With a slight nod, Innocente grabbed the notepad she kept next to the bed. With still quivering fingers she wrote down as much of the dream as she could recall. It was fading fast and it aggravated her. She knew the girl’s name was important, but it eluded her.
“Grandmama, is this someone we know?” Sergio sat on the edge of her bed. His tall, muscular body made her mattress dip down. He continued to shovel cereal into his mouth as he stared at her with worry.
“No, no. No one I know, but she. . . ” Innocente’s hand froze over the notepad as she remembered what the girl had said. “She said The Summoner killed her. ”
“But we killed him,” Sergio said swiftly, his eyes widening.
“There was a lot of blood and then. . . ” Innocente remembered the girl’s eyes flashing completely white just before she had vanished. “I think Amaliya is in danger. We need to call her!”
“I’ll get the phone,” Cynthia said and rushed out of the room, her long blue bathrobe flowing out behind her like a cape.
“It’ll be okay, Grandmama,” Sergio said in a comforting tone.
Innocente drew the covers up around her chest as she shook her head. “Something is wrong, Sergio. ” The dream had been a warning, but she had been too afraid to remember the details. She was angry at her failure.
Cynthia returned with Sergio’s cellphone and thrust it at him. He handed over the empty bowl, then dialed his cousin’s phone number. As he listened to the phone ring on the other end, he reached out and laid his big hand over Innocente’s. He gave her an encouraging smile even though the worry lines around his eyes had deepened.
“Amal, it’s Sergio. Call me. We’re worried about you,” he said at last.
“Voicemail,” Cynthia sighed, leaning against the door jamb. Though she had not been a part of the events a few months earlier, she had believed the wild story her husband had told her once she had met Cian and Amaliya. Cynthia was quite matter of fact about most things in life and had adapted faster than Innocente had thought she would. Sergio had married a remarkable woman.
“Maybe they’re. . . uh. . . hunting,” Sergio suggested.
“Or other things,” Cynthia added, a sly smile on her lips.
Innocente pulled her rosary from under her pillow and held it gently in her hand. The pink faceted beads glittered in the lamp light. Reverently touching the crucifix, she sent a silent prayer up to the heavens.
“No, no,” she said at last. “Something is wrong. ” Shoving off her covers, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I might as well get up. I won’t sleep until I hear from her. ”
“She’s fine,” Sergio assured his grandmother.
Innocente tried not to let tears spring into her eyes. She knew Sergio was wrong. Amaliya was not fine. She felt it to the marrow of her bones.
Chapter 3
Amaliya’s face pulsed in pain and her left arm felt broken. The door was lodged into her side and her crushed ribs were in agony. Blood streamed down her face as she attempted to free herself from the seatbelt digging into her torso. White powder filled the air and burned her nostrils. Blinking the blood from her eyes, she glanced at Cian. The driver’s side window was shattered from the impact of his head striking the glass and blood covered his face.
“Get ready,” he ordered, his voice ragged as he pulled his seatbelt off.
Amaliya’s veins burned as she willed herself to heal. The buckle finally popped free and she slid out of the seatbelt. Gasping at the pain, she dragged herself out of the car through the broken windshield. Bits of glass pressed into her palms as she crawled onto the buckled hood of the car.
The first thing she noticed was the silence. The sounds of the city were gone. Not even the whistling of the wind slipping through the branches of the trees was audible. Twisting around on her hip, she saw the SUV was crumpled against a utility pole. Two men were slowly stirring inside. They appeared as stunned as Amaliya and Cian.
What concerned her more than the men in the SUV was the tiny Hispanic girl standing under a street light with both arms lifted upwards. A miasma of purple and black smoke wound around her hands like writhing serpents. Dressed in jeans and a tank top, the girl looked like any other teenager, but the power pulsing out of her was terrifying. Her dark eyes watched Amaliya from beneath her straight bangs
and her hair was gathered into two small buns on either side of her head. Her full lips were turned up in a cruel smile.
Cian pulled himself through his broken window.
“It’s an-”
His body jerked and fell out of sight as he was peppered with bullets.
Amaliya slid off the hood and crouched alongside the car, hiding from the gunman. “Cian!”
“Stay down!” With surprising speed, he crawled around the car to join her. His flesh expelled the bullets, the tiny bits of metal clinking as they fell to the street. “I’m here. Fuck, silver. Burns like a bitch. ”
“Come out and play,” the girl’s voice called out and she giggled.