“It’s vampire-free territory in Mexico City,” he mumbled.
How’d she gotten in the city? Sanitation should have nabbed her. Those Apostles of Health who were supposed to stop whatever new disease was going around, but who didn’t do jack shit except harass people in the poor neighborhoods. What was it Quinto had said? Something about how the human species was self-destructing at a bacteriological level but sanitation in Mexico was too busy fining people to care. But they would have noticed her, wouldn’t they? And if not them, then the cops.
Maybe she wasn’t a vampire. Could just be a wealthy, crazy girl playing dress-up. But he didn’t think so. He felt he was staring at the real thing.
“I know,” she said, scribbling a number on the pad of paper and holding it up for him to see. “How would you like to not have to work for a whole month?”
Domingo leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
“That’s more like five for me,” he said.
He should have been more worried. He wasn’t sure if vampires really did have mind powers or if he’d simply been lulled into a sense of comfort by the woman’s appearance; either way, he didn’t feel scared. He felt a bit giddy and nervous, but there was none of the true fear that should punctuate this moment. It was a good moment, like that time when he found a new pair of fancy sneakers in a trash bin, box and all.
Atl nodded. “I need young blood. You’ll do.”
“Wait. I’m not going to turn into a vampire, am I?” he asked, because you can never be too sure—and he wasn’t sure of anything. Vampire comic books and shit, they contradicted themselves.
“No,” she said, sounding affronted. “We are born like this.”
“Cool.”
The kettle whistled. Atl removed it from the burner and poured hot water into the two cups. She placed the tea bags in the cups and offered one to him, pointing to the sugar.
“Help yourself.”
He grabbed a sugar cube. She tossed six into her cup. Atl’s spoon rattled against the cup’s sides as she stirred.
Vampire. Like in Crypt of Darkness. Something both strange and awesome and intimidating. She was pretty. She had money. She was cool. He didn’t hang out with cool people. He didn’t hang out with much of anyone.
Domingo placed his hands around the cup and took a sip.
“It won’t hurt much. What do you think?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I mean, do I still get to … you know … sleep with you?”
She let out a sigh and shook her head.
“No, and don’t try anything. Cualli will bite your leg off if you do.”
Domingo took another sip. He was disappointed. But then he wondered if he might not get a small kiss as a token of affection. A tiny smile. A brief hug. Any of those things would make him happy. Disappointment turned to hope. And there was, of course, the money. “How do we do this?” Domingo asked, setting down his cup.
Atl removed her gloves. Her fingers were long and beautiful. But the nails were sharp and black. It was not nail polish. These were her natural nails. These were a bird’s talons.
She raised those long hands and placed them on either side of his face. Domingo thought his previous idea about vampire powers might have been right, because he didn’t flinch. He just stared at her as her hair turned into feathers and her hands seemed to grow more talonlike.
She craned her neck.
“Don’t worry, this won’t take long,” she said. “And don’t move.”
Atl was part bird of prey, yet he did not move a muscle. She leaned down; her lips brushed his neck. It did not hurt … much. It was a quick stab of pain that burned down his neck and through his body. He did try to move as the pain slowly seemed to wake up a part of his brain that had been shut down, but it was too late. She held him in place, her strong, wicked talons digging into his shoulders.
It became enjoyable rather quickly. One minute he was flinching and the next there was a slow, sweet wave that dragged him down. It wasn’t like drinking booze or sniffing paint thinner, though he had tried both and discarded them as useless pursuits. It was a haze. The kind of haze you experience when your eyes are heavy and you are about to fall asleep, where your limbs feel tired, your whole body is weighed down, and there is this soft, pleasant sensation as you surrender to exhaustion.
Domingo closed his eyes. Geometrical patterns exploded behind his eyelids, shifting from yellow to orange to crimson until they turned black and there was nothing but a heavy, inky blackness around him.
He felt his knees buckle. The velvet darkness cushioned him. It held him tight in its embrace. He felt himself sliding down and the darkness helped him, sliding down with him.
He lay in this velvet blackness for a while before drifting into a dream.
Domingo awoke with a blanket against his cheek. He raised his head. He was still in Atl’s kitchen, on the floor, and the blanket was wrapped snug around him.
Atl was leaning against the refrigerator. She had her cup pressed against her lips. Her eyes were closed.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Don’t try to stand up yet or you might vomit. I’ll help you in a few minutes,” she said.
Domingo touched his neck. He felt a bump, but it didn’t seem like a big wound. Good. He’d half-feared she’d torn a chunk of flesh off when she first bit him … or whatever she did. He felt light-headed and his extremities were jumbled. He waited quietly, not knowing if he was allowed to speak.
“My legs feel funny,” he said at last. “It’s like they’ve fallen asleep.”
“Mmm. Think of it as an anesthetic.”
“Is it gonna hurt later?”
“No. Your neck might itch a bit, but that will pass in a day or two. It’s like a mosquito bite.”
“Do you always do that?” he asked.
“What?” she replied.
“Do you change?”
Atl opened her eyes and nodded. She took out a container with orange juice from the refrigerator. She filled a glass with the juice.
“You can’t tell anyone. You understand?”
“I wouldn’t,” he said.
“Because I’d hurt you if you did,” she said.
Her voice held no obvious threat, but he knew she meant it. It was in her face, which had no blunt edges. A smart man might have been intimidated. He was curious.
“Do you think you can stand up?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She reached into a cupboard and grabbed a plastic box, pulling out a handful of pills, which she dumped over the kitchen table. Then she turned to him and lifted him up with such ease—as though he were a rag doll—that it made him gasp.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“You need to eat well. You need to drink foods rich in iron. I also have a few iron supplement pills for you. If you drink them with orange juice they’ll be more effective.”
She walked him to the table. Domingo had to lean against her. His hands trembled, but he managed to pop the pills into his mouth. He drank the whole glass of juice.
They stood together, Atl propping him up, for what seemed like a long while. The feeling had returned to his legs and the slight light-headedness that was plaguing him had vanished.