And she's threatening him in some way. I don't need to know the words to grasp the implication. She's dangerous. Otherwise, Culebra would have gotten rid of her. Or not allowed her to come to Beso de la Muerte in the first place. His powerful magic would have prevented it.

She's a human and exerting enough pressure on Culebra to force this kind of confrontation. Who is she?

Their conversation teeters back and forth between threat and counterthreat and finally some sort of compromise must be reached because the tone softens into conciliation. I venture a peek outside. Culebra is embracing the woman. His face is to me and his expression is hard. She pulls back and lays a hand against his cheek. Then she walks away, down the steps, toward—what? The only car outside is mine. By the time I've registered that and look around for her, she's gone.

How did she do that?

I start outside, to question Culebra. But he pushes right past me into the saloon. He can't have forgotten I'm here, yet he doesn't so much as glance my way as he makes his way behind the bar. His mind is as black and impenetrable as ever I've experienced. He stoops to take a beer from the cooler, pops the top, and drains the bottle in one long, gurgling swig.

When he reaches for a second, I hold out a hand. "Mind if I join you?"

The sound of my voice startles him. The bottle slips from his hand and crashes to the floor. I jump, too. He stares at me, eyes dull until recognition sparks them back to life.

"Anna. What are you doing here?"

"You're kidding, right? You forget our conversation last night?"

He doesn't respond. And he doesn't look like he's kidding. I jab a thumb toward the door. "Who was that?"

"A friend."

"Friend? I didn’t think so. I may not be able to understand Spanish, but I understand friendship. That was not a friendly conversation. And why are we talking like this? Why don't you let me into your head?"

Culebra presses the palms of his hands against his eyes, as if reinforcing the barrier that's keeping me out. "It's better you don't know about this."

In two steps I'm across the room and beside him at the bar. "You can't be serious. She was threatening you in some way. Do you think I'll let that go?"

Culebra looks up at me and laughs softly. "No. You are too stubborn to do that."

He adds, And not bright enough to know when you should.

He watches for a reaction.

I don't give him the one he expects. You are probably right. So stop fighting it. Tell me what she is.

What she is? Not who?

She felt human. But she disappeared.

Culebra reaches again under the bar. This time when he straightens up he has two bottles of beer in his hand. He pops both tops, comes around, slides onto a bar stool and holds one out to me. When we've both taken a drink, he places his bottle on the bar and swivels to face me.

"You are right that she is not entirely human. She calls herself a Wiccan."

The phrase throws me at first, but then I remember what it is. "You mean she is a witch."

"She prefers Wiccan."

Semantics. I recall that Wiccans prefer the other title because "witch" conjures up evil associations. It also conjures up black cats and broomsticks. "So, is that how she did it? She had a broom stashed outside that she hopped on? Off to a Quidditch match maybe?"

But if Culebra catches the reference, he doesn't acknowledge it. Neither does he smile.

"Okay," I say. "Not a Harry Potter fan. But witchcraft is mostly dancing naked in the moonlight and love potions, isn't it? She was threatening you."

Culebra lowers his eyes. "It's not important."

The words are spoken softly, the tone almost indifferent. But the air around us shimmers with negative energy. He's sending me a message in a way he's never done before. He's telling me to back away. It's a threat—but not quite. Ice forms along my spine.

I stare at him, not understanding, not accepting. When he raises his eyes to meet mine, the feeling is gone.

"You must not come back here for a while," he says.

"What?"

"Go home, Anna. I have seen to your needs."

"My needs? What are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere."

He isn't listening. "I will let you know when it is safe to return."

"Safe? Who the hell was that woman?"

There's no answer. I'm looking right at him.

Then suddenly I'm not.

Because in the blink of an eye, Culebra is gone.

JUST LIKE THE WOMAN MINUTES BEFORE, CULEBRA is gone. Not shape-shifted. I'd see a snake. He's disappeared. I'm so shaken, it takes me a few minutes to get up off the bar stool and search the place. He's not in any of the back rooms.

Could he be in the caves?

I wasn't aware that teleportation was one of his talents.

But then, I just saw a human do the same thing, didn't I?

The path from the saloon to the caves stretches like a dusty ribbon in front of me. I've taken it a hundred times. It's the middle of the day. Why does it seem menacing now?

I swallow down the feeling of trepidation and force myself to set off for the caves. It's eerily quiet. No buzzing of insects, no rodents scurrying for cover at my approach. Even the hum of the generator on Culebra's lighting system is silent. When I reach the entrance, I call out.

There's no answer. Not from Culebra. Not from anyone. Because there is no one at all in the caves. Not one shred of evidence to indicate there was ever anyone in the caves.

I find myself tiptoeing from one chamber to the other in inky darkness, panic so close it sits like a specter on my shoulder. Even the medical supplies are gone, the makeshift hospital nothing but a rock-strewn cavern. This place is a refuge for those under Culebra's protection. David was saved here. There are always twenty or so fugitives hiding from human or otherworldly threats. How did Culebra manage to clear everyone out? Where did he send them? Was Max with them when it happened?

The air is suddenly suffocating, pressing against my chest like a weight. Dank and foul, it seeps into my head like an insidious fog until I can't think.

I have to get out of here. The smell of mesquite and sage and the dry dust of the desert are like a powerful magnet pulling at me. I start to run toward the cave entrance. Even when I'm outside and the sun kisses my skin, I keep running. Back toward the saloon. It looks more forlorn and abandoned than ever. Some instinct tells me I don't want to go back in there until Culebra is back, too. So I skirt around it, head for my car. When I'm inside, when I manage to still the shaking of my hands long enough to fit the key into the ignition and crank it over, I glance into the rearview mirror.

A shadow moves across the road behind me.

I swivel around to take a closer look.

A dark shape, floating, ethereal. How could something as inconsequential as smoke exude such a feeling of menace?

Then, the shadow, too, is gone and all that's left is my fear.

MY FOOT JAMS THE ACCELERATOR AND THE JAG lurches forward as if it, too, can't wait to get away.

I don't scare easily. Didn't when I was human, and as a vampire, I can count on one hand the number of times my skin has crawled the way it is now.

But what just happened is freaking me out.

A human woman disappears into thin air. Culebra gone, his hideout emptied. A shadow not cast by anything I could see, moving of its own volition across the road and into the desert. A feeling that I'm being driven out of Beso de la Muerte by a malevolent spirit that hovers just out of reach, ready to manifest itself if I should make the mistake of turning back.