Hettie grimaced as the horse staggered away. A quick look at the leavings indicated no permanent damage, thank goodness. She spotted the bezoar and gingerly fished it out of the steaming pile.
“You saved her.” The man took off his straw hat, wonder on his lined face. She hopped the fence and handed him the bezoar.
“You’ll want to look into how she’s being fed. Spread her food out more, and make sure she’s not bolting it down. Give her more water, too.”
He made a noise in disgust. “I will have to whip the boys. They are too scared of Las Furias to do their job correctly. They don’t seem to mind you, though.” He assessed her with hazel eyes flecked with blue, his posture shifting as he nodded. “You are very knowledgeable of horses?”
“Pa and I used to break wild mustangs for market.”
He nodded. “He taught you well. Only a demon charmer could get Alecto to lie still the way you did.”
Her palm tingled; for some reason, she suddenly pictured Diablo laughing at her.
“My name is Marco. I am the stable master.”
“Hettie Alabama,” she introduced herself.
“You have a way with Las Furias—perhaps you could break these horses where we could not. We have tried for weeks, but they will not even allow themselves to be separated.”
“Could be they won’t be broken. Might be better off if you let them go.”
“Raúl has ordered us to keep them. They are the last of a herd who used to graze in the area. The herd has since moved on. We think they might be naturally magicked.”
That was a rare find. Naturally magicked wild horses were more spirited and intelligent and supposedly healthier from living in places where magic was strong. Herds didn’t often stay in one place long enough for that magic to take hold, though. She could understand why Raúl would want to keep the mares.
“I’m surprised you’re asking, considering you turned me and my sister down for a job before.” It was petty, but she had a hard time forgiving folks their prejudices. She hated hypocrisy.
“A mistake, clearly. I was not keen to have El Diablo’s servant among my hands.”
“Me, a servant? It’s the other way around.”
“Perhaps.” He grimaced. “If you will accept my apology, I would welcome you now.”
It was on the tip of Hettie’s tongue to throw the offer back in his face, but this was the first time someone from the village other than Walker or Raúl had reached out. And she’d much rather work in the stables taming three excellent mares than in Raúl’s stuffy workshop transcribing numbers. There was one important consideration, though. “What about my sister? I can’t leave her alone. She tends to wander.”
Marco frowned, glancing at Abby, who studied a fencepost intently. “I am not sure you want her around the stables, then. She could be hurt if she goes near the wrong animals.”
Not to mention who else she might hurt if she lost control of her powers. Marco seemed aware of this without actually mentioning it. He eyed her sister as if she were a cougar lying in the sun—as harmless now as any barn cat.
“I’ll think about it.” In her heart, though, she knew she’d have to say no. She couldn’t leave Abby alone. Not even with Raúl, despite his best intentions. His interest in her abilities made Hettie uncomfortable.
She simply could not trust Abby’s care to anyone else.
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 pad
dock. “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 mana
ged 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.”
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