The Devil's Standoff

chapter 19

Hettie continued to visit with Javier every night that week for a few hours after the rest of the house had gone to bed, though he did not summon her through the dream interpolation again. She asked about magic and about how the Devil’s Revolver worked. He told her as much about Diablo’s powers as he could, but the weapon she possessed had grown in its abilities since he’d wielded it.

“It’s possible that he has learned to accommodate and supplement his owner’s skill set.” He gazed at the weapon Hettie laid on the bedcovers, passing a hand over it. “This … time bubble you spoke of, and the visions … have you only seen the future?”

“Possible futures, though maybe that’s just my imagination.”

Javier tugged his beard. “Perhaps he thinks you do not act quickly enough.”

Hettie frowned. “Diablo thinks I’m slow?”

“Slow-acting compared to his previous wielders, perhaps.” The old sorcerer smiled. “If the legends of Elias Blackthorn are true, then Diablo has been in the company of many quick-tempered men who shoot first and ask no questions. You are more careful in your actions. It’s likely he is simply giving you the tools you need to achieve your goals.”

“What else can he do?” She still found it strange referring to the mage gun as a person, and a male at that.

Javier shrugged. “As with many gifts, we can’t tell until he has been pushed to his limits. You have already accomplished more than I thought possible.” He gave a phlegmy cough, and Hettie brought him a glass of water. It took a while for the coughing to subside.

“Should I call for someone?” she asked, concerned.

He waved her off. “I am simply old. Older than I should be.” His eyes grew distant. “Some people will not accept that I am not long for this world.”

“People like Raúl?”

His lips twitched. “You are perceptive. Yes, my son will not let go. At the first sign of distress, he insisted on putting a sleep spell on me to preserve my strength. I did not want to at first, but…” He shrugged. “It is no way to live, but I can barely tell anymore. I sleep so often, the place between dream and awake has become more home to me than these walls.” He gazed around forlornly.

“Are you telling me that Raúl has been keeping you asleep?”

He folded his hands. “What he does is out of love for me and our people. Still…” He trailed off.

Anger and pity surged through her at the thought, not just because Raúl had lied to her about his father’s coma, but for Javier as well. The old man didn’t want her to think the worst of his son. But he was being kept a prisoner in his own home, probably drugged or magicked into a stupor so Raúl could preserve the village’s barrier spell. Considering the power struggle she’d witnessed between Raúl and Beatrice Woodroffe, perhaps he was aiming to take over as leader of the village.

She confronted Raúl the next morning. The moment she spotted him at the breakfast table, she pointed a finger at him. “You’ve been lying to me.”

He blinked at her, his expression relentlessly neutral. “Have I?”

“You told me Javier was in a coma. You didn’t say it was a magically induced coma. You could’ve woken him at any time, but you kept me and Walker away from him for weeks.”

His brow creased, and his expression shuttered. “I do not understand where this is coming from. Are you making up stories in your head?”

“I’ve been talking to your father. He told me you’ve been keeping him asleep.”

His eyes narrowed. “And when, exactly, have you been speaking to him?”

Maybe he’d used a truthtelling spell on her, because instead of telling him that was not the point, she answered, “At night.”

“You’ve been disturbing my father’s recovery?” He looked a little more than irate. “Have you not done enough harm with your meddling?”

She stiffened her spine. “He was the one who summoned me. And it’s a good thing—he told me you’ve been putting him under sleep spells.”

“For his own good,” he bit out. “He is over two hundred years old—magic or no, he is old and needs rest. And the way the villagers pester him with their petty problems, as if he can solve all their woes with a wave of his hand, they will kill him before he can regain his strength. No one seems to understand that their safety and security depends on his well-being!”

Because as long as Punta lived, the barrier spell remained. She understood Raúl’s reasoning, but she was not assuaged.

Abby appeared then, looking between them with wide eyes. She’d never liked it when people fought. Unfortunately Hettie was too worked up to stop her tirade. “How do I know you didn’t do something to your own father to make him lose his power over Diablo? What if you’re trying to take it for yourself?”

His nostrils flared. “I understand you are upset, but I learned the lessons my father taught me about Diablo. Believe me when I say that I have no desire whatsoever to wield that gun.”

Strangely, she did believe it. His look of sheer loathing told her he was being honest. She wondered how much of the story of Abzavine he’d been told. He straightened. “My interest in El Diablo is entirely academic and, I hope you realize, altruistic. I am certain I can restore your lost years and undo your blood bond with Abby’s help.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Forget it. I don’t want Abby involved in this anymore.”

Raúl’s eyes hardened, and he tilted his chin up. “That is not your choice to make. Abby is the only one who can decide that for herself.”

She shook her head. “I’m her guardian, and I say I don’t want you teaching her anymore.”

“No, Hettie!” Abby cried. “I want to learn more magic!”

Her sister’s outburst startled her. She turned. “You don’t have to do anything he says. Not anymore.”

“But I’m learning. I can do things.”

“You get too tired.”

“I’m not tired.” She rubbed her tear-rimmed eyes, sniffling.

“Hush now. This is for your own good.” She glared at Raúl, who watched them passively.

“You should understand my position with my father. I couldn’t stand by and watch his health decline, just as you would not want to see your sister in distress.” Raúl continued more gently, “If you want any chance of breaking the curse, you must let Abby continue her studies with me. The solstice is coming. We don’t have much time left to train.”

Abby gripped her hand. “Please, Hettie. I can help. I want to help.”

Hettie ground her jaw. This could be her only chance to free herself from Diablo. If everything Javier had said was true, then Zavi was alive somewhere out there, and he would eventually find Diablo and Abby along with it.

Getting rid of Diablo was her best hope at shaking the avenging angel.

In the following weeks, Abby’s exhaustion became more and more apparent. Constantly training for the solstice ritual meant she was hungry all the time, and Hettie had to feed her twice a day to sustain her strength and focus.

Hettie noticed her sister growing moodier and more belligerent by the day, too. She’d always been docile and compliant, but one night at dinner Abby snapped at her for hovering. She’d never lashed out like that before, and Hettie told Raúl she did not care for her sister’s tone.

“You are not the only person she has been impatient with.” He said it with a knowing half smile. “She shouted at me when I tried to help her with a spell. The more she learns, the more independence she shows.”

Hettie pursed her lips. Abby had always been cared for by others. Now she was proving herself more capable than Hettie could have imagined.

Was it the training? Was the magical node somehow affecting her indigo power and giving her better self-awareness? Or was it her increased blood feedings? A growing seed of disquiet sprouted inside her.

She kept herself busy working with Las Furias. During those long days spent with the wild ponies, Hettie heard the stable hands whispering about Walker, saying they’d heard him screaming in the night, or how he’d smashed yet another piece of crockery or furniture. Poor Beatrice and Julia were kept cloistered with him to care for him, too. He was talked about as if he were an angry poltergeist haunting the Woodroffe home.

Despite the villagers warming up to her and Abby, she wished she could talk to someone about her fears, about the growing sense of dread balling in her gut. On top of all that, she hadn’t had a single letter from Uncle. Chances were he’d gotten caught up “researching” in a saloon. She just hoped he hadn’t sold Lilith to pay for his drinks and debauchery.

“Careful, Hettie,” Marco called, snapping her back to the present. “Tisi will run you over if she thinks she can get away with it.”

“She won’t.” Tisiphone, the chestnut with the white star on her head, ran the perimeter of the corral on long lead lines. Hettie had given each of the mares time to get used to the bit and weighted saddles, and they were responding well to her gentle direction. She’d be able to mount them soon. “She knows I’d be cross with her.”

“How can she know that if you’ve never beaten her?”

“She doesn’t need to be beaten to know she’s done wrong.” She raised her head and gave Tisi a challenging look. “We never had to whip any of the horses we broke on our ranch.”

Marco tipped up his hat. “If I had not seen you work with Las Furias, I’d say you were … what is that American saying? Pulling my tail?”

She smirked. “My pa never raised a hand to an animal that was only following its instincts.”

“Including your Jezebel, I take it. She has quite a temper. She’s bitten three of my boys and kicked two.”

Hettie chuckled. “She was Pa’s horse. I suppose she was looking forward to a nice retirement eating grass back in Montana…” Her eyes misted. Though she couldn’t feel for her parents, she still thought of the ranch, of her family’s graves on the hill and the places she’d never get to visit again. She missed the simplicity of her old life, her friends and family and good, honest work.

That night Hettie dreamed of Paul. Her brother held her hand beneath the tree on the hill where he and their parents were buried.

“Don’t let go,” he said, and squeezed hard. Hettie gasped as her bones were crushed in his grip. She tried to shake him loose, but he only dug his nails in. The hiss of a snake near her ear had her bristling. And then he whispered, “Free yourself.”

She woke up sweating, Diablo clutched in her palm. When she couldn’t go back to sleep, she got up and tiptoed through the great house to Javier’s room. He didn’t sleep well at night and appreciated her visits. His stories brought Hettie a measure of comfort and solace, too.

“I am beginning to think you are in love with me.” Punta grinned as she closed the door quietly behind her. “While flattered, I am devoted to Beatrice.”

“How is she?” Hettie hadn’t seen the healer since the day Javier had awoken.

“She visits when she can. She is still looking after Walker.” He sighed. “I knew it was a risk to lend him my power. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t come home—I did not wish to witness the withdrawal I put him through. Of course I am glad he came home. I’ve missed him dearly, and not just for the bit of magic I lent him.”

If what Walker could do represented only a bit of Javier’s power, the sorcerer was more powerful than Hettie had imagined. “Why did you pick Walker over Raúl to find Diablo?” she asked. Walker had given her his theories, and Raúl never talked about it, but she wanted to hear it straight from the man himself.

He paused. “Raúl was better trained, but … Walker needed the encouragement. He had nothing and everything to prove to the world. I wanted to give him a chance to do that for himself.” Javier pursed his lips. “I suppose you have noticed the friction between my sons.”

“Walker seems to think Raúl’s going to be mad at him till the end of days because you sent him off instead of Raúl. And … he’s not the man I know around his brother.” The bounty hunter almost seemed to shrink around Raúl.

“Walker never really felt like he fit in, even after I married his mother. He was perhaps eight or so when he arrived. Raúl was in his early teens and had lost his mother only a few months before. I think he saw Walker’s arrival as a challenge to his own place in the village, though I tried very hard to love both boys.”

“What about Walker’s father?” she asked.

“That is not my story to tell.” He folded the edge of his blanket carefully. “And I would not share it unless you two were more … intimate.”

Hettie’s cheeks flushed. “We’re not.”

Javier chuckled. “If you are not interested in Walker, Raúl is certainly available.”

She pulled a face, and Javier laughed out loud.

“I understand. My son has his charms, but he can be … intense. He gets it from his mother, God rest her soul.”

“I talked to him about how he’s been … controlling you.” She bit her lip. She’d put off this discussion because the more she’d thought about it, the more she sympathized with Raúl’s need to preserve not just the town’s safety but his father’s life. She didn’t cozy to imprisoning the elderly sorcerer, of course.

Javier seemed to read her mind. He lay back. “Do not let it trouble you. This is a matter between sons and fathers. I did not mean to draw you into this private affair.”

But it wasn’t private. Javier’s life force sustained the village and the way of life here. She had the feeling that given the choice Raúl would prefer his father be put back into his coma permanently. She couldn’t be certain the rest of the villagers didn’t feel the same way. Did she have any right to interfere?

Don’t get involved in local politics. Uncle’s warning loomed large.

Someone screamed outside. Hettie leaped to her feet, Diablo in hand. Punta sat up. “What … what was that?”

“Stay here.” She pounded down the stairs and ran out into the night, the nearly full moon lighting the way. Hettie stared around as the neighbors opened their shutters, holding lanterns. Luis pelted out of the great house, loading a shotgun as he went.

“You heard it, too?” she asked.

“Go back inside. It is not safe—”

The scream came again, higher, louder, and they both bolted toward the sound. It was coming from the stables. Luis yelled something as two more men joined them, one with a torch and the other with a pitchfork. They shouted at each other in Spanish, but Hettie got the idea—be careful.

They rounded the stables. A figure ran full tilt toward them, and Luis gave a frightful shout and raised his weapon.

“Wait!” Hettie grabbed the barrel of Luis’s shotgun and pointed it away. It was one of the young stable boys, scrambling and sobbing at once. He charged into Hettie’s arms, crying in Spanish, and it was all she could do to slip Diablo back into her pocket and try to get him to calm down.

Whatever he said, Luis understood. “Go back to the great house and tell Rosa and the others to close the windows and lock the doors. Have Pedro ring the alarm bell. We must summon the men.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

His eyes were hard. “El chupacabra stalks us this night.”