pushing.
“Listen.” Antonio pushed again, and her voice dropped to a horrible, mewling whimper. He put his forehead against hers, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“Antonio, cuidado,” Father Juan said. “Be careful.”
He saw nothing in her eyes but fear. He sought to overcome it, whispering softly, “It’s all right. You’re safe with me. You’re safe.”
“She’s . . . there,” Heather said. “Dantalion!” She burst into tears and batted at him, flailing, kicking. As he tried to hold her, he pushed one more time.
“You’re safe. With me,” he said gently. “Tell me about Dantalion.”
She stared at him, and sighed heavily. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed into his arms.
“Dios,” Father Juan said. “What was that?”
“I mesmerized her, to calm her,” Antonio replied, easing her onto her back. He opened one eye. Heather appeared to be unconscious. “But she fainted, perhaps to avoid talking to me.”
“Did someone else mesmerize her, perhaps from a distance?”
“We can’t do that,” Antonio said. “At least I can’t. I must be able to look into the eyes of the person.” He opened her other eye; then he lifted his arm and pushed back his shirt sleeve, preparing to place his wrist against her mouth. “Perhaps if she fed, we could wake her. Human blood would be better, but she can get sustenance from mine.”
“No, don’t,” Father Juan said quickly. “Don’t you feed her.”
Antonio frowned. “Why not, Father?”
“I’ll get some blood from the refrigerator for her. Just . . . don’t.” Father Juan gestured for him to come out of the cell. “Drinking from you is still drinking from flesh, and it could undo all the effort we’ve put in.”
Antonio parted his lips as Father Juan unlocked the cell. Surely in the midst of a crisis they could forgo the niceties. Nevertheless Antonio came out and shut the door, making sure it was locked. Heather stirred. Then she lifted her head, sniffing the air. She rolled over onto all fours and charged the iron bars. Babbling and yelling, she reached for Father Juan.
“Tell us about Dantalion,” Father Juan said.
She kept raving and gibbering, making no sense.
“It was a vision that she had,” Antonio said. “From magick, maybe. Or from God.” He looked at Father Juan. “I’m going to Russia, Father.”
“Antonio, no.” Father Juan looked at him. “We don’t know what this means. I forbid you.”
“Then forgive me, Father.”
M OSCOW , R USSIA
T EAM S ALAMANCA M INUS A NTONIO; T AAMIR AND N OAH
“We’re here,” Jenn announced, standing at the back of the truck. The door was still shut. Skye was leaning over Jamie and moving her fingers in quite a suspicious manner; Jamie wondered if she’d put him—all of them—to sleep with a spell. He yawned and cricked his neck, then rolled his eyes as Holgar yipped in his sleep. The wolf did it again.
Jamie swore in colorful Irish, then said to Skye, “Can’t you shut him up? If the foreigner hears him, we’ll be in trouble.”
“I did shut him up,” Skye said. “I turned Holgar down nearly to zero.”
“And why didn’t you go all the way to zero, hmm?” he queried.
She pursed her lips. “Because I’m tired, Jamie. Magick costs, just like everything else.”
“Jamie- kun , please,” Eriko said.
The door opened into gloomy, snowy sky, and an olive-skinned lad with big ears nodded a greeting to Jamie and the others.
“Hello. I’m Taamir,” he said. Since everyone except Jenn had hopped into the back without being properly introduced, no one else had actually met him. “Noah is at the camp with the noon meal.”
“Neat,” Jamie said. “Especially since it’s teatime.” Four p.m. He was starving. Brother Manuel had packed them some sandwiches, but he’d devoured his before he’d even sat down in the Madrid airport waiting area.
“The camp’s about ten kilometers away,” Taamir added. “We’ll march in.”
Jamie
“Listen.” Antonio pushed again, and her voice dropped to a horrible, mewling whimper. He put his forehead against hers, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“Antonio, cuidado,” Father Juan said. “Be careful.”
He saw nothing in her eyes but fear. He sought to overcome it, whispering softly, “It’s all right. You’re safe with me. You’re safe.”
“She’s . . . there,” Heather said. “Dantalion!” She burst into tears and batted at him, flailing, kicking. As he tried to hold her, he pushed one more time.
“You’re safe. With me,” he said gently. “Tell me about Dantalion.”
She stared at him, and sighed heavily. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed into his arms.
“Dios,” Father Juan said. “What was that?”
“I mesmerized her, to calm her,” Antonio replied, easing her onto her back. He opened one eye. Heather appeared to be unconscious. “But she fainted, perhaps to avoid talking to me.”
“Did someone else mesmerize her, perhaps from a distance?”
“We can’t do that,” Antonio said. “At least I can’t. I must be able to look into the eyes of the person.” He opened her other eye; then he lifted his arm and pushed back his shirt sleeve, preparing to place his wrist against her mouth. “Perhaps if she fed, we could wake her. Human blood would be better, but she can get sustenance from mine.”
“No, don’t,” Father Juan said quickly. “Don’t you feed her.”
Antonio frowned. “Why not, Father?”
“I’ll get some blood from the refrigerator for her. Just . . . don’t.” Father Juan gestured for him to come out of the cell. “Drinking from you is still drinking from flesh, and it could undo all the effort we’ve put in.”
Antonio parted his lips as Father Juan unlocked the cell. Surely in the midst of a crisis they could forgo the niceties. Nevertheless Antonio came out and shut the door, making sure it was locked. Heather stirred. Then she lifted her head, sniffing the air. She rolled over onto all fours and charged the iron bars. Babbling and yelling, she reached for Father Juan.
“Tell us about Dantalion,” Father Juan said.
She kept raving and gibbering, making no sense.
“It was a vision that she had,” Antonio said. “From magick, maybe. Or from God.” He looked at Father Juan. “I’m going to Russia, Father.”
“Antonio, no.” Father Juan looked at him. “We don’t know what this means. I forbid you.”
“Then forgive me, Father.”
M OSCOW , R USSIA
T EAM S ALAMANCA M INUS A NTONIO; T AAMIR AND N OAH
“We’re here,” Jenn announced, standing at the back of the truck. The door was still shut. Skye was leaning over Jamie and moving her fingers in quite a suspicious manner; Jamie wondered if she’d put him—all of them—to sleep with a spell. He yawned and cricked his neck, then rolled his eyes as Holgar yipped in his sleep. The wolf did it again.
Jamie swore in colorful Irish, then said to Skye, “Can’t you shut him up? If the foreigner hears him, we’ll be in trouble.”
“I did shut him up,” Skye said. “I turned Holgar down nearly to zero.”
“And why didn’t you go all the way to zero, hmm?” he queried.
She pursed her lips. “Because I’m tired, Jamie. Magick costs, just like everything else.”
“Jamie- kun , please,” Eriko said.
The door opened into gloomy, snowy sky, and an olive-skinned lad with big ears nodded a greeting to Jamie and the others.
“Hello. I’m Taamir,” he said. Since everyone except Jenn had hopped into the back without being properly introduced, no one else had actually met him. “Noah is at the camp with the noon meal.”
“Neat,” Jamie said. “Especially since it’s teatime.” Four p.m. He was starving. Brother Manuel had packed them some sandwiches, but he’d devoured his before he’d even sat down in the Madrid airport waiting area.
“The camp’s about ten kilometers away,” Taamir added. “We’ll march in.”
Jamie
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