The electric shock was excruciating. Her whole body vibrated and her hands opened spasmodically. She let go of the rifle, the weapon tumbling to the floor.
Nick raised the baton. Someone shot at her, just to make it even worse, and she gurgled, saliva and blood mingling in her mouth. She spat it out, felt the blood dribble down her chin.
“Who told you I needed help, you twat?!” Nick yelled angrily, turning toward whoever had shot. “Hold your fire, I’m enjoying myself!”
Atl raised her clawed hand and took a swipe at Nick’s leg. He yelped and she jumped up, pulling the stun baton from his hands. Before she could hit him with it, he roared, tackling her so hard she thought he’d broken her spine.
Breathless, she lay on the floor beneath him. He grabbed her head with both hands, slamming it against the floor. She could hardly breathe, but she forced herself to raise her hands and clawed him in the face, trying to go for the eyes. He snarled and bit one of her hands, his serrated fangs digging into her flesh. It felt like having her fingers caught in a bear trap. Atl tried to shove him off, but the teeth seemed to sink deeper in, until she finally managed to hit him in the head, at which point he let go.
Her chest was burning from the exertion and she panicked, thinking she might pass out. He probably had the same thought, because he smiled down at her, his white, sharp teeth making for a terrifying grin.
“Ready to give up?” he asked. “Should I hit you again?”
“Go to hell,” she said, the taste of her own blood filling her mouth, and she had to spit again.
“And I thought we were starting to get along.” Nick stood up, grabbed the stun baton, and promptly tumbled to his knees as Cualli began savaging his legs. Nick shrieked, trying to kick the dog away.
Atl reached for the rifle she’d dropped and pressed the trigger, blowing a good chunk of his jaw off with the shot. The vampire blinked and opened what remained of his mouth, massive amounts of blood dripping down his face. He began to shriek so loudly she pressed her hands against her ears.
“Atl!”
She spun around and realized that Domingo had managed to open one of the dock doors, pulling the steel curtain up. Atl ran past Domingo, who was just standing, staring at the mangled bodies strewn over the floor. She yanked him behind her and they stumbled out into the street, rain pelting them as they rushed down an alley, the dog chasing after them.
“No, no, no,” Domingo said when she turned right. “Over here.”
She followed him as they ran through a web of alleys, reaching a mesh wire fence. Behind it was a large vacant lot strewn high with garbage.
“Here,” Domingo said, lifting a corner of the fence. “I know where this leads.”
“I can’t walk anymore,” she said. Hell, she could hardly breathe. Every mouthful of air burned her lungs.
“You can. You are. Come on,” he said, and his voice was hard, not the way he normally spoke, unsure and half-afraid. He knew what he was doing.
She wanted to lie down but he was insistent, pulling her with him. She thought they’d never reach the street. Rain sluiced down her back. Empty milk containers, glass, plastic, crunched beneath her feet, singing a discordant melody. Domingo’s sweaty hands remained steady against her own, forcing her to follow him.
Kill him. The thought made her blink and stumble, the rain sliding under her jacket, under her clothes, chilling her.
It was a good idea. She was hurt. She was hungry. She needed the strength. The blood.
She looked at him, at his face, which showed no fear. Only concern. She thought about slicing his neck open with her sharp nails.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, touching her cheek. “Stay close to me.”
She shivered and found that she was able to keep following him, though there was also that nagging thought, the desire for blood pooling in her belly until she finally gave up, decided to hell with it, with him. She gripped his arm and pulled him close to her and …
… and realized they were there, in a street, the glare of the streetlamps shining down on them.
She chuckled, her hand slipping down, away from him.
There was a taxi stand with a withered, lone driver reading a magazine, waiting for a fare. Atl leaned down next to his window and squeezed the man’s neck with one hand. The man dropped his magazine and opened his mouth. She did not give him a chance to speak.
“You’re going to drive us wherever we say or I’ll break your neck,” she told him.
The taxi driver blurted a weak yes. Atl opened the back door and Domingo and the dog jumped in. She followed them, resting a hand right by the driver’s shoulder, to make sure he didn’t get any funny ideas.
“Take us to the Roma,” Atl said.
“Wait, are you going to see Bernardino? You said not to go to him,” Domingo said.
“I’m not okay. I need help and a place to hide. There’s no safer place than Bernardino’s house.”
“How do you know?”
“If he’s survived this long in this city, then he’s not a delicate flower.”
“Why didn’t you let me take you to him in the first place?”
Atl turned toward Domingo and she had no time to explain about the ways vampires didn’t get along with other clans, about their territorial impulses and the fact that Bernardino was either an ace up her sleeve or the worst hand she’d been dealt yet.
“He’s dangerous. But everything is dangerous now. Everything,” she said instead.
She flexed her injured hand, looking at the bite marks on it.
* * *
Atl leaned against the wall as Domingo knocked. The heavy door opened, revealing an old woman. She did not seem too pleased to see them, though she stepped aside and let them in without a word. Domingo helped her up the stairs, and it was a minor miracle that Atl did not take a tumble, considering that her legs had the consistency of jelly.
“Bernardino!” Domingo yelled.
“You’ve come back.”
The hallway was very dark, but Atl saw a silhouette at the far end of it, a silhouette that quickly acquired a recognizable outline. The vampire, hunched down with age, leaning on a cane, gazed at her, his face devoid of any emotion.
“I’m curious to know what you think you are doing here,” the vampire said.
“We were attacked,” Domingo said. “There was a big fight.”
“I can see that. I still don’t understand what could have compelled you to visit me.”
“I’ll owe you a great debt if you offer us sanctuary,” Atl said.
“I’d rather not.”
“My mother—”
“Is dead,” Bernardino replied dryly. “You better leave.”
Atl squeezed her eyes shut. She might weep, otherwise. She thrust a hand forward, clutching Bernardino’s arm.
“Please, don’t make me beg.”
Bernardino was hunched down, his spine crushed by the weight of time, but he still managed to be substantially taller than Atl. He looked down at her, the way one might examine a spider before crushing it.
“She told me about you,” Atl mumbled. “She said you were her friend.”
“Isn’t that the same lie you told Elisa?” Bernardino asked.
“You know it’s not a lie.”
He tilted her chin up, as if to get a better look at her. His eyes narrowed and he released her with a huff. “You look like her,” he muttered, his voice tinged with irritation.
“These old ties that bind us…” He trailed away, lost in thought for a moment, then seemed to refocus sharply, his voice unpleasant. “You smell sick. Come in here.”
Atl shuffled after him, into a room lit with numerous candles. It was a study, the walls lined with bookcases, a desk against a wall. She found a chair, currently occupied by a cat. She shooed the cat away and slid onto it. Her hand was throbbing and she had to bite her tongue not to start whimpering.
Bernardino lit a lantern and held it up as he approached her.
“
What happened to you?” the vampire asked.
“Silver nitrate darts. They removed the darts, but I’m not well.”
“You have a stench about you. The stench of rotting flesh. Take off the jacket.”
Atl obeyed him, wincing and tossing the jacket on the floor. Bernardino motioned for Domingo to hold the lantern up and he did. The vampire took away the bandage on her arm, a finger sliding upon the wound. He grabbed her hand, which she had squeezed into a fist, and made her open it, causing a new wave of pain to hit her. He stared at her palm.
“You were bitten.”
“Yes.”
“By a Necros.”
“Yes.”
He released her hand.
“The wound is infected. You can’t heal properly with this and it can quickly spread, killing you,” Bernardino said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“Infected?” Atl mumbled. It seemed she could not manage more than staccato answers.
“A Necros bite, in your debilitated state, is a sure recipe for death. Do you understand?”
“What do we do?”
“Amputate the hand and hope the infection does not spread.”
“Wait, what? Cut her hand?” Domingo said, putting the lantern down and turning to Bernardino. “You can’t do that!”
“She’ll heal. It won’t be a permanent loss.”
“Like what, she can grow a new one?”
“Like the axolotls,” Atl whispered.
Domingo did not hear her or did not care for her words. He spoke loudly and placed himself between Atl and Bernardino.
“I don’t think you can cut anything. She’s lost a lot of blood. She’s barely able to stand up,” Domingo said. “You can’t.”
“She’ll die, then.”
“I won’t let you hurt her.”
“Amputate it,” Atl said.
Domingo and Bernardino both turned their heads to look at her. She gritted her teeth, her hand throbbing, her body twisting with pain.
“Amputate,” she repeated.
Bernardino opened a large mahogany case, pulled out a black leather bag, and placed it on the floor, by the desk. Next, he cleared the desk, shoving his papers aside. He dragged a small table closer and opened the bag, taking out knives, a saw, suture needles, and other surgical instruments. He placed them neatly next to each other. Atl swallowed.
“Don’t worry. I’ve done this hundreds of times,” Bernardino said, catching her worried gaze. “I attended patients during the Mexican Revolution.”
“Wasn’t that a hundred years ago?” she asked.
“The tools are sharp and you should be able to cope with the pain. That is all that matters. Come, you’ll have to lie down.”
Atl stood and stumbled as she walked toward the desk. She sat on it, then lay down, pressing her lips together.
“Hold up the lantern,” Bernardino told Domingo.
Atl supposed it would be better to close her eyes, but she found that she was unable to perform even this simple gesture. Instead, she lay looking at Bernardino as he applied a tourniquet to stem the blood flow.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
He clamped his hand around her arm and, with a sharp knife, made a few quick incisions, lifting the skin as though it were the cuff of a coat. He cut her muscles down to the bone, cut nerves, and though she could withstand pain much more efficiently than a human she was terrified.
Bernardino grabbed the saw and she did not want to see this, she did not, yet she watched as her bone was exposed and then came the firm and slow saw. She did close her eyes when it sliced through, she closed her eyes tight and tried hard not to flinch.
She remained stiff as a board, Bernardino’s fingers fluttering against her skin. The soft feel of thread dragged through her flesh and was almost soothing. He threaded quick, methodical stitches.
Bernardino touched her mouth and she opened her eyes. She had no idea how long the operation had taken. It seemed to her it had been forever.
“Don’t be scared,” he said. “You are weak and need sustenance. I will feed you. It will hurt.”
“No other way?” she asked, understanding what he meant and feeling she would not be able to withstand any more pain. Like a battery, her mother said. Like a charge. Tonalli, the life force.
“You’ve lost too much blood,” Bernardino said. He glanced at Domingo. “You might want to look away.”
Atl nodded and Bernardino leaned down, his face coming close to her own until his mouth was almost touching hers. And then he exhaled, pressing a hand against her neck. Atl had kept still during the operation, but she jerked wildly as Bernardino touched her. She felt she was being burned alive, it was like pouring hot coals into her mouth. The fire spread, invaded every pore and every single muscle in her body, and she trembled, trembled, trembled until he stepped away and the touch was severed, her body ceasing its hellish jerking.
Atl took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“What did you do to her?!” Domingo yelled.
“Gave her a fraction of my life. Saved her.”
“Atl?”
She felt like she was sinking into icy waters, the murmur of the sea invading her ears and blotting the voices. The cold snuffed out the light and she breathed slowly and then, just as quickly, she was thrust up, up through the surface. She opened her eyes wide, bolting up from the table.
Both men stared at her and Atl returned their stare, swallowing, trying to remember how to speak.
“I’m okay,” she said.
* * *
“I have a room for each of you. There’s a change of clothes and hot water,” Bernardino said. “I’ll have your soiled items cleaned at once.”
“We’ll leave tomorrow, I promise,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t waver so much when she spoke. “Elisa is getting me out of the city.”
Bernardino did not reply. He pointed at a door, then motioned to Domingo to follow him.
Her room was sad and had an air of neglect. It was crammed with knickknacks and ancient oil paintings. There were tiny china dolls arranged upon a shelf. Their heads and dresses were covered in dust. Wasn’t the main ingredient of dust human skin? Who had told her that? Had it been Izel?
The clothes lay upon the four-poster bed. The outfit was old and must have been fashionable in the ’50s, a skirt, a blouse, gloves, and heels. But then the whole house was old, trapped in time.
Atl peeled off her dirty clothes and slipped into the bathtub, the warm water relaxing her body. She was careful to keep her injured arm outside the tub, so the bandage wouldn’t get wet. It was a small feat to wash her hair and body, and when she was done she sat in the tub staring at her arm, the place where there had been a hand. Finally she snatched a towel, rubbing her body vigorously. She drank from the tap and she swished water around her mouth until she had washed away the taste of bile.
She slipped into the blouse first. The skirt, which had a gaudy pattern of palm trees, proved to be more problematic. She could not zip it up with only one hand. She looked at her wrist, at the bandaged stump.
There was a knock.
“What?” she said, and turned around.
“Sorry. Bernardino said you might need help,” Domingo explained.
“Yes,” she said. “Come in. Zip me up.”
Domingo darted in and quickly zipped up the skirt. She stood before a full-length mirror, staring at her reflection.
“Atl, what did he do to you?” Domingo asked. “You were shaking. I thought he’d hurt you.”
“He feeds differently than I do. Bernardino absorbs life. I guess that is the best way of putting it,” she said. “He feeds from human or vampires, it doesn’t make a difference to him. He’s also capable of giving life. It took away the hunger. And it gave me strength. My clan … we call it tonalli, it’s energy.”
In the days of the Aztec Empire, warriors cut off their enemies’ heads because they thought they could steal their tonalli, that life essence that res
ided in the head. And this reminded her of her mother, dead, decapitated, and Atl had to sit down on the bed.
“Are you all right? You sure he didn’t hurt you?” Domingo asked.
“It was unusual and uncomfortable for me, but it’s fine even if blood is what I crave.”
If she were to sit in complete silence she was sure she might be able to feel her muscles knitting themselves, each tired cell weaving itself anew.
“He wasn’t lying, was he? It’ll grow back, right?”
“If you cut off a part of the axolotl’s brain, it’ll grow back,” she said. “It’s not that hard.”
“How long will it take?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t lost a limb before. It’s not like we had been removing arms and legs in my family, just for laughs,” she said, turning toward him and giving him a venomous look. “Izel would know. She’s dead, though. They’re all dead by now. It’s pretty damn pathetic when you think about it: I’m the one who’s still ticking.”
“I’m so—”
“God, stop apologizing!” she shouted.
He was quiet, but he extended his hand, touching her arm, squeezing her good hand.
She cried. Stupidly, like a child. Izel would not have cried, but she was not Izel. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she had not cried when they killed her mother or when they killed Izel, but somehow she was able to drown in her self-pity and cry over her stupid hand.
Domingo tugged at her, pressing her against him, embracing her. A hug. A ridiculous hug, as though that could offer her any comfort. But she let her head rest against his chest, reclined against his skinny frame.
“It’ll be okay,” he said. “They’re not going to catch us.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s a hunch. I’m really good at hunches, you know?”
“Ha,” she said.
Atl tilted her head slightly. He was very close to her. He was so silly. And sweet. She couldn’t think of anyone sweeter.
She shifted, moving closer still, her lips against his neck. He clutched her good hand.
That voice, that sensible voice that sounded like Izel, spoke to her. Don’t.
It was as if she suddenly realized she was drinking salt water. She pushed him away. Not gently. Hard.
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