“I’m a little out of practice,” I muttered, my cheeks burning again.
Oliver nodded, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Protective magic,” he said, “linger near . . .”
“Right,” I said quickly, taking a deep breath. I flexed my fingers, and the familiar magical energy spread through me.
“Take my hands,” Oliver instructed. “Otherwise the spell won’t know I’m included.”
I scowled at him. His eyes danced with laughter, but his large hands were outstretched before me, waiting.
Ramón cleared his throat impatiently.
I sighed and snatched Oliver’s hands, trying to ignore how my skin burned against his firm, calloused palms.
Eyes closed, I said,
“Protective magic, linger near,
And . . . keep us safe from danger here.”
A deep blue glow engulfed our entwined hands and surrounded us like a giant bubble. Then, slowly, it faded, but my arms and legs still tingled.
“Thank you,” Oliver said quietly.
I dropped his hands quickly and avoided his gaze. “No problem.”
Ramón nodded, obviously satisfied, and stepped through the red door. It rippled like water, and he vanished. Oliver and I followed behind him.
A cacophonous array of sounds assaulted us. Explosions. Gunfire. Screams. Moans. The pure terror in the air smothered me the minute I entered the mortal realm. I couldn’t believe how muffled everything had been. Despite the booming gunfire I’d heard, it was nothing compared to this.
Hurried figures darted past us, some sporting bloody injuries, some covered in soot. A woman huddled in the corner of two buildings, clutching her two children and sobbing. Spanish soldiers darted down the street, shouting something I couldn’t understand.
My throat closed. I couldn’t breathe.
My own sobs echoed in my head. A memory I’d tried so hard to bury. My piercing cries of agony as I begged for some magical force to bring my parents back.
“Desi.”
My head snapped toward Oliver. I blinked tears out of my eyes.
His fingers grasped mine again, but this time it was different. This time it was reassurance. All the heat and arousal from earlier was gone.
I clutched his hand tightly, clinging to the warmth that grounded me.
Sorrow and understanding swam in his eyes. He knows. He knows what this does to me. Because it’s doing it to him, too.
“This way,” Ramón urged, gesturing down the road.
We followed him, weaving through frantic civilians. With every explosion that burst in the air, I flinched, expecting to get knocked off my feet.
A breeze tousled my hair, and I inhaled, smelling smoke and seaweed. I frowned, glancing at Oliver and Ramón. “Are we near the coast?”
“The bay,” Ramón said shortly, pointing ahead.
I squinted. A shimmering, watery surface glistened in the sunlight just behind a cluster of buildings. As Ramón led us down the street, I got a better view. A huge body of water surrounded the edge of the city, filled with warships. Tall chimney-like pipes extended from each ship, spitting thick smoke into the sky.
My jaw dropped as I gazed at the ships that bore American and Spanish flags. A long line of American ships were spread across the bay. As I squinted to make out the details, I realized the Americans had blocked the Spanish so they were trapped in the bay. Aboard the vessels, sailors and soldiers shouted instructions to each other. The docks bustled with men as well, their movement and exclamations mingling with the cacophony of screams and gunfire within the city.
I remembered what Alba had said: The Spanish and American ships have been circling each other for weeks now. When would the Spanish give in? How much longer would this last?
We continued down the road until it curved away from the bay. Reluctantly, I tore my gaze from the ships and caught up with Oliver and Ramón as they approached a two-story building.
Ramón darted to the backdoor and held it open. We stepped through, and darkness surrounded us. I blinked, my eyes adjusting. Whimpers and sobs echoed around me.
Gradually, shapes came into view. A dozen or so women and children were huddled in the back corner of a supply room filled with empty boxes. Some children sobbed into their mothers’ shoulders. Other, older children sat quietly, their eyes empty and numb. I recognized that look all too well. I’d been the same five years ago.
Anxiety squeezed my heart so firmly that it was painful. Without glancing at Oliver or Ramón, I hurried to the crowd and sank to my knees in front of them. A woman with tear-stained cheeks shrank away from me in fear, but I touched her shoulder.
“Está bien,” I said. I pointed to my chest. “Ayudo.” I help.
The woman swallowed. “¿Lo podrás mantener a salvo?” She glanced down at the boy buried in her skirts. His eyes were free of tears, but fear and uncertainty tugged at his expression.
I wasn’t sure what the woman asked, but I said, “Sí.”
The woman pressed her lips together and nodded. “Gracias,” she whispered.
“Follow these two to the other side,” Ramón instructed. “Do not stop, even if you hear or see strange things. It isn’t like your world, but it will be safe if you follow them.”
I frowned, wondering why he spoke English, until I remembered the translation spell. The crowd nodded collectively, obviously understanding his instructions.
Ramón turned to me and Oliver. “Come straight back here after delivering them to the hideout. I’ll have more refugees ready for you.”
Ramón held the backdoor open as Oliver and I ushered the civilians out. Heads bowed as the artillery continued firing around us, we hurried up the sidewalk and toward the familiar red door.
Oliver pressed a hand to the door, which rippled, and waved his other hand for the first woman to step through. Her face drained of color, and her mouth fell open. She looked at Oliver in fear, but he clasped her hand reassuringly.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s safe.”
That’s not entirely true, I thought to myself. But what could we say? Sure, you’ll be safe from the crossfire. But, oh, wait, there are a ton of
