From the dust, beneath the moon, a rider comes to settle doom.

Neither Heaven's, nor Hell's, nor yours to command, she rides between worlds with fire in her hand.

She seeks no gold, she claims no crown, she rides where blood has stained the ground.

The righteous hand, the sinner's bane, the wrath of God dressed in flame.

For when the heavens turn away, and hell itself has naught to say,

A woman rides through fire, ash and flame...

And God and Devil know her name.

The celebrations of Día de los Muertos in Yuma, Arizona are in full swing. But unknown to everyone, there's a hunter of souls walking among them. Hiding in plain sight, Lucia too came to honor the death, yet her purpose is greater than getting compliments on her "traditional costume" or explaining that this isn't a poncho but a sarape. A perfect masquerade of a local celebrating her heritage, she's looking for the rot beneath the paint. The worst of the wicked who prey on the living.

The stench of sinner could not be hidden behind incense, drowned out by the mariachi music or laughter. It continues to reek off them. And certain sins cannot be buried, forgiven or brought off. Much like the particular spike of malevolence caught Lucia's attention near a dimly lit alleyway just off the main plaza. Someone was using the festivities as a cover for something sinister, unknowingly drawing the hunter, thus prompting Lucia to leave the main throng and deliver the judgment. Tonight, the celebration will end early for someone.