“And so we come to the site of your grave.” The liquid voice was slightly choked, the words tripping from a tongue that sounded as if it had been bitten in half. Hettie spun, raising Diablo, but froze at the gruesome figure who met her.
Zavi lurched into the room, stepping in a stiff hobble, as if his joints could swing in any direction. His jaw moved in strange circular motions as he spoke, the clicking of his bones and teeth amplified by a cavernous red mouth that couldn’t quite close. The odd angle of his neck and the distended jut of his shoulder blades reminded her of a pile of fallen timbers. His once-pristine clothes were torn, burned, and bloody, and his flaxen hair and porcelain complexion were matted and stained with blood. His black eyes gleamed like pools of oil. Any trace of ethereal serenity was gone.
“You’ve led a merry chase, Miss Alabama.” He sounded like he was speaking through a metal grate, his voice strangely gravelly.
She backed farther into the room, groping behind her. Cold sweat soaked her neck.
Zavi’s mouth stretched wide. She heard his jaw crack as it straightened out. He jammed the heel of his palm against the side of his head and popped his neck straight, then slammed a dislocated shoulder against a boulder with a sickening thwap! It didn’t take him long to rearrange his bones until he stood tall and straight again.
Hettie stuffed down her scream. What on earth was he? “You’ll pardon the acrobatics,” he said. “I don’t like to kill someone when I’m not at my best. Now where’s Abby?”
“She opened a Zoom tunnel. She’s gone.”
He smirked. “You’d never let her go off on her own. Abigail, dear, if you’re here, come out. I won’t hurt you. I’m not mad. I’ll even spare your sister.”
A beat, and he sighed. “I suppose you might have been telling the truth. That makes this easier.” He opened his glowing palms. Hettie leaped behind a boulder as lightning burst from his hands. Dust and gravel rained down on her, and she crawled on her stomach to cover.
“I hated the thought of killing you in front of Abby. She’s so sensitive. She had such terrible nightmares when she first arrived. That was Butch’s fault.” Zavi fired off another sizzling bolt that shattered a stalagmite. Dust filled the air, wafting around in swirling eddies. “But she’s strong. She’ll get used to death. She just doesn’t understand yet what a privilege it is. That’s what I’m offering you now, you know. Though I’m sorry to say I can’t promise you a quick death. You’ve caused me too much trouble, and I’ve acquired a taste for vengeance.”
She got up and fired twice in his direction, then ducked back down as lightning enveloped her hiding spot. Her skin buzzed, and the hairs on her body stood on end. She smelled something burning—the hem of her dress was on fire! She beat it out with her hands and dove from the lightning-engulfed pocket of rocks as it exploded in a cloud of dust.
“Don’t worry,” Zavi called. “Once you’re gone, I won’t punish Abby for disobeying me. She’s too precious to me. Besides, she was led astray by your bad influence. You’re the snake in my Garden of Eden, and you corrupted my little Eve.” He tilted his head. “She’ll mourn you for a time, but she’ll get over it. I plan on displaying your bones in her room. That way, you’ll never have to leave her.” He threw another bolt of lightning at the far wall. Sharp stone chips and sparks sprayed her back. “I really am getting tired of this. Come out and die like a good little girl.”
She couldn’t keep dodging and hiding. Eventually he’d blast every last rock to smithereens.
She caught a gleam in the corner. The spirit of Crying Sparrow stood just outside of a shaft of light shining down from a crumbling hole in the ceiling where lightning had struck. The girl notched her chin up. Hettie understood.
She grabbed a rock and lobbed it at Zavi’s head. He roared when it struck him right between the eyes, and she almost laughed as she ran for the next bit of cover. Finding her target, she stood, Diablo poised, praying Abby was smart enough to get away if this didn’t work.
Zavi’s hands glowed bright white, lighting up his hell-dark eyes. “It ends now.”
“Yup.” She pointed Diablo up and squeezed the trigger.
Green fire splashed against the ceiling, and Hettie let the amber moment envelop her. She strained through the syrup and dragged Diablo’s flame up behind her. Zavi caught on a fraction of a second too late. He lunged toward her a beat behind, his movements only half as fast as hers. His lightning didn’t make it, though. It stayed tethered to his hands as the power arced toward the spot she’d just vacated. The blue-white jags tangled as he turned, dancing up his arms and wrapping around his torso. Hettie leaped for the crevice just as the molten slag spilled down on Zavi and brought with it tons of rock, burying the screaming warlock. Normal time resumed, and she scrambled into the shelter of the opening as the cave tumbled down around her.
Memories of her life, of her family and the ranch, swirled through her. She clasped her hands around Diablo, knowing she’d soon be headed back to that dark place, and made the only request she could of her maker. Please take care of Abby.
Sunlight knifed into the chamber as the ceiling crumbled. Hettie closed her eyes and said her final prayers as clouds of dust filled the air. But the crush of darkness never came.
Suddenly, the world stopped falling apart, and the whole bowl of the cavern was open to a cloudless, brilliantly blue morning sky.
Hettie wiped the grit from her watering eyes as she stared up, dazed.
“Hettie!” Abby’s voice was a sweet, clear warble, followed by a second rough shout.
“Hettie!”
She stared up in amazement. “Walker?” The bounty hunter stood next to her sister, a broad, dark shadow with a rope coiled over his shoulders, a shotgun in one hand. The other hand clamped over Abby’s shoulder to keep her away from the gaping hole.
“You all right?” he called down.
She looked back to the pile of rocks. Zavi was under there somewhere. “I’m fine.”
“Hold tight.” The bounty hunter disappeared with Abby, and a moment later the rope dropped over the edge. Walker swung down, rappelling with ease. His big boots landed on the shifting rock pile. He drew his sidearm and scanned the area.
“We should get out of here,” Hettie urged, dropping Diablo into her pocket. “There are hundreds of Weres below—the whole Crowe gang. Butch is dead, and I found the missing children, and—”
“It’s all right, Hettie.” The look on his face didn’t say everything would be fine, though. He gestured above. “Let’s move before the rest of this hole crumbles away.”
“How did you find me? Where are Uncle and Ling and—”
“It’s a long story.” His face was hard as he looped the rope around the two of them. “Climb onto my back and hold tight.” He braced himself, muttered a short spell, then planted his boot against the wall and climbed up fast, scaling the rock with the ease of a spider.
He swung them both over the grassy lip of the hole and dismissed the spell with a word, exhaling hard and shaking out his hands. Hettie clambered off him and sat up. Her eyes widened.
Not a hundred feet away, a posse—no, an army—was gathered around the cave entrance. Mounted and armed, the uniformed men numbered in the hundreds and were in the process of gunning down the Weres trying to escape through various shafts and exits all around what she recognized as the compound from her vision—Sonora Station. The wolf-men bounded from the holes like scared jackrabbits and were put down easily and bloodily by men with Gatling guns spitting out wavering ribbons of bullets. Others hounded the strays from horseback, shooting them as they ran, or in a few cases, cutting them down with sabers. There would be no trials for the Weres—they were abominations, after all, and went against the laws of natural magic. As they crumpled to the ground, the magic left their bodies, and the wolf forms sloughed off. Fur filled the air, taken away by the hot, dry wind. Blood watered
the red earth.
“Hettie.” Abby threw her arms around Hettie’s waist, sobbing.
“Abby.” She slid to her knees, hugging her sister tight. She cupped her face in her hands, smearing blood on her cheeks, and looked into her violet eyes. “Are you all right?” She nodded, and Hettie thought her sister seemed more … present. Older. She smiled through burning eyes. “You were so brave.”
“Because Paul was there. He told me you would come for me. He told me you wouldn’t leave me alone.”
She would have to thank Paul whenever she saw him next.
Cymon barreled into her, whining and wagging his whole body as he bathed her face with his slobbery tongue. Abby squealed and wrapped her arms around the mutt’s thick neck. He barked and wrestled her to the ground, half sitting, half lying on top of her like a mother hen on a wayward chick. Abby giggled and let him lick the dirt and blood from her face.
“C’mon,” Walker said, “we have to go.”
“Go? But—” She gestured at the army.
“Hettie, now.”
“Where’s Uncle? Is he all right? And what about Sophie and Jemma and Marcus?”
Walker’s eyes kept darting around. “Please, Hettie, just listen to me. We have to get away from here. These men will come after you next.”
It took a second too long to register what he was saying. She heard the distinct sound of a Winchester lever, followed by the action of several other rifles. She turned slowly.
Grim-faced, Ling pointed a pistol at Walker’s head. A man with straw-colored hair and a big mustache stood next to him. “Hettie Alabama,” he declared, cocking his sidearm, “you are under arrest for the murders of Marshal Phineas Shaw, the criminal Isaac Hedley, and three Pinkerton agents, obstruction of justice, theft, kidnapping…” He wiped his brow. “Well, I can read you the list of charges when we get out of this sun, but it’d be a good idea to come with us, miss.”
Cymon’s hackles went up, and he growled, snarling as the men surrounded them. Diablo leaped into Hettie’s hand. She whipped her arm out automatically.
“Captain, this isn’t fair. Hettie wasn’t in control—” Walker stepped in front of her, and Ling intercepted him.
“Step away, Woodroffe,” the healer said quietly. “You don’t need to be involved in this. Just take the dog and get out of the way.”
“You son of a bitch.” Walker glowered and took a step toward him. “You know none of this is her fault. She had no choice.”
Ling’s face was a mask of calm, but conflict flickered in his dark eyes. Abby gave a frightened wail. She clung to Hettie’s side, directly in the line of fire. Cymon snarled, foam gathering around his mouth. His low barks grew louder and more insistent, as if to defend Hettie.
“Should we shoot the dog, captain?”
“He’s just a dumb animal, private. You wanna shoot some dogs, go after them Weres.”
Cymon continued barking.
“For lands’ sake, shyaddap!” The captain fired his pistol in the air with a loud crack. Abby screamed and grabbed Cymon around the neck. He whimpered, chastened.
“Stop, everyone!” Hettie raised her hands. Diablo stuck fast to her palm. “I’m not going to hurt anyone. I’m going to put the gun on the ground.” She did just that, and the men closed around her.
“No one touch that infernal thing,” the mustachioed captain ordered. “Put a stasis ward on it. I want it guarded at all times until the Division retrieval team arrives.”
The men rushed her. Heavy iron manacles were clamped onto Hettie’s wrists. Abby cried out. She struggled against the soldiers who dragged her away, and she began to wail.
“Don’t hurt her!” Hettie shouted, but saw that her alarm only made her sister more agitated. She said quickly, “Abby—it’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be fine. Just go with these men for now. They’ll take care of you.”
Abby quieted some, though she was still bawling. Ling and the mustachioed leader approached Hettie and her two guards. The older man watched as Abby was led away. “I can’t believe a little girl gave you such trouble, Agent Tsang,” he muttered.
“Agent Tsang?”
He glanced at her, but before he could open his mouth the men gave a surprised cry. Hettie only just caught them flying ten feet away from Abby as she continued to scream.
“Dammit, someone put a collar on that girl!” The captain drew a smaller sidearm from a holster at his back.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s just a sedative,” Ling said firmly. “It’s to calm her down.”
She turned a hateful glare on him. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”
Abby ran toward Hettie, and Cymon kept the men who tried to stop her at bay.
“Don’t let them take me, Hettie! They want to hurt me!”
The captain took aim. Abby flinched as a small dart appeared in her throat. Her eyes rolled up, and she plowed face-first into the dust.
“She’ll be fine when she wakes, besides a bit of a headache.” The man holstered his dart weapon. “Get that collar and some bracelets on her. We don’t need her punching folks clear across the county.” He nodded at Ling. “Guess you were right about her.”
Two men carried the unconscious Abby to a tent flanked by two more men. The soldiers swatted at Cymon, who lunged for their heels. When one made to draw his weapon, Walker swooped in and grabbed his wrist, pinning him with a narrow look. He bent to one knee and murmured something to Cymon, who immediately settled down.
“I don’t recall any mention in the reports that her powers had manifested.” The captain addressed Ling, rubbing his bristly jaw.
“This is new,” Ling replied grimly.
“What is going on here?” Hettie demanded. “Who are you?”
“We’re the folks who saved your hide, far as I can tell.” He hitched his chin toward the Were massacre. The gunfire was trailing off. “But if you’re going to be formal about thanking me, I’m Captain William Bradley with the Division of Sorcery Enforcement.”
She ignored him and directed her attention on Ling. “Where’s Uncle Jeremiah? And Sophie and the others?”
“They’re all fine. We left Sophie and her people in Yuma. Your uncle was shot on the train, but I got the bullet out and healed him before there was too much damage. He’s resting.” Ling looked toward a series of tents. “Mr. Bassett used up a lot of power tracking you down.”
“Wily old bastard.” Captain Bradley lit a cigarette. “Say what you will about his methods, but he did find you.” He smirked. “You wanna see him?”
Captain Bradley led the way to what was apparently a command tent. As Ling entered, the officers saluted him smartly before turning back to their maps and plans.
She stared. Officers did not salute civilians, and certainly not Celestials. Not unless…
“Try not to disturb him.” He pointed.
Her eyes went directly to the far corner, where Jeremiah Bassett lay on a narrow cot. The air stopped in her lungs. He looked pale and waxy, his cheeks sunken, with dark circles under his eyes. A man with a medic’s badge stooped over him, checking his pulse.
“Is he going to be all right?” she asked breathlessly.
“He hasn’t slept for three days. He’s been burning his reserves and boosting his powers with some godforsaken Eastern potions.” The medic cut a suspicious look at Ling. “Could be poison for all I know.”
Hettie turned slowly, gathering her fractured thoughts and focusing on the impassive Ling. “Okay. Tell me what’s going on, Agent Tsang.”
“I’m a Paladin-class healer with the Division of Sorcery,” he said without preamble. “The government recruited me when I arrived in California almost twelve years ago.”
Paladin-class. Even Hettie knew that meant he had about the same rank as a mundane nongifted military captain. “Recrui
ted? For what?”
He rubbed the back of his head. “That’s a very long story.”
“Well, then, get to the part where you’re a government agent. You’ve been lying to me all this time. Why were you on our farm?” She was getting angrier by the second. Was anyone in her life what they seemed? Next they’d be telling her Cymon was a prince in disguise.
Ling clasped his hands in front of him and took a breath. “The Division of Sorcery has been keeping tabs on Abby since the moment she was born. You see, your sister is what’s known as an indigo child. These are special individuals who can use a wide range of powers without incantations, spells, or talismans. That in itself isn’t unusual—you’ve seen me use ether magic. But in Abby’s case, we believe she has been gifted with extraordinary powers that aren’t linked to magic as we know it. A few of these indigo children have been found over the years, but many of them don’t live past their early teens.” He rubbed his chin. “I was assigned to watch her and report any manifestations of her abilities.”
She blinked rapidly. If they’d known … If they’d warned them before the Crowe gang had come, they could have stopped all this from happening. They could have protected her from Zavi. Hettie straightened. “So if she did … manifest her gift, then what?”
He gazed at her impassively. “For her protection—and yours—we would have taken her to a facility where she could develop her skills and learn to control her powers.”
“A facility.” She gasped. “You mean the Academy.”
“No. Not the Academy.” Ling’s gaze was hard. “She is unique, her powers unstable and unfathomable. They won’t jeopardize the other potentials. They’ll take her somewhere they can … study her.” His lips firmed, and he looked away.
Hettie’s skin prickled all over. Sending Abby off to the Academy would’ve been bad enough—she’d heard the stories about how the students were treated. But a new kind of hell awaited Abby. Even Ling didn’t seem keen on sending her there.
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