Yeah, he vaguely remembered hearing about that, but this had happened long ago, before he was born. Besides, Domingo was more interested in the splashy vampire stories—these often involved guns, gangs, and drugs—but since he had a real vampire talking to him now he’d thought he’d ask. It was an educational moment, and his teacher had always chided him for letting such moments go by, too mesmerized by comic books to consider a dusty history fact of any value. But he wanted to know everything about her.
“How come we don’t have vampires in Mexico City, then?” Domingo asked.
“’Cause you guys are pussies,” Atl said with a shrug. “You’ll need iron pills. Anytime we drink from a human we are supposed to give them iron pills, my mother’s orders. Finish your juice.”
He took another sip.
“So, like, no type of vampire can turn a human into a vampire, ever?” he asked.
“No. Some can make you real sick and kill you if they bite you.”
Domingo stared at Atl. She snatched the glass from his hands, chuckling again.
“Not my type,” she said as she stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “But vampires are a completely different species. Homo cruentus.”
Domingo did not try to follow her. He was too tired to get up. He sat there, his back against the wall. He wiggled his fingers and felt like a hundred ants were walking up his arm.
“Homo … you’re gay?”
Atl’s laughter drifted from the kitchen. She came back with the glass of juice refilled and handed it to him.
“My species is Homo cruentus, though there are different subspecies. I suppose if you were to be really precise you might say some of us don’t qualify as members of a subspecies since you have to be able to interbreed.” She stopped, noticing his puzzled expression. “Do you know what a species and a subspecies are?”
“Not really,” he said.
“It’s like we are different types. Wolves are Canis lupus. They are a species. Dogs are Canis lupus familiaris. There’s also dingoes, which are called Canis lupus dingo. They’re two different subspecies.”
She crouched down next to him as she spoke.
He nodded. “I get it now. I wasn’t too good at science in school.”
“When did you stop going to school?”
“’Bout four years ago,” he said. “I kind of got kicked out of my home.”
“How come?”
He took a sip of juice and shrugged.
“I used to stay out a lot. I’d come home real late at night. My stepdad said if I didn’t start bringing in money and stopped hanging out with troublemakers he was going to kick me out. One night I came home and he wouldn’t let me in. He had dumped my clothes by the door, in a trash bag. That was that.”
“What did your mother say?” she asked, looking surprised.
“She didn’t really say much and I didn’t want to come back, anyway. My stepdad was always hitting me with the belt. One time he hit me with the iron and another with a frying pan.”
The belt was small potatoes. Now the iron, that one had hurt. Domingo had to get stitches.
“What about your real dad?”
“He went away a bunch of years ago. I don’t know where he is now. I’ve got two brothers and we’ve all had different dads.”
It sounded a lot worse when he said it than when he thought about it. Things just were the way they were, but judging by the way she was looking at him maybe it had been worse than he’d thought.
“Drink up,” she said, helping him tilt the glass.
Domingo downed the rest of the juice in one huge gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She took the glass from his hands.
“What’s your mom like?” he asked.
“She’s dead,” Atl said simply, turning the glass in her hands, a finger sliding along its rim.
“I’m sorry. How’d she die?”
“She died. What do you care?” she said, standing up. “The sun will be coming up soon.”
She wasn’t wearing the watch and there was no clock in the living room. Domingo didn’t know how she could tell. Maybe it was one of those vampire powers.
“I need to sleep,” Atl said.
He wanted to ask, “Can I look at your coffin?” but stopped himself in time, realizing how stupid that might sound.
“Will you do me a favor?” she asked.
“Um. Sure.”
“I need you to go look for someone today. It’s a guy. His name is Bernardino. I have his address but I haven’t been able to visit him.”
“That doesn’t sound too hard.”
“Wait.”
She moved away and returned with a small cloth bag. She reached into it and took out a single jade bead, placing it on the palm of his hand.
“Go see Bernardino and tell him that Atl, Daughter of Centehua, needs his help. I need to find someone, and only he can tell me where she is. Give him this piece of jade.”
“Who do you need to find?”
“This person,” she said.
He took the folded piece of paper in her hands and looked at it. Her handwriting was very tight and neat, not the sloppy strokes that Domingo managed when he chanced to write something. “Verónica Montealban,” said the note. Below it Atl had scribbled “Bernardino” and an address.
“Will you go? Today? This is extremely important. A matter of life or death.”
“I’ll try to go,” Domingo said. “I’m feeling a bit tired right now, but definitely, I—”
“I’m serious. This is important. You can rest for a few hours. There’s a mattress in the bedroom.”
She looked worried and he did want to help her. Domingo shuffled tentatively into the bedroom. The dog padded behind him. It was very dark.