Same power.
“Do you have a phone?” her mother asked suddenly.
Nita hesitated. “Yes.”
“Give it here.” Her mother held out her hand.
Nita crossed her arms and shifted away, pressing her body against the door. “Why?”
“I’m going to throw it out the window.”
Nita’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“It could be bugged.”
“I’ll turn it off, then.” Nita pulled it out, careful to turn away so her body shielded her phone. She didn’t want her mother reaching out and stealing it.
“There are hacks that can fake that.”
“Fine. I’ll turn it off, put it on the floor. Wait until we get out. If it’s warm, it’s still on and bugged. If it’s cold, it’s fine.”
Her mother pursed her lips, then nodded. “Fine.”
Nita powered the phone off and placed it on the carpeted floor of the taxi, then used her foot to shield it and prevent it from sliding her mother’s way.
They continued riding in silence for the next few minutes. Her mother’s fingers drummed a steady rhythm against the car door, and Nita’s fingernails dug into the fabric of her sweatpants.
When the taxi approached an intersection, her mother opened the door without warning, and the taxi driver cried out.
“We’re getting out here.” Her mother pulled money out of her pocket. Purple money, and plasticky, like it was from a board game.
“It’s the middle of the road!” the driver yelped, but she took the money.
Her mother jerked her head, and Nita picked up her phone from the ground and followed. The surface of the phone was cool to the touch.
Nita mentally let out a sigh of relief as she pocketed it. Not bugged.
Her mother raised an eyebrow at the phone. She pursed her lips but said nothing, just wove between the honking cars until she hit sidewalk. Nita followed.
They were out of the downtown core, and the sun was once again visible. The buildings on the street seemed to be two or three stories, mostly made of faded red brick. Quirky signs advertised boutique shops, and restaurants with lavishly painted entrances invited people to come in for dinner.
The streets were crowded with people, long queues of chatty teens and university students gathering in front of the bubble tea shops, many restaurants full to bursting. The crowds on the street itself were heavy, and they flowed like water, pushing people along at the same pace. A small Asian girl stopped in front of a storefront with a squeal of glee, grabbing her hijabi friend and tugging her toward the store, and the people continued to flow around them, never stopping or slowing, just adapting.
Behind the cheery street, rows and rows of towering white and gray condo buildings clawed their way toward the clouds and, beyond them, the not-so-distant monolith towers of downtown.
A streetcar trundled by, or Nita assumed it was a streetcar. It went along rails set into the road, and it was red and black, but it was smooth and streamlined like a high-speed train.
Nita’s mother snapped her fingers, and Nita spun to her and glared. She hated when her mother did that.
“Come, Nita.” Her mother’s frown vanished into a thin, sharkish smile. “Are you hungry? Why don’t we get lunch?”
Nita’s stomach rumbled before she could respond, and her mother’s smile stretched. No, not sharkish. Snake-like.
Her mother merged seamlessly into the crowd and Nita stumbled in behind. They passed dozens of restaurants, but her mother didn’t look at them. There was even an outlet store called “The Black Market,” and for a moment Nita wondered if that was where they were going, but her mother strode past it without a glance.
When they finally stopped, it was in front of a restaurant that advertised authentic Venezuelan food. It was the first restaurant they’d seen without a line out the door, and Nita had to admit waiting in line in these kinds of crowds held no appeal.
The inside was small and dark. A large round table was occupied by a group of laughing college students, and a series of smaller square tables lined the wall. The whole place echoed with the noise of dozens of people all trying to talk over each other, covering the faint music in the background. The counter looked more like a coffee shop than a restaurant, with a till and a row of glass containers with muffins and cookies. There was a coconut cream cake in a display case that looked particularly good.
Nita’s mother chose a sheltered table for two. The waiter appeared in an instant with the menus. Her mother didn’t even look at them as she ordered a cocktail and an arepa. Nita blinked down at the menu and ordered the first thing she saw, the special of the day. She liked ceviche and was too ravenous to wait for the waiter to come back later. She hadn’t eaten since Bogotá.
Once the waiter was gone, Nita shifted in her seat. Across from her, her mother was still, a faint smile on her face as she examined Nita.
Nita cleared her throat. “I—”
Nita was interrupted when the waiter returned with her mother’s midafternoon cocktail.
Her mother swirled the drink and took a sip. “I’ve heard you’ve had quite the adventure.”
That was one way of putting it. “Yes.”
Her mother smiled. “I’m very impressed, Nita.”
“About what?”
“You.” Her mother put the drink down. “You managed to not only break out, but eliminate the culprits. I’d expect nothing less of my child.”
Nita felt a buzz of pride at the praise, and she sat up straighter. Compliments were few and far between when it came to her mother.
Just as soon as the buzz came, though, it was gone, replaced by an oily, heavy sludge in her chest. “Why didn’t you come?”
“Hmm?” Her mother sipped her drink casually.
“Why didn’t you come help me?” Nita’s voice broke a little. “You knew where I was. You had to know.”
“I did.” Her mother looked down at her hands. “I knew.”
“Then why?”
Her mother sighed. “I’m sorry, Nita. I confess, I thought you’d run off after our little tiff over the prisoner. I didn’t realize until I saw the online video that you’d been abducted.”
Nita clenched her jaw. If she’d truly wanted to run from her mother, she’d have done it when she was freeing Fabricio.
“Fine. But then why didn’t you come when you saw the video and had confirmation I’d been kidnapped?” Nita pressed. “I was there a long time after it was uploaded.”
Her mother leaned back and pursed her lips. “I tried, Nita.”
“You tried?” Nita’s voice went high and sharp. What kind of lame excuse was that?
Her mother’s jaw tightened further, and she snapped, “I have a lot of enemies, and going to Mercado de la Muerte is difficult at the best of times. I flew into Tabatinga to hire a boat and encountered some . . . problems.”
Nita raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You were run out of Tabatinga? You.”
Her mother ground her teeth. “I’m not a god, Anita. I’m not all-powerful.”
Nita had never expected to hear her mother admit anything like that. She was too proud. Nita swallowed, trying to fathom what could have stopped someone like her mom. “What happened?”
“An old enemy of mine made it . . . difficult for me to stay in Tabatinga. It’s not important.” Her mother brushed it aside. “I survived.”
Nita crossed her arms, “And then what, you gave up?”
“No, I was in the process of hiring someone else to pick you up for me when I heard the market had been destroyed.”
Nita looked away, her anger melting.
Her mother had tried to come for her. Just knowing that set something tight and painful loose inside. The childish, relieved part of her wanted to cry, but the rest of her knew that her mother would only get angry if Nita started weeping on her.
Her mother took another sip. “Have you heard about your father?”
The sludge in Nita’s chest rose back
up, threatening to choke and overwhelm her. Her eyes burned, but she refused to wipe them in front of her mother. “Yes.”
Her mother nodded and suddenly she looked tired. Nita could see the shadows of grief under her eyes, and the new lines carved around her mouth.
Then it was gone, in one sharp motion, and her mother was her mother again, cold and cruel. “Well, good. I don’t have to explain, then.”
Nita pressed her lips together. “I want to know who the vampire is.”
Her mother tilted her head. “Vampire?”
“My father’s killer.”
Her mother’s gaze sharpened, and her casual demeanor was gone. “Explain. Now.”
Nita turned away. “A vampire came to see me while I was in the market. He wanted to know how to find you. He was between one and three hundred years old, I’d say. Hair was brown and white striped like a zebra.”
Vampires were Eastern European, fast and strong and long-lived. But the older they got, the more white their hair had. And the whiter their hair, the weaker they were, meaning the young were wildly strong and the old were weaker than kittens, but with centuries of knowledge to draw on. Usually around seven hundred years was as long as they could last before dropping dead.
“And how do you know this was your father’s killer?”
“When I went to INHUP, I tried to get them to call Dad.” Nita tried to push down the pain, the memories, and the oozing wound in her soul. She would not show weakness in front of her mother. “They had security footage of Zebra-stripes in the area when Dad died.”
Her mother’s fingers drummed on the table. “I see.”
Nita pressed her fists into her legs, trying not to tremble in rage. “INHUP told me he was a hit man for hire.”
“Yes.” Her mother nodded absently. “I know him.”
“Mom,” Nita snapped. “What is going on?”
Her mother waved it away. “Nothing.”
“My father is dead. It’s hardly nothing.”
“Nothing I’m willing to talk about.” Her mother’s mouth thinned. “It’s personal.”
“Personal.” Nita’s voice was deadpan. “Would this have anything to do with Fabricio Tácunan’s father? You know, the boy you kidnapped.”
Her mother mildly scolded, “I told you not to talk to him.”
“Yes, so I wouldn’t find out you were using him as blackmail.”
Her mother tsked. “If you knew half the things he’d done, you wouldn’t be so quick to judge.”
“Fabricio?” She already knew plenty he deserved to die for.
“No, his father.” There was an unspoken “obviously” in her tone.
Nita ground her teeth. “So you kidnapped his kid.”
“Nita, enough.”
Nita pressed her hands into the table and leaned forward. What the hell was her mother involved in? Vampire hit men. Kidnapping powerful people’s children. Something bigger was going on here.
She narrowed her eyes. “Does Fabricio’s kidnapping have something to do with Dad’s death?”
“You think Alberto Tácunan hired the vampire to kill your father?”
Nita hadn’t actually thought of it in those specific terms, but it made sense, now that she thought about it. “As retaliation.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” her mother admitted.
Nita couldn’t believe how calm her mother was. She’d basically started a turf war that had led to Nita’s father dying and Nita sold on the black market. And she didn’t even sound apologetic.
“Are you kidding me?” Nita rose. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Nita, sit down.”
“No.” Nita took a step away, shaking her head. “I’m done. I’m done with this.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her mother took another sip of her drink. “Sit down and we can continue discussing this like normal people.”
“I’ve heard plenty.”
“Fine.” Her mother shrugged. “Once you’re done sulking outside, you can come back here.”
“I won’t be back.”
Nita was shocked when the words came out of her mouth. She’d never defied her mother to her face before. Always sneaking around behind her back, hiding her betrayals. Releasing prisoners in the dead of night, stashing college money under her mattress.
Not this time.
Her mother just raised an eyebrow. “You’re being ridiculous. Of course you’ll be back. You need me.”
“I don’t.”
“In case you’ve forgotten,” her mother hissed, finally rising, “your face is all over the internet, and all the wrong people know what you can do. You have a giant target painted on your back. You need me because those people will never stop looking for you. I can protect you. I can keep you hidden.”
“I don’t want to hide.” Nita’s voice was cold, and her spine straight. “I have plans for my life, and they don’t involve being hidden. I’m going to go to college. I’m going to become an expert in unnatural biology and present at conferences.”
“Oh, not this again.” Her mother rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “You’ll be kidnapped and murdered and eaten before that ever happens.”
There was truth to that. Nita knew it would be dangerous. She knew people would attack her.
So she was going to make sure everyone was so afraid of her that no amount of money would tempt them to attack her.
Nita let out a breath and turned to leave.
Her mother snapped her hand around Nita’s wrist. Blood-red nails dug into Nita’s skin.
“Who will give you bodies to dissect?” her mother hissed.
“I’ll find them myself.”
“And money?” Her mother’s lips curled up. “You do know you need money to live.”
“I know.” Nita didn’t have a cent to her name. “I’ll find a way.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. They stood, silent, staring at each other for long moments. Sweat beaded down Nita’s back, but she refused to lose this staring contest.
“If you leave, you will be annihilated.” Her mother’s voice was a whisper. “And I won’t lift a finger to help you.”
Nita suppressed a shiver. There was a cadence of prophecy to those words.
She clenched her jaw and twisted her wrist from her mother’s grasp. “I don’t need you.”
Then she left, her mother’s gaze burning a hole in her. But Nita didn’t turn back.
Eight
THE COOL SPRING AIR was bracing as Nita strode down the street, freezing her lungs until they burned. The crush of people had thinned, allowing her to walk faster, nearly jogging away from the restaurant. Her heart raced, and her whole body hummed with adrenaline. She felt like she’d chugged an energy drink—buzzed and nauseous at the same time.
She didn’t know where she was going, but she needed to keep moving. After a block, she looked back, half convinced her mother was following three steps behind her, shark smile on her face, ready to tear Nita apart for her defiance.
There was no one. Just a few other pedestrians and a panhandler with a flute trilling a slightly off-key song.
Nita kept walking, wanting to gain distance from her mother.
She still couldn’t believe it.
Nita had defied her mother. To her face.
It was impossible.
This wasn’t the first time Nita had gone against her mother. There was the dact incident when she was twelve. Nita still occasionally woke up with nightmares about the dead dact bodies her mother had left in Nita’s bed. But that had been a secret. She had skulked out in the middle of the night, never confronting her mother.
Nita had only confronted her mother to her face once.
Nita had been fourteen. She and her mother had been living in Germany for two years, and her mother was talking about relocating them to Vietnam so she could find new unnaturals to hunt. Nita had been delighted at the idea of not having to dissect so many unicorn bodies. The first one was interesting—the four hundredth was
not.
She’d decided that, given that things were already changing, it was a good time to call a family meeting to ask for a few other changes. She’d wanted to tell both her parents she’d decided to go to college and ask them to let her take the test for her GED. She’d already found several places to study and could take the test in Hanoi, so actually getting her parents onboard was the final hurdle.
Her father was on Skype, his face taking up the whole laptop screen. There in spirit, but not there in flesh to protect her if things went wrong.
And oh, how wrong they’d gone.
First, her mother had laughed, like it was some sort of joke. When Nita insisted she was serious, her mother’s smile had died and she’d said no. Nita, angry, young, and stupid, had jutted out her chin and arrogantly asked, “Why?”
Before Nita could blink, her mother had grabbed her wrist, yanked her so close their faces were inches apart, and hissed, “Because I said so.”
Nita didn’t remember her mother letting her go, though she must have. She didn’t remember going to her room to cry and hold a GED study prep book close to her chest. Her mind skipped all that, to the next memory, of her mother slowly tearing out the pages of the study guide one at a time until the book was nothing but a hard shell and a pile of paper.
Then her mother had whispered, “If you have time to waste on this, then you have time to run more errands.”
Nita hadn’t objected. She’d spent the next month going with her mother on her hunts. Nita would wait in the car or outside the building until the hard part was over, and only come in to help her mother load the body. It was messy and bloody, and her hands were always painted with red.
She’d taken to wearing her dissection gloves at all times. She never knew when she’d be called on to cut a body up to fit in a small suitcase.
After a month of this, her mother had casually asked, “Are you still thinking of college?”
Nita had tensed, sensing a trap. “No. Of course not.”
“Why not?”
She’d looked away. “Because you said so.”
And her mother had smiled, long and thin, and things went back to the way they were before. No more trips with her mother. No more trips anywhere, really. Just Nita and her dissection room, peace and silence.
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