Chase ran as hard as he could. The passage had turned and headed up and then down the hill, and he had quickly lost his bearings. He saw La Bruja, though, and pounded after her as she sprinted across the cobbles and rough ground. There was a sharp right into an even narrower passage and then a left, and, when he emerged into a tiny square, she was gone. The buildings around him were red and brown and yellow and blue, like a painter’s pallet that hadn’t been cleaned in months, colours of all shades and hues that had been blended together with an unwieldy brush.

He looked around. It was quiet. No one was outside.

He heard something—a squeak—and saw something move against the wall at the opposite end of the passage. A door. It had swung back on rusty hinges.

He held the pistol in both hands and crossed the square. He paused by the door and listened. Nothing. It was open a crack and he looked inside. It looked like a community café. He pushed the door open and stepped through.

It was a small space. There were four tables with chairs resting atop them. A dimly lit refrigerated cooler hummed in the back. There was a counter and a display cabinet.

Chase listened, but did not hear anything other than the buzzing of the cooler.

He crept deeper into the café. There was a door on the other side of the room. He moved to it and put his ear against it.

Nothing.

He put his palm against it and pushed, gently, opening it slowly and carefully.

There was a short hallway beyond. It was empty. It led into what appeared to be a kitchen at the other end. Chase continued slowly. His breathing sounded uncomfortably loud, and every squeak of the floorboards was amplified. He thought of his quarry. She was armed, but she had fired a lot of rounds at them as she had crossed the street. He wondered whether she would have spare ammunition. There was no way of knowing. He would have to assume so.

He reached the kitchen and peered inside. It was low-ceilinged, just like the hallway. There were two counters. A gas stove. A rack of plates and glassware. Saucepans were hung from the ceiling. Cutlery stood in glass jars.

He heard the creak of a floorboard, turned, saw her behind a metal cabinet as she raised the gun and fired. Muzzle flash lit the room. Chase felt sudden pain in his stomach as he dropped down behind the counter.

Fuck. He was hit.

“I got you, didn’t I?”

He clasped his hand against his gut. “Ain’t nothing.”

“Stand up where I can see you. I’ll try again.”