“Who?”
He scooted closer to Atl, infected with the glee of sharing something new with her. “You know, Germán Robles! He was in movies. He didn’t look like he did in the movies, he was old, ancient, but I recognized him. He’s got the same eyes, used to play a vampire. He played Karol de Lavud.”
“You talked to him?”
“No,” Domingo said. “I was pushing my shopping cart and I didn’t think they’d let me in. You know, it wouldn’t look none too good to pull a shopping cart into a coffee shop to tell him hi.”
“I suppose not.”
“I’ve always thought vampires should be like Karol de Lavud,” he said, thinking back to the small TV set, the black-and-white images late at night.
“How’s that?”
“Well … uh…,” Domingo said. “With a cape.”
Atl cocked her head a little, smirking at him. “A cape?”
“It looks cool.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Domingo shrugged. He thought the old vampire images were awesome, with the mist and stars and moonlight and the cape flapping in the wind, but he supposed Atl might have a point. After all, there was no mist in Mexico City, just smog, and you couldn’t see any stars thanks to it. It was a lot less romantic, though Atl still cut an impressive figure. Even in her undershirt and jeans, no cape in sight, there was something almost magical about her. Like she didn’t need no mist and moonlight, her sharp features and the blackness of her hair enough to freeze any mere mortal in his tracks.
He’d moved closer, but she moved closer still, her knee bumping his own.
“You like music?” he asked, glancing down, fearing he was about to blush, pretending to fiddle with his music player.
“What have you got?”
“Oh, everything,” he said. “Concrete Blonde. Bosé. Depeche Mode. It’s mostly old stuff, but, here,” he said, handing her the headphones.
Atl carefully took the headphones, as though she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them, and put them on. Domingo pressed play. She frowned, but her frown soon relaxed and he saw her tap her fingers against her knee, softly, following a rhythm.
“I should go to sleep,” she said after a while, taking off the headphones and returning them to him.
“I’m going to head back to my place,” he said, pointing toward the front door. “You know, to give you your space, like you like.”
“No,” she said, surprising him with the casualness of her tone. “You can stay. If you want. There’s the bed and there might be food. I’m not sure.” Atl headed to the bedroom, opened the closet door, and slipped in. She closed it from the inside and the dog sat outside it, giving Domingo a menacing stare.
“No, worries, Cualli,” he said in a placating tone, standing at the doorway. “I’m not going to hurt her.”
Domingo walked slowly into the bedroom and lay on the middle of the bed. He placed his hands against his chest, as though he were dead, as he’d seen vampires do in the movies when they slept. It was an uncomfortable position. He rolled on his side, put on the headphones. The music was loud and cheery, music to dance to.
He wondered if Atl might have danced with him. Not right now, not here, but maybe in another place. Maybe if she weren’t being chased by bad guys they could have gone to Quinto’s party.
CHAPTER
16
Nick switched the blood pack from one hand to the other, still unable to bring himself to open it. He’d been drinking alcohol all afternoon to keep his stomach at bay, but there was no denying it now. He needed blood and the only thing around the apartment was the blood packs in the freezer. Rodrigo and La Bola were keeping their eyes on him like hawks. There was no chance to slip out again.
God, Rodrigo. He thought himself so high and mighty, when he was nothing but a servant like all the others. One day Nick was going to be the boss. He’d show the old human … the lofty peacock who looked down at him like he was scum. It was Rodrigo who came from nowhere, had been a nothing until his dad plucked him from the shithole where he lived.
He might even bite Rodrigo, force him to drink his blood, turn him into a mindless puppet.
They said the other vampires couldn’t make slaves like that, that their blood didn’t work in this way. Atl’s kind, he’d heard, treated the whole blood-sharing thing like some sort of reverential, sacred process. Aztec bullshit about life, sacrifice, renewal.
Nick just thought it was fun to make himself a few slaves.