Now he has the scent of blood, now he’s tasted prey.” “But there are stories of how to subdue a witch. Bullets! Bullets that are blessed!” “You’ve seen what he did to me. No bullets will nick his skin. Certain tricks will work on lesser warlocks, but not him.” “Valentín, he told stories, and the knots worked! They did…the…I killed…so something else…something must be possible,” she said, and then she couldn’t speak because the memory of her dead brother, of the mess of feathers and flesh that dissolved between her fingers, was too powerful.
