Hettie, Abby, and Uncle were installed in two rooms on the second floor at different ends of the hall. The young servingwoman gestured at the washstand and pitcher, then pointed out the window to the fountain. “Agua.”

Hettie knew that word. Apparently she’d be fetching her own water. The gilded Favreau mansion in New Orleans this was not, but at least she wasn’t sleeping on the ground. “Gracias.”

The servant swept out, darting a furtive look at Abby before shutting the door tightly behind her.

Hettie led Abby to one of the two beds with straw-stuffed mattresses and clean sheets. What a luxury after so many weeks on the run. “How long are we going to be here?” her sister asked.

“I’m not sure. Awhile.” She helped her sister undress. She would’ve liked to bathe her, but she was too weary.

Abby yawned. “You think Mr. Woodroffe’s pa can help us?” She lay down, and Hettie pulled a woven blanket up under her chin.

“I sure hope so. Now, you close your eyes awhile.”

Abby’s brow furrowed. “You won’t leave me, will you?”

“Never.” She kissed her forehead and hugged her tight, wondering at the sudden doubt in Abby’s heart. She would never abandon her sister. “I’ll stay right here till you fall asleep.”

It didn’t take long. The beds looked soft and inviting, but Hettie wanted to tend to her aching snakebite wound before she collapsed.

She grabbed the pitcher from the washstand and headed into the courtyard where the fountain stood. The day’s heat had soaked into the flagstones, radiating warmth through her legs. The sun was just beginning to set, casting its dark gold sheen across the white adobe buildings and setting the red terra cotta roofs ablaze. A sweet breeze from the north carried the faintest hint of wood fire, and for a moment Hettie thought of the farm in Montana.

The fountain was more elaborate than anything she’d seen in any other town, but not so ostentatious that it was gaudy. The main well was carved of smooth white stone and ringed with benches featuring carved medallions. A three-pronged finial adorned the center, and water arched from it to the big bowl below. The water was clear and sweet-smelling. The fountain must have been magically coaxed to life the way the water hole had been, drawn from depths unreachable by mundane means and sustained by the magical node. It really was an oasis. For a moment she closed her eyes, and her muscles uncoiled.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Hettie dropped the metal pitcher and whipped around, Diablo primed and ready. Raúl put his hands up in surprise. She blew out a breath. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“My apologies. I did not mean to startle you.” The sorcerer cleared his throat. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t point that at me.”

Embarrassed to be treating her host so rudely again, she jammed the gun back into her pocket, willing her heart to slow its mad pace.

Raúl smiled tentatively. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier,” he began. “I was taken off guard by my brother’s arrival. We rarely receive strangers here in the village, and we’ve all been on edge lately. Still, I should not be taking it out on you or your family.”

If anyone should apologize, it ought to be her. And yet she hesitated. It wasn’t that she thought the sorcerer was being insincere, but something about him made her wary.

She nodded and said, “We appreciate your hospitality.”

If Raúl noticed she hadn’t returned an apology in kind, it didn’t register on his face. “I hope you understand that even though my father is ill, I will try my best to help you. It was his wish that El Diablo be taken out of the world.”

“I’d be grateful for that.” She didn’t like being beholden to anyone, and if she had to thank the man any more it’d start sounding obsequious, but it seemed the polite and proper thing to do. She stooped to set the jug under the spigot. Raúl sat on one of the benches and watched.

“You’ve been through many ordeals,” he observed after a moment. She didn’t meet his gaze.

“That I have.”

“How did you get that scar?”

If he was half the sorcerer Walker said he was, Raúl could probably glean the hole in her soul from when Uncle had made a bargain with the devil, trading her love for her parents in exchange for her life. “Long story.”

His laugh was a soft patter like the water splashing in the fountain. “You don’t talk very much for a woman.”

“I don’t.” Rude again. But she didn’t want to share her tale, relive the past few months. She wondered for a fleeting moment if he was going to use a truth spell on her to get her to talk. The thought made her palm itchy, and Hettie brushed the revolver in her pocket, just to feel its weight.

“Your hand.” He snagged her wrist and drew her closer. Hettie instinctively pulled away, but Raúl was already unwinding the bandage. He exposed the wound, and Hettie set her teeth. The punctures were small and closely set, but the flesh around the bite was dark purple and swollen. Blood crusted around the edges. The sorcerer tsked. “An imperfect healing job by my brother, no doubt.”

“He saved my life,” she said tersely.

Raúl turned her hand over and smoothed the pad of his thumb over the top. “You have been through enough pain and suffering, I think. Allow me.”

Before she could object Raúl was murmuring an incantation. Soft, white power like Ling’s healing ether magic pulsed from his palm and across her skin, tingling over the muscles around her thumb. The wound closed up, and the flesh lightened. Within seconds her hand was whole.

He held on for a second longer, smiling. He barely looked winded. “Much better, I think.” He held her palm up for her to inspect. It did look better, though it still ached.

“Thank you.” She withdrew her hand hastily, discomfited by the intensity in his gaze.

The jug was taking forever to fill from the spigot. She should have just dipped it into the basin. Raúl sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “Your sister is a potential. You’re running from the Division, aren’t you?”

Hettie fixed her face to a careful blank.

“You wouldn’t be the first family to escape across the border to protect their gifted loved ones from the American Division of Sorcery,” he went on casually. “I understand training at the Division Academy can be quite brutal.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, though it’d been a fear early on, especially when Abby had claimed she’d been speaking with their dead brother, Paul. Turned out necromancy was just one of her many gifts.

“I’ve heard that since the magical drought began they’ve been pushing students to the outermost limits of their abilities to see what they are capable of. Under high stress, sometimes certain powers manifest.”

The Division had only started making training mandatory a few years before Hettie was born, so she couldn’t confirm or deny Raúl’s claims. There’d only been one gifted student in Hettie’s school among her age set. Sophie Favreau was the youngest person in town with formal training. Being from a rich and influential family, though, she’d probably had the best private tutors. Patrice had told her as much.

He pressed on, “Your sister has been through a lot. Tell me, has she ever hurt anyone with her powers?”

Hettie’s throat tightened. It was fair for Raúl to ask whether Abby posed a threat to the village, but what would he do if he knew the extent of her sister’s mysterious abilities?

“You don’t need to worry about her. As soon as I return Diablo to your father and break this curse, we’ll leave. Until that happens we’ll stay out of everyone’s way. Excuse me.” She carried the water jug into the house, feeling the sorcerer’s probing stare on her back.

She hoped she could keep that promise.

Hettie awakened with a start. She’d been dreaming of wading through a waist-high viscous mixture of blood and molten rock. She’d been digging through it, searching for something. But as she drew her hands out of the ooze, the flesh melted off until all she had left were bones.

The stuffiness and complete dark disoriented her until she remembered they were in a room in the great house in Villa del Punta. Someone had come in the night and closed the shutters. It bothered her that she’d slept through that.

Head thick with cotton, Hettie opened the shutters of the window farthest from her sister’s bed. The burnished edge of the sun gilded the horizon, banishing the desert chill and giving the peaceful-looking village a rosy predawn glow.

At the far end of the village she spotted Raúl striding toward the main gate. He splayed a hand against the wood, then walked away again. Perhaps he was undoing a lock spell.

Abby was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes. “I’m hungry.”

“It’s still early. Go back to sleep. Breakfast will be ready later.”

“No, I mean I’m hungry.”

Of course. She’d been so tired after dinner last night she’d forgotten to blood feed her. She reopened the wound on her trigger finger, then sat on the bed while Abby latched on. She stroked her blond hair away from her pale face. “It can’t go on like this,” she said tiredly, more to herself.

Abby released her finger with a sick pop. “Why not?”

Hettie struggled to explain. Even though the sanguine nourishment made her sister more self-aware, more normal, she was still only a ten-year-old girl. “A lot of people don’t like blood magic,” she said. “Do you remember how Zavi kidnapped all those children?”

Abby nodded slowly, lips pressed tight together.

“Well, most blood magic uses blood from innocents. That’s a bad thing.”

“But you’re not inn’cent, Hettie. And I’m not hurting you, am I?”

She was going to say she wasn’t, but in truth, Hettie was hurting. Drained. “I’ll keep feeding you what I can, but I can’t do it forever.”

“Maybe Uncle could—”

“No, Abby. We can’t let anyone know about this, especially not Uncle. If they knew, they’d…” She didn’t want to imagine it. “They’d get scared. No one can know, understand? Don’t ask anyone for blood, or go taking blood unless I’m there to tell you it’s okay.”

Abby reluctantly nodded and went back to feeding.

Later, Walker knocked on the door. He’d bathed and shaved, and his suit had been cleaned. His ice-blue gaze flicked over her. “I managed to borrow these from some neighbors.” He handed her an armful of clothing—a plain dress and apron for Abby, and for Hettie, a man’s old stained shirt and trousers.

She accepted the bundle of clothes, struggling not to be insulted. She wore trousers because it was more practical for ranch work and traveling, not because she had anything against a well-tailored dress. She wasn’t about to complain, though. At this rate anything was better than the tattered and soiled maid’s dress. She would burn the thing first chance she got. “Will we be seeing your father today?”

“Probably not, but I’ll talk to Raúl. In the meantime, though, you’ll be expected to pitch in where you can. I’d rather you and Abby have time to rest and recover, but it’s the rules. No one in the village freeloads. We all do our part.”

She didn’t mind. Good food and a night’s rest on a soft bed had reinvigorated her, and the hand Raúl had healed felt almost normal. Maybe being on a magical node had sped along her recovery. Even Abby looked healthier. Anyhow, she didn’t want her and Abby’s idleness to draw the resentment of the villagers.

By the time they were dressed—she’d need to mend and alter the clothes at some point so they fit—the servants were stoking fires and preparing food for the day. Uncle was still asleep, according to Walker. He’d snuck a jug of wine up to his room last night, so they weren’t likely to see him till noon. After a breakfast of dried fruit, eggs, and flatbread, Walker led them to the kitchen, where a trim woman with a broad forehead and streaks of white shot through her raven hair stood stirring something in a pot over the fire. She murmured an incantation, waving a hand over the cauldron, and a rich smell emanated from it.

Walker said something to the cook in Spanish. Her gaze canted toward the two girls, and she muttered a few sharp words, then turned back to her pot.

The bounty hunter looked put off. “Rosa says she doesn’t need help in the kitchen right now.”

Considering how the other servants were rushing around, cutting and peeling vegetables and so forth, Hettie thought there’d be plenty for two girls to do. She pointed to a group of women grinding corn outside, beyond the scullery. “How about that? It looks simple enough.”

Rosa whirled. “You will do no such thing. You are unclean.”

Hettie balked. “You speak English.”

Walker looked abashed as she snapped something out to him and whirled away again, waving her hands in a way that made it clear she was too busy to deal with them.

“I don’t understand. What did she mean we were ‘unclean’?”

“Rosa’s … particular about who handles the food.” The bounty hunter grimaced.

“Well, if we’re so dirty, we could sweep and wash dishes and scrub floors.”

“She means magically unclean. She’s afraid that your bond with Diablo or Abby’s untrained gift might taint the food. She charms everything to taste better, so anyone who works in her kitchen has to be mundane.” Walker shook his head. “Better to stay out of her way entirely. Don’t worry, there’s always work to be done around here.”

They went to an open-air area where men and women sat at looms intent on their work, weaving the most incredible fabrics in bright colors and dazzling patterns. Abby tilted her head as a woman sent the shuttle in and out of the loom, the rhythmic snap-clack lulling her until Hettie had to give her a shake. The weavers barely looked up as Walker approached a wizened woman who was making a sash of some kind on a loom tied to her foot and stretched down the length of her leg. As he explained his needs, she slid a narrowed look at Hettie and Abby and pinched her thumb and pinkie finger together, drawing a sideways figure eight in the air to make the sign against evil before returning to her work.

Walker stiffened and ushered them out. “Let’s go check on the horses,” he said tersely.

“Let me guess … unclean?”

“It’s not personal,” he said. “Every weaver there is gifted. They make special magicked fabrics to sell in the market. I guess they just don’t want any possible … magical interference.”

Hettie huffed. Well, no sense staying where they weren’t wanted.

Inquiries elsewhere around the village yielded no results. Even the wizened padre at the church made some excuse about being adequately staffed. So much for loving thy neighbor.

They headed toward the western gate. The stables housed about fifty animals, with several more in corrals just beyond the wall. Blackie occupied a paddock on his own, lord of all he surveyed. Lilith and Jezebel happily chomped on hay in stalls away from the other animals. As Hettie went to rub Jezebel’s snout, a young boy sweeping the aisle froze.

“Hello,” she greeted with a small smile. When he didn’t respond, she tried her limited Spanish. “Hola.”

The boy dropped his broom and ran out.

Walker came back from speaking with the stable master. “Seems like they’re—”

“Plum out of work.” She hissed through her teeth and glared out toward the paddocks, where young men watched them with narrowed glances. “I’m starting to get the feeling this whole village is overstaffed.”

Walker rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re not used to … outsiders.”

“Outsiders, or just us?”

“Frankly, it might be me. When I lived here…” The words came out hesitantly, and Walker wiped a hand over his mouth. “It took a long time for me and my mother to be accepted, even though Javier married her fairly soon after we arrived. But we were still gringos, strangers from north of the Wall.” His gaze grew distant as he seemed to relive the past in his mind. He shook his head.

“I imagine the villagers never expected me to come home. That I brought you and Diablo … and Abby…” His gaze flicked to her sister, and she suddenly understood. The villagers had dismissed her as simple. Or perhaps they’d heard what she’d done when they approached the village gate. It wasn’t hard to understand why they’d be afraid or distrustful, but it still angered her when people judged Abby so readily.

They toured the village in search of work, but no one was willing to take the gringas under their wing. Even the most menial tasks were not entrusted to them. Hettie couldn’t help but notice that Walker wasn’t exactly being welcomed with open arms either.

“If my mother was here, she’d have welcomed your help,” he said bitterly after an exhaustive and fruitless walk around the village.

“What does she do?”

“She’s an herbalist and a healer. The non-magic kind. She’s in Chihuahua right now. Some of the villagers go into town every few months to sell goods and to purchase things we can’t make ourselves.” Hettie didn’t miss the use of the inclusive “we,” or the longing in his voice. The crinkle between his eyes told her he was worried for his mother’s safety, too.

“Are there a lot of Americans on this side of the border?” She wondered how receptive the people would be to a white woman selling wares. Historically the Mexican government was not particularly friendly with its northern neighbors. Expanding U.S. rail and ranching interests, with wealthy Americans buying land rights, had thawed those relations, though. There were even rumors of building more cross-border rail lines.

Walker shook his head. “A few, but not in great numbers. Maybe that’s changed since I’ve been away, but apart from the big cities, you won’t find many. The ones you might see are likely exiles. People who are … running away from something.”

Like her and Abby. And maybe even Walker himself. “Is that why everyone’s so unfriendly?”

Walker cast her a grim look. “Many of the villagers were born here. They’ve forgotten that their mothers and grandmothers were refugees to Villa del Punta once, too.” He nodded toward the western gate and the sentry towers on either side along the wall. “Thing about walls is that the people inside think they keep dangers out, when really all they do is narrow their field of view.”

“There you are.” Raúl met them as they were crossing the main plaza in front of the great house. “Walker, the men are about to leave for patrol duty. You should join them.”

The bounty hunter set his jaw. “I’d like to help the girls settle in first. I didn’t want to leave them to their own devices.”

The sorcerer nodded slowly, then glanced about. “Where is Mr. Bassett?”

“Sleeping. I couldn’t wake him. He’s drained from the journey.”

Raúl said something in Spanish, and Walker’s face darkened. “He’s an old man, Raúl. It’s unlikely he’ll make trouble.”

“Well, wake him up and take him with you on patrol. His powers are considerable. He may have some insight into el chupacabra. They were spotted along the northern ridge last night.”

“We’ve heard mention of them,” Walker said, disconcerted. “So they’ve attacked the village?”

“Come near, and killed a few stray animals, but luckily no people. Other villages have not been so lucky.” He searched the hills on the horizon as if he might spot them now. “The army has sent a few hunting parties out. They have tried to use these expeditions to track the beast as an excuse to enter the village, but we sent them on their way.” The twist in the corner of his mouth told Hettie it hadn’t been a polite dismissal.

Walker frowned. “So the harassment hasn’t stopped.”

Raúl nodded. “It has only gotten worse since you left. Our people are routinely arrested outside of these walls. And there are occasional raiding parties. We have held them off, but you know they will never leave us alone.” He folded his arms. “Perhaps they will listen to the report of your gun if they will not listen to my magic.”

Walker’s face hardened, and Raúl gripped his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid, brother. Father and I have kept our people safe for years. As long as the barrier stands, Villa del Punta will endure.”

Abby was staring at Raúl openly, chin tilted to one side as if contemplating him. “You two can work with me today,” he declared. “I am doing a magical survey west of here and could use an assistant, since my cousin Julia has gone to Chihuahua. You can read and write, I assume?”

Hettie replied, “I can. Abby…” She cleared her throat. She hadn’t been allowed to go to school—she was too disruptive. They’d tried to teach her at home, but she’d always been too easily distracted, her mind and gaze wandering or blanking entirely. The daily lessons had dwindled as her mother’s patience and fortitude waned. Hettie’s efforts were received just as poorly. She regretted admitting that failure now. “Well, I can’t leave her alone, so she’ll still have to come.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Walker said. “They shouldn’t leave the village. You said yourself that the chupacabra are out there.”

“I don’t care to become a useless lump here,” Hettie interjected. “If I can be helpful to Raúl, then I will.” She also wanted to see more of their surroundings and get her bearings.

“They’ll be with me the whole time. The chupacabra have never attacked anyone in the daylight.” When Walker’s expression didn’t ease, Raúl sighed. “If you insist on it, I will cast a protection spell.”

“I’d rather you take a gun,” Walker said.

“I’m not the sharpshooter you are.” Raúl’s tone was more critical than ribbing.

“Then I should go with you. Their safety is my responsibility.”

“Don’t you trust me to protect them?”

When Walker didn’t respond, Raúl gave a bitter laugh. “You have been away from the village for too long, Walker. The moment you brought these girls into Villa del Punta, they became all of our responsibility.”

They had a funny way of showing it, considering the morning’s rejections, Hettie thought. The sorcerer squeezed the bounty hunter’s shoulder. “I will protect them with my life.”

“We’ll be fine, Walker,” Hettie said. Though irritated that the men were excluding her from the conversation, she didn’t want to be the source of contention between the brothers.

“You see? The señorita trusts me. I look forward to getting to know our guests better.” He inclined his chin. “You should reacquaint yourself with the others on patrol. Wake the old man and take him with you. The fresh air and exercise will reinvigorate him.”

Walker finally relented with a huff. “If anything happens, you come straight back here,” he said to her. “You won’t find much else in the way of shelter or towns for miles.”

“Nothing will happen to them as long as I am with them, brother.” Raúl smiled broadly.