“The Necros, they hold nothing sacred. They threaten the tlacoqualli in monequi,” the old vampire said, using a phrase the Aztec vampires employed that meant “the middling,” a balanced state.
He had a point. Many of the Necros were shunning the old traditions, discarding concepts like sanctuary or sacred ground. It made sense. The European subspecies was adaptable, perhaps even at a biological rather than just a temperamental level. As with all vampires, it was difficult to trace their origins, mostly because vampires were reluctant to discuss anything to do with themselves, but people suspected the Necros had emerged only recently, perhaps in the early Middle Ages. Perhaps they were an offshoot of the Nachzehrer. Others, however, said such rapid evolution was implausible and the Necros had most likely existed for thousands of years in an isolated corner of Europe before expanding throughout the Old Continent during the fourteenth century.
Whatever their origins, they had sharp teeth, an aversion to sunlight, superhuman agility, a voracious appetite. None of these traits were necessarily unique to their type. No. Their most notable attribute was their capacity to spread a peculiar disease. A human could be infected via sexual contact or by imbibing the vampire’s blood. The disease would kill the human, but first it would basically turn them into mindless slaves. Although several types of vampires could supposedly influence human thoughts, Necros were notorious for their ability to manipulate and use the humans they came in contact with.
Ana had once read about a protozoan called Toxoplasma that made infected mice approach cats, the parasite’s ultimate host. It seemed to her that humans who came in contact with Necros suffered a similar fate, their minds and bodies slowly disintegrating until they were nothing but empty husks. A slow, ugly death.
At least you died quickly, she thought, looking at the pictures of the butchered teenager. She rubbed her hands together and decided to have a smoke outside. Vampires, and then the Godoy clan, were no small matter. This discovery was best addressed with nicotine in her system.
Ana took the elevator down, walked a block, and bought a coffee at a cafetería that offered a cheap brew rather than fancy caramel mocha bullshit and ambient music, then sat to have a smoke in a corner. Ana patted her pockets, trying to find her matches. She suddenly remembered that she’d tossed them out. She was trying to quit, though it never took.
“Need a light?”
Ana glanced at the woman sitting at the table next to her. She was wearing a red overcoat and equally red lipstick, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The woman extended her arm and handed her a heavy black lighter. Ana lit her cigarette, took a puff, and handed the lighter back.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
Ana looked down, noticing that the woman was also wearing red high heels.
“I’m Kika,” said the woman.
“Hi.”
“You’re Ana Aguirre.”
Ana turned to look at her, frowning. The woman smiled and shifted in her seat, leaning back and taking out a cigarette of her own. Ana stood up.
“Don’t get twitchy. Finish your coffee. I’m not here to shoot you,” the woman said with a dismissive gesture.
Ana sat down slowly, her eyes fixed upon Kika.
“How do you know me?” Ana asked.
“I’ve been told you’re investigating the death of a girl.”
Ana looked to the left, toward the barista, who was checking his cell phone. She could hear the sharp sounds of each notification he received. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Still looking at the barista, she replied. “Yeah, what’s it to you?”
“They’re saying it looks like a vampire did it.”
“So?” Ana said with a shrug.
Kika mimicked her, replying with a shrug of her own. “I don’t like vampires.”
Ana’s voice lacked any emotion, it was colorless. “Who does?”
“My dislike of vampires is precisely why I’m here.”
“Oh?”
Kika changed seats, pulling a chair and joining Ana at her table. Gang member, very likely, even if she seemed to dabble in unorthodox outfits. Not that Ana wanted that to be the case, but the way this conversation was going there were few other options to consider, though movie extra from a remake of Gilda might fit the bill. She had the femme fatale aura down pat.
“Vampires in Mexico City are bad for business.”
“Whose business?” Ana asked.
“Several people,” Kika replied, looking at her manicured nails. Surprise, they were painted red.
“Vampires sometimes come here,” Ana replied.
“Not downtown they don’t.”
True enough. Maybe they ate people living at the edges of the city, in the more distant quarters. Those were odd excursions, the work of reckless, young creatures. They didn’t venture into the heart of the metropolis.
“No, not usually.”
“Have you identified the vampire who is on the loose?” Kika asked.
“Not yet,” Ana said.
“It’s Nick Godoy. He’s come down from the border zone. Some major shit went down over there and he’s chased a girl here.”