“No can do,” he said between gritted teeth. “The visiting general is El Toro Cabello.”
As if that explained anything? Hettie grabbed his elbow and dragged him back. “Raúl and the others are waiting.”
“You don’t understand. El Toro killed Raúl’s mother and more than a dozen of the villagers.” His eyes burned bright. “This might be my only chance to get that despot.”
Hettie scowled. She could not afford to let Walker go on some vengeance-driven rampage and endanger all their lives. “I don’t care if it’s Judas himself. Our job here is done. So you come with me now or I follow you.”
He glared. She glared right back.
A group of soldiers appeared from around one corner, pistols in hand. Hettie threw herself against Walker. “Get down!”
They hit the dirt as Diablo roared into her fist, and Hettie barely had the sense to tell it not to kill anyone before her finger twitched over the trigger. A volley of green fire hurtled through the air and crashed to the ground like cannonballs, splashing great gouts of eerie green flame in front of their assailants.
Walker rolled over top of her, speaking an incantation. His palms glowed bright white, dazzling Hettie’s vision.
“Grab on to me!” Hettie wrapped her arms around his waist, face buried against his chest. He clapped his hands together.
Every bone in her body juddered hard. Her hearing deadened as a wave of pure force pounded through their surroundings within a fifty-yard radius, flattening the tents, splintering crates and boxes, and putting out Diablo’s green fire as effectively as a bucket of sand. The nearest soldiers lay splayed on the ground, silent, blood pouring from their ears.
Walker rolled off, panting hard. Hettie had to prop him up. She shook her head, trying to pop her ears. “Come on.” She pulled him to his feet.
They hobbled past dazed soldiers staring around the scene of magical destruction. Hettie whistled, and Blackie trotted into view, shaking his head as if he, too, were trying to regain his hearing. Hettie mounted in front of Walker, and he clung tight to her as they galloped away, leaving the army garrison in ruins.
Hettie and Walker were the last to arrive at the rendezvous point, a ring of hills a few miles from the garrison camp. The villagers were tending to their wounded by the light of a few dingy lanterns, looking tired and hunted. Two men had been shot, one in the leg, the other in the gut. Beatrice bent over the gut-shot man, furiously stanching the spurting wound.
“You made it.” Raúl’s statement was more surprised than relieved. His glazed eyes looked sunken, and he stood slightly bent, radiating exhaustion.
Walker slid off Blackie. “How did we do?”
He gestured tiredly. “We have injured. But we rescued all the villagers, and we have enough horses to get them back to Villa del Punta.”
“El Toro was the visiting general at the garrison.” Walker’s voice hardened. “I tried to go after him…” He trailed off.
Raúl clenched his fists and looked away. “He must be the one summoning the chupacabra. He is the only one strong enough.” He shook his head. “But that is not important right now. We must get our people home.”
“We can’t leave yet,” Beatrice said over her shoulder. “If we move Juan now he’ll die.”
Raúl’s features tightened. “The army will be looking for us. We must go.” He called out clipped orders. The villagers wavered, looking to Javier Punta’s wife for instructions.
She didn’t say anything at first. Then, seeming to sense the villagers’ hesitation, she said, “Go. I will be right behind you.”
As Raúl and the villagers mounted up, Hettie knelt by the healer. Juan, the young scout, lay pale-faced and trembling. Blood was smeared across Beatrice’s cheek as she pressed a fresh wad of cloth to the wound. Blood blossomed over his tunic. “How bad is it?”
She barely looked up. “The bullet is still inside him, but I can’t take it out in the dark like this. If we don’t stop the bleeding, he’ll die.”
“Can’t you do anything for him?”
“My craft is in herbs, and I don’t have anything that can help him. Not even needle and thread.”
Hettie bit her lip. Two-faced liar though he was, Ling had been an exceptional healer—his ether magic had allowed him to heal any injury with a touch. She’d taken his skills for granted. Walker might have been able to help, but he looked like he was barely able to stand. Raúl was in no better shape. Being away from the magical node at Villa del Punta must decrease his powers and stamina significantly.
Beatrice made a frustrated sound. “If I could just close the wound till we get back to the village…”
“What about fire? My pa once cauterized the wound on a cow who cut herself on barb wire. It kept her alive long enough for the vet to come stitch her up.”
“We don’t have time to build a fire hot enough. And if the army is looking for us, they’ll spot a fire for miles.”
No magic, no fire.
Use the fire to heal. Abby’s parting words suddenly echoed through her memory.
Hettie set her teeth and drew Diablo. Juan moaned at the sight of the mage gun.
Beatrice moved to shield her patient. “What are you—?”
“I’ll close the wound up.” Hettie knelt next to Juan.
“With … that?” Her eyes rounded.
“He’s not going to die.” She transmitted her conviction into Diablo. The gun resisted—it went against its nature to heal. Hettie switched the gun from her right hand to her left and directed it again. Save this man’s life. Use your fire. I know you can.
“If you fire Diablo, everyone will know where we are, including the chupacabra,” Walker warned.
“You have a better idea?” She lowered the muzzle to the wound.
Juan struggled, saying something rapidly—a prayer, maybe. Beatrice gripped his hand, and Walker knelt to hold the young man down by the shoulders.
Hettie closed her eyes as Diablo resisted, its growing weight dragging her down. It would be easier to put the young man out of his misery right now. It would be a clean, painless death. There was no guarantee they could save him even if they got him back to the village: he could still die a slow, agonizing death from infection.
He will live, she told the mage gun firmly, and pulled the trigger.
Her time bubble engulfed her, giving her the opportunity to guide the oozing green flame precisely along the edges of the wound. The infernal fire dripped like ichor, melting the skin and fusing the jagged flesh together.
Juan let forth a blood-curdling scream, spine arching. Walker and Beatrice half lay on him to pin him down. Hettie didn’t even realize she’d left the time bubble when the young man finally stopped screaming and lay still.
Beatrice carefully wiped the blood from the wound. The smell of hot ashes and seared flesh filled Hettie’s nostrils.
The healer pressed her fingers to his pulse point. “He’s still alive. Just passed out. You did it.”
Hettie sat back, relief swamping her as two men lifted Juan into a cart they’d liberated from the camp. Thank you, she thought at the mage gun. It didn’t reply. Walker watched her steadily, lips pursed.
Beatrice stood slowly. “Walker.”
The bounty hunter softened and embraced her, gathering the much smaller woman into his arms yet somehow still managing to bury his face against her neck like a little boy.
She held him at arm’s length, searching his face. “You’ve grown so much.” Her bloodied hands left stains over Walker’s haggard features. Tears stood in her eyes, mirrored by those in her son’s. “Everyone thought you were dead.”
Hettie felt as though she were intruding on a very private moment. But as she tried to step away to give them some privacy, she was nearly bowled over by a swirl of hair and skirts.
“Mi amor!” Julia threw herself at Walk
er. The young woman wrapped her arms around his neck and planted kisses all over his face, lingering on his stiff lips.
It was a long, hard ride back to Villa del Punta, made all the more difficult with the injured among them. As they rode through the open gates just past noon, they were met with cries of relief and cheers. Blackie chuffed as Hettie slid off his back. Every muscle was stiff and aching, and all she wanted to do was sleep.
“Hettie!” Abby rushed her and hugged her tight. Hettie smiled. Abby rarely showed her affection and worry, and she stroked her sister’s head.
“You been good while I was away?”
Her sister lifted a shoulder and said quietly, “I’m really hungry.”
Of course. Hettie hadn’t thought about how to take care of her sister’s need for blood, and she’d explicitly told her not to feed off anyone or anything else. “We’ll go up right now, and then I can rest.”
She handed Blackie’s reins to one of the stable boys, instructing him to give him a good rubdown. The boy nodded enthusiastically. She started toward the great house, but Walker stopped her. “Hettie. We need to talk.”
She sighed. “If you’re going to scold me for using Diablo, can it wait? I need a nap.”
He ground his jaw. “It’s not about that. I need to explain—”
“Leave the girl be, Walker.” Beatrice spoke to him as if he were a young boy pestering a stray cat. “She saved us all, including Juan. Whatever you need to talk about can wait. She’s earned her rest.” She smiled at Hettie. “Join us for dinner tonight, dear. And bring your sister.”
She didn’t want to intrude on their family reunion, but it was a command rather than a request, and she wasn’t about to say no to Walker’s mother. “Yes, ma’am.”
Hettie and Abby went up to their bedroom. Hettie locked the door and sat on her bed as she sliced opened her finger. Abby suckled hungrily, and as Hettie’s limbs grew heavy, she lay down.
“I need to close my eyes,” she said, or at least thought she said. Darkness closed in on her, and she found herself blissfully drifting.
She didn’t remember dreaming, but she felt as though she were someplace dark and close and deep down in the ground. Buried alive. Her lungs constricted and she gasped for air, thrashing beneath the crushing weight pressing around her from all sides.
A slim, pale hand reached out from the darkness and stroked her feather-shaped scar. A chill trickled down her spine, and she stilled as the long fingers trailed down her cheek and along her jawline in a sensual caress. Then the hand grabbed her throat.
Hettie jolted up in bed, Diablo in hand. Her arm trembled, blood dripping from her finger. She blinked hard as the spots cleared from her eyes. Abby cowered from the weapon pointed at her head.
“I’m sorry,” her sister whimpered. “I didn’t mean to … I was really hungry.”
The mage gun clattered to the floor. The tip of Hettie’s shaking finger was nearly pulped, the fingernail chewed to the quick. Teeth marks perforated the flesh past the first knuckle. She wrapped a handkerchief around her hand to hide the damage from her sister. “It’s okay. I’m fine,” she reassured Abby.
Of course, things weren’t fine—the revolver had risen to defend her because it had sensed her life was in danger. Abby had been drinking too much. Hettie would need to be careful about not falling asleep next time, and figure out a substitute soon.
As the sun slanted past the top edge of the town wall, Hettie and Abby made their way to the Woodroffe home. The simple one-story abode featured a large open cooking and eating area and two adjoining rooms Hettie assumed were bedrooms. The well-swept plank wood floors had been worn smooth by time and were adorned with colorful handwoven rugs. An assortment of horns, implements, and tools decorated the walls. It reminded her of the ranch—warm and homey.
People were already seated at the long table. In Javier Punta’s absence, Raúl sat at the head of the table with Walker to his left and Beatrice to his right. Julia glided from the kitchen area to the dining table, bringing platters of spiced roast meat, vegetables, and flatbreads. She looked none the worse for wear after her ordeal, glowing with happiness. She glanced up as Hettie and Abby entered, dark curls bouncing around her sweet face.
“Ah, here they are. Mis hermanas.” She set the tray down and ushered them into the house. “You are the guests of honor tonight. I have cooked a feast for you.”
“Always eager to show off her hosting skills,” Raúl remarked wryly. “Even when it is not her home.”
“And you are always eager to cut down any woman who would outshine you,” Julia quipped.
Beatrice sniggered. “She developed a mouth while you were away,” she said to Walker with a crooked smile. “Not the little mouse you used to know.”
“I can see that.”
Hettie couldn’t help but think about how that mouth had been planted over Walker’s lips earlier. She kept her own pinched shut.
“Julia pined for you for months after you left,” Raúl added, chuckling. “She watched for your return from the gantry every day.”
Julia sniffed. “You exaggerate. I was up there maybe one in every four days.”
“You cried for weeks.”
“I was twelve. I would have cried over a crushed flower.” She cast Walker a soft look. “But I am so very happy you have come home, Walker.” She leaned in and pecked his cheek.
Walker smiled tightly and glanced at Hettie. “You look terrible. Are you all right?”
No, I’m sick to my stomach. “Nothing a little food won’t cure.” She addressed Beatrice. “How is Juan?”
“Doing well. He was still unconscious when I removed the bullet and sewed him up. He’s in the infirmary now and will stay asleep until tomorrow. If you hadn’t cauterized that wound, he would never have survived.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Walker prompted. “I know a lot about that gun, but in none of the stories has anyone ever done what you did. How did you make Diablo close up that wound?”
She shrugged. “I just made it do what I needed it to do.”
“It’s possible that Hettie’s bond with El Diablo allows her to control it better than even Father could,” Raúl interjected, though he, too, looked perturbed. “There was no mention in any of his notes about the weapon having healing abilities. I will have to investigate further.”
Beatrice’s eyes darted to Hettie’s side and narrowed. “What happened to your hand?”
Hettie tucked her bandaged finger behind her self-consciously. “It’s Diablo. The trigger has a thorn on it.”
“The blood price.” The older woman grimaced as she unwrapped the bandage and inspected the wounds. “My God. What have you been doing to it? It looks like hamburger.” She brought out a bag of supplies and rebandaged Hettie’s finger. “I have a salve to keep it from getting infected. Come to me tomorrow and I’ll give you some. Now sit.” She pulled out the chair next to her. Hettie was about to get Abby a chair so she could sit next to her, but then Julia knelt in front of her sister.
“Hello, dear one. My name is Julia. What is yours?”
“Abby.” She sounded a little unsure.
“Abby. You are so pretty, and what a lovely dress.” She smiled wide. “I have some dresses at my home I have outgrown. I think they will suit you. I will get them for you tomorrow and we will be best friends, sí?”
Abby nodded tentatively. Julia took her hand and led her to a chair next to hers. Hettie grudgingly allowed herself to like Julia—not many people went out of their way for her sister’s benefit.
They feasted. The meals up to now had been sumptuous, but this was a true celebration, with spiced meats and fluffy flatbreads that rivaled Rosa’s. This reunion had been thirteen years overdue. Walker’s sun-baked features began to soften, smile lines cracking that granite visage. They toasted his return; they toasted the success of
his mission; they toasted the safe return of the villagers and the newcomers he’d brought to the table.
Hettie’s mind swam. The wine had been watered down, but she was not used to imbibing quite so much. Afraid she might blurt out something embarrassing, she stayed quiet and retreated into her own thoughts.
“It’s a shame Javier is not here to celebrate with us,” Beatrice said on a sigh. She glanced out the window as if he might be outside, looking in on the revelers. “But now that Walker’s home, I’m sure he’ll get better.”
Raúl looked as though he might correct her, then thought better of it.
“Walker has told us only a little of your adventures,” Julia said to Hettie. “Won’t you tell us more about how you came to be here?”
Hettie swallowed a lump in her throat and struggled to speak past thick lips smeared with grease. “Not much to tell.”
“Surely that’s not true? Walker said you faced bandits and worse to bring El Diablo home to Javier.”
“You will have a hard time getting the story out of her,” Raúl said. “Miss Alabama is even more tight-lipped than Walker.”
The bounty hunter interrupted. “I’m more interested in hearing about why the soldiers detained you.”
“Same reasons they always do,” Beatrice said, anger and exhaustion tingeing her words.
“Things have been getting worse for us outside of the village,” Raúl said. “The people trust us less and less as magic grows weaker everywhere else. Father’s name once commanded respect. Now Villa del Punta is seen as a greedy holdout.”
“Didn’t stop people from buying our wares, though,” Beatrice said. “They know the magic in our goods is still better than they can get anywhere else. Unfortunately, that’s how the soldiers knew who we were and ended up arresting us.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe they got everything.”
“Do not fear, Tía. We will go back when things have settled down. Perhaps in smaller groups so we are not recognized.”
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