The swirling pool of liquid—which I now knew was blood—boiled upward like a thunderhead. I was reminded, for a moment, of the whirlwind that Águila had conjured up. But then the base of the whirlpool parted, forming a fork that resembled legs. A knot at the top of it coalesced into what could pass for a head with swirling, empty eyes, and two tendrils spiraled down to form arms. The spirit—at least that’s what I assumed it to be—grew ever more solid and distinct. Now, in the lurid red light of the flare, I could see that it was a human figure, decked out in a cape and headdress like those who had summoned it, and with a face that was haughty and shadowed. I knew in my gut—without understanding why—that the thing was as ancient as it was evil. It let out a low moan that sent a shiver of ice through my very core.