Chapter Twenty-Six
A Lamb to Slaughter
Sitting in the front of Senor Quintero’s mule cart as it rumbled toward the Galvan compound, Felipe listened to the one working bell toll in the old mission, but that was wrong.
By the sky, it was too early to mark the Angelus.
Then, why— As the cart swayed, the burlap sack at his feet bumped against his leg.
Felipe resisted the urge to rub his aching head.
The demon’s bloodied horns were inside the sack.
He had been clutching them when Senor Quintero found him hiding in his stable.
He knew he had ripped them from the demon’s corpse, the only proof it ever existed.
He knew he had carried them all the way to the stable, but he didn’t remember how he got there or why he went to the Quinteros.
Felipe shut his eyes and tried to think.
The last thing he remembered was darkness, the campfire, the demon’s rotten breath on his neck, Alfonso watching him, watching him— His ribs burned.
He didn’t remember crossing the scrublands to reach Louisa’s house.
He didn’t remember how he killed the demon.
He didn’t remember how the blood and holes got in his clothes, and every time he tried to grasp the memory, it slipped further out of reach.
“Felipe,” Senor Quintero said softly as he slowed the mule. Felipe didn’t dare look at Louisa’s father. He couldn’t bear to see the pitying, concerned look in the other man’s eyes again. “Son, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.”
Felipe blinked at him uncomprehendingly, feeling as if his body was sliding away from him and he was watching Senor Quintero talk to a stranger with his face.
Why wouldn’t he go home? He had killed the demon and completed his first mission.
They would throw him a party, and he would be seen as one of the men now.
His tongue sat mute in his mouth. He should want that.
“Louisa would like it if you stayed. I would like it if you stayed,” Senor Quintero added, his voice even gentler than before.
Felipe didn’t know that was even possible.
“You could stay in the guest room or in the bunkhouse with the workers, whichever you prefer. You’re a smart boy.
There are plenty of things you could do.
I would happily teach you how to run the ranch.
I need someone I can pass my knowledge onto, and you know Charles isn’t suited to it. ”
Felipe shook his head. Louisa already ran the ranch when her father was sick.
They didn’t need him. No one needed him.
As the cart bounced off a rut in the road, pain rocketed through Felipe’s body as if he were being ripped in two.
A cry caught between his lips and his hand flew to his stomach and chest, but there was nothing there but holes in the linen and dried blood.
Forcing the pain down, it settled into a wave of numbness that drowned out everything else.
Felipe drew in a tight breath. There were no wounds. It was all in his head.
At the edge of the trees where the person manning the gate couldn’t see, Louisa’s father slowed the cart to a stop.
Felipe’s heart thumped loudly in his chest as he stared up at the stuccoed walls of the compound.
He wasn’t supposed to get help on his first mission.
He should have walked back. He and Alfonso were supposed to— Felipe flinched as Senor Quintero laid a gentle hand on his arm.
“Felipe, please look at me.”
Swallowing against the knot in his throat, Felipe raised his gaze to Senor Quintero’s face. Louisa’s father was dark eyed with skin the color of willow bark, like her, and his rounded features always made him look kind. Felipe’s mother said he had eyes made for smiling, but he wasn’t smiling now.
“This doesn’t have to be your life,” he said, gesturing to his bloodied clothes. “No matter what your parents or your grandfather say, this is not the only path.”
Felipe’s throat tightened. What paths were there for a healer who couldn’t heal?
He knew long ago this was the only way. The only thing he knew was fighting and how to take blow after blow without faltering.
It was the only thing he had been allowed to know.
Long ago, all the roads had been cut off and the trees set ablaze to keep him from fleeing.
Hoping for anything else would only get him burned.
“Thank you for the ride, senor,” Felipe murmured without meeting Senor Quintero’s gaze as he snatched up the burlap sack and scrambled out of the cart before he could change his mind.
“Mijo.” When he froze with his back to him, Senor Quintero let out a resigned sigh. “If you ever change your mind, my door is always open to you. No matter what anyone says, you are not alone in this world. You are not nothing without them.”
Without looking back, Felipe nodded and fled toward the safety of the old mission.
The sun rose at his back as he made his way up the hill.
He had expected to hear whoever was on guard duty herald his arrival.
Usually, someone would sound the alarm, and there would be a chorus of cheers from the younger boys and pats on the back from passing uncles.
Someone always held vigil during a first mission.
Why was no one there? The entrance was empty, but there were voices in the courtyard.
Staggering toward the sound, Felipe heard Alfonso before he saw him.
He stood at the center of the crowd with their grandfather at his side.
He looked disheveled but every inch the Patrón’s favorite grandson.
“It’s true. Felipe died saving me from the demon. I’m not proud of it. I tried to stop him, but he threw himself in front of me. He— he sacrificed himself,” Alfonso said with just a hint of a quaver in his voice as he hung his head. “He died well.”
Someone sucked in a wet breath, and Felipe distantly realized it was his mother. That was wrong. Nothing made her cry, not birth, not death.
“Where did this happen? Where is he?” his father demanded.
“Felipe and the demon went over the ravine overlooking the Quinteros’ ranch.
” Alfonso shook his head looking so contrite that Felipe nearly believed him.
“I’m sorry, uncle. I tried to find his body.
I looked all night, but it was too dark.
That’s why I came back without him. Now that it’s light out, I thought we could—”
Felipe’s feet seemed to move of their own accord as he stepped through the archway.
A ripple passed through the family as every eye in the courtyard shifted to him.
The world seemed to hold its breath as the Patrón’s eyes widened, and Alfonso followed his gaze.
For an instant, Felipe saw the terror written across his face before it disappeared beneath a mask of surprise.
What did his family see when they looked at him?
A ghost bathed in blood? An avenging angel haloed in sunlight?
He didn’t care. He had seen his cousin for what he truly was.
“But I saw you go over the edge,” Alfonso said. “I saw the demon take you.”
Holding his gaze, Felipe let go of the sack and the demon’s bloodied horns clattered to the ground.
Felipe stared at the blood and distantly understood that it was his, that if he lifted a horn to his shirt, he would find the holes matched.
His cousin had tried to kill him. Alfonso had left him for dead.
That had been the plan all along. The words made no sense, yet he knew they were true.
The Patrón stepped forward, calling for a healer, and Felipe seemed to slip from his body as his mother rushed to him.
She yanked up his shirt to check for wounds and stepped back as if she had been struck.
When she cried that there were none, the courtyard erupted into chaos.
Felipe heard the word miracle and half murmured prayers, but what rose above everything was his father yelling that the feast was back on, his voice swelling with the pride Felipe had always sought.
His cousins, aunts, and uncles swarmed him, touching him, praising him, trying to see the mended flesh that hid ragged wounds for themselves, but all Felipe wanted was to disappear.
The crowd quickly backed away from him as his grandfather stepped forward.
He only paused long enough to collect the demon’s horns before standing half a pace away from Felipe.
As he turned the horns over in his hands, his eyes raked over the holes in Felipe’s shirt and up to his face.
Pride and something far hungrier colored his voice as he said, “You’ve done well. Come with me.”
Felipe forced his feet to move as he followed his grandfather into the Patrón’s study in the old priest’s quarters.
The room was dark and cool as he shut the door behind him and lit the lamps one by one with naked fingers.
Felipe hadn’t been alone with his grandfather in years, and he had never been allowed in his study.
His eyes ran over the trophies hanging from the walls and the racked weapons within reach of his chair.
He should be excited. This was an honor he had always yearned for, but there was nothing.
The Patrón tossed the horns onto the desk with a clatter and stepped close enough to Felipe that he had to resist the urge to shy back.
“Show me where the wounds were.” When he hesitated, his grandfather lightly whacked his arm with the back of his hand. “Come on. You aren’t a maiden.”
Felipe didn’t dare say he didn’t remember where the wounds had been, so he lifted his shirt up to his neck.
The Patrón’s eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed as he circled him.
At the wave of his fingers, Felipe dropped the hem of his shirt and kept his eyes low.
His grandfather sank into the chair behind the desk and watched him for a long moment.
“A stoic young man is so rare nowadays. Half your cousins came back pissing themselves after their first mission but not you. Did you know that I’ve had my eye on you for a while, Felipe?
When you began your training so late, I wasn’t certain you would ever catch up, but much like your father, you’ve become one of my best fighters.
” At the lift of Felipe’s gaze, he added, “You are still very inexperienced, but you have far more promise than I first realized.”
“Thank you, sir,” Felipe said, keeping his head bowed.
“You killed a demon on your first mission by yourself, and you lived to tell the tale. That in and of itself is remarkable, but being a self-healer on top of that is miraculous. Our ancestor, Salvio Galvan, was a self-healer. Did you know that? We celebrate his fighting prowess and mourn his death but so rarely is the gift that made him so powerful mentioned. Most of us can only be swords or shields, but he was both. You will be both.”
Felipe’s head snapped up as the Patrón’s lips curled into a cunning smile.
“Mark my words, the story of your death and miraculous resurrection will spread like wildfire. Soon, everyone will know, and they will be reminded what the Galvans are capable of. California is changing, Felipe. People like us are a dying breed, but with someone like you, a second Salvio, we can usher in a new era.”
Felipe’s blood ran cold as the paths before him converged into one horrifying reality.
“I’m getting old. I need a successor who can not only wield a knife but the respect of the people. A boy who went from powerless to divine after a demon attack is exactly what we need.”
Trapped, he was trapped. Felipe’s heart thundered in his ears. He should want this. Alfonso was willing to kill for it, and so was his uncle.
Forcing his lips to move, Felipe asked, “Sir, did you find out who summoned the demon?”
“Already asking the important questions. You will make a fine Patrón. A man from the village has been brought in and dealt with. He’s been a thorn in our side for years.”
But he didn’t do it, Felipe wanted to cry. The goat had been theirs. He had seen Ramón leading it into the wilderness, and Alfonso had led him to the demon like a lamb to the slaughter. Across the desk, his grandfather watched him thoughtfully.
“Go, clean up and rest. Tonight, we will celebrate, but starting tomorrow, I will be handling your training. It will be more rigorous than anything you have ever done, but after surviving this, it should be easy. I will have your father bring these,” he said, gesturing to the horns, “to the bladesmith. If you are to be the future Patrón, you will need knives worthy of your station.”
“Thank you, sir,” Felipe replied automatically, eyeing the ornamental pistol resting on the shelf behind his grandfather.
No one had asked if he wanted this. Whether he wanted to be the Patrón didn’t matter.
He was no longer a man but a symbol, an extension of his grandfather’s power, and as long as he did what he was told and kept the parts of him no one wanted to see hidden, his family would finally be proud of him.
A hollow opened in Felipe’s heart, and his throat tightened.
He didn’t want this, but maybe if he was the Patrón, he could fix things.
Alfonso and his uncle couldn’t hurt him if he had his grandfather’s protection, and he could show everyone that men like him could be the Patrón, that they could be worth something.
All he had to do was survive long enough to make a difference.
At his grandfather’s dismissal, Felipe stood, and the study wavered.
A new dread overlayed the one already in his breast. Something was wrong.
This wasn’t how it went. Instead of going to the door, Felipe’s eyes locked on the pistol again.
Between one step and the next, his grandfather disappeared, and all that remained was the gun.
Wake up.
Senor Quintero wasn’t coming to save him, a familiar voice crooned. His life had already been filled with so much pain. One moment more, and he would never have to hurt again. His hand closed around the cold metal of its own accord, the sudden weight of the pistol dragging his wrist down.
Wake up.
His choices were to die by Alfonso’s hand in another unfortunate accident or live long enough to become the Patrón.
Both were a death sentence. Tears burned the backs of Felipe’s eyes, but he couldn’t stop.
He didn’t want this life. He never asked for it, the voice crooned.
His hand shook as he raised the gun to his temple. Why not end it on his terms?
Wake up!