She listened while Malachi translated, never losing her focus on my face. Her Spanish was rapid and sharp as she responded, and I could have sworn it sounded like she’d memorized what she was supposed to say. When she was finished, Malachi turned to me.

“She says the Mazikin are interested in making peace with us. Their numbers are growing, and they could crush us whenever they please, but they see no reason for us all to die if we meet their terms.”

I laughed, even as dread bubbled in my stomach. “If we’re so easy to crush, you would have done it by now,” I said to her.

Rita tilted her head to the side as she listened to Malachi’s clipped response. She nodded, like she’d expected to hear something like that. “One-five-zero Briarcliff,” she said to me, enunciating every syllable.

It was Tegan’s address.

“Twenty-nine Broadway.”

Didn’t Ian live on Broadway?

Her eyes glinted with something dark and intense. “Five-oh-three-one Kingston Court.”

Malachi shot up from his chair as she recited my address, but I grabbed his arm before he managed to reach her.

They might not have gotten Ian or any of the others over the weekend, but it was clear the threat was still very real. I leaned forward as Malachi slowly sank back into his chair, my fingers curling into the sleeve of his raincoat. “Don’t you dare touch them,” I said to the Rita-Mazikin in a low voice, anger heating my skin. My friends. Diane. Now my hand on Malachi’s arm was more of an anchor—I needed him to hold me in place.

Her tight smile told me she didn’t need translation. She chuckled softly and looked at Malachi. “No podrás impedirnos. Los dejaremos en paz solo si nos dés un sacrificio.”

Malachi’s shoulders tensed.

“Did she just say they want a sacrifice?” I whispered.

He nodded. “In exchange for leaving the others alone.”

“What do you want?” I asked her.

Rita’s face was the strangest mix of excitement and sadness. “Tú, mija.”

Malachi tore his arm from my grip. “Eso nunca pasará,” he growled, rising from his chair again.

“Hey, what did you say?” I asked.

I might as well have been invisible. He advanced on Rita with single-minded purpose, sending her scrambling back, rolling the chair along the floor until it hit the wall.

“Debería de matarte ahora mismo,” he said quietly.

Rita squawked as he drew near, plaintive, hoarse cries that got louder by the second. I wanted to clamp my hands over my ears to block out the noise.

“Malachi, back off. People are going to come running. Malachi.” I suddenly wondered if he was armed. Not that he needed a weapon. And from the way Rita was screeching, she knew it.