The Devil's Standoff

chapter 17

Alecto’s hooves kicked up clouds of dust as she trotted round and round the corral, teasing Hettie, not quite getting within range of her.

“Aw, c’mon now, girl. I’ve been patient with you this week, haven’t I?”

The wild pony tossed her head, and Hettie understood that to mean, “But what have you done for me lately?”

She sighed and laid the blanket on the ground, along with the magicked lariat Marco had given her. The stable master watched from the fence.

“You see how she is now,” he called to her. “Las Furias won’t let anyone near them.”

“She’s smart is all. Considering the way your boys were treating her and her sisters, I think they have a right to be skittish.”

“I’m still surprised she has not tried to knock you down.”

“That’s because I try not to give her a reason to.” Hettie rested her chin on her drawn-up knees, hiding beneath the shade of her broad straw hat. Neither Tisiphone nor Megaera, named after the Furies in Greek legends, had gone beyond sniffing her palm, but Hettie had been the only person who’d successfully led each one to the breaking corral without the use of a whip or lariat.

Marco sighed. “Considering the trouble they have caused, I wonder whether they are worth the effort.”

“Pa always said a good horse is one you put time into.” The chestnut pony eventually slowed her pacing. Her tail twitched, and she exhaled loudly, impatient to get back to her sisters. Hettie brought the long lead to the pony. She shied at first, but Hettie grabbed her hackamore bridle and attached the rope. Alecto twitched, and Hettie firmed her hold. “Listen. I know this isn’t what you want, but trust me, if you don’t start cooperating, they’ll think nothing of turning you into glue and horsemeat.”

The mare stilled, then lowered her head and gave Hettie a gentle push. She pushed back. “Don’t think you can bully me. And be grateful. I’m just trying to help you out.”

She walked away from the horse and gave the end of the lead line a gentle tug. Alecto started forward, and Hettie familiarized her with a few commands to halt, walk, and go back.

After half an hour Hettie let Alecto rejoin her sisters in the paddock.

“I wish you had been here when we broke some of the other horses. I still remember the strawberry roan that was supposed to be Walker’s first horse. That creature was a demon.”

Hettie’s heart tripped at the mention of the bounty hunter. “Have you seen him lately? Walker, I mean?” It came out too eagerly.

Marco’s eyes softened. “No one has. All with the gift have been advised to stay away. He remains secluded in his mother’s home.”

She tried to keep her expression neutral. Raúl had been quite clear about her and Abby not visiting. But she’d seen Julia coming and going from the house all week. Apparently Walker posed no threat to her.

Javier Punta had been equally unreachable. The old sorcerer still hadn’t awakened from his coma, and Raúl had no idea if and when he would. Hettie was left alone and waiting. At least she had Las Furias to occupy her days.

She washed up and went in for lunch. Ever since she’d helped free the villagers from the army garrison, Rosa had been kinder to her and Abby. The cook even let her help herself to food from the kitchen when she wanted, though she still refused Hettie’s help with the kitchen duties.

The cook looked up as Hettie entered. “I was about to bring your sister and Raúl lunch.”

“They’re still in the workshop?” The sorcerer had been testing and training Abby. Hettie had reluctantly agreed to it only because her sister was eager to do more of Raúl’s “special pictures.” They’d been cloistered together every day this week.

“That is Raúl’s way.” Rosa set a plate of beans, guacamole, and corn flour tortillas in front of her. “Work until you can work no more. It is not good for the spirit.”

Hettie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “He doesn’t do that with his regular magic classes.”

She nodded. “Your sister is special. I can understand that he wants to train her up quickly. She must be doing very well.” Rosa grimaced and continued assembling the lunch tray. “I admit I was quick to judge you both. When you first arrived, your sister seemed like a … a ghost child.” She flicked her a glance. “The day you came, we heard Walker’s voice first—we thought it was a trick. It’d been years since we’d heard from him. We’d given him up for dead. And then Abby opened the gate. She stood in the open as pale as the dead. It seemed like an omen—death come to Villa del Punta.”

Hettie pursed her lips. “They didn’t have to shoot at her.”

“People who are frightened do not think.” Rosa rested a strong, warm hand over her shoulder. “I am sorry for treating you and your sister poorly, Hettie Alabama. I can see now that you care for her very much.”

“I accept your apology,” Hettie said. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to forgive her. Rosa nodded, then instructed her to gather cutlery from the sideboard for the tray. Hettie did as she was told. “Tell me more about Javier. Did you train with him?”

The cook smiled. “Sí. He teaches us some of the old ways, finds what we excel in. I do not think there is a better teacher in all the world. He trained my mother, and my mother’s father.”

“But … that would make him…” Hettie tried to do the math.

“He is very old,” Rosa confirmed. “Over two hundred years, though he says he lost count.”

That was impossible. Punta had looked maybe seventy at most. She’d known there were some long-lived sorcerers, but many of them had sustained their life through illegal blood magic. Did that mean Javier was a Kukulos warlock?

“It is the nature of Villa del Punta,” Rosa explained when she saw the confusion on Hettie’s face. “My grandfather told me Javier brought the magic here, that it feeds and sustains him. Our people have been with him since he built the village.”

“How long has he been sick?” she asked tentatively.

Rosa looked up briefly, forehead wrinkling as if she were trying hard to remember. “He was always quite healthy. Even after he lent Walker his magic, he was fine.” She shook her head. “It happened quickly. His decline was much faster in the past few months.”

Around the time Hettie and Walker had met and she’d bonded with Diablo. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“It is not good to dwell on death,” Rosa said sharply. “You should be thinking only of good things. I hear you have found a place among Las Furias. Juan says you are good with horses.”

Hettie rolled her eyes. Juan had been hanging around the stables, trying to talk to her, charm her. He put on airs, as if her saving his life meant she had a thing for him. She didn’t. “Not sure I can call it a real place. I’m one hard kick away from losing my job at any given moment. But the ponies are making progress.”

“They will settle down, as will you,” she said decisively. “Villa del Punta is a good place to make a life.”

She supposed it was. But Hettie couldn’t help the restless feeling inside her, as if she were watching a clear horizon, listening for thunder.

She volunteered to take Abby and Raúl’s lunch to the workshop for Rosa. She carried the tray and knocked with her boot tip. Raúl answered with a smile. “Just in time. We were about to take a break.”

Abby sat on a large throw cushion on the floor, dark circles under her eyes. She stared up at Hettie blearily.

“She has worked hard today,” Raúl said with satisfaction. “We will have to work on her discipline, though. She would not stop saying how hungry she was.”

Anger shot through her, and Hettie sent him a daggered look. He couldn’t know Abby needed blood, of course, but what kind of teacher let a child go hungry? “Abby? Are you okay?”

“Hungry,” she whimpered.

“I’ve brought food. Eat up, and then I’ll take you outside for some fresh air.” And a blood feeding. Her sister was pale and had that distant look in her violet eyes.

“Maybe you should stop for the day,” Hettie said to Raúl as her sister wolfed down her meal and some of Raúl’s as well.

“Abby has all the potential of a master-level sorcerer. Look.” He held up a series of meaningless squiggles—more of Raúl’s tests—as if he hadn’t heard her. “We’ve yet to reach her limits. Abby,” he called, and her sister looked up. “Show your sister the spell I taught you this morning.”

Abby wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, got up, and took a piece of string from the worktable. She set it on the stone hearth and pointed at it. She recited a short incantation. The string ignited in a flash of fire and crumbled to ash almost instantly.

“Amazing, isn’t it? Most intermediate-level sorcerers can only produce a flame small enough to light a match.”

“Why on earth would you teach Abby such a dangerous spell?” Hettie exclaimed. “Do you have any idea what she could do with that?”

He almost looked hurt by her objection. “Abby knows to never use any spell without my permission. Isn’t that right, Abby?”

Her sister nodded hesitantly, and Raúl said, “She knows the rules. She knows what will happen if she breaks those rules.”

Hettie chewed the inside of her cheek. Abby made lots of promises, but she didn’t always remember them all.

“I should mention my father woke briefly last night,” Raúl said. “Unfortunately, he did not last an hour before he fell asleep again. Before he did, though, he gave me some ideas on how I might lift Diablo’s curse.”

Hettie straightened. “Can you?” she asked too eagerly.

“I think so, but only with Abby’s help. If I can teach her the spells, she might be able to help me shoulder some of the magical burden.”

Hettie was immediately wary. The warlock Zavi had needed Abby’s help with his spells, too. “Why Abby? Why not any other sorcerer in the village?”

“None of them are as strong as Abby. Besides, the blood bonds we share through Diablo will be much more effective over the magics that created the revolver. You and I are connected through the blood that links my father to Diablo. Your sister is your blood. If I can link with Abby, a complete blood circle might be enough to break the curse on you.”

She sucked in her lip. It made sense, she supposed, and though she wasn’t keen on forcing Abby into any dangerous situations, she couldn’t turn down a chance at freeing herself from Diablo. “When can we do this?”

“Winter solstice is the ideal time,” Raúl said. “Blood magic is tied to the phases of the moon. You see now why I am so eager to push her along in her magical studies.”

Was it worth pushing Abby if she could break Diablo’s curse sooner? After all, Javier Punta might never wake up again. And she couldn’t shake that feeling of something coming. What would Uncle do in her place?

He’d take what he could and run.

“All right,” she conceded reluctantly. “But she still needs a break.”

Raúl nodded. “A siesta would be a good for all of us. But do not take her for too long. There is still much work to be done.”

Their bedroom was stifling at this time of day, so Hettie brought Abby to the farm beyond the western gate. At first she didn’t see anything, but gradually the fields wavered into view, a carpet of green spread all around her. The border wall of cornstalks swayed high above them. No one was in sight for the moment—the farmworkers were sleeping off the heat.

“Has Raúl been treating you all right, Abby?” Hettie asked as they followed the path through the farm.

Her sister nodded. “He teaches me fun things, like that fire trick.”

“It’s not a game, Abby. Don’t go lighting things on fire, you hear?”

“I know,” she replied tartly. Hettie was startled. Her sister’s lip was getting more impertinent by the day.

In carefully tended plots, peppers, tomatoes, and other fruits and vegetables gleamed like ripe jewels. Farther along they found fat hens pecking and scraping by a coop. A regal-looking black-and-white spotted rooster strutted among them, ruffling its feathers as Abby pointed at him and cooed at how pretty he was. Enormous sows with litters of pink-and-brown piglets slept soundly in the shade in one pen, and goats basked in the dry heat in another. Hettie and Abby admired how healthy the specimens were before moving on—the family farm in Montana had never seen a bounty like this.

“Mis hermanas.” Julia emerged from a flowerbed like a startled rabbit, a basket laden with herbs and limes resting against her hip. She smiled hugely, as if greeting long-lost friends, but exhaustion hung about her like a fine cloak. “What are you doing out here?”

“Abby needed a break from her lessons with Raúl,” Hettie said, studying the young woman for any clues as to how Walker was doing.

“Is my cousin boring you, little one?” she teased Abby.

“I like him,” she said almost defensively. Her sister rarely shared her opinions on anything.

“How is Walker?” Hettie asked. “I was hoping to visit him soon.”

Julia shook her head and sighed. “It’s not a good idea. He’s still very ill and…” She bit her lip.

“And what?”

Julia hesitated. “He doesn’t want to see you. He told me to make sure you did not go anywhere near him.” She lowered her chin. “I’m sorry, I must get back to the house.” She hurried away.

“She’s pretty,” Abby said quietly. “You think Walker likes her?”

“I don’t speculate on what ain’t my business.” Hettie urged her on. “C’mon. Time to eat.”

They found a private area in the shade of some trees. Hettie pushed her back up against the trunk while Abby fed. Despite her assertions her thoughts kept circling back to Walker and Julia. The young woman was beautiful, kind, and charming and obviously had a history with the bounty hunter. And she clearly had Beatrice’s favor.

What if she was lying about Walker? What if she was just trying to keep him to herself?

Hettie stomped out the ugly jealousy rising inside her. She had far more important things to worry about.

Still, as they made their way back into the village, Hettie found herself taking the long route, passing by the Woodroffe home.

The windows were shuttered. It must have been stifling in the scorching heat. Beatrice sat on the veranda, her face gray. She raised her head as Hettie and Abby approached.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice rose in alarm.

“I was just passing by. Thought I’d say hello.” Hettie tasted the foolish lie beneath her weak words. Evidently Beatrice could see right through her excuse, too.

“You have to leave.” She got up as if to shoo her away. “It’s not safe for you here.”

“But I thought—”

“It’s worse than I imagined. Go, before he hears you.”

And then there came a low, guttural moan. Beatrice shot Hettie one last pleading look before hastening inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. Seconds later there came a shout, a sharp cry, and a crash.

Diablo leaped into Hettie’s hand. “Abby, stay here.” If Walker was hurting his mother—

“Don’t go in there.” Abby’s voice had gone diamond-hard. Her violet eyes were wide, and her jaw was set, as if she were an animal poised to defend its lair.

The door burst open, hinges cracking the thick wood frame.

A hulking mass of muscle, clothed only below the waist, stumbled into the sunlight. Hettie scrambled back, keeping herself between the attacker and Abby.

Slowly the man unfurled, and Hettie’s stomach pitched at the thing Walker had become. His overgrown stubble curled around his cheeks and jaw like the sooty wood shavings left in a fire pit. His complexion was gray and waxen. His hollow, bloodshot eyes brought to mind a starving bear, mindless with hunger. His chest was broad and muscled and puckered with many scars, but it was sunken too, as if his flesh were straining against his ribcage, drawn in by the inner pull of the void.

“Hettie.” His low, rough voice sent something like fear chasing down her spine.

“Walker.” She fought to keep her voice steady, pleasant, as if she were approaching an injured stallion. She slipped Diablo back in her pocket, and Walker’s unblinking stare followed it. “You don’t look so great. Maybe you should go back to bed.”

“I’ve missed you.”

She broke into a cold sweat. The razor-sharp edge of his hunger scraped along her senses like little teeth ready to sink into her. He staggered closer, and Hettie inched backward. “I never saw it before, Hettie. You … you glow.”

Beatrice ran onto the porch. “Walker. Come back here this instant.”

He didn’t respond. His hazy gaze was fixed on Hettie. “I did it for you, you know.”

“I know.” She’d agree to whatever nonsense he spouted to get him back into the house. “Why don’t we go in and have a cup of coffee?”

He snatched her right hand up and pulled her closer. The reek of sour sweat burned her nostrils. She tried to pry herself away, but he pinched her bloody trigger finger hard. “I did it for you. I did it for us. You understand, don’t you? I need you now, Hettie. I need you and Diablo. I need you to help me stop this…”

He squeezed her hand so hard she gasped. “Walker—”

“Give me Diablo and you’ll be safe forever. I can handle it, Hettie. I’ll take it far away, where no one will ever hurt you again.”

Her heart hammered. Diablo resolved in her free left hand, and she shoved it back into her pocket. Walker’s mouth pressed closer. His breath reeked of herbs and smoke. “You know I’d do anything for you, Hettie.”

She gasped as he crushed her fingers. “You’re hurting me.”

Suddenly he released her. The bounty hunter stared in shock, staggering back. “Hettie … I … I’m sorry…”

Then he spotted Abby. The hungry desperation returned. His stance shifted, and the next moment played in Hettie’s mind’s eye like a reflection in the rippled pool of Diablo’s power.

Walker lunged. Abby didn’t scream, but the fear was clear in her face. Defending herself against the madman, she lashed out, and a wave of pure power bashed him back, snapping his neck midair. He dropped to the ground, dead.

Hettie stifled a scream. It hadn’t happened yet. When her time bubble dissolved, she didn’t hesitate.

She pointed Diablo at Walker’s feet and pulled the trigger. Green fire poured from the muzzle and splashed against the ground, leaving a puddle of molten rock. He stumbled backward, and she tackled him, knocking him onto his back. She straddled his chest.

“Stop it, Walker!” she cried. “You gonna hurt my sister? You gonna hurt Abby?” Her fear was replaced by fury at the creature her friend had become. Diablo resolved in her hand. She would coldcock him—

Walker grabbed her wrist and twisted it around, and Hettie dropped the gun. He threw her off so she landed in the dust a few feet away. He reached for Diablo, but Hettie recalled it before he could touch it. In his state he probably wouldn’t care that the mage gun would burn his hand off.

The bounty hunter rushed at her, spittle dripping from the corners of his mouth like a mad dog. Still lying on her back, Hettie raised her knees and slammed her booted feet into his stomach, but instead of stumbling back breathless, he dove on top of her. She struggled beneath his sour-smelling body, the air crushed from her lungs, kicking and batting his face, fighting tears that blinded her.

He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head.

“No … no, Walker, no!” Hettie screamed. Diablo’s muzzle tracked toward his head. “Stop!”

“Walker!”

His name came on a crack of thunder. Walker reared back like a startled colt. Hettie scrambled away, gasping for breath.

At first she thought she was seeing some kind of ghost, all silvery white-gray robes and hair rustling in the wind. The figure spoke a single word, hand raised, and a pulse of power sang through the earth.

Walker’s eyes rolled up. He collapsed onto the ground.

The ghostly visage lowered his hand and stooped. He gave a phlegmy cough.

Javier Punta was finally awake.