“I wish to have that in common with you.”
* * *
Upon landing Teodoro spoke to the authorities who then scattered. Mercedes staggered into a waiting taxi. Her head pounded like a demon wanted to break out of her skull. She gripped her stomach. “I’m going to be sick.”
The sorcerer turned around from the front seat. “Take deep breaths. It’s the altitude. You’re close to twelve thousand feet.”
Remy groaned. “My head’s killing me too.”
Teodoro’s eyes hardened. “From alcohol.”
She hoped if the nausea won, she’d remember to aim for Teodoro. Diego cradled her. Her instinct screamed to pull away, but his chest made too good a pillow.
Teodoro’s indifference surfaced. “My dear, don’t worry. You will not die in this city.”
She forced herself to speak. “I hope I can’t say the same about you.” The taxi hooked a tight turn and her stomach cramped. “I need to lie down.” The tires skidded and the vehicle slid into a parking area. She covered her mouth with her hand.
Teodoro, unmoved and unhurried, fixed his gaze on Diego. “Recognize anything?”
Mercedes groaned.
Diego patted her back like her mother used to. “Nothing is familiar except the narrow streets. I saw storefronts--cafes, restaurants, clubs and a post office. Presently the city caters to tourists.”
She climbed out of the taxi, but refused Teodoro’s hand, preferring to steady herself on a fender. “I want a bed, right away.”
Diego carried her into a building that looked more like a fortress than a small hotel--away from the hustle of the plaza and located on a street so narrow every footfall echoed. The foyer needed chandeliers to brighten the mood or maybe she saw everything muted. A concierge bowed to Teodoro.
“Give them the second floor. My associate and I will take the first.”
As the importer spoke, an unsmiling man wearing a tight black suit and a red tee assumed a guard position at the entrance. Farther down the hall, his twin leaned against a bright blue door and met her gaze. Even if she could stand without her head exploding, she wouldn’t get far.
Remy and Teodoro escorted them to their room. “I’ll have a special tea sent. There are no locks on the doors, but the staff will respect your privacy. If you want anything else, ask.” Teodoro cast a cold glance at Diego. “You’ll have to satisfy your own needs.”
* * *
Diego felt the hunger growing, but Mercedes came first. Two cups of the strong brew chased away her headache. Chicken broth with a corn dumpling took care of her hunger. “The food will rest easy on your stomach. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“So you say.” She closed her eyes. “There’s another problem. I don’t want to be in the same room with you.”
“I know.”
“But I’ll play along.” She drifted to sleep.
Again he blanketed her. He searched out Teodoro. “How will the altitude affect the poison?”
“Altitude increases the potency. The sooner we get to the jungle, the slower the poison travels.” He started to close his door. “By the way, transporting her vampire style could cause untold damage. It would bring an ugly death full of spasms and vomit.”
Back in the room he drew apart the drapes. Two windows faced a narrow alley, one of the callejones that formed the network of streets that residents traveled every day on the way to the plaza or markets.
Mercedes raised her head. “You’re going out?”
“Yes. To feed and explore alternatives.”
She fell back on the mattress. Diego dressed in olive cargo pants and a long sleeve tee shirt of the same color. Clothes that would call no attention. Before he left, he listened to Mercedes breathe finding that her respiration offered hope.
He shifted to the cobblestone street and walked to the plaza. Partygoers, mostly knapsack-carrying trekkers, attempted to wrap him in their midst. He lost them to a corner café offering fusion drinks.
Modern Ciud’Ak appeared nothing like the city that he had helped to conquer. What did he remember? The site had been planned in the shape of a hummingbird. That information was not useful. He crossed the area now called the Plaza de la Luna, and noted the impossibility of reconciling a former mental map with the present day center. From somewhere issued the odor of brewed coffee and fresh baked bread. To enjoy them again would be worth a king’s treasure.
He walked to the outskirts. A granite valley, the quarry that had fed the ancient structures, gaped below; the nearby walls caught the shadows of buildings. Below, the river still flowed rapidly; creating white water that yielded to gentler stretches. Switchback paths crisscrossed the rising peaks. Several llamas that had wandered to an unpopulated area stirred as he landed. He waited for a challenge that never came.
He drank his fill, but small quantities from each animal. The blood was thin and his body unaccustomed to the gamey taste.
Back in the city the wide streets in the newest section offered pizza, hamburgers, computer access and mixed cuisines. An elderly vendor supplied directions to an herbalist. Diego entered a street so dark and narrow from towering high walls that lanterns lit several windows although the sun had not set.
At the end of the passage, bound by more mortar-less Inca walls, he found the woman in her storefront shop. He assigned her otherworldly appearance to the preponderance of the color red in her skirt and blouse coupled with the glow of an oil lantern.
Seated on a low stool, the woman, skin wizened by the sun and dry air, studied him. Her dark eyes, barren of welcome, scanned his features. She drank coffee from a vessel that looked old enough to be a museum piece.
Their gazes locked. Her stained fingers pointed to the dried herbs and minerals in small open sacks encircling her feet in the form of a crescent. She lit a small bowl with a long wooden match. When it burned, the substance curled like incense. She used her hand to send the rising puffs toward him. Suddenly, she drew back, almost falling off her battered three-legged stool.
In Spanish he told her that he needed information about plants. He could not tell if she understood.
Her Spanish words, when they came, were heavily accented, barely comprehensible. The second time she spoke, he froze.
“Usted no es humano.”
She knew. “Who am I?” he asked wanting to hear the condemnation. Perhaps punishing himself because he sensed what she would answer.
She tossed grains that resembled rice at his face. “Vampiro.”
He coughed hoping to convince her that the smoke or the rice pellets affected him. “I am trapped in this state,” he explained. “Although I cannot save myself, I hope to save another. Who can help me? Who reads the plants?”
She swayed and seemed to search the hard-packed dirt floor. Whispering words that he could not comprehend, she pulled a battered map of the city off the unpainted wall. Her trembling finger slid along the soiled paper and stabbed at a nearby street. “Museo.”
A museum? He reached into her mind and held her in place long enough to wipe his presence from her memory.
She disappeared behind a thick wooden door leaving him with nothing but the crunch of grains underfoot. The map disappeared with her. But the museum would have to wait. Mercedes, sick and tormented, had been alone too long.
He leaned against the cold stone wall of the ancient street and willed the shouts and cries from his past to silence. Memories, his restive enemies, gathered.
* * *
Mercedes toweled herself dry. Although still not acclimated, her nausea had lessened and taking breaths had gotten easier.
She tugged on panties and a bra, a pair of jeans and a tee. It disgusted her that Teodoro or Remy had been through her duffel, but she had to wear something.
She donned a pair of cotton socks because the tiles held the cold. The thick door banged open striking the wall. Remy shoved past her. Booze and sweat clung to his wrinkled clothes. “I saw Cadaver Man leave. Gave me the creeps.”
“He
’s wherever he wants to be.”
“He’s probably slurping blood off some dumb tourist. How can you love a monster?”
She folded her arms across her chest. He sniffed. “Soap. A little perfume. Good, I like my women clean.” He licked his lips and thrust his pelvis toward her. “Now I’ll show you what a real dick can do.”
She kicked him in the cajones. Playing offense felt good.
He doubled over and retched. Cradling his genitals, he rolled onto the floor going fetal. She backed away. His mottled lips widened like the mouth of an enraged animal. “You’re dying. I’m going to live, but no one can save you.”
“You’re the one on the floor.”
He scraped himself up just like on the plane and lunged for the door. For several moments he teetered, holding onto the jamb. Without a backward glance, he faded into the hall. Mercedes slammed the door. A cold draft sent by the surrounding peaks entered through the open window. Her hands trembled and her foot hurt from contact and thrust. “Where are you, Diego?”
Thirst, hunger, and shock, pounced on her as if they’d collaborated in an attack. She wrapped herself in a hand-woven wool blanket from the only closet. She knew, without raising her head from the huddled bundle she’d become that Diego had joined her. “You just missed Remy.”
“I regret having to leave you. I wanted to be by your side.”
“But you aren’t. You can’t be. And I took care of him.” She pulled the blanket tighter. “Beast that he is, he had to repeat that I’m kicking the ole bucket.”
“They consider us already dead. Need I say the obvious about myself? And you are making an effort to be polite. I am grateful.”
The phone rang and she answered. Seconds later she disconnected. “The monster wants us in the dining room.” The hammering in her head resumed. She closed her eyes. She missed the comforts of lower altitude. When she looked in Diego’s direction, a jolt of fear mingled with her renewed physical discomfort. “What have you done?”
“I spread a shroud on the floor. Underneath it is a sprinkling of dirt.”
His eyes held torment. Her heart softened but just around the edges. Then he tried to make a joke.
“As you can see, I am a flexible traveler.”
She wanted to cry. “Please, shut off the lights and let’s find out what Teodoro has to say.” Whether or not she liked it, she and Diego shared a tomb. “This is the longest, worst day of my life.”
Chapter 12
As a human Diego challenged anyone who sought to humiliate him. As a vampire, he experienced complete power. He could eliminate Teodoro and Remy now before his strength waned, but then he would be the killer he despised and Mercedes and her sister would die by default. His fault.
Their strange captor handed Mercedes her meds, while he and Remy, as if in a tableau, watched. Teodoro spooned sugar into his coffee, tasted the beverage and sipped small amounts into his mouth.
His rigid expression bore a faint resemblance to the faces molded on Pre-Colombian ceramic pitchers. But they had grace. From the mouth of the figurines came chicha, water or juices. What would spill from Teodoro’s? Beetles? Worms?
Remy reached for a freshly baked quinoa roll. He looked at Mercedes with hate. If she were going to die, he would watch with a smile. The trick was not to oblige. She swept a strand of hair from her temple, the gesture a preamble.
“The longer we sit here, the closer my sister gets to delivery.”
Teodoro patted the corners of his mouth with a cotton napkin. “We leave at my command. Let me review the procedure. You carry your own gear, so plan accordingly. And, as before, I will inspect everything.”
Would another glance at the scattered lines of Rodrigo’s map jog his memory? Diego wanted to be sure. “I want to inspect the ingots.”
“Diego, your interest is most satisfying.”
Mercedes swallowed her medicine. She left untouched the fruit plate waiting before her. His beloved would make a good warrior in the heat of battle, but a failed strategist when cool heads must prevail. Teodoro’s false friendliness pricked her skin and she found his behavior cowardly. How did he know? He read her body language and so did the others.
Diego extended his hand, waiting for the ingots.
Remy stood. A cascade of crumbs fell from his shirt. “What’s the hold up? We should be at the airport.”
Teodoro ordered Procteur to sit. Like a good servant, he obeyed but could not still his need to strike out. “Bet dead meat didn’t tell you why he’s so meek.”
A knife grazed Remy’s shoulder. The blade clattered against the plaster wall and crashed onto the orange tile. Teodoro’s voice shot out as deeply threatening as the weapon he’d thrown. “You’re a fool.” A black-suited guard entered by what summons Diego do not know. Teodoro spoke slowly, each word a slap. “Show Mr. Procteur to his room.”
Mercedes waved good-bye.
Diego reminded the sorcerer of his request. “The ingots?”
From his photographer’s vest Teodoro withdrew a carrying sack closed by a drawstring. “Handle them with the napkin.”
“Of course.” Diego stared at the lines trying to see anything that could be a help. They kept their secrets. But when he turned them over, his heart broke. Rodrigo’s initials stared back at him.
“What’s the matter?” Mercedes asked.
Teodoro obliged. “Your lover has had a surprise. The oral history of my people spoke of a signed map. Finding Rodrigo’s marks thrilled me.”
A knock ended Teodoro’s gloating. The guard carried a message. The sorcerer read the note and threw his empty cup against the same yellowed wall where it crashed to the floor, company now, for the knife. The messenger fled.
Diego returned the ingots, but let his fingers glide over his brother’s script and felt what was almost invisible to the eye and almost indiscernible—two letters looking much like random scratches: m and e for monte and este. Mountain and east.
Teodoro repacked the “maps” and they disappeared into his jacket. “I gathered you expected to leave within the hour. But there has been a complication. We must wait a bit longer for our fuel.”
“Maybe the delay is a sign that grave robbing is the wrong path.”
“You criticize? Your fingerprints are on more bodies than I can name. The legend that scares the children is that of the fanged beast that flies into the villages and sucks the blood of infants.”
Mercedes shot to her feet. “Diego would never do that.”
Our captor dropped his napkin on the table. “You’ve mated with the undead. Your judgment is forever in question.”
She shook with rage but she could not find a response, for what he said rang true. Diego tried to draw his wrath. “The feud is between us, Teodoro. Do not add to her misery. Since we will not be leaving as planned, let her be a tourist. Neither of us will flee. You have bound us too tightly to this misadventure.” The flattery appealed to the sorcerer. Nevertheless, he played a game.
“She might try to escape.”
Mercedes stamped her foot. “How? You’ve got my passport and you’ve threatened to kill my sister.”
Teodoro played with a pouch that dangled from a leather strip around his neck. “Very well. She may amuse herself.”
For this, she rewarded Diego with a smile. He wanted her away from Remy while he worked at a solution to the fuel and hunted for the antidote.
* * *
Mercedes changed into a pencil skirt and white cotton blouse barely taking time to comb her hair. She slipped into the rubber-soled sandals and wrapped a fanny pack around her waist. Was Annie all right?
“American dollars for soles, nuevos soles, por favor.” The concierge looked at his hands rather than face her. What did he know about the hotel’s guests, she wondered. Did he realize Teodoro lived among legends and magic?
“Can you help us?” she whispered.
The startled man shook his head. He slid a pile of nuevos soles across the countertop, grabbed her dollars and f
led into a small office locking the door behind him. What had she expected? Who’d challenge a sorcerer powerful enough to control a vampire?
Only someone who had no choice; someone like herself.
She grabbed the phone on his desk and listened for a connection. When she heard none she wasn’t surprised.
In the Plaza de la Luna some women and children wearing multi-colored skirts and ponchos headed for home. The hats varied in shape and decoration. Some vendedoras wore black bowlers; other sombreros were elaborately decorated with lace and multicolored ribbons.
Already Peru was more than a change in location. The country offered another dimension and under different circumstances, she would revel in its wonders.
“The city’s great, isn’t it?”
Mercedes turned to a young backpacker. “Yeah. I was reminding myself to enjoy it. As soon as I make a call, I'm going to be a tourist at least for an hour.” She extended her hand. “I’m Mercedes and I’m looking for a phone.”
He pointed to a cross street. “Hang a right.” She turned the corner into a crowd of pizza-munching tourists and an excited gang of backpackers all talking at once in front of a cyber café and found telephones in a nearby building.
When Mercedes heard Annie’s voice she burst into tears.
“Mercedes, what’s wrong?”
“I’ve been so worried.”
“Calm down. I’m okay. Dave got me a book on Peru. Did you get that soroche stuff?”
“What is it?”
“Altitude sickness.”
“Yes. I’m feeling better now.”
“Where’s Diego?”
“He’s planning our next move.” She had offered a response that put a positive spin on their actual situation. “How’s Dave?”
“Good. He and Luz get along really well. Mrs. Joyce is a big help too. I’m doing all right.”
“How’s Luz behaving?”
“She says she has to guard the mansion until Diego gets back and that she’s psychic.”
Born Into Love Page 14