The Devil's Standoff

chapter 15

The next day Raúl did not show up for breakfast. Rosa set a plate heaping with eggs and sausage, as well as churros—a deep-fried bread Abby loved dipping in her chocolate drink—in front of the girls.

“Raúl says you may have the day off. He is busy.” She paused and said briskly, “This is all for you. To thank you … for saving my nephew Juan.” She hesitated, as if to say more, but then simply bobbed her chin, wiped her hands, and hurried off. Hettie took this to be Rosa’s way of apologizing for her weeks of rudeness, and decided to accept it with double helpings of everything.

As they ate Luis came clomping through the house. When he spotted Hettie, he gave a snort and tromped away. Obviously he hadn’t changed his fine opinion of her.

With a free day on their hands, Hettie and Abby went to see Beatrice at her home. They walked through the village and were greeted by smiling faces. Women beating rugs on the porch waved and shouted “Hola!” Hettie awkwardly returned their greeting. Farther on a girl younger than Abby was ushered into the street to intercept them, bearing little posies of desert flowers for each of them. Hettie accepted them both with a confused smile for the father—a man she recognized from the posse last night. He nodded to them respectfully as he carried his daughter back into the house.

Closer to the Woodroffe abode, an elderly grandmother hobbled toward them and pressed a basket of … somethings into her hands, talking quickly in her native tongue. Hettie stared at the basket, nonplussed—the things nestled beneath the napkin appeared to be some kind of fritter covered in sugar. The old woman gestured at her to eat one. Hettie bit into the fluffy confection and singed her whole mouth. It was crisp on the outside, creamy and soft on the inside, and not too sweet despite the liberal coating of sugar. Hettie nodded and grinned as much as the hot oil burns would allow, saying the only word she knew for this kind of gift: “Bueno.”

The old woman beamed. Still talking, she bent and made some kind of sign over Abby—a blessing, maybe—and kissed her hands, then Hettie’s burning cheeks. “Amen! Amen! Hallelujah!” She gestured and spoke loudly at the sky. Abby giggled. The old woman clapped at her reaction, crushed Hettie’s full hands once more, then hurried away.

At the Woodroffe home, they found Julia at the dining room table, trimming herbs and humming.

“Buenos días, mis hermanas,” she said, smiling, and her eyes lit on the basket of steaming hot goods. “Are those suspiros de monjas?”

“The old lady around the corner gave them to us.”

Julia picked one up, hissing. “Still hot, even? Abuela Encarnación must like you.”

It seemed a lot of folks did now, after what she’d done to help them and theirs. “Is Mrs. Woodroffe around?”

“Tía Beatrice had to leave on an early morning errand, but she mentioned you’d be by.” She handed Hettie a small jar. “This is the salve she wanted you to have. I also have those dresses for Abby. If you will wait until I am done, she can try them on, and perhaps we can work on taking them in together.”

Hettie bit her lip. “I’m not very good at needlework. And I was heading to the stables to check on the horses.”

Julia waved her off. “Not to worry. I can manage the sewing. But it is a skill you should try to improve. How else will you catch a husband?” She winked and continued clipping dried herbs.

Hettie ignored Julia’s ribbing. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Preparing tisanes. I am training to be a healer. Tía Beatrice needs an apprentice to help her and take over for her one day.”

“So you’re gifted?” She remembered Julia’s looping handwriting in Raúl’s notes.

Julia gave a light laugh. “No. Raúl says I have some minor gifts, but none that could help me here.”

“Is no one in the village a magic healer?” She’d thought about asking around for a second opinion on Javier’s condition. She hadn’t had the opportunity to question Beatrice, since Raúl had been with them. She didn’t want to undermine the sorcerer in front of his family.

Julia shook her head. “No one else in the village is strong enough to perform such spells without harming themselves, except Javier and Raúl … and Walker, I suppose, since he has his father’s power.”

Hettie remembered how Ling’s gift had sapped his strength. He must have been stronger than she’d thought. “So, if Raúl is your cousin, does that make Javier your uncle?”

Julia considered a moment. “I suppose we might be distantly related. Javier has had four wives and many children, but Raúl is the only child of his who lives now. But no, we are not related by blood. Raúl has taken care of me since his mother and both my parents were killed by El Toro.” She smiled sadly. “He is more like a brother to me.”

Hettie felt bad for making the girl revisit those unhappy memories, and offered to help her with her task.

Once they’d finished separating the heads of the flowers from the stalks, Julia pinned Abby into three plain dresses. Abby hardly squirmed as she took her measurements. A fourth dress Julia offered was big enough for Hettie, though a little too long, and Julia insisted she have it once she took in the hem. It was very pretty, and far more daring than Hettie’s mother would have ever let her wear. The white blouse had a boat neck that would show quite a bit of her collarbone. Subtle but fine embroidered flowers in white ringed the neckline.

“This is far too nice for what I do day to day,” Hettie said, thinking about the horses.

“Then you can save it for a special occasion. It was my mother’s,” Julia added, her dark eyes growing dewy. “It seems like such a waste not to let it be worn.”

“It’s too generous. Let me at least pay you for it.” If she could figure out how to earn some money.

Her look of shock told Hettie she’d insulted Julia, and she cringed inwardly. “You will do no such thing. If anything, I owe you.” Julia clasped her hands with crushing force. “You saved my life, and the lives of many others here. No one can repay that debt.”

Humbled, Hettie left a few of the fritters with Julia and exited the Woodroffe home feeling a little off-balance. She hadn’t had many female friends back in Newhaven, and part of her still distrusted Julia’s intentions, which were nothing but good. She didn’t want to believe it was jealousy that colored her view of the girl, though. Julia was kind and smart and beautiful, and Walker would be lucky to have her.

If he wanted her. He hadn’t exactly explained their relationship. Not that he owed Hettie any kind of explanation.

At the stables Marco the stable master looked up from shoeing a mare.

“Here is the hero of Villa del Punta!” he greeted with a big smile. He tapped the last nail in and set the horse’s hoof down. “Everyone is talking about you. Are those suspiros de monjas?” He snatched one out of the basket and bit into it, grinning. “Yes, you are definitely the most popular girl in the village right now.”

Hettie was starting to feel self-conscious. She’d killed two men and injured countless more to save the villagers. She hardly thought of herself as a hero. “I did what I had to.”

“Few people would ride into El Toro Cabello’s camp and face a whole army the way you did. They will sing songs about you.” He peered at her. “Is something the matter?”

“No. I … I’m just looking for Raúl.” She didn’t want to admit her discomfort. She’d followed the posse to help Walker, after all.

Marco rubbed his chin. “He’s usually in the infirmary checking on Javier around this time.”

She remembered Raúl’s warning that Diablo might disrupt the magic keeping Javier alive. Her brain felt fuzzy as she contemplated this. She didn’t understand much about magic, but Punta had created the mage gun. How could it possibly affect him negatively?

“Señorita Alabama,” Marco piped up. “If you would like to seek him out, my wife, Consuela, would gladly watch your sister. We have two children close to her age. They can play together.”

Hettie hesitated, the cynical side of her pointing out that this proposal hadn’t been made when they’d first arrived, or even when Marco had offered her a job. Saving the imprisoned villagers had earned her some credit; but wasn’t Marco afraid Abby would hurt his children?

“She couldn’t be in safer hands. And my offer still stands, if you would like to try your hand at breaking Las Furias. You can even keep an eye on your sister from here.” He pointed toward a nearby house where a woman hung laundry on a line. A boy and girl slightly younger than Abby ran around the lawn.

Abby watched the children wistfully. “Can I please, Hettie?”

The longing in her voice made Hettie ache. Abby hadn’t had any playmates back home in Newhaven. They’d rarely taken her to town—when they did, people pointed and whispered, making her sad and uncomfortable. One time Abby had wandered off and nearly been trampled by a horse. For her own safety, they’d kept her on the farm … and often on a leash.

Marco beckoned. “Let me introduce you.”

Luisa and Jorge were seven and nine respectively, and several inches shorter than Abby. At first they balked—not an uncommon reaction. But then Marco gave a stern word, and Luisa reached out her hand. Abby took it. In a flash all awkwardness was gone. The siblings giggled. Delighted at having a new playmate, they led Abby away to play games in the grass.

With Abby occupied Hettie was free to seek out Raúl and Javier Punta and the answers to the questions that were only now starting a low, slow burn within. Something felt off—she didn’t know why she was feeling it now, but it nibbled on her conscience like a rat scrabbling behind the walls.

Hettie followed Marco’s directions through the village. The infirmary was located behind the church, a low, squat building of clean white adobe. The sweet, woodsy scent of incense tinged the air. An enormous wooden Jesus on the crucifix watched Hettie with a disapproving glare. She found herself muttering, “Excuse me,” as she hurried past the pulpit.

In the rear of the church, a breezeway surrounding a stone-paved courtyard led to another low building. Hettie paused in front of a limbless statue set in the middle of the space. The jagged stumps on the shoulder blades suggested it had been an angel, its wings long lost to whatever abuses it had faced. The top half of the statue’s head was also gone, leaving only a strong jaw. Captivated, she studied it, feeling as though she were being watched despite its lack of eyes.

A low murmur from the end of the breezeway drew her attention away from the statue. She followed the sound to a heavy wood door that had been left ajar, and she pushed it open gently.

As she entered her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Sharp herbs and cloying incense perfumed the air, just barely masking the distinct smell of decay. In the center of the room, an old man who could only be Javier Punta lay on a narrow bed, his gray-white beard and mane spread around him. Raúl stood over him, one hand raised as he spoke an incantation. Walker was doubled over on the other side of the bed. His wrists were tethered to Punta’s by a thick rope that crackled with magic. He moaned loudly.

Hettie’s heart lurched. She charged toward him unthinking, but one step past the doorway and her limbs weakened. She gasped as her breath left her lungs. Power pulsed through her, throbbing hard like a labored heartbeat. Something inside her started unwinding, unraveling, like a giant ball of yarn.

Walker looked up haggardly. “Hettie.” His voice was raw. Their eyes met, and in that moment of connection, she felt him—despair, anger, helplessness, and beneath that something so sweet and pure, it made her bones sing. But that feeling fled as a coldness seeped into her. He was being drained, turned inside out, sucked dry of his life force.

“Get her out of here!” Raúl shouted. Hettie struggled weakly as someone hauled her out of the infirmary, her heels dragging through the dirt. Her last glimpse of Walker was the look of pure agony on his face before the door slammed shut.

She collapsed in the courtyard, shivering as if she’d just been dunked in an icy lake. Diablo lay dormant in her hand. At some point it had sensed a threat and come to her defense, but she was so drained she wasn’t sure she could’ve pulled the trigger.

“That was reckless.” Beatrice stood above her, hands on her hips. “Didn’t it occur to you that you weren’t invited for a reason?”

Thin air seeped through her nostrils into leaden lungs. “What’s happening? He’s hurting Walker.” It came out thickly through numb lips.

“Raúl’s doing what he’s supposed to do—returning Javier’s magic. My husband made Diablo, so I’m guessing the spell was siphoning his magic off you and the mage gun, as well, and that’s not a good thing if you two are bonded. If you’d stayed there too long, you might have had your whole life force drained away.” She placed a cool palm over her forehead. “Don’t move too quickly. Take a moment to catch your breath.”

The sun-warmed flagstones pressed against her back, gradually bringing Hettie’s blood temperature back up. Slowly she sat up and summoned the revolver as a check. “Why is Raúl doing this now? He refused to before.”

“Walker insisted. Last night after he walked you home, he told Raúl in no uncertain terms that it was time to wake Javier. I agreed.”

The bounty hunter’s eyes flashed in her mind, haunting her. She’d never seen him afraid like that. Hettie propped herself up slowly. “Is he going to be all right?”

“My son is strong. He survived the transfer once, he’ll do it again.” She helped Hettie to a bench. “It’s what happens afterwards that I’m concerned about.”

“Afterwards?”

Beatrice’s mouth tightened. “Have you ever known a dope fiend?”

She nodded. Newhaven had its share of opium addicts. “Whether he realizes it or not, Walker has been high on my husband’s power for thirteen years, juiced up as no other man could be. All that power is being siphoned off him slowly so it doesn’t kill him. They’ve already been at it for four hours.”

Hettie was shocked at first, though she didn’t know why: this had been Walker’s intent since returning to Villa del Punta. That he was giving up his magic now, though, with the threat of the army hovering … She wasn’t sure she would have made the same decision. “When Javier gets his power back, will he wake up?”

“Hard to say.” Beatrice glanced back toward the infirmary. “All we can do is wait.”

Hettie kept Beatrice company while they waited. The healer went into the infirmary periodically to check on her son’s progress, and each time she returned, the lines in her face were deeper.

The heat was stifling despite the breeze blowing through the open courtyard. Hettie fidgeted with Diablo, her gaze drawn again and again to the broken angel statue. She couldn’t help but feel its presence, for all that it was a crumbling piece of stone. Perhaps it had been magicked.

“What’s with that statue?” she asked Beatrice.

Walker’s mother glanced over and shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure. It was like that when I arrived. No one in the village seems to know how it was broken either. It’s been here a long time. All Javier’s ever said about it is that it met with an unfortunate accident.”

The wistfulness in her voice reminded Hettie that the great sorcerer was her husband, a man she was presumably in love with. It bothered her that she’d somehow overlooked that.

“What’s he like?” she asked.

“Javier?” Beatrice smiled softly. “Kind. Firm. A man who has carried the weight of the world for a long time, watched many of his loved ones come into the world and leave it. When I first came to Villa del Punta, I was a refugee. I’d used up the last of my money to bribe the border guards to let us pass. Walker was barely eight years old when we fled the States.” She glanced toward the infirmary door. “We walked through the desert for days. I thought we would die out there. Then Javier found us and brought us here.”

“What about … Walker’s father?”

Before Beatrice could respond, the door opened. Raúl emerged, dark circles beneath his eyes and a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“It is done.” He leaned against the door frame. Beatrice hurried into the infirmary. Hettie followed, but Raúl put up a hand and stopped her.

“Not you.”

She glared. “Why not?”

“My brother does not wish to see you right now.”

Something like anger shot through her heart, clouded her thoughts like a storm boiling on the horizon. Only Raúl’s pallor and pronounced stagger distracted her from the bewildering emotion.

“How is Javier?” she asked tentatively, sympathy leaching her rage away.

“The transfer was difficult. I did not facilitate the first one, so putting my father’s magic back into his body was challenging.”

“But it was a success?”

“Despite your interference?” He huffed. “Yes. It was a lucky thing you did not contaminate the spellground. I’ve no way of knowing how Diablo’s presence might have affected the spell. For now, my father’s powers are back where they belong. But it might be some time before he opens his eyes.”

Hettie looked longingly at the infirmary door. She wanted to see how Walker was doing, see Javier Punta. She was just a little closer to being free of Diablo …

“I would avoid my brother for a while,” Raúl said sharply. “You will not want to see him in his current condition.”

“I don’t care about that,” she insisted, but Raúl shook his head.

“You do not understand. He will be craving magic, and he will seek it wherever he can get it. He might ask you for Diablo. Insist on holding it for you. And you … you might feel sorry for him and give it to him to ease his suffering. You must not do this. And you must keep Abby as far away as possible. Her power is raw and unpredictable, and he will not be able to withstand the temptation.”

“Temptation to do what?”

Raúl’s face clouded, and he pursed his lips. “Just keep away from him. He needs time to heal.”