Was that why it’d taken so long for him to recognize her gift? Had Ling known about the way Abby talked with her “friends”? Had he reported that or dismissed it as childish rambling? One thing was certain—he didn’t know she’d opened the remote Zoom tunnel by herself. He didn’t know about anything that had happened with Zavi, and she wasn’t about to tell him.
He shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry to have deceived you for so long, but I had to keep my mission a secret. I grew lax in my duties and thought only of myself when I left town. It was the act of a coward.” He lowered his chin. “I never anticipated that any of this would happen.”
Hettie twisted her skirt in a knot, digging her nails into her thighs. This man whom she’d trusted most among her companions—a man her father had vouched for—had turned out to be a liar too. She wanted to lash out at him, but she was too weary, too filled with grief and anger and exhaustion. And she couldn’t blame him for anything. He hadn’t known about Pa or Diablo. He couldn’t have known the men who’d attacked him in town were Butch Crowe’s men. And the government wouldn’t have had any soothsayers who could tell them this would happen because of the blackout.
None of these facts soothed the sting of betrayal though. “So, Agent Tsang, how’d you get all this?” She waved around, indicating the military might surrounding them.
“That was mainly your uncle’s doing. And Miss Favreau’s. I only revealed myself when things got desperate. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that Jeremiah Bassett already knew what I was.”
Yet another secret the old man had kept from her. She ought to smother him in his sleep.
“Shoulda said something right off the bat, Tsang.” Captain Bradley blew out a cloud of blue smoke. “If you’d reported in like you were supposed to, we coulda had her bundled up safe weeks ago and saved you lot the trouble.” He said it as if they would have known exactly where to find her. As if they could have swooped in and saved the day. Considering Zavi’s seemingly limitless power, she doubted his claim.
“So what happens now?” Hettie asked.
The captain shrugged. “You’ll be taken to Chicago to stand trial for the murders of the Pinkerton agents. Seeing as you’re only a woman, I suspect they’ll spare you the noose and instead give you enough lifetime sentences to keep you in jail till you’re dust. Bassett there will stand trial in Newhaven, seeing as he killed a Pink there. We ain’t got anything on that Woodroffe. Nothing that’ll stick, anyhow. As for that infernal revolver”—he spat on the floor—“it’ll be taken somewhere safe.”
“Nowhere’s safe,” Hettie said. “Too many people are after it. It needs to be destroyed.”
“I just follow orders, miss. You’d be better off if you piped down and accepted your lot now.”
“And Abby?”
Ling said, “She’ll come with me back to the Division of Sorcery’s headquarters. She’ll be well taken care of, Miss Hettie. She’ll get magical training by the greatest master sorcerers alive.” He didn’t exactly sound excited by the prospect—resigned, more like.
She squeezed her eyes shut. No, it couldn’t end like this. Not after everything she’d been through to find her sister. “Ling, please. Abby’s too young to go to the Academy, much less whatever facility you’re taking her to. You know what she’s like. She’s not ready. Abby needs me.”
Ling’s eyes remained steady on her. “You’re going to jail, Hettie. You’re going to be punished for the crimes you’ve committed.” His lips pressed tight. “I’m sorry.”
She clenched her fists, and the manacles felt as if they were tightening around her wrists. Her whole body shook. “I haven’t done anything any man wouldn’t have done in my situation. And I wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t rescued you … twice. Is this what your honor is worth?”
He stared at her, unflinching. She hoped her eyes bored holes through his skull. She hoped he never got another night’s rest for this betrayal.
A soldier ran in, snapping the tension. “Sir, we found a room near the old station chamber full of children. Some of them are in real bad shape.”
“God’s beard, the old man was telling the truth.” The captain stubbed out his cigarette hastily. “We’re going to need stretchers and wagons and all the healers we can round up.” The men at the command table rallied as Captain Bradley barked out orders. He left two guards at the tent flap and told them to keep an eye on the prisoners. Ling followed them out, regret plain on his face.
Exhausted, Hettie dropped into a chair next to Uncle’s cot. So this was it. She was headed for jail.
Maybe her sister would be better off. What kind of life could she have offered after this? They had the house, but in the back of her mind hadn’t she only saved it so that she and Abby could be buried there? Had she really believed this quest would end with the two of them going home? She laughed to herself, her chuckles bubbling up into near-hysterical laughter.
“Madness finally settling in?” Walker entered the tent. It was with a little suspicion and envy that she noticed he wasn’t wearing manacles or bracelets, and walked around freely. He fidgeted with his belt. “I was … concerned,” he began slowly. “When we saw you fall from the train and the Pinks surrounding you … And then that remote Zoom tunnel opened.” He turned a tortured look on her. “We thought they were taking you back to the headquarters in Chicago.”
She suddenly remembered. “Thomas Stubbs is in a cell down in the caverns. He got dragged into the Zoom with me. He’ll need a healer. The Crowe gang worked him over pretty hard.”
“So Butch and his boys were definitely working for Zavi?”
Hettie opened her mouth to speak but was suddenly swamped with the memory of Bill struggling beneath her. The final trembling and slackening of his muscles as she throttled him with nothing more than rough rope. She glanced down at her rope-burned hands to hide the cold elation trembling through her. “Yeah. He was lending them shape-shifting magic in exchange for their services. Butch lost control of most of his gang. He said it was because they were hooked on juice.”
Walker’s features flickered. “You seem mighty calm for someone who faced down a Kukulos warlock and a gang of outlaw Weres.”
She stared at him, detached as she cataloged the horrors she’d witnessed, the hell she’d literally been dragged through. She could see he wanted to hear her story. She shuddered. There would be time to tell the tale later. “I’ve had worse days.”
He didn’t push her for more.
“Tell me what happened after I fell off the train. Where are Sophie and Jemma and Marcus?”
“Sophie went on to Yuma so she could petition for more troops in case we needed them. We stopped in the next town and went to the local marshal, who sent a message by Zoom to the Division of Sorcery. At first the man wouldn’t listen, thought we were crazy. Then Sophie waved her name under his nose, added a touch of glamor magic, and it changed his mind.”
Her head popped up. “Sophie uses glamor?”
“You didn’t know?” He smiled lopsidedly. “It’s plain as the rouge on her cheeks. But I can see through the layers of frosting to the cake underneath. Mind you, she doesn’t need it.”
She tried to stay focused. “So you got the marshal’s support…”
“He contacted the DOS. We got a telephone call, can you imagine, and that was when Ling pulled out his badge. Things moved fast after that. It took half a day to gather everyone by remote Zoom to a location close to where we tracked you. Bassett didn’t eat or sleep. I’ve never seen anyone sweat blood before, but he did. At one point late last night, he cried out and had a fit. When he recovered he started laughing like a madman. It was right around when we infiltrated the compound that he plum passed out.” He peeked over at the old man, grimacing. “He’d better live through this. I want to see his face when he lays eyes on you.”
She glanced over at Jeremiah, emotions swellin
g inside her chest. She rubbed at her wet eyes and gave a short laugh. “He’ll probably call me an idiot and slap me with his hat.”
“I’d call you a clumsy dolt who doesn’t know any better first,” Uncle muttered, eyes still closed.
Hettie shot up in her chair and stood over his cot. “You been awake all this time?”
“The dead couldn’t sleep with you two lovebirds cooing over me.” He cracked his eyes open. The whites were bloody and yellowing. “You look terrible.”
Something inside her eased, and she blinked her tears away. She knelt down and placed a hand over his and squeezed. “You don’t look too good yourself, old man.”
The cold metal of her manacles clinked against his. He glanced down and muttered an oath. “Shoulda known better than to trust that two-faced son of a lizard.”
She had so many questions. So much she needed to hear, including an apology. But he looked thoroughly worn-out. “Did you know about Abby’s potential gift? Ling says she’s an indigo child, whatever that means.”
“She was a little too canny sometimes to be just simple, but I didn’t have a clue. Ling, on the other hand, I knew right off wasn’t just some coolie looking for ranch work. But once I figured out he wasn’t after Diablo, I thought an extra pair of eyes around the ranch couldn’t hurt. He wasn’t doing anything I couldn’t have stopped him from doing.”
“You keep telling yourself that. He says he’s Paladin class.”
“Paladin-class healer. Not good for much unless you need fixing up.” He tried to sit up but sank back into his pillow with a moan. “Did you find out what was blocking the soothsayers’ visions?”
“I can’t say for sure. Zavi had a lot of things going on down there, but at least I know what he was hiding.” She told him everything she’d learned about the operation, the kidnapped children who’d fed Zavi’s powers, and how the warlock had wanted to open the gate to hell.
“Good thing you put a stop to all that.” Uncle’s lips pressed into a firm line, and he exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you. If I’d done what I wanted and hidden you and Diablo away, things would’ve turned out much differently.”
“Not that we’re in great shape now.” She held up her manacled wrists with a frown.
Jeremiah squinted. He took her hands gently and inspected her palms. To her shock, they were glowing, as if covered in gold dust and bathed in sunlight. “Where’s Diablo?”
“Outside. Why?”
“Summon it.”
“I can’t.” She jangled the short chain linking her bracelets.
“Try.”
Hettie concentrated. She could see the revolver on the ground exactly where she’d dropped it. The land dripped with gold in her vision as she stooped to pick it up, snapping out the wheel and spinning it to find it loaded. Always loaded. It hadn’t spent a single cartridge since she’d put her bullets in it.
She opened her eyes. Uncle stared at her. The manacles lay in a pile of molten metal on the ground. And Diablo was in her hand.
“Hell’s bells, what did you do?” He turned her wrist to expose the revolver’s solid black grip. The ivory had taken on an ebony matte finish as if it had been charred in a fire. She didn’t know when it had changed—deep down, it almost felt as though it had always been like this, its true self revealed after the ivory was scraped away.
She heard noises outside. Men rushing back and forth, shouts of “Fire!”
Cymon barked steadily.
Jeremiah pushed out of the cot and stumbled. Hettie slung his arm around her shoulders, and they made their way to the tent flap. The guards didn’t notice them. They were too preoccupied by the sight of the tents going up in flames.
Heatless flames. She looked around—where had Walker gotten to?
Horses screamed and scattered. Most of the soldiers were in the cave underground helping the children out, but those who remained beat uselessly at the fire and started forming bucket lines. Where they expected to get water out in the Arizona desert, Hettie had no idea.
The four men who’d carried Abby into a tent rushed out. She thrashed wildly in their midst. Three of the men were suddenly snatched out of the air, as if by invisible birds, and tossed aside. The remaining man who carried her gave a yelp as he ran with all speed toward Hettie.
It was then that the guards realized their captives were out and about. Jeremiah extended a hand and shouted a word, and a flash of light blinded them. He groaned and doubled over. Hettie reversed her grip on Diablo, coldcocked one guard, then kicked the other in the stomach and relieved him of his rifle, smashing it over his shoulder.
Burning needles stabbed through her palms, and she dropped the weapon. As the second guard turned over onto his back, she pointed the revolver at his head.
“Hettie, what are you doing?” Uncle rasped.
Her finger hovered over the trigger. It would be easier this way. One less man to track her down. One less man to shoot at her.
The soldier’s eyes widened and rolled up into his head as he slumped. He’d fainted. Slowly, she lowered the gun, disappointment and fear tumbling through her.
“Hettie!” The man carrying Abby practically flew toward them, legs pumping. The young girl hopped out of his arms as if he were simply a cart rumbling down the road, but he kept running, his lungs heaving, the whites of his eyes clear. He ran through the tent flap, crashing into the furniture, straight to the back of the tent, where he dove headfirst through the canvas and landed on his side. His legs continued kicking wildly, even as the fabric gathered around him. He groaned as the tent collapsed on top of him.
Abby had done that to him somehow. A little thrill of fear and awe zipped along Hettie’s spine. If it hadn’t been for the tent, the soldier might’ve run straight into the desert and kept on going. Hexed to run, just like a horse.
Abby threw her arms around Hettie’s waist. “Don’t let them take me. Please.”
“I won’t. Ever.” She clasped her sister in her arms. She would protect Abby and vowed to stay with her, no matter what it took. Her sister needed her. “We gotta get out of here.” Hettie helped Uncle to his feet. They needed horses. They needed a way out. They needed—
A pair of distinct whinnies, the thunder of horse hooves, and Blackie and Jezebel streaked toward them, led by Walker riding Lilith. Smoke curled around them, as if they’d emerged from the fires of Hades.
“Let’s git!” Walker shouted, reining in sharply.
Hettie boosted Abby into Blackie’s saddle while Uncle pulled himself onto Jezebel. As Hettie mounted, she spotted Ling through the smoke, watching them with an expression that bordered on roguish. He gave a slight bow, then turned away.
She flicked the reins, and Blackie whirled with a snort. “Where do we go?”
“South. To the Wall.” Walker flashed his wolfish grin. “We made a bargain, Hettie Alabama. And I intend to make sure you keep your end of it.”
They spurred the horses into a gallop, leaving Arizona behind in a trail of dust and fire.
I would like to thank and acknowledge Dr. Angela Jaime, associate professor and chair of American Indian Studies at the University of Wyoming, who helped me understand the appropriate context for the use of certain terms with respect to Native culture, and ultimately started me on the path to decolonizing my writing. Her insights were invaluable to building the magical world of The Devil’s Revolver. All mistakes and misunderstandings are my own.
The Devil’s Revolver would not be here without the steadfast support of my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan of Handspun Literary, who believed in this story when I first brought it to her over four years ago. She persisted.
I also want to give my humblest appreciation and thanks to my editor and publishers, Mary Ann Hudson, and to Ruthie Knox of Brain Mill Press, who put their full faith into my series. I am so grateful to you for welcoming me and
Hettie into your lives.
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.
My love and appreciation to John for all the love and support he’s given to me and my writing career over the years. Thanks also to my parents, who gave me everything, my sisters, and the friends who’ve bought my books and rooted me on.
This story is dedicated to Mara.
Vicki So, writing as V. S. McGrath, is a published romance author (as Vicki Essex) and has six books with Harlequin Superromance: Her Son’s Hero (July 2011); Back to the Good Fortune Diner (January 2013), which was picked for the Smart Bitches Trashy Books Sizzling Book Club; In Her Corner (March 2014); A Recipe for Reunion (March 2015); Red Carpet Arrangement (January 2016); and Matinees with Miriam (November 2016). She lives in Toronto, Canada.
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