I grab a fistful of fur and flesh at its throat and, with strength born of desperation, hold the jaws at bay just enough to avoid having my skull crushed. Its warm breath reeks of sour meat, and one fang is dark with rot. The cat snarls as it rolls its head, trying to pull loose from my grasp. Claws rake my shoulder, trailing white-hot pain.

But I do not let go, and I stab wildly at its face, over and over, until the knife slides into a yellow eye. The jaguar roars, wrenching its head, yanking the knife away. I grab for the hilt, trying to reclaim it, but the massive cat collapses on top of me.

I pound at the animal with my fists. Seconds or minutes pass until I realize the creature is limp and dead. I manage to shift a little, just enough to fill my chest with air. A sob of joy at deliverance wracks my body.

After collecting my breath, I try to shove the cat aside, but I can’t. I start to leverage my way out, but I scream the moment my ankle pushes against the ground.

My tears dissolve into laughter. I have killed the jaguar, but it may yet kill me.

A shadow passes over me. Then, a grunt. The cat is flung aside.

“Zito!”

“Alodia! Are you—?”

He crouches beside me and peers toward my wounded shoulder. It’s probably bleeding badly. I hardly care. “Zito, I thought you were . . .” I can’t even say it.

“You were its target,” he says. “It saw you limping and pegged you as easy prey.” I wince as he pushes back my sleeve to get a better look. “Poor creature—it had no idea who it was tangling with.”

“We have to cut open the cat’s stomach,” I say. “We have to find out if it . . .”

He nods, wrenches his knife from the cat’s head, and expertly slits open its belly. Organs spill out, steaming and stinking. He grabs the white-pink stomach and slices it open. The contents ooze out, like stew from a cracked bowl. I don’t know what I expect to see—the girl’s body, her face, her other muddied shoe—but none of it is there.

Zito pokes through the mess with the knife. “This hunter has not been eating well. I see a feather. Small rodent bones.”

“Then whose blood was in the garden?”