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No one cared about the audio, anyway. People noticed only when you fucked it up, not when you got it right.
There was a trace of rancor in those features. This was a hungry man.
She saw herself in the mirror, frozen in the armoire’s panes of glass. She could not move. A terrible fear had gripped her heart. It was the terror of this unnatural silence, of the brightly illuminated room that nevertheless seemed to hide stark shadows, and even of the shape of the blood upon the carpet.
“López says the living hold on to ghosts. You made a haunted house out of your own flesh and bones.”
But then the men came out from the shadows, with their dogs at their sides, and although Montserrat held up a feeble hand with a smudged rune, she knew they could do nothing except stand still as the dogs circled them, black bile dripping down their open mouths.
“You’re trying to use anger as your shield. If you won’t be afraid, then you’ll be furious and insolent. It’s a cheap trick.”
This was life, they figured. Not a fabulous medley of spells, hexes, and intoxicating power, but the simple, ordinary assembly of sights and sounds that were nevertheless a wonder, for they were viewing and listening to them together. She laced her hand with his and they crossed the street in a hurry, laughing and telling the man to wait one second for them.
