The silver-eyed daemon studied him from her perch atop the scaffolding erected for the reconstruction of Casino City. The enormous project encompassed both river bridges and the rail line. A corner of her mouth turned up as if she were amused when she told him he looked a lot like his father.  

Buford knew where the similarities they shared began and ended. His father had stood just shy of six feet tall with broad shoulders from lifting engine blocks in the machine shop they had called home and a permanent ochre stain burnt into his skin from long hours working in the sun. In that respect, Buford was the spitting image of his father. But where Pop would have followed this daemon to hell at the crook of her little finger, she didn’t fool Buford. He planned on throwing her head first back into that hell and barring the gates for good.

“The cities of Vicksburg and Tallulah might’ve given you permission to rebuild your cursed city, but I didn’t. You continue with construction, and I’ll rip it apart. Again.” Buford gave her a hard stare. The corner of her mouth turned up again in response. Having said his piece, he left her and climbed down the rickety scaffolding hanging out over the Mississippi River.

Watching his descent, the daemon let her smirk slide into a full blown smile filled with pride.  “You might look like your father,” she said, “but that temper you got from your mother, my son.”