The Devil's Standoff

by V. S. McGrath

“You are not the only person she has been impatient with.” He said it with a knowing half smile. “She shouted at me when I tried to help her with a spell. The more she learns, the more independence she shows.”

  Hettie pursed her lips. Abby had always been cared for by others. Now she was proving herself more capable than Hettie could have imagined.

  Was it the training? Was the magical node somehow affecting her indigo power and giving her better self-awareness? Or was it her increased blood feedings? A growing seed of disquiet sprouted inside her.

  She kept herself busy working with Las Furias. During those long days spent with the wild ponies, Hettie heard the stable hands whispering about Walker, saying they’d heard him screaming in the night, or how he’d smashed yet another piece of crockery or furniture. Poor Beatrice and Julia were kept cloistered with him to care for him, too. He was talked about as if he were an angry poltergeist haunting the Woodroffe home.

  Despite the villagers warming up to her and Abby, she wished she could talk to someone about her fears, about the growing sense of dread balling in her gut. On top of all that, she hadn’t had a single letter from Uncle. Chances were he’d gotten caught up “researching” in a saloon. She just hoped he hadn’t sold Lilith to pay for his drinks and debauchery.

  “Careful, Hettie,” Marco called, snapping her back to the present. “Tisi will run you over if she thinks she can get away with it.”

  “She won’t.” Tisiphone, the chestnut with the white star on her head, ran the perimeter of the corral on long lead lines. Hettie had given each of the mares time to get used to the bit and weighted saddles, and they were responding well to her gentle direction. She’d be able to mount them soon. “She knows I’d be cross with her.”

  “How can she know that if you’ve never beaten her?”

  “She doesn’t need to be beaten to know she’s done wrong.” She raised her head and gave Tisi a challenging look. “We never had to whip any of the horses we broke on our ranch.”

  Marco tipped up his hat. “If I had not seen you work with Las Furias, I’d say you were … what is that American saying? Pulling my tail?”

  She smirked. “My pa never raised a hand to an animal that was only following its instincts.”

  “Including your Jezebel, I take it. She has quite a temper. She’s bitten three of my boys and kicked two.”

  Hettie chuckled. “She was Pa’s horse. I suppose she was looking forward to a nice retirement eating grass back in Montana…” Her eyes misted. Though she couldn’t feel for her parents, she still thought of the ranch, of her family’s graves on the hill and the places she’d never get to visit again. She missed the simplicity of her old life, her friends and family and good, honest work.

  That night Hettie dreamed of Paul. Her brother held her hand beneath the tree on the hill where he and their parents were buried.

  “Don’t let go,” he said, and squeezed hard. Hettie gasped as her bones were crushed in his grip. She tried to shake him loose, but he only dug his nails in. The hiss of a snake near her ear had her bristling. And then he whispered, “Free yourself.”

  She woke up sweating, Diablo clutched in her palm. When she couldn’t go back to sleep, she got up and tiptoed through the great house to Javier’s room. He didn’t sleep well at night and appreciated her visits. His stories brought Hettie a measure of comfort and solace, too.

  “I am beginning to think you are in love with me.” Punta grinned as she closed the door quietly behind her. “While flattered, I am devoted to Beatrice.”

  “How is she?” Hettie hadn’t seen the healer since the day Javier had awoken.

  “She visits when she can. She is still looking after Walker.” He sighed. “I knew it was a risk to lend him my power. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t come home—I did not wish to witness the withdrawal I put him through. Of course I am glad he came home. I’ve missed him dearly, and not just for the bit of magic I lent him.”

  If what Walker could do represented only a bit of Javier’s power, the sorcerer was more powerful than Hettie had imagined. “Why did you pick Walker over Raúl to find Diablo?” she asked. Walker had given her his theories, and Raúl never talked about it, but she wanted to hear it straight from the man himself.

  He paused. “Raúl was better trained, but … Walker needed the encouragement. He had nothing and everything to prove to the world. I wanted to give him a chance to do that for himself.” Javier pursed his lips. “I suppose you have noticed the friction between my sons.”

  “Walker seems to think Raúl’s going to be mad at him till the end of days because you sent him off instead of Raúl. And … he’s not the man I know around his brother.” The bounty hunter almost seemed to shrink around Raúl.

  “Walker never really felt like he fit in, even after I married his mother. He was perhaps eight or so when he arrived. Raúl was in his early teens and had lost his mother only a few months before. I think he saw Walker’s arrival as a challenge to his own place in the village, though I tried very hard to love both boys.”

  “What about Walker’s father?” she asked.

  “That is not my story to tell.” He folded the edge of his blanket carefully. “And I would not share it unless you two were more … intimate.”

  Hettie’s cheeks flushed. “We’re not.”

  Javier chuckled. “If you are not interested in Walker, Raúl is certainly available.”

  She pulled a face, and Javier laughed out loud.

  “I understand. My son has his charms, but he can be … intense. He gets it from his mother, God rest her soul.”

  “I talked to him about how he’s been … controlling you.” She bit her lip. She’d put off this discussion because the more she’d thought about it, the more she sympathized with Raúl’s need to preserve not just the town’s safety but his father’s life. She didn’t cozy to imprisoning the elderly sorcerer, of course.

  Javier seemed to read her mind. He lay back. “Do not let it trouble you. This is a matter between sons and fathers. I did not mean to draw you into this private affair.”

  But it wasn’t private. Javier’s life force sustained the village and the way of life here. She had the feeling that given the choice Raúl would prefer his father be put back into his coma permanently. She couldn’t be certain the rest of the villagers didn’t feel the same way. Did she have any right to interfere?

  Don’t get involved in local politics. Uncle’s warning loomed large.

  Someone screamed outside. Hettie leaped to her feet, Diablo in hand. Punta sat up. “What … what was that?”

  “Stay here.” She pounded down the stairs and ran out into the night, the nearly full moon lighting the way. Hettie stared around as the neighbors opened their shutters, holding lanterns. Luis pelted out of the great house, loading a shotgun as he went.

  “You heard it, too?” she asked.

  “Go back inside. It is not safe—”

  The scream came again, higher, louder, and they both bolted toward the sound. It was coming from the stables. Luis yelled something as two more men joined them, one with a torch and the other with a pitchfork. They shouted at each other in Spanish, but Hettie got the idea—be careful.

  They rounded the stables. A figure ran full tilt toward them, and Luis gave a frightful shout and raised his weapon.

  “Wait!” Hettie grabbed the barrel of Luis’s shotgun and pointed it away. It was one of the young stable boys, scrambling and sobbing at once. He charged into Hettie’s arms, crying in Spanish, and it was all she could do to slip Diablo back into her pocket and try to get him to calm down.

  Whatever he said, Luis understood. “Go back to the great house and tell Rosa and the others to close the windows and lock the doors. Have Pedro ring the alarm bell. We must summon the men.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  His eyes were hard. “El chupacabra stalks us t
his night.”

  Men gathered with whatever weapons they had on hand. The stable boy’s tale was recounted several times over: he’d found a dead foal in its pen and seen nothing more than a scuttling of shadows. But by the time the story had made its rounds, the villagers believed a monstrous slithering beast had killed ten full-grown horses.

  “It will be disappointing if we do not see a coyote, at least.” Marco’s humor had an edge of nervousness to it. “The boys see shadows everywhere.”

  “At least one horse is dead, though. Something killed it.” Hettie watched the stable door, wondering if she should drop into her time bubble to have a look. But every nerve ending bristled at the thought—she did not want to go in there alone, time bubble or no. It was a lucky thing Jezebel had been transferred to one of the corrals.

  Raúl cut a swath through the men as he marched toward the stable. He spotted Hettie and halted. “It would be best if you went back to the house. You know El Diablo will be of no use against the chupacabra.”

  She met his gaze head-on. “Maybe not as a weapon. But I can lure that thing out, if it even is a chupacabra. Besides, I’m not hiding in a closet with Abby if Diablo does attract that monster.”

  He grimaced but didn’t argue. He called out instructions to the men, and Marco translated for her. “We’re to block all the exits. Raúl will go in and try to get rid of the beast, but we must make sure the creature does not leave.”

  “He’s going in alone?”

  “His magic is very strong,” Marco said.

  Hettie knew that firsthand, but she still didn’t think it wise to let Raúl go on his own. After all, if he was killed, who would break the bond between her and Diablo? She went to the sorcerer. “I should go in with you. I can help.”

  “No. Diablo’s powers will only agitate the beast.”

  “You’ve seen for yourself Diablo’s good for more than blasting holes in things.”

  Raúl huffed. “Just stay out of the way. I don’t want Diablo’s magic mixing with mine accidentally.” He shouted at the gathered men. The ones with rifles took up positions around the stable, weapons cocked. Raúl slipped in through the side door and shut it behind him.

  For a long time they heard nothing. A cloud passed over the moon, drenching them in the dark, and the only sound was the nervous shuffling of the men as they readjusted their guns. Hettie’s skin rippled with gooseflesh. Something didn’t feel right. Diablo’s pendulous weight twitched in her grasp.

  A cry from inside the stable was followed by a loud banging. Hettie rushed in, with Marco shouting after her.

  The door swung closed behind her, plunging her into darkness. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the single dirty lantern that barely lit the velvety dark of the stables.

  “Raúl?” She listened—silence. Broken glass crunched underfoot as she proceeded down the aisle. Several lanterns had been knocked off their hooks. It was a lucky thing the oil hadn’t spilled and ignited. She couldn’t hear any horses—perhaps the stable boy had been smart enough to release them instead of locking them in with the beast. Or perhaps they were all dead.

  A low gurgling in the darkest corner had her whipping around. “Raúl?” Her heart slammed in her chest, and her grip tightened around Diablo. The air thickened with the smell of blood as she drew closer.

  A gout of thick ooze jetted into the air as small hooves jerked and scrabbled against the stall. Hettie recoiled as the twin crescent whites of a foal’s eyes rolled toward her. Blood gushed from its mouth as its body sawed back and forth, its gory neck contorted at an unnatural angle. It gave a thin squeal.

  The rattle of the stall had Hettie spinning around. In the dark she thought she saw a flash of white like a nightgown—but the movement was so fast, she couldn’t be certain. She held still, hearing nothing but the rasp of her quick breaths. Her throat closed over the one word she didn’t want a reply to.

  Abby?

  A low growl rolled from the darkness, halfway between a hiss and a yowl. Sweat popped out all over Hettie’s body. A dark shadow clambered noisily over the wall separating the stalls. With cold fingers she fired into the corner, and as the ball of green light expanded, she took a deep breath and slipped out of time.

  The chupacabra was smaller than the first one she’d seen but no less deadly looking. Blood dripped from its curved horns. Its muscles bunched beneath the shaggy fur as it scrambled through the stables, still moving with extraordinary speed despite the fact she watched it from her bubble. The creature’s long neck bent as it turned and looked at her through slit eyes. Its gaze felt like a million tiny hooks catching onto her skin.

  Hettie aimed beneath the monster’s claws and pulled the trigger. Time sped up as a green-white flash exploded against the ground and turned it into a pool of molten earth, flames leaping up as if hell had opened to reclaim its pet.

  The chupacabra splashed down into the molten rock. It screamed as its front legs ignited like greasy wicks. The creature reared, thrashing what was left of its limbs—raw, dripping clods of quickly cooling earth. The burned stumps landed outside the pool of fire with a resounding thud, and the monster dragged itself the rest of the way out.

  Someone groaned. Raúl! He was inside one of the stalls to Hettie’s left. She had to draw the chupacabra away from him.

  “Hey, ugly!” She aimed to the left of the beast. A bright ball of light exploded next to the chupacabra. It growled and pivoted clumsily, its mouth foaming as it advanced on her. Hettie edged toward the exit and fired again. The beast hesitated, so Hettie aimed at its face. Diablo’s blast had as much effect on the chupacabra as a cold bucket of water. It snarled, and its muscles coiled as it prepared to lunge.

  Hettie dove into her time bubble once more, straining as she moved through molasses. She got all of ten feet before she stumbled back into regular time and out of the stable, the chupacabra on her heels. She screamed what she hoped was “Shoot it!” but she heard no shouts, no gunshots. The men were too slow, probably shocked by her sudden appearance out in the open. In a horrifying split second she felt the chupacabra’s horn catch her side and lift her into the air.

  Hettie hit the ground hard. Pain blossomed in her chest, and she rolled onto her back, her vision gray.

  Labored pants snuffled close to her, and then the smell hit. Blood and offal and rotting meat wafted from the creature’s shaggy fur. Its sulfuric breath poured over her as the beast loomed. A drop of saliva stung her cheek. She looked up into glossy black eyes that offered no hope, twin pools of despair only the devil himself could love. As she prepared for oblivion she felt Diablo sigh, not in resignation, but in longing. As if the beast reminded it of home.

  The boom of a shotgun made her bones shudder, and the chupacabra shrieked. Another blast and the beast tumbled off. Hettie rolled away and pushed up in time to see Walker pump a double-barreled shotgun.

  “Fire!” he shouted.

  The air filled with smoke as the men unloaded their guns into the chupacabra. Dozens of bullets poured into its hide. At first it seemed as if the monster barely noticed them, but the onslaught was too much, and eventually it toppled with a groan. Black ichor pooled around it, and the stench of rotting flesh made Hettie gag.

  Walker dispassionately unloaded the last shotgun cartridge directly into its skull, splattering inky blood across the ground.

  Something inside Hettie opened, and her heart beat triple time. Seeing him after all these weeks was like taking a drink of cold water after a long drought. She shivered. The bounty hunter looked as though he’d barely managed to throw on a shirt, the front tucked into his trousers, the buttons done up only halfway. He’d lost weight in the weeks he’d been recovering, but he was no less imposing.

  “Are you all right?” Marco helped her to her feet.

  “I’m fine. But Raúl—”

  “I’m here.” The sorcerer emerged, holding his bloodied head. “I
t caught me by surprise. It was hiding in the rafters and knocked me down…” He trailed off and stared at the carcass. “What have you done?”

  “I’ll tell you what she’s done.” Walker advanced on him angrily, shotgun tucked under his arm. “She saved your damned life. How could you be so reckless, facing that thing alone?”

  The villagers nodded, and the tension gave way to incredulous victory. They’d killed a chupacabra. A cheer went up, but the celebration was cut short.

  “You fools!” Raúl squeezed his eyes shut. “This is only a young chupacabra. Now that its blood has been spilled, others will seek it out, and they will find it here. Why do you think I use magic to banish them?”

  The cheers subsided into chagrined silence. The look Walker gave him bordered on mutinous. The torchlight shifted over his face, his cheekbones and jaw jutting like sharp knives. Gone from ice-hard eyes was the desperate hunger for magic.

  Raúl glared at him. “You should be in bed, brother.”

  “If a chupacabra has breached the wall, none of us should be in bed. How did it break through father’s barrier spell?”

  Raúl frowned deeply. “I don’t know. I will have to check the perimeter, and check on Father.” He snapped out instructions. “Bring wood and oil. We must burn the body right away.”

  Men rushed to do his bidding. Hettie followed Marco into the stable, lighting lanterns as they went. They approached the stall where the foal lay, twitching in a pool of blood.

  “We need bandages,” Hettie said, searching around. “Do you have a vet? Perhaps Beatrice can sew him up.”

  “Hettie—”

  “Thread, hot water, towels, and linen. Lots of linen. We can save—”

  The muted pop of a revolver made Hettie jump back. Marco wiped the muzzle of his sidearm, grimacing down at the now-still foal. “It was a mercy. He could not be saved.”

  Hettie stared. She felt sick to her stomach. Pa had put down animals before, of course, but that poor little foal had barely been weaned.

  The stable master sighed. “We were fortunate many of the horses were out in their paddocks tonight. They’re all safe.”