The Devil's Standoff

by V. S. McGrath

  Ling didn’t appreciate having his oversight pointed out to him. “Her behavior was … consistent with other symptoms.”

  “You thought she was simple,” Jeremiah concluded. “Like some kind of idiot.”

  Ling growled. “Have a care for your words, Mr. Bassett. I respected the Alabamas. John and Grace treated me with decency and gave me food, shelter, and work when no one else in Newhaven would.”

  “I wouldn’t have, either, given the choice. I always knew there was something hinky about you, and not ’cuz yer a Celestial.” He took another swig from his flask. “Did you ever peg me as a Division man?”

  Ling pursed his lips. Yet another of his oversights thrown at him. “I didn’t make the connection for a long time. I thought you were a drunk living off John’s good graces.”

  Jeremiah scoffed. “You don’t live as long as I do without knowing how to evade the Division. Had you mentioned me, they would’ve come for me, John, and Diablo. But you didn’t know anything about that either, did you?”

  Ling frowned. The Division rarely shared information they didn’t think was pertinent to their agents’ missions. His first encounter with the legendary Devil’s Revolver had been when Hettie had bonded with the mage gun accidentally. He’d only learned its history after she’d fled Sonora station with Abby, and he was sure he still hadn’t heard the whole story. Some things just weren’t in his pay grade. “It wasn’t my primary concern.”

  “And what about now? You planning on taking Diablo from Hettie? Pretty neat package, ain’t it? Two sisters, two of the Division’s most wanted. Frankly, I’m surprised they only sent you to get them.”

  Ling raised his chin as much as the vines would allow. “I have my mission.”

  Bassett scoffed. “The perfect Division lackey. No questions, no initiative, no curiosity. Just get the job done, isn’t that right?” He shook his head, eyes growing wet. “You could’ve saved John and Grace. You could’ve saved Hettie. If you’d said the right thing to the right person instead being an inscrutable yellow bastard…”

  He trailed off, his voice raw, and he laughed bitterly again. “Tell me”—he leaned in, his breath reeking of whiskey—“does it eat away at you, knowing you could’ve saved them if you’d done something different?”

  Yet another choice he would never live down. But he’d resigned himself to that mistake a long time ago. “You of all people should understand the situation. I have my mission. I’m doing what’s best for Abigail. As long as her power goes unchecked, she’s a danger to herself and everyone around her.”

  Bassett blew out a cloud of fumes. “This isn’t a black-and-white choice, Tsang. It’s not ‘take her in or let her be.’ Just tell me how I can help her.”

  The desperation in the old man’s voice made the cracks in Ling’s conscience widen. Jeremiah regarded him narrowly. “What’s that look?”

  “I told you. No one has ever had a chance to study indigo powers … because every indigo child ever found has died before the age of thirteen.”

  Jeremiah’s glazed eyes hardened as he drank that in. “So that’s why the Division wants her so bad.” He stood and paced. “They want to study her before she buys the farm. Put her under a glass jar and poke her full of needles, cut her into pieces, burn and break her until she can’t take it no more—”

  “They won’t do that.” It sounded as if Ling were only trying to convince himself of it. “She has to be … sequestered for her own safety.”

  “Did you even go to the Academy? Do you have any idea what they do there to little kids? It was bad enough in my day, but now, the things I’ve seen—”

  “Bassett, you don’t understand. Abby is the Division’s worst nightmare. Everyone within a ten-mile radius of that little girl is in danger—Hettie, Walker … everyone.” The only thing that pushed Ling on in his mission were the images in the highly classified file he’d been shown to notify him of what was at stake. All he had to do was think of the photos of the abominations he’d glimpsed to remind himself that failure was not an option. “You wouldn’t be out here away from the girls if you hadn’t already seen something in her powers that disturbed you.”

  His words struck a chord. Bassett wiped a hand over his mouth as Ling went on. “I’m telling you, it only gets worse. She’ll get stronger. Abby’s powers could reshape the world and reality as we know it. If you don’t believe me, go to the asylum in Yuma.”

  Bassett backed up a step, eye twitching. “What’s in Yuma?”

  The sorcerer’s brief relapse gave Ling the opening he needed. He breathed deep and fed a thread of his Qi into the vines. The tendrils grew and grew, sprouting leaves and flowers that withered and died and were replaced.

  But life had its limits, and soon there was nothing left in the vine to keep growing. His bonds shriveled, becoming brittle. Jeremiah realized too late to fight with a counterspell.

  Ling burst out of the shell in an explosion of splinters.

  Jeremiah drew his gun and unloaded a path of bullets in Ling’s wake as he rolled over the lip of the roof.

  A canvas canopy broke his fall. He dropped through the tearing fabric and crashed into a covered cart before hitting the ground. He spared only a second to regain his breath before rolling to his feet and limping into the main street, where Bassett’s bullets might attract some attention.

  A block east Jeffe and Inigo turned a corner, frantic. They exclaimed and started toward him. The tails emerged from cross corners, melting into the shadows as Ling made each one of them.

  “Señor Tsang, we were looking all over for you,” Jeffe said with nervous relief. “Señor Stubbs said you’d disappeared. You should not have left on your own.”

  “I was attacked and dragged away by two men on the way to the outhouse.” He forced a little fear into his voice, hunched his shoulders and trembled. “I think they were looking for money, or maybe a ransom. They dragged me here and beat me.”

  Inigo exchanged glances with Jeffe. “The city can be quite dangerous, señor. There are many who do not like el Chinos. You must not go anywhere without an escort.”

  “You are right, of course.” Ling bowed his head, looking properly chastened. “I will not be so careless in the future.”

  He didn’t look behind him. He knew Bassett was watching him walk away from what should have been the scene of his demise. Bassett would not miss his chance a second time.

  Ling could only hope the old sorcerer would listen to him and go to Yuma.

  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.