Matías smiled. “The blonde one first.”
Tomas nodded and pulled Roslyn forward, positioning her at the edge of the circle. Silvery metal flashed in the bright light pouring into the room, and Caitlin realized then that he’d pulled a knife from somewhere, was pressing it against her friend’s exposed forearm.
“No!” she screamed, somehow forcing the syllable past the constriction in her throat, past the strange fuzziness that seemed to have settled on her brain. Roslyn blinked at her, as if puzzled why Caitlin would have a problem with Tomas slicing her open with a knife.
“Calm down, chica,” Matías murmured, his breath hot against Caitlin’s neck. “He’s not going to kill her. We just need something from her.”
“You can’t….” She made herself gasp in a breath, hoping the extra oxygen would make her brain begin to work properly. “It’s wrong. We don’t — we don’t do that kind of magic.”
“Maybe you don’t. But we do.” He nodded, and Tomas drew the blade across Roslyn’s arm, a quick, sharp cut, barely more than inch long. Deep crimson blood dripped from the wound onto the circle chalked on the ground.
Faint tendrils of pale gray smoke began to drift upward. At the same time, Caitlin could feel the wrongness of the thing they’d drawn twisting through her, cold, hungry…strong. It was more than chalk on the ground.
It was alive.
“Roslyn!” she screamed. “Run!”
But Roslyn only looked at her with foggy blue eyes, and Danica wasn’t watching at all, had her eyes shut as Jorge kissed her neck and stroked her bare arm. She didn’t seem to have heard Caitlin’s cry, or, worse, was ignoring it.
“I don’t think they mind, chica,” Matías said, chuckling into her ear. “And you won’t, either, when your time comes.”
Help. She had to get help. From where or from whom, she didn’t know, because she was in the heart of de la Paz territory, and here were three guys from that clan engaging in the sort of magic that had been forbidden for centuries. But she knew Roslyn and Danica were lost to her for the moment, and so the only thing she could think of to do was to run.
The next part didn’t require thought, only instinct…and the strength to overcome the fog of confusion which had come with that margarita she’d sipped. But she’d only had a little. Besides, damn it — she was a McAllister.
She twisted in Matías’ arms, bringing her knee up into his groin as hard as she could. He grunted, then cursed. Sharp pain flared in her side, and she saw he’d been holding a knife that whole time, had just plunged it into her. Because the angle was off, it barely penetrated more than an inch, but oh, Goddess, it hurt.
Crying out, she brought her elbow up into his chin, connecting squarely. He cursed again, but, more importantly, he let go of her.
That was all she needed. Mentally asking Roslyn and Danica for forgiveness, Caitlin bolted from the room, then ran through the house and out the front door. Without bothering to stop and close it behind her, she pounded down the walkway and back to the sidewalk, retracing her steps, knowing she had to get back out to the thoroughfare where the restaurant was located.
Not that she was sure she could make it that far. The restaurant was blocks from where they’d turned into this residential district, but between here and there, she’d noted there were other businesses, places where people had to be working. Normal people. Ordinary people. They’d see she’d been hurt and call an ambulance. Surely she’d be safe in the hospital, wouldn’t she?
Behind her, she heard running feet, but no shouting. No, that would probably draw too much attention. All she could do was run, glad that she hadn’t worn her flip-flops and instead had on a pair of ballet-style flats.
Don’t look back, she told herself. The pain in her side was searing, but it seemed to clear her head, get rid of that horrible fuzziness. Or maybe it was just that she’d put enough distance between herself and Matías that whatever spell he’d cast — and it had to be a spell — wasn’t working as well anymore.
And there was the street, and cars whizzing back and forth. She let out a sobbing little breath, thinking she’d never been so glad to see anything in her life. Something wet was dripping on her jeans, and she glanced down and realized the blood from her wound had flowed from her side and had stained all the way to her thigh.
But she couldn’t think about that, think about how much it hurt. Now she had turned on to the sidewalk that paralleled the street, and it seemed harder and harder to keep running. She slowed to a walk, risked a look behind her. Matías stood on the corner, fists balled at his side, but he made no motion to come any closer. She guessed that he couldn’t, not with this many witnesses around. So his powers had some limits.