Maricela glared at him, a dangerous growl emanating from her throat.
He spun, trying to flee, realizing he’d made a grave mistake, but something hit him, and his back slammed against the wall. Bits of dust and plaster smattered over his hair and fell into his mouth. He coughed, but it was cut off by Maricela’s palm, pressed into his chest. Her other hand shoved his head to the side, exposing his neck.
“No,” he managed. He tried his best to fight her off, but she was like a statue, hard and unshakable. Vampiros were strongest after they drank human blood. Maricela must have had a feast because her skin was like marble.
She opened her maw.
“No,” Lalo whispered. “No. No. No!”
Sharp fangs pierced into his flesh. The sudden shock of pain clogged the scream bubbling up his throat. Just as quickly as it came, the ache dissolved away, and Lalo couldn’t feel anything from his shoulders to his toes.
Saliva,his mind screamed.Her saliva is dulling your senses.
Her teeth sank deeper, and his eyes rolled back.
Images of his life flashed before him. Holding his mother’s hand as a boy. Clapping when his baby sister took her first steps. The joy of finding a good book. The heartache of being left to his own devices as his parents gallivanted about the city, bouncing to whichever gala or ball or exhibit was hosted by the most popular socialite that week. He saw the night they died. Saw Maricela’s jaw clamping down upon his father’s throat.
Lalo watched the memories of him trying to tell the officials what he had witnessed. They laughed him off. Told him to stay away from horror novels. He saw himself in the library day and night, searching for clues about what he had seen. Then he saw himself moments ago, speaking to the woman with the out-of-fashion gown. He heard his own thoughts, contemplating how he’d slay the vampiros within the cantina.
Maricela tore away from him. Her irises blazed molten red. “You came here to kill my children. You thought you’d harm my beloveds?”
“You took my family first!” he cried. “You are draining my life force as we speak! Shouldn’tIbe the one who’s angry?”
She sneered. “I will make you pay for your insolence, Eduardo Villalobos.”
Lalo’s eyes widened. “How do you know my name?”
“Blood reveals all.” She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear. “Now that I have tasted you, I know everything. I have seen your innermost thoughts. I know your dreams and nightmares. I could go on, but I won’t because punishment awaits you. Perhaps I should start with that pretty sister of yours.”
No.He had to get away. He had to get back to Fernanda. “If you let me go,” he wheezed, “I’ll never return. I promise.”
A rumbling laugh emanated from Maricela. “You know too much. You have seen my home. My children. There must be consequences to your actions. You are a smart boy, you understand this, no?”
“Please…I cannot die.”
She brushed a nail down his cheek. “Youwilldie, Lalo. But fear not, your death won’t come tonight. I want you to suffer first. I want you to feel what I feel.”
“What? No…please…”
“We can be fiends together.” She gripped him by the hair and dragged his body into the darkness. He screamed for help; he begged for mercy. Instead, he found agony.
Lalo stumbled down the cobblestone walkway in the middle of the night. Half tripping, half running home. He dug his trembling hand into his pocket, fumbling through lint and who-knew-what before he wrapped his blood-soaked fingers around the key. He tried to disengage the lock but winced.
Everything was so excruciatingly loud.
The key scraping against the metal mechanisms within the deadbolt. The babe crying five doors down. The damn moth bumping against the lantern glass above his head. Every sound burrowed into his skull and grated against his brain.
A rodent scuttled across the road to his right, and Lalo nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Shit,” he whispered.
He rarely cursed, but he figured he was owed this vice after everything he’d just been through.
Closing his eyes, he forced his breathing to calm, his mind to stop racing. He needed to focus on one simple task: opening the door.
When he heard a soft click, he let loose a sigh. The familiar scents of his past and present kissed his senses. The tallow polishes his father used on his boots. The citrus soaps his sister loved but only because their mother loved them first. Lalo breathed in deep. He never thought he’d see home again.
He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the empty road, before shutting the door behind him. He rested his head on the cool wood. His sticky fingers splayed over the frame etched with his and Fernanda’s height measurements from a childhood that no longer seemed real. The room was blessedly dark, concealing his sins within the shadows.
