“Try again, fucker,” she said, and his focus was solely on her and she, in turn, stared straight at him.
Nick was crouching, ready to pounce on her, and she winced in preparation for the blow, but then Bernardino leaned down and placed both hands around Nick’s head. The young vampire opened his mouth, possibly to yell or try to bite the person holding him, but he didn’t manage either thing.
Nick shook, his mouth grew slack, and she watched as his eyes dimmed and sank into his head, his hair fell out, even his teeth started popping out of his mouth, the nails sliding from his fingers. He slid onto the ground, slid as though his bones had melted away.
Atl pressed an arm against her belly. When Bernardino was done feeding, Nick was nothing more than an empty carcass while Bernardino’s face appeared less wrinkled, his hair almost devoid of any gray. He was still hunched over, disturbing in his appearance, though. Certain things would not change.
Bernardino approached her and Atl recognized the dangerous glint in his eyes.
We are our hunger, she thought. Bernardino was still weakened. He needed more life. What better life than a vampire’s? This was exactly why they feared his kind, why she’d hesitated to meet him that first time, why she’d sent Domingo instead, thinking that if he was displeased, Bernardino would eat her messenger instead of herself.
Ironic.
“I won’t fight you,” she said, and stood up. “Don’t hurt Domingo, though.”
“That’s very considerate of you,” he said. “Stupid, but considerate.”
Bernardino advanced on her, placing a hand against her neck, leaning over her.
“I thought you didn’t lose your head over boys,” Bernardino told her, shrugging.
“I don’t.” Atl closed her eyes.
Instead of the drawing of life she had expected, she felt the familiar thrum of energy as he stabilized her, breathed life into her. The cut upon her stomach began stitching itself together and she let out a low hiss, snapping her eyes back open.
Bernardino staggered back, older again, his hair gone gray, and smirked at her.
“Atl? Are you okay?” she heard Domingo say.
Domingo rushed toward Atl. She felt a kiss upon her brow, then his arms around her. She raised her head and looked at Bernardino.
You did lose, Bernardino’s eyes told her.
She could not deny it. He’d warned her about this. She could smell the blood from the dead humans, Nick’s blood, her own blood.
“I’m fine,” she said, staring back at Bernardino.
She looked at Domingo. He seemed tired, but he was still like a freshly minted coin, and she knew all she’d ever be able to give him was this. The scent of blood and death. Nothing new or clean. And he wouldn’t mind.
Sacrifice. The face of all earthly things at one point is sacrifice.
“And you, Bernardino? Are you all right?” Domingo asked.
“I’m fine too.”
“I owe you,” Atl said, looking at the vampire. “I won’t forget that.”
“You have an appointment,” Bernardino told them.
She wished to thank him more, but he was already trailing back to the entrance of the landfill, walking by the shacks, sinking into the night.
They began to walk in the opposite direction.
“Where’s Cualli?” she asked.
“The woman shot him,” he said.
They were walking past the woman, her eyes open and her head at an odd angle. Dead too. Like the dog. She derived no pleasure from it and looked away, forward into the darkness.
“It’s just the two of us now,” Domingo muttered as he picked up her backpack, which she’d dropped during the fight.
CHAPTER
40
They stumbled onto the road, the sea of garbage behind them. They moved slowly. The sluggish canal they’d crossed over, full of filth, ran parallel to them. There were still no lights, just the moon, steady, illuminating their path until they reached a bridge and there finally, streetlights.
It was a long walk, eternal. They spotted a solitary convenience store among a sea of gray, square buildings. And stationed in front of the store a battered car, the windows rolled up, with Manuel at the wheel.
Atl grabbed the backpack hanging from Domingo’s shoulder and zipped it open, fiddling with the documents inside. She took out an envelope and tucked it into her jacket, then zipped the backpack closed.
“I’ve left cash in there,” she said. “There’s also IDs. In a couple of months pay a visit to Elisa and ask her for access to an account. She’ll have one for you. It’ll be my parting gift. You’ll have a good life.”
Domingo heard the words, but they were like an echo, faint, distant. The words could not be real.
“Wait, what are you saying?” he asked.
“I’m leaving you here. I go onward by myself.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head.
“You can’t. Why’d you say such a thing?” he babbled. “Why’d you joke like that?”
“I’m serious. You are going to be fine. There’s money in there and there will be more in the account.”