The Devil's Standoff

by V. S. McGrath

  “We ran across a well like this in Wyoming,” she said. “It was a sacred site … and the scene of a massacre.”

  Raúl nodded. “Many naturally occurring nodes and wells do not retain their magic forever. Often, they are corrupted or destroyed, usually by man.”

  “Like the old abandoned Zoom tunnels. That’s why they don’t build railroad tracks through Zoom apertures, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly. I’m sure you’ve heard the story of Sonora station.”

  She knew it a little too well. The abandoned Sonora Zoom station in Arizona was where Zavi and the Crowe gang had kept Abby. Decades earlier the Zoom tunnel had collapsed after the army tried to build a rail line through the naturally occurring underground aperture. The incident had killed many people, and for a long time metal was banned from traveling through any Zoom tunnel. That ban had been eased more recently—a decision made by the Zoom Union and sanctioned by the Division of Sorcery to allow automobiles belonging to the wealthiest and most influential to pass through … for an exorbitant fee, of course.

  She asked, “Are there Zoom tunnels here in Mexico?”

  He blew out a breath. “No active ones I know of. There is some evidence that the people who once lived on this land did know of them. Some of the ancient Aztec and Mayan cities and temples may even have been constructed around these apertures once, but that may have ended up destabilizing them. It is more likely, however, that they were destroyed by the invading Spanish.” His gaze grew hard and distant. “Villa del Punta is the only place I know of where magic has been preserved. That seems to be changing, though. If I can come up with at least a theory as to why magic is disappearing, perhaps I might send my findings to the American Division of Sorcery and they can do something about it.”

  “Doesn’t Mexico have its own Division?”

  He grimaced. “Not an organized one, no. The gifted have always been trained privately, sometimes within families, sometimes within villages and towns. All the gifted in the village learned from my father and me. You see, sorcery is seen as too heretical, and is treated by some as devilry. The government under Presidente Diaz has been quite pro-mundane. There was some talk of registering all gifted as they do in America … but that only pushes the gifted farther underground here. Another reason we keep to ourselves in the village.”

  Hettie nodded along. Raúl clearly liked the sound of his own voice, but she was also gathering useful information that Uncle had been too impatient to impart. “So where does magic come from?”

  “No one really knows what the source of magic is. Many think it comes from the core of the earth, but others theorize that it comes from the heavens—that it falls from the sky and scatters all over the world. Some traditions believe it is God-given, though which God is something people have fought about since the beginning of time. Others believe it comes from within. One thing we do know is that all magic can be redirected and blocked by metal.”

  Not all magic, Hettie thought, remembering how Diablo had melted through manacles and blasted its way out of solid iron boxes. She didn’t correct Raúl, though.

  Raúl glanced over at Abby, who was poking at the anthill. “She should not do that.”

  “Abby.” Hettie drew her sister away. The ants had swarmed together, surging into a large pile as if they’d attack their foe as one. “Don’t touch the wildlife. Remember the snakes?”

  “They couldn’t help it. They’re born that way.”

  “Maybe so, but you don’t need to aggravate them.” She handed her a blank sheet of paper and a piece of charcoal. “Here. Draw me something.”

  Abby laid the sheet on the ground and applied herself fervently. Her eyes went blank, which Hettie did not like, but at least she would be occupied for a while.

  She looked up to find Raúl watching them. “She hasn’t been trained at all?”

  “No.” Not that she was about to get into Abby’s time with Zavi. Who knew what horrific Kukulos blood spells she’d learned from him?

  “That can be dangerous, you know. Without training, unchecked power can wreak havoc.”

  Hettie knew that all too well, but didn’t respond. “How much longer are we going to stay out here?”

  “I want to go to one more location before we head back.”

  They traveled to a spot near a river bordered by hearty scrub and tough grass that grew in thick clumps all around them. The horses drank deeply, and Raúl filled their canteens. Hettie kept one eye on Abby, afraid she’d wander off and dunk herself into the water, but she was engrossed by the paper and charcoal, filling up every corner of the sheet on both sides with scrawls and scribbles while she hummed to herself.

  The shadows of the hills lengthened as the hour grew late. Hettie began to worry. They were a good two-hour ride from the village, and she didn’t want to be stuck out here overnight.

  Finally Raúl finished. Hettie handed him the notebook and stretched, her neck popping. The work wasn’t exactly enthralling, and she didn’t look forward to doing this again.

  As they were packing up, Raúl paused, staring into the distance. “Wait.”

  “What…?”

  “Quiet.” He held out a hand. The horses shook their manes and danced restlessly. Abby suddenly looked up and whimpered.

  Hettie’s skin buzzed. Something wasn’t right—her hands grew slick with sweat as a low rumbling noise like the thunder of hooves shook the air.

  “Mount up. Mount up!” Raúl urged them into Blackie’s saddle. The stallion took off the moment Hettie grabbed his reins. He dodged left and right, weaving through the vegetation to clearer, more even ground. She could hear Raúl right behind them.

  And then came the roar.

  It was like nothing Hettie had ever heard—an inhuman squeal, like a pig being devoured by a mountain lion. Abby cowered, bending lower on the saddle.

  Diablo appeared in Hettie’s grip as she glanced over her shoulder. She wished she hadn’t.

  Less than a hundred yards and gaining behind Raúl was a creature the size of a buffalo, loping on long, muscular limbs. Its claws raked the earth, leaving a chewed-up trail and scattering a plume of dust behind it. Its gray-brown fur was long and shaggy, draping from a long neck that ended on a sloped head bristling with short, sharp teeth. The furled horns on its crown were like a bighorn’s but ended with points in the front dangling just below its ears. It reminded her of the old wood block prints of the devil she’d seen in some more gruesomely illustrated Bibles, only this creature was bounding across the desert on all fours.

  Raúl rode hard, fumbling for something in his saddlebag. “Keep going!” he shouted, brandishing a short, fat baton. He wheeled his horse around, and it shied and panicked at the sight of the beast barreling toward them.

  Hettie knew she should do as he said. Abby was with her, and she couldn’t let any harm come to her sister. But considering the monster’s speed, she knew they’d never outrun it. She couldn’t put Abby at risk, and she couldn’t leave Walker’s brother to face the monster alone.

  There was only one way to ensure Abby could get away. Hettie slowed the stallion. “Abby, stay on Blackie and ride back to the village as fast as possible.” She slid off. Blackie was fast, but he’d be faster without her weight. “Go, Blackie, go!”

  The stallion bolted, and Abby clung to the saddle, wailing. Hettie ignored the pang inside her as she faced the creature. Blackie was smart. He would take care of Abby.

  She crouched low, the Devil’s Revolver at the ready as Raúl steadied his horse. The monster had pulled up short, surprised at his prey’s boldness. The sorcerer waved the baton in front of him like the wands the sorcerers from the days of kings and knights once used, speaking an incantation, his voice sonorous and lulling. Beneath him, the horse thrashed, its eyes huge.

  She was so enthralled by the sight, she barely noticed the rattler curled up not three feet away. It ga
ve a shake of its tail, alerting Hettie only a second before it struck.

  Time was instantly suspended in syrup, and Hettie watched in morbid fascination as the snake uncoiled into one long rope of muscle, its jaws unhinged, its fangs dripping venom. With a fluid motion, she sidestepped the lunging snake, raised her sidearm, and fired. A burst of green fire reduced the snake to a stain on the ground.

  Her time bubble popped, and the monster turned and looked at her.

  Its black regard was hungry and angry all at once, and it prickled all over her body as if a dark flame had brushed against her skin. The creature snuffled and gave a low, throaty growl. Raúl frantically waved the wand, but it did no good. The monster stalked toward Hettie.

  “Hettie!” Raúl wheeled his horse and chased after the beast as it burst into motion. Its long, powerful strides ate up the ground, the hard-packed earth crunching audibly as its claws churned it up.

  Hettie stood frozen, trapped in the creature’s demonic glare. She whipped Diablo up, but her hand trembled. With effort, she squeezed the trigger.

  The green blast of energy plowed into the monster’s face. It howled as its neck snapped back, clawing at its eyes. But that was it.

  Hettie had seen the Devil’s Revolver blow a hole clean through a man and take off his horse’s head with one shot. It’d killed three men, melted rock, wiped countless lives off the face of the earth. But all it had done to the monster was annoy it.

  “Hettie, shut your eyes!” Raúl began an incantation. The sound of his voice reverberated through her bones, and the air trembled. She fired at the monster again, but it did no good.

  “Shut your eyes! Shut them now!” The desperation in Raúl’s plea made Hettie close her eyes. If this was the end, maybe it was best she not see it coming.

  A bright, hot flash scorched her face. The monster screamed, its fetid breath brushing Hettie’s cheeks. She cowered back but didn’t dare open her eyes. The light was unbearable, searing through her eyelids and burning her skin. She collapsed onto the ground and covered her head, trying to escape the worst of the burning.

  She smelled sulfur, and then it was over.

  Hettie pried her eyelids open, blinking back the afterimages. A dark shadow blotted out the center of her vision.

  “I thought I told you to run.” She sensed Raúl next to her, and he placed a rough palm under her arm. “Where is your horse? Your sister?”

  “He’ll take her back to the village. He’ll—” She paused at the sound of hoofbeats and broke into a sweat. “What is that? Is it another one of those things? I can’t see.”

  “It’s your sister. She has come back.” She could sense his frustration. He added, “Your vision will return soon. The spell I used was quite powerful.”

  “That was a chupacabra, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He sounded troubled.

  “Is it dead?”

  “Not exactly. I sent it away.”

  As long as it wasn’t coming after her. The edges of her vision were clearing, but the creature’s silhouette remained squarely in her line of sight. She summoned Diablo to feel its reassuring weight and wondered if it was broken. What could possibly cause a demon-possessed mage gun to misfire?

  She heard more than saw Abby pull up on Blackie. The horse was breathing heavily, and he gave an indignant whinny.

  “Are you okay, Hettie?” Abby asked fretfully.

  “I’m fine, I just can’t see right now. I thought I told you to head for the village.” She glared at the stallion.

  “Don’t blame Blackie. I made him come back.”

  Made him? Abby couldn’t command a horse as big and stubborn as Blackie. Not by usual means …

  “You okay, boy?” She held out a hand. Blackie snapped his teeth and pushed her hand away with an angry snort. Oh, yes, Abby had done something to him all right, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  “We should leave,” Raúl urged. “There may be more chupacabra nearby.”

  Blackie’s foul mood did not impede his pace. They rode hard. Less than five miles from Villa del Punta, a group of armed riders from the village led by Walker and Uncle met them. Hettie’s vision had cleared some, but the shadow lingered behind her eyelids. Walker pulled up alongside Blackie. “Jeremiah sensed Diablo go off. What happened?”

  “We were attacked by a chupacabra,” Raúl answered tightly. The posse murmured, and the sorcerer reassured them. “We’re fine. I dealt with it.”

  “Dealt with it how?” Walker demanded.

  “Hettie distracted the creature and gave me enough time and opportunity to cast a banishment spell.”

  “Banishment spell?” Uncle shifted. “I’ve never heard of that one.”

  “It’s a kind of transportation spell. Something of my own devising,” Raúl explained.

  “Why not just kill the thing outright?”

  “When they die, they release a scent that attracts others of their kind. Anyone caught with that scent on them is hunted and killed.”

  Hettie swallowed thickly. Maybe it was a good thing Diablo hadn’t worked after all.

  “I thought you said they only attacked at night.” Walker sounded angry, his words growled through a clenched jaw.

  “I said we’ve only known them to attack at night. You can’t expect me to know everything about these creatures,” Raúl snapped back.

  A beat of silence hung in the air. Hettie imagined the brothers were staring each other down. “Are you all right?” Walker asked her quietly a moment later.

  She’d been blinking and squinting past the blob in her field of vision, and could only imagine what she must look like. “My eyes are just dazzled.”

  Walker’s fingers brushed against her forehead, sending tingles over her shoulders. “Let me help you—”

  “You two can play doctor when we get back to the village,” Jeremiah interrupted, swinging Jezebel around. “We’re too exposed out here.”

  They rode back to the village at a less urgent pace, but everyone’s guard was up. As soon as they’d passed the gates at Villa del Punta, a bevy of stable boys ran out and took the horses. Hettie and Abby slid off Blackie’s saddle, but when she tried to pat him, he shied and stalked off, half dragging his attendant behind him in his furious haste to get back to his corral.

  “He’s mad at me.” Abby sighed. “I made him turn around.”

  Hettie bit the inside of her cheek to keep her alarm from showing. “I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”

  Abby only shook her head.

  “So what are these chupacabras, anyway?” Uncle asked Raúl at supper. He filled his wine goblet to the brim. “I’d always thought they were just stories of magical summonings gone wrong or demon familiars gone feral.”

  “The legends say demons crawled out of hell from cracks in the earth, drawn to our domain by wickedness and sin. But you are correct, Mr. Bassett. I think it is more likely these demons were summoned by sorcerers and put into a corporeal animal’s body.”

  “Just like Diablo,” Hettie mused aloud. “But why?”

  “Demon familiars were once status symbols among the witches and warlocks of old. A sorcerer today might have made a chupacabra to serve them. It’s also possible these monsters are the offspring of escaped familiars who’ve mated with local wildlife.”

  “Like a wolf and a dog,” Walker brooded.

  Raúl nodded. “For all we know, the chupacabra could be generations old with a long and varied lineage. The first one was spotted around a small village south of the capital about two years ago after it had decimated some livestock. A few weeks later, a man was attacked on the road. His description of the monster was his last testament.”

  “And now these things are everywhere?”

  “The government has made no effort to do anything about them,” Raúl said grimly. “They think it is a peasant problem only. I th
ink they are quite happy to let the monsters savage the small villages. They care nothing about the people.” Anger vibrated beneath the sorcerer’s words like a catgut violin string in a storm, emanating a piercing note that warbled above the din. Hettie glanced at Walker and Uncle, but neither of them seemed to have noticed the man’s tempered fury.

  Later that evening Hettie joined Jeremiah and Walker outside on the veranda where they smoked cigarettes. The blush of the rose sky was darkening to mauve. The smell of cooking fires laden with spices scented the air. She hated to break the peace of the coming night, but she had to tell them about Diablo’s ineffectiveness against the chupacabra.

  Jeremiah shifted uneasily as she concluded her report. “Diablo should work on any creature.”

  “It didn’t work on Zavi,” she pointed out. The revolver’s fatal blast had been about as effective on the Kukulos warlock as water droplets on a horse’s hide.

  “Maybe whoever is summoning them has spelled them, made them immune,” Walker said. “But who could possibly do that?”

  “More importantly,” Jeremiah murmured, “why?”

  Walker set his jaw. “If the government isn’t doing anything about them, I’d give them a long, hard look. For years, the local governors have been forcing people off the land and selling the rights to the railroad companies or to ranchers, and the government’s been trying for as long as I can remember to get access to the magical node here. Could be they’re throwing these creatures our way, seeing if we’ll up and leave.”

  Jeremiah leaned back in his chair, staring up at the darkening sky and the first bright star in the heavens. “We need to be careful. We can’t get involved in local politics. Last thing we need is the Mexican government after us, too.”