She really shouldn’t have done that.
Nick stood up on shaky feet. His face was even more butchered than before, a mess of unsettling crimson. But the teeth were still sharp and eager, his maw opening, ready to take a bite of her. Nick shuffled forward.
“I was going to take you back alive, but I changed my mind,” he said.
Atl retracted her wings.
* * *
Ana groaned. The pain was excruciating. She couldn’t breathe properly. She was dizzy. And yet, she was grateful. The pain was so strong, it suddenly made everything clear. The weight that had been stifling her—the young vampire’s mind control—had broken. A temporary reprieve, she knew.
But enough, she thought.
She watched Nick as he walked toward the girl. He had taken a lot of damage, but he would not stop.
Bastard, she thought. Her hands were shaking.
From the corner of her eye she noticed movement, a shadow unfolding. She didn’t pay it attention, instead focusing on Nick.
She thought about her grandmother’s lessons. The way to hold the gun, how to align the target, how to press the trigger. Breathe, Ana, breathe. She thought of herself younger, glued to the TV set, watching the thrilling conclusion to the midnight movie. The good guy always had time to fire one last, crucial shot.
But Ana was hurting. Ana wasn’t in a movie and she couldn’t keep her hands steady, the weapon seemed to slide from her grasp. For a moment she considered lying there and letting this end without her intervention, without bothering about what happened to that fucking vampire bastard. But she couldn’t. Not when she’d seen what he was planning.
She breathed in.
Ana did what she could, took aim and managed to hit Nick in the chest. The vampire hissed and looked over his shoulder at her.
“Stupid woman,” he growled, and she felt his control over her again.
She pressed the gun against her own chest, her finger slowly finding the trigger even though she didn’t want to. She squeezed the trigger.
Bang.
As she lay dying, the connection from the vampire now forever severed, she smiled.
Because now she could see the shadow. It had contours, a face, and in the shape of that face and the contours of that gaunt body she recognized a vampire, shuffling forward.
Revenant, she thought.
* * *
Nick was looking at her again, his eyes as red as the blood covering him. Behind him she noticed a figure slowly rising, slowly moving toward them. Bernardino. But Nick had been too busy focusing on Ana to notice him, and now he was too busy looking at Atl.
Atl licked her lips, standing still. “You look pretty banged up,” she said. “I thought your kind was strong.”
“Shut up,” Nick said.
“Of course, you’re not really a full-grown Necros, are you? You’re just a kid playing at being a narco.”
“Look who’s talking,” Nick said.
“I’m better than you.”
“I’ll show you—”
He pounced on her, weighing her down. Atl tore at his neck with her nails while he opened his mouth, ready to bite a chunk of her cheek. She gathered her remaining strength and shoved him off her; it was like pushing away an armored tank.
“Try again, fucker,” she said, and his focus was solely on her and she, in turn, stared straight at him.
Nick was crouching, ready to pounce on her, and she winced in preparation for the blow, but then Bernardino leaned down and placed both hands around Nick’s head. The young vampire opened his mouth, possibly to yell or try to bite the person holding him, but he didn’t manage either thing.
Nick shook, his mouth grew slack, and she watched as his eyes dimmed and sank into his head, his hair fell out, even his teeth started popping out of his mouth, the nails sliding from his fingers. He slid onto the ground, slid as though his bones had melted away.
Atl pressed an arm against her belly. When Bernardino was done feeding, Nick was nothing more than an empty carcass while Bernardino’s face appeared less wrinkled, his hair almost devoid of any gray. He was still hunched over, disturbing in his appearance, though. Certain things would not change.
Bernardino approached her and Atl recognized the dangerous glint in his eyes.
We are our hunger, she thought. Bernardino was still weakened. He needed more life. What better life than a vampire’s? This was exactly why they feared his kind, why she’d hesitated to meet him that first time, why she’d sent Domingo instead, thinking that if he was displeased, Bernardino would eat her messenger instead of herself.
Ironic.
“I won’t fight you,” she said, and stood up. “Don’t hurt Domingo, though.”
“That’s very considerate of you,” he said. “Stupid, but considerate.”
Bernardino advanced on her, placing a hand against her neck, leaning over her.
“I thought you didn’t lose your head over boys,” Bernardino told her, shrugging.
“I don’t.” Atl closed her eyes.
Instead of the drawing of life she had expected, she felt the familiar thrum of energy as he stabilized her, breathed life into her. The cut upon her stomach began stitching itself together and she let out a low hiss, snapping her eyes back open.
Bernardino staggered back, older again, his hair gone gray, and smirked at her.
“Atl? Are you okay?” she heard Domingo say.
Domingo rushed toward Atl. She felt a kiss upon her brow, then his arms around her. She raised her head and looked at Bernardino.
You did lose, Bernardino’s eyes told her.
She could not deny it. He’d warned her about this. She could smell the blood from the dead humans, Nick’s blood, her own blood.
“I’m fine,” she said, staring back at Bernardino.
She looked at Domingo. He seemed tired, but he was still like a freshly minted coin, and she knew all she’d ever be able to give him was this. The scent of blood and death. Nothing new or clean. And he wouldn’t mind.
Sacrifice. The face of all earthly things at one point is sacrifice.
“And you, Bernardino? Are you all right?” Domingo asked.
“I’m fine too.”
“I owe you,” Atl said, looking at the vampire. “I won’t forget that.”
“You have an appointment,” Bernardino told them.
She wished to thank him more, but he was already trailing back to the entrance of the landfill, walking by the shacks, sinking into the night.
They began to walk in the opposite direction.
“Where’s Cualli?” she asked.
“The woman shot him,” he said.
They were walking past the woman, her eyes open and her head at an odd angle. Dead too. Like the dog. She derived no pleasure from it and looked away, forward into the darkness.
“It’s just the two of us now,” Domingo muttered as he picked up her backpack, which she’d dropped during the fight.
CHAPTER
40
They stumbled onto the road, the sea of garbage behind them. They moved slowly. The sluggish canal they’d crossed over, full of filth, ran parallel to them. There were still no lights, just the moon, steady, illuminating their path until they reached a bridge and there finally, streetlights.
It was a long walk, eternal. They spotted a solitary convenience store among a sea of gray, square buildings. And stationed in front of the store a battered car, the windows rolled up, with Manuel at the wheel.
Atl grabbed the backpack hanging from Domingo’s shoulder and zipped it open, fiddling with the documents inside. She took out an envelope and tucked it into her jacket, then zipped the backpack closed.
“I’ve left cash in there,” she said. “There’s also IDs. In a couple of months pay a visit to Elisa and ask her for access to an account. She’ll have one for you. It’ll be my parting gift. You’ll have a good life.”
Domingo heard the words, but they were like an echo, faint, distant. The words could not
be real.
“Wait, what are you saying?” he asked.
“I’m leaving you here. I go onward by myself.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head.
“You can’t. Why’d you say such a thing?” he babbled. “Why’d you joke like that?”
“I’m serious. You are going to be fine. There’s money in there and there will be more in the account.”
Domingo let the backpack fall to his feet. He did not know if he could speak, his breath seemed to burn his lungs, and he could hardly remember how to utter a coherent sentence.
“No,” he said, and gripped her arms. “No, you promised. You have to take me with you. We talked about South America. First thing we do when we get to Brazil is you’re going to buy me a suit and we are going to have a dinner in Rio. You can’t leave me!”
“Who do you think you are to demand anything of me?” she sputtered. “Let go of me or I’ll break your arm.”
“Then break it,” he replied, holding on tighter to her.
She pushed him away and he lost his balance, falling down. He lay sprawled in the middle of the road, watching her. A cricket chirped nearby. The night seemed terribly vast, like the inked panel in a comic book, threatening to swallow him whole.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked her. His mouth had gone dry.
“You’d slow me down.”
“I wouldn’t!”
“I don’t need you anymore.”
Her words cut into him, through muscle and bone. Domingo felt his eyes stinging with tears but he didn’t cry. He pulled himself up, scanning her face feverishly.
Atl promptly looked away and closed her eyes.
“Look at me,” he said, and his voice sounded harsh and alien. “Don’t be such a coward and look at me.”
Atl opened her eyes and stared at Domingo. He stared back. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to kiss her and kiss away any doubts, but when he moved toward her she took three steps back.
“You’re a liability. I’ve made mistakes because of you and I can’t afford them anymore. You’ll get me killed or I’ll get you killed. I’m doing you a favor. You’re too young to die, especially for me.”
“Maybe I don’t care if I die. You said you’d take me with you,” he told her again, caught in a loop.
She turned her head, looking at the path they had followed, and then she looked in the opposite direction at the car waiting for her.
“I’ll tell you one vampire fact, Domingo. One final one for your scrapbook,” she said, her voice languid. “We always lie.”
She kicked the backpack in his direction and straightened her jacket. Her face was impassive.
“I love you,” he whispered. Like the fool he was, the fool he’d been from the get-go, madly dashing after this girl.
A long silence stretched between them. She cupped his face with one hand and kissed him, so briefly Domingo hardly felt her lips upon his, the ghost of a kiss. He leaned down, pressed his forehead against hers.
Atl stepped back. He desperately wanted to follow her, yet managed to remain rooted to his spot as she walked in the direction of the car, hands in her pockets.
“Atl, do—”
She turned her head a fraction of an inch, her eyes very dark, pools of ink, silencing him. She did not say a word. In her eyes he read the answer to the question she had not allowed him to ask.
No one had ever looked at him like that. Like he was every star shining down on them that night and the ground beneath her feet, and every other ridiculous phrase found in books that he’d never believed could possibly be true. And he knew she hated herself in that moment and he knew she loved him precisely because she did not speak a single word.
The car sped away and her gaze stayed with him as he slowly walked back through the landfill.
When he passed by the shed he heard a soft whine. Domingo paused at the doorway of the building and went inside.
The dog was alive. It lay behind a bunch of plastic bags. Domingo kicked the bags away and Cualli stared at him. Domingo walked back toward the entrance, pulled at one of the shopping carts until it came free from the others, and rolled it back next to the dog. He placed the dog inside the cart.
It looked confused. Domingo patted its head.
“It’s all right,” he said gently. “You’re in luck today.”
His player still worked, so he switched it on and dug out his headphones.
He began rolling his cart away.
EPILOGUE
Domingo dreamt of her a few days later, in the long, long hours before the dawn. He dreamt she’d stepped out of a car, at the end of a dusty road. She took out a compass from her pocket and held a machete in her other hand. Her hand. It was fine and whole. She was fine.
Atl stepped forward, into the jungle, the trees rising very high above her head. There were many noises: the faint chirping of birds, the roars of howling monkeys, the buzzing of insects, the patter of rain as it slid down the leaves and trunks of the trees. The rain reverberated, resembling the steady sound of drums.
“Atl,” he said.
She hacked through the jungle, her machete swinging back and forth, opening a path. She paused for a moment, raising her head, as if someone had called her name. She smiled. Almost immediately she pressed forward, sinking into the endless greenery of the jungle.
The chatter of birds spread, as if they were welcoming the girl.
In dreams, he smiled too.
GLOSSARY
Vampires, the ezzohqueh
The Aztec word for vampires is “ezzohqueh,” the “bloodthirsty ones,” but vampires are not unique to the Americas. Ten vampire subspecies exist nowadays, though if you believe certain rumors on the Net, there might be one or two secret vampire subspecies that have evaded detection. Not every human culture encountered vampires through history, though modern airplanes and ships have made it easy for them to migrate.
Vampires share broad similarities. Vampires are territorial, hierarchical, have a tendency to display ritualistic, violent, and volatile behavior, and their main food source is humans. They are organized around tightly knit clans. (See Revenant and Imago for the sole exceptions.) Though vampires may have a variety of powers and abilities that eclipse those of humans, they are outnumbered by humans, a fact that can place them in a precarious position. Humans are also more adaptable and creative than vampires, who are set in their ways. Vampires have sponsored or admired the work of great inventors, painters, and poets, but these have all been invariably human. This, however, may be a cultural taboo rather than a biologically determined quality. The vampire emphasis on tradition, for example, may discourage more subversive expressions.
A number of clans may eschew modern clothing and dress and live as though they were still in a different century. As a result, when you enter a vampire abode, you may suddenly find yourself talking to men in livery and women in corsets. In recent decades many vampires have found themselves increasingly thrust into a modern world they may not enjoy.
Vampires are not immortal, though they can have much longer life spans than regular humans. Revenants and Imagoes are especially long-lived, though other vampires whisper they can grow confused in their old age, developing a type of dementia.
Despite stereotypes disseminated by popular media, not all vampires are wealthy and aristocratic. Certain vampire families have managed to amass considerable wealth, but constant in-fighting means numerous vampire clans have also fallen from grace and lost resources. Others have never managed to gather resources in the first place due to the highly stratified nature of vampire culture.
Asanbosam
Native to West Africa. The Asanbosam possess very sharp teeth and were originally tree-dwellers, something that can be easily ascertained by looking at their feet with their long claws. They are able to shape-shift and when they do they resemble gigantic bats. In this form they have the capacity for flight.
Imago
The origins o
f the Imago and details about them remain hazy. They are likely Egyptian. They can adopt the guise of any human or vampire they come in contact with, concealing their true form, which is more batlike than human. However, an Imago’s real face will be visible if you take a photograph of it or look at its reflection. Like the Revenants they are solitary creatures, preferring to stay away from other vampires. Their name derives from the fact that they periodically “cocoon” themselves during their lifetime in order to rejuvenate, a process that requires an extensive “feeding.” They like to burrow and sleep in the earth.
Jiangshi
Native to China. Popularly called “hopping” vampires, the Jiangshi earn their name due to their arthritic limbs, which make it hard for them to walk or run. Their mobility diminishes as they age. The Jiangshi relies on its highly developed telepathic powers of suggestion for sustenance. They can “suggest” that a human offer their own blood willingly to them or control them by inducing a trancelike state. An adult Jiangshi can maintain dozens of humans under its suggestive powers, puppeteering them in a more refined fashion than the Necros. Jiangshi can also transfer their consciousness into human vessels and interact with the outside world while they remain in their chambers. Jiangshi can tolerate sunlight, but in order to engage in their telepathic manipulations they must stay in a dark room, hence they prefer to spend their lives in inner chambers, often underground. A Jiangshi’s hair is generally white, even at a young age, a distinctive trademark that makes them easy to spot though they may wear wigs or dye their hair.
Nachzehrer
A European subspecies, likely Teutonic in origin. The Nachzehrers greatly resemble the Necros, possessing their resilience and ability to feed off almost any blood source. They display a preference for carrion rather than live humans, a trait that sets them apart from other vampires who despise “cold” blood. Like the Tlāhuihpochtli or the Wendigo, the Nachzehrer shape-shifts. It can appear in the form of a wolf. They are hirsute, and the men generally sport beards and wear their hair long.
Necros
This Central European vampire variety most closely resembles the vampire found in traditional media, with sharp teeth, pale skin, and a strong aversion to sunlight. They are organized around a patriarchal clan structure. They are very agile and can dislocate their limbs in order to get into hard-to-reach places—for example, to gain access to a house. Necros are very strong, resistant vampires. Unlike other vampires, the Necros can consume any kind of blood, even if it comes from a sick human. They also enjoy human food and alcohol, which several vampire subspecies cannot consume. Sexual or blood contact with a Necros will cause a human to come under the influence of the Necros, allowing them to manipulate the human’s actions. Unlike the other vampires, who hold on tight to tradition, the youngest generation of Necros are brash and bold, and disregard many of the old precepts.
Certain Dark Things Page 28