Nick just thought it was fun to make himself a few slaves.
He grabbed the bottle of tequila and took a sip, sliding back on his bed and contemplating the ceiling.
Atl Iztac. If it weren’t for her he’d be enjoying himself back home, no need to open blood packs and feed from them like a ninny. When he got his hands on her … well. He was looking forward to a bit of torture. If they hacked and sliced her, then she’d heal, and they could hack and slice again. It might even be fun to turn her into one of his whores. Well, that was probably not the right word. Atl was a category above the stupid bar girls he picked up. Concubine? Was that the right word for this? He’d have to ask Rodrigo. On second thought, he didn’t want to ask the old man a single thing.
Concubine, then. Whatever. The word didn’t matter. What mattered was that Atl was just like Rodrigo: thinking herself so high, so above them. The Tlahuelpocmimi went on and on about their ancient heritage, their noble lineage, their days of pyramids and empires, without bothering to realize that it was in the past and they, we, are now in the same damn business. This was a new empire. And it belonged to Nick and his brothers.
He’d met Atl one time before this whole mess began, back when the situation between their clans was cold but not icy. He’d been at Hive, a neutral-zone joint, which meant you couldn’t bite the humans or spray bullets at other vampires. Nice place, good booze, safe and cozy, run by a Nachzehrer who had a love for the ’70s so the décor was vintage disco.
He’d been in a booth with Justiniano, a couple of his cousins, and assorted hangers-on when in walked a group of girls who seemed to attract a great deal of attention from the people around him, eliciting whispers. He asked Justiniano what the fuss was about and he said they were youngsters from the Iztac clan, which normally didn’t hang out around Hive, preferring other kinds of clubs.
“And who’s that one?” he’d asked, pointing at one girl who distinguished herself from her friends by her outfit and attitude, dressed in white, arms crossed as she stood by the bar surveying the scene.
“Atl Iztac, she’s Centehua’s youngest daughter,” Justiniano said.
It was that part of the night when Nick picked up a chick. He liked them blond and big-breasted, but this lithe brunette had an utterly delicious mouth. He thought he’d spice it up.
“Fuck me,” Nick said. “All right, let’s say hi to her.”
Justiniano had whispered that wasn’t a good idea but Nick shushed him. He traced a direct line to the girl and took off his sunglasses when he got to her, flashing her his trademark smile.
“Hey there, princess,” he said. “How are you doing? I’m Nick.”
She turned her head and stared at him, her lips pursed together. “Let me guess,” she said. “Necros, aren’t you?”
“Got me there, princess.”
“It wasn’t difficult.”
The bartender dropped a shot next to her and she picked it up with one gloved hand but did not drink it, pressing it against the hollow of her throat instead as she looked away. What a neck, eh? And the breasts might be small but he could tell they’d be worth it. She’d be worth it.
“I have a private booth here, you know. We could go sit down.”
“I don’t think I’m going to stay long enough to sit down,” she said.
“Music is not to your taste?”
“The clientele,” she said. She drank the shot and slammed the empty glass on the bar.
All right, he liked a tad of attitude, but not that much of it. He’d tried to be nice and she was not reciprocating, and that pissed him off. Girls didn’t dare pull that bitchy act with him, he was Nick Godoy. “Hey, darling, you’ve got a case of lousy manners,” he told her, clutching her arm.
She leaned forward with the grace of an uncoiling snake.
“Fuck off, townie,” she said, shoving him away and motioning to her friends.
Justiniano hurried to his side.
“That whore,” Nick said, emitting half a laugh. “Did you see that? Who does she think she is?”
“Forget about it,” Justiniano told him.
Only he hadn’t forgotten about it. No, no, no. And when his dad had told him Atl Iztac was on the run Nick had been delighted and eager to assist with her capture. Payback was a bitch.
He tossed the tequila away, fed up with it, and opened the vodka instead.
After gulping nearly half that bottle he remembered that they were under instructions from his father to kill the girl. He frowned. That wouldn’t do. He’d taken a real liking to this idea of keeping her for a while. Nick set aside the vodka, sat up, and looked around the bed, pulling the dirty sheets and the pillows. An empty soda can rolled onto the floor. He found the phone.
It only rang once before his father answered.
“Yes?”
“Father, it’s me.”
“What is it?” The voice was flat, stony.
“Nothing much. Rodrigo is being an idiot and we lost Justiniano,” Nick said, grabbing the soda can and spinning it in his hands. He lay back on the bed.
“Where are you?”
“Mexico City.”
His father’s voice was the same, a neutral tone, though Nick could feel the tension beneath it, the suppressed anger.
“Why?”
“You should ask Rodrigo,” Nick said. “Atl got away and we’re trying to find her.”
His father was quiet. Nick stretched an arm behind his back, scratching his nape. “I wasn’t calling you about that, though. I want you to tell Rodrigo that we should capture her, not kill her.”
“Why?”
“It would be more fun,” Nick said, crumpling the soda can and tossing it against the wall.
“This is not about fun.”
It is for me, Nick thought. He rolled his eyes. “Well, I don’t think she should die quickly. It’s too simple. We should make a real good example of her,” he replied.
“I’ll think about it.”
He hung up with that. Nick frowned, staring at the receiver. He wished he’d gotten something more solid than I’ll think about it. He really did want the damn girl.
Nick made an incision in the blood pack he’d been avoiding and began drinking. He did his best to pretend he was drinking her blood, going as far as to close his eyes and sketch a clear mental picture of Atl. The darkness of her hair, blue black it was. The face that was so proud, with an avian quality, more the raven than the swan. That face, reduced to a ruin under the onslaught of a blade.
He threw his head back and ripped the blood pack apart, letting the contents rain upon his body.
CHAPTER
17
In the morning, Domingo considered waking Atl up, but then he remembered it was daylight and maybe that wasn’t a great idea. Instead, he hung out around the apartment, listening to music, until his belly grumbled. In the kitchen he found two cans of beans but no can opener. There was also a big bag of dog food in a corner and a bowl next to it that served as the dog’s feeding dish. He refilled the dog’s dish, then grabbed Atl’s keys and decided to have a meal outside. He discovered a tortería just a few blocks from the apartment. He ordered a cheese and ham torta and while he ate it, he started thinking about money, ’cause he hadn’t gone to work in several days and he didn’t have much cash left. He didn’t want to be a bum, having Atl pay for everything, but he also couldn’t go picking plastic bottles off the streets if she needed him around.
It was nice being needed; it made you feel special.
Domingo wrapped half the torta in a napkin and put it in one of his large jacket pockets for later. He did not waste food. He never knew when his next meal was coming.
He went to hang out in front of a newsstand, looking over the newspaper headlines and staring at the magazines. The guy selling newspapers shooed him away after a while, telling him he couldn’t be reading everything if he wasn’t going to pay, so Domingo walked a few more blocks and stood in front of a different newsstand.
When he got
back to the building, it was late and the whole place was swarming with activity. The front door was open and there were lots of people in green-and-blue sanitation suits at the entrance.
“You know what’s up?” he asked an old lady who was standing outside.
“Sanitation sweep, what do you think?” the woman grumbled. “They’re looking for Cronengs, as usual.”
Domingo panicked, thinking of Atl. He managed to walk up the stairs without running, simply staring down at the ground and praying none of the sanitation officers stopped him. They didn’t, and he managed to fit the key in the lock and open the door, immediately closing it behind him.
“Atl!” he yelled, and rushed to the bedroom.
He was relieved to see Cualli was still sitting in front of the closet. The dog stared at him when he approached, but didn’t growl, and Domingo knocked on the closet door. When Atl didn’t reply, he slid the door open.
She was on the floor, in a sleeping bag, her eyes closed tight. Domingo hesitated for a second, remembering what had happened last time, and touched her hand.
“Wake up,” he said.
She turned toward him, eyes open wide. “What?”
“There’s a sanitation crew in the building. We gotta get out.”
“Damn it,” she muttered. She jumped to her feet and hurried to the living room.
She picked up the blouse and vinyl jacket she’d taken off, put them on, and suddenly stood, very still.
“Atl?”
“Hush, I can hear them,” she whispered. “They’re on this floor, walking down the hallway.” She quickly moved toward the large living room window, opening it and looking up.
“What are you doing?” Domingo asked.
“Going to the roof. When they come, open the door and pretend everything’s normal. Okay?” she said.
“How are you going to—”
“Just look normal.”
She jumped out the window. Domingo panicked and poked his head out, and saw her climbing up the side of the old structure, her shoulders hunched. Once again, he had the impression that she was a great bird of prey, although her shape was still human. He thought of those old gods with animal heads he’d once seen in a book, and she reminded him a bit of one of them. She disappeared onto the roof so quickly Domingo thought he might have imagined the whole thing. He held his breath for a moment and swallowed.
Sanitation. Right. He could deal with those guys. He’d dealt with them before. Sometimes they bugged him when he was walking in the street. No biggie.
Domingo went back to the bedroom and took out the sleeping bag and the blanket in the closet, tossing them on the bed. Then he rushed to the kitchen and placed his torta in the refrigerator. He left a cup in the sink. That was the closest the apartment was going to get to normal without any furniture. Domingo glanced at the Doberman, which had been following him around, and hoped to God it didn’t attack anyone.
The knock on the door came and he opened it.
The woman standing before him was holding a tablet and didn’t look at him as she spoke. “Sanitation sweep. We’d appreciate your cooperation. Please hand over your ID and state your name.”
“I’m Domingo Molina but I don’t have no ID,” he said.
“You are required to carry your ID.”
“It’s just I never have had one, miss,” he replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I’m only seventeen, if that makes any difference.”
The woman now raised her head, sighed, and gave him an irritated look. “Do you live here alone?”
“Just me and my dog,” he said, feeling the Doberman drifting closer to his side.
The woman glanced at the dog, scribbled on her tablet. “Carlos, can you check the rooms?” she asked, speaking to a man who was standing behind her. “The super gave us his notes and it says here a girl lives in this apartment. Where’s she?”
Domingo stepped aside to let the man in. “I don’t know. The guy that’s renting me the place didn’t say nothing about a girl.”
The woman let out a deep sigh, made an annotation. “It figures the paperwork would be wrong. Okay, so you live here?”
“Yeah. For now. I move around. Been working for a rag-and-bone man lately. I help him carry the stuff, sell it. Thermoplastic clothing is his specialization. Me? I like gathering electronics. It’s good wo—”
“Give me your hand.”
Domingo obeyed. The woman pressed a thin, white plastic stick against his palm. It beeped.
“Temperature is normal.”
“That’s good, right?”
The woman nodded. Domingo took out a piece of gum and started chewing it. The dog was sitting still, eyeing the sanitation worker.
“It’s empty,” said the other sanitation worker, returning from his short trip.
The woman was looking at her tablet again. Apparently it was much more interesting than Domingo.
“You realize that you have to register with the health station in your borough, right? It’s the law.”
“I know, ma’am, but I don’t have no ID.”
“Yes, well, even if you’re a minor you need to fill out the form and register. If more people followed that simple procedure we wouldn’t have to be knocking on so many doors, trying to find Cronengs, would we?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Your dog, it’s enhanced?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Domingo said, because there was no point in denying it. The bioluminescent tattoo was a dead giveaway.
“It should also be registered at the health unit. All modified pets should.”
“Okay. I didn’t know. Got it off a shelter. Idiot rich wig threw it away, couldn’t quite believe it ’cause normally I wouldn’t be able to afford such a nice—”
Both sanitation workers looked bored as hell. The woman interrupted him again and Domingo took that as a good sign. It meant she was about to move on. He was right.
“I’m going to put a green seal on your door, which means you’re not sick with anything and you’re not harboring drugs, but you have to visit the health station within ten days, all right? Also, bring your dog so they can enter his info into the computer. There’s going to be a note in the system and if you don’t do it, we’ll come back and take you there, along with the animal. It’s a lot easier if you just go.”
“Sure.”
The woman handed him a pamphlet with an address and information printed on it, then bade him goodbye. Domingo locked the door, sat on the floor, and waited. He could have sworn it took forever, and he was about to run to the roof when Atl simply flew back into the apartment. Okay, she didn’t technically fly, but she jumped inside with a certain grace and flexibility that was definitely birdlike.
Atl looked at him, and her face was not really human; it was a bird’s face, though it lacked a beak. Instead of hair she had lustrous feathers. She shook her head and the feathers disappeared, leaving only pitch-black hair behind and a face that was so thin and sunken it seemed positively emaciated.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Sugar,” she said, hurrying toward the kitchen.
“Do you wa—”
He had no time to ask more because she had grabbed the whole box with the sugar cubes, which had been left on a kitchen counter, and was eating like a wild animal, stuffing cubes into her mouth. When she was done, she rested her back against the refrigerator and chuckled.
“It’s not good,” she said.
“What’s not good?”
“The hunger.”
“You can bite me. It’s cool.”
“Conservation, Domingo,” she said. “I can’t squander … damn it.”
“You should just take … um … a bite,” he said.
Atl looked amused. She patted his arm. “You’re too generous.”
“I know what it’s like to be hungry.”
She looked at him in this strange way, like he’d said something really nasty, only Domingo didn’t think he’d
said nothing bad. He hoped not. He didn’t want to be mean. And then her face twisted and changed, like she was hurt, and she glanced away.
“Hey, it’s cool,” he said. “Look, it’s fine.” He showed her his wrist, holding it up for her.
Atl looked at him again, at his wrist, and slowly pressed her lips against it. He felt her tongue flick against his skin, and then the sensation, like a needle had gone through his body. When she pushed herself away from him, only a few minutes later, he caught a flicker of something in her mouth. A long tube that coiled away.
“What do you call that?” he said, rubbing his wrist. “In your mouth.”
“It’s a proboscis. Some people call it the stinger. It’s similar to the feeding mechanism of butterflies.”
“That’s how vampires eat, as if they were butterflies?”
“My subspecies does.”
“Can you show the stinger to me?”
“Can you show me your penis?” she shot back.
Domingo flushed and dipped his head. “Sorry. I’m just curious. I don’t mean to be an ass,” he mumbled.
“It’s an idiotic thing to ask.”
“I won’t ask anymore.” Domingo stared at his shoelaces. He shifted his position and ran his hand over the old kitchen counter. His fingers brushed against a single sugar cube that had been left behind, and he handed it to Atl. She took it with a sigh.
“I know you’re curious,” she said. “It’s not … it’s weird hearing those questions. Look, you can ask stuff, sometimes I’m just not going to like it, all right? And I won’t answer everything you ask.”
“Okay,” he said. “It’s just you’re very interesting.” She smiled; her expression was one of amusement, perhaps approval, though he could not tell for sure.
“Drink some water,” she said, suddenly grabbing a glass and opening the tap. “I don’t want you fainting.”
Domingo drank the water in a few gulps, then held on to the glass with both hands. “You’re looking better,” he said.
Her face did not seem so hollow, her eyes were not so red, and there was a vivacity about her.
“I feel better,” she said, flexing her fingers.
Talons, he thought. She has talons. Dark and sharp and deadly looking, and yet, her hands were beautiful.
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