoman was gesturing toward her left, where Sergeant Spearhead and Officer Silver Sable were trying vainly to hide their faces behind the collars of their uniforms’ shirts. Shining Armor glared meaningfully at his subordinates.

Then Vignette looked straight into the nearest television camera, raising a fist for effect, and shouted, “What kind of world are we living in when we choose to depend on the support of a literal monster to enforce law and order?!”

Inky Quills shook his head, watching Armor’s expression change from shocked to furious. He had every right to be upset, he reflected, scanning the crowd as they reacted to Vignette Valencia’s final words. For the moment, the cheers outnumbered the boos ten to one.

.

Far away, in the Equestrian Dragon’s cave, hundreds of feet below the vast Pendragon Castle, Fancy Pants shook his head in prim disapproval of Councilwoman Valencia.

“What rot, sir!” he exclaimed as he switched off the television and Vignette’s passionate features shrank to a pinpoint of bluish light on the large video screen then vanished altogether. “You’re the very model of order.”

He set the remote control on a nearby stone outcropping and turned to his employer.

“By the way, Lemony Crumble and Cobalt Stone have polished your armor collection upstairs, Red Ribbons has pressed your clothes for the evening, and I’ve put away your exploding smoke pellets.”

“Thanks, Fancy,” Spike said as he popped a heart-shaped diamond into his mouth and swallowed it whole before opening a large, wooden crate with a crowbar to reveal cardboard box upon cardboard box of things belonging to Applejack and her family.

“What’s all this?” Fancy Pants inquired.

“The future,” Spike answered. “Sooner or later, I’m going to have to talk Applejack about her mother and father.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her parents?” Fancy Pants asked.

“I knew you would react this way, that’s why I didn’t say anything,” Spike replied.

“I don’t like secrets, sir,”

“Fancy, I am the epitome of the word,” Spike said. He sighed before he went on. “They died just before she entered high school... They were killed by a carjacker. I wish I could say it was just one of those things... It could have happened to anyone.”

“But it didn’t happen to just anyone, and that is the real kicker, isn’t it?” Fancy Pants replied. “So, Miss Smith isn’t just another acquaintance?” he assumed.

“No,” Spike stated. “She’s my goddaughter.”

Author's Note

Next time: An exterminator hired by the mayor to rid the city of its “monster epidemic” is revealed to be a monster himself, one that lures others into danger.