She and Elijah eat at a restaurant on a little square with a fountain. Their table is against a window fogged by the warmth of the room. Elijah uses the edge of his hand to clear a patch so they can watch people rushing past, bundled against the cold, their breath puffing and trailing like steam from locomotives. Christmas lights are everywhere even though it’s only a week into December.

The waiter, with his droopy gray mustache, speaks enough English to guide them through the menu. Elijah orders spaghetti carbonara for the third time. Antonia frowns at his lack of imagination and asks about the specialty of the house.

“Saltimbocca,” the waiter says. “This means it will jump into your mouth.”

“I’ll have that,” Antonia says.

She opens her guidebook.

“The Coliseum is open late tomorrow,” she says. “That’s something we’ve got to see.”

“All right,” Elijah says.

“It’s where gladiators fought. Sometimes it was man against man, and sometimes they fought lions and tigers and elephants.”

Elijah’s staring out the window, watching a bum in a ragged coat stagger to the fountain and splash water on his face. Antonia sees the bum too.

“You’re not that kind of hungry, are you?” she says.

“Not yet,” Elijah says.

“Did you notice the camp by the river, those drunks?”

“Are you telling me not to worry, there’s plenty of good hunting?”

“I’d like to stay here a while. And then we’ll go to Madrid. You can show me where you were born.”

“You’re the one with the memory,” Elijah says. “I’ve forgotten everything about the place.”

“You don’t know what’ll happen when you see it again,” Antonia says. “It might all come back to you.”

She signals the waiter.

“I believe I’ll have wine after all. Do you want some?”

“Sure,” Elijah says.

She smiles and opens her phrasebook to see how to say “red.”

33

33

JESSE HAULS HIMSELF OUT OF THE ROAD AND INTO THE SCRUB, his fear of being spotted worse than his pain. The effort exhausts him. He can’t do anything afterward but stare up at the glittery web of stars spun across the sky.

He should’ve anticipated trouble. Edgar’s been getting more and more sneaky and defiant and at the same time more strange, all his talk of visions and the Little Devil. If he hadn’t been distracted by Johona and the Fiends, he’d have seen this coming. He let his guard down, and now he’s paying the price.

It’s 3:30 by the time he can stand. Two hours until sunrise. Wells, the nearest town, is an hour’s drive. His best guess is Edgar will stop there. He’ll need to get a ride soon if he’s going to make it by dawn.