The Devil's Standoff

by V. S. McGrath

  The church bell tolled. Everyone in the village was probably there, praying, grieving, paying their respects. And perhaps deciding what her fate would be.

  She should leave. Take Abby and Jezebel and a couple of horses and go before they decided to string her up. They could figure out their next steps after they’d escaped.

  But the army was coming. If the village fell it would be her fault.

  She wished Javier had at least tried to warn the others, but perhaps he wanted the army to destroy Villa del Punta. She’d done her part and told Raúl and Walker—neither of them had believed her. Staying just so she could say she was right was hardly the intelligent thing to do.

  You don’t owe them anything.

  That wasn’t true. These people had allowed them into their homes, given her and Abby a place to rest, to regroup …

  You will never be one of them. Not after today. They will always fear you. Fear us.

  The truth stung. She’d only just been getting used to the idea of staying, deluding herself into believing there’d be rest for her and her sister finally. But that would never be the case.

  The door was locked, and while Diablo could easily melt the lock, she didn’t want Raúl or anyone else to notice her departure. She tossed a bag of clothes out the window and climbed down onto the roof of the veranda. The great house was deserted, giving her the opportunity to raid the kitchen and fill a sack with what food she could carry. If they were leaving they had to go now, while everyone was still distracted at church. She hated that she had to take so much from these people, but adding theft to murder wouldn’t exactly change the length of her noose.

  She and Abby would have to go to a city or a small town. Somewhere she could find work. She’d have to take a couple of horses, plus Jezebel—it wouldn’t be fair to make the old mare carry them both all the way, and she might give out before they reached safety.

  She was on her way to the stables when she spotted Horace smoking a cigarette by the paddock. He nodded. “Good evening, Miss Hettie.”

  She hesitated. “What’re you doing out here?”

  “Waiting for you.” He surveyed her bags and raised an eyebrow. “Not that I ever saw you here in case you’re thinking of absconding with any of the horses.”

  “Have you seen Abby?” Relief turned to urgency that was snowballing into panic.

  “She was with Raúl at the church last I saw her. Though I heard some talk that they were going to try putting up a new barrier spell.”

  Hettie bit the inside of her cheek. Abby could help these people. If Hettie waited, though, they might never get away. But leaving now would leave the whole village defenseless.

  Did she have a choice? She was running for her life, and she couldn’t leave her sister behind. “Thank you, Horace. For everything.” She turned to go.

  “Miss Hettie,” Horace called, and she stopped. “If it were me, I’d take Las Furias. All three of them. They’re too stubborn to abandon each other. And they were meant to be free.” He inspected his nails. “Also, they’ve been saddled.”

  Tears burned the back of her throat, and she gave him a small, grateful smile. “Will you be all right here?” It wasn’t the question she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him to come with them.

  He lifted a shoulder, looked off to one side. “I’ve been three steps ahead of a lynch mob all my life. I’ll be out of here before they even conceive of the notion to string me up.” He crossed his arms over his chest and met her eye, smiling lopsidedly. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll even catch up to you.”

  She nodded her thanks, wishing she had time for a proper good-bye.

  Outside the church, out of sight of the crowd, Hettie closed her eyes and plunged into her time bubble, then carefully stretched through it so her syrup world flowed with her.

  Mourners spilled from the pews and aisles. In her suspension the chapel had become a cathedral of grief, with tears hanging like crystals on anguished faces and rosaries dripping from white-knuckled grips. The carved wooden Christ presided over the congregation from his crucifix, his accusing gimlet eyes following her.

  Beatrice sat at the front of the room, forehead resting against the dais where Javier Punta’s body lay in state, swathed in white robes, candles burning around him. Walker sat next to his mother. Hettie couldn’t see his face, but the hunch of his shoulders told her everything. Her heart twisted—another good-bye she would have to forego.

  Abby wasn’t there, and neither was Raúl. She hurried out of the chapel, clinging to the fading syrup state. The sense of urgency pressed in on all sides now, a whispered go, go, go she couldn’t ignore. If they were working on a new barrier spell, who knew what state Abby would be in?

  She closed her eyes and breathed deep. Abby, she whispered. Where are you?

  Her time bubble collapsed under the weight of her anxiety. Hettie hurried through the courtyard between the church and the infirmary and headed to Raúl’s workshop, but Abby was nowhere to be found.

  Think. If they were working on a barrier spell, he and Abby had to be somewhere along the wall.

  A shriek pierced the night air. Hettie bolted toward the western gate. It had been left open, though it was past sundown, and left unguarded.

  As she rounded the corner, she crashed into a sobbing Julia. Hettie’s grip tightened to keep her from fleeing. “What is it? What’s happened?” Her first thoughts were of the army.

  Julia’s eyes flickered with conflict, and Hettie gave her a shake. “Where’s Abby?”

  “Sh-she’s a monster!”

  Hettie grew cold as Julia continued. “Abby … she lashed out at Raúl, and then she killed—” Julia covered her mouth. It was only then that Hettie saw the blood splattered across her blouse.

  Julia pointed toward a copse of trees by the gate. Raúl’s body lay in a heap.

  Heart slamming, Hettie approached him. An assortment of talismans lay scattered around him. A containment spell had been woven around the trees, only the bits of twine and ribbon had been shredded as if by a strong wind. Hettie bent to turn Raúl over. The sorcerer groaned, startling her. Still alive, and no visible signs of bleeding.

  Panicked screeches drew her attention toward the chicken coop. Clouds of feathers billowed through the air as the chickens scrambled from the wood enclosure, bursting from the little doorway.

  Hettie knelt and peered in through the entry. Abby crouched in the corner of the coop, sobbing into the limp carcass of the black-and-white spotted rooster, its feathers smeared with blood. Two more chickens lay on the floor next to her, their necks twisted at horrendous angles. One had a broken wing turned toward the sky.

  “I-I’m sorry,” Abby blubbered. “I was s-so h-hungry.”

  Hettie struggled to speak past her rising gorge. “Come out of there, Abby. It’s all right.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “They’re afraid of me. They’re afraid of us.”

  “I know. We have to leave. Right now.”

  But Abby only hid her face in her bloodied hands, smearing crimson across her cheeks as she rocked back and forth. “I’m so hungry, Hettie…”

  Hettie slit her trigger finger open. “Drink,” she ordered. She needed Abby fully cognizant if they were going to escape.

  Abby scrabbled across the filthy floor and latched on hard. The blood rushed out of Hettie’s finger, out of her whole body. The edges of her vision fogged as Abby gulped on and on. Every swallow made Hettie sink farther into a haze.

  She didn’t know what happened next. Hettie sputtered and choked on foul water. She was surrounded by people and lying on a hard surface.

  She sat up. “Abby…” Her mouth felt as though it were stuffed full of cotton. Her head throbbed. “Where’s my sister?”

  “The abomination is outside,” a rough voice replied.

  She blinked back the stars, an
d her vision came into focus. She lay on the dining table in the great house, surrounded by men with guns. Raúl stood above her, frowning. Julia hugged herself in one corner.

  “Is it true?” Raúl asked quietly. “Is Abigail a … a vampire?”

  Hettie shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve seen her in the sun. She isn’t a monster.”

  “That thing snapped those chickens’ necks and drained them dry like waterskins,” Julia said harshly. Not an ounce of affection or sweetness remained for her sister.

  “How long has she been blood feeding?” Raúl demanded.

  Hettie glared at him. “Why does that matter? You still would’ve used her powers for your own ends. If she attacked you it was because you were hurting her.”

  A storm boiled into Raúl’s features. But before he could respond someone shouted something, and the mob replied with a resounding cry. Rough hands hauled her off the table. She stumbled to her feet, tripping but never slumping to the ground. More hands grabbed her by the legs, ankles, wrists, and arms—she was being carried out facedown.

  Someone tore at her hair. Someone else landed a few glancing blows to her exposed sides, and she lost her breath. Desperation fused with her rising anger. Diablo appeared in her ruined hand. “Let go of me!”

  They dropped her face first onto the ground, and the air was knocked from her lungs. Someone kicked the revolver out of her hand. Another boot found her ribs. Hettie curled up instinctively as the blows rained down upon her. Lights exploded behind her eyes.

  If they were treating her like this, how were they treating Abby? Her thoughts went wild. She had to get to her, to save her—

  “Get away!” Diablo burst into her left hand, and she pulled the trigger, sliding into her time bubble as fire bloomed around her, slamming the mob back in slow motion.

  She staggered to her feet, coughing, even as the villagers tumbled backward, suspended midair like tangled marionettes. Hettie scuttled around them, then spotted a group of men surrounding her sister, guns drawn, their eyes wide. Abby’s tear-stained face lifted as Hettie approached.

  Her sister’s hands had been tied in front of her. There was a bruise on her brow with a small cut on it. Wrath scorched through Hettie’s veins. Someone had hit her sister.

  Who did these people think they were to pass judgment on them? Ignorant, superstitious, unfeeling—

  She raised Diablo, grip trembling.

  “Hettie?”

  The voice broke through her rage. It was Abby’s voice. But how—?

  “Can we go home now?”

  Abby’s violet eyes were turned toward her, pleading, but she was still outside of Hettie’s time bubble.

  She shoved Diablo into her pocket and cut her sister’s bonds with her boot knife. The moment they touched, Abby gasped and slumped into her arms. The syrup around her wavered.

  “It’s all right. I’ve got you.” Abby’s presence pushed against her time bubble, stretching it to its limit.

  “I’m sorry,” Abby moaned. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She pulled her to her feet. The sack of food she’d packed rested on the ground near one of Abby’s guards. She grabbed it, thankful for small mercies, but felt its added weight on the bubble. “Hurry. Don’t touch anyone. We have to get out of here.”

  The green blossom of infernal fire mushroomed outward. The syrup world was thinning, gathering speed. Hettie focused. Slow down. Give us time.

  She felt a flex deep in her gut, as if she were shifting her weight to better bear a burden. She took a deep breath. Slow. Down.

  The wave of fire stopped altogether. She drew Abby closer. “Come on.”

  They staggered out of the great house to the stables. Jezebel had been saddled and was tied to the fence, patiently waiting for them. Thank you, Horace. The mare was somehow not surprised or startled when Hettie drew her into the time bubble. But the bubble wobbled precariously, their surroundings flexing and bending. Hettie struggled to slow time down once more, and realized taking Las Furias would be impossible. It would have to be just them.

  They walked Jezebel to the main gate. It had been sealed for the night.

  “Abby, can you open the gate?”

  Her sister hesitated. “I’m not supposed to do any spells without Raúl.”

  “I know that’s what he said, but I’m giving you permission.”

  “I hurt him.” She stared down at her feet.

  “You hurt him because he was making you do something you didn’t want.”

  Abby toed the dirt, confirming her suspicions.

  Hettie tipped Abby’s chin up. “Hey. You did right.” He’d been willing to imprison his own father for the sake of the village’s safety; he would think nothing of hurting Abby. “You should never use your magic to hurt anyone, but if someone’s trying to hurt you, you do what you have to to protect yourself. Understand?”

  Abby nodded slowly and waved her hand. The elaborate locking mechanism unhinged smoothly, and the gates swung open. The dark desert met them, forlorn and empty, spread beneath a starless sky.

  Hettie straightened, refusing to show fear. “Let’s go.”

  The Alabama sisters rode into the desert.

  Despite her battered body, Hettie focused on getting far enough away from Villa del Punta that no one could catch up to them. The night sky was the color of an old bruise, the waning moon a beady white eye keeping watch high above.

  They rode south through the flat part of the valley, pointed toward the line of distant hills. She was keenly aware that all kinds of dangers awaited them out there. Diablo’s weight bouncing against her aching thigh reassured her, though with the chupacabra and Ling and Stubbs out there, it would be dangerous to use it.

  The hills grew steadily closer, which seemed odd—when she’d ridden out this way with Raúl, it’d felt as though they could’ve kept riding and never reached those red peaks.

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” she said. “Come morning we’ll find a little town and get a place to stay there. Maybe find you a little burro to ride. Would you like that?”

  Abby didn’t respond. Her gaze was focused on their destination, whatever it was.

  “We can go and … and do whatever we want now. That’ll be nice, right? No one to tell us what to do. We can sleep under the stars and eat as much dessert as we want.” Her pitiful attempt to make this desperate flight sound like an adventure fell so flat, it might as well have lay down in the dust and died.

  Jezebel was huffing and limping when they reached the foothills, so they dismounted and let her rest. The time bubble finally slipped, the sounds of the desert strangely loud, and night closed over them.

  They needed to find shelter. They could sleep for a few hours and start again when the sun came up. The dirt beneath their feet was loose and crumbly as they marched up the incline, mindful of places where snakes might nest. Abby walked a straight line diagonally up the hill, fixated, leaving the worn-out Jezebel behind.

  “Abby, don’t get too far ahead. I can barely see.”

  “I can hear them.” Her sister plowed on, determined. “Can’t you hear them?”

  Hettie strained her ears but heard nothing above the breeze rustling through the tufty grass and the murmur of desert night life.

  Abby paused, fingers splayed at her sides as though sifting through the air currents. She climbed the hill at a more acute angle, her feet scrabbling across the shifting sand.

  Hettie nearly plowed into her sister. She’d stopped at the lip of a crevasse wide enough to fit a full-grown man. It gaped from the ground, the rocks jutting around it like snaggleteeth. She would’ve thought the cave would be easily visible from a distance, but she hadn’t seen it until they were right at the entrance.

  “We can sleep here,” Abby said thoughtfully. “It’s safe.”


  Hettie peered in. “Well, it’s a place to hide, for sure. I’m not sure it’s safe, though.”

  Abby cut her a flat look over her shoulder. “It’s safe.”

  Hettie raised her hands, almost laughing at her sister’s scowling insistence. She desperately needed something to laugh about, and Abby’s newfound independence was the only thing worth a chuckle out in the desert.

  She peered into the cave. “If we had a torch, it’d be worth checking out.” She glanced around for a branch or some tinder. “I don’t want to risk wading into a den of vipers or worse.”

  Abby tilted her head. “You need light?” She picked up a pebble, cupping it in both hands, and enunciated an incantation into the bowl of her palms. The pebble brightened, glowing brilliant white-purple like a tiny moon. She held it aloft as she ventured farther into the cave.

  “Wait—”

  “It’s safe,” she insisted, scooting through the crevasse.

  Hettie shimmied through the crack after her sister. A foul smell briefly wafted from the narrow corridor, but then it was gone. A hollow moan told her air flowed through the cave. Together they climbed down the path, a series of natural rock steps, until the ceiling rose to twice her height above her.

  She told herself there were no Weres here, no heinous sorcerers who wanted to destroy the world. Still, fear pressed in and pinched her lungs closed as effectively as the rock walls closed off their progress. The dankness thickened. “Let’s stop here,” she insisted before they went any farther. She didn’t want to lose sight of the exit.

  A few gnawed bones and the general mustiness told her something had lived here once, but it had long since vacated. The cavern was otherwise clean and remarkably free of spiders, snakes, or other creepy-crawlies. Abby was right—the place appeared to be safe.

  Her sister yawned hugely.

  “Try to get some rest, Abby. We can figure out what’s next in the morning.” They sat down, backs resting against the wall. Hettie hugged her close, letting her head rest against her chest. She wanted to stay awake and keep watch, but before she knew it, her eyes fluttered closed.