Oliver glanced over his shoulder at me with a curious look before he exited.
Manuel sighed. “It was only a matter of time.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Manuel jerked his head toward the door. “I’ll explain on the way. Do you have a weapon?”
I shook my head, eyes wide and throat dry. “I have my powers?”
Manuel chuckled. He darted into the kitchen and returned with a small blade with runes encrusted in the hilt. He handed it to me, and I stared at it, my body frozen.
“Take it,” he said impatiently.
I swallowed and took the blade. Power thrummed from the hilt. This was a magical weapon. “What is it?”
“An athame. Specifically crafted to kill demons.”
I remembered my embarrassing display with the werewolf and how Kismet had chastised me for not knowing how to banish a demon. “I . . . I never told Alba my decision.”
Manuel’s thick eyebrows furrowed. “About what?”
“Whether I want to free El Diablo’s prisoners or not.”
Manuel’s brows creased, forming wrinkles along his forehead, but he didn’t seem surprised. I guess Alba told him about her plan. “What did you decide?”
I swallowed. I have to get back home. No matter the cost. “I’ll do it.”
“Then it doesn’t matter if you tell Alba or not. We’ve already been briefed about it. Come hunting with us, and we’ll get the job done.”
I nodded, and Manuel made for the exit. After a deep breath, I followed him. As I stepped through the door, heat and humidity swarmed around me, suffocating me. I suppressed a groan. Lilith, I hate this climate.
Dozens of small shops surrounded the restaurant, some standing on pillars and holding large signs with eloquent Spanish calligraphy. Other shops were squashed in between two larger ones as if added as an afterthought, their feeble signs barely visible on the door. A long, wide sidewalk followed the buildings and wrapped around the curved street.
The air around us was eerily calm. Magic lingered in the air, but the stillness screamed at me that something was wrong. No shouts. No explosions. Just silence. I gripped the athame even tighter, my palms clammy.
“Mortal Santeros toe the line between mortality and magic,” Manuel said in a low voice as we crept down a narrow dirt road that was flanked by tiny apartments. “They know about us because of the Santeros that do possess magic. We have a sort of . . . understanding with them.”
“So what’s wrong?”
“The woman said a dark creature attacked them.”
My eyes grew wide as I waved a mosquito away from my face. “A demon attacked them?”
“It’s not the first time. The demons have been getting reckless, attacking mortals like this. We don’t know why, though. The mortals pose no threat to them.”
“Alba mentioned something about sacrifices and rituals. Could they use mortals for that kind of thing?”
Manuel’s gray eyes darkened. “Yes, but only for the darkest kind of magic.”
I gulped. “When you say ‘reckless,’ what do you mean? How do you guys not have a Council to help you?”
“A Council?” Manuel scoffed. “Not in Cuba. In other countries, maybe, but we’re too small. Technically we fall under the jurisdiction of the Spanish Council, but after the American victory . . .” He sighed. “Perhaps we’ve just been passed from one controlling government to another.”
“Over here!” Elena shouted from a distance.
Manuel hastened to a jog, and I followed him. We rounded a corner and found Oliver and Elena crouched over a large stain of blood on the ground. I stared at it, open-mouthed, and realized the blood formed a large octagon with runes at each vertex.
“What is this?” I whispered, my stomach coiling with horror. So much blood . . . There was no way the victim survived after losing that much.
“A blood ritual,” Oliver muttered, leaning closer to the blood and sniffing. “A warlock, I think.”
“Blood ritual?” I repeated numbly.
“Lilith, do we have to explain everything to you?” Elena snapped without looking at me.
I shot her a sarcastic grin and batted my eyelashes. “Yes, please.”
“Elena,” Manuel chastised. He glanced at me and then back at the octagon of blood. “A blood ritual can only mean one thing. A demon has Ascended.”
Oliver’s eyes hardened as he looked at Manuel. “El Diablo?”
“Most likely. He’s probably a Third Tier demon lord now.”
My hands shook. Third Tier. Levarret was Third Tier as well. My eyes closed as my parents’ screams resonated in my head, piercing my ears and smothering out all other noises.
A warm hand touched my arm, and I flinched. Oliver stood by me, his brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”
I nodded as clarity returned and my parents’ voices faded. My legs ached. My body itched to escape—to dance until I lost myself in the movement. “Sure. Just peachy. When did this . . . Ascension happen?”
“The blood smells tainted,” Elena said. “I’d say maybe a day.”
Discomfort rose in my throat. Panicked heartbeats pulsed in my ears. “That’s it,” I whispered.
The other three looked at me.
“What?” Oliver asked.
“That’s what brought me here,” I said, my voice louder. “Alba said some kind of powerful magic latched onto me when I cast the spell and brought me here. It had to have been this, right?”
“What spell?” Oliver asked, his gaze darting between me and Elena.
“Teleportation,” I said. “Time travel.”
Oliver’s face slackened, his eyes wide. He whistled low and mouthed, “Wow.” His eyes moved to my clothes again, and I knew what he was thinking: That’s why she’s dressed so weird.
Elena said quietly, “I think we have more important things to worry about than how you got here. Like how did El Diablo manage to get this warlock away from his coven?”
“And how did one warlock provide enough power for an Ascension?” Manuel added, his eyes scanning the walls of the buildings surrounding us.
“Hang on,” Elena said, her brow furrowing. She crouched lower until her face almost touched the ground. Extending her hand, she Pushed against the octagon until the blood ran in different directions, zigzagging and crisscrossing.
I gaped at the disturbing movement of blood. So she’s a Pusher like me.
Elena sniffed a few times and rose
