Certain Dark Things(17)

“Bite your tongue,” he said, and she did. Hard.

Blood dribbled down the corner of her mouth.

He threw his head back before crashing down on her, his serrated teeth tearing the skin like it was papier-maché. Yes, they were also different from the Aztec vampires: his kind had fangs. They had sharp teeth and strong neck muscles to pull and rend the skin. The Tlāhuihpochtli had her nails and a stinger.

A stinger. Nick thought that was ridiculous. Give him strong fangs to eat his meat.

Nick slurped at the blood and took another bite of the woman’s flesh, enjoying the taste. She whimpered and in response he bit her harder, bit her right ear and tore a chunk of it. After that she didn’t complain and he was able to drink without her annoying noises bothering him.

He could hear the music coming from the club, he could feel its vibrations as he pressed the woman against the wall. Her heart beat erratically and she opened and closed her mouth, like a fish out of water.

It was good to have a proper meal again and he was enjoying himself immensely when the girl had to ruin it, suddenly growing still. She had died quickly, useless in every single way.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then looked around. The music was still beating loudly. No one had seen him. He dragged the girl behind a bunch of wooden crates. He discovered a dirty blanket on the ground and covered her with it.





CHAPTER

7

My arm hurts. That was Domingo’s first thought.

Cold. That was the second.

“Drink,” Atl said.

It was a glass. She was pressing a glass against his lip and it felt cold. Domingo swallowed.

“Open your eyes.”

He did. She was sitting beside him, on the floor. Domingo blinked. His head felt like it was about to explode.

“Am I a vampire now?” he asked.

Atl chuckled. “Don’t be silly. I told you that wasn’t possible. You should stop believing the crap they say about us.”

He rubbed his hands together. “It’s what they put in books,” he said. More like comic books, but what was the big difference?

Atl snorted and pressed the glass against his lips once more. Domingo swallowed obediently.

“The books, right. All that garbage from before 1967 still sticking around,” she said. “Can you hold this?”

“I can try.”

Domingo clutched the glass with both hands and slowly raised it to his mouth.

“What about 1967?” he asked, because he wasn’t sure of the reference.

“Doesn’t ring a bell?”

“No. I didn’t do well in school, though,” he admitted.

It hadn’t been Domingo’s fault. Most days his mom didn’t pack a lunch for him and it was a pain in the ass completing his homework with his stepfather bellowing. His brothers were not much better. He had liked art class and music class and reading, but the teachers were indifferent and many of his classmates unkind. He didn’t mind dropping out.

“That’s the year humans discovered we existed, that it wasn’t just folklore and superstition. There was a huge panic. A bunch of countries tried kicking the vampires out. Spain and Portugal made a big show of it. That’s how we ended with so many European varieties in Mexico.”

Yeah, he vaguely remembered hearing about that, but this had happened long ago, before he was born. Besides, Domingo was more interested in the splashy vampire stories—these often involved guns, gangs, and drugs—but since he had a real vampire talking to him now he’d thought he’d ask. It was an educational moment, and his teacher had always chided him for letting such moments go by, too mesmerized by comic books to consider a dusty history fact of any value. But he wanted to know everything about her.

“How come we don’t have vampires in Mexico City, then?” Domingo asked.

“’Cause you guys are pussies,” Atl said with a shrug. “You’ll need iron pills. Anytime we drink from a human we are supposed to give them iron pills, my mother’s orders. Finish your juice.”

He took another sip.

“So, like, no type of vampire can turn a human into a vampire, ever?” he asked.

“No. Some can make you real sick and kill you if they bite you.”

Domingo stared at Atl. She snatched the glass from his hands, chuckling again.

“Not my type,” she said as she stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “But vampires are a completely different species. Homo cruentus.”

Domingo did not try to follow her. He was too tired to get up. He sat there, his back against the wall. He wiggled his fingers and felt like a hundred ants were walking up his arm.

“Homo … you’re gay?”

Atl’s laughter drifted from the kitchen. She came back with the glass of juice refilled and handed it to him.

“My species is Homo cruentus, though there are different subspecies. I suppose if you were to be really precise you might say some of us don’t qualify as members of a subspecies since you have to be able to interbreed.” She stopped, noticing his puzzled expression. “Do you know what a species and a subspecies are?”

“Not really,” he said.

“It’s like we are different types. Wolves are Canis lupus. They are a species. Dogs are Canis lupus familiaris. There’s also dingoes, which are called Canis lupus dingo. They’re two different subspecies.”