General Vidal “El Toro” Cabello had certainly earned his name, Ling thought grimly. The man looked like a bull walking around on tiny hind legs. He stood a good head above Ling, with hulking shoulders and a massive barrel chest. Despite being in his sixties, his neatly trimmed black beard was untouched by gray, and his deep bronze skin was nearly wrinkle free.

“Glamor,” Stubbs told him later, but Ling wasn’t so sure. Cabello could be using a rejuvenation spell, even though they’d been banned because they required children’s blood. Considering the man’s reputation, he wouldn’t put it past him.

“Thank you for welcoming us into your garrison.” Stubbs’s tone barely hinted at the weeks they’d waited for their guides to bring them to the general.

“I am never too busy to meet with our allies from the north.” Cabello’s voice echoed through the room as if he were shouting down a long tunnel. The man was wasting magic on a projection spell when it clearly was not needed, probably to intimidate them. The general was a well-known battlefield sorcerer, but the amount of power he was using could not be sustained naturally. If the stories were true, he was borrowing magic from people who’d been coerced into lending him their power.

Stubbs went on casually. “Tell me, why are your troops camped out here so close to Christmas? You do celebrate it here, don’t you?”

“Duty takes us where we are needed with no regard to calendar dates.” He rearranged a pile of books on his table. “If you are worried we are preparing for some kind of northern invasion, I can assure you that is not the case, and I certainly would not deign to shed blood on a holy day. We are not barbarians.” He flashed a grin. “My troops are here to root out a more local problem. An … infestation, you might say.”

“I’ve been hearing about some kind of creature roaming these parts. What’s it called now? Chu … chu…”

“El chupacabra.” Cabello clapped his enormous hands as fire lit his eyes. “Great sport, those creatures! They’ve been harassing us at night, picking off our guards or mauling the horses. I’ve yet to catch one, but when I do, I will stuff and mount its head and present it to Presidente Diaz.” He laughed heartily, which seemed like the only way a man his size could laugh. “But that is not the infestation I speak of. There is a much more insidious species of vermin befouling the land. The governor has asked me to help rout them from their nest.”

“Trouble with the locals, eh?” Stubbs grimaced sympathetically. “Had my share of that back when I was a government man, too.”

“Not just locals. Religious zealots.” He tapped a finger on a map marked with a red square. “This cult follows a man named Javier Punta and his two-faced dog of a son Raúl. They’ve squatted on that land for over two hundred years, hoarding the much-needed magical power that pools in the vicinity. I’ve heard they perform the darkest magic there, and that Punta himself has used blood magic to sustain his unnaturally long life.”

Cabello leaned in. “I understand your search for the two fugitive girls may involve Punta’s bastard stepson. A gringo by the name of Walker Woodroffe.”

Stubbs shrugged. “Woodroffe’s just some bounty hunter, far as I know.” He scratched his chin. “He was working with our government for a time. Not sure where he went after that.”

Ling marveled at the Pinkerton agent’s ability to dissemble under the Mexican general’s truthtelling spell. It pressed in on all sides, and even though it wasn’t focused on Ling he had to fight the urge to blurt out everything he knew.

“If the girls are with him, it is a good bet they are in Villa del Punta. We could help each other, you know.” Cabello sat back. “I will not pretend I do not know why you are after them. I sensed them as soon as they crossed the border. There is an unusual amount of magic between these two.” He licked his lips. “I cannot help but conclude they are more than simply runaways.”

“Your instincts serve you well, sir.” Stubbs chose his words carefully. “You’re right. They’re wanted criminals. Those girls must face justice in our country for the crimes they’ve committed.”

Cabello considered him with a thoughtful look. “Out of respect for your … sense of justice, I will give you some free information, Señor Stubbs. Our scouts reported that a pair of gringas entered Villa del Punta some months ago. I genuinely fear for their safety—Punta is a polygamist, and has taken child brides. What perversions may visit the young women of Villa del Punta is something that keeps me up at night.”

Stubbs’s lips crimped. “I shudder at the thought.”

“There is more. Since their arrival, there have been reports of strange magical manifestations in the area. I have felt ripples of this power for a while, but the sensation when it is fully unleashed…” He trailed off, a glazed look in his eyes between hunger and fear, like a starved wolf considering whether it could take on a full-grown buffalo.

Ling wondered whether it was Abby’s indigo power or Diablo the general had been sensing. He could feel the Devil’s Revolver when Hettie pulled the trigger and he was within a half a mile or so, but beyond that he hadn’t been able to track the mage gun. Abby’s power resonated differently, and few sorcerers were aware of her gift. They had to be trained to sense it the way he could.

The general asked, “What did these girls do, exactly?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose the nature of their crimes,” Stubbs replied.

Cabello regarded him steadily. “I do not think you understand my request, señor. Nor do I believe you grasp the position you are in here.” With barely a nod, six soldiers drew their weapons and surrounded them. Two men hauled Ling out of his chair and pushed him to his knees. Stubbs remained seated, glancing around him curiously.

The general paced. “We may not seem sophisticated in our methods, but I assure you, we have our sources. We know the prestigious Pinkerton Agency sent their best agents to track down these two girls.” His gaze slid to Ling like oil. “What we don’t know is why.”

Stubbs didn’t flinch. “You flatter me, sir. This is a routine mission entrusted to a middling agent, at best.”

El Toro laughed unkindly. “Humility does not suit you, Señor Stubbs. Nor does lying. I can sense both your gifts, even with all those hide spells. You are a master-class sorcerer, not some agency lackey. And this Chino is no mere servant.” He eyed Ling shrewdly. “Did you really think you could hide your power from me? I can smell it like the stink of your people.”

“So much for cross-border relations.” The Pinkerton agent sighed. “I don’t see what threatening a lowly Chinaman will accomplish. I hardly have enough information to share to make my employers’ wrath worthwhile.”

Cabello bared his teeth. “Who says I am threatening him?”

Before he could react, two men dumped Stubbs from his chair. The Pinkerton agent barely got out an exclamation before they kicked his legs out from under him and clamped manacles around his wrists. He struggled, meeting Ling’s eye, face full of fear.

“That is the problem with you Americans. You think you can come to my country, flash a piece of tin, and do whatever you want, as if the dust on your shoes matters more than the laws and lives and pride of the people you walk all over.” Cabello sneered in disgust as he unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve. A tattoo snaked from his palm around his wrist and up his arm—an inscription in Latin written in bloodred ink. It seemed to writhe beneath the man’s dark arm hair, like living vines or tentacles. “We build a wall that touches the sky, and still you crawl through like vermin. You are nothing but snakes in our garden.”

The men on either side of Stubbs firmed their hold as El Toro stood before him. “Let me show you what happens to snakes.”

His meaty fingers wrapped around Stubbs’s neck, and he began a chant. Ling could sense as well as see the magic power being drawn off the agent. It appeared to Ling like a bluish vapor being pulled from his skin. It entered El Toro through his tattoos, which glowed bright with power. The general’s eyes darkened, and he inhaled deeply.

Stubbs gasped, and Ling bit back a cry. The general was taking his magic.

“Stop,” Ling shouted. “You don’t need to do this.” Nonconsensual magic transference was practically unheard of. Only a few had ever practiced such dark magic. Cabello had shown his hand—he was a Kukulos warlock, and the worst of his kind.

“So he does speak.” Cabello sneered down at him. “I thought perhaps you were as stupid as your countrymen with their nonsense monkey babble. But I would rather listen to that than this one. He is arrogant.” He squeezed Stubbs’s neck.

“That may be true, but silencing him will not get you what you want,” Ling said, forcing coolness into his words. He and Stubbs would not escape this interview alive unless Ling thought fast.

“What I want?” The military man snickered. “Do you think I want anything more than to drain you both dry and then leave your corpses for the buzzards?”

“I think a smart man like you wants power.” Ling nodded. “Magic power.”

“When you are powerful enough, you simply take what you want.” His grip around Stubbs’s neck tightened, and the Pinkerton agent gurgled. “Is that not how you Americans do it?”

“I can offer you something better,” Ling said calmly. “Have you ever heard of a weapon by the name of Diablo?”

Cabello’s composure fractured briefly, revealing the stain of avarice beneath his polished veneer. He released Stubbs, who sagged to the floor, wheezing. The general stood over Ling, his paunch nearly brushing his nose. “El Diablo is the weapon of Javier Punta. It was lost over a century ago.”

“What if I told you I know exactly where it is and that you could have it if you let us go?”

El Toro lifted his chin and snorted. “You do not have such a weapon.”

“No. But the girls we’re chasing do. That’s what you’ve been feeling all this time. That’s Diablo going off.”

Stubbs glared at Ling, but Ling ignored him. The general’s attention was riveted. “Go on.”

“Just as we said, we came to Mexico to retrieve the girls. Mr. Stubbs has the additional incentive to bring Diablo back with us. The gun means nothing to me, except that the older sister—Hettie Alabama—is Diablo’s wielder. If she’s in Villa del Punta, then Diablo’s with her.” He fixed his gaze on Cabello. “Let us go, and we’ll give you Diablo.”

“You could be lying.”

“Why would I? Clearly you have us at a disadvantage. I have no desire to die today.”

“You stinking traitor!” Stubbs shouted. He got a boot to the ribs for his interruption.

Ling raised his chin. “Use your truthtelling on me now. Ask me about what I’ve seen, about my search for the girls. I knew nothing about Diablo before I embarked on this mission. I’ll open my mind to you, and you can root through my memories. You are powerful enough to do that, aren’t you?”

“If you think I’m going to fall for one of your infernal Celestial soul traps, you are sorely mistaken.” Cabello stroked his chin. “But I can tell you speak truly. Diablo is in the village.”

“Far as we know. Let us help you retrieve it. All we ask in exchange is to be released and allowed to go back to our country unharmed with the girls in our custody.”

Cabello tilted his head. “I could simply kill you now and get Diablo for myself.”

Ling shook his head. “If you know anything about the legends, you know a gate to hell will open if the wielder is killed. The only way it can be passed along is if she willingly hands the gun over. I can convince her to do that. We have … history.”

The general regarded him shrewdly. He nodded to the soldiers, and they lowered their weapons and lifted Stubbs back into his chair. They didn’t remove his manacles. Red-faced, the Pinkerton agent grumbled and swore, coughing. He looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t seem to meet Cabello’s juice-darkened eyes. Ling didn’t blame him—he’d been violated, humiliated in front of Ling and all these men, his stolen power shining like oil in Cabello’s uncanny stare.

“Fate smiles upon us both this day.” Cabello rolled his sleeve back down. “Villa del Punta is well-protected. In two hundred years, its defenses have not been breached. But our spies report that Javier Punta is ailing, and his protection spell on the village is wavering. Their wall is vulnerable, and now I have finally been given the means to take it down.”

“You’re talking about that … contraption outside?”

Cabello’s lips pulled back in a rictus of a grin. “Our Mechaniks in the capital have made us a magnificent tool. We just received it by train yesterday. A proper trap to catch rats with.”

Ling and Stubbs had been discouraged from getting too close to the area where the machine was. The heavy hammer blows, along with the three-story-high scaffolding and hubbub, had been hard to ignore. “You were already planning an invasion,” Ling concluded. Of course. That was why Cabello was there in the first place.

“It has been in the works for some time. That el Revólver del Diablo has returned to Mexico is a sign.” He tapped his flabby lips, greed glinting bright in his eyes. “It would make quite a trophy, along with Punta’s head.”

“You’re gonna need more than some fancy-ass battering ram to take the wall down,” Stubbs said gruffly.

“Indeed. Which is why we have a host of high-level sorcerers on their way here from around the country. They will weaken the barrier spell enough to allow the behemoth to attack the physical stonework. Two high-caliber sorcerers such as yourselves could do much to aid our efforts. Help us take down the wall and get Diablo, and I will let you go.” Cabello held out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Given their position, Ling didn’t think they had much choice.

“I’m gonna kill that son of whore!” Stubbs hissed once they’d been escorted back to their tent. Cymon looked up briefly from his corner, then went back to sleep, blissfully unaware of their change of status. They were more prisoners now than guests, but at least they hadn’t been divested of any of their talismans or supplies. “You just made a deal with the devil, Tsang.”

“His contract spell won’t hold either of us—it was pure coercion. He knows that, and so do we.”

“Maybe you didn’t notice, Ling, but that soul sucker doesn’t exactly play by any gentleman’s rules!” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. Cabello had kindly removed the manacles but had warned them should they try anything, they would both be punished.

“Would you have preferred I let him kill us?” He suspected Stubbs was angry partly because he’d underestimated the general and lost control of the situation. “For now, Cabello’s goals are the same as ours. We need to get to Villa del Punta. Whether we can stop this massacre is another matter.”

“That’s not our problem. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not die in this godforsaken country.” Stubbs took out a mangled cigar, hands still trembling as he lit it. “Those villagers aren’t our concern.”

“What if the Alabama girls are hurt or killed? We don’t know anything about how Abby’s powers have developed. If she feels threatened, she could level the village and take out the army and us with her power.” For a brief moment he wondered if that weren’t a better fate than what awaited her at the Division. “If things get out of hand—”

“They won’t.” Stubbs slipped a hand into his breast pocket and took out a talisman, a bit of quartz rock bound in hair, caged in gold and hanging from piece of twine. The briefest pass of his gift, and Ling sensed Hettie’s imprint upon it.

“An interpolation talisman? When did you make that?”

“After Sonora. I decided it was best to have a way to contact Miss Alabama in an emergency.” Stubbs tucked the charm back into his shirt pocket. “One way or another, that village is doomed, and if we don’t play our cards right, El Toro will get Diablo and Abby and then kill us.” He grimaced into the distance. “If Miss Alabama knows what’s good for her and her sister, she’ll do the right thing.”

On Christmas morning the citizens of Villa del Punta crowded into the small church. The townspeople spilled out onto the street, but with the help of an amplification spell the old padre’s sermon rang clearly through the village.

Hettie couldn’t make out all the words since the service was in Spanish, but she knew the story of Christ’s birth, of Mary and Joseph finding refuge in the stable. Even in a different language the story filled her with a sense of peace.

Abby leaned against her, snoring softly. From the back of the chapel Hettie spotted Walker sandwiched between his mother and Julia in the front pew. Hettie’s blood cooled as Julia laid her head against the bounty hunter’s shoulder. Raúl and Javier were nowhere to be seen.

Once the service was over the festivities began in earnest. The market square was transformed as tables decked in flowers and colorful fabrics were heaped with platters of roast and grilled meats, fruit and vegetable dishes that looked like mountains of jewels, pastries and fried doughs filled with sweet creams and icings. Casks of wine and strong-smelling punches were served to young and old. A band played by the fountain as people ate and drank and sang and danced in the square.

Gradually Abby roused herself out of her exhausted funk to eat the tamales and sweets Marco’s wife, Consuela, plied her with. Soon her sister was running around, dancing and joining the other village children in taking hits at the star-shaped piñata strung up on a tree branch.

Hettie sat on a bench in the shade, laughing when Abby’s swing missed. Christmases on the ranch were quiet and simple in comparison, with a nice meal and a few presents—new socks and shawls, whittled toys and tooled leather.

She reached for the comfort the memories should have provided, but her absent love for her parents was a hole that gaped wide inside her. She still didn’t understand how such an integral part of her could be torn away; how she couldn’t seem to even form new feelings about her mother and father despite the memories she retained and knowing how she should feel.

“Such a deep frown on Christmas day.” Horace sidled up to her and offered her a clay cup.

“Thanks.” She took it from him and sipped the warm, sweet drink. “I didn’t see you in church. Where were you this morning?”

“In the stables. I volunteered to check on the horses so Marco and the others could enjoy the day with their families.” He beckoned. “Come. I want you to show you something.”

She followed him. Tisi, Meg, and Alecto stood in their paddock, their coats shining, each sporting a polished saddle. They greeted her with nickers, and Hettie laughed. “How long did it take you to get them tacked up?”

“Once they understood what I wanted from them, not long at all.” He hopped the fence and clucked his tongue. Alecto obediently trotted up to him, and he nuzzled her ear. It looked like he was whispering to her. The horse blew a hot breath from her nostrils, then plodded away.

“You can talk to them?” Hettie asked.

“It’d be more accurate to say I listen. It’s just a talent of mine. You have it, too.”

She shook her head. “I don’t have the gift.”

“Not in the traditional magical sense. But I’ve seen you work with these three. You’ve been gentling these fillies like a mother. You listen to them, even if you don’t always understand what they’re trying to tell you.” He rubbed Alecto’s withers. “The four of us had a chat. I think they’re all ready for you to try a ride around the yard.”

Hettie gleefully hiked up her skirt—she’d worn the dress Julia had given her to church—and mounted Alecto. The mare took a moment to settle, but it soon became clear the naturally magicked horse was as smart as Jezebel, if not smarter. She understood the commands to stop and turn and barely needed Hettie to spur her on. Tisi and Meg were just as responsive and equally as intelligent. “They’re amazing,” she said, breathless as she dismounted. Las Furias shook their manes and preened. “A few days ago, they would barely come to me.”

“That won’t happen anymore. We’ve reached an understanding.” He grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

After they’d unsaddled the horses and fed them, they rejoined the party. People greeted them with cheers, passing Horace plates of food and plying him with drinks. Girls young and old were clamoring for him to dance with them. Soon he was swept off.

Hettie smiled. She’d been afraid people might spurn Horace the way they had her and Abby, but he’d charmed everyone in a very short period. He’d been a horse not that long ago, and considering most people’s feelings toward so-called abominations of nature—Weres, transmogrified beings, or other shape-shifters—she was surprised he hadn’t been shunned entirely. It’d helped that he spoke fairly good Spanish, a fact that made Hettie wonder what else he could do. She’d watched him win over Marco and the stable boys, then flirt with Rosa and the other great house servants. When the men were raising a new barn, he’d jumped in to help, throwing his raw strength behind the framing. There were still a few who wanted nothing to do with el Negro, but even those who were suspicious of him had gradually accepted his presence. Hettie couldn’t help but envy his ease with people.

As the band began a lively tune, couples crowded into the square. Horace strolled up to Abuela Encarnación, bowed, and kissed her hand before leading her into the dance.

Soon the couples synced up, and the floor became a whirl of black and scarlet and gold and emerald, sky-blue and sapphire and magenta, trimmed in silver and dripping with jingling bracelets. Everyone was in fine spirits, and for a moment Hettie let herself relax and be hypnotized by the swirl of dancers.

At the other end of the square, Juan sent her the most hopeful of looks and started toward her. Hettie turned away quickly to avoid any interaction with him.

“Señorita Alabama.” Raúl stepped into her path, and Hettie jerked to a halt. He beamed down at her. “Is that one of Julia’s dresses? It suits you well.”

“Yeah.” Unused to compliments on her looks, she mumbled, “Thanks.”

“Would you like to dance?”

She looked left and right, seeking an escape. “Oh … no. I don’t think so.”

“It is not difficult.” He pulled her into the square, took her hands, and nodded to his feet. “Watch.”

It took a few rounds, but soon Hettie had managed some semblance of a jig. She felt giddy as Raúl spun her across the square, joining the whirling wheels of colorful dancers.

“Smiling suits you, too,” Raúl said close to her ear. “You should do it more.”

She laughed drily. “I allow myself to have fun at Christmas.”

“I know we have been … at odds for some time now. But I hope you realize … That is, I wish you to know … since I have not been able to sever your bond with Diablo, you are welcome to stay here. Villa del Punta could be your home, if you want it to be.”

Home. The word triggered a deep yearning inside her. A wish she’d kept secret and sheltered, like a wounded butterfly in the cradle of her tightly cupped hands.

Well, why not? Villa del Punta had been created to keep Diablo safe. Abby had made friends here, and she was getting guidance from Raúl. People were slowly coming to accept them. And Hettie could learn everything she needed to know about the mage gun from its maker and use it to protect the villagers.

But as beautiful as the dream was, she couldn’t stay. Zavi was alive—what if he came after Diablo and Abby again? She would be putting everyone here at risk. And Patrice Favreau was still in a coma. Hettie had sworn to help her, and while she hadn’t felt the spurring effects of the contract spell with the soothsayer since crossing the border, she couldn’t break her promise.

“Where’s your father?” she asked to divert the conversation. Raúl’s steps faltered. “I thought he’d come to church this morning.”

His smile faded. “He’s resting. He’s been very tired. He and I have been working together to figure out how the chupacabra got into the village. It took some doing, but we found a weak spot in the protection spell. Fixing it taxed him.”

She mulled that over. “So … do you think El Toro somehow knew the barrier spell was broken?”

He looked at her confusedly. “Que?”

“General Cabello. You said he was most likely the one who was summoning the chupacabra.”

Raúl nodded quickly. “Ah, yes. El Toro might have known. But I think it is more likely that the chupacabra simply found a way in.”

“Pretty bold to attack the village like that.”

“It was a baby. It likely did not know what it was doing. But all is fine now.”

His words were spoken too quickly. He was hiding something. She peered at him. “Tell me the truth. If the barrier has weakened, does that mean something’s wrong with your father?”

“I would never let anything happen to him.” He smiled softly and gripped her tighter. “Or you.”

Hettie wasn’t sure what was happening. Raúl’s soft gaze became singularly focused on her, and in his dark eyes she gleaned a kind of peace she’d not known before. He felt … safe, somehow, the way a heavy blanket did on a cold winter night. It had an almost soporific effect on her, and she drew a little closer, as if she could snuggle down into him …

“Brother.” Walker’s rough voice brushed along Hettie’s nerves. She turned slowly, batting away the haze in her brain. Walker’s flinty expression cut the tension between them. “May I cut in?”

“No, you may not. Not until the song is over.” He smiled tightly. “Where is Julia? She loves dancing.”

“Julia is helping my mother with the food.” The song wound down, and a new one began. “The dance is over now,” he said pointedly.

The corners of Raúl’s mouth drew back. “Very well. I have things I must attend to. Señorita Alabama.” He bowed over her hand and kissed it lightly. Maybe it was just her imagination, but he seemed to be smirking at Walker while he did so.

Walker put a possessive hand on her waist the moment Raúl let her go.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” she said as he drew her closer. Heat radiated from his broad chest, and she leaned away slightly to look into his face. He was watching his brother go, eyes hard.

“You don’t need to be with me.” He guided the hand Raúl had kissed to his shoulder. His touch wiped away the imprint of his brother’s lips, and the last of her haze dissipated, only to be replaced by a completely new set of bewildering sensations. “Are you having a good time?”

“It’s different from Christmases at the ranch.” She swallowed down the empty memory and put on a smile. “Abby’s having more fun than I’ve ever seen her have. Must be the weather down here that agrees with her.”

“I don’t miss the snow,” Walker conceded. “Always went as far south as I could during the winter.”

Even with the music Hettie felt cocooned in silence, as if the two of them were snowbound in some secluded cabin. She inhaled his scent—clean, for once—and forced herself to relax.

“Hettie … I have a confession.”

She focused on the seam on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine you have too many more secrets to keep from me.”

“You’d be surprised.” He sighed. “Thing is … I can still feel Diablo’s pull. I don’t have the gift, but I can sense magic around me. Like smelling someone’s cooking.”

“That’s not something you need to apologize to me about.” The mournful crooning filled the silence between them. “Can I ask … What was it like? Borrowing your father’s magic?”

He thought a moment. “It was like music. A symphony. And I could understand so much more of it, pick out all the notes and the instruments that played each part that made the whole. It was like I could taste the notes of magic and play them all back without effort. Now it’s barely a whisper on the breeze.” He compressed his lips. “It’s quiet.”

“You’re still craving?”

“It’s a battle every day,” he admitted after a pause. “Villa del Punta is steeped in magic, and it will be a long time before I stop sensing it … wanting it … altogether.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you look better than most dope fiends I’ve seen.”

He smiled wryly. “A compliment from you? It must be Christmas.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’m not sure I won’t. The untouchable Hettie Alabama is actually smiling at me for once.”

She gave a gasp of mock outrage. “Who says I’m untouchable?”

“Apart from the fact that you scare most of the young men here with your mean looks and that mage gun bulging out of your pocket all the time?” His hand slipped to her hip, and then he snatched it back, hissing. “Damn it, that thing’s nasty.”

Hettie pushed him away. “Did you ask me to dance so you could touch my gun?”

“No!” He raised his hands and shook his head. “I’m sorry … I thought I was being funny.” He cursed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I just wanted to give you a proper Christmas present.”

“And what would that be?”

His expression grew serious. He was looking at her. Just looking at her. Her skin felt as if a million fireflies were buzzing all over her. She couldn’t hear anything above the slamming of her heart and her shallow, rapid breaths.

“Walker!” Julia’s cheerful call had Hettie turning away hastily. “Your mother has been asking for you. She needs help moving…” The village girl stopped and grinned at Hettie. “Feliz navidad, Hettie. You look wonderful! I knew that dress would suit you.”

Hettie ducked her head and managed a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“You do look almost ladylike,” Walker said, as if it were an afterthought.

Julia smacked him on the arm. “Don’t be boorish. She looks beautiful.”

Thanks to Julia. Being reminded that she lived off everyone’s charity, Julia’s included, made her feel guilty for some reason. “Excuse me, I’ve left Abby with Marco and his family too long. She … she needs me.”

Hettie turned on her heel and hurried away, but chanced one backward glance. Walker was still watching her, even as Julia looped her arm through his and dragged him away.

She sighed. Yes, Abby probably needed her. At least someone did.