. . and pierced the wet ground about a foot from James’s head. As the arrow trembled back and forth and settled into stillness, my heart dropped to my feet. One shot only—taken and missed. James’s eyes went wide and he darted an astonished look in Consuelo’s direction. Then he was scrambling to his feet and blocking our path to the arrow. Blood smeared most of his face and his legs shook beneath him, but I knew he was only marginally less dangerous than before. “Consuelo, go!” This time I shoved her hard to force her to move. “Find help!” It might have been those last words that forestalled her protests and sent her running in a wide arc around James. With a twinge of relief I saw that she still held the harpoon. She might not have even realized it, but now James couldn’t reload and use it on me. The same thought must have crossed our minds at the same time, for he spun around to yank the arrow out of the marsh. He gripped it like the spear it was and came at me. I waited until he was almost within striking reach before ducking out of the way and sidestepping to my right.
