“I think she means he’s wearing black, like one of the men who hurt her,” I said, but I didn’t believe it. If Soraia had a touch of power to her, it wasn’t unlikely that she could see his death-black aura and thought it resembled the energy of the bone mages.
Quinton put his arm around her. “I know he seems scary, but he’s not like that man. He made your arm better. He doesn’t want to hurt you.”
She still wasn’t convinced, hanging back.
“Not everything that’s frightening is hurtful.”
“Will you keep the ghosts away?”
Quinton hugged her tight. “Yes, we will, Fairy Princess. Me and Harper and your mother and even Carlos will keep you safe. I promise.”
Soraia chewed on her lips for a moment. Then she turned to face the house, putting her hand in Quinton’s, and nodded.
We all filed in through the open door; I was in the rear with some of the family luggage. Carlos was waiting for me in the entry and put out an arm, restraining me from following the rest of the party.
When they were gone, he gave me a dark look from the side and said, “You understand that without Quinton’s niece, the Kostní Mágové will have to seek the bones of another suitable child.”
“I suppose that’s true. You’ll forgive me if I was more worried about rescuing my almost-niece from being flayed than about what would happen if she wasn’t.”
He turned all the way to face me, blocking my way in and my view of anyone inside. “I do not question your motives, Blaine. But what we’ve done won’t stop them. It will only infuriate them and redirect their efforts.”
“Are you suggesting that they would come after some other member of the family?”
“Without knowing precisely what they intend to conjure, I can’t know what change they will have to make or who their victim will be in exchange. If the Night Dragon that Griffin produced had been her own work, I would know what they intend. But it wasn’t a true drache, and without the bones, informed guesses are the best I can do at the moment—though it pains me to say so.”
“There were bones.”
“Not drachen bones.”
“Not at the church. That’s what I think fell from the sky when the dragon Quinton and I saw earlier broke down. They looked like sticks, but I didn’t see them well. They were pale green and they smoked where they touched the ground—like the ones we saw in Seattle last year.”
Carlos scowled and I felt a stab of cold. “That bodes ill. There’s much yet for me to do before dawn, so I must rely on you to communicate the appropriate information—or withhold it as you see fit. I may be able to discover more tomorrow night, but it will be risky and I must prepare in what time remains tonight. There is also the matter of your spouse-in-soul.”
“You’re tired. I’ll help you.”
“You cannot. Your presence would be a liability for both of us.”
“Then what are you asking of me?”
“Look after him and search for news of bones—of anything bizarre or unusual that has happened recently in Europe—especially in the more superstitious corners. And make sure that the children are truly safe. If you have to take them yourself, do it. We cannot risk any of the family falling into the wrong hands. The girl’s mother cannot comprehend and your beloved is not, at the moment, clearheaded enough. I can trust only you to know the real dangers of this.”
His focus on me was intense and I found myself wincing and drawing my shoulders in defensively as if his stare had physical weight. He seemed to realize it and stepped back, cutting his gaze to the side. “My apologies.”
I let out a breathless chuckle. “You’ve apologized to me more in the past twenty-four hours than in our entire acquaintance up to this point.”
“Have I?”
“Yes. I might start to think you’re growing a conscience.”
“Never that.” He growled and turned his back so he could walk into the house.
I followed him, once I had conquered my urge to laugh.
There was no sign of Carlos when I cleared the door, but Quinton was waiting for me near the stairs. He looked horrible even in the subdued light of the room.
“There was a message on the answering machine—I didn’t know people still had those,” he said. “The Danzigers’ car died, so we’ll have to get Sam and the kids to Spain ourselves.” We’d known the Danzigers wouldn’t be here too soon, but I hadn’t expected this complication—it was almost as if Carlos had known it was going to happen. . . .
I looked at Quinton and saw that the color of his flickering aura was a sick olive drab with thin threads of black wound through it. “I’ll do it. I don’t know my way around as well as you, but Sam can help me. You need some rest and I have an assignment from Carlos that you’ll be much better at than I could be.”
“I’m not feeling too well and I—I am disturbed by what I did. I killed a man. . . .”
“You did it to save your niece. You didn’t have much choice.”
“It hurt you and I didn’t have to . . . kill him. I could have disabled him, left him alive. . . .”
“I’m not sure you could have. You had no idea what he was capable of, and if it had become a fight, or if he’d gotten back up in a few minutes, the advantage would have been lost. We would have lost.”
He hung his head. “I don’t know. And I don’t feel right about sending you off—”
“I know you don’t, but I can see that you’re sick and I’m sure Sam will understand.”
“Do you think we did the right thing . . . ?”
“Of course we did. Why do you ask that?”
“I’m not stupid. Dad—or these mages—will be looking for a substitute for Soraia.”
“Yes. But you can’t worry about that now. You need to rest and I’ll deal with the other stuff. Where are Sam and the kids?”
“They’re in the kitchen. There’s a clean bedroom on the second floor I figured they can have.”
“Good idea. Go join them and I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” His voice was breathy and unsteady.
“To dump the luggage and risk the wrath of Carlos before he gets too involved in whatever else he needs to do. He thinks he can find out tomorrow night what the Kostní Mágové are trying to make, but he’s got to do something first. I want to intrude before he gets too immersed.”
“All right. But if you’re not back down in fifteen minutes, I’m coming to get you.”
I was afraid he might not be able to, but I smiled and hugged him. He felt stiff, slick with sweat, and too warm. “Go get Dr. Rebelo to look at you,” I said as I let him go.
He picked up one of the bags—which had Sam’s initials on it. “She’ll never let me live this down,” he muttered, trudging toward the kitchen.
I ran up the first set of stairs and dropped the remaining bags without ceremony in the hall on my way past, then up the last flights of steps to the tower and knocked on the door, panting a little from the steepness of the final risers.
Carlos opened the door a few inches and held out a small paper packet. I could smell something vile cooking in the room beyond. “Make him drink this in some warm liquid. He’ll sleep heavily, but he’ll live. Go, and don’t disturb me again before tomorrow at sunset.”
I took the folded paper. “What is it?” I asked, but he had already shut the door. I sighed. “Thank you, I guess,” I said, and started back down the stairs, hoping the cure wasn’t going to be worse than the disease.
Without a doubt, I’d only known a paler version of Carlos up until now. Even though he was near exhaustion, there was something more to his powers here in Lisbon than at home in Seattle. But then, this was his home and it wasn’t far-fetched to imagine that a vampire who was also a mage had a special connection to the place where he’d been born, died, and been reborn. It didn’t seem to be true for me, but I’m not a magic-user or a vampire.
I walked back down to the kitchen and joined the family. A kettle was simmering on the stove and there were mugs of something sitting around, untouched by anyone. Soraia was seated at the table with Martim, who’d fallen asleep with his head in her lap and his rump on the neighboring chair. Soraia had wrapped her arms around him as if she feared someone would snatch him away. Sam was examining her brother with one of those annoying light things doctors use to look down your throat. Quinton, seated at the end of the table, appeared to be at death’s door, pale and shivering as if he had a virulent case of the flu and not protesting his sister’s prodding. Soraia started when I came in, even though she looked barely awake, herself.