The Devil's Standoff

chapter 14

It was a long, hard ride back to Villa del Punta, made all the more difficult with the injured among them. As they rode through the open gates just past noon, they were met with cries of relief and cheers. Blackie chuffed as Hettie slid off his back. Every muscle was stiff and aching, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

“Hettie!” Abby rushed her and hugged her tight. Hettie smiled. Abby rarely showed her affection and worry, and she stroked her sister’s head.

“You been good while I was away?”

Her sister lifted a shoulder and said quietly, “I’m really hungry.”

Of course. Hettie hadn’t thought about how to take care of her sister’s need for blood, and she’d explicitly told her not to feed off anyone or anything else. “We’ll go up right now, and then I can rest.”

She handed Blackie’s reins to one of the stable boys, instructing him to give him a good rubdown. The boy nodded enthusiastically. She started toward the great house, but Walker stopped her. “Hettie. We need to talk.”

She sighed. “If you’re going to scold me for using Diablo, can it wait? I need a nap.”

He ground his jaw. “It’s not about that. I need to explain—”

“Leave the girl be, Walker.” Beatrice spoke to him as if he were a young boy pestering a stray cat. “She saved us all, including Juan. Whatever you need to talk about can wait. She’s earned her rest.” She smiled at Hettie. “Join us for dinner tonight, dear. And bring your sister.”

She didn’t want to intrude on their family reunion, but it was a command rather than a request, and she wasn’t about to say no to Walker’s mother. “Yes, ma’am.”

Hettie and Abby went up to their bedroom. Hettie locked the door and sat on her bed as she sliced opened her finger. Abby suckled hungrily, and as Hettie’s limbs grew heavy, she lay down.

“I need to close my eyes,” she said, or at least thought she said. Darkness closed in on her, and she found herself blissfully drifting.

She didn’t remember dreaming, but she felt as though she were someplace dark and close and deep down in the ground. Buried alive. Her lungs constricted and she gasped for air, thrashing beneath the crushing weight pressing around her from all sides.

A slim, pale hand reached out from the darkness and stroked her feather-shaped scar. A chill trickled down her spine, and she stilled as the long fingers trailed down her cheek and along her jawline in a sensual caress. Then the hand grabbed her throat.

Hettie jolted up in bed, Diablo in hand. Her arm trembled, blood dripping from her finger. She blinked hard as the spots cleared from her eyes. Abby cowered from the weapon pointed at her head.

“I’m sorry,” her sister whimpered. “I didn’t mean to … I was really hungry.”

The mage gun clattered to the floor. The tip of Hettie’s shaking finger was nearly pulped, the fingernail chewed to the quick. Teeth marks perforated the flesh past the first knuckle. She wrapped a handkerchief around her hand to hide the damage from her sister. “It’s okay. I’m fine,” she reassured Abby.

Of course, things weren’t fine—the revolver had risen to defend her because it had sensed her life was in danger. Abby had been drinking too much. Hettie would need to be careful about not falling asleep next time, and figure out a substitute soon.

As the sun slanted past the top edge of the town wall, Hettie and Abby made their way to the Woodroffe home. The simple one-story abode featured a large open cooking and eating area and two adjoining rooms Hettie assumed were bedrooms. The well-swept plank wood floors had been worn smooth by time and were adorned with colorful handwoven rugs. An assortment of horns, implements, and tools decorated the walls. It reminded her of the ranch—warm and homey.

People were already seated at the long table. In Javier Punta’s absence, Raúl sat at the head of the table with Walker to his left and Beatrice to his right. Julia glided from the kitchen area to the dining table, bringing platters of spiced roast meat, vegetables, and flatbreads. She looked none the worse for wear after her ordeal, glowing with happiness. She glanced up as Hettie and Abby entered, dark curls bouncing around her sweet face.

“Ah, here they are. Mis hermanas.” She set the tray down and ushered them into the house. “You are the guests of honor tonight. I have cooked a feast for you.”

“Always eager to show off her hosting skills,” Raúl remarked wryly. “Even when it is not her home.”

“And you are always eager to cut down any woman who would outshine you,” Julia quipped.

Beatrice sniggered. “She developed a mouth while you were away,” she said to Walker with a crooked smile. “Not the little mouse you used to know.”

“I can see that.”

Hettie couldn’t help but think about how that mouth had been planted over Walker’s lips earlier. She kept her own pinched shut.

“Julia pined for you for months after you left,” Raúl added, chuckling. “She watched for your return from the gantry every day.”

Julia sniffed. “You exaggerate. I was up there maybe one in every four days.”

“You cried for weeks.”

“I was twelve. I would have cried over a crushed flower.” She cast Walker a soft look. “But I am so very happy you have come home, Walker.” She leaned in and pecked his cheek.

Walker smiled tightly and glanced at Hettie. “You look terrible. Are you all right?”

No, I’m sick to my stomach. “Nothing a little food won’t cure.” She addressed Beatrice. “How is Juan?”

“Doing well. He was still unconscious when I removed the bullet and sewed him up. He’s in the infirmary now and will stay asleep until tomorrow. If you hadn’t cauterized that wound, he would never have survived.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Walker prompted. “I know a lot about that gun, but in none of the stories has anyone ever done what you did. How did you make Diablo close up that wound?”

She shrugged. “I just made it do what I needed it to do.”

“It’s possible that Hettie’s bond with El Diablo allows her to control it better than even Father could,” Raúl interjected, though he, too, looked perturbed. “There was no mention in any of his notes about the weapon having healing abilities. I will have to investigate further.”

Beatrice’s eyes darted to Hettie’s side and narrowed. “What happened to your hand?”

Hettie tucked her bandaged finger behind her self-consciously. “It’s Diablo. The trigger has a thorn on it.”

“The blood price.” The older woman grimaced as she unwrapped the bandage and inspected the wounds. “My God. What have you been doing to it? It looks like hamburger.” She brought out a bag of supplies and rebandaged Hettie’s finger. “I have a salve to keep it from getting infected. Come to me tomorrow and I’ll give you some. Now sit.” She pulled out the chair next to her. Hettie was about to get Abby a chair so she could sit next to her, but then Julia knelt in front of her sister.

“Hello, dear one. My name is Julia. What is yours?”

“Abby.” She sounded a little unsure.

“Abby. You are so pretty, and what a lovely dress.” She smiled wide. “I have some dresses at my home I have outgrown. I think they will suit you. I will get them for you tomorrow and we will be best friends, sí?”

Abby nodded tentatively. Julia took her hand and led her to a chair next to hers. Hettie grudgingly allowed herself to like Julia—not many people went out of their way for her sister’s benefit.

They feasted. The meals up to now had been sumptuous, but this was a true celebration, with spiced meats and fluffy flatbreads that rivaled Rosa’s. This reunion had been thirteen years overdue. Walker’s sun-baked features began to soften, smile lines cracking that granite visage. They toasted his return; they toasted the success of his mission; they toasted the safe return of the villagers and the newcomers he’d brought to the table.

Hettie’s mind swam. The wine had been watered down, but she was not used to imbibing quite so much. Afraid she might blurt out something embarrassing, she stayed quiet and retreated into her own thoughts.

“It’s a shame Javier is not here to celebrate with us,” Beatrice said on a sigh. She glanced out the window as if he might be outside, looking in on the revelers. “But now that Walker’s home, I’m sure he’ll get better.”

Raúl looked as though he might correct her, then thought better of it.

“Walker has told us only a little of your adventures,” Julia said to Hettie. “Won’t you tell us more about how you came to be here?”

Hettie swallowed a lump in her throat and struggled to speak past thick lips smeared with grease. “Not much to tell.”

“Surely that’s not true? Walker said you faced bandits and worse to bring El Diablo home to Javier.”

“You will have a hard time getting the story out of her,” Raúl said. “Miss Alabama is even more tight-lipped than Walker.”

The bounty hunter interrupted. “I’m more interested in hearing about why the soldiers detained you.”

“Same reasons they always do,” Beatrice said, anger and exhaustion tingeing her words.

“Things have been getting worse for us outside of the village,” Raúl said. “The people trust us less and less as magic grows weaker everywhere else. Father’s name once commanded respect. Now Villa del Punta is seen as a greedy holdout.”

“Didn’t stop people from buying our wares, though,” Beatrice said. “They know the magic in our goods is still better than they can get anywhere else. Unfortunately, that’s how the soldiers knew who we were and ended up arresting us.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe they got everything.”

“Do not fear, Tía. We will go back when things have settled down. Perhaps in smaller groups so we are not recognized.”

Beatrice smiled faintly at Julia. Hettie didn’t think it would be smart for any of them to go back to the city, but refrained from voicing her thoughts. This was not her problem, she had to remind herself.

“How did the visit with the soothsayer go?” Raúl asked. “Did she not foresee this arrest?”

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “No. She performed the rituals and incantations as she usually does, but her predictions were vague and unconvincing. I paid her, but I wouldn’t trust her information.”

“You don’t have your own soothsayer?” Hettie asked. Communities often pooled money to consult soothsayers about the outlook for certain periods of time, usually a year or maybe a season. The more precise the prediction, the more expensive the soothsayers’ fees got. Ranchers and farmers couldn’t afford specific information about their own properties, but together they could afford general reports about the weather, droughts, floods, and other looming disasters that might affect their livelihoods.

Raúl shook his head. “Father used to be able to scry the future. He couldn’t see everything with perfect clarity, but it’s a rare gift for a sorcerer, even of my father’s caliber. Unfortunately, his abilities had dimmed the year before he fell ill.” The reproach in his tone was unmistakably aimed at Walker.

The bounty hunter caught Hettie’s eye, and he silently warned her not to say anything in his defense. If word about the soothsayers’ blackout got around, the scrying economy would break down, and she was certain Patrice did not want that. She wasn’t sure their contract spell prevented her from mentioning it, but she wasn’t about to test it.

Dinner gave way to dessert, coffee, and cigars. Despite Julia’s best efforts to include Hettie and Abby, conversation revolved mostly around village goings-on. Raúl seemed to relish the ability to inform his brother of everything he’d missed, from the births of firstborns to the deaths of elders. It didn’t escape her notice that Walker was tight-lipped about his thirteen years away. Only when Abby started yawning did they finally have an opportunity to make their excuses.

“You look dead on your feet.” Beatrice peered into Hettie’s face. “Are you sure you’re well?”

“I just need rest.”

The healer put a papery palm over her forehead. She frowned. “No fever, but I’m not convinced you’re not coming down with something. Come and see me tomorrow. I want to make sure you haven’t been infected with blood poison from your finger.”

“Apologies, but I have a few things I must see to in my workshop.” Raúl stood.

Beatrice gave a stiff nod, one of many she’d acknowledged her stepson with that evening. “Walker, please escort the ladies back to the great house. Julia and I will clean up.”

They said their goodbyes. It was a balmy evening, the air perfumed with rich, spicy aromas from other celebratory dinners. A pair of men who’d been in the posse sat smoking pipes on the porch of a house, and they waved at Walker as they passed, and tipped their hats to Hettie.

“Is it just me, or is there something going on between your mother and Raúl?” Hettie asked once they were out of earshot of the house. The tension between the two was palpable, their words to each other clipped.

Walker tucked his chin down. “Javier married my mother pretty soon after Raúl’s mother was killed. He’s never accepted her as family, really—that’s why we still live in our own house. Javier didn’t want him to feel pushed out of his own home if we moved in.” He glanced up. “Guess nothing’s changed on that front.”

Unfamiliar with the vulnerability in his tone, Hettie glanced his way. “I’d think that if Raúl held any grudges, they’d be against the man who killed his mother.”

“My brother’s bottled up his hatred—he can’t let it corrupt his magic. I’m not surprised my mother and I have been convenient targets for his bitterness. The day El Toro killed his mother and all those other villagers was the day he stopped being a carefree boy.” He grew pensive. “El Toro works mainly in the capital close to the president and rarely leaves his side. That he’s been dispatched to Chihuahua can’t be good news for anyone.”

They arrived at the great house. Abby yawned and stretched and started up to their room.

“Hettie.” Walker stopped her as she was about to say good night. “I just want you to know … I appreciate everything you did for us … for me last night. Seems like you keep saving my life.”

She scuffed the dirt, intent on her boot tips. “Ain’t nothing you wouldn’t have done for me. Reckon I owe you for the snakebite.” She waggled the hand his brother had healed.

“It’s not fair you and Abby are stuck here waiting,” he said, meeting her eye. “You’re a young—” He stopped and frowned. Quietly, he asked, “How many more?”

He was asking about the men she’d killed, the years Diablo had carved into her face. “Two.”

“I can’t let this keep happening to you.” He tipped her chin up, the lines on his brow deepening. “You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for that stupid gun.”

Walker’s touch sent a million moths fluttering down her neck and across her chest, and her head swam. With concerted effort, she took a deliberate step back. Walker dropped his hand.

“You didn’t let anything happen to me,” she said gruffly, turning her heated face toward the shadows. “I would’ve killed ten men if I had to to save you.”

His lips curved up. She corrected herself hastily. “Don’t look so smug. You’re our meal ticket. A threat to you is a threat to me and Abby.” She crossed her arms. “Soon as Javier Punta breaks this curse, we’re outta here.”

Any warmth lurking in Walker eyes leached out, and the bright blue turned glacial. “Is that all you want?”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, glaring at him defiantly. The simple fact of the matter was she wasn’t free to think beyond Abby’s safety. “The only thing that matters to me is Abby.”

His eyes became like winter ice on a lake, mirroring the barrier she desperately needed between them. “Right,” he said. Shoulders stiff, he turned and walked away.

As she went to bed, Hettie told herself she didn’t need Walker’s sympathy. She certainly didn’t want his pity. Telling him the truth about her situation didn’t make her feel like any less of a heel, though.