She ran a finger over the painting.
Growing up, Carolina had been taught that Alma was the first victim, the pour soul doomed by some evil monster that happened upon their lands. But Alma had been the monster. She had rebuked el Cielo and made a deal that would unleash an unholiness upon Del Oro.
Carolina placed the portrait down and began sifting through the parchment covered in writing by her abuelo’s hand. The blade, it would seem, was found by Alma’s body. Along with a single note. Chills rippled over Carolina’s skin.
Please forgive me for what I’ve done.
I took my blade and sliced a deep gash against my palm. As my blood dripped onto Vidal’s grave, I called upon Tecuani. I was incensed! I didn’t know what I was doing. I was so desperate. So empty and lost without my Vidal. Dead after hunting, of all things.
The god of souls heard my cries and appeared when the moon was at her fullest. He offered me a deal. He said if I accepted, he would bring my lover back.
I should have said no and run. I should have gone home to baby Inigo. But what was a life without my Vidal?
I took Tecuani’s deal. Days later, Vidal rose from his grave, but he was changed. His skin was blanched of color. He was my love but not. Vidal said he must feed. He said theonly thing that would give him strength was the blood used to revive him. My blood.
I tried to quench his thirst for weeks by offering a few drops on the tongue here and there. His thirst only built.
If you are reading this, I fear, the monster inside him has finally won. And yet, even as I write this, I cannot find it in my soul to plunge my dagger into Vidal’s heart. Even though he begs of me to end his torment.
I am selfish and greedy and so very sorry. My sins against nature have brought Death to our doorstep. I have unleashed darkness. I offered what was never mine to give, and I have ruined us all.
Take this blade and do what I could not. It is the only way to end the death curse.
The paper slipped from Carolina’s grasp. It fluttered onto the bed, landing beside a slip of parchment with an entry written in her abuelo’s hand. Heart hammering, she snatched the note up.
Vidal must have turned her. I cannot say whether it was on purpose or if he was purely trying to revive his wife after draining too much blood. Either way, a Fuentes was to blame for the creation of los sedientos.
Carolina’s knees went weak, and she slumped onto the floor.
Abuelo knew the truth. He had this information, but he’d kept it hidden away. Had he known he could end all vampiros by killing Vidal? Surely not or he would have slayed him. Or at least spent his every waking moment searching for the man. Wouldn’t he?
She looked up at the portrait hanging in his room of him and her abuela.
For the first time in her life, Carolina wondered if she’d ever even truly known him.
“Why would you keep this a secret, Abuelito?” she whispered. She thought of his death, the guards’, and the countless others she’d experienced in her short lifetime. “My ancestors’ silence has made murderers of us all.”
September 13, 1830
LOS CAMPOS SOCIALITES
By Doña Larissa Cordova
A seedy cantina understandably called The Den has gone up in flames. It took three fire brigades to keep the flames from jumping to the buildings flanking the structure. I am told by credible sources many victims were inside. Two of which were notable fixtures in high society.
I cannot name names, of course, but one might take note that a certain county treasurer and his secretary are no longer among us. The real question is, why were they in such a vile place? The owner of the establishment could not be found for questioning.
CHAPTER 33
Lalo
Lalo had excused himself fromthe men and run back into his room to change and to secretly feed himself. The blood in the flask was disgustingly warm, but he guzzled down the rest of the contents, only gagging twice, before running to meet Señor Fuentes and his family in the stables. They were already gone, but Lalo was instructed where to go by a ranch hand.
He’d been given a pony. Apony,of all things. Lalo tried to brush it off. He tried to pretend that the jest was in good fun. But a damn pony! And the pint-size beast was rude as a demon. It nipped at him constantly. The creature tore the pants he wore with its flat little teeth.
Lalo squeezed the monster with his legs. It bucked but moved forward. Huffing and complaining the entire way up the hill to meet the other men who had gone ahead before Lalo even climbed onto the saddle.
Señor Fuentes blinked with confusion when he saw Lalo trot up the hill. Rafael—the wretch—laughed loud enough to frighten the coyotes in the far-off orchard.
