“Fate smiles upon us both this day.” Cabello rolled his sleeve back down. “Villa del Punta is well-protected. In two hundred years, its defenses have not been breached. But our spies report that Javier Punta is ailing, and his protection spell on the village is wavering. Their wall is vulnerable, and now I have finally been given the means to take it down.”
“You’re talking about that … contraption outside?”
Cabello’s lips pulled back in a rictus of a grin. “Our Mechaniks in the capital have made us a magnificent tool. We just received it by train yesterday. A proper trap to catch rats with.”
Ling and Stubbs had been discouraged from getting too close to the area where the machine was. The heavy hammer blows, along with the three-story-high scaffolding and hubbub, had been hard to ignore. “You were already planning an invasion,” Ling concluded. Of course. That was why Cabello was there in the first place.
“It has been in the works for some time. That el Revólver del Diablo has returned to Mexico is a sign.” He tapped his flabby lips, greed glinting bright in his eyes. “It would make quite a trophy, along with Punta’s head.”
“You’re gonna need more than some fancy-ass battering ram to take the wall down,” Stubbs said gruffly.
“Indeed. Which is why we have a host of high-level sorcerers on their way here from around the country. They will weaken the barrier spell enough to allow the behemoth to attack the physical stonework. Two high-caliber sorcerers such as yourselves could do much to aid our efforts. Help us take down the wall and get Diablo, and I will let you go.” Cabello held out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Given their position, Ling didn’t think they had much choice.
“I’m gonna kill that son of whore!” Stubbs hissed once they’d been escorted back to their tent. Cymon looked up briefly from his corner, then went back to sleep, blissfully unaware of their change of status. They were more prisoners now than guests, but at least they hadn’t been divested of any of their talismans or supplies. “You just made a deal with the devil, Tsang.”
“His contract spell won’t hold either of us—it was pure coercion. He knows that, and so do we.”
“Maybe you didn’t notice, Ling, but that soul sucker doesn’t exactly play by any gentleman’s rules!” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. Cabello had kindly removed the manacles but had warned them should they try anything, they would both be punished.
“Would you have preferred I let him kill us?” He suspected Stubbs was angry partly because he’d underestimated the general and lost control of the situation. “For now, Cabello’s goals are the same as ours. We need to get to Villa del Punta. Whether we can stop this massacre is another matter.”
“That’s not our problem. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not die in this godforsaken country.” Stubbs took out a mangled cigar, hands still trembling as he lit it. “Those villagers aren’t our concern.”
“What if the Alabama girls are hurt or killed? We don’t know anything about how Abby’s powers have developed. If she feels threatened, she could level the village and take out the army and us with her power.” For a brief moment he wondered if that weren’t a better fate than what awaited her at the Division. “If things get out of hand—”
“They won’t.” Stubbs slipped a hand into his breast pocket and took out a talisman, a bit of quartz rock bound in hair, caged in gold and hanging from piece of twine. The briefest pass of his gift, and Ling sensed Hettie’s imprint upon it.
“An interpolation talisman? When did you make that?”
“After Sonora. I decided it was best to have a way to contact Miss Alabama in an emergency.” Stubbs tucked the charm back into his shirt pocket. “One way or another, that village is doomed, and if we don’t play our cards right, El Toro will get Diablo and Abby and then kill us.” He grimaced into the distance. “If Miss Alabama knows what’s good for her and her sister, she’ll do the right thing.”
On Christmas morning the citizens of Villa del Punta crowded into the small church. The townspeople spilled out onto the street, but with the help of an amplification spell the old padre’s sermon rang clearly through the village.
Hettie couldn’t make out all the words since the service was in Spanish, but she knew the story of Christ’s birth, of Mary and Joseph finding refuge in the stable. Even in a different language the story filled her with a sense of peace.
Abby leaned against her, snoring softly. From the back of the chapel Hettie spotted Walker sandwiched between his mother and Julia in the front pew. Hettie’s blood cooled as Julia laid her head against the bounty hunter’s shoulder. Raúl and Javier were nowhere to be seen.
Once the service was over the festivities began in earnest. The market square was transformed as tables decked in flowers and colorful fabrics were heaped with platters of roast and grilled meats, fruit and vegetable dishes that looked like mountains of jewels, pastries and fried doughs filled with sweet creams and icings. Casks of wine and strong-smelling punches were served to young and old. A band played by the fountain as people ate and drank and sang and danced in the square.
Gradually Abby roused herself out of her exhausted funk to eat the tamales and sweets Marco’s wife, Consuela, plied her with. Soon her sister was running around, dancing and joining the other village children in taking hits at the star-shaped piñata strung up on a tree branch.
Hettie sat on a bench in the shade, laughing when Abby’s swing missed. Christmases on the ranch were quiet and simple in comparison, with a nice meal and a few presents—new socks and shawls, whittled toys and tooled leather.
She reached for the comfort the memories should have provided, but her absent love for her parents was a hole that gaped wide inside her. She still didn’t understand how such an integral part of her could be torn away; how she couldn’t seem to even form new feelings about her mother and father despite the memories she retained and knowing how she should feel.
“Such a deep frown on Christmas day.” Horace sidled up to her and offered her a clay cup.
“Thanks.” She took it from him and sipped the warm, sweet drink. “I didn’t see you in church. Where were you this morning?”
“In the stables. I volunteered to check on the horses so Marco and the others could enjoy the day with their families.” He beckoned. “Come. I want you to show you something.”
She followed him. Tisi, Meg, and Alecto stood in their paddock, their coats shining, each sporting a polished saddle. They greeted her with nickers, and Hettie laughed. “How long did it take you to get them tacked up?”
“Once they understood what I wanted from them, not long at all.” He hopped the fence and clucked his tongue. Alecto obediently trotted up to him, and he nuzzled her ear. It looked like he was whispering to her. The horse blew a hot breath from her nostrils, then plodded away.
“You can talk to them?” Hettie asked.
“It’d be more accurate to say I listen. It’s just a talent of mine. You have it, too.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have the gift.”
“Not in the traditional magical sense. But I’ve seen you work with these three. You’ve been gentling these fillies like a mother. You listen to them, even if you don’t always understand what they’re trying to tell you.” He rubbed Alecto’s withers. “The four of us had a chat. I think they’re all ready for you to try a ride around the yard.”
Hettie gleefully hiked up her skirt—she’d worn the dress Julia had given her to church—and mounted Alecto. The mare took a moment to settle, but it soon became clear the naturally magicked horse was as smart as Jezebel, if not smarter. She understood the commands to stop and turn and barely needed Hettie to spur her on. Tisi and Meg were just as responsive and equally as intelligent. “They’re amazing,” she said, breathless as she dismounted. Las Furias shook their manes and preened. “A few days ago, they would barely come to me.”
“That won’t happen anymore. We’ve reached an understanding.” He grinned. “Merry Christmas.”
After they’d unsaddled the horses and fed them, they rejoined the party. People greeted them with cheers, passing Horace plates of food and plying him with drinks. Girls young and old were clamoring for him to dance with them. Soon he was swept off.
Hettie smiled. She’d been afraid people might spurn Horace the way they had her and Abby, but he’d charmed everyone in a very short period. He’d been a horse not that long ago, and considering most people’s feelings toward so-called abominations of nature—Weres, transmogrified beings, or other shape-shifters—she was surprised he hadn’t been shunned entirely. It’d helped that he spoke fairly good Spanish, a fact that made Hettie wonder what else he could do. She’d watched him win over Marco and the stable boys, then flirt with Rosa and the other great house servants. When the men were raising a new barn, he’d jumped in to help, throwing his raw strength behind the framing. There were still a few who wanted nothing to do with el Negro, but even those who were suspicious of him had gradually accepted his presence. Hettie couldn’t help but envy his ease with people.
As the band began a lively tune, couples crowded into the square. Horace strolled up to Abuela Encarnación, bowed, and kissed her hand before leading her into the dance.
Soon the couples synced up, and the floor became a whirl of black and scarlet and gold and emerald, sky-blue and sapphire and magenta, trimmed in silver and dripping with jingling bracelets. Everyone was in fine spirits, and for a moment Hettie let herself relax and be hypnotized by the swirl of dancers.
At the other end of the square, Juan sent her the most hopeful of looks and started toward her. Hettie turned away quickly to avoid any interaction with him.
“Señorita Alabama.” Raúl stepped into her path, and Hettie jerked to a halt. He beamed down at her. “Is that one of Julia’s dresses? It suits you well.”
“Yeah.” Unused to compliments on her looks, she mumbled, “Thanks.”
“Would you like to dance?”
She looked left and right, seeking an escape. “Oh … no. I don’t think so.”
“It is not difficult.” He pulled her into the square, took her hands, and nodded to his feet. “Watch.”
It took a few rounds, but soon Hettie had managed some semblance of a jig. She felt giddy as Raúl spun her across the square, joining the whirling wheels of colorful dancers.
“Smiling suits you, too,” Raúl said close to her ear. “You should do it more.”
She laughed drily. “I allow myself to have fun at Christmas.”
“I know we have been … at odds for some time now. But I hope you realize … That is, I wish you to know … since I have not been able to sever your bond with Diablo, you are welcome to stay here. Villa del Punta could be your home, if you want it to be.”
Home. The word triggered a deep yearning inside her. A wish she’d kept secret and sheltered, like a wounded butterfly in the cradle of her tightly cupped hands.
Well, why not? Villa del Punta had been created to keep Diablo safe. Abby had made friends here, and she was getting guidance from Raúl. People were slowly coming to accept them. And Hettie could learn everything she needed to know about the mage gun from its maker and use it to protect the villagers.
But as beautiful as the dream was, she couldn’t stay. Zavi was alive—what if he came after Diablo and Abby again? She would be putting everyone here at risk. And Patrice Favreau was still in a coma. Hettie had sworn to help her, and while she hadn’t felt the spurring effects of the contract spell with the soothsayer since crossing the border, she couldn’t break her promise.
“Where’s your father?” she asked to divert the conversation. Raúl’s steps faltered. “I thought he’d come to church this morning.”
His smile faded. “He’s resting. He’s been very tired. He and I have been working together to figure out how the chupacabra got into the village. It took some doing, but we found a weak spot in the protection spell. Fixing it taxed him.”
She mulled that over. “So … do you think El Toro somehow knew the barrier spell was broken?”
He looked at her confusedly. “Que?”
“General Cabello. You said he was most likely the one who was summoning the chupacabra.”
Raúl nodded quickly. “Ah, yes. El Toro might have known. But I think it is more likely that the chupacabra simply found a way in.”
“Pretty bold to attack the village like that.”
“It was a baby. It likely did not know what it was doing. But all is fine now.”
His words were spoken too quickly. He was hiding something. She peered at him. “Tell me the truth. If the barrier has weakened, does that mean something’s wrong with your father?”
“I would never let anything happen to him.” He smiled softly and gripped her tighter. “Or you.”
Hettie wasn’t sure what was happening. Raúl’s soft gaze became singularly focused on her, and in his dark eyes she gleaned a kind of peace she’d not known before. He felt … safe, somehow, the way a heavy blanket did on a cold winter night. It had an almost soporific effect on her, and she drew a little closer, as if she could snuggle down into him …
“Brother.” Walker’s rough voice brushed along Hettie’s nerves. She turned slowly, batting away the haze in her brain. Walker’s flinty expression cut the tension between them. “May I cut in?”
“No, you may not. Not until the song is over.” He smiled tightly. “Where is Julia? She loves dancing.”
“Julia is helping my mother with the food.” The song wound down, and a new one began. “The dance is over now,” he said pointedly.
The corners of Raúl’s mouth drew back. “Very well. I have things I must attend to. Señorita Alabama.” He bowed over her hand and kissed it lightly. Maybe it was just her imagination, but he seemed to be smirking at Walker while he did so.
Walker put a possessive hand on her waist the moment Raúl let her go.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” she said as he drew her closer. Heat radiated from his broad chest, and she leaned away slightly to look into his face. He was watching his brother go, eyes hard.
“You don’t need to be with me.” He guided the hand Raúl had kissed to his shoulder. His touch wiped away the imprint of his brother’s lips, and the last of her haze dissipated, only to be replaced by a completely new set of bewildering sensations. “Are you having a good time?”
“It’s different from Christmases at the ranch.” She swallowed down the empty memory and put on a smile. “Abby’s having more fun than I’ve ever seen her have. Must be the weather down here that agrees with her.”
“I don’t miss the snow,” Walker conceded. “Always went as far south as I could during the winter.”
Even with the music Hettie felt cocooned in silence, as if the two of them were snowbound in some secluded cabin. She inhaled his scent—clean, for once—and forced herself to relax.
“Hettie … I have a confession.”
She focused on the seam on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine you have too many more secrets to keep from me.”
“You’d be surprised.” He sighed. “Thing is … I can still feel Diablo’s pull. I don’t have the gift, but I can sense magic around me. Like smelling someone’s cooking.”
“That’s not something you need to apologize to me about.” The mournful crooning filled the silence between them. “Can I ask … What was it like? Borrowing your father’s magic?”
He thought a moment. “It was like music. A symphony. And I could understand so much more of it, pick out all the notes and the instruments that played each part that made the whole. It was like I could taste the notes of magic and play them all back without effort. Now it’s barely a whisper on the breeze.” He compressed his lips. “It’s quiet.”
“Yo
u’re still craving?”
“It’s a battle every day,” he admitted after a pause. “Villa del Punta is steeped in magic, and it will be a long time before I stop sensing it … wanting it … altogether.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, you look better than most dope fiends I’ve seen.”
He smiled wryly. “A compliment from you? It must be Christmas.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I’m not sure I won’t. The untouchable Hettie Alabama is actually smiling at me for once.”
She gave a gasp of mock outrage. “Who says I’m untouchable?”
“Apart from the fact that you scare most of the young men here with your mean looks and that mage gun bulging out of your pocket all the time?” His hand slipped to her hip, and then he snatched it back, hissing. “Damn it, that thing’s nasty.”
Hettie pushed him away. “Did you ask me to dance so you could touch my gun?”
“No!” He raised his hands and shook his head. “I’m sorry … I thought I was being funny.” He cursed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I just wanted to give you a proper Christmas present.”
“And what would that be?”
His expression grew serious. He was looking at her. Just looking at her. Her skin felt as if a million fireflies were buzzing all over her. She couldn’t hear anything above the slamming of her heart and her shallow, rapid breaths.
“Walker!” Julia’s cheerful call had Hettie turning away hastily. “Your mother has been asking for you. She needs help moving…” The village girl stopped and grinned at Hettie. “Feliz navidad, Hettie. You look wonderful! I knew that dress would suit you.”
Hettie ducked her head and managed a mumbled, “Thank you.”
“You do look almost ladylike,” Walker said, as if it were an afterthought.
Julia smacked him on the arm. “Don’t be boorish. She looks beautiful.”
Thanks to Julia. Being reminded that she lived off everyone’s charity, Julia’s included, made her feel guilty for some reason. “Excuse me, I’ve left Abby with Marco and his family too long. She … she needs me.”
The Devil's Standoff Page 25