Protector(86)

“…Man, you really need to switch them out. This one’s just about tapped,” came a male voice. Not Matías, but either Jorge or Tomas. Tomas, probably; he was a tenor rather than a baritone, his words sounding slightly nasal.

“It’s not time yet.” That was Matías, his tone clearly irritated.

The darkness behind her eyelids retreated, and Caitlin saw that the three warlocks were standing in a living room that had all its shabby furniture pushed up against the walls so there was room for the circle they’d drawn on the scarred wooden floor. Jorge and Tomas stood across from Matías, Roslyn between them. Seeing her, Caitlin wished she could scream, could cry out somehow, because that wreck of a person could not be her beautiful, vivacious friend.

Roslyn’s long dark blonde hair hung lank, looking stringy and somehow thinner, where it had always been lush and full before, the kind of hair you might see in a shampoo commercial. Her arms were so criss-crossed with cuts, some still oozing blood, that Caitlin could barely make out the color of her skin. Shadows hollowed her eyes, and her cheekbones looked too sharp, too pronounced.

Goddess, what have they been doing to you? Caitlin cried inwardly, but the despair coursing through her wasn’t enough to shut out the vision, and neither could she close down that inner eye so she wouldn’t have to see any more of the wreck of her friend.

Jorge said, “I thought we were going to alternate. She’s going to be useless real soon.”

“She’ll still be useful enough.” Matías shifted, bending down to draw a symbol Caitlin didn’t recognize along the edge of the circle. As he did so, she caught sight of Danica, who had been standing next to him. In contrast to Roslyn, who looked as if she’d spent the past two days being death-marched through the desert or worse, Danica appeared more or less unharmed, although her eyes were still glassy and unfocused, a clear sign of still being under Matías’ spell. Her hair was brushed, and it even looked like she might be wearing some mascara and lip gloss.

Clearly, the dark warlock was saving her for something…but what?

Tomas and Jorge exchanged a black look, but neither of them said anything. So they were still following Matías’ orders, at least for now.

He straightened, then went back to Danica and slipped an arm around her waist. She smiled and bent in toward him, nuzzling against his neck. “Say it, mamita,” he told her.

“I love you, Matías,” she murmured, the words partly muffled because she was trailing kisses up and down the skin of his throat.

In that moment, Caitlin was glad she hadn’t eaten anything for hours, because otherwise she would certainly have vomited. Although she knew it wasn’t really Danica saying those things, but rather the spell Matías had cast on her, she couldn’t help feeling sick.

“Good girl,” Matías said. He ran his hand down her hair, then pulled away from her slightly. He addressed his next words to his cohorts. “We’re keeping this one because she’s stronger. If we weaken her, too, we won’t be able to use her when we need more power. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Jorge said, although he still sounded annoyed. “But that’s only because you let the strongest one get away.”

Matías’ black eyes glinted with malice. “I didn’t ‘let’ her do anything. Yeah, she was stronger than I thought. But you know we couldn’t go after her — not when she ran straight into that nest of de la Paz witches.” For some reason, his mouth curved into a cruel smile. “Last laugh’s on them, though.”

Tomas and Jorge both chuckled, and Tomas said, “Let’s do this thing.”

He went over to a side table and picked up the knife that had been lying there, a long, wicked-looking thing with a slightly curved blade and a handle of some kind of black metal. Just seeing that knife in her mind’s eye was enough to make Caitlin’s blood run cold. There was something ceremonial about it, as if it had been designed for one very dark purpose. It was not the same as the knife she’d seen Jorge use before to cut Roslyn’s arms. That one had been a regular switchblade, as far as she could tell. She hadn’t known for sure, as she’d never seen one in real life, only on TV or in a movie.

“Put her in the circle,” Matías commanded, and Tomas led Roslyn into the very center of the outline they’d drawn on the floor. She stared off blankly into space, as if she had no clear idea of where she was or why she was there. Maybe that was a blessing.

Then Matías began to speak in a language Caitlin had never heard before. It wasn’t Spanish, and she didn’t think it was Latin, either. Something old and cruel, something that seemed to turn her blood to ice.