Certain Dark Things(87)

“I always wanted to travel places,” Domingo said, his hands tracing the contours of Brazil. “Faraway places. Not that I ever could do anything like that. And never with a girl like you.”

“A girl like me,” she repeated dryly.

She looked at Domingo and remembered what Bernardino had said. Despite his sweet smile he was human, made of fragile flesh and bones. He was meant to snap like a twig. He was meat. Nothing but meat. And she was lifting him and crowning him her companion in a twisted parody of the princess and the frog.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing her unkind stare.

“Nothing.”

“Did Bernardino say something to you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“He said something.”

Atl walked across the room, her arms crossed. A china doll on the shelf stared at her, golden curls and a mocking crimson smile.

“He’s wrong. Whatever he told you, he’s wrong.”

“Shut up,” she said, turning her back to him.

Domingo moved from the bed to stand behind her, whispering urgently in her ear. “He doesn’t know us. He doesn’t know who we are, so he’s wrong.”

“You don’t know me either,” Atl replied.

“Then tell me every single thing and I’ll learn it.”

She moved back to the bed, sitting at the foot of it and staring at the sheets. On his wrists, his neck, she’d left the faint marks of her feeding, as all vampires do. She thought he was going to leave a mark on her, as idiotic as that sounded since he had no fangs or stinger. Yet she was sure of it, that it’d be on her skin.

He was quiet, but the silence hurt more than any recrimination.

Atl sighed. She no longer had any idea what she was doing. She was drifting. It was easy to be pulled by the current, it was pleasant.

“Come here,” she said.

He stretched next to her on the bed and held her with his quiet, easy affection. She traced the bones of his arms, his rib cage. She knew the names for each of them. She listed them in her head: tibia, radius, sternum. Bones that couldn’t heal like her own, flesh that wouldn’t knit itself back together. Had Nick maimed him, had they shot him, he’d be gone in a second.

And then, that other nagging thought: bruises heal, marks fade from purple to blue to yellow, but what about the damn mark he was making right now? How do you get rid of that? Fingerprints that cannot be wiped and incisions that don’t cut muscles or tissues. How? She had no idea.

She was losing her head over a boy. But it’d be him who’d lose his head. Or them both, depending on how things went.

The thought made her feel cold.

Domingo had lain perfectly still so far, but when she dragged her knuckles against his clavicle he pushed himself up on his elbows, kissing her, dragging her down. The coldness melted away and she kissed him back. He embraced her again and they lay like that, quietly, until she fell asleep.

*

Somewhere inside the house, the dog barked. Only once. Once. Intruder. It made her jump up in bed. Her sudden movement awoke Domingo, who stirred and raised his head.

“What?”

“Quiet,” she whispered. “Put your shirt on.”

She now had two fingers and the beginning of a third. When she put on the jacket she pressed her hand against the pocket where the switchblade was nestled and took it out, handing it to Domingo.

“Grab it,” she said.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Someone’s in the house,” she said, putting on the backpack.

Domingo reluctantly took the weapon and she stepped out of the room, observing the darkened hallway. Bernardino’s room was past the staircase, but she didn’t think he was there. She could hear music playing downstairs, an old record spinning.

When they reached the ground floor, she saw them coming down the hallway. She jumped up, reaching the ceiling and dangling from it like a lizard and scuttling forward.

She looked down to see two men looking up at her in turn with puzzled expressions right before she let go and pounced on them, slashing their necks with her good arm and swiping their guns.

“They better not have hurt my dog,” she muttered.

They advanced down the hallway and some moron stepped in front of Atl, trying to pin her with more of those damn darts, but she wasn’t having any of that. She shot him smack in the chest, and then a second time, this time in the head, because she wasn’t allowing any accidents.

They were wearing infrared goggles, but she could see in the darkness, no need for fancy gadgets. She dispatched another two before one of them actually managed something smart. She was blinded by a sudden burst of UV light, the brightness making her close her eyes and roll on the ground, her skin itching all over.

“Inject her with that silver nitrate, Kika!” someone yelled.

Shit, Atl thought, and raised her hands in what was surely a futile attempt to ward them off.

“Leave her alone!” yelled Domingo.

There were two shots, the scent of blood, and she opened her eyes.





CHAPTER

36

Kika was near Atl, ready and eager to drive a massive dose of silver nitrate into the girl’s chest. Ana felt the tugging inside her head. It was a searing pain that made her groan and through the pain came the unmistakable command.