“Saddle your horses!” he roared to the men standing by. “We must secure the town!”
She watched him go. If she could at that moment, Carolina would have tackled her papá to the ground and boxed his ears for being so wretchedly heartless.
“Lina,” Abuelo rasped.
Carolina’s focus fell to his face. “I’m here.”
A tear snaked down his temple. His lashes fluttered.
“Don’t go,” she whispered. “Please.”
“I love you, mija.”
Carolina sobbed. “I love you, too. I love you so very much, Abuelito.”
A long exhale came from her grandfather. Carolina waited. Her gaze bore into him, begging for him to take another breath. But that inhale never came. His soul was no longer there. Carolina shut her eyes tight and said a prayer to the gods of the Land of the Dead as her family wailed to the heavens above.
“Be kind, Tecuani,” she whispered. “Grant my abuelo passage through the Forest of Souls. Be gentle, Atzin. Grant my abuelo safe travels through the River of Sorrows. Be merciful, Itzmin. Grant my abuelo sure-footedness through the Valley of Remembrances. Be gracious, Tlali. Grant my abuelo steadfastness to move through the Desert of Iniquities. Be caring, Chipahua. Grant my abuelo strength to climb the Mountain of Retributions. Be understanding, Xipil. Grant my abuelo permission to enter the gates to el Cielo.”
She saw her mother crying, her cousins, and the rest of her family that remained. She never wanted them to feel this pain again. And she knew Abuelo wouldn’t either. Death would come for them all, but not at the hands of un vampiro.
“Don’t you worry, Abuelito,” Carolina said through her tears. “I will kill every last sediento if it is the last thing I do.”
LOS CAMPOS PRESS
RENALDO ORTIZ
OCTOBER 8, 1646
WOMAN FOUND DRAINED OF BLOOD. SMALL PUEBLO PLAGUED BY FANGED BEASTS.
The quaint, desolate pueblo of Del Oro has been at the center of terrible tragedy as of late. A woman by the name of Alma Rosario¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦was found drained of her blood after being missing for some time. Local priests detected brujería as the woman awoke from her grave and attacked mourners. One trustworthy source said she had fangs like a demon.
What do you think, dear readers?
Is she a demon? A witch? Or is some other sort of devilry at play?
CHAPTER 3
Lalo
Four Weeks Later
Lalo and Fernanda had hurriedalong bumpy and desolate roads for one month and two days. It was a wonder he didn’t have a crook in his neck from checking over his shoulder constantly, searching through the kicked-up dust for anything amiss. But so far, there was no sign of Maricela or any vampiros under her dominion.
The logistics of traveling so far northwest had been a nightmare. They had to hire cocheros that didn’t mind driving their wagons hard through the night. And find carriages with thick curtains that didn’t let in the sunlight.
There was no sun in the Land of the Dead. Souls moved easiest within cool shadows and so there was no need. Because of this, Tecuani, as powerful as he was, was weakened by the fierce rays ofthe sun. So too were the monsters he helped create. Lalo had read that vampiros who had recently been turned could withstand sunlight for a brief time because some of their humanity was still intact, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience by any means.
On the fifth day of their voyage, Fernanda had stormed out of the inn they were tucked away in, itching and fuming over the bedbugs she’d found under the cot. Blaming Lalo for their misfortune, for everything bad in her life, as siblings who had to flee from vengeful vampiros sometimes did. He went after her, forgetting who and what he was, and found himself staring up at a cloudless sky. His flesh bubbled and burst with pus after mere minutes. His insides felt like they were being boiled. The pain was unspeakable. And the oozing blisters destroyed his perfectly pressed clothes.
From his research, Lalo knew he could heal himself quickly by feeding on human blood. But he refused. He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing another person’s intimate thoughts, of slithering through their memories as well as stealing away their life. So he tried his best to hunt whatever animals he could on the way—healing just took much longer. But not taking in the sustenance truly required made his skin feel clammy and his bones brittle.
“Why do you appear so miserable?” Fernanda had asked on a particularly long stretch of barren road. She sat up. “Are you still thirsty?”
Lalo rested his burning forehead on the cool windowpane. “Terribly. Wretchedly. Unbearably so.”
“But you just caught a rabbit.”
