Lalo took up the shovel lying near his feet and joined her.
“May I ask you something, Carolina?” A chill swept through him. He didn’t think he’d ever said only her first name aloud before. It felt intimate, especially under the stars.
“Only if it won’t irritate me,” she said.
“I cannot guarantee that. You seem to live in a constant state of exasperation.”
“My own curse to endure.”
Lalo held back his smile. “I am curious how vampiros get past Del Oro’s barriers. It should be quite impossible.”
“Usually it’s human error. A gate left open here. A guard falling asleep there. Sometimes the leeches get creative and break through the weaker structures in the outer edges. Now I wonder if there isn’t a bit of their soul still inside them and they know all the hidden ways in. Perhaps they aren’t completely lost to the bloodlust, and some are just trying to find their way home.” She paused. “I used to think every sediento’s soul was gone the moment they turned. That they were these things whose only purpose was to kill. But you have changed my mind on the matter. I mean, look at you. How do you do it?”
“I am not special, if that is what you’re saying.”
“I wasn’t.”
Lalo snorted. “Well, just in case you were, I’ll tell you this. When I was first turned, I could think of nothing but feeding.My body physically ached inside when I didn’t. But the people in the cantina I was in had horrendous thoughts and memories, I felt more disgust than anything. Those memories still play in my mind. I imagine, though, if the people I drank from had been happy or pleasant, I might have never been awakened from that fever dream. I could see how it’d be overwhelmingly addictive if those lives were good.”
“Interesting.”
They worked in silence. Heaving the damp soil over their shoulders and grunting with exertion.
After a while, Carolina asked, “What was that quote you told my apá the night we were caught in his library?”
“What a fond memory to bring up while we’re knee-deep in a grave site.”
“May I remind you this was your idea?”
“It was from a sonnet.” He cleared his throat. “And what is a few moments when our souls have known each other since the beginning of time?It was written by—”
“Pío Parra,” she finished. “Yes, I know. But you got it wrong.”
Lalo stopped shoveling. “I beg your pardon?”
“That isn’t how the poem goes.”
“And how would you know?”
Even if he wasn’t facing her, he would be able to sense the rolling of her eyes. “I’ve read all his works,” she said.
Lalo gaped. “All? But that’s…”
“Fifty-seven booklets. Fifty-nine, counting his anthologies. I’ve read most of the greats. Reyes, Espinoza, Jiménez, Torres.”
“That’s…You’re…”
“Exaggerating?” she challenged.
“No, that wasn’t what I was going to say in the slightest.”
She paused her digging and faced him. “What were you going to say?”
“I was going to say thatyouare amazing.”
“Oh.” She smiled bashfully. “Thank you.”
“Do you have a favorite?” he asked. He’d never met someone who was more read than him in such a manner. He felt elated, despite their circumstances.
