Certain Dark Things(60)

“But then … ah … we are in the Jackal’s place. It’s the kennels where he keeps his dogs.”

“Why?”

“He thinks he can make money off you.”

Atl looked around, at the small space they were sitting in. They’d dragged a mattress in, stained and lumpy. Atl’s balled-up jacket lay on it. Also a blanket.

“He’s not great on hospitality, is he?” Atl muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and sitting on the mattress. She flexed her fingers with some effort. She felt slow, tired; pain radiated from every muscle in her body. “How’s he making money off me?”

“He says people are looking for a vampire. After that fight in the street … they, um … I guess there’s a price for your head.”

“Gee, a price,” Atl chuckled. “I’m becoming very popular.”

Domingo did not seem amused by her comment. He licked his lips and stared at her.

“Where’s my dog?” Atl asked.

“I heard it barking a while back. It’s nearby, but I can’t see it from this cage,” Domingo said.

“They better not have hurt him. I’ll cut their balls if they have.”

“I imagine the Jackal wants to keep your dog for the fights. I think it’s safe.”

“So are we. If he thinks we are worth something alive.” She touched the bandage on her shoulder, slipping it off and glancing at the wound. The arm was stained black from the silver nitrate, with wild streaks radiating from the place where the dart had pierced the flesh. When she touched the skin, it hurt, and she winced. She slipped the bandage back in its place.

“Damn it, they had to go with silver nitrate,” she said. “We need to get out of here. I can kick that door down and we can make a run for it,” she said.

“That’s probably not a good idea.”

“Do you have a better one?”

“No. I don’t think you’re supposed to move a lot.”

“Bullshit.” She stood up and took a step forward. One step was all it took and she felt the bile gathering in her throat and started coughing again. She almost lost her balance and fell down, but Domingo hurried to her side, steadying her.

Atl croaked and black bile spilled down her shirt. He helped her back to the mattress and they sat down side by side.

She was filthy. She smelled of blood and vomit. She could barely keep her eyes open. She began to cough again.

Domingo took out a rag from his pocket and handed it to her. Atl pressed the rag against her mouth and frowned. Finally, the coughing subsided.

“Yeah, I get your point,” Atl whispered, tossing the rag on the floor. The coughing fit had robbed her of her energy and she let herself sink against the mattress.

Her only weapon was her switchblade knife, and she wasn’t sure if she still had that. It should be in her jacket, but maybe they’d looked for weapons. Or maybe they hadn’t cared, with her so weak.

She had, perhaps, a knife. She had Domingo, too. Though he might be willing to protect her, she doubted he could smash the door down, carry her in his arms outside, and evade the people keeping them in the kennels.

“Are you hungry?” Domingo asked. “Do you need to—?”

Food. She did not want to think about that. The pain was so bright right now that she could not even consider eating. The pain erased any other concern. But once the pain died down, once her body began to heal in earnest, the hunger would arrive in full force. She was not sure what she’d do at that point. She remembered the old man she’d killed in Guadalajara. She wasn’t even able to keep his blood down, and yet she’d killed him because she’d been in too much of a frenzy to care, or notice, what she was doing. If that happened again, she didn’t know if she could keep herself from harming Domingo. Or if she would even want to.

If it came to it. She didn’t want to die.

He can be replaced, she told herself.

But she wouldn’t think about that now. Later. I’ll consider it, later.

“I need to feed, yes. But right now, I’d probably barf it out again,” she said.

“What do we do, then?” he asked.

What do we do. She was a girl. A girl who had played at murder and only succeeded in getting her sister killed in the process. A girl who could not be relied on to provide good counsel. A girl who ran off into the night, left her family behind to fend for itself, launched herself into a wild escape. A girl who was sick and tired. A girl who couldn’t pretend she was a tough cookie who could get through this intact.

She looked at him and he seemed really interested in her answer, with that open, eager look on his face he seemed to get quite often. Domingo was such a boy. She might be a girl, but she’d never been what he was. She’d never be that.

“We wait,” she told him.

“All right,” he said. “It’ll be all right, you know? I got a hunch about it.”

A sweet boy with a goofy smile and hair in his face and such faith in Atl, or the universe, or something. She wondered how he managed to keep believing in anything.

“Yeah,” she said, and her mouth had an acidic, unpleasant taste to it. “It’ll be all right.”

I’ll kill him. Later. If necessary, she thought. But no. She didn’t want him dead. She looked away from him. Dear God, don’t be stupid.