Hettie watched the sky from her bedroom window, spinning Diablo’s wheel nervously, every nerve taut. Abby snored lightly—seeing her so at peace, Hettie couldn’t bring herself to wake her, to scare her into thinking the little life they’d carved out here was at risk. Of course it always had been, always would be. But Abby didn’t need to know that—it was Hettie’s job to worry for her.

She scanned the bloodred band limning the horizon, heart jumping at every imagined flutter of movement. This must have been how Pa had felt, knowing one day his past with the Crowe gang and the Devil’s Revolver would catch up to him. The band of color in the sky expanded slowly, like a stripe of fire glowing orange, yellow, blue.

She spotted Raúl on his morning errand to unlock the gate. It took him longer than usual to undo the lock spell. He seemed sluggish this morning—not surprising considering how much everyone had eaten and drunk the night before. The army would be smart to attack today—the village was still recovering. But when the sun blazed high in the blue sky and no attack came, Hettie had to concede that maybe she’d been wrong.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Abby asked, startling Hettie.

She tucked Diablo away, feeling strangely foolish. “Something like that.”

Her sister rubbed her eyes. “I have those, too, sometimes. But they’re just dreams.” She got up and dressed without another word, then went downstairs on her own.

Hettie didn’t want to face Raúl or Walker that morning, but she needed to find someone who would listen. When she was certain Walker or Julia weren’t there, she knocked on the door to the Woodroffe home. Beatrice answered. She blinked and put on what Hettie thought was a tight smile. “Good morning, Hettie. How are you?”

“Beatrice, I need to talk to you—”

Walker’s mother held up a hand and ushered her into the house. “Walker told me about last night. He said you’d had a nightmare. That you were upset.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare. I know it wasn’t.” She pinched the headache forming between her eyes. “I tried to talk to Javier about it, but Raúl gave him something and he wouldn’t wake up.”

“Raúl’s doing what he thinks is best for his father.”

Hettie stared. “You weren’t all right with him using a sleep spell on him.”

“That was for a prolonged coma. Long-term magic use can have all kinds of side effects. He’s using one of my potions. It’s perfectly safe, I promise.” She peered at Hettie. “Are you ill?”

She was sure she was going to be. “It was real. I know it was. Ling and Stubbs told me an army is headed for Villa del Punta with a … a…” What was that word they’d used? It was all too fuzzy in her brain. She plowed on. “The people here listen to you—don’t deny it, I know they’d probably follow you sooner than Raúl.”

“Raúl’s a good man and a great sorcerer. He’s the right person to lead the village.”

“According to who?” But Hettie knew she was getting off track. “What matters right now is that we’re all in danger. If you don’t believe me … If I’m not right, then what will you lose in at least preparing people for the worst? Everyone here is already ready to fight and defend the village.”

“Young lady, I realize you’re upset. But I’m not going to be the one to throw everyone in the village into a panic just because you had a dream.” Beatrice’s tone was cool and unwavering, with a spine of steel that matched her son’s. “What you don’t get is that we’ve always been in danger. By the simple act of living here, we are at risk. That’s the price we pay for our independence—for the bounty and freedom we enjoy here. Others will always want what we have, and hate us for it. But we can’t jump at every little sneeze, every ill omen. If we did, you and Abby would never have been allowed to stay.”

Hettie couldn’t argue with that, she supposed. Beatrice folded her hands. “You’re right about one thing: we do know how to defend our village. We know what’s at stake every time we spot a rider on the horizon, because we never know what form the dangers come in. We’ve fought and suffered and lost a great deal, but we’ve endured, and we’ve grown and we’ve built on our legacy.” She slanted Hettie a look that would’ve cut down a tree. “You’re asking us to abandon all of that. To give up hope. What makes you think this attack will be any different from all the other attacks on the village?”

Hettie pursed her lips. “Ling said they have sorcerers. And…” What was that other thing they mentioned?

Mrs. Woodroffe eyed her. “Do you trust the words of these two men more than the walls around the village?”

Hettie didn’t respond.

Beatrice gentled her tone. “I don’t blame you for being afraid. You want to run. You want to protect your sister, but you don’t want to do it alone. And you’re afraid of asking for help because you think it’ll make you look weak.” She held up a hand to stymie Hettie’s protest. “I’m not saying you are. Only that you’re doing what comes naturally.”

Hettie made one last-ditch effort to convince Beatrice. “What would Javier say?”

Beatrice shook her head. “My husband is wise and powerful and the most loving man I know. He would say you’re free to do as you please as long as you do not bring harm to others. He’s seen a lot in his lifetime, and he understands a great deal about the world … but he does not always make good decisions or know what is best.”

For some reason hearing Beatrice say this about her husband shocked Hettie. Her own parents had gotten into disputes, even had raging arguments that ended with slammed doors. But she’d never heard her mother, Grace, say a word against John Alabama. He’d had plenty of faults, but they were always kept private. Maybe that was why she’d been stunned to learn about his outlaw past. Pa had always been a larger-than-life figure in her mind, the backbone to her clan. She thought of Javier as the spine of the village. Was she wrong about him?

“You’re free to do what you need to do as long as you don’t hurt anyone else,” Beatrice reiterated. “But I want you think carefully about what that means … for your sister.”

“Did the manure offend you?” Horace called from the stable doorway. “Because you can’t change its nature, no matter how hard you fling it.”

Hettie stabbed the pitchfork into the straw. “Just trying to make things right in here.” Her talk with Beatrice had thrown her off so thoroughly, she was no longer sure whether her conversation with Ling and Stubbs had ever happened. Beatrice’s parting words haunted her, too—of course Abby’s safety was her first concern. But was she willing to risk it by fleeing Villa del Punta alone?

Despite her self-doubts, the sense of imminent danger lingered. All she knew was that she should be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. Being near Jezebel and the other horses made her feel better about a speedy escape.

It occurred to her then that she’d been ignoring her closest ally. She’d spent more time with “Blackie” the horse than Horace Washington the man, and that she hadn’t confided in him last night unsettled her. She’d often visit with the horses when she wanted to get something off her chest—maybe because they didn’t tell her they didn’t believe her. But since Horace’s transformation—or more accurately, his return—she’d kept her distance. Not because he’d been a beast, but perhaps because he was now a man.

“You know I don’t make up stories, right?” she ventured.

“Not unless it suits you.” His grin became a smirk.

She told him about the encounter with Ling and Stubbs and everyone’s reaction to it. Horace’s brow wrinkled. “I know it sounds crazy. And maybe it was just a dream. But I can’t shake this feeling. The chupacabra attack, the weakening of the barrier spell … something’s going on. Walker, Raúl, even Beatrice won’t listen to me.”

“What are you going to do?”

She thought hard. “I need to speak to Javier, but Raúl used a sleeping potion on him, and I think Luis is guarding his door.”

“Do you believe the sorcerer will help you?”

“I’m not sure. But I’d feel better if he knew.”

Horace paused and then beckoned. “I know a way I can help you.” He led her across the village to a house where a young woman was scrubbing laundry. She looked up as they approached, her eyes narrowing on Hettie.

“Buenos días, Señorita Carrera.” Horace gave a gentlemanly bow, lips parting to flash a brilliant smile.

The young woman blushed, and her shoulders relaxed. “Buenos días,” she said softly.

Horace spoke to her in rapid, fluent Spanish. At least it sounded fluent to Hettie. The young woman’s face grew more and more excited as Horace went on, and then she nodded enthusiastically, clasping her hands. “Sí! Sí, sí!” She was all aflutter now, and then she lifted her skirts and ran toward the grand house.

“That should buy you some time.”

“I don’t understand? Who was that? What did you say?”

“That was Maria Carrera, Luis’s daughter. I told her I wanted to have a word with her father about a business matter. Luis tools leather in his spare time—nothing fancy, but he takes pride in his work, even if no one else sees his talent.” At her confused look, he said, “I said I wanted to commission his work for a number of saddles.”

Hettie lifted an eyebrow. “That’s all?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I might have implied that I wanted to marry her.”

She scowled. “Am I going to have to rescue you from a shotgun wedding?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll let her down easy. Now you hurry on. If there’s a sleeping potion involved, there’s probably a waking agent nearby—another potion or perhaps some smelling salts. Nurses have to feed their patients now and again, so they need to be roused. I’ll keep Luis talking for as long as I can. You do what you need to do.”

Javier’s door was locked. Hettie drew Diablo and closed her eyes. I just need to get the door unlocked. Don’t blast the door open, don’t blow holes clear across the room. Just get the lock off … quietly.

She pulled the trigger, felt the green glow of power in her fingertips, focused and branching out slowly in her mind’s eye. A cloud of latticework bloomed from the barrel of the gun, filled the lock, and dissolved the tumblers within. The bolt turned white-hot, then melted away, sliding down the edge of the door. The acrid smell of burning wood and hot slag filled Hettie’s nostrils.

She slipped in, gently shutting the door behind her. Javier lay in his bed, arms folded over his front, the sheet pulled up to his chest. His breathing sounded labored.

She searched around for a waking agent but found nothing. Raúl must have kept it with him. She didn’t have time to go hunting through the house. She approached the bed. “Javier.” She shook him. “I need you to wake up.”

His breathing stuttered. No sound came from his moving lips. She leaned in closer. “I can’t hear you. Javier, please, wake up.”

His fingers curled and twitched, the index crooked, almost as if he were pointing …

No, not pointing. As though he were holding a gun.

Comprehension dawned slowly. She gently set Diablo on Javier’s chest and moved his hand over it. His grip curled around the weapon, cradling it. Gradually, Javier’s eyes opened, filmy and white, the pupils dilated. He smiled a little sadly. “Yes, it would be you.”

“Are you all right?” She forgot about her own worries, seeing the pallor on the sorcerer’s face. She noticed Diablo was not searing his palms as it normally would.

“No.” He sighed and stared at the ceiling blearily. “The army is coming.”

“You know?”

“Your friends’ dream interpolation made it through the barrier. I heard them, too.” He shut his eyes. “The army is preparing for a full-on assault. There are at least a dozen high-level sorcerers ready to storm Villa del Punta.”

Relief and fear flooded Hettie. “You believe me.”

“Yes.”

“You have to tell Raúl and the others. No one will listen to me.”

“There’s no point. Raúl is too stubborn, too confident in his abilities, too entrenched in his ways. He clings to this life, as do the others … but that is my fault.”

Nothing he was saying was making sense. “You’re his father. You’re the leader of this village. The people will listen to you. Order them to evacuate!”

He smiled sadly at her again. “I am dying, Hettie. I am dying, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it.”

Her thoughts whirled. Looking into the old sorcerer’s yellowing eyes, she knew he wasn’t simply being maudlin. She swallowed thickly past the cold, inert lump her heart had become. “If you die, the protection spell around the village will be broken.”

“Yes. Which is why my family has taken to casting spells and drugging me. My son thinks keeping me alive will protect us indefinitely.” He sighed. “But this … this is not life. I cannot hold on to it any more than he can. I will die. The protection barrier will fall.”

Hettie’s gut burned. All she’d wanted was for someone to believe her, but now she only wanted to be safe. “So … cast a new barrier spell. Raúl can do it, can’t he? He’s been shoring up the spell all this time.”

“That is not how it works. Abzavine tied that spell to me. The protection barrier is part of what keeps the magic so strong here, like a leather bucket holding water. Once the spell is gone, the magic will seep back into the land. There won’t be enough magic to raise another. The crops will fail, and the fountain will dry up. I do not think anyone will survive here for long, even if they do repel the army.” He closed his eyes.

“But what is everyone supposed to do without you?”

“Move on.” He opened his rheumy eyes. “Before the first families settled here, they were fugitives and refugees, wanderers and seekers escaping oppression, looking for a fresh start. The people are from a long line of survivors, but they have grown too dependent on my magic, and like an overprotective father, I have let them. I have only been keeping myself alive long enough so that I might undo the wrongs I have done. Unmaking Diablo and returning Abzavine to his proper place were to be my final acts.” He sighed heavily. “But I cannot do these things. Whether it is by divine or infernal intention does not matter. It is my time.”

Hettie fought between fear and anger. “Javier, you can’t just give up. You created this place. You’re responsible for the lives of every man, woman, and child in the village.”

“I thought I was, once. My hubris made me believe only I could keep my people safe. I even sent my wife’s son away so that I wouldn’t have to leave the village. It should have been me who went to find Diablo, but I was wrapped up in my self-importance. I thought the villagers would be helpless without me. In truth, I am the one who made them helpless.”

He held out Diablo to her, cradled in both palms like a baby bird. She took it from him, feeling a tug as it left his hands. It hadn’t scalded him. As she placed it back in her pocket, she felt a certain finality. Mourning was the word that came to mind. And she knew then what the mage gun knew: its maker was dying.

She should call Raúl. Walker. Beatrice. Anyone. Javier needed to have his family here with him. There was no stopping the inevitable.

“No.” He shook his head, reading the look on her face. “I have said my good-byes, and I am ready. All I need is your help.”

“My…?” She shook her head, her gorge rising. “No, I can’t. I won’t.”

“Hettie. I’m in pain. They do not understand the long years I have endured. I am asking you now to help me take the next step.”

She drew away from him, hot tears burning her eyes. “I … I can’t.”

“You will. You know that if the village falls, and it will, El Toro and his men will torture me. They will make an example of me. They will keep me just barely alive by the vilest of means so that I may serve as an example, and then they will put me in the Wailing Wall to suffer a slow and agonizing death. I am begging you, do not let this happen.” He pointed with a shaking hand. “There is a phial of amber-colored liquid on that table. Bring it to me.”

“What is it?”

“Something to help me sleep so I do not … react.” He met her eye. “Raúl never leaves enough here to do me harm, so I will need you to pull Diablo’s trigger.”

Her skin turned cold. She could not kill Walker’s stepfather.

Yes, you can.

Diablo pulsed in her pocket, its weight growing as it sensed a need to fulfill its purpose. Hettie fought it, tried desperately to push it away, but that pulse came again, and it whispered, Everything will be all right.

She was flooded with a sense of peace. Hettie’s tears stopped abruptly as the grip around her heart eased. An almost unnatural serenity smoothed across her senses, soothing the bone-deep ache in her chest.

He’s in pain. He lives a half life. Death is not all about punishment. It is also about mercy. You know this.

She couldn’t deny it. After Uncle had brought her back from the dead, she had wondered if maybe she were being punished. There’d been times when she’d thought death would have been a mercy.

Limbs leaden, she picked up the phial. She held it for a moment, thinking how easy it would be for her to drink it down herself.

“Bring it here,” Javier instructed, his voice heavy with relief. “I will need your help to drink it.”

Hettie slipped an arm around his shoulders and drew him into a half-sitting position propped across her lap. His ribs left clear impressions against her side, and he was frighteningly light. Her hand trembled as she brought the phial to his lips. He licked the rim, tentative as a deer at a stream with the wolves circling. He tipped it back. It took a long time to finish the tiny amount.

He gave a rumble and settled back into bed.

“I will sleep now,” he murmured. “And I will be unable to defend myself, not even by instinct. Hettie Alabama”—and here, he took her hand—“I do not wish to wake up again. If I am forced to hold the barrier, I will suffer an unbearable death. The loved ones who went before me are waiting. Promise me I will get to see them.”

Diablo pulsed a promise in her hand, though Hettie said nothing as her insides turned numb. Javier’s eyes drifted closed, and his chest rose and fell and then went still.

Hope filled her in the beat of silence that ensued. But she had yet to fulfill her promise.

She could leave now. Let him sleep. Hope she was wrong about the coming attack, even though she knew she wasn’t. Hope Javier was wrong about the barrier collapsing and him dying a horrible death.

But she’d made a promise.

With a sob, Hettie turned her head and pulled Diablo’s trigger.