They both shout when the cannon fires, belching flame and smoke. I join in their hurrahs when the ball strikes, sending up a white plume of water a quarter-mile offshore. Jorge grins, and asks, "Again?"
"Why not?" I say and we take turns loading the ship killer, then firing it. I run Santos back to the arms room six times for more ammunition, all of us turning giddy, laughing as we load the cannon, our ears ringing, our faces smoke blackened.
"Peter," Elizabeth mindspeaks to me. "Don't you think it's time to stop? If you keep this up, some passing boat will surely notice and inform the authorities."
I think of all the bribe money the marine patrol takes and laugh. "As if they'd care," I tell her, sending Santos to the arms room one last time, thinking how tired he must be when he takes longer than usual to return and load the cannon.
After Casey lights the fuse and the cannon fires, I send Santos and Morton inside. I close and lock the arms room out of their sight. Then, still grinning from the pleasure of firing the big gun, I follow the two humans indoors.
I insist that Jorge prepare Elizabeth's steak first. When it's ready, I leave him and Casey in the great room to prepare our dinner while I bring my bride hers.
"Did you have a good time?" she asks as she sits up.
"Very good," I say, sitting in the hay next to her, placing her plate between us.
"I missed you."
Her confession surprises me. "I thought you liked to be left alone during the day."
"Until recently I have. But the baby's making me feel so many things now. I find I want you near me."
"Then I'll come down right after dinner," I say.
"Can't you just stay?" Elizabeth asks.
I shake my head. "Jorge's making Carne' Diablo especially for me tonight. I wouldn't want to disappoint him."
"You and your pet human." Elizabeth holds up her arm, and admires the necklace wrapped around it. She sighs. "If you think you have to go, then do so. Just be careful with that food. Remember what it did to you last time."
Chapter 27
"Hey, Boss! You ready for your dinner?" Santos greets me as soon as I walk into the great room.
I sniff the acrid smell of spices and meat sizzling in his skillet, grin and sit at the table. "Bring it on," I say. "Let's see how I handle it this time."
"Indeed, Boss," he says, smiling, serving me first. "Let's see if you can take it tonight."
He and Morton sit across the table, eat in tandem with me. This time, I space my bites, sip water between every few. Still I feel the heat building as I proceed. One bite strikes me as particularly hot, scalding my throat, making me cough. I take a gulp of water, say, "It's delicious. But did you make it spicier tonight?"
Jorge and Casey exchange glances. Both smile at me. "Not so you'd notice, Boss," he says.
I return to my meal, take bite after bite, sip after sip. By the time I finish, my mug sits empty and the heat still burns inside me. I shake my head, say, "It's still too damn hot. I need some more water."
"No problem, Boss. Coming right up." Santos and Morton both rush to the kitchen.
To me it feels like it takes forever for them to return. The heat builds, sears my throat, eats at my insides. Finally, they come back, each carrying a flagon as before. I rip them from their hands and gulp the entire contents of one, then the other.
"Better?" Santos asks.
I sigh and nod, the heat abating, a calming glow growing within me. My mouth feels greasy and I run my tongue . against my teeth, wondering why they feel so slippery. A thought crosses my mind and I shudder, then look toward the shelves on the wall. I can't find Elizabeth's blue ceramic pitcher anywhere on them.
My mouth falls open. I struggle to close it. Santos's face and Morton's loom in front of me, studying me. Both grin as if they've won the lottery. I want to ask them if it was the Dragon's Tear wine, but I can't form the words.
"Did it work?" Morton asks.
"Test it," Santos says.
She picks up my fork and jams it into my right forearm. I try to scream, will myself to change. Nothing. Casey yanks the fork out, studies the blood on its prongs, the red liquid flowing from the four puncture wounds on my arm.
"Well, Boss," Santos says, "you can't say I didn't warn you." He forms a fist with his right hand and strikes my face with all his force. The impact throws my head to the side, turns my vision blurry. Still, I can't move or make any sound.
I concentrate on my thoughts, but even they seem to form and dissolve of their own accord. I ignore the sound of Jorge and Casey talking, let their words wash by me.
"… kill him," Jorge Santos says and I return my attention to the world around me.
"I don't think you can," Casey says. She points to the wounds on my arm, now mostly healed. If I could, I would laugh. Even drugged and near comatose, my body still possesses the ability to heal itself.
"Son of a bitch!" Jorge mutters. He walks to the kitchen, returns with a long carving knife, stands behind me. "You killed my sister, you prick," he growls, grabs my hair, yanks my head back and slices through my neck.
Even dulled as my senses are by the Dragon's Tear wine, the pain that sears through me-as intense as if he had used a red-hot blade-brings tears to my eyes. But I can't even gasp.
When he releases me, my head sags forward. I watch as my blood gushes onto the tabletop. Within a few moments, the flow stops. Casey says, "I don't like this. He's already healing. Let's just get out of here."
"No," Jorge says. "Not before we kill them both." He saunters to the far wall, takes down Father's cutlass and returns.
"What makes you think that will do any better than the knife?" Morton asks.
"I don't." Santos takes an exaggerated fencing posture, lunges forward, runs the blade through me once, twice. Cleans my blood from the cutlass by wiping it on my pants leg. Watches as my wounds close in minutes.
"We just don't have the right weapons," he says, smirking. "I know where we can get them."
"Let's just leave," Casey says again.
"You forget the dogs," Santos says. "We'll have to do something about them too. Kill them all."
"How?"
"Some help wouldn't hurt," Santos says. He looks around the room, points when he sees my cell phone. "Casey, honey, please get that for me."
He looks into my face as he dials the phone. "Oh," he says, "I guess when we talked about the note, I neglected to tell you one thing-I remembered the number after all." Then he walks away, says into the mouthpiece, "This is Santos, I'm calling about Peter DelaSangre…"
His voice drops and no matter how I strain, I can't hear any more of the conversation.
Later, they help me up and lead me out of the room to the spiral staircase. To my surprise, I shuffle forward on command and continue moving as long as I receive constant attention. Jorge provides this, prodding me along the way with the cutlass. "I should just push you down the stairs, you evil bastard," he mutters in my ear.
Casey shushes him. "We don't want to wake the bitch up," she whispers and we proceed past the second floor in silence.
I try to call to Elizabeth, but can't form any sounds. I attempt to mindspeak to her, but the thoughts escape me. I lose track of where we are, only regain awareness when Santos slaps my face.
"Get in the cell!" He guides me forward, but Casey grabs my arm.
"Not mine," she says. "It's too large and comfortable for him." She pulls on me, makes me walk farther. She stops, points. "This one, it's smaller."
"Fine," Santos says. He shoves me, knocking me to the stone floor next to the cot. The Cuban holds me down while Casey rifles through my pockets and produces my keys. I pay no attention to the clank and jangle of chains and manacles as they undo their fetters and bind me in them.