Oliver’s eyes widened. “They destroyed an entire race of demons?”
I winced. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
Oliver shook his head, his eyes pensive. He ran a hand through his hair. “No, it’s all right. It’s actually a bit of a relief, to be honest. Something to look forward to.” He flashed me a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Silence fell between us. I could still feel the Wendigo’s putrid breath on my face. Knowing what it was made it so much worse. I suppressed a shudder.
I rubbed my elbow and shifted weight from one foot to the other. “Um, thanks for saving me. Again.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. I didn’t like being indebted to him, regardless of whatever silly feelings I had for him.
Oliver rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re welcome.”
I expected to see his usual smarmy, charming grin, and I was fully prepared to smack it right off his face. But his eyes appraised me with an earnest emotion I hadn’t seen before. They locked onto my gaze as if I were imprisoned by them. Even if I could escape, I didn’t want to.
A loud explosion jolted me, and I teetered again as the ground quivered. My breaths came hard and fast as I realized how ridiculous I was being. People were dying. Get a grip, Desi.
“We should keep moving,” I said tersely, clearing my throat.
Gunshots burst through the air as we weaved through buildings. After several silent minutes of following Oliver down darker alleys than I’d remembered my first day here, I asked hesitantly, “Where are we going?”
“I need to call on an acquaintance,” Oliver said as he approached a door with blue chipped paint and rapped on it twice.
My insides wriggled with discomfort and fear as frantic, muffled steps sounded on the other side.
The door cracked open an inch. “Gerrick, what are you doing here?” a voice hissed.
“It’s urgent. Open the door.”
The door opened wider to reveal a tall, wiry man with wan skin and bloodshot eyes. His gaze cut to me, and he stiffened. “¿Quien es ella?”
My head reared back in shock, and I gaped at Oliver. The translation charm wasn’t working. “He’s mortal?”
Oliver glanced at me but didn’t answer. “I trust her. May we enter?”
The man sighed but stood back to let us through. After a nervous glance along the road, he shut and bolted the door.
The living room reeked of alcohol and sweat. Filthy stains spotted the sofa and floor.
“Have a seat,” the man said, plopping down on the sofa.
Oliver raised an eyebrow at the seating arrangements and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d prefer to stand. What’s changed, Javier?”
Javier’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Oliver spread his arms wide to indicate the grime surrounding us. “You’re clearly in a much worse state than when I last left you.”
Javier bounced his leg feverishly and scratched his neck. “I . . . well, you don’t—”
“You’re not a Donor anymore, are you?”
I stiffened, my eyes wide. Then I remembered what Oliver had told me about vampire Donors—they were mortals who offered their blood willingly in exchange for protection. My eyes raked over Javier’s sallow skin and shadowed eyes. Oliver had said something about Donors receiving vampire blood and how it made them stronger. Perhaps Javier was going through withdrawals from being cut off. And without the protection of a vampire coven, how could he still live in the magical realm? What would stop a demon from attacking him here?
Javier’s eyes darted to me, his eyebrows creasing. “Disolvió el aquelarre.”
Oliver’s jaw tensed. “Who?”
Javier’s eyes darkened, and he leaned forward intently. “Sabes quién.”
Oliver inhaled sharply, dropping his arms. “Damn. The vampires in the coven—they were banished?”
Javier shook his head. “Recruited.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “Who are the new Donors?”
Javier glanced at me again, and I lost it.
“Oh, stop!” I shouted. “Who am I going to tell?”
“You’re a witch,” Javier spat. “You could tell anyone and he would find out.”
My nostrils flared with anger. Taking a deep breath, I peeled off the bandage from my neck, exposing El Diablo’s puncture wounds.
Javier straightened, his back against the sofa, his eyes wide. He looked from me to Oliver.
I clenched my teeth and put the bandage back on, trying to ignore the swirling nausea in my stomach from the traumatizing memory. I could still see El Diablo’s flames and feel his fangs cutting through my flesh.
Oliver nodded grimly. “She’s a victim, too. You can trust her. Now answer my question. Who are the new Donors?”
Javier’s eyes sobered. His jaw tensed, and his expression darkened with fear and regret. “Witches and warlocks.”
Chapter 17
OLIVER’S FACE DRAINED of color. Horror pooled into my stomach like a puddle of icy water.
I shook my head in disbelief. “Witches and warlocks can’t be Donors. That’s against the law.”
“There is no law here,” Javier snarled. “We mortal Donors have been dismissed, and they are actively hunting witches and warlocks.”
“No,” I said, numb with shock. “No, he wouldn’t cross that line. He’s targeting Santeros.”
“He’s targeting both,” Javier snapped. “He’s Turning witches and warlocks and sending them after their own kind to feast on.”
And there’s no Council here to stop him. Bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed. “But . . . how? Why?”
“Magical blood provides power,” Javier said bitterly. “More power than a mortal’s blood. It’s how he Ascended.”
I remembered the warlock blood we’d found in the alley and how Elena had said there was something dark in his blood.
Something like vampire venom.
“The shapeshifter,” I muttered, looking at Oliver with wide eyes. “He had the power of an Elemental.”
Oliver’s face slackened, his mouth opening. “You mean . . .” He glanced at Javier. “They’ve found a way
