“Look, I don’t really—”
“Haven’t had her yet? The young vampires, they have less taboos than the old farts. And I see that look in your eyes. You want the girl. I can tell, oh, I can tell.” The old man laughed, showing him a gap-toothed grin.
Domingo felt himself flushing, mortified by the very thought of admitting such a thing to the old man. “What’s with the dolls and toys?” Domingo asked, wishing to change the subject as quickly as possible.
“They guard me, help me keep the ghosts away,” Manuel said. “They got their eyes wide open, so nothing will dare sneak into this house.”
“You really think there are ghosts?”
“There are ghosts. I killed a lot of people. That’s a lot of ghosts. Lots of ghosts. It’s the price of hanging out with their kind. Yeah, it’s the price,” the man said. “Killed for her yet?”
“No.”
“You will,” Manuel said. “What? You don’t want to? Sure you want to. Kill and fuck, kill and fuck. All the same for them. The same for us all, eventually.”
Domingo grabbed the plastic San Judas Tadeo, gently tracing the contours of its robe, trying hard to ignore the man’s laughter.
CHAPTER
32
Atl rested her back against the cool bathroom tiles and sighed. Bernardino looked down at her, frowning.
“The boy was right. You are weak.”
She hated the way he said it, as an indictment. “I’m okay,” Atl muttered, uncomfortable.
“No, you’re not,” Bernardino replied. “I will assist you.”
He pressed a hand against her neck and hovered close. His breath was scalding and again she had the distinct sensation that a noxious substance was burning through her body, as though he’d injected acid into her veins.
The sensation died away and Atl shook her head, flexed her hand. She was restored, filled to the brim. For his part, Bernardino seemed suddenly older, with more streaks of silver in his hair.
“It’ll be the last time you can expect that,” he said very seriously.
“I understand.” She could feel the very fibers of her body trembling and rearranging themselves, healing faster. But it wasn’t quite right. She wanted blood just as a smoker might crave a cigarette instead of a nicotine patch. Even if Bernardino nourished Atl, the blood called for her. It was inevitable.
Atl opened the bathroom door and they stepped out.
*
The cool air was very welcome, as was the soft drizzle that fell upon them. They were walking fast and Domingo had a bit of trouble keeping up with them, but Atl didn’t slow down.
When they reached the house, she went quickly up the stairs, ignoring Cualli, who was waiting by the front door. Domingo followed her, intent on becoming her shadow. Once they reached her room, she slammed the door shut and glared at him, lighting the lantern. For his use. She wouldn’t have bothered with it.
“Atl?”
“What was that?” she asked.
“What was what?” Domingo said, giving her a blank look.
“You telling Bernardino I was too damn weak to go to La Merced. Interfering.”
“I wasn’t … you are weak,” he protested. “Bernardino can do his hocus-pocus life energy thing, but that doesn’t mean you’ve healed.”
“I’m not interested in broadcasting my current state to the entire world.”
“It’s not that hard to see.”
“Of course not. Not if you yell it.”
Domingo bit his lip, looking stung. Not angry. Just deflated. It was irritating watching him fold onto himself, like a piece of origami.
“He’s not my kin,” Atl said. “You can only trust your kin.”
“I thought you could trust me. I wouldn’t let you down. And aren’t you trusting Bernardino right now?”
She turned away from him. It was too difficult to explain to Domingo the intricacies of family and clans, of blood ties that bind, and she did not feel she had enough patience to begin to map it out for him.
“I’m trying to help you,” he said, all youthful vehemence.
“Yes. I know. You’re always trying to help me,” she replied, wishing her voice were not so brittle.
“Why is that so bad?”
“You have no idea what it feels like to suddenly be completely dependent, completely helpless,” she whispered. She grabbed the change of clothes that was waiting for her on the bed and held it up for him to see.
“I can’t even change out of my clothes without your help,” she said unkindly, though he was guilty of nothing but kindness.
Atl tossed the clothes on the floor, wanting very much to tear them to pieces. She kicked them away instead. “I hate needing you,” she said. “That’s what it is. I fucking hate it.”
“I need you, too,” he said.
Atl slowly raised her head and scoffed at him, at the earnest quality of his voice. The way he cringed at her anger, the wounded look washing over him, they were almost infectious.
“It’s not the same thing,” she replied.
“Yeah. I know,” he said, and for once his voice held a different note, hurt, yes, but also something decisive.