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. “Recruited? 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.

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 swelling 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.