"What is he?" she whispered as she wiped her mouth with her equally filthy sleeve.
"He's a vampire," Rosie whispered from her corner. She was the weaker of the two having been subjected to the feeding for weeks.
"Vampire? He can't be. Uncle Otto is a vampire and he's nothing like that."
The two girls, having no idea who Uncle Otto was, looked at her sadly and nodded their heads.
"He is. You'll see."
But Faith couldn't see it. If Otto and the monster who called himself a brujo were both vampires, why were they so different? Otto, too, drank human blood, though his came from a donor bank and was outdated before he got it. Was that it? Did the blood have to be old to keep him sane and normal looking? Or… was it that the blood was fully human? Like these two girls, were the brujas who were thought to be Forgotten in the past really taken by this monster? How long had he been drinking bruja blood? The answer made her blood run cold.
The vampire in the other room started to speak in the sickly sweet tone he used at his cruelest. They couldn't hear the words because of the heavy wooden door between the rooms, but the two girls began to tremble and cry as if they knew what was coming. Faith put an arm around each one and held them close.
"Be strong, be strong," she repeated over and over in a whisper, but her mind was chanting 'not again, not again'. The sickly smells, the dark, the huddling in the corner were too reminiscent of Tyn and the girl's fear crawled over her and made her remember things she thought she'd put to rest. She closed her eyes as the panic rose within her and she fought to put it down.
Just as she thought she could fight it no more, something changed. 'Not again' became Lucien, Lucien, and in saying his name Faith began to think of the things she would lose if she succumbed to panic and the monster had his way.
Mucking out the stalls with Diego while he chattered on about his day, raiding the kitchen at noontime with the boys, watching Agdta's braid swing across her back as she danced to some inner tune at the stove, riding Josephina into village, gossiping with Briza and oh! Briza and Álvaro's romance. She couldn't miss that. And Lucien, heart of her heart, the man who showed her she could live with her past and still look to the future.
Warmth and light suffused her body driving out the cold, dark panic. She felt the power of the circle welling up inside her. She opened her eyes to see the misty white light she knew would be there.
"We're hummingbirds," she whispered to the girls who looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. She smiled. "Small, but mighty."
Reaching for the girls' hands, she let her power flow, heedless of the energy it might take from her. When the filth of their poisoning reached her stomach, she closed her eyes and drove the power inward and her stomach was cleansed. Healer, heal thyself!
As always happened with her subjects, the girls had stiffened with the influx of her power. They stared as if entranced. When she released their hands, they collapsed against her, blowing out their breaths.
"What are you?" Rosie asked a little fearfully.
Faith lifted her head and straightened her shoulders. "I am a healer, a Daughter of Man. I have magic in me…" She leaned over and kissed the girl's head. "…and so do you. Let's see how we can use it to get out of this mess."
*****
El Brujo returned each item to its original place, turning and readjusting until each was in the exact position it had been in before, showing each off to its best advantage. It was his penance for his earlier loss of control. Timing and precision were everything.
His father's catastrophic idea of releasing his pets within the confines of the enclave was ludicrous. Why terrorize a population already riddled with fear? The enclave was ripe for the taking, the people anxious for someone, anyone, to take charge and restore their way of life.
It was a setback, to be sure, as was the resurgence of the women of the people, but that, at least, had a bright side since it would make identifying his food sources so much easier.
He was feeling better by the time the shelves were finished. He would have to find the perpetrators of the attack on the Guardian to reward them for their cleverness and punish them for their failure to finish the job. A vampire running loose in the village would go a long way in turning the People against the Guardians and el Brujo would be their hero when he arrived and put it down. He should have thought of it before. All was not lost.
He heard movement in the passageway and thought Hoot was returning. The man was angry when he left, but he'd get over it. Poor Hoot coveted the title of Vigilante and would do anything for it. He'd be so disappointed when he finally figured out the position was no longer necessary. The brujo turned, ready to greet the man with the pretense of forgiveness.
He stared at the man who was a doppelganger of his long lost self.
"Where is Faith?" the doppelganger demanded.
El Brujo stepped cautiously around the desk, putting it between him and the apparition across the room. He glanced at the picture on the shelf and laughed. This was no doppelganger.
"Well, well, well. Hello, Nephew, so nice of you to drop by. How is your dear father? I haven't seen him lately. My presence seems to upset him." His gloved hands gestured as he spoke, waving up, down and to the side.
"I don't know who you are, but I'm not your nephew. My mother has no brother and my father's brother is dead. Now, what have you done with Faith?"
Evrard shifted his position to get a better look at the face hidden within the deep cowl. There was nothing to be seen but darkness. He stepped more fully into the room, his sword at the ready. His first duty was to rescue Faith, but he had to know more about his family's involvement here.
"Oh, but you are, dear boy. You were called home on my account." El Brujo waved his hand in a mock bow of introduction.
"My mother called me home. She wouldn't…"
"Of course she wouldn't. Eloise is a simple creature who thinks only of her mate and sainted son. It was your grandfather who convinced her of the need." He spread his arms wide as he stepped around the desk to the place where he started. "Come. Give your Uncle Apollinaire a welcome home hug."
Evrard pointed the sword at the robed man. "You. Are not. My uncle."
El Brujo lifted the small picture from the shelf and threw it to Evrard. "Look familiar?" He tucked his hands into the wide sleeves of the robe.
The Guardian caught the frame with his free hand, never taking his eyes for the man whose hands were constantly moving. He glanced down at the picture. It was like looking in a mirror. He tossed it back.
"It doesn't mean a thing. It's a picture of my uncle, not you."
Again, the hands were free of the sleeves and waving. "How right you are, dear boy. I was Apollinaire ad Gautier. Now I'm called el Brujo, but surely you see the resemblance." He tossed back the cowl and took a step toward Evrard.
Evrard took an involuntary step back from the skeletal horror that was revealed. In Brazil, he'd seen what were claimed to be shrunken heads. This was the full sized version. Sparse tufts of lank hair clung to the top of the skull covered with mottled skin that was so tightly molded, every bone surface was outlined. The scarred indentation at his left temple was evidence of where the bullet that brought him first death had entered. Narrow yellow lips pulled back from a row of rotted teeth with the exception of the overextended fangs. The irises of his eyes glowed blood red. This couldn't be, but it was. This creature was a vampire.
Evrard's sword came up and he lunged in attack. The vampire moved, robes whirling about his ankles and suddenly a sword materialized in his hand. His counter was aggressive and Evrard fell back. Evrard readjusted his stance, planting his feet firmly which was contrary to his usual moves.
Among the Guardians of the Race, a sword or any other sharp weapon was used for slashing demon scales or sliding under them and not for fighting each other. Some Guardian's never carried a sword at all. When they trained, they trained to fight demons. It had been a long time since those early, man-to-man lesso
ns.
He deflected a thrust, moved and deflected again using the flat of his blade against the vampire's edge. Meeting his opponent squarely, he aligned his sword with his body, torso to head. He dodged. He slid. He parried. He blocked once, locking swords at the hilt and was thrown back, surprised by the strength of the vampire's emaciated body. He was always on the defensive. Evrard's body hardened in Rage. His fangs descended, but so had the vampire's. He was outmatched and he knew it.
"I've had a hundred years of practice," the vampire laughed as he threw off Evrard's poor attempt to return a thrust. "Not much else to do in my lonely little hell."
He attacked with a series of thrusts and slashes, the last of which opened a wound across Evrard's right arm. The arm dropped along with the sword, but instead of following through with a fatal thrust. The vampire whirled away spinning in a circle.
It was a superfluous and inherently dangerous move, exposing his back to an undefendable attack. It showed he had no fear and was an insult to his opponent's skill. The message was clear. The vampire was toying with him. This was a game of cat and mouse and Evrard was the mouse.
"Your father never should have allowed Eloise to send you away," the vampire said as they re-engaged, "You've forgotten our motto - Family first." He attacked with a flurry of moves as if to drive his point home. "Your choice. Join us or die."
"No!" Evrard shouted in answer to both.
Once again, Evrard was on the defensive, parrying blows, sliding away from thrusts, appearing to grow weaker. He watched and waited for the vampire to add another insulting flourish to his attack. When it came, Evrard was ready. After another block where swords locked, the vampire pushed away and laughing, began another spin. Evrard did not fall back as he had before. He thrust, saw the point of his sword pierce the robes at the vampire's side and felt his head explode with pain.
"Don't kill him, you fool!" he heard the vampire yell. "I have plans." And then the world went black.
Hoot stood with the rock poised above the Guardian's head where he was ready to administer the fatal blow. He gaped at the thing that stood before him with its hood thrown back exposing the corpselike face to him for the first time. He'd thought el Brujo was a man, but this… this thing was no man. He'd thought the girls he procured were used for the blood rites needed to fuel the brujo's power, but seeing the disfigured face with the knife like fangs, he knew and he knew there was only one way out of this tangle of horror.
He barely heard el Brujo's shouted directions as he scrambled out through the tunnel and into the cool night air. He drew in great gulps of it and rubbed his arms in an attempt to stop their shaking. Down on the road he saw the truck, door now closed and the old man sitting in the seat with his head thrown back.
"This is your fault," Mendoza said aloud. "None of this would have happened if your family hadn't taken what was mine."
He called his owl and flew down to the truck. He would have this last act of revenge before he became one of the Forgotten.
*****
El Brujo tied his nephew's hands behind his back and roped his ankles together. The damned owl had ruined his fun and the Guardian almost died because of it. Hoot would pay for that, just as his father and brother would pay. He was tired of playing nursemaid to a pack of fools who couldn't follow the simplest directions. He was tired of his plans being ruined by others.
He dragged the limp body over to the corner and propped it against the wall. The head wound was bleeding as was the gash on the arm, but Guardians healed quickly and it looked like this one would live.
It was his nephew's duty to serve the family and serve it he would, though not in the way that fool Meriton had hoped. Meriton thought they could win the boy over. He'd obviously been wrong there, too. No matter. Tomorrow night he would turn the dear boy himself, down in the village where his turning vampire would do the most good.
What bothered him most about the night's events was the way his nephew and Hoot reacted to his face. Their looks of horror offended his vanity. El Brujo fingered the mirror that hung at his waist and hesitantly brought it to his face. There was nothing in the glass that he found frightening. It was the same face he always saw. Time and bruja blood had restored it almost completely. The healer would finish the work when she cured him of the rotting disease and made him whole again. Having no need for further reassurance from the mirror, he threw it against the wall. He pulled the cowl back over his head and turned to the door at the back of the room. It was time for the healer to earn her keep.
*****
Vasco fought to keep his eyes open knowing if they closed he would not open them again. Something happened with that kick to the head, something more than the concussion that sent blinding waves of pain through his skull each time he moved. His legs felt numb and an old and familiar pressure gripped his chest. He was dying and it was time to let go.
"Not yet, my handsome Vigilante," a voice beside him whispered.
Painful as it was to move, he turned his head to look. His beloved Consolata sat beside him, not the gray haired woman who had passed away in his arms, but the young one; the one whose lovely face made his heart flutter, the one whose swaying hips made his cock harden, the one whose laughter made him fall in love. He smiled.
"Have you come to take me home?" he asked.
Her laughter filled the cab. "No, my love. I've come to tell you cannot die. Your little angel carries enough guilt. Do not burden her with this."
"You know about my ángelita?"
"I've known about them all," she laughed. "You were a flirt when I met you and a flirt when I died, but you always came to my bed and no other and that was what was important." Her hand stroked his cheek, soft as a whisper. "I'll be waiting for you here in the Hills of the Dead when your time comes, my love, but your time is not today."
Consolata began to fade away and Vasco reached for her, but only the whisper of her voice was left.
"The owl comes to seek his revenge. Don't let him have it."
Vasco blinked. His right hand had fallen to his side near the pocket in the door that held the small tools needed for quick repairs. He saw the owl land and shimmer into man.
Goddamned Mendoza.
Chapter 39
Faith's fingers flew. "No matter what happens, you must be strong," she told the girls. She squeezed Rosie's hand. "You can do this," she told her, "Take your time and don't panic. No matter what you see or what you hear, you run."
They heard the vampire shouting beyond the door.
"Sit back, hang your heads. Cling to each other. Let him think you're weak and afraid."
When the door crashed open a few minutes later, she couldn't tell if they were faking or not. The whimpering behind her sounded real. Her own heart was pounding like a hammer in her chest. She forced herself to look up into his eyes when he stood before the cell.
She was right about the eyes. She'd felt their pull at the car and both girls said they couldn't fight. Each saw the other forced to cooperate through the magic in his eyes. Faith felt their pull now and she stood there with a half-smile on her face that the vampire thought was for him.
"Come to me," he said as he unlocked the door and she did as she was told. The lock clanked into place as he closed it.
When he bent and licked the spot where her neck met her shoulder she shivered with revulsion for both the act and the violation of something precious.
That was Lucien's spot, the place he liked to nuzzle with his lips and tongue. It was the place he kissed her when their lovemaking was over. It was the place where she felt his face harden and his fangs descend which frightened her, because she longed for those fangs to pierce her skin.
"If you take my blood, I can't cure you," she whispered breathlessly.
"Your blood will feed me first," he said and licked the spot again.
"The blood will poison. This will cure." Faith nervously called the golden light to her fingertips. It faltered and then flared.
"I think you're
lying." The vampire held her away from him and tilted her head up. With eyes locked on hers, he ordered, "Tell me the truth."
"The blood will poison. My hands will cure," she told him tonelessly and followed obediently when he walked to the door.
"Ready?" Laura whispered when the wooden door closed.
Rosie shook her head and wouldn't look up. "If it doesn't work, he'll kill us."
"Do you think he's going to let us go? Do you think we're the first? He's going to kill us anyway. At least this way we have a chance." Laura shook her friend roughly. "We've always done things together. We're going to do this, too. Have faith in Faith."
Rosie smiled weakly. "Sounds funny."
"But true. Get your ass up there, girlfriend and open that lock."
They held hands while Rosie concentrated on the lock and Laura prayed that it would work.
"Failure brings death," the creature said when they entered the room he called his home. He grabbed her chin and turned her head to look at Evrard in the corner. "My nephew failed in his rescue attempt. He betrayed his family and the penalty is death."
Evrard wasn't dead yet. His hair was matted with blood and his shirt sleeve was soaked, but he was breathing. Faith nodded her head. If the girls didn't bring back help, they might both be dead, because Faith knew she couldn't live with leaving someone behind again.
"I have to touch your skin," she said and looked around the room trying to find the place that would be hardest for him to get to the girls.
The vampire didn't wait for her invitation. He sat in the chair behind his desk and handed her a small hand painted picture of the kind used before photography was born. With the exception of the old fashioned clothing, it looked very much like Evrard.
Guardian's Faith Page 34