Malcolm turned onto his side and clenched his teeth. He could have gotten her pregnant. He couldn’t blame Kit one jot for the cold, murderous looks. Malcolm couldn’t help the way he felt about Margo, but he could’ve restrained that wild, drunken impulse on a street in Rome. That, he could have prevented it make it up somehow, he promised. Somehow. He hadn’t yet figured out how when a wild scream and gunshots shattered the silence. Another man screamed in mortal agony.
Then the alarm bell clanged wildly.
Kit rolled out of bed, one hand going for the push daggers in his ATLS bag. Then he blinked and said, “What the hell?”
”My plans coming to fruition, I think,” Malcolm said dryly.
Thudding footsteps ran toward their door. Then a frantic knock shook it on its hinges. Malcolm struggled to his feet and threw the door wide. “What is it?” he asked worriedly. “We heard the shots and the bell-”
”Oh, Father, come quickly, please …” It was Francisco, one of the soldiers. His voice shook.
Malcolm followed, with Kit hurrying in his wake. They found Zadornin, the Basque sailor, lying in the mud near the fort wall. He’d been shot through the chest. Clearly, the man was dying.
”I did see a demon, Father,” the sailor gasped, “atop the wall. I screamed and the watch fired …”
”It was a misshapen beast,” Peli, one of the soldiers quavered. “It had the likeness of a man and it cried out with Zadornin’s voice. We fired and it vanished with a screech, leaving poor Zadornin to die in its place.”
The sailor was fainting from shock and blood loss. The hole in his chest was at least eighty caliber. Malcolm took his hand and spoke last rites while he died. The sailor’s death shook him badly, but Malcolm steeled himself with the thought that these men had permitted Koot van Beek to die and planned to kill Margo and Kynan using the hideous methods reserved for witches. He crossed himself in time to hear a fight break out among the soldiers of the watch.