Hettie felt her way along the wall, slowly adjusting to the light seeping in around the door frame. She heard the scrape of something on the ground and stopped, holding her breath. A foul smell hit her, and someone moaned. “Who’s there?”
The moan came again, low and wordless and vaguely familiar. “Mr. Stubbs?”
The man coughed and groaned. Hettie found him with the tip of her boot. The Pinkerton agent lay curled up on the ground, sticky wetness soaking his clothes. He must’ve taken quite a beating. It was a miracle he was still alive.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Stubbs. We’ll get out of here.” She said it more to comfort herself than to reassure him. She couldn’t give two figs about him, considering the hell he’d put her through, but she didn’t like that he was hurt, and she had to admit she was glad to have some company in her misery. She sat on the sandy, uneven floor. “I’m sure Uncle and the others will figure out what’s happened.”
Stubbs gave a raspy gurgle. Of course she didn’t know that at all. She did know that Uncle wouldn’t give up on finding her and Diablo, though. He’d tracked her across Montana and Wyoming—he’d do it again, she was sure.
But the last glimpse she’d had of him, he’d been shot in the chest…
She pressed a fist against her mouth to stifle a sob. Ling was with him. He could heal Uncle. They would regroup and track her down…
But how long would it be before they discovered this hideout? Hedley had told them where it was, but the place had to be magicked, hidden from curious eyes despite the landmark. By the time her friends got a bead on her, she could already be dead. Or Abby could be.
She closed her eyes. Her sister’s transformation … the black eyes and blood hunger … she wished those were just part of the nightmare. Zavi’s revelation that Abby was a potential—not just that, but a powerful sorcerer—didn’t stun her as much as the fact that Abby had attacked her. She’d always been such a sweet and docile girl. She’d never hurt anyone or anything intentionally. Hettie desperately wanted to believe Zavi’s influence had made her this way, but what if it was all Abby? What if Zavi was telling the truth and he’d simply freed her from the confines her family had placed upon her?
And the blood drinking … There hadn’t been vampires since the Civil War. Kukulos warlocks used blood in lots of ways in their magic rituals, but drinking it was reserved for the most extreme of warlocks. Blood was sacred and forbidden … what Abby had been doing was monstrous beyond words.
Despite the fears tumbling through her, the cloying darkness closed around her and she succumbed to exhaustion. She fell asleep propped against the wall.
A scraping sound startled her from a fitful, dreamless slumber. Hettie flinched as blinding light stabbed her eyes. The door opened, and a huge, shadowy figure lumbered in and raised a lamp to his face.
“Get up.” It was Butch Crowe. She scrambled backward on her bottom, bumping into Stubbs.
“Get up,” Butch said again. “You wanna live, you’ll come with me.”
She traced the starburst scar across his face with her eyes and swallowed tightly. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He drew his gun. “You can die here on your knees right now or on your feet while we get your sister out of here. Either way, I don’t care, but I’d rather you handle that little witch.”
Confused, she slowly stood. “What’re you talking about?”
“You can ask questions later. The patrol will be here soon. Now git.”
Hettie didn’t have a choice, not with that gun waving at her face. Butch had missed once; she was sure he wouldn’t a second time. She glanced back at Stubbs. “What about him?”
“Leave ’im.” He stuck his head back out the corridor and gestured for her to follow.
Stubbs’s hand clamped around her ankle. He made a pitiful noise in his throat—something must’ve been wrong that he couldn’t speak. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stubbs. I promise, I’ll come back for you. I’ve got to see what this is all about.”
His fingers clawed at her skirt as she shook him off. Only the tiniest sliver of guilt needled her.
Butch holstered his gun and made his way through the corridor, holding the lamp aloft. “Where are you taking me?”
“You want your sister, right?” She didn’t respond. “There’s a way out the back. You’ll have to climb through a vent shaft, but I think you’re small enough to fit. You take her out of here and you get her as far away as possible.”
“And in exchange?”
“You give me Diablo.”
“I don’t have it.”
“It ain’t about who’s got it, just who controls it.” He snorted in frustration. “That gun belongs to me rightly. Jack stole it from me.”
“That’s not what I heard. I heard your pa gave it to him.”
He whirled on her. “’Cuz the old man didn’t know better!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “I was his kin. His blood. I was supposed to be the next Elias, not your coward of a pa. You think any of this would be happening if he’d given it to me?”
Hettie didn’t reply.
Butch’s nostrils flared as he regained composure, and he stalked on. “C’mon. We don’t have much time.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“It’s a full moon tonight. You know that means stronger powers for thems that use blood magic, right? He’ll probably try it tonight.”
“Try what? Why are you helping me?”
“I ain’t helping no one,” he snapped. “I just ain’t fixin’ to see the end of the world.”
“What?”
“You stupid or something? Don’t you know what happens when Diablo’s wielder is killed?”
Her skin erupted in goose bumps. “He’s trying to open the gate to hell?”
“Not just that. Your little bloodsucking witch sister is going to help him keep it open. With the gate left wide, all manner of demons and power will flood through. He wants to scorch the earth.”
“But … why?”
“Who knows?” he growled. “He’s mad as a march hare. And the rest of my boys … well, I’d blame the juice, but that Zavi’s a silver-tongue Beelzebub. He’s got them zealous about a new order or some almighty bullshit. He makes fire-and-brimstone preachers sound like choirboys. It’s an influence spell, if you ask me.”
“And you’re not affected?”
He snorted and set his jaw. “One thing I do owe my pa—he made sure I was charmed against them hexes that fix a man’s mind to doing what he don’t want to.” He pointed at the scar. “This ain’t just for show, y’know.”
He stopped at a bend, then dragged her down a side tunnel. He shoved her into a small room, barely larger than a storage closet, and threw himself in after her, quietly pulling the door closed.
A low snuffling sound brushed past the door. She could just make out the giant paws of the Weres padding past, their nails clicking against the stone. Hettie held her breath. Could they smell the stink of fear on her? She thought back to the night on the ranch and glanced at Butch. She waited until the Weres had passed, then, just as the outlaw cracked the door open, she grabbed his gun and pointed it at his chest.
“Why should I believe anything you’re telling me?” she asked coldly.
He gave her a bland look and waited. The tingle on her palms quickly built to a searing pain, but she refused to let go. She had him—she would finally get her vengeance.
“You’re a stubborn one,” he said, “or a stupid one, maybe. You think I don’t know you can’t hold another weapon?”
She kept her grip firm, though her hands felt as though they were on fire. “Bet I can hold it long enough to pull the trigger.”
“Then you better get it over with. And you better not miss. Hope you’ve thought about how you’re going to get out of here without my help.”
The pain became too mu
ch, and she cursed and dropped the gun, squeezing her palms between her thighs. Butch scooped up his gun, then yanked her head back by her hair. “Listen good, you little tomboy. My hide’s at stake, just like yours.”
She glared at him through tear-filled eyes. “If you knew Zavi was going to end the world, why’d you join up with him in the first place?”
“You think I wanted to?” He let her go abruptly and pointed. “Something you need to understand is that Zavi found me. He was looking for Elias Blackthorn—the true Elias Blackthorn who wielded the Devil’s Revolver. I was the closest he could find, on account of my daddy. I told him about your pa, how he’d stolen Diablo and run off. He said he could help find Diablo for me, and I believed him. He looked everywhere, but Zavi could never find it or Jack.”
His lips curled in self-disgust. “I’ll admit I was blinded by his power. Never clued in to his two-faced shenanigans. All I wanted was what belonged to me. So we helped him, brought him children so he could amplify his powers in his search. We did this for months. Wasn’t till later that I realized he’d been collecting young ’uns a lot longer than that.
“When he brought in ‘new recruits,’ I should’ve known he was fixin’ for a coup. Zavi’s men got all my boys hooked on the juice. That blasted warlock’s magic poisoned them, sure as dope poisons a fiend. They won’t live without their Were powers anymore, and soon they were following his orders. I stayed clean, mostly. But the others…” He trailed off, lips pursed in a tight line.
Hedley had been telling the truth. Butch had lost control of his gang. “So you came after Diablo yourself and took my sister as collateral?”
He gave a harsh laugh, quiet in the tiny room. “Other way around. Zavi sent us to collect your sister. It was pure coincidence she was Jack’s kin. Fate, you might say. The day I found out Jack was alive—the day he shot Shadow Frank—I knew I had an opportunity to reclaim what was mine, and I didn’t need Zavi to do it. So we traced your pa back to your ranch. You know the rest.”
Zavi sent us to collect your sister. The warlock’s interest had been in Abby all along. Hettie felt a sick twist in her gut. She’d dismissed her sister’s ramblings about the “friends” she spoke with, hadn’t once thought there might be something behind them.
“So the deal’s this.” Butch got in close. His breath reeked. “I get you to your sister, I take you to the shaft, you give up Diablo to me, and we never see each other again.”
“And then what? You shoot me in the back? Finish the job?”
“I don’t give a damn what you do once you’re out of my sight. I wouldn’t even have bothered with you and yours if your pa had just given me Diablo like I asked. If you wanna blame someone for all this, you blame him.”
The sting of his words was as effective as ice water. She knew he was right in the darkest corner of her mind. This was her father’s fault. And yet she felt no grief—just a cold, numbing anger.
Butch glanced through the crack in the door and checked his gun. “You wanna live? You want your sister back? Then do as I say. I’m just as happy killing you where you stand. Either way, I’m gonna get back what’s mine. Now are you in, or do I shoot you and leave you to die in a broom closet?”
The scarred outlaw led her through the maze of corridors, ducking out of sight of several Weres patrolling the warren. Hettie had only heard about shape-shifting in school, had heard rumors of men who enjoyed taking animal forms for carnal pleasures, but since it was forbidden, she knew of no sorcerers who practiced it. It was said a powerful sorcerer could temporarily change a man, but this seemed to be a permanent ability. Men in several states of transformation inhabited the hideout. Some were regular men walking upright and armed, though they remained barefoot. Some preferred the lurching half-transformed versions of themselves, though what advantage their stooped, hairy bodies afforded them, she couldn’t guess at. Others walked on all fours, fully in wolf form. She glanced at Butch, who was one of only a handful of men who remained fully human and fully clothed.
The closer they got to the main Zoom chamber, the more patrols they saw. They managed to slip past the guards, but when they arrived at Abby’s room, she wasn’t there. Butch swore. “They must be preparing her for the ceremony.” He checked his pocket watch. The starburst scar bunched as his eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t supposed to happen until midnight.”
He glanced at her, then grabbed her wrists and began to tie them together with the rope from his belt. Hettie struggled. “What are you doing?”
“Soon as they realize you’re missing, they’re gonna know something’s wrong. They spot me with you and the jig is up.” He bound the rope tight and pushed her ahead of him. “Keep moving.”
Hettie wondered if this had all been a ruse to get her to trust Butch. She couldn’t see any reason for such an elaborate game, though.
They made their way to the old Zoom tunnel platform. A great bonfire had been built near the dais, illuminating the chamber. The more humanlike Weres were repainting the archaic symbols on the wall with fresh, dripping blood. Hettie had the sick feeling she knew where the blood had come from, too. Other Weres were simply carrying loads of boxes and barrels out to clear the room. They barked and growled at each other in thick, almost unrecognizable guttural English, their wolf lips slurring relayed orders.
Butch pointed to a doorway on the far wall. “That tunnel there dead-ends in a room, but there’s a small opening you should be able to squeeze through that climbs right up to the surface. The shaft will lead you out on the north side of the hill. If you walk northwest for five miles, you’ll hit a small town. Understand?”
“Wait, what about Abby?”
“It’s too late for her. She’ll be with Zavi. There’s no chance of getting her away now.”
“I’m not leaving—”
“What’re you doing, Butch?”
Hettie spun to find three men standing behind them. Butch grabbed Hettie by her collar and flung her out into the open. “Bringing the little chit to Zavi.”
Hettie recognized the man between the two hirsute hulks. The blond sorcerer was Shadow Frank’s brother, Bill. He looked bigger and older somehow, not quite as pale and sickly as he had that night on the ranch. His muscles bunched as if ready to leap, and his nostrils flared wide. She saw he wasn’t wearing any shoes; he must be in some in-between state of Weredom. He assessed the two of them with steady eyes. “She ain’t been prepared yet.”
“What’s to prepare? I’m just doing what Zavi says.” He spat at Bill’s feet. The young man didn’t move, but his eyes flickered, and his gaze cooled ten degrees further.
“Well then, what’re you waiting for?”
Butch gave him a dirty look before pushing Hettie ahead of him. “Stinking no-good Judas,” Butch grumbled as they descended the steps. “That son of a two-bit whore was barely a parlor magician when he signed on with our crew. He gets a little taste of power and now he thinks he runs the place.”
On the Zoom platform level, some of the more fully transformed Weres stopped to stare, eyes blazing, ears flattened back. Butch shoved her toward the dais.
“You’ve got one shot at this,” Butch said as he pushed her into a chair. He tied a rope around her and bent over her ear. “When I give the signal, all you have to do is tell Diablo it belongs to me, and you’ll be free of it.”
She closed her eyes and reached out again for the Devil’s Revolver. The tenuous filaments that kept them connected stretched, but still it would not come to her. How Butch intended to get his hands on it even if she did relinquish her hold, she had no idea, but she couldn’t contemplate that now.
The warlock Zavi appeared on the stairway above. Behind him, Abby floated down serenely, wearing a long white dress. She looked like something between a baby about to be baptized and a ghostly child bride. Her face held that faraway look Hettie knew too well. Gone was the belligerent, willful girl from before. Go
ne was the innocent smiling child. This creature with the tar-black eyes was something else.
No. She refused to believe Abby was gone. Her sister was in there somewhere. Hettie wouldn’t leave her behind.
“How industrious of you, Mr. Crowe,” Zavi remarked, black gaze touching Hettie. “I was just about to send the men up to retrieve Miss Alabama.”
“Just doing my part for the cause.” He stepped back, with only the slightest hint of irony affecting his obsequious bow.
Zavi’s red lips parted on his smile. “And for that, you will be greatly rewarded. As will all of those loyal to me.”
“Thank you, sir.” He backed off, cutting Hettie a sharp look before walking away.
The Kukulos warlock approached her and crooked one finger beneath her chin. His white teeth stood out brilliantly against his dark pink gums. “You’ve been trying to take Diablo back.”
She kept her face a mask, but wondered if it would do anything. If he could feel her fighting for possession of the Devil’s Revolver, what else could he sense?
He gestured toward Abby. “What do you think? Doesn’t she look beautiful?”
Hettie studied her sister’s vacant look. “What have you done to her?”
“Why do you keep insisting I’m the one who’s done anything to her? This is simply the state she chooses to be in when she’s performing magic. I envy her.” He sighed wistfully. “Being able to shut out the world completely, even ignoring her body’s basic needs. She is singular in her purpose.”
“And what would that be?”
“She has a great task ahead. Perhaps the greatest she will ever know.” He beckoned to someone behind her. “Bill, will you please?”
The blond sorcerer grabbed Hettie’s hair and yanked her head back, wrenching a surprised cry from her. He muttered a short incantation as he lifted a dagger and lay the cold blade upon her forehead. A flick of his wrist, and the blade bit into her flesh. Hettie screamed. She’d heard about scalping, and she struggled—
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