“Guillermo didn’t wear you out with training, did he?” Elena asked, pulling her dark hair into a tight knot on top of her head.
I chuckled. “Hardly.”
“He goes easy on you, you know. He could grind you to a pulp if he wanted to.”
I wiggled my eyebrows as I slid into my jacket. “Oh, Elena, you’ve got it bad.”
“Got what?”
“You like him.”
Elena blushed and scowled at me. “What? No! Not like that.”
“Please. Mr. Sexy Brooding Magic Spy? He’s perfect for you. That is, if he’d lighten up a bit.”
Elena rolled her eyes and tugged at her sleeves. Concern flashed in her expression as we both headed toward the door. Before I could reach for the handle, she grabbed my arm, her brows creasing. “I just want to make sure you can handle this.” She paused, watching me cautiously. “Desi, there are rumors that this Second Tier demon is American. A Teleporter.”
My face slackened in surprise, and my blood ran cold. I swallowed. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. I inhaled through my nose and exhaled through my mouth, trying to calm my racing heart. But flashes of fire, pain, and blood seared across my vision. El Diablo’s laughter. My own screams. Oliver’s sobs.
A Second Tier American Teleporter? It had to be Howard, El Diablo’s henchman. What would he be doing here . . . unless El Diablo’s still here?
Elena touched my shoulder, snapping me out of the nightmare that threatened to swallow me whole. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, clenching my fingers into fists. “Yes. Of course.” I cleared my throat. “It might not be him.”
Elena raised her eyebrows.
I shook my head. Yeah, right. “Either way, I can’t stay behind for this one. Let’s go get him.”
We stepped outside to find Guillermo leaning against the concrete wall of our apartment. The casual, innocent bystander. He blended in perfectly with the locals who were bustling up and down the street.
“Where was he last sighted?” Guillermo asked, straightening and stepping toward us. I looked around for Ramón, but he’d left, no doubt to go relay the news to Alba.
“On the outskirts of town,” Elena said. “Near the sugar plantations.”
Guillermo nodded, his jaw ticking back and forth in contemplation. His eyes roved up and down the road. A few familiar neighbors ambled by as well as some American soldiers.
My stomach twisted. Oliver. Every time I saw a soldier, I thought of him wearing the same uniform only months ago. But he wasn’t here. His unit had returned to America after the war last year. He had visited once since then, but I wasn’t sure when I would see him again.
“We’re too exposed here,” Guillermo muttered, jerking his head toward the end of the road. “This way.”
A breeze tousled my brown curls as we strode down the road. I rubbed my arms to ward off the winter chill. Winter in Santiago was tame compared to what I was accustomed to in Birch Grove, Wisconsin, but my body had adjusted after six months of being in a warmer and wetter climate. My friends back home would’ve laughed at the wuss I’d become.
After we ducked into a narrow alley between two apartment buildings, Guillermo grasped our hands and closed his eyes. Our surroundings rippled and shifted, and with a small pop, we Teleported.
The blinding afternoon sun beat against my face, no longer hidden behind palm trees and buildings. A wide expanse of grass and fields beckoned to us. Just behind us, the tall buildings of Santiago melded into the horizon.
I gazed forward at the small mountains beyond the fields and inhaled deeply. Fresh scents tickled my nose—citrus, sugar, and a woodsy scent that achingly reminded me of Oliver.
A sudden burst of exhilaration pulsed through my mind, quickening my heart rate. Adrenaline coursed through me. I blinked and shook my head as Oliver’s eager grin appeared in my mind.
He was excited about something.
Last year, to save him from being enslaved to El Diablo, I’d performed a blood oath with Oliver, which meant our minds were connected. Every so often, I felt a flash of emotion from him: a pang of longing, a twinge of annoyance, a spark of laughter.
I swallowed back my desire to be with him—to talk to him about this excitement—and looked at Guillermo.
“You ladies ready?” Guillermo asked, flexing his muscular arms.
I ensured my athame and stake were secure in their ankle holsters as Elena did the same. We nodded at each other.
Then the three of us set off, combing through the sugar plantations and passing by farmers maintaining the fields. Some workers tipped their hats toward us, and others ignored us completely.
Elena and I followed Guillermo, whose senses were sharper than ours. My sense of smell had evolved over the past six months, and I could now smell demons but not from a great distance.
Guillermo held up a hand to stop us as he sniffed the air, his eyes closed in concentration. “There are demons here,” he murmured to himself. “But it’s hard to pinpoint where. If a Second Tier demon is hiding here, he’s cloaked himself. It makes it harder to smell him.”
We continued down the road past massive stalks of sugarcane, some wilting from the winter climate. I gazed up at the enormous plants as their sweet scent tickled my nose, mingling with the faintest smell of—
I froze in my tracks and sniffed the air again.
Gunpowder. Blood. Black magic.
My mind returned to that horrifying magic circle of runes and powder. The demons hooded in black cloaks. El Diablo with Oliver lying there at his mercy. A blade poised to tear through innocent flesh for the blood ritual.
“Stop,” I hissed.
Elena and Guillermo halted, and dirt from the road puffed underneath their feet.
I closed my eyes, my ears prickling from sounds that whispered with the wind.
