The horses in the stable went wild; they knew of the coming storm.

She had threatened to do it the last time they met: the Desert Witch would be paid one way or the other. Brock looked toward the horizon at the gathering dark and malevolent clouds.

“I demand payment!” she had shrieked. He had gambled and lost and it was time to deliver.

Brock looked down at the child holding his hand.

“What are you so sad about, Mr. Brock?” Angela asked.

Brock had to find the words to tell the child that she was being delivered as tribute to the Desert Witch.

But he couldn’t do it. Let the Witch do her worst.

“Let’s get the town folk together,” he said. “We’ve got people to protect.”