The Devil's Standoff

by V. S. McGrath

  “Which is exactly why I should be here.” She challenged him with a look. Walker’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t argue.

  Chico climbed the ladder against the gate and pulled out a spyglass. After a long moment he gestured with his fist, flashing his fingers.

  “Only twelve people,” Walker translated quietly. “That doesn’t match the group that left the village. But if it were an attack force, why so few people?”

  “A diversion, perhaps.” Raúl’s voice buzzed close to Hettie’s ear like a fly. She wanted to swat it away—she hated magic that was so intrusive. “Keep your eyes open.”

  Chico made a low bird call, the warble vibrating with a spell of some kind. A return call parroted the whistles, reverberating through the village—another amplification spell. Chico climbed down from the wall.

  “That’s Guillermo’s signal,” the gatekeeper confirmed.

  “It could still be a trap. I want one more confirmation,” Raúl insisted.

  Chico took something out of his pocket, cupped his hands, and spoke a sharp word into them. His palms glowed with a hot, bright red spark. Winding his arm, he pitched the ball of fire high over the wall. It soared and then jerked sharply up and zipped left and right, zigzagging across the sky before fizzling.

  The rocket was answered by a series of three sparkling green flares.

  “It’s them.” Chico gave a signal, and the men moved quickly to unlock the gate and remove the makeshift barricade.

  The gate was thrown wide open for the grim and weary travelers. Families and loved ones embraced, but the smiles were taut and full of regrets. Something wasn’t right. Walker searched their ranks, his expression tightening. “My mother … where’s Beatrice Woodroffe?”

  “Walker?” A man in a broad-brimmed straw hat stared at him. “You are back after all this time?”

  “Where is my mother?” he asked again, frantic.

  “They … they took her. The federales … they followed us out of town, waited until we’d set up camp for the night … They arrested your mother and the others. They took everything.”

  Walker’s silhouette seemed to grow, as if rage inflated the shadows around him. “Where did they take them?” His voice was like the roar of a furnace.

  “A military garrison outside of the city. They took mainly women.”

  Walker swung around and strode toward the stables. Hettie followed him.

  “They have your mother?”

  “Seems like.” She didn’t think two words could be so full of steel and heat.

  Hettie dogged his steps, sensing his fury building like the thunder of an oncoming locomotive. “You’re going after them?”

  “Yup.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  His voice hardened. “Depends on what state my mother and the others are in when I get there.”

  Raúl ran toward him, panting, the lines around his mouth deep, his fists clenched. “They have Julia.”

  Walker paused, cursed. Whatever steam he’d been gathering, it’d been momentarily released in the face of reason. “I’ll round up a posse. If we ride hard, we can get there before midnight and raid the camp.”

  “I will go with you,” Raúl said.

  Hettie hitched up her pants. “Me too.”

  “No.” Walker halted. “You can’t leave Abby here alone.”

  “This is not your business,” Raúl agreed. “And this is no task for a young woman. Besides, it’s getting dark.”

  She shot him a look of exasperation. “You think I’m afraid of the dark?”

  Walker waved his brother off and huffed. “It’s not that I wouldn’t appreciate you and Diablo covering me, but this is going to be dangerous, and I can’t risk losing you.” A pained look crossed his face. He hastily added, “Besides, JB would have my hide if you came with me.”

  She was about to tell him Uncle wouldn’t care one whit about what she did, but then he squeezed her shoulder. “Stay here. Watch over your sister.”

  A strange sensation trickled through her at his touch. She released a breath. He was right, of course. Abby needed her. She couldn’t afford to go rushing headlong into trouble. Uncle had told her not to get involved. And besides, what did she owe these people?

  How about the roof over your head, the clothes on your back, and the food in your stomach?

  She pushed those thoughts aside. She had to think of Abby first.

  In due course about twenty men on restless ponies gathered in the main courtyard, each armed with a rifle and at least one sidearm. Hettie watched from her bedroom window as Raúl and Walker argued. Then Walker raised his hands and spoke an incantation out loud. The air shimmered; the hairs on Hettie’s arms rose, then settled, and a heaviness draped across her, almost as if someone had settled a mantle of leather armor upon her. The bounty hunter climbed onto his horse and wheeled it around as Raúl mounted.

  The brothers both looked up at the same time, and Hettie’s heart lurched. Raúl acknowledged her with a nod, but his expression telegraphed a clear warning—do not follow. She felt it almost as clearly as if he’d laid a hand on her shoulder. Then she looked to Walker, his eyes clear, his face full of conviction.

  Good-bye.

  They took off at a gallop, a cloud of dust trailing them into the dark. Only when she couldn’t see them anymore did she leave the window.

  Hettie went to feed Abby and tuck her in. Her sister only took a little blood before yawning and slipping under the covers. As Hettie kissed her sister’s forehead, Abby sleepily said, “You’re going to follow them, aren’t you?”

  The guilt that was already gnawing on her took a bite out of her heart. “I’ll stay if you tell me to.”

  “No. You have to go. Walker will die if you don’t.”

  Hettie’s scalp prickled. Abby spouted nonsense all the time, but she was also in possession of powers Hettie didn’t fully understand or underestimate. She squeezed her hand. “Walker won’t die if I’m not there.”

  Abby turned over. “S’okay. Use the fire to heal.” And then she was asleep.

  That was all the sanction or explanation she would get from her sister. Her chest tightened as she realized she was about to break her promise to stay with Abby and watch her. But there was nothing for it.

  She put on a dark serape and jammed a hat on her head.

  Walker and the posse had a two-hour head start. She bet Blackie would catch up to them in one.

  The wind stung Hettie’s eyes as she clung to Blackie’s saddle. His muscles bunched and rippled beneath her as he flowed over the earth like a fast-running river. Her exhilaration was only dampened by the urgency and danger of their errand.

  The moon lit the trail of dust kicked up by the riders before her. She could see for leagues around, but that was no guarantee of her safety—she remembered how quickly the chupacabra had overtaken them. Though Diablo hadn’t worked on the beast, she’d since thought of other ways to use it. She didn’t relish facing the monster again, but she would be ready next time.

  Blackie’s unrelenting pace didn’t falter once. Before she knew it she’d caught up with the posse, the thunder of their hooves rolling across the desert.

  Walker rode at the head with Raúl, looking like death himself with his black duster flapping behind him, his face set in a grimace. Raúl’s vestments flashed white beneath his serape—not the most inconspicuous of clothing. He looked like a phantom chasing after his brother.

  Blackie overtook the herd of ponies effortlessly. Men shouted as he and Hettie hurtled to the head of the posse.

  Walker turned his head. The look of surprise turned to anger as Hettie smirked.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

  “I had to come. I have to help.”

  “I thought I told you—”

  “Too late to
scold me now. Are we there yet?”

  “I can’t believe you left Abby on her own.”

  “She was the one who told me to come. She said if I didn’t—” Hettie cut off her words abruptly. She didn’t want Walker to think she’d come just for him. “She’ll be fine, anyhow.”

  His face darkened. “I should tie you up and drag you back.”

  “Save your frustrations for the enemy, brother.” Raúl signaled the men, and their progress slowed to a canter. A wave of the sorcerer’s hand and the dust trail flattened out. “We need to be cautious from here on in. The federales will have lookouts.”

  They slowed to a trot as the land rose slightly. In the distance, a faint light from the army encampment burnished the sky.

  The scout Raúl sent ahead returned and met them in the shadow of a hill. He reminded Hettie of her friend Will Samson in Newhaven, a soft-skinned youth trying desperately to look older with a thin moustache and a silky tuft of hair on his chin. His expression was grim as he gave his report, the slightest tremor in his soft voice. He drew a detailed map in the dirt and marked Xes on it where soldiers stood guard. The scout said something else, and Raúl hissed an oath. “Juan says there is a general of some kind visiting with the garrison. A powerful sorcerer.”

  “Who?” Walker asked.

  Juan shook his head, and Raúl translated, “He doesn’t know. He only recognized the increased military presence and heard some of the soldiers talking.”

  Walker growled. “Dammit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Hettie asked.

  “Any spell we cast will be detected by a sorcerer with good training. We were relying on sneaking in under a hide spell and getting our people out.”

  “Guess we’ll need to take a less direct route.” Hettie studied the map and thought hard. “Walker, do you think your fire illusion will work?”

  “On this group? Not for long. The general will see through the spell quickly. I can actually set the tents on fire, of course, but without knowing where our people are, I wouldn’t risk it.”

  “Besides which, I imagine the tents are magicked against such spells,” Raúl added.

  Hettie pointed at the map. “What is this?” She indicated a block drawn in the sand.

  Juan replied, “It is a pen where they keep livestock.”

  “How many of the men here have magic?”

  Raúl gestured. “Five of us, Walker and I included. But they are not as powerful as either of us.”

  “Where do the officers sleep?” she asked. Juan showed her. “And the horses?” He pointed.

  “Hettie, what are you getting at?” Walker asked.

  She stared long and hard at the map, thinking of all the ways this could end, most of them in bloodshed unless she did something about that. There were too few of them to do any real damage, but too many of them to all go in together for a proper raid and rescue. There was only one thing she could think to do. “I have an idea.”

  “I don’t like this plan,” Walker said as he tightened the ropes around Hettie’s wrists.

  “I didn’t hear any other ideas.” Hettie grimaced over her shoulder. “You saw the way Juan was shaking. The others are scared witless, and the last thing you want to do is let them stew in fear while we come up with too many plans that’ll all fail.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Look at it this way: if we all get killed, they can blame it on me.”

  “Small comfort,” he grumbled. He adjusted the ropes as the others got into position. Walker clutched her fingers and drew closer. “Are you sure about this?”

  She closed her eyes and breathed deep. If something happened to either of them, Abby would be alone and without a protector. “Just stick to the plan and we’ll be fine.”

  “Are you two ready?” Raúl asked, his amplified whisper close to their ears. He was observing from a high vantage point, relaying all the movement within the camp and staying connected to the other men who’d been ordered to take out the guards stationed around the perimeter.

  “Just about. What do you see?”

  A pause. “The officers are drinking in the command tent. They seem to be in a good mood.”

  “They won’t be for long.” Walker draped her over Blackie’s rump behind the saddle, then mounted. The stallion shifted uneasily.

  “Easy, Blackie. It’ll be okay. Don’t kick him,” she told Walker. “He doesn’t like that.”

  “He doesn’t like much in the way of handling, does he?” Walker wrestled with the obstinate stallion. The horse shook his head and chuffed, shuffling and prancing as he resisted Walker’s control.

  “Stop fighting, you two. You’re going to make me sick back here. Walker, just let go of the reins. Blackie knows where to go.”

  Gradually the horse relaxed. Walker placed a steadying hand on her back as they started forward. Blackie walked slowly, careful not to jounce her.

  “We’re going ahead,” the bounty hunter said softly. “Once we enter the camp, keep chatter to a minimum.” His directive was aimed at Raúl and the others.

  They made their way toward the garrison. Walker murmured the glamor spell that would shield his identity from the mundanes and less-talented sorcerers they might encounter. It was risky: if they met the general, the higher-caliber sorcerer would likely see through his abilities. But they didn’t have many options.

  At the perimeter of the army encampment, two soldiers emerged from the darkness, shouting in Spanish, weapons raised and pointed at the intruder. Walker calmly raised his hands. The men dragged Hettie off Blackie, and she landed in the dirt with a thump.

  One of the men grabbed her chin roughly and inspected her face. He said something to the other man, and they prodded their firearms into Walker’s back. He smiled obligingly and said something snide. Hettie hadn’t learned much more of the language since her arrival, but she knew a crude joke when she heard one.

  The men exchanged looks and snickered. They didn’t push him again. Walker gradually put his hands down as they escorted them deeper into the camp.

  The garrison was nothing like the border guard’s camp. The rows of canvas tents were neat and straight, the thoroughfares kept clear of debris. It was late, and most of the camp was asleep, but those on duty were alert, their uniforms pristine. Perhaps the visiting general’s presence had everyone on their toes.

  Walker was led away while Hettie was steered in the opposite direction. The soldier stopped at the fourth tent from the aisle, batted the flap aside, and shoved her forward. “You stay here,” the soldier said gruffly. He left her with the ropes still tied around her wrists.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lamplight. An older white woman with silvery-blond hair and lines radiating across a sun-darkened but otherwise young-looking face rose from the lone pallet on the ground. Her hard, ice-blue eyes widened in surprise.

  Hettie looked around the otherwise empty tent and bit her lip. The plan had hinged upon her being placed with the other prisoners from Villa del Punta. Where were they?

  “Who are you?” The woman had the barest accent, southern, maybe, though the inflection sounded almost English.

  “My name’s Hettie Alabama.” She glanced around. “Are you a prisoner here?”

  “I’d ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m assuming so if this tent is guarded.” She didn’t want to play guessing games with the stranger. Whoever she was, Hettie needed to find the captured villagers.

  The older woman crossed her arms. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but we’re in the middle of an army camp. There’s no need for guards—we’re totally surrounded. Besides, where would we go?”

  Hettie wriggled her wrists, trying to slip the ropes off. “Help me out here?”

  The woman hesitated, and Hettie said impatiently, “Listen, I have no reason to harm you. I’m not a plant with the army, if that’s what y
ou’re worried about. And if you’re a sorcerer, you’ll know I don’t have any magic on me.” She’d left Diablo with Raúl under a rock in case she was searched.

  “I’m not gifted. I’m a healer.”

  Healer? Hettie studied her ice-blue eyes and strong chin and realized who she was speaking to. “You’re Beatrice Woodroffe.”

  “How did you—?”

  “I’m here with Walker and some of the other villagers from Villa del Punta. We’re here to rescue you.”

  “Walker’s here?” Tears rushed into the woman’s all-too-familiar eyes.

  “Where are the other villagers?” she asked as Beatrice quickly untied the ropes.

  “I don’t know. They split us up when they brought us here.”

  Hettie swore. She hadn’t counted on that. “Raúl, did you hear that?” She waited but received no response. “Raúl?”

  “The tent is magicked,” Beatrice explained. “Spells won’t penetrate it, and no one can go in or out without one of the amulets that give the soldiers access.”

  Hettie reached for the tent flap, and an invisible wall like the one around the village buffeted her backward. She ran her fingertips along the edge of the power barrier, feeling the bubble of magic crackle across her skin.

  She summoned Diablo without issue. Beatrice flinched when she brandished the weapon, and her face paled. “Is that…?”

  “It’s a long story. I need you to tell me all you can about the camp and where you think they’re keeping the others.”

  “I didn’t see much. They separated me from the others early on. I thought maybe they wanted me for my healing abilities, but it’s possible they know I’m Javier Punta’s wife. They haven’t … done anything to me yet.”

  Hettie’s fingers tightened over Diablo, and the revolver rumbled in her grip. “Why’d they take you?”

  “The government thinks my husband is some kind of antigovernment religious zealot. They spout nonsense and say they want to free us from his tyranny, make us leave the village. All they really want is the land Villa del Punta sits on.” She crossed her arms. “I thought maybe they’d put you in here to try to convince me.”