The Devil's Standoff

by V. S. McGrath

The roar stopped. The wind died. All that was left of the great house and the ruined fountain was a pile of wet rubble and twisted metal.

  Raúl was nowhere to be found.

  Hettie!”

  She slowly pushed up as Abby tugged on her arm. Her sister’s violet eyes searched her over, her hands darting over her hair and face in a gesture that instantly reminded her of their mother. Abigail cupped her cheeks and smiled tearfully. “I thought you were lost.”

  “I’d never leave you.” She clasped her sister’s small, dirty hands. “You okay?”

  Abby sucked in her lip. She glanced down at her mangled thumb, and Hettie knew her hunger hadn’t abated, but she was too cautious, too shy, to ask for a feeding. “Your hand…”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Let me.” Ling kneeled next to her and gently took her hand.

  “We’ve got healers.” Walker gruffly intervened, Beatrice at his side. She cast her son an arch look before inspecting Hettie’s hand.

  “It’s broken. Easy enough to set.” Without warning, she jerked the thumb so hard that Hettie screamed. Beatrice grimly but efficiently splinted and wrapped it. Hettie thanked her, but Walker’s mother said nothing in reply.

  “What happened out there?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Raúl … He took Diablo from me. He sacrificed himself to open the hell gate and save the village.” She glanced toward the space where the great house had once stood. Not a single brick or floor plank was left—it was almost as if it had been swallowed whole. “He told me to tell you he’s sorry.”

  Walker looked away, mouth tight. Hettie’s leaden heart slid into her stomach. He’d lost two members of his family and countless friends in the village because of her.

  Jeremiah scratched his chin. “How did Raúl get his hands on Diablo?” The question held a little more than a hint of accusation.

  “I’m not sure. I had a vision—Javier told me blood was the key. If Diablo was made with a part of Javier, it stands to reason Raúl carries a part of him in his blood.” She didn’t mention that she was certain the blood he’d drunk had been his father’s—the villagers didn’t need to know the sorcerer’s last act had been tainted by vampirism. “I think Diablo knew this was the only way to send the chupacabra home. To save me.”

  Uncle’s face darkened. “Don’t start thinking that thing’s your friend, Hettie. It has its own agenda. Never trust an indentured demon. If it saved you, you can bet it was for its own purposes. That it didn’t go back to hell like it was supposed to tells me it’s got work to do.”

  She didn’t tell Uncle she could have thrown the Devil’s Revolver into the closing hell gate. Truthfully, it hadn’t occurred to her at the time to simply get rid of it. She wondered if she’d come to regret that decision later.

  “Is everyone else all right?” she asked Beatrice when she’d finished bandaging her other wounds.

  The healer’s jaw stiffened. For a woman who’d lost her husband, stepson, and home in one day, she looked remarkably stable. “We have many injured and dead. The remaining soldiers have no interest in trying to hurt us, at least. The army is in much worse shape than our people. You were smart to send us into the corn.”

  She glanced around. “Where’s Stubbs?”

  “Slithered under a rock, I reckon.” Uncle spat. “I’m not too worried about him. If the buzzards don’t get him, the desert will. And if not the desert…” He shrugged, though Hettie saw worry pulling at the corners of Uncle’s mouth.

  “Miss Alabama!” Horace ran toward her, arms outspread. “Praise the gods, you made it!” He swept her up in an embrace and swung her in a circle as if she were a child. Hettie gurgled in pain, and he quickly set her down again.

  The other villagers shuffled back through the gate. The silence gradually gave way to sobs and wails of grief.

  The life-giving fountain was gone. The wall had crumbled, and more than half the buildings were on fire or had walls or roofs missing. Bodies lay everywhere, and blood ran through the streets. Villa del Punta was gone.

  “This is your fault!” Luis marched toward her, pointing at Hettie with an accusing finger. “You killed Javier and brought the army and those monsters to our doorstep! We are ruined because of you!”

  Hettie stared at him implacably. She didn’t defend herself. What would have been the point?

  Walker intervened. “She saved us all, Luis. She almost died for us.”

  “No, Raúl saved us. Raúl died for us. Your brother cared about us. You brought this witch to us, and now look what has happened. The village is lost.”

  “Oh, shut up, Luis.” Beatrice faced off against the man. “We were all complicit. Raúl broke the natural law to keep what we had. He kept Javier alive by whatever means necessary, and I … God help me, I helped him do it.” She sighed. “Everything that happened was inevitable.”

  “Don’t y’all go blaming yourselves too much,” Uncle said. “Raúl had a blanket influence spell over the village.”

  Everyone turned to stare at him. “What are you talking about?” Luis sounded unsure suddenly.

  Uncle hitched his thumbs in his waistband. “You’re feeling it now, right? A lightness? Like someone took their hand off your shoulder?” A pause, and everyone looked as though they’d woken from a disturbing daydream. “It was so subtle, no one could’ve known it was there unless they knew what to look for. My guess is that he wove it into the barrier spell. Once that broke, so did the influence. Didn’t feel it myself till I left the village.”

  Hettie did feel it. Moreover, she’d been feeling it on and off since her arrival in Villa del Punta. There’d been times when her thoughts and feelings had been muzzy, or when her outrage, particularly against Raúl, had been dampened. She would never have trusted Abby with him after learning what he’d been doing to his father … and yet she had, and then blamed herself when things had gone wrong.

  Javier had known it, too. Maybe he’d been as susceptible to the spell as everyone else. Only one person had been immune—Julia. She’d borrowed Raúl’s magic, after all. She would not have been susceptible. And she’d used that against him, too.

  She wondered where the girl was now; where she would go. She couldn’t ever come back here. There was nothing left to come back to.

  Hettie glanced at Walker. She could see his devastation and anger gathering in the deep lines of his face. He’d lost so much today.

  “This does not change things,” Luis said harshly, gesturing around. “What are we supposed to do now?”

  “Move on,” Walker said staunchly. “We leave Villa del Punta. There’s nothing here for us. The magic will eventually drain away from this place, as will the water.”

  “We cannot abandon Villa del Punta!” Luis shouted. “This is our home!”

  “You and anyone else are welcome to stay and rebuild. But the army will return. They will kill for what little magic is left here. Are you willing to die over a pile of bricks?”

  Voices rose as the villagers considered their options. Hettie realized this conversation no longer concerned her, and the pain of leaving what she’d briefly considered home skewered through her.

  “Uncle?” she implored quietly. Her heart was too heavy to make any plans right now.

  He understood her need to leave. “Safest place to head is back into America. We’d never make it through Mexico after this. At least there we have resources. Allies.”

  She nodded and turned to Walker. The bounty hunter’s lips were clamped tight.

  “I can’t go with you, Hettie.”

  Her heart stuttered to a stop. She tried to keep her shock from her face but was certain she’d failed. He went on, “With Raúl and my father gone, someone has to help the villagers find a new home. I promised myself I’d stick around and become a part of a family again. Besides, now that I don’t have any magic, I’m of no use to you.”<
br />
  “That’s ridiculous. Of course you’re of use.”

  “Hettie.” His eyes filled with pain. “You still don’t trust me around Diablo. And … you shouldn’t.”

  Something inside her crumpled. He still craved magic. That kiss, then … and the way he’d reached for the Devil’s Revolver …

  “But I need you.” The admission felt weak and silly, a wish she’d whispered into the night. She wasn’t even sure she’d said it aloud.

  “For the work ahead of you, you need sorcerers and sages, not guns for hire.”

  She wanted to argue. There’d been plenty of times when Walker’s sharpshooting had come in handy, and considering the power he’d had at his disposal, he’d barely used his magic. But the conviction sculpting his hard jaw told her she’d lose the argument. His mind was made up. He was leaving her.

  Maybe he’d made that decision a long time ago.

  “All right.” She rubbed her cold uninjured left palm on her thigh and offered it in a weak handshake. Tears burned her throat and roughened her voice. “Thank you. For everything.”

  The bounty hunter looked taken aback. He stared at her hand, then frowned. “That’s it?”

  “I don’t know what you expect.” She was keenly aware of everyone watching them, of the sheer disappointment sliding its knife edge through her. But she wasn’t going to cry over some stupid man.

  Walker grimaced. She’d never forget those hard lines in his face, the way he’d first smirked at her, or those intense blue eyes.

  He drew a smooth stone disk pendant on a leather thong from around his neck. The stone was still warm from his body and had a slight indentation in the middle. “Here.”

  “What is it?” He dropped it into her hands.

  “A beacon charm. Place a drop of blood in the center and I’ll be able to find you wherever you are.”

  She stared at him. “But … you don’t have any magic. How are you supposed to find me?”

  He took a coordinating stone pendant out of his pocket, which he now placed around his neck. “Raúl gave this to me before he—” He cut himself off sharply. “It was for just in case. It’ll lead me to wherever its sister talisman is. Wherever you are.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Or crying. “I don’t know where I’ll be. Or if I’ll ever use it.”

  “I’m not saying you should for anything less than an emergency,” he corrected gruffly. The ice in his eyes warmed a fraction. “Only … should you need me…”

  That was all he was going to say. She turned away from him, not wanting him to see the way her heart was breaking.

  “Las Furias are ready to go,” Horace said gently at her side. “A good hard ride into the wind will clear the dust from your eyes.”

  She smiled gratefully at Horace. A sense of urgency tugged at her now. Raúl’s influence spell had dampened her determination to investigate the soothsayer blackout, but now the compulsion to carry out the contract between her and Patrice burned inside her.

  “Uncle”—she turned to the old man—“I have to see Sophie. I have to help Patrice.”

  “Was wondering when you’d get around to that.” He scratched his nose. “I’m supposing you’ll need some help.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Well … you don’t owe me anything.”

  “I don’t,” he agreed. “But I do owe the Favreaus for their help in Yuma. And for the money I … er, borrowed to get me back across the border.” He coughed.

  “If you’re amenable to some extra company,” Horace chimed in, “I would like to meet the Favreaus, as well. I have a business to restart, and they would be excellent clients.”

  Hettie smiled. She hadn’t been certain what the hostler would do, but she was glad for his company, however temporary.

  She glanced over at Ling, who stood close to Abby, watching her, watching his surroundings, guarding her like a sentinel. Cymon trotted in circles around them, sniffing the earth, splashing mud everywhere.

  “What’s your plan now?” she asked the healer.

  Ling met her eye steadily. “I cannot go back to the Division with Abby. I have tried to ignore what I know of their methods. But having seen the extent of her powers … knowing about her vampirism…” He shook his head. “The Division will not tolerate her feeding habits. There’s a good chance they will destroy her rather than study her. I don’t want that. Truth be told, I wasn’t convinced the Academy was the place for her anyhow.”

  She believed him. He had deceived her in the past, but his tender care for Abby was clear in his eyes. He could have teleported out of the village at any time with Abby, but he hadn’t. He wanted what was best for her sister.

  “You know more about indigo powers than any of us,” she said. “What would it take to get them under control?”

  “There is a possibility. In China there were stories of similarly gifted children. They were often sent to monasteries for care and training. A monk who lived in my town used to work with such children. He moved to San Francisco many years ago. I may be able to track him down.”

  Hettie nodded, grinding her teeth. She knew what she had to do.

  “Abby.” She took her sister’s hand. “You did real good today.”

  Her sister smiled, but there was hesitation in her violet eyes, as if she could sense what was coming. She looked behind her at the villagers sifting through the rubble to see what they could salvage. “They’re afraid of me.”

  “Yeah. Both of us. We have to go.”

  “I know.” Then, more quietly, she said, “You have to go.”

  “Yeah.” Hettie swallowed thickly.

  “You have to leave me, don’t you?”

  “I don’t want to,” she said. “But your powers are growing. You need training. You can do so much, and … I’ve been holding you back.” Her chest hurt at the admission. She’d treated her sister as helpless for so long, she’d hardly given her a chance to live, to grow, to make friends and have a life of her own.

  Maybe she’d been selfish. Abby was the only family left to her, and she had to protect her from the Division, from Zavi, from anyone who wanted to hurt her. But Abby was stronger and more capable than Hettie would acknowledge. Hettie had come perilously close to death today, and it likely wouldn’t be the last time as long as she was bound to the Devil’s Revolver. Her sister needed to learn how to take care of herself and get control of her indigo abilities for the day Hettie wasn’t there.

  “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to,” she clarified. “So I’m giving you a choice. You can come with me back to the States and help me find out what’s happening to Patrice and the other soothsayers. Or you can go with Ling to find someone who can train you and help you get control of your powers.”

  Abby’s violet eyes glowed with uncertainty and the barest spark of excitement. “You mean … I can be on my own?”

  “With Ling. And Cymon, too. You’d have to take care of them both. Do you think you can?”

  Abby tilted her head at Ling. Something about the way she studied him with those intense, probing eyes made Ling straighten. Whatever she was looking for, she seemed to find it, because she nodded. “He’ll learn to deal with me.”

  Hettie hugged her sister to hide her tears. “I know you’ll do great. And you’ll be safer if you’re not with me. But I promise I’ll come back for you,” she said against her temple. “I have to help Patrice and the other soothsayers.”

  And I need to find Zavi. She kept that thought to herself. She still had to undo Diablo’s curse. Finding the angel Abzavine and getting him to divulge the mage gun’s secrets was the only way she could think to reclaim her lost years and destroy the weapon once and for all.

  Uncle sidled up to her. “You sure that’s a good idea? Leaving Abby all on her own with the Celestial?”

  “You d
idn’t object,” Hettie pointed out. “Which means you’re confident in Ling’s abilities to protect her from the Division. He kept himself hidden away from you, after all.”

  He grumbled an acknowledgment. “Doesn’t mean Abby’s in the clear. Wherever he takes her, she’s a danger to herself and everyone around her.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  Hettie, Uncle, Horace, Ling, and Abby gathered a few meager supplies without any complaint from the villagers. Jezebel and Las Furias nickered greetings to each other as they were reunited, and the companions mounted up. No one gathered to see them off: the inhabitants of the now-ruined Villa del Punta were clearly glad to see the backs of their strange and terrible visitors.

  Only Walker and Beatrice watched them go from the downed gate. When Hettie looked back, the tall bounty hunter waved.

  The sun peeked above the hills, bronzing the sky over a blood-crusted land, gilding their dusty path.

  They headed north.

  My deepest gratitude to my cover artist, Cassandre Bolan, for her amazing and iconic work on The Devil’s Revolver series. Every new cover brings Hettie to life just a little more. Thanks also to illustrator Ann O’Connell for her beautiful interior drawings.

  The Devil’s Revolver series would not be here without the hard work, dedication, and full support of my editor, Mary Ann Hudson, and Ruthie Knox of Brain Mill Press. You ladies have made all my dreams for Hettie come true, and then some.

  Special thanks to my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan of Handspun Literary, for being there, always.

  I would like to acknowledge funding support from the Ontario Arts Council, an agency of the Government of Ontario, for giving me a grant to continue working on the series.

  I’d also like to acknowledge the hard work of the librarians and staff at the Toronto Public Library, who had to shelve all the books I went through for research. Support your public libraries!

  To the readers, teachers, librarians, and booksellers who’ve embraced Hettie and written me lovely emails, reviews, and more—thank you.