“Blood,” Atl said. “Drugs.”
She thought of home. The parties. They’d hire humans and then they’d drink from them. And then they’d drink tequila, bottles and bottles of tequila, and there was always a pick-me-up, some of the synthetic drugs that vampires loved and that would have fried a human’s head. Atl partied with her cousins, drove a convertible but also owned two motorcycles, kissed beautiful vampire women and punched the vampire boys who were too grabby and didn’t know how to play nice. The nights never ended and neither did the blood. Izel complained about her high tabs and her fast friends, but Atl gave her the finger. Vampires didn’t really live forever, but she felt she might, when there was still home and her clan and her unencumbered youth.
Izel, she thought. Izel, Mother, my aunts, my cousins.
Domingo leaned forward and knocked the salt over. The tiny grains rolled across the table. Atl stared at them, counting them. If she didn’t count them she was going to scream.
“… mind…”
“Sorry?” she asked finally, lifting her eyes toward him and brushing the grains of salt away.
“Do you mind if I ask for dessert?”
“Fine.”
The restaurant was nearly empty, but their server was busy chatting with the cashier. Domingo raised his arm, trying unsuccessfully to attract their attention. Normally Atl wouldn’t have wanted to attract their attention, but the sooner she got the boy his dessert, the sooner they might go home. There were certain matters they needed to discuss.
Atl decided to raise her own hand. The waitress looked at them and took out her notepad.
“Yes?” she asked.
“My brother wants dessert,” Atl said.
“Umm … can I have a banana split?” he asked.
The server jotted down the order and walked away.
Domingo looked confused. “Why did you say I’m your brother?”
“It’s an easy way to explain why we are hanging out together,” she said. Atl doubted anyone could peg her for his elder going by her looks, but her attitude was that of a woman grown, not a timid girl on a date.
“We are the same age.”
“I’m twenty-three,” Atl said.
“That’s basically the same thing.”
“It’s hardly the same thing,” Atl scoffed. “I’m a lot more mature than you.”
Domingo seemed to consider that as he wiped his face with a cloth napkin. “Do you have any real siblings? You know, back wherever you come from.”
“No,” she said, and did not volunteer Izel’s name. It lodged there, in her throat, like a thorn.
“I had two brothers,” Domingo said. “One of them was sort of nice, but the other was an asshole.”
“What happened to them? Did they die?” she asked.
“Oh, no.” The boy shook his head. “I just haven’t seen them in months. I don’t go home too often.”
The server returned, bearing a banana split. She placed it in front of Domingo. He stared at the ice cream for several minutes until Atl had to roll her eyes.
“It’s going to melt,” she pointed out.
“Yeah … I know. It’s just it’s so pretty. I don’t … um … I only see things like this in magazines.”
Domingo lifted a spoon and carefully began to eat. Atl felt funny, looking at him. There was plenty of food to go around back home and Atl never wondered where her next meal would come from. But it came from kids like this. Kids who stared at a cherry like it was a ruby, like a banana in a glass dish was an exciting new discovery.
“You don’t want any?” he asked.
“I’d vomit all night long,” Atl said.
“Okay,” Domingo said. He kept eating merrily.
*
The bare lightbulb of her apartment created stark planes of light and shadow. It reminded her of a German expressionist movie she’d once seen, a scene in which a murderer runs across the rooftops. Atl peeled off her jacket and looked over her shoulder at Domingo, who was staring at the dog.
“Oh, fine,” she said. “Cualli, sit.”
The dog sat obediently.
“You can pet him,” she said.
Domingo hurried forward, rubbing the dog’s head while Cualli endured the caresses with stoic indifference.
“It’s a very nice dog,” he said.
“I know.”
Dobermans were supposed to be smaller than Cualli, but she’d always wanted a big dog, even if Izel said that the tiny Xoloescuincle was the breed the Aztecs owned. In their mythology, it accompanied humans in the journey to the underworld. Atl sulked and kept a Xoloescuincle when she was small, but eventually that dog died and Atl became a teenager. She asked for a Doberman, a large one. Izel called her dog the Beast for this reason, but Atl called him Cualli, which meant “good.”
Domingo scratched the dog’s ears and Cualli groaned with delight.
“Are you hungry?” Domingo asked her.
“Maybe,” she admitted.
“You can have some of my blood. I don’t mind.”
Atl pressed a hand against her chest, pausing and carefully considering her options. “Domingo, would you like it if we were friends?”
“For real?”
“Yes. But being my friend is a bit different.”