The Devil's Revolver by V. S. McGrath

Author:V. S. McGrath [McGrath, V. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasty, weird west, historical, adventure, young adult, diverse, magic
Publisher: Brain Mill Press LLC
Published: 2017-09-05T05:00:00+00:00

Walker grabbed Lilith’s reins and pulled, but the chestnut mare wouldn’t budge. “We need to get out of here. We have to leave before night falls and the ghosts rise.” He looked spooked. “I’d rather face the Pinks than risk a haunting.”

The stallion tossed his mane and snorted, then advanced on the bounty hunter with his head lowered menacingly. Walker didn’t back down, but he did release Lilith’s reins.

“I think he’s trying to tell us we’re safer here than out there.” Hettie couldn’t help but smile at the way Walker sized up the stallion.

“Maybe we should stay,” Ling said slowly, staring around. “This place is steeped with magic.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something about the place is … focusing magical energy here, containing it.” He held out a hand and uttered a few words. His palm flashed a brilliant white that banished the shadows briefly before settling down to a warm glow. Ling regarded the light thoughtfully. He lifted his shirt to reveal an ugly yellow-and-black bruise on his side. Hettie gasped—it had to be quite old. Why hadn’t he healed himself before? He laid his hand on his side, and the blemish disappeared. “Interesting. Must be why this place was considered sacred to these people.” He nodded at the markings on the wall again.

“We’re in some kind of … magical funnel?” Walker asked.

“I think so. All the power that would normally leak out of me is staying right here. I’d bet it’s enough to hide Diablo’s magical signature. Staying here might keep the Pinkerton agents from finding us, at least for a while.”

“And if you’re wrong, they shoot us like fish in a barrel. Either that, or we have our souls torn apart by angry spirits.”

Hettie didn’t relish sharing her bed with vengeful ghosts. There’d been all kinds of tales of hauntings in town, some of them real, most of them embellished. The worst spirits had been those of the men wrongly hanged in town, but they’d been exorcised by the elders quickly. Who knew what the dead here would do to a bunch of hapless travelers? But they couldn’t hide out on the plain, and they couldn’t ride all night. “I vote we stay. Blackie wouldn’t lead us here if he didn’t think it was safe.”

Walker lifted an eyebrow. “That’s what you’re calling him? Blackie?”

“Unless he tells us his name.”

The stallion blew out through his nostrils. She could’ve sworn he’d just rolled his eyes.

“The magic is strongest in this part of the canyon.” Ling walked softly over the long grass. “We should make camp here.”

“I am not sleeping on the bones of the dead,” Walker protested.

Ling scrubbed the bristles on his chin. “Perhaps I can ask for permission.”

Hettie glanced at him. “You’re a necromancer?”

“Nothing like that. But I can make an appeal—a ritual offering, if you will, to appease the spirits. I need a few things, though. A sacrifice, for one.”

“I’m not wasting good food on the dead.” Walker pointed to the mouth of the canyon. “I’m setting up camp there.

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