“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, señor,” Felipe murmured without meeting Señor 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, Señor 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 voiceas 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. Hiscousins, 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, butyou 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 remarkable. 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.Youwill 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,Iwill be handling your training. It will be more rigorousthan 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.
