The Devil's Standoff

chapter 11

Hettie decided to talk to Walker about his brother. After this morning’s events, she realized she couldn’t watch Abby on her own forever, and she couldn’t be her sole caretaker. If they ever settled down, she would need to get a job, and bringing Abby with her to work probably wouldn’t be permitted.

She might not be entirely comfortable with Raúl, but this might be the only opportunity to get Abby training. The class he ran demonstrated he was a competent teacher, at least. He’d wanted to perform more tests on her sister without Hettie present, but she’d begged off, saying they’d had enough excitement for one day. He’d deferred to her, but she hated that her paranoia was making her hesitate when someone was actually showing an interest in her sister’s well-being.

The patrol returned in the late afternoon. Walker dismounted, acknowledging her with a stiff nod. He handed the horse off to a stable boy and dusted his dark trousers and coat off.

“No sign of the chupacabra?” she asked by way of greeting.

He shook his head. “Nothing out there but dirt and rattlers. What’s going on?”

She told him about her concerns regarding Raúl training Abby. She simply wasn’t comfortable leaving her alone with him. He tipped his chin up in thought.

“Well, mundanes can get disoriented with the kinds of tests Raúl will probably want to perform,” he said. “It’s probably best you weren’t in the room with them.”

She remembered her own trials when she’d been taken in for testing. The elders would cast a number of spells that would cause disorientation and make their subject walk a line that was written in spelled ink on the ground. Those with the gift could navigate it easily. Hettie had failed with spectacular colors all over the floor. But it wasn’t the tests she was concerned about. “I’m more worried about Raúl himself.”

“Raúl’s a good sorcerer, a good man. I’m sure he’s a fine teacher.”

“How can you say that with confidence?” she asked. “You’ve been away for thirteen years. You’re practically strangers.”

She could see her comment had hurt Walker, and she wanted to take it back. “We grew up together,” he said. “He was always the good son, the one who walked the straight and narrow. He can be trusted to do the right thing, always. Besides,” he added a touch grimly, “I haven’t heard anything but praise for him and everything he’s done for the village. The man’s a saint. He’s taken over almost all of our father’s duties in his absence. You’ve seen him in action.” He must have seen she still wasn’t convinced, though. “I trust him. Isn’t that enough?”

Hettie firmed her jaw. She wasn’t about to point out that everyone around her had manipulated and lied to her most of her life, and supposedly in her interests. It seemed men justified themselves that way.

“Consider the alternative,” he went on. “If you don’t let him train Abby, she could bring the whole house down on your heads next time she has a nightmare.”

“I’m not used to leaving Abby with strangers.” She shoved her hands in her pockets.

Walker studied her with narrowed eyes, frustration edging into his voice. “Hettie, you’ve got to start trusting people. I know the villagers haven’t been the most welcoming, but when it comes down to it, we protect our own.”

“But I’m not one of you,” she snapped. “And I never will be. Even after I hand Diablo over, I’m still a fugitive, still an outsider. I’ve done bad things. I’ve…” Her voice dropped. “I’ve killed men. I reckon people here wouldn’t cotton to a murderer.”

Myriad emotions flickered over Walker’s face—pain, anger, sadness, and a vulnerability that clashed with everything she knew about the bounty hunter. His clean-shaven jaw, normally a shelf of granite, softened, and he said, “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

A wave of pain swelled inside her. Suddenly she couldn’t look at him anymore. “I’m taking Jezebel out for ride.”

“It’s not a good idea to go beyond the village walls,” he reminded her flatly.

“She’s getting fat and lazy.”

He started to follow her. “I’ll go with you.”

“No.” She stopped him, holding out a hand. “I need to be alone for a while.”

He sighed. “What about Blackie?”

“He has his own paddock. He’s fine.” Besides, she got the sense he was still angry with her for abandoning him and Abby to fight the chupacabra, even if she had helped Las Furias.

Walker tugged his hat brim and gazed at the stallion’s paddock. “Maybe it’s time to consider letting him go. He’s a wild horse. You made a promise. It’s not fair to keep him locked up like this.”

She knew he was right. She’d begged the mustang to help her rescue Abby and had promised to free him after that. She’d accomplished her task. It wasn’t right to hold him against his will.

Still … “His herd is on the other side of the Wall. He won’t be able to get around it. As soon as we’re back in the States, we can let him return to Wyoming or wherever he wants to go.”

“And when do you suppose that’s gonna be?” Walker asked. “You can’t go back to the States. Ever.”

The knot in her chest tightened. She glared at Walker. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t mean to remind you of bad things. We all have regrets. I’m just hoping you’ll start thinking about the future.”

What future? Hettie was still waiting to hand Diablo back to Javier Punta. When that was done she’d have to find some way to ensure Abby was safe. And until Uncle came back, she could hardly make any long-term plans. Who knew where the old man would whisk them away to?

She needed Blackie. But right now what she really needed was to take her father’s old horse out. She needed to feel normal.

“I’m going for a ride,” she said. “If you want to be helpful, watch Abby for me. I need time to think.”

He didn’t follow or protest further, which for some inexplicable reason disappointed her. She saddled Jezebel and walked her out. The old mare chuffed, probably griping about Uncle leaving her behind. Hettie sympathized.

At the gates, Chico the gatekeeper eyed her with disapproval. “Do not stay out past sundown,” he warned, and pointed. “You must return before the sun touches the hill. I will not open the gate for you or anyone else foolish enough to get stuck outside the wall.”

“I won’t be long,” she promised, ignoring his skeptical glare.

For the first time in weeks, Hettie found herself alone and directionless. Jezebel’s gait picked up, and soon she was galloping, reveling in her freedom. The heavy burden in Hettie’s heart eased as she gave herself up to the ride.

She stayed on the paths within the deep bowl of the valley. She crested a rise on the dirt track across the hills and paused to look at Villa del Punta. The village’s white buildings glistened in the sun. Something else caught Hettie’s eye, but she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Closer to the western gate, the land shimmered in the heat, wavering between gold and green. She squinted. For a moment the area looked like the rest of the scrub-choked desert. But when she turned her head images of a verdant paradise tickled her peripheral vision.

She nudged Jezebel forward. As they drew closer Hettie smelled rich, tilled earth and the sweet fragrance of ripe fruit. Out of nowhere a young girl emerged, picking her way among the rocks, a basket in hand. When she spotted Hettie, she froze.

“Buenas tardes,” Hettie said awkwardly and tipped her hat.

The girl smiled ever so slightly, but then her expression faltered, and she ran back toward the village wall. She vanished into thin air.

Hettie closed her eyes, disoriented. The sound of grunting pigs and clucking chickens faded in and out on the wind. The smells grew stronger as she picked them out.

She wasn’t going crazy. If she were gifted, she knew she’d be able to see the farm around her—the village’s hide spell must extend over the area. Back in Newhaven folks who could afford it sometimes used spells to cloak their remote homes from bandits and rustlers. It made sense for Villa del Punta to use one here.

I wish I could see it, she thought absently.

Diablo leaped into her hand, and she felt as though a veil were being lifted from her eyes. What she’d thought were fields of dust and rock bloomed with hearty fruit-bearing plants. Tomatoes, peppers, and beans hung like jewels from the thick vines. Stalks of corn that towered above Blackie’s head rose up in a thick ring around the farm. Hettie glanced behind her, finding herself closed in. She had to have ridden through the corn—how had she not felt it?

Men and women slowly appeared, watching her steadily, silently, whispering and clutching their tools as the stranger rode among them.

“You should not be here,” a tall, thin man said in heavily accented English. He was in his mid-fifties, with a weathered face and a touch of salt and pepper in his otherwise jet-black hair. His beard was closely cropped and framed a serious, unsmiling mouth, and his grip tightened around a dirt-crusted hoe.

“I was just riding through…”

He brandished his hoe a little more menacingly. “You are not supposed to be able to see us.”

“I’m sorry I startled you. I was just curious. I didn’t mean any harm.” She realized then she was still brandishing Diablo. She hastily shoved it back in her pocket, and the farmhands relaxed slightly. “How did y’all manage to hide so well? And why didn’t I feel the corn when I rode through?”

“The corn is … accommodating.” The man eased his weapon down. Reluctantly, he admitted, “If it had thought you a threat, it would not have let you through.” He glanced over his shoulder and said something to the rest of the workers. They gathered their implements and tools and shuffled off, casting her backward glances. “What is it you want here?”

“Nothing. I was just trying to get a feel for the land. I’m Hettie Alabama.”

“I know who you are. You are the servant of El Diablo.”

Hettie bristled. Seemed everyone in the village had it the wrong way around.

A smart remark would get her nowhere, though. She reminded herself yet again that she was a guest in this place. “What did you mean by the corn being accommodating?”

“Old magic,” he said simply, still frowning. “To keep the people of the land safe.”

Not safe from Diablo, apparently. “Your English is very good.”

“We all are taught because most gringos can’t be bothered to learn Spanish.” He took a menacing step toward her. “You should not be here.”

“I’m getting that.” Clearly she would make no friends on the farm. She wheeled Jezebel around. Something on the stepped path along the hill above the village caught her eye. She squinted. “What is that?”

A cloud of dust obscured the figures making their way down the road. The foreman stared hard, then shouted something that made everyone on the farm grab what they could and hurry into the village.

“What’s going on?” Hettie asked as the man shouted more instructions.

“Go inside. All must go in at any sign of approach.” He looked over his shoulder, and Hettie watched, fascinated, as the monstrous cornstalks drew closer to the walls of the village, their leaves shuddering with menacing susurrations, the giant ears bobbling dangerously from side to side. Several young boys ran out of the cornstalk forest, one with a chicken under each arm. An older boy carried a small bleating goat slung over his shoulders.

“Are we in danger?”

“There’s no knowing. Go inside.”

Discretion was the better part of valor, so Hettie rode Jezebel in through the western gate. She had to make sure Abby was safe.

She dismounted in front of the great house. Abby was sitting alone in the salon, quietly humming and pulling a piece of fabric apart thread by thread, unraveling the coarse weave. Walker was nowhere to be seen. Some babysitter he was.

“Abby, come.”

“Where?”

“To our room.” She held out her hand. “I need you to stay inside with the doors and windows locked till we find out what’s going on outside.”

Abby pouted. “I don’t wanna go to our room. It’s hot and stuffy up there.”

Hettie bit her tongue to keep from shouting at her sister. “It won’t be for long. I promise I’ll be back before you know it.”

Abby’s look was mutinous, and she dragged her feet, but Hettie managed to usher her into the bedroom and pull the door shut. Considering the way Abby had unlocked the main gate, she doubted any lock or bolt she drew would keep her inside, so she had to rely on her authority and Abby’s promise to stay room bound.

Outside the villagers rushed about in an almost choreographed dance as they rolled carts into defensive formation. Men expertly loaded rifles and pistols, while others wove spells around the houses. The air crackled with power as magic permeated the village. This place really was a fortress, one with an ever-vigilant and perhaps overly paranoid population bent on protecting what was theirs. She wondered how often they were met with threats that they had their routine down so well yet still trembled with fear.

Walker hovered near a group of men, and she joined him. “Any idea who’s comin’ down the mountain?”

“We think it might be the villagers who went to the city last week.” His hard tone held a note of hope.

“You can’t tell?”

“Government men have masqueraded as our people before.” Hettie jumped as Raúl appeared next to her. “They’ve used glamor and hide spells in the past, and sometimes even influence spells to take control of our people to sneak in a saboteur. We can’t be certain until I’ve scanned them that they are what they appear to be.”

“My mother’s with that group,” Walker reminded his brother, eyes narrowed. “I think I’d know her if I saw her.”

“You have been away a long time.” Raúl stared straight through the wall. “I will monitor from the tower.”

He vanished. Walker caught her astonishment. “Short-range projection spell,” he explained with a snort. “He’s just showing off.”

So much for wasting magic. But then, Raúl was the de facto leader of the village. Maybe the rules didn’t apply to him.

The gates were barred shut with a series of bolts connected by a complicated system of gears and levers. Chico brushed a palm over the wood, sealing the gates with a spell.

“Maybe you should stay with Abby,” Walker said. “We don’t know who’s out there.”

“Which is exactly why I should be here.” She challenged him with a look. Walker’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t argue.

Chico climbed the ladder against the gate and pulled out a spyglass. After a long moment he gestured with his fist, flashing his fingers.

“Only twelve people,” Walker translated quietly. “That doesn’t match the group that left the village. But if it were an attack force, why so few people?”

“A diversion, perhaps.” Raúl’s voice buzzed close to Hettie’s ear like a fly. She wanted to swat it away—she hated magic that was so intrusive. “Keep your eyes open.”

Chico made a low bird call, the warble vibrating with a spell of some kind. A return call parroted the whistles, reverberating through the village—another amplification spell. Chico climbed down from the wall.

“That’s Guillermo’s signal,” the gatekeeper confirmed.

“It could still be a trap. I want one more confirmation,” Raúl insisted.

Chico took something out of his pocket, cupped his hands, and spoke a sharp word into them. His palms glowed with a hot, bright red spark. Winding his arm, he pitched the ball of fire high over the wall. It soared and then jerked sharply up and zipped left and right, zigzagging across the sky before fizzling.

The rocket was answered by a series of three sparkling green flares.

“It’s them.” Chico gave a signal, and the men moved quickly to unlock the gate and remove the makeshift barricade.

The gate was thrown wide open for the grim and weary travelers. Families and loved ones embraced, but the smiles were taut and full of regrets. Something wasn’t right. Walker searched their ranks, his expression tightening. “My mother … where’s Beatrice Woodroffe?”

“Walker?” A man in a broad-brimmed straw hat stared at him. “You are back after all this time?”

“Where is my mother?” he asked again, frantic.

“They … they took her. The federales … they followed us out of town, waited until we’d set up camp for the night … They arrested your mother and the others. They took everything.”

Walker’s silhouette seemed to grow, as if rage inflated the shadows around him. “Where did they take them?” His voice was like the roar of a furnace.

“A military garrison outside of the city. They took mainly women.”

Walker swung around and strode toward the stables. Hettie followed him.

“They have your mother?”

“Seems like.” She didn’t think two words could be so full of steel and heat.

Hettie dogged his steps, sensing his fury building like the thunder of an oncoming locomotive. “You’re going after them?”

“Yup.”

“What’re you going to do?”

His voice hardened. “Depends on what state my mother and the others are in when I get there.”

Raúl ran toward him, panting, the lines around his mouth deep, his fists clenched. “They have Julia.”

Walker paused, cursed. Whatever steam he’d been gathering, it’d been momentarily released in the face of reason. “I’ll round up a posse. If we ride hard, we can get there before midnight and raid the camp.”

“I will go with you,” Raúl said.

Hettie hitched up her pants. “Me too.”

“No.” Walker halted. “You can’t leave Abby here alone.”

“This is not your business,” Raúl agreed. “And this is no task for a young woman. Besides, it’s getting dark.”

She shot him a look of exasperation. “You think I’m afraid of the dark?”

Walker waved his brother off and huffed. “It’s not that I wouldn’t appreciate you and Diablo covering me, but this is going to be dangerous, and I can’t risk losing you.” A pained look crossed his face. He hastily added, “Besides, JB would have my hide if you came with me.”

She was about to tell him Uncle wouldn’t care one whit about what she did, but then he squeezed her shoulder. “Stay here. Watch over your sister.”

A strange sensation trickled through her at his touch. She released a breath. He was right, of course. Abby needed her. She couldn’t afford to go rushing headlong into trouble. Uncle had told her not to get involved. And besides, what did she owe these people?

How about the roof over your head, the clothes on your back, and the food in your stomach?

She pushed those thoughts aside. She had to think of Abby first.

In due course about twenty men on restless ponies gathered in the main courtyard, each armed with a rifle and at least one sidearm. Hettie watched from her bedroom window as Raúl and Walker argued. Then Walker raised his hands and spoke an incantation out loud. The air shimmered; the hairs on Hettie’s arms rose, then settled, and a heaviness draped across her, almost as if someone had settled a mantle of leather armor upon her. The bounty hunter climbed onto his horse and wheeled it around as Raúl mounted.

The brothers both looked up at the same time, and Hettie’s heart lurched. Raúl acknowledged her with a nod, but his expression telegraphed a clear warning—do not follow. She felt it almost as clearly as if he’d laid a hand on her shoulder. Then she looked to Walker, his eyes clear, his face full of conviction.

Good-bye.

They took off at a gallop, a cloud of dust trailing them into the dark. Only when she couldn’t see them anymore did she leave the window.

Hettie went to feed Abby and tuck her in. Her sister only took a little blood before yawning and slipping under the covers. As Hettie kissed her sister’s forehead, Abby sleepily said, “You’re going to follow them, aren’t you?”

The guilt that was already gnawing on her took a bite out of her heart. “I’ll stay if you tell me to.”

“No. You have to go. Walker will die if you don’t.”

Hettie’s scalp prickled. Abby spouted nonsense all the time, but she was also in possession of powers Hettie didn’t fully understand or underestimate. She squeezed her hand. “Walker won’t die if I’m not there.”

Abby turned over. “S’okay. Use the fire to heal.” And then she was asleep.

That was all the sanction or explanation she would get from her sister. Her chest tightened as she realized she was about to break her promise to stay with Abby and watch her. But there was nothing for it.

She put on a dark serape and jammed a hat on her head.

Walker and the posse had a two-hour head start. She bet Blackie would catch up to them in one.