Certain Dark Things(67)

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “You are weak and need sustenance. I will feed you. It will hurt.”

“No other way?” she asked, understanding what he meant and feeling she would not be able to withstand any more pain. Like a battery, her mother said. Like a charge. Tonalli, the life force.

“You’ve lost too much blood,” Bernardino said. He glanced at Domingo. “You might want to look away.”

Atl nodded and Bernardino leaned down, his face coming close to her own until his mouth was almost touching hers. And then he exhaled, pressing a hand against her neck. Atl had kept still during the operation, but she jerked wildly as Bernardino touched her. She felt she was being burned alive, it was like pouring hot coals into her mouth. The fire spread, invaded every pore and every single muscle in her body, and she trembled, trembled, trembled until he stepped away and the touch was severed, her body ceasing its hellish jerking.

Atl took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“What did you do to her?!” Domingo yelled.

“Gave her a fraction of my life. Saved her.”

“Atl?”

She felt like she was sinking into icy waters, the murmur of the sea invading her ears and blotting the voices. The cold snuffed out the light and she breathed slowly and then, just as quickly, she was thrust up, up through the surface. She opened her eyes wide, bolting up from the table.

Both men stared at her and Atl returned their stare, swallowing, trying to remember how to speak.

“I’m okay,” she said.

*

“I have a room for each of you. There’s a change of clothes and hot water,” Bernardino said. “I’ll have your soiled items cleaned at once.”

“We’ll leave tomorrow, I promise,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t waver so much when she spoke. “Elisa is getting me out of the city.”

Bernardino did not reply. He pointed at a door, then motioned to Domingo to follow him.

Her room was sad and had an air of neglect. It was crammed with knickknacks and ancient oil paintings. There were tiny china dolls arranged upon a shelf. Their heads and dresses were covered in dust. Wasn’t the main ingredient of dust human skin? Who had told her that? Had it been Izel?

The clothes lay upon the four-poster bed. The outfit was old and must have been fashionable in the ’50s, a skirt, a blouse, gloves, and heels. But then the whole house was old, trapped in time.

Atl peeled off her dirty clothes and slipped into the bathtub, the warm water relaxing her body. She was careful to keep her injured arm outside the tub, so the bandage wouldn’t get wet. It was a small feat to wash her hair and body, and when she was done she sat in the tub staring at her arm, the place where there had been a hand. Finally she snatched a towel, rubbing her body vigorously. She drank from the tap and she swished water around her mouth until she had washed away the taste of bile.

She slipped into the blouse first. The skirt, which had a gaudy pattern of palm trees, proved to be more problematic. She could not zip it up with only one hand. She looked at her wrist, at the bandaged stump.

There was a knock.

“What?” she said, and turned around.

“Sorry. Bernardino said you might need help,” Domingo explained.

“Yes,” she said. “Come in. Zip me up.”

Domingo darted in and quickly zipped up the skirt. She stood before a full-length mirror, staring at her reflection.

“Atl, what did he do to you?” Domingo asked. “You were shaking. I thought he’d hurt you.”

“He feeds differently than I do. Bernardino absorbs life. I guess that is the best way of putting it,” she said. “He feeds from human or vampires, it doesn’t make a difference to him. He’s also capable of giving life. It took away the hunger. And it gave me strength. My clan … we call it tonalli, it’s energy.”

In the days of the Aztec Empire, warriors cut off their enemies’ heads because they thought they could steal their tonalli, that life essence that resided in the head. And this reminded her of her mother, dead, decapitated, and Atl had to sit down on the bed.

“Are you all right? You sure he didn’t hurt you?” Domingo asked.

“It was unusual and uncomfortable for me, but it’s fine even if blood is what I crave.”

If she were to sit in complete silence she was sure she might be able to feel her muscles knitting themselves, each tired cell weaving itself anew.

“He wasn’t lying, was he? It’ll grow back, right?”

“If you cut off a part of the axolotl’s brain, it’ll grow back,” she said. “It’s not that hard.”

“How long will it take?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t lost a limb before. It’s not like we had been removing arms and legs in my family, just for laughs,” she said, turning toward him and giving him a venomous look. “Izel would know. She’s dead, though. They’re all dead by now. It’s pretty damn pathetic when you think about it: I’m the one who’s still ticking.”

“I’m so—”

“God, stop apologizing!” she shouted.

He was quiet, but he extended his hand, touching her arm, squeezing her good hand.

She cried. Stupidly, like a child. Izel would not have cried, but she was not Izel. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she had not cried when they killed her mother or when they killed Izel, but somehow she was able to drown in her self-pity and cry over her stupid hand.