“Looking for you,” he said, touching my elbow. Warmth coursed through my arm at his touch. His eyes met mine, but something dark lingered there. Was he still angry with me?
“Why?” I snapped.
Oliver’s head reared back in surprise. “I—I wanted to make sure you were all right. After what happened with those demons.”
My eyes narrowed. “So now you care? What about all those dirty looks you’ve been giving me?”
Oliver’s mouth opened in surprise, but the darkness lingered in his eyes. For a second, I swore his eyes shifted to gray and then back to the normal green.
I stiffened. Ice hardened in my chest, and my stomach dropped.
Oliver’s eyes scanned my face. Suspicion creased his brows.
I shifted my shoulder until the strap of my bag slipped and fell to the ground.
“Oops,” I muttered, bending over.
Instead of picking it up, I drew the athame from my ankle holster. In a flash, I plunged the blade into Oliver’s stomach.
A sickly, feral howl erupted from his lips. His eyes flashed gray and then green again, and scales blossomed all over his body as he shifted back to his demon form.
I gritted my teeth and shoved the blade deeper into his body. The shapeshifter choked and coughed up blood.
I withdrew the athame and stabbed him in the neck. More blood poured down his body as he collapsed, wriggling on the ground like a worm.
I stepped toward him and pressed my boot against his chest. “This is for Manuel,” I whispered.
“Vile demon of unholy crimes,
I banish you ‘til the end of time.”
The demon’s body glowed blue and then went still. Cold, empty eyes stared up at me until the glow blinded me and I had to look away. When the light faded, my boot thumped against the ground. The monster’s body was gone.
But I still felt empty inside.
I glanced around the area and found a palm tree across the street. Using one of the long fronds, I cleaned my blade and returned it to the holster. Then I retrieved my sack of food, hurried back to the door, and stepped through.
A stampede of people nearly barreled me over. I flattened my back against the wall behind me to avoid being trampled. A throng of civilians—mostly women and children—hurried past me without a second glance. Some muttered frantically to each other in Spanish, and others were sobbing. Dirt and blood stained their faces. Some were heavily bandaged and needed assistance to walk.
A loud scream drew my attention away from the crowd. I turned and found a girl about six years old huddled against the buildings across the street from me. Her hands covered her face as she wept loudly.
I elbowed my way through the crowd to reach her. My toes flared in pain as feet stepped on me. Shoulders and arms bumped against me, but I pushed harder until I reached the girl. She peeked through her fingers at me, her eyes swimming in tears.
“¿Dónde está su madre?” I asked her. Where is your mother?
The girl hiccuped and pointed in the direction the crowd was moving.
I extended my arms toward her and raised my eyebrows, silently asking if I could hold her.
The girl slowly dropped her hands and reached toward me. I cradled her in my arms, and she buried her face in my shoulder. I stood and moved with the crowd, my eyes scanning the people frantically in search of a mother missing her child.
The crowd continued down the street until the apartments opened up to a large courtyard. Several palm trees lined the cobblestone paths, and a huge, magnificent cathedral cast a shadow over us as we passed. Chunks of concrete and rubble obstructed our path, and I had to sidestep the debris without dropping the girl or knocking over any refugees.
When we reached the end of the courtyard, the large hills from the battle loomed into view just to our left. I stared, openmouthed, at the grassy expanse littered by hundreds and hundreds of tents and soldiers. American soldiers stood at the end of the road, shepherding refugees down the road and to safety.
I squinted as I recognized one of them.
Oliver.
My heart lurched as I remembered the shock in his eyes when I stabbed him.
But that wasn’t him. And you knew it, Desi. You knew it wasn’t him.
But I couldn’t deny that a small part of me had wanted to hurt the real Oliver. Maybe not stab him . . . but slap him or kick him in the shins. That would’ve been fine.
Panicked shrieking drew my eyes away from Oliver. A woman with a bonnet and tear-stained cheeks was shouting amongst the crowd, pacing aimlessly as she sobbed.
“¿Su madre?” I asked the girl.
The girl lifted her head and screamed, “¡Mamá!”
The woman stiffened and looked around frantically, her eyes alight with hope and desperation.
I waved a hand to draw her attention, and her face crumpled when she saw us. Her skirt billowed as she sprinted toward us, knocking others out of her way.
I handed off the girl to her mother, and they clutched and kissed each other, sobbing and laughing with relief. A small smile pulled at my lips as I clasped my arms in front of me. I probably could’ve continued on, but I wanted to stay and watch this. It made my heart feel things I wasn’t used to feeling.
The woman turned to me. Clutching her daughter in one hand, she extended the other to grasp my arm firmly. “Gracias, señorita. Muchas gracias.”
I nodded, my smile widening. I squeezed her hand and patted the girl’s head before turning away.
Then I froze. Oliver stood just behind me, looking infuriatingly dashing in his clean uniform and hat. Tenderness shone in his eyes as he looked from me to the woman and her child.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I see you’re wearing another uniform. Unless you went back to Demon Central to get yours back?”
Oliver snorted. “No, this one was lent to me.” His eyes roved over my dress, lingering on my bare shoulders and
