Frack, I thought, glancing at Oliver as his eyes widened in alarm. Others will hear that.
Oliver swiped the bloody athame from the ground and wiped it on his pants before pocketing it. His eyes swept over the Santeros, who were stirring and trying to sit up.
“I have an idea,” he muttered.
He jerked his head toward the Santeros, and I followed him as he crouched to help them rise.
“Can you stand?” Oliver asked them. When they nodded feebly, I realized he had probably spoken Spanish to them. The translation charm had just translated it for me.
Oliver knelt to the ground and dipped two fingers into a puddle of blood. He swiped his fingers across his chin, making two small dribble marks. He took a step closer to me, and I stiffened.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Blending in. Here.” He stretched his fingers forward and dabbed my chin as well. The blood stank of rotting flesh and venom. I shivered.
Oliver beckoned the Santeros forward. “Desi, grab her arm.”
The Santera who’d screamed earlier stood in front of me, and I clutched her forearm. The other two Santeros stood in front of Oliver, and he grasped one of them by the elbow.
“Now, follow my lead,” Oliver said. He stretched his free hand forward, and his knuckles quivered as thick rocks spread from his fist, covering his hand whole like a huge mitten made of boulders. He slammed his giant rock fist against the cave wall. The ceiling shook, and dust and pebbles rained from the ceiling.
The demon Teleporter from earlier stepped through the wall, his red eyes widening at the sight of the Santeros and the pool of blood before us.
“We have prisoners for El Diablo,” Oliver said, gripping both Santeros firmly. “They have information he seeks.”
The demon’s eyes narrowed and flitted over to me. I clenched my teeth, willing my hands not to shake as I clutched the arm of the Santera in front of me.
Slowly, the demon inclined his head. He pressed a pale hand to the rocky surface of the wall, and it shimmered. Oliver and I stepped through, taking the Santeros with us. Granite, mildew, and dust pressed against my nose and mouth, smothering me.
Then the foul scent of excrement and dead animals assaulted my nose. My eyes widened as we appeared in a dank and musty cavern roughly the size of my bedroom. A single lantern hung from the ceiling, illuminating the dozen or so prisoners trapped inside. Some wore all white like the Santeros with us. Others wore street clothes and sat slouched against the cavern wall. One woman stood gracefully on her feet, her hands clasped behind her back. She wore several beads, bracelets, and trinkets as well as a colorful turban that covered her head. Stains of dirt and blood blossomed along her yellow dress, but her chin lifted and her eyes gleamed in defiance.
This is a woman who won’t be broken, I thought in awe.
“Thank you,” Oliver said, releasing the Santeros and turning to the demon. With a flash, Oliver rammed the athame into the demon’s chest.
My heart stopped, and I jerked backward in alarm.
The demon groaned and slumped forward. The prisoners before us gasped and shifted. Those who were sitting suddenly bolted to their feet in alarm.
The demon twitched and then went still, his blood pooling on the floor.
Oliver looked at me. “Now, Desi—”
The demon suddenly rose and grabbed Oliver’s ankle, yanking him to the ground. Oliver grunted. The athame clattered to the ground.
I lifted my arms and Pushed against the demon. He flew backward, against a sharp collection of stalagmites. The tendons of his neck stood out as he clenched his teeth and hissed at me, his red eyes ablaze.
“Vile demon of unholy crimes,
I banish you ‘til the end of time.”
The foreign voice froze me, and I stared at the woman with the turban. Her hands glowed blue as they flexed toward the demon, who roared in fury. The blue magic engulfed him, and he vanished.
My chest rose with heavy breaths. Oliver and I looked at each other and then at the woman.
“Thank you,” Oliver said again, quieter this time. “Now, let’s get you out of here. Do you all have magic?”
The witch with the turban shook her head. “Only I do. The rest are mortals.”
My throat went dry. Mortal prisoners? What does El Diablo want with mortals?
Oliver took a deep breath and lifted his hands, his arms shaking and his teeth clenching from the effort.
The walls quaked, and pebbles and dirt crumbled from the ceiling. I ushered the prisoners toward the opposite wall, away from whatever Oliver was doing.
Large chunks of rock fell away from the ceiling above Oliver. He groaned in pain but kept his arms raised. More rocks tumbled, creating a large hole. Light filtered through the opening, and my heart jumped in my throat, my spirits lifting. Freedom.
When the hole widened to about the size of a manhole, Oliver’s arms dropped, and he doubled over, wheezing and choking. A trail of blood trickled from his nose, and his dazed eyes glanced around incoherently.
Loud, lumbering steps shook the tunnel walls. A feral grunt I knew too well launched me into action. I turned to the wall behind me just as the troll stepped through. Gritting my teeth, I Pushed against him, thrusting him against the wall and freezing his body in place. My arms and legs quivered, and pain rippled through my body. Agony seared through me, draining me. I wouldn’t be able to hold him for long.
The troll’s angry eyes flew from me to Oliver. With a roar, it slammed against my magic. Gasping, I flexed my fingers, holding him there.
Black dots danced in front of my eyes, and I teetered. An arm caught me. I blinked,
