The Devil’s Mouth

By Matt Kincade

Copyright © 2016 by Matt Kincade

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Edited by Angela Brown

Cover design by Jake Clark

Formatting by Polgarus Studio

Also by Matt Kincade:

We Only Come Out At Night

Keep up with Matt:

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

About the author

Acknowledgments:

Special thanks to Angela Brown, whose eagle-eyed editing and gentle critiques helped me to no end. Any and all mistakes in the following manuscript are my fault, and are probably there because I ignored her advice. Thank you to Jake Clark for the awesome cover, and for putting up with my nit-picking. Great big thank-yous to Briana and Peter, my loyal beta readers, as well as Patty for her support and help with the Spanish language.

“Life isn’t divided into genres. It’s a horrifying, romantic, tragic, comical, science-fiction cowboy detective novel … with a bit of pornography if you’re lucky.”

-Alan Moore

Prologue

They huddled in the dark like hunted animals, more than a dozen of them, enduring the bitter cold of a summer night in the high desert. They carried backpacks, paper shopping bags, garbage sacks, gallon jugs of water. They wore blue jeans and battered sneakers, hooded sweatshirts and hand-me-down jackets.

Mia sat on the rocky ground, clutching her backpack between her knees. Strangers sat to her left and right. Her hood was cinched tightly around her face, revealing only deep-brown eyes and a finely sculpted nose. She combed back an errant wisp of black hair with her finger then jammed her hands back into the warmth of her armpits.

She sat there with the rest of them, waiting for the border-patrol truck to leave.

The man next to her leaned in and said, “Hola. You speak English?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Bueno. Will you practice English with me?” She looked at him and saw he was about her age, seventeen at the oldest. He had a round face and an unkempt mop of black hair, and his skin was deep brown. He held a dog-eared Spanish-English dictionary. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. “My name is José.”

“I’m Mia,” she said. She briefly grasped his hand and found it warm and soft. She smiled again.

“Are you here alone? Where is tu familia—your family?”

“The only family I have left is in America.”

“Your English is very good.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you… what is the word? Emocionado? For…for go to America?”

“Excited?” She shrugged. “Yes. More scared. But excited, too.”

The wall was a line in the darkness, a twenty-foot-high scab of rusting corrugated steel segregating northern Mexico from southern New Mexico. A hundred feet north, the Chihuahuan Desert became American soil.

Crouched among the low desert scrub, the immigrants couldn’t see the border-patrol truck as it bounced along the dirt road on the American side of the wall, but they saw the glow of the headlights and heard the engine growl. They waited patiently, and finally the headlights receded and disappeared. The night was again complete.

The coyote, the smuggler, stood up. His face was lined and weathered, pocked with acne scars. His mouth was unreadable under his mustache. He stood still for a moment, watching and listening. Finally he waved his hand and whispered, “Ahora. Andale.” He gestured the group to their feet. They shuffled single file down a low, sandy slope to the wall.

The coyote reached a spot on the wall. After a moment of searching with his flashlight, he pried up a section of the corrugated steel. He gestured toward the tiny triangular hole in the border fence. One by one, they knelt and crawled on their hands and knees to America.

The coyote stared at Mia as she wriggled through the tiny opening. She suppressed a shudder. Standing up on the other side of the wall, she brushed the dirt from her jeans as she looked around at the star-filled sky. America.

The coyote came through last. He stood, straightened his cowboy hat, looked around, and motioned them forward.

They walked north in the darkness for twenty minutes. When they reached a predetermined spot, the coyote motioned them to stop. They waited expectantly. Mia jammed her hands in her armpits again and stamped her feet to ward off the cold.

The coyote turned his flashlight on, off, on, off. In response, headlights appeared in the darkness.

It was a white delivery van, a truck cab attached to a boxy cargo bed with a roll-up door, the kind of thing that delivered produce or furniture. It sat idling, parked along a dirt track road in the middle of the desert. The group headed down a rocky slope and across a narrow wash to reach the waiting truck.

The coyote counted heads. Satisfied, he motioned to the truck. The driver climbed out of the cab and looked over the crowd. His skin was pale in the headlights, and a jagged scar ran from his hairline to his chin. He looked Mia up and down. For the second time that night, she felt the gut-crawling sensation of being evaluated like a cut of meat.

“Everybody in the truck,” said the driver, with the fainest hint of a Spanish accent.

The immigrants threw their packs up onto the waist-high loading gate before climbing up. They settled in, sitting with their backs against the wall of the cargo bed. Mia’s new friend José made a step with his hands and helped her up. She put her hand on his head for support and fleetingly felt his clean, silky hair tickling her palm. She turned around to help him up.

“Not you,” said the driver.

José turned around. “Why?”

“Because I’m hungry.” He grabbed the boy by his silky black hair and wrenched his head back.

The boy yelled in protest, more anger than fear. His throat arched upward. He fought, but he was powerless against the driver’s arms; it was like fighting a pneumatic press. The driver opened his mouth to reveal knife-like canine teeth. He leaned down and tore into the boy’s neck.

Blood sprayed in the red glow of the truck’s taillights.

Mia screamed. The immigrants in the truck came awake like a frightened herd, crying out in fear and outrage.

The coyote pulled a pistol. “Everybody stay put.”

The sound of the driver’s rhythmic swallowing seemed impossibly loud. The boy struggled like a fish on a harpoon, less and less as his life drained away. He breathed his last breath with his eyes wide open, staring at Mia.

She stared back in horror.

Finished with his meal, the driver dropped the corpse at his feet. He grinned crazily, blood dripping from his teeth, riming his mouth like smeared lipstick and coating his chin. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. “Some merchandise always falls off the truck,” he said matter-of-factly.

While the coyote continued to cover the prisoners with his pistol, the driver reached up and grabbed the rope pull on the cargo door. Before the door rolled shut, he smiled one more time, deliberately showing his bloody, needle-sharp fangs.

“Bienvenidos a América.”

He slammed the door shut.

Chapter One

You couldn’t see him, but he was there.

Alex Rains lay among the scrub brush on a low, sandy ridge, in the middle of the southern New Mexico desert. He wore a sniper’s head-to-toe camouflage suit, adorned with shreds of burlap and bits of leaves. Viewed from five feet away he was invisible, vanishing completely into the surrounding mesquite and tumbleweed.

White clouds churned through the blue sky above him, intermittently blotting out the afternoon sun. The wind over the landscape made a low, constant hiss.

With a hunter’s patience, he raised his binoculars to his eyes and focused on the house.

It was a modest prefab home, plopped down in the middle of nowhere, devoid of landscaping or any other trappings of habitation. A large metal outbuilding and a black sedan were the only other signs of humanity. A dirt driveway trailed off toward the horizon.

Nothing moved. The curtains were drawn shut, the house silent. Alex lowered the binoculars from his eyes and wiped the sweat from his brow. He made a brief notation in a battered notebook and raised the binoculars again.

In the distance he heard a car engine, a low growl. He refocused the binoculars on a yellow muscle car as it tore up the dirt driveway. A rooster tail of dust rose in its wake. Alex wrote in his notebook, 3:35 p.m. Woman arrives in yellow 1966 Pontiac GTO.

He watched as the car skidded to a stop next to the house. The car door opened. A black haired, dark-skinned woman stepped out of the car. “Well, goddamn, look at you,” whispered Alex, with an almost comical cowboy drawl. He smirked as he adjusted the focus of the binoculars. “Ain’t you about hotter’n a two-dollar pistol.”

She wore jeans and a black T-shirt. A rope of onyx hair fell down her back. As she glanced out over the desert, Alex caught a glimpse of her face. She was a harsh beauty, angular as a hatchet, the color of chocolate. Beneath a broad, flat nose, her full lips were set into a determined line. She scanned the desert with dark eyes, squinting against the sun, then turned back toward the house.

She drew a pistol from her waistband, pulled back the slide, and approached the house.

“Darlin’, just what in the hell are you up to?”

Through the binoculars, he watched her storm up to the front door of the house. She banged on it with the flat of her hand. The muted thump reached Alex’s ears with a half-second delay.

The door opened. Alex couldn’t see who was inside, but they admitted the black-haired woman. The door shut behind her.

He panned the binoculars across the windows of the little house, seeing only closed curtains. Seconds ticked by.

A gunshot rang out. Then four more in quick succession. Then a scream.

“Ah, goddamn it,” Alex said. He lay, frozen in indecision. He scowled and ran a hand over his clean-shaved chin.

Another scream, long and wrenching, trailing off into a moan of pure despair.

“Shit. Goddamn it.” He paused for another second. “Shit.” He stood up and pulled off the camouflaged suit. Underneath he wore blue jeans and a blue Hawaiian shirt, patterned with white palm trees, unbuttoned over a white tank top.

A short sprint brought him to a shallow valley, hiding a Ford Bronco so sun-bleached and rusted it could have originally been any color. He fell into the driver’s seat and turned the key. At the same time, he reached over to the passenger’s seat for his battered white cowboy hat, which he jammed onto his head. The engine started, and he gunned the throttle. The Bronco crashed over the low dunes and tore a path through the brush.

Alex skidded the truck to a stop next to the yellow Pontiac and jumped out amid a cloud of dust and grit. From the backseat, he grabbed a katana in a black lacquered scabbard and tucked it into a specially made leather loop on his belt. He snatched up a short-barreled pump shotgun and dashed to the house.

It was eerily quiet inside. Alex pressed his back against the siding next to the doorway. He took three quick breaths and turned to face the door.

He angled the shotgun’s barrel toward the doorknob and pulled the trigger. The shotgun roared, and the latch disintegrated. He kicked the ruined door aside and brought up the gun as he shouldered his way through the door.

The house was dark, lit only by the daylight spilling through the open door and the glow escaping from around the drawn curtains.

The woman lay curled on the floor with her hands cuffed behind her back. The vampire was hunched over her in the middle of the living room, as if kissing her on the neck. A coffee table sat upended. A pistol lay among the glossy magazines sprawled across the floor.

The vampire was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only sweatpants. He raised his head to reveal the jagged scar that ran the length of his face. He bared his bloody teeth.

Blood spurted rhythmically from the girl’s neck. She lay motionless on the floor, her hair arranged around her head like a glossy black halo.

The hunter fired. The vampire dove for cover behind the couch while buckshot hummed above his head. Alex put two shots through the couch as he circled. White stuffing exploded into the air.

The vampire kicked the couch, which skidded across the hardwood floor and caught Alex in the shins. He grunted and tumbled forward onto the cushions. The shotgun flew from his hands.

In the same instant, the vampire leapt to his feet and snatched up the shotgun. He grinned like a snarling dog, blood drizzling from his chin.

Alex rolled off the couch as hot lead zinged by his cheek. He hit the floor and drew a chrome plated .45 automatic from the small of his back.

The vampire rounded the couch.

Alex fired from the floor. The big .45 crashed and the vampire’s right shoulder exploded in a haze of blood and bone. He screamed in agony, dropping the shotgun. Alex put another bullet through the vampire’s knee. The creature snarled more than screamed, and toppled to the floor. Alex rolled to his feet and blew out the other knee, followed by the vampire’s left shoulder.

Splayed out, the vampire wriggled across the floor, painting broad stripes of blood on the hardwood. Alex stepped forward and planted a dusty snakeskin cowboy boot in the small of the vampire’s back.

He heard a wheeze, the faintest of noises. He turned.

The woman stared at him.

Too weak to lift her head, she gazed up through half-lidded eyes. Blood pumped from the tear in her neck. Alex looked from the vampire, to her, then to the vampire again. He tossed his pistol onto the couch and drew his katana. Three feet of Japanese steel, polished to a liquid sheen, rose above his head.

“Fuck you!” growled the thing on the floor.

In response, Alex let the blade fall. His expression never changed. The vampire’s head thumped on the floor and rolled until it came to rest against the wall. The headless body twitched while a small lake of blood spread beneath the severed neck.

The silence seemed unreal, anticlimactic. A haze of gunpowder smoke drifted through columns of sunlight, carved out by the bullet holes in the wall.

Alex sheathed the sword. In an instant he was at the woman’s side. He set the .45 down on the floor next to her. “Easy now, darlin’. It’s all right,” he whispered, flashing a reassuring smile. With a magician’s flourish, he produced a handcuff key seemingly from thin air and unlocked the cuffs.

He stripped off his Hawaiian shirt, bunched it up, and pressed it against the gash in her neck. “You just hold that there, okay sugar? I’ll be back in a hot second.” He stood and sprinted outside. In a moment he returned with an olive-green canvas medic’s kit. He slapped a packet of QuikClot against her neck and covered it with gauze, then taped it down. He started an IV drip in her arm. “Don’t you worry. You’re gonna be just fine.” When he turned back to the first-aid kit, the handcuffs caught his eye. “Kinda weird this guy havin’ handcuffs just layin’ around.”

“They’re mine,” he heard the woman say. When he turned his head, he saw his own gun pointing at his face. “Police,” she said. “Don’t fucking move.”

“Well”—Alex chuckled as he raised his hands—“ain’t that a pisser?”

Chapter Two

“Turn around,” said the woman. Her voice was harsh but smooth, without a trace of an accent. Her dark eyes flashed angrily, and the black hair fell in her face.

“Whatever you say, darlin,’” he said. “I’m just tryin’ to help. You just lost a heap of blood. They’re thirsty buggers.”

“They?”

“Aw, shit. You know. Vampires.”

“Bullshit.”

Over his shoulder, Alex said, “Honey, why else would that man wanna drink your blood?”

“Because he was a sick fuck?”

“Ain’t no denying that. He was sick all right. Guess I cured him, though.”

“You cut off his head.”

“Cured him, didn’t it? Nothin’ else does the trick. ’Cept fire or sunlight. I tell you what. Let’s drag him out into the sunlight, and if he bursts into flames, well, then you owe me a Coke.”

“Shut up. Put your hands behind your head.”

Alex laughed. “So, what’s a nice girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

“I said shut up. Put your hands behind—” The woman sat up and tried to stand. Bad idea. Her vision spotted, and she stumbled. The gun wavered.

Alex pounced. In one smooth motion, he grabbed the gun and scooped up the woman, depositing her gently back on the floor. He picked up one of the far-flung pillows from the couch and slid it under her head.

“Now just hold on,” Alex told her. “Like I said, you’re in rough shape. You lost a heap of blood, and that ain’t no joke. You keep fussin’, you’re gonna pull out that IV. Now I swear I’m just here to help, okay? What’s your name?”

The woman had no strength left to resist. She sighed. “Carmen.”

Alex grinned lopsidedly. “Well, ain’t that pretty. I’m Alex. You just rest easy now.”

“Don’t you even fucking…” her eyelids fluttered and her voice trailed away as her head fell back onto the pillow. Alex checked her pulse, set the IV bag on the couch, and went exploring.

A few minutes later, he returned with a laptop, a cell phone, a stack of paperwork, and a paper bag with $23,000 in cash. He left them all in a pile by the door.

Alex gently picked Carmen up in his arms.

She came to as he carried her toward the door. He was a blur, more of an impression. Lean, lanky. Whip thin. Despite that, she felt the strength in his arms as he effortlessly carried her out of the house. He maneuvered her through the doorway, and sunlight exploded into her eyes. The desert heat enveloped her. It was a feeling of movement, a gentle rocking as he carried her…somewhere. She heard a car door, felt hot vinyl against her legs.

“Just you rest easy,” Alex said. “I’ll be back in a tick.”

He was gone. Carmen fought to stay conscious. She shook her head to clear it and looked around. She was in the passenger seat of her Pontiac. Faded plastic dashboard. Analog gauges. An IV bag hanging from the passenger-side roof handle. A black backpack slumped at her feet. She leaned down, unzipped the back pocket, and grabbed her cell phone.

Carmen heard a noise: a hungry, engulfing sound. She looked up and over and saw flames churning from the eaves of the house. She watched for a second then looked back down at the cell. She tried to dial. No signal.

“Woman!” Alex opened the car door and snatched the phone from her hands. “I’m savin’ your life here. Could you just work with me for one gol-damned second?” He put the phone in his back pocket.

Alex tossed a duffel bag into the back. Carmen heard the trunk open then slam shut. He slid into the driver’s seat and handed her a bottle of Gatorade. “Do yourself a favor and get some fluids in your system, instead of devoting all your energy to my undoing.” He turned the key, and the engine growled to life. The Pontiac roared and fishtailed away when he dropped the clutch. “This car’s got some legs, don’t it? She still got the stock 389?” Carmen didn’t respond. Alex shrugged and smiled wryly.

They drove in silence. After a few minutes, Carmen cracked the seal on the Gatorade and drank. She leaned her head against the window glass, watching the desert scroll past outside. “What now?” she said.

“Up to you, I guess,” answered Alex. He glanced at her before returning his eyes to the dusty desert road. “Way I see it, there’s a couple options. I could take you home, wherever that might be. But I’m gonna be honest—you’re in pretty bad shape. Best thing would be to get you to a hospital. But then they’d likely be askin’ you all manner of awkward questions about what happened to your neck. Or you could hole up at my place and get some rest, and I can get a friend of mine to take a look at that bite.”

Carmen hesitated. “Aw, for Pete’s sake,” Alex said, “If I meant you any harm, don’t you think I’d have done it by now?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because it’s perfectly obvious that you’re such a harmless guy.”

“Oh, you mean what I did back there? That was just business. And hell, you might just want to think about where you’d be now if I hadn’t done what I done.”

Carmen didn’t respond. She crossed her arms and leaned against the door, avoiding his eyes.

“You’re one powerful stubborn woman, you know that? You need rest, and you need that bite taken care of, and a hospital don’t know how to do that. A vampire bite is a mean mother, and they don’t cover that in no Harvard Med School.”

He glanced at her again. She was slumped against the passenger door. “Hey, you still with me?” He tapped her on the shoulder. She didn’t respond.

His lips set in a tight line, he pushed the accelerator down to the floor as he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Hey, darlin’, it’s me,” he said. “I’m gonna need your help. Naw, it’s not me this time. Civilian. She got bit. She’s right on the edge. All right. I’ll see what I can do for her. Get there as soon as you can.”

Late-afternoon thunderheads rolled in over the horizon, an ominous gray, blotting out the sun. A dark line of shadow crept across the landscape. “Aw, shit,” said Alex, “not now. Can I just get a little goddamned sunshine?”

***

When Carmen finally woke, it was dark outside. She was lying on a couch in an unfamiliar room. She felt wet and hot… but somehow shivering cold. She sat up.

Alex was there. “Easy now, darlin’. Just lay back down. You got a real mean fever. And that bite ain’t lookin’ good. They can go either way, and looks like yours went the bad way. What it really needs is some sunlight, but we won’t get none of that for a good eight hours, so you gotta hang on until then. You allergic to any antibiotics?” Carmen shook her head. “That’s real good to hear. I got some sulfa here. Won’t stop the vampirellae, but it’ll help kill any other infection you might get when a fella bites you on the neck.” Carmen put the pills in her mouth. He handed her a glass of water, and she washed them down.

She finished the glass and fell back into a fitful sleep.

Were they dreams or real? Was she awake or asleep? Fantasy blended and warped into reality. She thought Alex was standing over her, wiping her burning brow with a wet cloth, squeezing her hand. She dreamed she had swallowed a spider, and it wanted to eat its way out of her. She felt it crawling around on the inside. And he was there again, tucking her sweat-soaked hair behind her ear with a calloused finger, telling her to hold on. Telling her to live.

Chapter Three

Carmen woke with a start. She experienced a moment of disoriented panic before remembering where she was. She sat up and looked around as the memories came trickling back. She was still on the couch, with a rough army-surplus wool blanket covering her. The room was nearly bare, with just the couch she lay on, a thrift-store coffee table, a few folding chairs, a TV on a TV stand, and a handful of generic prints on the walls.

The first hint of dawn peeked through the blinds. She stood unsteadily, but better than the day before. The fever seemed to have broken during the night. She touched the bandage on her neck and hissed in pain. Unless she touched it, it was a low, constant ache. She realized she was wearing the same clothes, caked with dirt, sweat, and blood. She grimaced.

Carmen wandered barefoot toward the light, through the Spartan living room, and into the kitchen. The only sign of habitation seemed to be a coffee machine and a forest of empty beer bottles. From the kitchen a sliding glass door led to a broad wooden deck, furnished with a cheap white plastic patio set covered in a layer of grime. She stood in the open doorway and looked out.

The sky was gray predawn, the sun still tucked behind the hills. The house sat in a shallow valley, closing off the view on two sides. A distant mountain range loomed in the east. Birch and cottonwood trees dotted the property. Beyond the deck was a rough but green lawn; past that stood a large garage.

Alex was out on the lawn, barefoot, wearing loose fitting cargo pants and a white T-shirt, practicing some sort of martial art. His back was turned.

Carmen stood in the doorway, watching him, her mind working furiously.

Her car keys were sitting on the kitchen table. She snatched them up.

After one last glance at Alex, she hurried to the front door, put her hand on the doorknob—and stopped.

Her hand dropped away from the knob. She paused, sighed, and turned around again.

She set the car keys back where she found them. After a moment, she went through the back door and stepped barefoot across the deck. She sat down on the top stair.

His movements were fluid, hypnotic, a dance in slow motion, like seaweed in an ocean current. Without the hat, she could see he was only a few years older than her, perhaps in his early thirties. His tanned face was strong and angular, yet somehow boyish, despite the first hints of smile lines at the corners of his blue eyes. His hair was brown fading to blonde, cut short but badly in need of a trim. She couldn’t help but notice his lean build and the compact muscle that stood out on his arms.

He finished his form and bowed toward the rising sun, then turned and saw her. “‘Morning,” he said. “How you feeling?”

She considered the question for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m alive.”

Alex gave her a measured look. “How’s the fever?”

“Better.” She noticed his tension, how he never went as far as to take his eyes off her.

“You’re just in time to enjoy the sunrise,” he said. “You want breakfast?”

She ran a hand through her greasy hair. “Not really hungry. I’d love a shower, though.”

Alex hesitated. “I’d imagine. Think you’d better wait until we get your neck taken care of. Shouldn’t be much longer. How ’bout some coffee in the meantime?”

Carmen nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take some coffee.”

“I’ll bring it out.”

She sat there, vaguely aware of him watching her from the kitchen window. She looked out over the horizon to the east. The sun brimmed on the low hills and finally spilled over, spreading pink light across the yard. Carmen closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth on her face.

Inside, Alex watched from the kitchen window as the morning sun reached her. He saw her stretch her arms and enjoy the heat. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, and put his pistol back in its holster. While he filled the coffee pot with water from the sink, he watched her lean forward and pull her knees up close to her chest. She moved with a lithe, casual ease, and the contours of her back were visible through the thin black T-shirt. After a long moment, Alex blinked and looked down. The coffeepot was overfull, water spilling back down the drain. He laughed, poured out the excess water, and started the coffee. Then he took out his phone and dialed a number. “Yeah, she’s clean,” he said. “Come on over.” He hung up the phone and opened the window. He yelled, “Sugar?”

She scowled. “Look, I’m not your sugar. My name’s Carmen.”

Alex laughed. “No, no, you want sugar in your coffee?”

After a pause, Carmen said, “Just milk.”

“Sure thing.” A few minutes later, he came out on the deck, now wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, boots, and the battered cowboy hat from the day before. He balanced a plate in one hand and two cups of coffee in the other. He hunkered down on the stair beside her. “I got a friend coming over. She’s gonna take a look at your neck.” He handed her a mug of coffee.

She sipped at it, but otherwise didn’t react.

“Sure, you’re welcome. Don’t mention it. Now, I gotta say”—he talked through a mouthful of scrambled eggs—“I’m curious as all hell about what you were doing out in the desert, creeping around a vampire’s house. Some kind of police business?”

Carmen pulled her knees up closer to her chest. “Yeah, something like that.”

“See, thing is, I went and took a peek at your wallet. ID says, ‘Carmen Carranza,’ deputy with the Mohave County Sheriff’s Department. Way I figure, that puts you a couple hundred miles out of your jurisdiction. And your bag looked like it was packed for a few nights’ stay. I don’t mean to pry, but—”

“Then don’t.”

He put up his hands. “All right, all right. I just want you to know, if you’re in some kind of trouble with the vamps, I can help. It’s sorta what I do.”

Carmen made a quizzical face. “What’s what you do?”

“Shit, you know. Hunt vampires.” Alex grinned stupidly and sat up a little straighter. “I’m a vampire hunter.”

“That’s…so that’s your job?” Carmen looked incredulous. “You hunt vampires.”

Alex nodded. “Yes ma’am. Hunt ’em, kill ’em.”

“Like, full time?”

“All the time.”

She took another sip from the coffee and looked at him sideways. “Forgive me if I’m having a hard time with the concept. Do you make money at this? Do you have a boss?”

Alex laughed. “I’m…an independent contractor. And as far as money, you know what they say, do what you love, and the money follows.”

“I’m sorry, but at this point I can’t help still thinking you’re insane, and vampires are a figment of your diseased imagination. But you did save my life, so I’ll let that slide for now.”

“Fair enough.” Alex leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. In profile, his aquiline nose was slightly upturned, and his lips formed a natural sort of pout. “That’s a start. Shit, I didn’t believe it myself at first. Lotta folks never do. They’d just rather not. Easier going about their lives, not knowing about the things hiding in the dark.” He squinted and looked out toward the horizon. “Lord knows there’s times I wish I didn’t know.”

Carmen cocked her head. “What makes you so sure he was a vampire, anyway? He looked normal enough to me.” She half smirked. “Well, maybe normal is the wrong word. But he was human enough.”

Alex had finished his plate of eggs. He stood up and stretched, his hands in his back pockets, and turned around to face Carmen. “No, he wasn’t. I found about that one from a tip from one of my sources. Told me there was a vampire living out there in the desert. So I staked the place out, and he showed up on the FLIR.”

“FLIR?”

“Forward looking infrared. Heat vision. Normal folks glow like a danged Christmas tree. But vampires read just a couple degrees above room temperature, so they stick out about like antlers on a duck. I watched him for a few days, seein’ if any other vamps was gonna come around. But then you showed up…though I still don’t know why.”

Carmen looked away and blew on her coffee.

“That sorta threw things off,” Alex continued, “I was planning to give it a few more days. Smart thing woulda been to just let him have you. But I guess I ain’t never been that smart. Wished I’d a had a few hours to talk things over with that vamp, see if he could tell me anything worth knowing. But, what with you laying there bleeding out, I figured I’d better just deal with him.”

Carmen made an incredulous face. “Well, thank you for helping me. Sorry I screwed up your…thing.”

“Naw. Weren’t nothin’.”

Alex turned at the sound of tires crunching over the gravel driveway. Carmen noted the hand that unconsciously snaked back to rest on the pistol he kept holstered in the small of his back, as he walked down the gravel path that skirted the house from the back porch to the driveway out front. When Alex saw the driver, he let go of the gun and used his cowboy hat to wave. “Jenny, darlin’! How the hell are you?”

The van stopped in a cloud of dust. It was a nondescript Ford with a two-tone brown paint job, a reinforced bumper, and a row of KC lights. The woman who climbed out was in her mid-thirties. She wore camouflage BDU pants, a black tank top, and a red bandanna around her neck. Her dirty-blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Wraparound shades perched on top of her head, above a square-jawed, no-nonsense face, with a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Muscles stood out on her ranch-tanned arms as she lifted what looked like a large orange tackle box from the passenger seat. Tattoos covered her from shoulders to wrists. “Alex! How’s it going?”

“Good! Real good.” He met her with a hug. “Want a beer or something?”

“Christ, Alex, it’s seven-thirty in the morning,” she said without any real rancor. “Where is she?”

“She’s around back.” Jen followed Alex back down the gravel path to Carmen, who now stood on the deck, leaning against the wooden railing. Carmen watched Jen warily as she came into view.

Alex said, “Jennifer, this here’s Carmen. Carmen, Jennifer.”

“A pleasure,” said Jen, smiling. “And you can call me Jen.”

“Hello,” said Carmen, guardedly.

Jen climbed the steps of the deck and set her tackle box down. Slowly, like she was approaching a wounded animal, she leaned on the railing next to Carmen. She pointed at the bandages. “So, I heard you had a rough day. I’m a registered nurse. Alex gave me a call and asked me if I could come over and help you out. Do you mind if I take a look?”

Carmen shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Alex’s cell phone vibrated. He looked at the screen. “You think y’all can take care of yourselves for a little bit? I got some errands to run.”

Jen opened her tool kit and selected a pair of bandage scissors. “Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

***

A nondescript gray sedan sat parked in a dirt turnout along a lonely blacktop highway. At the far edge of the turnout ran a low stone wall that overlooked a scenic vista. A brown sign with white lettering explained the significance of the spot, for anyone who cared. A man in mirrored sunglasses and a brown suit coat stood and smoked a cigarette, indifferent to the brown sign or the magnificent sunrise unfolding behind him. He was bald, with a lean, hawkish face. The wind played with the tails of his coat. He examined the dust on his oxfords with absent distaste then looked up again at the sound of an engine.

Alex pulled his old pickup truck off the highway and parked next to the sedan. The wind whisked away the dust from his passage. He got out and stood up, stretched, and rearranged the cowboy hat on his head.

“Alex,” said the man.

“Hey, Cooper.” Alex picked up a cardboard box from the passenger seat and approached the other man.

“Job’s done?”

“Yessir. Found ’im right where you said.”

“That was quick.”

Alex shrugged. He set the box down on the low stone wall. “Yeah, had to change the timetable. Shoulda given it a few more days.”

“What happened?”

“Civilian got involved.”

Cooper took a drag. The wind pulled the smoke in a horizontal line as he exhaled. “Let me guess,” he said. “A pretty girl.”

Alex grinned sheepishly. “Damn pretty.”

Cooper frowned. “That was dumb. This is bigger than one girl’s life.”

Alex leaned against the stone wall. “Yeah, I know. Don’t gimme the goddamn speech.”

Cooper paused as if considering, but decided to drop it. “So”—he looked down the road—“did you get any intel from the subject?”

Alex shook his head. The wind gusted, and he held his hat with one hand. “Didn’t have no time. Girl was bleedin’ out. Couldn’t help her with a live vamp at my back.” Alex paused then cut Cooper off. “Yeah, I know, damn it. Dumb. You don’t gotta tell me. Shoulda let the girl die and interrogated the subject.”

“Well…” Cooper finished the sentence with a wave of his cigarette hand. “How many more girls are going to die because of the intel you didn’t get from this vampire?” He took a drag.

“Yeah, well, we make our choices, and we gotta live with ’em, don’t we?”

Cooper snorted, an almost laugh. “That’s the truth.” They both looked out at the canyon for a moment. “So did you find anything at all?”

“Got some paper work, a laptop, and a phone.” Alex handed the cardboard box to Cooper. “It’s all in here. Along with your finders fee, of course. The phone got a couple calls last night. I’m all kinds of curious about who was callin’.”

Cooper took a last drag and flicked his cigarette over the ledge. He took the box and peered inside. “Well, that’s something. I’ll have my boys look this over.”

“Thanks, Coop.”

“I’m going to be in South America on business for the next week or so. If you need anything, Mack will be in the area.”

Alex grinned. “I’ll have to drop the old bastard a line.”

“Oh, by the way,” said Cooper, just as he climbed into his car. “The girl. Did she live?”

“Yeah. She lived.”

Cooper nodded thoughtfully. After a pause he said, “Happy hunting, Alex.” He started the engine and drove off.

Alex watched the clouds slide across the sky for a moment then followed suit.

***

Jen and Carmen sat in the warm morning sun, side by side on the top step of the deck. Carmen winced and tried to hold still as Jen used bandage scissors to cut through the gauze around Carmen’s neck. With a sponge and warm water, she gently teased the blood-soaked bandage from the wound.

Jen grimaced. “Yeah, you got bit, all right. Let’s see…” The wound was an ugly black-purple. “It’s definitely infected, but at least it still looks localized.” She gingerly rinsed off the layers of dried blood. Whistling low, she said, “Carmen, you’re a lucky lady. He only nicked an artery, but even so, if Alex had dawdled for another few minutes, you would have bled out.” She disinfected the bite with iodine. Carmen made a face, but held still. “Okay, I’m going to give you a couple of stitches. This bite is pretty dainty by vampire standards, so hopefully the scarring won’t be too bad.”

She closed the wound with four deft sutures. “I’m going to give you some blood intravenously,” she continued, “and some antibiotics to fight your standard infections, but the thing that’s going to knock down the vampirellae is sunlight. I want you to get at least an hour of direct sunlight on the wound today. And again tomorrow. Don’t worry about sunburn. A sunburn will kill you slower than this will.”

Carmen watched as Jen inserted the IV into her forearm. “So is this what you do?” she asked. “Just drive around and sew people up? Like a traveling nurse?”

Jen shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much. I’m basically field support for the vampire hunters in the area.”

“Is…” Carmen hesitated.

Jen looked up at her. “Is it what?”

“I mean, is this real? You seem pretty sane. But Jesus, vampires? Vampire hunters? Really?”

“Believe me, honey. It’s real.” Jen gathered up her tools, putting the used bandages and utensils into an orange plastic biohazard bag. She closed the lid of the bright orange tackle box. “You want more coffee?”

“Not yet, thank you.”

Jen stood up, stretched, and crossed the porch to the door. She disappeared inside for a moment, returning with a steaming coffee mug in her hand. She sat back down next to Carmen.

Carmen rubbed the red line where the handcuff had dug into her wrist. “So what makes a vampire a vampire? Is this some kind of psychological thing? Was he just a guy with a blood obsession? Like, if you really believe you’re Dracula, then—”

Jen shook her head. “No, it’s not a mental illness. It’s an actual thing. He wasn’t a crazy. He was a vampire.”

“But what…what is it? I mean—”

“Really depends on how you want to look at it. From a purely medical perspective, it’s a virus. Extervirus vampirellaea. Probably the closest thing we know to it is rabies. The experts put it in the same family, but it’s really its own animal. It basically takes over the host body and rewires everything. Muscle fiber, optical nerves, ears, skin, teeth, everything. Creates a whole new metabolic system. In a lot of ways, it’s a more efficient system than our own, except for a few little things. One, it can only run on fresh blood. Two, it has no resistance to UV light.”

“Hence the whole thing about vampires and sunlight.”

“Exactly. It’s fascinating stuff. I could go on all day about modified cellular respiration pathways and so forth, but you probably don’t care about all that. And anyway, a lot of it is still kind of a mystery, since no reputable researcher will touch it with a pole. A lot of what little we do know is fifty or sixty years old.”

Neither one of them said anything for a while. A soft breeze whispered through the stand of birch and cottonwood in the back yard. Somewhere far away, a hawk screamed.

Jen sipped her coffee for a moment and then continued, “But like I said, it all depends on how you want to look at it. Some people think it’s a purely biological phenomenon. Some people think it’s a virus from outer space. Some people think it escaped from another dimension. And, of course, some people think vampires are demons from hell. The really messed up thing is, they all have a valid argument.”

Carmen leaned back on her hands. “And what do you believe?”

“Me?” Jen said. “I’m a medical professional. I tend to take a rational, evidence-based approach to things. So I’ll just go on thinking of it as a virus. It’s easier that way. It raises an interesting question, though.”

“What’s that?”

“If there were demons and devils, creatures of pure evil walking the earth, and you could catch one and take a sample and put it under a microscope, what would it look like? Would it be that different from you and me? Could we even tell the difference?”

“Vampires.” Carmen shuddered. “Christ, like the world wasn’t a scary enough place before.”

“You said it, hon.”

Carmen suddenly bit back angry tears. “Oh God, that…motherfucker. I couldn’t even…I mean, I shot him, for Christ’s sake. He was so strong…He just…” She closed her eyes. The tears came, despite her best effort, rolling down her high, angular cheeks.

“Hey, it’s all right. It’s gonna be okay.” Jen put an arm around Carmen’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You had no way of knowing what you were up against. And you’re going to get through this.”

“Look at me,” said Carmen, “crying like a little girl. I’m sorry for putting all this on you.”

“Nothing to apologize for. That’s why I’m here. To help out any way I can. There aren’t many things in life worse than a vampire attack. You have every right to be shook up.” Jen rubbed Carmen’s shoulder. “You’re lucky Alex came along. It could have been worse.”

“Funny, I don’t feel that way.”

Jen pulled down the bandanna around her neck. Her throat was a nightmare of twisted scar tissue. She raised an eyebrow. “Hon, it can always be worse.”

***

After Alex returned, they all gathered around the cheap white plastic patio table. Alex brought out more coffee for everyone. They sat quietly, not saying much.

Carmen wore a fresh black T-shirt and clean jeans. Her hair was still wet from the shower. Jen insisted that she sit with her wound facing the sun. “How does that feel?” she asked.

“It burns,” Carmen answered.

“Good. That’s good. Burn it right out.” She took a pack of Camels from her pants pocket and lit up, leaning back on the chair’s back legs.

“So…” said Carmen. “What now?”

Alex leaned back in his chair as well. He tilted his head forward so his hat brim kept the morning sun out of his eyes. “Up to you, I guess. S’pose we get you back to your life. You can just go on home and forget all about vampires.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll go to the police about what I’ve seen? That I’ll lead them here?”

Alex took a sip from his coffee. “You wanna tell me exactly where here is?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Carmen said, “Okay, good point.” She was silent for a while. She swirled her coffee, watching the milk mix. “But I can’t go back home. Not yet.”

Alex cocked his head. “Why’s that?”

“I still need to find my sister.”

Chapter Four

No one said anything for a while.

Finally Jen broke the silence. “Do you want to tell us about it?”

Carmen took another sip from her coffee and avoided everyone’s eyes. She sighed. “My little sister. Mia. She’s…missing. I… okay, here’s the story. I was born on this side of the border. I’m a US citizen. But my parents got deported when I was little. They thought I’d have a better life living here, so they let me stay with my Tío Hector in Santa Fe. Years later, my parents had another daughter, Mia. So she grew up in Juarez with them. We’d visit each other a lot, and we kept in touch online. We were always close.” Carmen paused and sipped her coffee. “But then our parents disappeared. You know how it is in some places in Mexico, right? The cartel violence. It’s bad. Juarez is one of the worst. My parents just vanished. No bodies, no ransom. Nobody knows what happened.”

“That’s awful,” said Jen, “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” said Carmen.

Alex stood up and walked to the deck railing. He leaned on the railing and looked out towards the mountains while Carmen continued her story.

“It was a bad time,” said Carmen, “but we got through it. Mia tried making it on her own. She was working at a hotel for a while, but the hotel closed…anyway, it’s a long story, but eventually we decided she should to come to America. I exhausted every legal option, but I got nowhere. So she decided to come anyway. I told her not to—I told her to at least wait until I could work out something safer, but I never could tell her anything. She was coming whether I wanted her to or not. What could I do, you know? Familia.

“I took two weeks off work to come down to the border and meet her. I wired her some money and she hired a coyote—you know, a smuggler—to take her across the border. But then she never showed up at the rendezvous.”

Carmen held her coffee mug tightly with both hands, staring down into it as she spoke, her dark eyes downcast. “So that’s the story. I’ve spent the last three days turning the county upside down, looking for her. That’s finally how I wound up at…that place. I called in every favor I had to get that address. I was told the driver was that guy—the vampire, I guess. It was his job to meet with the coyote from Mexico and take them to the safe house where I was supposed to meet Mia.”

“I’m so sorry.” Jen repeated. She squeezed Carmen’s shoulder.

Another moment of silence. This time Alex spoke. “I’m sorry, but in all likelihood, your sister’s already dead.”

Carmen nodded, clutching the coffee mug, but didn’t respond.

“Vampires tend to show up anyplace where people can go missing without anyone noticing too much,” Jen said. “There have been a few cases like this. Coyote outfits that round up immigrants then turn around and sell them to the vampires.”

Carmen nodded again. “I…I know, logically, that she must be dead. I’ve been cop for long enough to know how these things go. I’m not that naive. I just…I can’t accept it yet. I have to know. And if Mia is dead, I have to find the people who did it, and I have to make them pay.” She let out something halfway between a sigh and a sob. “But I’m not sure where to go from here.”

After a moment’s silence, Alex said, “Well, go on.”

“What?”

He leaned casually against the deck railing. “I can see you chewin’ on it. Just go ahead and ask.”

Carmen blinked away tears and managed a half smile. “Can you help me?” she asked. “Can you help me find my sister?”

The easygoing, jocular Alex she had known up until now suddenly seemed a thin, transparent facade. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed before. Behind it lurked something cold and deadly, like a rattlesnake peering out from beneath a rock.

“Darlin’,” he said, “it’s what I live for.”

***

They walked Jen back to her van. As she tossed her equipment into the passenger seat, Alex said, “You sure you don’t want to come along on a vampire hunt?”

“No, thanks,” Jen said, “that’s your job. When you get shot—again—give me a call, and I’ll do my job.”

“Shit, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

Jen smiled. “I know exactly what I’m missing. You’re going to go to Mexico, drink a beer, spout some one-liners, and then probably beat the shit out of somebody.”

Alex nodded sheepishly, “Guess you know me pretty well.”

“Thank you. Again,” said Carmen.

Jen turned to face her. “Don’t mention it. Just remember what I said. And if you need anything—to talk, anything—give me a call. Alex can give you my number.” She climbed into her van.

Carmen and Alex watched the van disappear down the driveway. “Well, okay,” said Alex, “Let’s get down to brass tacks.” As he spoke, he walked toward the front door, and Carmen followed. “When was the last time you talked to Mia?”

“Monday. Three days ago. She said she’d found a coyote in Juarez, and she was going to cross that night. And then I never heard from her again.”

They passed through the living room to the kitchen. Alex sat down at the kitchen table, and Carmen pulled up a chair opposite him. “Did she say who she talked to on that end?” he asked.

“She said his name was Lupe. No last name.”

“Well, that ain’t much of a start, but it’s a start. Is she the girl you got a picture of in your wallet?”

Carmen hesitated. “Yeah.” She took out her wallet and pulled out a dog-eared photo. She handed it to Alex. “This is her. She’s sixteen now. Almost seventeen. This picture is a little more than a year old.”

The girl in the picture smiled earnestly at the camera, a school photo posed in front of a generic blue background. She was gawky and coltish, not a woman but barely a girl anymore. She had straight black hair like her sister, a delicate nose, and dark almond-shaped eyes that almost seemed too big for her face. “Cute kid,” said Alex.

“Like I say, that was a year and a half ago,” said Carmen. “Now, she’s just gorgeous. It’s ridiculous.”

Alex held the picture. “Tell you what. I’ll head on down to Juarez, show this around, ask a few questions, and see what I can find out.” He paused, and then snapped his fingers. “Hey, I got a question for you. Our friend from yesterday, the one I…” Alex made a cutting motion across his throat. “I got his cell phone. And he got a call at sundown last night. I picked it up and listened. Somebody on the other end was speakin’ Spanish.”

“That isn’t surprising, considering.”

“But it wasn’t Mexican Spanish. It was Spanish Spanish. Like from Spain.”

Carmen snorted. “How would you know the difference?”

Alex grinned. “No debes de juzgarme chica tonta.”

Carmen grudgingly cracked a smile. “Okay, that’s not bad.”

Alex flashed a lopsided grin. “Anyway, man was from Spain. I’d bet anything on it. Accent was faint, but it was there. He said, ‘Expect sixteen packages tonight.’ then when I didn’t say anything, he said, ‘Rafael? Hello?’ Then he hung up. That mean anything to you?”

Carmen shook her head. “Not a thing. Did you get a phone number?”

“Number was blocked. I got some people working on that.”

“Just how many people do you have?”

“Look at it this way. A vampire’s gotta feed, at the very least, about once a week. That’s fifty-two murders a year per vampire. Every one of those victims has a father, a mother, a sister. Those victims’ loved ones might be cops; they might be judges; they might work at the DMV. But they’ll do anything they can to help. That’s a vamp’s big problem. They can’t help makin’ enemies.”

Alex’s phone vibrated. He held it to his ear. “Yeah. Oh, yeah?” He straightened up and reached for a notepad. “All right, that’s good stuff. Real good stuff. Thanks a million, Coop.” He hung up.

“What was that?”

“One of them friends I was talkin’ about. The phone that belonged to our buddy from yesterday? The call came from a guy by the name of Guadalupe Vargas.”

Carmen’s eyes lit up. “Lupe.”

“Bingo. Apparently this boy Lupe’s got ties to the cartels, and according to the GPS on his phone, he spends a whole lot of time in a little dive bar in Juarez, place called El Ojo Negro.”

Carmen leaned back in her chair. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

“Exactly. Now let’s get you set up in a motel or somethin’, and I’ll pop on over the border and check out this guy—”

“No,” said Carmen. She crossed her arms. “I’m coming with you.”

“Nuh-uh,” said Alex. “It ain’t gonna work like that.”

“To hell with that. I’m coming with you.”

“Look, you don’t know what you’re getting into. I’m gonna be up to my ass in alligators down there. Gonna be dangerous enough without me havin’ to babysit no civilian.”

“I think I just got a pretty damned good crash course on the world of vampires.” She gestured to the wound on her neck. “I know what I’m getting into. And I’m not a civilian, I’m a cop, remember? I’m not some delicate flower.”

“I don’t care if you’re fuckin’ Wonder Woman, if you ain’t a vampire hunter, you’re a civilian in my book.”

Carmen planted her fists on her hips. “I have a right, damn it! She’s my sister.”

He studied her for a moment, considering, then sighed. “This might get real ugly real fast. Think you’re ready for that?”

“I can handle it.”

Alex sighed again, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Let’s be real clear. I’m callin’ the shots. I say frog, you jump. I don’t want no whining, no backtalk, and I ain’t gonna have no time to go holdin’ your hand if you get upset when things get rough.”

Carmen crossed her arms. In a voice dripping with sarcasm, she said, “I’m a big girl.”

Alex paused for another few heartbeats. He shrugged. “All right then. Let’s get packed.”

***

He filled a duffel bag with supplies and set it on the front step. While Carmen waited, he entered the garage by the side door. A few minutes later, he drove a white SUV out the big garage door. He pulled around in front of the house and parked, leaving the engine running. Carmen got in the passenger seat. As Alex tossed the duffel bag into the back, he said, “Oh, one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, this here’s my hideout. You seem like a good person and all, but fact is, I just met you. So if y’all don’t mind…” he held out a bandanna.

Carmen rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She tied on the blindfold.

***

Jacob saw the column of smoke rising lazily into the baby-blue sky long before he got to the house’s smoldering remains. His black Dodge Ram pickup jerked its way up the dirt driveway.

The man’s bulldog face was impassive, but beneath the sunglasses, his eyes glanced shrewdly left and right at the low-scrub desert all around. The pile of charred timbers that used to be the vampire’s house came into view as the truck rounded the last bend. Next to the smoking mess was Rafael’s black Mercedes and a rusted-out Ford Bronco.

The truck groaned to a stop. Jacob put a cowboy boot onto the chrome step rail and eased himself down from the cab. He wore a black leather jacket and blue jeans, a crisp black felt cowboy hat on his head. He took the hat off and ran a hand through thinning, gray-streaked hair, before replacing it on his head.

He looked around as his blunt fingers automatically pulled a cigarette from a pack of Marlboro Reds. He lit the smoke and held it in his mouth while he pulled a shotgun from behind the seat of his truck. Leaning the gun on his shoulder, he sauntered toward the smoldering house.

He slowly circled the remains of the house, occasionally poking at the ashes with the toe of his boot.

When he got to where the front door used to be, he knelt. Gingerly he pulled a spent shotgun casing out of the dust. He blew it off and put it in his jacket pocket. He found an empty wrapper for a piece of surgical gauze and noticed drops of dried blood on the concrete front steps. He pulled out his cell phone and took a picture of the mess of footprints all around the steps. He examined the prints then looked at his own sole for comparison. Definitely cowboy boots.

Jacob walked in a wider circle, methodically searching the ground. Three-quarters of the way around the wider circle, he ran across a set of tracks. He knelt again, bringing his face closer to the earth. The Bronco hadn’t come from the driveway. It had driven out of the desert and come to a hard stop. He looked up and saw the tracks receding into the low desert hills, saw the flattened, mangled bushes left in their wake. He eased himself standing again and whistled a low tune as he walked into the desert.

He found the hideout. With the shotgun’s barrel, he picked up the camouflage netting. He saw the sandy trough where the hunter had waited. A banana peel. A Snickers wrapper. He took more pictures. Walking back to the Bronco, he found the door unlocked. He rummaged through the trunk, the glove box, under the seats. The name on the registration was ‘James Burton’. He tucked the papers into his pocket.

At last he returned to his truck. He dialed a number on his cell. “Hey, it’s me,” he said. “I think I know why Rafael isn’t answering his phone. His house burned down. I don’t see a body here, but I got a feeling. Yeah. No, it doesn’t look like an accident. Looks like a hunter was here. I’m not exactly sure what went down. There’s a truck out here, but if it actually turns out to be registered to the guy we’re looking for, then I’m Buddy Holly. Yeah, you think? I’m working on it.”

He slipped the phone into his pocket. The last things he noticed were the divots from where a third car had peeled out in the dirt driveway. After one final look around, he stowed the shotgun and hauled himself up into the cab of his truck.

Chapter Five

Alex cranked the wheel over hard and hit the gas. The tires chirped as the SUV swerved onto the on-ramp of I-19 southbound. “All right, you can take off the blindfold.”

Carmen removed the bandanna and looked over. Alex was driving one handed while the other fiddled with his iPod.

She cringed. “Jesus, watch the road!”

“Huh? Oh.” Alex glanced up and swerved out of the way of an oncoming semi. He looked back down at the iPod. “You like Jerry Lee Lewis?”

“What?” Carmen clutched the passenger handle, the other hand braced against the seat.

“Jerry Lee! Damn, woman, you live in a cave or something? I mean, he ain’t Elvis or nothin’, but you musta heard of him!”

Carmen nodded, still nervously watching the road. “Uh, yeah, they made a movie about him. The piano player, right?”

Alex leaned back in his seat, his tattered white cowboy hat down low over his eyes. “Honey, the man was a piano god. I mean, The Killer had fire, you know?” He hit the “play” button. The cab filled with the sound of Jerry Lee pounding out the frenetic opening riff of “Mean Woman Blues.” Alex nearly bounced out of his seat, shaking to the music and drumming his fingers on the hard plastic steering wheel.

Carmen looked over at him. His face twisted into an ecstatic grimace as he shook his head from side to side in time with the four-by-four beat.

“Goddamn the man can play!” He let out a cowboy whoop. “This is some driving music here!” He looked over at her. “How can you just sit there like that? Don’t this make you wanna move?”

Carmen shrugged, watching the low sandy hills and desert scrub pass beneath a cloudless blue sky. “Not in the mood for dancing.”

“Aw, c’mon on. Tell me this don’t make your feet wanna move.”

She smiled a little. “It’s got a beat. I’ll admit that.”

Jerry Lee Lewis wrapped up, and the vocal harmony of “Little Bitty Pretty One” started up.

“Nineteen fifty-seven, Aladdin records,” said Alex. “Maybe a dozen different bands did this song, but Thurston Harris was always my favorite. ’Course, the Clyde McPhatter version ain’t half bad neither. Good Lord,” Alex grinned, tapping his fingers in time, “that’s music.”

Watching him, Carmen smiled again despite herself.

“Rock ‘n’ roll, that was real music. I tell you what,” Alex said, all the while drumming on the steering wheel and the dashboard. “Started when Truman dropped the bomb and ended when the Beatles dropped acid. Best music ever made.”

Leaning against the doorframe, her long, dark hair tossed by the hot breeze, Carmen sat with her knees up on the dash and watched Alex. He glanced over and flashed her his lopsided smile.

“Why do you do this?” she asked.

He met her smoky eyes for a moment, then looked back at the road. “I don’t follow.”

“This. You know. Kill…kill vampires.”

Alex laughed. “So now you believe in vampires?”

Carmen shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I need to see a little more proof.” She picked at the sun-crumbled dashboard with her pinkie nail. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

He thought about it for a minute. “Same reason everybody else does, I guess,” he said. His expression darkened slightly. “They hurt me. I hurt them back.”

“Care to be a little more specific?”

“No. No, I do not.” He looked away from her then, out the driver’s-side window. The desert rushed by outside.

“What did you do before this?”

“Little of this, little of that.”

“Like what?”

“What are you, writin’ a book?”

She gave him a crooked smile. “I’m just curious.”

Alex was silent for a half mile or more. The iPod switched to Johnny Cash’s “The Mercy Seat.”

“I hurt people,” he said, finally. “I worked for bad people and did bad things.”

“What kind of bad things?”

He sighed, and was silent for another half-minute. “You know, like when you owe money to the wrong folks, and you don’t wanna be found, so then they send some fella out to find you and make sure that you pay up, or else they make you real sorry that you didn’t?”

“Okay,”

“Well, I was that fella.”

“Oh.” Carmen studied him for a quiet moment. He glanced out the driver’s side window again. “So,” she said, “what changed?”

In response, Alex turned up the radio and put his sunglasses on. The rest of their trip to the border passed in silence.

***

Other than the usual traffic, the border crossing went smoothly. A disinterested border guard looked at their passports, asked them a few questions, and waved them on through.

They cruised down the narrow streets of Ciudad Juárez, past signs advertising farmacias and gifts and food, buildings painted in bright pastel pinks and greens, as if to compensate for their shabby states.

Alex paid five dollars to park in a garage next to a Banamex. He and Carmen got out and locked the doors. “Let’s just wander a bit,” Alex said. “Play tourist. See what we can see.”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “I didn’t come down here to eat carnitas and go shopping.”

“Let’s just get the lay of the land first. We’ll ease into it a bit. Let’s get some food. Then we can go visit this El Ojo Negro and see what there is to see. We’ll just take it easy like. Besides, I’m about hungry enough to eat the north end of a southbound skunk.”

Carmen sighed. “Okay. Last time I was here, there was a great little place just down the street. Best tacos ever.”

“All right, now you’re talkin’.”

They wandered down the paved sidewalk, past tiny bodegas and racks packed with gaudy sombreros and piñatas. Young boys swarmed around, trying to sell them trinkets. Vendors hawked tacos and churros from brightly painted carts. Mariachi music filtered out to the sidewalk from within a restaurant. A man standing next to a food cart smiled and tipped his hat toward Carmen. Despite it all, there was a pallor, a feeling of apprehension that they both felt. It could be seen in people’s eyes, in their reactions to loud noises. The streets were emptier than they should have been; Carmen and Alex didn’t see any other tourists. As they walked by a line of bullet holes stitched into a wall and a suspicious-looking stain on the sidewalk, Alex commented, “Murder capitol of the world. Wonder why they don’t put that on the tourist brochures?”

“They probably murdered the guy who makes the brochures,” said Carmen.

An incredulous smile spread across Alex’s face. “Did I just hear a joke? Did miss Serious Sally just make a joke?”

Carmen shrugged. “I’ve had a bad week. I’m not a zombie.”

“Just needlin’ you a bit.” Alex looked around. “It’s a shame. This was a jumpin’ little town once.”

To their left, on the other side of a broad concrete trough that used to be the Rio Bravo, ran The Wall. Ten feet of corrugated steel topped with barbed wire, blocked off with concrete bollards, and covered in graffiti and lights and cameras.

Carmen looked over at the wall. “I hate that thing,” she said. “Why can’t people just go where they want? Why did Mia have to pay someone thousands of dollars to get from this side to that side, just to get a hundred feet north…”

Alex said nothing.

“A hundred feet,” she said. “All this trouble to get a hundred feet.”

Alex put a hand on her shoulder. She scowled and pulled away. “Goddamn it,” she said.

“I know,” he answered. “I’m sorry. C’mon. Let’s get some food.”

***

The restaurant was dark and cool, all white stucco and rounded doorways, with exposed wooden ceiling beams above. Mariachi music played in the background.

Alex tucked twenty American dollars under his empty plate and picked his hat up off the extra chair. “You weren’t joking. Those were some damn good tacos.” He ran a hand over his dirty-blonde hair and placed his hat on his head, then adjusted the brim to the correct angle. “Okay, let’s get to work.”

“How do you want to play this?” asked Carmen, as they left the restaurant and headed toward El Ojo Negro.

“You got Mia’s picture?” he asked. She fished the photo out of her wallet and handed it to him. “Well, let’s just go on in and order some cervezas. Maybe a little cash will jog the bartender’s memory. Besides, I could use a beer. Past that, we’ll just play it by ear.”

The bar had an ugly, scarred green door with a metal push plate. Alex pushed it open and stepped inside, with Carmen on his heels.

Neon signs glowed in the darkness, advertising Tecate, Corona, Budweiser. Beneath them were rows of shabby booths and equally shabby people. The floor was bare concrete. Through the haze of smoke, men and women watched the two newcomers enter their domain. The place smelled like sweat and cigarettes and stale beer. Next to the pool table, a grizzled old hombre in a leather vest glared while he ground a blue cube of chalk on his cue. The men in the room tracked Carmen’s every move as she followed Alex to the bar. Alex plopped down on a wooden bar stool, and Carmen took the stool next to him. Somebody whistled, but Carmen didn’t respond. The bartender nodded in their direction.

“Dos Modelos,” said Alex.

The bartender slid two bottles in front of them. Alex took a long pull from his beer and engaged the bartender in idle chat. Finally he slid the photo of Carmen’s sister out of his shirt pocket. He laid it on the bar.

“La has visto?”

The bartender looked at the picture for a moment then shook his head. “No se.”

Alex slid a wad of bills across the counter. “Estas seguro?”

The man at the pool table with the ponytail and the leather vest noticed the money and sidled up to the bar.

“Sí,” said the bartender. He took the money. “Seguro. No la he visto.”

Alex nodded. “Conoces a Lupe?”

The bartender flinched. For just a second, Alex saw fear in his eyes. “No. No lo conozco.” The bartender slipped the cash into the pocket of his worn khakis. He abruptly turned away and busied himself wiping down the other end of the bar.

The man in the leather vest leaned against the bar next to Alex. He grinned. “Hey, rich gringo, you giving out money?”

Alex grinned back and lifted his beer. “Que tal, amigo?” he said with a terrible accent.

“Buy me a beer, rich gringo.”

Alex laughed. “Well, sure, por qué no?” He turned on his stool. “Why don’t I get one for everyone!” He waved the bartender over with another bill. “Cervezas para todos!”

The vague threat permeating the room vanished like a magician’s coin. A cheer went up. Alex instantly made twenty new friends.

Graciously dealing with his newfound fame, Alex noticed the bartender typing something into a cell phone. He leaned over to Carmen. “Darlin’, I think things might get a mite ugly here real soon. Would you be a doll and go get the car?” She started to protest, but he cut her off. “Remember what I said? I’m callin’ the shots. This ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle on my own, so don’t you worry. But we might want to leave in a real hurry. So go on now, git.” Carmen almost said something else, but then she slid off her seat and out the door.

The party continued unabated. Someone dropped some coins in the jukebox. Norte music blared, all guitars and accordions and brass. Alex amused himself with his new friends, leaning on the bar and sipping his beer.

As quickly as it had started, the party stopped. The door banged open. Every head in the room turned to look. As one, the patrons of El Ojo Negro froze, the merriment draining from their faces. At the same moment, the jukebox ran out of money. Silence descended. Alex twisted around on his barstool to see what everyone was looking at.

The man in the doorway wore jeans and a sharp-collared button-up shirt with a bolo tie. Mirrored sunglasses and a broad black mustache obscured his face. Deep pockmarks scarred his cheeks. Behind him stood three muscled young toughs in T-shirts.

Alex grinned and raised his beer glass, the picture of the dumb gringo. “Hola, amigos!”

The man in the doorway wasn’t amused. He glanced around the bar as the other patrons did their best to melt into the walls.

“Is this the gringo that was asking about Lupe?” he said to the bartender.

“Yeah…sí, that was me,” said Alex, with a drunken slur. He slipped a bit and almost fell off his stool. “You know him?”

“I am him.” Lupe walked into the bar, each step punctuated by the click of cowboy boots on the bare floor.

As he approached Alex, his thugs circled around. Alex leaned against the bar, grinning idiotically. “Well, thass fantastic! I wanna ask you a question’r two.” He waved his finger around. “Lemme boy you buys…buy you boys a drink.”

“You are a very stupid gringo,” said Lupe. He crossed his arms. “I don’t like it when stupid gringos come and ask questions about me.”

“Wanna ask you about a girl,” said Alex.

They sidled into position around him. One thug circled around behind; one got between Alex and the bar room; and one stayed next to Lupe.

At Lupe’s nod, the thug behind Alex seized him by the elbows and held him fast. At the same time, the one in front hauled back and threw a punch at Alex’s jaw.

Alex nonchalantly raised his foot. The pointed tip of his cowboy boot landed in the thug’s groin. The man screamed, high and reedy, then collapsed.

While the other two were still processing what had happened, Alex reached his left hand across and gripped the hand holding his right elbow. He twisted. Bone and cartilage snapped. The second thug toppled to the floor, screaming, as Alex kept the pressure on the man’s ruined wrist. He finished with a brutal kick to the thug’s neck. The man went limp.

The third thug reached frantically for his pistol. He found it and drew. The barrel swung up in Alex’s direction.

Alex sidestepped and grabbed the gun hand. He squeezed, trapping the gunman’s fingers against the hard steel of the trigger guard, and twisted. A gunshot rang out, and plaster rained from the ceiling. Somewhere in the bar, someone screamed. An instant later, the gun was in Alex’s hands. He casually pumped a round into the chest of the gun’s former owner, then another in each of his friends.

The three lay bleeding on the floor. Gun smoke hung heavily in the air. The bar’s patrons cowered behind booths and pool tables, their mouths hanging open in shock. Alex trained the pistol on Lupe.

“Now, hoss, I said I wanna ask you a couple questions.”

Lupe bolted for the door.

The coyote exploded from the bar’s front door, with Alex close behind. Boot soles slapped out a syncopated rhythm on pavement as Alex methodically gained on his prey. He breathed deeply but easily, falling into a runner’s rhythm, gaining by inches. Lupe threw down a metal trash can, which Alex easily dodged.

Lupe darted down an alleyway. He jinked around trash piles and stacks of pallets. A surprised kitchen boy yelled as Lupe crashed into him, knocking an overflowing trashcan out of his hands. Still, Alex gained. The distance closed. He reached a hand toward Lupe’s shirt collar.

They burst out onto the main street. Tires screamed, and Alex heard someone yell. A black Escalade lurched in front of him, cutting him off from Lupe. Doors opened. Four men jumped out. Men with guns.

“Well, shit, fellas,” said Alex. He grinned nervously and dropped the gun. “Can’t we talk about this?”

Lupe stood with his hands on his knees and wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “Now,” he gasped, “you’re coming with us, pinche fucking gringo. I’m going to have fun with you.”

The men fanned out and backed Alex against the wall. Lupe had composed himself somewhat. He stuck a cigarette into his mouth.

“Those things’ll kill you,” said Alex.

Lupe flicked his Zippo open and lit his smoke. “The fuck is wrong with you, vato?”

An engine roared. The gunmen looked to the right as Carmen piled the SUV onto the scene. One of the thugs tumbled over the hood with a meaty thump. Another flew into the wall. The other two gunmen stood shocked, still not understanding what just happened. Alex snatched the gun from one of the thugs and shot them both in the chest. For good measure, he shot out the Escalade’s tires.

Alex turned the gun toward Lupe. A thin smile crossed his face. “Now, motherfucker, you’re coming with me.”

He grabbed Lupe by the collar and heaved him into the backseat of the SUV before climbing in himself. Alex pounded on the car roof, screaming, “Go, go, go!” Carmen backed the SUV crazily, pulling a J-turn in a haze of burnt rubber.

Carmen whipped the SUV through the maze of narrow back streets. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Out of town,” said Alex. “Out to the desert.”

Even with Alex’s pistol jammed into the hollow below his chin, Lupe growled, “Do you know who you’re fucking with? Do you know who the fuck I work for?”

“Matter of fact, I don’t.” Alex smiled evilly. “But I’d sure like to find out.”

The bustling city faded in a few miles. In its place came a trickle of shanties and sheds, then less, then only the desert. Lupe made blustering threats for a while, but Alex and Carmen ignored him. Alex leaned back against the door, his gun held loosely, still pointed at Lupe. A few miles down the empty highway, Alex pointed out an unmarked dirt road, and Carmen turned. A few more miles took them to complete desolation. Ragged scrub and low dunes stretched to the horizon in all directions.

“This’ll do,” said Alex. “Reckon we can get some privacy now.”

The SUV ground to a stop. Alex threw Lupe out the door, where he fell on his hands and knees in the dust. Alex climbed out from the backseat and kicked him for good measure. Lupe lay sprawled in the dirt.

The midday sun beat down from overhead, so hot the air shimmered. High above, a vulture dipped its wing and turned lazily.

Alex stood with his feet wide apart, the pistol held loosely at his side. “Now, like I been sayin’, I got some questions.”

“Fuck you, gringo.”

Another kick caught the coyote in the stomach with the rock-hard point of Alex’s snakeskin boot. Lupe rolled over and retched. “Wrong answer, pachuco.” He kicked him again. “Girl’s name is Mia Carranza.” Alex took the picture out of his pocket. “Ring any bells?”

Lupe spat into the dust. “Never saw the puta.”

Alex cocked his head and crossed his arms, trying to decide the best course of action.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He wheeled, hand flying to his gun.

—Carmen breezed past him, the tire iron from the SUV clutched in a two-handed grip. She wound back and swung, driving the steel bar into Lupe’s sneering mouth. Teeth shattered and blood sprayed onto the desert sand. Lupe screamed in agony and clapped his hands to his mouth.

“Where’s my sister, you son of a bitch!” She swung the tire iron at his arms and wrists, again and again, as he tried to shield himself from the blows.

“Hey, hey, okay!” Alex wrapped his hands around Carmen’s waist, hauling her back. “Easy. Shit, take it easy!”

Carmen got one last swing in, snapping Lupe’s left wrist like a dry twig. She spat on him. “Hijo de puta. Piece of shit.”

Alex dragged Carmen back a few yards and glared at her. “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?”

“He knows!” Carmen was crying with rage. “That motherfucker knows what happened to her! I swear to God I’ll—”

Alex snatched the tire iron from her hands. “You’re gonna sit your pretty ass down, that’s what you’re going to do. I told you, I’m in charge here. I want you to bash his fuckin’ head in with a lug wrench, I’ll let you know. He ain’t gonna tell us nothin’ if you whack him in the brain so hard he forgets how to talk. So unless you want to walk your ass back to America, you need to rein in your goddamned horses. Comprende?” He pointedly handed the tire iron back.

Carmen glowered, but didn’t respond.

“Glad we got that worked out.” Alex walked back to Lupe. He leaned in, with his back to Carmen, and put a hand on the coyote’s shoulder. He smirked. “Shit, here I thought I was gonna be the bad cop! Goddamn, what a woman.” He glanced back at Carmen, then leaned in closer and lowered his voice. He pulled the blood-spattered sunglasses off of Lupe’s face and met his eyes. “Amigo, I hope for your sake your memory improves.”

Lupe spat out a mouthful of bloody tooth fragments. “Okay, okay. I saw the girl. She went to the north, a little less than a week ago. That’s the last I saw of her.”

Alex shook his head. “Last anybody saw of her.”

Carmen slapped the tire iron against her palm. “Where did she go after that?”

“I don’t know,” Lupe said. His front teeth were only jagged stumps now, and blood ran freely down his chin. “They go over the border. They meet the contact, and that’s the last I see of them.”

Alex looked out towards the horizon. Wind whistled over the sand. High above, two more vultures had joined the first. They circled patiently. After a moment Alex turned back.

“You know you’re gonna die today, right?”

Lupe didn’t respond.

Alex continued, “I reckon you been on the other end of this here situation. You know how it ends. Ain’t no comin’ back from this. Know what I’m sayin’? Entiende?”

Lupe nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“So the only thing you can change right now is whether you die quick and clean, or whether you wanna do it the hard way. I used to know folks like you. Hell, I might have been folks like you once. You been right where I’m standin’ now. You know what comes next.”

Lupe still said nothing.

“Let me have a few more swings,” said Carmen.

Alex noticed something gleaming in the sun. Kneeling, he reached down into Lupe’s shirt and pulled out a gold crucifix on a chain. He let the cross lay in his palm. “You a good Catholic boy?” he said. He let the cross drop. “Your mama get you baptized, raise you up right? Yeah, I see it in your eyes. I’m gonna level with you, hoss.” Alex put a friendly arm around Lupe’s shoulder. “Thing is, I think you know who you work for. You know what you work for. Lemme hear you say it.”

“I don’t know,” Lupe said, his voice weak.

“Don’t gimme that shit. You know good ‘n’ well. You tell me, or I let my girl here beat on your head until it looks like a dish of salsa. Who you work for?”

“Them,” said Lupe. He wouldn’t meet Alex’s eyes.

“Them? Say it.”

“The…los vampiros.”

“Yeah, you know all right. Well, lemme ask you somethin’. What exactly do you think vampires are, hoss? Where you think they’re from?”

Lupe’s eyes followed a lizard skittering past them a few feet away. He still didn’t look up at Alex.

“I’ll tell you. They ain’t men. They’re monsters, demons straight from hell. And deep down you know it. And you’re helpin’ ’em out. I mean, there’s little sins—stealin’ and smugglin’ and such—but you’ve been climbin’ into bed with the Devil himself. For money. Money! How much was your soul worth, Guadalupe? Was it worth it?” Alex lifted Lupe’s chin with his gun barrel. “Listen, you still got a chance to make things right before you meet your maker. Think of this as one last confession. After all the evil, wicked things you’ve done in this life, I’m givin’ you one last chance to do the right thing. Wouldn’t it be nice if Saint Peter looked there in his book and said, “Well, at least this here fella tried, right there at the end.”

Lupe let out a shuddering breath. He stared at the ground. “I don’t know much. They go…to the factory.”

“Factory?”

“It’s… a gravel plant. Near Las Cruces. Consolidated Aggregates. They go there. They have a warehouse in the back.” He rattled off an address.

Carmen glared at their prisoner, still holding the tire iron.

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “And where do they go from there?”

“A lot of places. I swear to God I don’t know. They don’t tell me. I’ve only been there once.”

“Well, all right. Now we’re gettin’ somewhere. Next, I want you to tell me about your boss.”

“I only met him once. They call him the Don—Don Carlos. He came to the factory in a limousine. He was…just a normal guy. Spanish. He had a Spanish accent. I don’t know anything else about him.”

“All right.” Alex walked in a slow circle around Lupe.

Tears rolled down Lupe’s face. “That’s all I know. I swear that’s all I know.”

“That’s just fine,” said Alex. “You done good.”

In one fluid movement, Alex drew his pistol and shot Lupe in the back of the head.

The bullet sprayed the contents of Lupe’s skull across the sand. He sprawled forward and began a hesitant dead-animal twitch.

“Jesus,” said Carmen, reflexively holding one hand to her throat.

“You got something you wanna say?” said Alex. The jovial Alex was gone again. His face was that of a stone killer.

“No. I…no. I’m just not used to…executions.”

Alex wiped the gun down with his shirt, then tossed it far off into the desert. He turned back to Carmen. “Shit. That wasn’t no execution. It was an extermination. Pest control. If there’s one thing in the world I hate more than vampires, it’s collaborators. At least the vamps ain’t got a choice. This piece of shit did. He knew who he was working for. And he chose to. For nothin’ but greed. No better than a Nazi in a death camp. How many thousands did he send to their deaths? People just like your sister. Just like my…”

He paused and looked out toward the horizon. His eyes were invisible in the shade of his hat brim. “This asshole was guiltier than Judas Iscariot. And he can rot in hell right beside him.” Alex spat on the twitching corpse. “Him and all his kind. I’d kill a thousand of him and sleep like a baby.”

Alex turned and walked back to the SUV. Carmen stood where she was, staring at the corpse. It had all but stopped twitching now. The spurting blood had slowed to a trickle, leaking from the ruin that used to be a face.

“Well,” said Alex, “you comin’ or what?”

Carmen tore her eyes from the body and found her way to the SUV. She sat in the passenger seat. Alex stared at her for a moment before he started the engine. He scowled. “Well? Did you think it was gonna be easy?”

She delicately ran her fingers over the sutures on her neck. “I…I don’t know.”

“Did you think we was gonna ask real nice, and they’d give your sister back? This is war, darlin’. It’s a mean, ugly business, and there’s always gonna be killin’. Ain’t no way around it. You sure you’re up to this?”

Carmen stared at the dashboard. “It’s just a lot to digest. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m…glad he’s dead. I’m right with you there. But I’ve never seen…well, like I said. It’s a lot to process.”

Alex studied her, then asked, “So…how long you been a cop for?”

She hesitated, then said, “Six months.”

Alex sighed, with a hint of a smile. “I don’t suppose you ever shot nobody before.”

Carmen laughed. “No. No, I haven’t.”

The vehicle lurched into motion. “Well, like you just seen, it’s a right ugly business. You can still walk away from all this, you know.” He cranked the wheel around hard, circling around Lupe’s corpse, back the way they came. “But if you want to tag along, there’s gonna be more killin’. And you might have to do some of it.”

Carmen nodded. “I can get it done. For Mia.”

Alex smiled. “Lemme give you some advice. Killin’ ain’t somethin’ you can do halfway. Won’t do either of you no good. You just get it done. Just pull that trigger. Remember, they’d do the same to you.”

“Pull the trigger. Check.”

He laughed. “Atta girl. Now let’s get back to Los Estados Unidos and take a look at this factory.”

Chapter Six

The factory sat isolated from Las Cruces by a few miles, a solitary compound surrounded by a ten-foot cinder-block wall, the whole thing jutting out of the bare desert like a mirage. The outskirts of the city were barely visible on the horizon. A sign out front read consolidated aggregates.

It was a nondescript industrial site, dominated by a two-story building with an elevated conveyor belt leading to the top. The noise of the rock crusher was a low, constant rumble. Trucks came in. Trucks went out. Employee cars were parked along one side of one building. Forklifts ferried pallets of rock to and from loading docks in another. The sun sank low in the western sky, casting an orange glow onto the buildings.

The white SUV slowed as it drove by the front gate. “Well,” Alex said as he glanced out the window, “that’s the place.”

Carmen shrugged. “Looks normal enough.”

“Almost. But look at all the cameras. Don’t need that kind of security for a gravel plant. And check out that gate. Those cement planters, I betcha they’d stop a Mack truck.”

“Okay, now what?” Carmen craned her head around to watch the place as it slipped past.

Alex glanced in the rearview mirror. “I’d guess it’s about quitting time for the day crew. So we just need to find us someplace to hole up until the night shift shows up.”

“Why the night shift?”

“Place like this, all the real action goes on after dark.”

“Why don’t we go in now? What if Mia is in there?”

Alex shook his head. “Too close to sunset. We ain’t had no time to scout the place. We don’t know nothin’ about their schedule, or what we might find in there. If we was in there when some vampires showed up, we'd be about as cooked as a lobster in butter sauce. Besides, we ain’t got many supplies right this second.”

He drove a half mile past the factory and pulled off the pavement, then drove at a right angle to the road, out across the desert, until he reached a low rocky outcrop. He parked the SUV behind it. He slung a backpack over his shoulder and climbed onto the tallest of the boulders, where he lay down prone and took out his binoculars. Carmen crawled up beside him.

“Well, there now.” Alex scanned the compound with the binoculars. “Ain’t that somethin’? Look there.” He handed the binoculars to Carmen. “Lupe was right. They got the buildings arranged so you can’t even see a third of the property from the ground. The entire back area is totally cut off. You can only get in through that second gate.”

Tucked away between the rearmost building of the main business and the ten-foot back wall was a long, narrow warehouse with two roll-up loading doors on one end. The only point of ingress was a narrow alleyway where the front building didn’t quite touch the wall. The alley was blocked by a chain-link gate. In front of the hidden warehouse was a gravel apron, where a van and a pickup truck were parked.

The back warehouse looked empty and abandoned. But soon the small side door opened, and a man wearing a button up shirt and slacks exited the building. An unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth. He propped the door open with a brick and lit up. As he smoked he turned, and Alex saw the pistol holstered at his waist. The man leaned against the wall while he finished his smoke, then went back inside.

The din of rock the crusher ceased. The employees filed out of the buildings toward their cars. Engines started; headlights glared. One by one, cars pulled away. The last man out had a big keyring in his hand. He turned a key in the front-door lock, rattled the handle to be sure, and headed to his car.

Alex sat motionless, his binoculars still trained on the compound. Next to him, Carmen shifted and fidgeted. “Are you sure this is the place?” she asked.

Alex nodded. He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “This is the place all right.”

“Shouldn’t something be happening?”

“You gotta be patient. Shouldn’t be much longer.”

Carmen rolled over and sat up. “I don’t want to be patient. She could be in there right now. Why don’t we just go in and—”

“Yesterday you didn’t know a vampire from Adam. Now you’re here tellin’ me how to do my job?”

“I just—” Carmen sighed. She looked out at the desert, and the last light of the sunset highlighted the angles of her face.

“Look, I know. I’m sorry, but this is the way it is. You won’t do your sister any good by running in there and getting yourself killed.”

Full dark descended. Stars shone brightly in the New Mexico night. Soon, a pair of headlights crawled through the empty desert. The front gate of the factory rattled open even before the car arrived. The car, a silver BMW, eased into the driveway and crept through the front gate.

“Here we go,” said Alex, “now we’re getting somewhere.” He flicked open the latches on a black plastic case and pulled out a device that looked like a camcorder.

“What’s that?” asked Carmen.

“The FLIR. Heat vision,” he said. He flicked it on, and the screen filled with varying shades of blue and red and orange. “Well, would you look there?” said Alex. He angled the screen so Carmen could see.

On-screen, the BMW had stopped at the second gate. The guard leaned over, speaking to the driver of the car. The guard was a riot of color, shifting splotches of greens and yellows and reds. The car’s engine and exhaust glowed white, but the driver blended into the background. He seemed not to even be there.

Alex elbowed Carmen. “See? That fella there’s about as warm as yesterday’s coffee. We just found us a vampire.”

The second gate rolled open, and the vampire pulled the BMW through and into the hidden portion of the factory. He got out and lit a cigarette. He was tall and thin, and wore a black suit with a black tie. The glowing tip of his smoke made a tiny orange dot, visible to the naked eye. He pulled out his cell. The phone’s screen briefly lit up as the vampire checked his messages, before returning the phone to his pocket.

A minute or two later, another set of headlights appeared on the highway. It was a white parcel van, the kind you might rent to move or that would deliver produce to your favorite deli three times a week. The vampire saw it too. He tossed his cigarette down and ground the butt with his toe. The van downshifted and bounced through the front gates, then the back gate. One of the big overhead doors of the warehouse rolled open, spilling light across the gravel apron, and the van slipped inside. The door rolled shut after it.

The heat vision told the tale. The van was visible through the wall, its engine pulsing white in the display. The driver, however, gave off hardly any heat at all. “See there?” Said Alex, as Carmen leaned in close to look at the screen, “Another vampire.” On the FLIR screen, they saw a dozen humans huddled together in the back, some staggering as they tried to keep their balance, some crouching or lying down. Four other humans were in the building, all carrying guns. They opened the back of the van and gestured with the guns. One by one, the multicolored silhouettes stepped out and disappeared down a flight of stairs.

“Huh,” said Alex, “They must have a basement. We can’t see their thermal signature through the ground.”

“So Mia could be in there.”

Alex didn’t answer.

With the thermal camera, they watched as the vampire from the BMW gestured toward a captive. The men with guns pulled her from the crowd. She cowered in fear, falling to her knees. He pulled her to her feet and leaned in close. He made a small, quick movement, like a striking snake.

“Oh, my God,” said Carmen.

On the small digital screen, they watched as the girl’s hot blood infused itself into the vampire. A tongue of orange warmth filtered down the center of him then worked its way through his extremities.

“We have to help her!” said Carmen. “Jesus, that could be my sister!”

Alex put a hand on her wrist. “Ain’t no help for her, whoever she is. All we could do right now is die along with her.”

The girl struggled in the vampire’s grip at first, then went limp. The vampire pulled away and passed her on to the driver. Once again, her blood flowed into him. After he finished, she fell in a heap on the floor of the warehouse. Onscreen, she faded from red to orange to green as her body cooled. Carmen grimaced and looked away.

Alex clenched his jaw. “Believe me, I don’t like it neither. But runnin’ in there wouldn’t do nothin’ but add two more corpses to the pile. Like I said, this is a rough business.” He continued to watch the screen. “We can’t just go runnin’ in with guns blazing. And you never want to fight a vampire at night. They got all the advantages. Like jumpin’ into the ocean to wrestle a shark.”

“So we just watch?”

His expression was unreadable. “Oh, we’ll even the score. Don’t you worry ’bout that.”

More trucks arrived throughout the night. Some dropped off prisoners by the dozen; some picked them up in ones or twos. By the end of the night, forty or more prisoners had been moved through the facility. The deliveries stopped a few hours before sunrise.

Alex stowed his equipment away and crawled down off the boulder with his usual liquid grace. Carmen reached the ground more awkwardly and hurried to catch up as Alex climbed into the SUV.

“We’re gonna find out where this vamp hangs his hat,” said Alex. He started the engine, leaving the headlights off, and made the short trip to the road, where the factory’s front gate was visible. “What about the delivery drivers?” said Carmen, “They were vampires too.”

“As much as it chafes me, we ain’t got time for them right now. If I had my way, I’d watch this place for weeks. I’d follow every damned one of them home, then I’d invite some of my friends to the party. But here and now, we can only follow one. And when in doubt, I always follow the vampire in the luxury car.”

After few minutes, the BMW eased out onto the empty highway. Keeping the headlights off, Alex pulled out a safe distance behind it.

They followed the vampire across the desert and through the sleeping streets of Las Cruces, with only the occasional dairy truck or long-haul semi for company. They came out in the desert on the other side of town, driving away into the sparsely populated hills.

“It’s gotta be somewhere around here,” said Alex. “Can’t be too far, but not too close to the city neither. Vamps gotta have their privacy.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the car pulled off onto a private drive marked only by a mailbox. Without touching the brake, Alex rolled past the driveway. The BMW’s taillights receded into the darkness.

“Now what?” said Carmen.

“Now we get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

***

The Wagon Wheel Motor Lodge was the perfect picture of roadside Americana. A giant neon sign featured an animated wagon wheel and a cartoon cactus. A smaller sign advertised color TV and a heated pool. The motel was boxed in by the grimy urban sprawl that had grown up around it like weeds over the decades. There was a tire shop next door and a strip-mall liquor store across the street.

“They only had a single room. I’ll take the floor,” Alex said. He turned the key and pushed the door open. The room was clean but carried the distinctive stale odor of an old, cheap motel room.

Carmen walked into the room, turning her head away from Alex.

Setting down his bags on the chair, Alex heard a sob. He looked at Carmen, who sat on the bed, facing the wall. “Hey, now, it’s okay,” he said.

“It really isn’t.” Carmen let out a trembling sigh. “I was hoping to make it into the shower before I fell apart.”

Alex sat next to her. “Look, I know you’re in a bad place. I know you’re hurting. I wish there was more I could do.”

“Well, there isn’t.”

“Yeah, I know.” Alex squeezed her shoulder before standing up. “I’m gonna go get some fresh air. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Carmen didn’t respond as he slipped quietly out the door.

When he returned to the room, Carmen was sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep. He sat down in the room’s single chair and pulled his boots off, then stood and pushed the curtains back an inch. The giant wagon wheel turned below the words wagon w eel motor lodge.

He smiled. “Classic,” he whispered. He turned around and regarded Carmen. She shifted and frowned in her sleep, and her thin, arched brows furrowed.

After a moment’s thought, he knelt and untied her shoes. He slipped them off her feet and set them neatly at the foot of the bed. He went around to the other side of the bed, picked up the unoccupied pillow, and set it on the floor. Before he lay down, he removed his belt and his small-of-the-back holster. He set the .45 close at hand and lay down on the threadbare gray motel carpet.

An hour later, Carmen woke with a gasp. She sat up and looked around the darkened room, seeing no one at first. She noticed Alex sleeping on the floor, the pistol next to him. She watched him sleep for a moment. He looked cherubic, laying there on the floor with his lips slightly parted. She smiled, briefly, then lay down and drifted back to sleep herself.

***

Carmen again woke abruptly. Daylight streamed through the narrow vertical crack where the motel curtains didn’t quite come together. The air conditioner beat out a spastic rhythm. Somewhere outside, a semi droned by. She sat up in bed and pushed her tangled hair out of her face.

The digital clock on top of the TV cabinet said eight thirty. She swung her stockinged feet over the edge of the bed and stretched. Before she even got her bearings, the door opened. Alex entered, carrying two cups of coffee in a cardboard carrier. He held a bakery bag clenched in his teeth.

“Oh, bless you,” said Carmen, as he handed her a cup.

“Milk, no sugar.” Said Alex.

She smiled. “You remembered.” She sipped the coffee while Alex dug a chocolate frosted doughnut out of the bag.

“Already hot as a mother out there.” Alex took off his battered Stetson and hung it on the coat hook. He flopped down in the motel chair and took a bite of his doughnut. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like the dead.” She pulled out a doughnut with multicolored sprinkles. “I feel like I’m saying this a lot lately…but what now? What’s the plan?”

“We got some work to do today.” Alex pulled his laptop out of its case, set it on the bed, and flipped opened the screen. He opened Google Earth and zoomed in on their location. “We got us a factory to shut down, and we got us a vamp to kill. Way I figure, ain’t no real advantage in doin ’er in one order or the other. Which one you wanna do first?”

As he spoke, he zoomed in on the house they had followed the vampire to earlier. The screen showed an L-shaped roof surrounded by nominal landscaping, a bright-blue kidney shaped pool, and a whole lot of desert.

Carmen finished her doughnut. She looked at the blurred satellite picture of the house. “Let’s kill a vampire,” she said.

Alex smiled. “My kinda girl.” He paused for a moment. “Don’t suppose you got anything nice to wear? A dress or something?”

“No,” said Carmen, “I pretty much just packed jeans and T-shirts. Why?”

“Guess we’ll have to stop and buy you something, then.” Alex picked up his duffel bag and went into the bathroom. He shut the door.

“Why do I need a dress?” Carmen repeated, loud enough to be heard through the bathroom door.

Alex stepped out of the bathroom a moment later. He wore crisply pressed black slacks with a white button-down shirt tucked into them, and a black necktie. His hair was neatly combed into a pompadour. He cinched up the tie and then pulled the Gideon’s bible from the motel’s bedside table. “Because we gotta be dressed nice if we’re gonna go talk to this vampire about the Lord.”

“I get it,” said Carmen. “Who would think twice about annoying evangelists knocking on the door?”

“Exactly.”

Carmen looked him up and down. “You know,” she said with a wry smile, “you clean up pretty good.”

***

The sun beat down. Heat radiated from the rocks and the dust until the air shimmered. In the front driveway of the vampire’s house, Carmen and Alex sat in the SUV. Alex killed the engine and set the emergency brake. “Okay, remember,” he said, “this is a vampire. They’re stronger’n horses, and quicker’n snakes. But if you put enough bullets in ’em, they gentle down some. Ain’t nobody wants to go dancin’ around with a shattered knee, vampire or no. Then, once you get ’em to hold still for a second, that’s when the sword comes in.”

Carmen shrugged. “Seems pretty straightforward.”

“So does ridin’ a bull at a rodeo, until you give it a try.” Alex climbed out of the SUV. He straightened his tie, checked his hair in the rearview mirror, and pulled a book bag from the backseat. He tucked the Bible under his arm.

Carmen got out of the passenger seat, wearing a demure cotton print dress and holding a book bag of her own.

“You ready?” said Alex.

Carmen nodded. “I’m ready.”

“All right. Let’s go bring this sumbitch to Jesus.” Together they walked up the flagstone walkway to the front door of the vampire’s house.

It was a single-story home with modern styling, painted in a desert palette. The front of the place was landscaped with desert plants and gravel. A flagstone path led to the front door.

Alex and Carmen reached the front step. Alex pushed the button. From somewhere deep in the house, a chime sounded.

“Good news, friend!” called Alex. “We’ve come bearing the word of the savior of mankind! Is anyone home?” He knocked again, louder this time. “Do you have a moment to talk about the Lord?” No answer.

After a minute of this, the peephole in the door darkened. “Sir, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior?” said Alex.

From inside, a deep, gravelly voice said, “Go away.”

“Should I just leave your copy of The Watchtower out here?” Alex reached into his bag. Instead of a religious tract, he brought out a short-barreled pump shotgun. Following his lead, Carmen pulled a pistol from her bag.

“What part of ‘go away’ do you not—”

Alex fired a round of double-ought buckshot through the door. The noise of the shotgun blast echoed and rolled off of the far hills. Someone grunted on the other side of the door. The next shot blew the doorknob off, and Alex kicked the door open.

The vampire staggered backward, snarling, one hand clutching his bloody gut. He was shirtless, wearing only the wrinkled slacks he’d thrown on before going to answer the door. Alex fired again. The shot went wide, vaporizing the corner of a black leather couch as the vampire dived and rolled behind it. The creature lunged out of the roll and grabbed a wooden end table. He flung it at Alex, who threw up his left hand and turned away as the table shattered against him. He fell back against the wall, stunned.

The vampire bolted across the room, toward the hall. Carmen suddenly remembered the gun in her hand. She tried to draw a bead on the fleeing vampire and opened fire, peppering the wall and fracturing an enormous seawater aquarium. The vampire stayed one step ahead, disappearing down the hall. A heartbeat later the aquarium gave way, and a flood of water and doomed tropical fish poured across the white carpet.

Alex shook his head to clear the cobwebs and jacked another shell into the shotgun. “C’mon! After him!” He splashed through the living room and raced down the hall, with Carmen following close behind.

The vampire slammed the bedroom door shut. Alex kicked it open again before it could latch. The shotgun bellowed and another knot of buckshot caught the vampire in the back. He seemed not to notice. He dived across the bed and reached for a drawer in the bedside table. He came up again with a pistol and aimed it at Alex.

Alex pulled the trigger, and the vampire’s hand exploded. The blood-spattered gun fell onto the bed. Alex racked the shotgun, but the vampire was too fast. In an instant the creature was there, wrenching the shotgun, one handed, from Alex’s grip. Alex stumbled backward and pulled his pistol, but the vampire drove forward and batted the gun from his hand as well. The vampire lashed out with a kick that sent Alex careening into the wall.

Carmen barreled through the doorway and found herself standing between Alex and the vampire. She raised her pistol and sighted on the vampire’s chest.

The vampire turned to face her. He had a lean, rugged face with a Mediterranean tint, a disheveled tuft of black hair and thick, black eyebrows. He bared his fangs and hissed, like a snake ready to strike. His eyes bored into her.

Like a hammer blow, fear hit Carmen, washed down her spine, trickled down her legs. Her feet froze to the floor. Her breath came fast and shallow. The pistol shook in her hands. Try as she might, her trigger finger wouldn’t flex. A whimper escaped her lips.

The vampire took a step toward her and chuckled softly. “Que es el problema, chica? Tienes…miedo?”

“Shoot him, girl!” Alex yelled. “What’re you waitin’ for?”

The vampire grinned wickedly and snatched the pistol from Carmen’s numb hands. He pointed the gun at her and laughed. “Mujer inútil.”

Cringing, Carmen stumbled backward and waited for the inevitable.

A gunshot boomed. The vampire’s elbow disappeared in a clot of bone and gristle. He stared at his ruined limb for a second, not comprehending. The pistol thumped from his hand to the floor.

Alex cocked the .44 magnum Derringer he’d just pulled from his boot. The second and last shot in the little gun went through the vampire’s knee. The creature tried to stand for a heartbeat, failed, and crashed to the floor.

Alex stood unsteadily, picked up his own pistol, and shot out the vampire’s other knee.

The vampire rolled onto his back and sat up against the wall, growling a string of threats and curses in a fluid mix of English and Spanish.

Carmen sat down unsteadily on the bed, shaking.

“Okay talk, you sumbitch,” said Alex. He holstered his pistol and pulled a short sword from his satchel. “Or you’re gonna start losing parts.”

“Hijo de puta,” said the vampire.

The twisted wreckage of the vampire’s knee crawled like an anthill poked with a stick. The flesh itself stretched out. Bone fragments melted back together. Tendons and veins twisted, wormlike, blindly seeking their other halves. “Oh, my God,” Carmen whispered.

Alex drew his pistol, shot out the knee again, and holstered the weapon in one smooth movement. The vampire screamed. “You’d better tell me somethin’ I wanna know, ’fore I go and lose my temper.”

After a moment, the vampire said, “What do you want to know?”

Alex held out the picture of Mia. “You seen this girl?”

The vampire stared at Carmen with a calculating look. “Ella es…tu hermana?”

Carmen flinched and turned away from the creature’s gaze.

“Sí,” the vampire said. “I’ve seen her.”

Carmen stood up and looked back at him, her eyes wide. “Is she alive?”

The vampire struggled to his feet. Alex took a step back and held his sword ready, one hand on the hilt, one hand gripping the scabbard.

“She is alive,” said the vampire.

“Where is she?”

The vampire only smiled.

“Where?” Carmen said. “Please tell me.”

Alex said, “You best tell the lady.”

The vampire grinned, wider this time. “She is with El Diablo.”

“That ain’t much of an answer,” muttered Alex.

“She is…” the vampire muttered something under his breath.

“What?” Carmen stepped forward.

“I said, she with El Diablo in hell!” The vampire’s arms shot out, one grabbing Carmen’s pistol, the other reaching for her throat.

Alex’s blade flashed, a silver blur in the darkened room.

The vampire’s arms both dropped to the floor. Blood gushed from two cleanly-sheared stumps. The Vampire screamed in rage.

“Well now, that just tears it,” said Alex. He stepped forward, winding back with the sword.

The vampire stepped back towards the wall. Carmen and Alex closed in on both sides. He bared his fangs again.

“You got no place to go, hoss.”

The vampire launched himself backward through the window.

The drapes wrapped him like a shroud. Sunlight exploded into the darkened room. The vampire fell in a cloud of diamond-bright glass shards toward the immaculately hardscaped backyard.

He hit the ground, smoke already pouring from his exposed skin. With an audible chuff, he ignited. In seconds, the fire enveloped him. The drapes melted into his boiling skin. The flames burned hotter and hotter, searing the flesh from his bones as he stumbled across the yard. He collapsed in a heap and died screaming. Still the fire burned like pitch, almost too bright to look at. By the time the flames died down, nothing was left but fine ash, already being scattered by the wind.

“Well, shit,” said Alex, staring through the broken window. He rested one hand on his hip, and the other loosely gripped the sword. “That contrary son of a bitch.”

“Jesus,” said Carmen. She sat down shakily on the bed.

“Jesus ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.” Alex sat down on the bed next to Carmen. He set the sword down beside him, ran his hands through his hair, and loosened his tie. “So you believe in vampires yet?” When she didn’t react, Alex put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you done all right.”

Carmen turned her head away. “Are you kidding? I froze. It was just like last time. He just—”

“So you froze.” Alex picked up his sword again, and used a bedsheet to wipe vampire gore off the blade. “It happens. In this business, if you live to be another day older, you’re doin’ pretty damned good. Shit, you gone toe to toe with a vampire twice now, and you’re still kickin’. That’s better’n most folks ever do.”

“But, did you hear him? She’s alive.”

“Darlin’, that don’t mean nothin’. It’s real good to hear, but he mighta just been fuckin’ with us.”

“But—”

“It don’t change nothin’, really.” Alex stood again. “But hot damn, we killed us a vampire!” He thumped Carmen on the shoulder. “Gets the blood pumpin’, don’t it? Now c’mon, let’s see what we can find.” He moved to the dresser and started pulling out drawers.

They pulled down shelves, slashed open upholstery, upended drawers, looked behind pictures, thumped on floorboards, peered inside air conditioner vents. In the end they found $54,000 in a duffel bag in the hall closet, a laptop, a handful of sales receipts, a cell phone, and a very old, very sharp sword.

Alex found the sword under the vampire’s bed. He rose up from his knees and stood, then pulled the sword from its sheath. It was a rapier, its hilt a graceful knotwork of burnished steel, its handle wrapped in leather. The straight, thin blade had a timeworn patina, but the cutting edge gleamed like a mirror.

“How ’bout that?” said Alex, whipping the blade through the air. He planted the point in the carpeted floor and pressed on the handle, observing the bow of the blade. “This here’s good steel.” He examined the stamp near the hilt. “Don’t know the maker, but I know some folks who might. It’s Spanish…I’m guessin’ sixteen hundreds.” He resheathed it and tossed it to Carmen.

Carmen caught the sword and removed it again from the sheath. She saluted in the traditional manner, holding the blade vertical in front of her face then cutting down and out to the side. She settled into a relaxed fencer’s stance and lunged with practiced grace. “I like its balance,” she said, “it’s quick. It feels…real.”

“You know somethin’ about swordplay?” Asked Alex.

“I fenced in college,” she said, with a touch of pride. “I made the state semifinals one year.”

“Well, you think you know somebody…” Alex beamed like a proud parent. When Carmen made to hand the sword back, Alex shook his head. “Naw, it looks good on you. You keep it. Vampire hunter needs a good sword. And I already got one.”

She let out a half scoff, half laugh. “I’m not a vampire hunter.”

“Oh, ain’t you?” Alex winked.

Carmen blushed and looked away.

He moved on to the vampire’s closet. “This boy had quite a collection of shoes,” he said, sliding the door open. “Look at this. Handmade in Spain. Bet these shoes cost more than my car.”

“Why are you so interested in his shoes?”

Alex turned and looked at her. “You never know what you’re going to find on the bottom of somebody’s shoes. Plenty of cases been broken that way. You know they can take just the littlest bit of soil and tell you just where it came from?” As Alex talked, he scraped samples off shoes and into tiny plastic baggies. “Matter of fact, I heard of one case where they found a flower petal, and…hey, what’s all this now?” He held one of the shoes up to the light.

Carmen leaned in and peered at the sole. “There’s…gunk on that shoe. Brilliant, Holmes. Case closed.”

“Yeah, but what kind of gunk? And what’s this?” He noticed a bit of something stuck to the sole. He picked it off with his fingernails. It was a tiny wedge of paper, accordion-folded down to the size of a grain of rice. Alex unfolded it and smoothed it out. “It’s a piece of a label. You know, like when you scrape a glass bottle on somethin’, and it gets all scrunched up?”

“Yeah, I see,” said Carmen. “What’s it from?”

“Who the hell knows? Could be anything.” The label had a short section of a thick black line and one of thin red, a segment of some kind of border. Near the apex of the wedge was a smudge of black.

The label went into an evidence bag. With the blade of a pocketknife, Alex scraped up the goo and put it in a separate bag. He handed it to Carmen.

“It’s some kind of fruit,” said Carmen, as she held the bag to the light. “See, there’s a seed in there. A grape maybe?”

“What am I? A botanist?” Alex took the bag back. “Could be anything. Lots of plants and trees drop fruits this time of year. I’ll pass this on to a friend of mine. Like I said, cases been broke on less.”

Chapter Seven

Carmen, flipping through channels on the motel room TV, heard the key scrape in the door lock. She dove off of the bed, drawing her pistol as she went. She centered her sights in the middle of the door and tightened her finger on the trigger.

When the door swung open, Alex blinked as he stared down her gun barrel. He held a bag of takeout food. “Damn, girl.”

Carmen lowered the pistol. She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little jumpy.”

“I can see how you’d be surprised, seein’ as how I had a key for the place, and I’m coming back exactly an hour after I said I’d be gone for an hour.”

“Sorry.”

Alex’s hand still rested on the doorknob. “Ain’t nothin.’ I got you a hamburger. Hope you like tomatoes and onions. Come on, we can eat on the way.”

She holstered her pistol and followed Alex to the parking lot, where he climbed into a white utility pickup truck, complete with tool cabinets, a lumber rack, and a vice on the rear bumper.

Carmen shook her head. “Where do you get this shit?”

“When you got a duffel bag fulla cash, a lot of things get easier. Hop on in.”

A few miles from the factory, in the middle of the desert, Alex pulled the truck over. He got out and opened one of the storage panels. He took out two hard hats, two reflective vests, and a plastic storage clipboard. He handed Carmen a vest and a hard hat. “Here, put these on,” he told her. Next, after a quick look around, he pulled out a bolt-action rifle with a scope and a fat black silencer.

Carmen cocked an eyebrow. “What do you plan on using that for?”

“Just you watch.” Another quick look around, and he rested the rifle on the truck bed. He sighted through the scope, took a breath, and pulled the trigger. The gun jerked and coughed. A ceramic insulator high on a utility pole exploded. Alex put the gun back into the cargo box. “Right about now, them guards are wondering why their phones and their Internet ain’t workin’.”

He put on his own reflective vest and hard hat, then pulled out a strange-looking device that resembled a radio. “And this here’s a cell-signal blocker. He turned it on and flicked a switch. Now anybody in ’bout a half-mile radius won’t be able to make any calls. Keeps things nice and private.”

Carmen looked at the union sticker on her hard hat. “What are we supposed to be?” she asked.

“Don’t really matter. Just act official. Like you own the place. Never ceases to amaze me what you can get away with if you got a clipboard and a hard hat.” He pulled out a cloth tool bag and put it in the front seat. It contained two automatic pistols with silencers. “Now there’s a few more people around right now, so we’re gonna want to be a little more discreet. On the plus side, it’s daytime, so there ain’t no vampires. Probably.” They climbed back into the truck.

***

“Okay. Just follow my lead.” Alex slowed down to turn into Consolidated Aggregates.

No one paid attention to them as they pulled the truck through the front gate and past the main building. People drove forklifts around, wrote things on clipboards, tinkered on machinery. “You think these people are in on it?” Carmen asked.

Alex shook his head. “I don’t think so. They look like they’re just doin’ their jobs. Nothin’ suspicious goes on until they go home. If they was in on it, they’d be payin’ more attention to us. And they wouldn’t be workin’ so hard.” Alex pulled the white work truck up to a stop in front of the second gate, which segregated the hidden back third of the lot from the front. Next to the drive-through gate was a smaller, person-size gate, and a tiny guard kiosk with no one in it.

Alex climbed out, picked up a thick storage clipboard with a mess of papers clipped to it, and rattled the gate. He waved his clipboard at the security camera.

After a minute or two, a fat man in khakis and a red plaid shirt hurried around the corner to meet him. He slipped through the smaller gate. “Can I help you folks?” he said. He wore thick plastic-framed glasses and needed a shave. An ID card around his neck read, “Juan Gutíerrez.” The short jog to the gate had him winded.

Alex held out his hand. In an exaggerated upper-crust accent, he said, “Um, yes. We’re from the county department of waste management and reclamation accountability. We’ve received a number of complaints about improper waste-management practices occurring at this site.”

Juan looked confused. “What kind of complaints? I haven’t heard anything about it.”

“We called ahead,” said Carmen. She did a wonderful job of looking impatient. She glared at him. “Didn’t anyone tell you? Someone was supposed to meet us here to unlock this gate.”

The man shrugged. “Nobody told me anything about that.”

Alex continued, “We were assured a company representative would be here to meet us and let us inspect the facilities.”

“Well, like I said, nobody told me about that.”

“It’s really not a problem,” said Alex. “If you’ll just open the gate, we can show ourselves around.”

“Um, yeah.” The big man scratched his cheek. “I’m gonna have to call my manager about that.”

“Look, if it’s going to be a problem, we can wait.” Alex gestured toward the phone. “Why don’t we go in the booth there and give him a call?”

“Well, the thing is, I don’t think my manager is in his office at the moment. Sometimes it takes a while to get hold of him.”

Alex said, “Sir, Doña Ana County takes waste reclamations very seriously, and we’ve gotten wind of some major violations. If I have to make a second trip, I’m coming back with a sheriff’s deputy, a warrant, and a pair of bolt cutters.”

Juan took a wide stance, ran his tongue over his teeth, and hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Before you do that, you might want to call the county commissioner. He’s friends with my boss. He might not be too happy about that.”

“If that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“That’s just the way it is,” Juan said. He paused for a moment, studying Alex and Carmen. “What department did you say you were from again?”

“The, ah,” Alex scratched his head, “waste treatment…”

“Waste management and reclamation accountability.” said Carmen.

“And who is your supervisor?”

Alex said, “Uh…Ronnie Tutt.”

Juan hitched up his belt. “Oh yeah, Ronnie! You know what? I changed my mind. Come on in. Pull that truck through, and then you can have a look around.” He keyed the gate open. Alex and Carmen climbed into the truck.

The truck rolled slowly down a narrow corridor, defined on one side by the sheet-metal wall of a building and on the other side by the cinder-block wall surrounding the compound. As they came to the back corner of the building, they saw a long, narrow warehouse with an A-frame roof. Two roll-up doors marked the long end, with a regular-size door off to the side. The warehouse was fronted by a gravel apron big enough to allow cargo trucks to turn around.

The fat man closed the gate and labored to catch up to the truck. Carmen and Alex climbed down out of the cab and waited for him.

Juan gestured towards the door of the warehouse. “You folks just step inside there, and I’ll be right behind you.” Alex didn’t move. “Well, go on, you wanted to go inside,” he said.

“Maybe I changed my mind.” Alex stared coolly at Juan. Juan stared back.

Nobody moved. They eyed each other warily. The silence stretched on.

Finally, Alex winked.

Juan’s eyes grew wide. He stumbled back and pulled a handgun out from under his shirt.

Alex was faster. He pulled the silenced pistol out of the storage clipboard and jammed the barrel into the doughy mass of Juan’s belly. He pulled the trigger three times. The pistol coughed. Juan stumbled backwards and fell headlong, a dark stain spreading across his shirt.

Carmen looked down at the body.

“He’d a done the same to us,” said Alex.

Carmen nodded, “I know.”

Alex snatched the lanyard with the ID card from around Juan’s neck.

The door was heavy-duty steel with a card scanner above the doorknob. Next to the door, a security camera peered down. Alex held the fat man’s ID card in his hand. “Here goes nothin’. I’ll go in first.” He slid the card, and the little light above the door lever flashed green. He pushed the door open a crack and aimed his pistol through it. The door swung open, and the gun followed, covering the ever-increasing wedge of visibility.

Light filtered in through a row of high windows. Dust particles drifted lazily through shafts of sunlight, past bare wooden rafters.

Immediately in front of the two cargo doors was an open space big enough for two large trucks. A nondescript beige sedan was parked in one space. At the back of the warehouse, a wooden stairway led to a balcony loft, along with a cluster of offices. Below the loft, next to the stairs, was a padlocked door.

At the base of the stairs, a man stood up from concealment. He had a thin face and thick plastic-framed glasses, and wore a blood-splattered white apron over a shirt and tie. He held a pistol in his outstretched hands. He drew a bead on Alex.

Alex fired his silenced pistol, and a gaping hole appeared in the man’s head. Red gore spattered the wall behind him.

Alex shouldered through the door and ran for the cover of the car. Halfway there, a second man popped up from behind the trunk, leveling a shotgun at him. Alex dove and rolled. Buckshot tore through the air where he’d been an instant earlier.

Alex came up out of the roll as his attacker rounded the car’s fender, jacking another shell into the shotgun. Alex fired through the car’s windows. Glass shattered. One bullet took the attacker in his chest and another in the left eye. The man took two spastic steps and toppled like a felled tree.

From the balcony a third guard opened up with an M16. Sparks flew as bullets chewed into the car. Alex skidded behind it and crouched. From the door, Carmen fired up at the balcony. The man with the rifle ducked behind a wall.

Something metal sailed off the balcony and skittered across the cement floor. A grenade. Carmen ducked back out the door and hit the dirt.

“Well, shit…” muttered Alex. He dove away as the explosion lifted the rear end of the car up and blew out the high windows of the warehouse. The explosion picked Alex bodily up and flung him against the metal wall. The guard laughed and stood as he drew a bead with his rifle.

Carmen steadied her pistol on the doorframe and shot five times. The guard grunted and fell over the railing like an extra in a western. He hit the cement with a wet thump. Keeping her pistol trained on the guard, Carmen hurried over to Alex. She nudged him with a toe. “Are you all right?”

“Sheeeeeiiiit…” said Alex. He sat upright and held his head. “Now I know what a rodeo clown feels like in a barrel.”

“I shot him,” said Carmen, half to herself, her eyes wide. Sweat trickled down her forehead. “I shot him.”

“Good on ya, darlin’. Keep watchin’ that balcony.” With Carmen standing lookout, Alex stood unsteadily on his feet. “Weren’t that some shit?” he removed the silencer from his pistol. “Not much use bein’ quiet anymore, I guess. Let’s get this done.”

The guard on the floor groaned. Not even breaking stride, Alex ended him with a single bullet.

Alex ascended the stairs with Carmen right behind him. He held his pistol out in a two-handed grip, covering the balcony as it came into sight. On one side, an open area had been made into a lounge, where two sagging couches had been arranged around a TV on a cheap fiberboard cart. An Xbox sat on the floor, along with two controllers. A game of Call of Duty was paused on-screen. On the other side, a glass-fronted office looked out over the dock; behind that was a hallway with several doors.

As they ran up the steps, Alex spotted a wiry, balding man in the office, frantically tapping away at a computer. On the floor, papers burned in a metal trash can. The man turned and saw Alex. He raised his hands in surrender. “Whoa, hey man,” he said, “I just work here. You—”

Alex knocked the man to the ground with a pistol barrel to the side of the head, then tied his hands behind his back with an industrial zip tie. He snarled, “Gimmie a reason, asshole.”

Carmen and Alex continued down the hallway. The first room looked like a corporate office break room, except for the gun locker full of M16s. There was a small round table, a counter with a sink, a refrigerator, and a microwave. A hand-lettered sign next to the sink read, your mother doesn’t work here. clean up after yourself. The next door down the hallway led to a bathroom, and the last room was bare except for a set of bunk beds.

“Okay, place looks clear,” said Alex. He stuck the pistol in his waistband and headed back into the office. A ring of keys hung from a rack on the wall labeled “Cells.” Alex grabbed the keys and tossed them to Carmen. “Go on downstairs and see what you can find. And watch yourself.”

Carmen hurried down the stairs and rounded the corner to a padlocked door. She found the right key and undid the lock. She went down a a second flight of stairs, at the bottom of which she found a starkly lit hallway, lined on one side by cells. Each cell had only a toilet and a sink. All of them were empty, except for one. Crammed into one of the cells, a half dozen or so dark-skinned men and women peered out, huddled in corners, leaning against walls. Hopeless eyes peered out of hopeless faces. Someone whispered, “Socorro” —“Help”—as Carmen crept through the hallway. Still holding the pistol in front of her, she met their eyes and put a finger to her lips. At the end of the hallway, a large metal door waited. She pulled the handle and swung it open.

“Jesucristo.”

The room had white-tiled flooring and walls. Scarred stainless-steel tables. Racks of saws and knives. A butcher’s electric bandsaw. Rows of meat hooks hung from the ceiling. A body—what was left of one—lay splayed on the table. Headless. Legless. One arm sawed off, the other still attached. The severed limbs were stacked neatly on a wheeled cart. Farther on stood a large plastic tub next to a shelf stocked with gallon jugs of hydrochloric acid. She saw a machine that was so strangely out of place that for a second she couldn’t place it. Then she realized—it was a wood chipper. The chipper’s chute was stained with crusted gore. The room reeked of bleach and the caustic tang of acid.

“Oh, God.” Carmen’s stomach heaved. She turned away from the carnage, facing the wall and breathing shallowly until she got herself under control.

Holding the pistol tightly, she walked through the slaughterhouse, noting the storm drains built into the floor, the neatly coiled hose hanging from the wall. She reached the stainless-steel door at the other end of the room. Holding the pistol at the ready, she pulled the handle. It was a walk-in freezer. Body parts lay stacked on metal racks, neatly as firewood.

***

Upstairs, Alex tossed the office. Whatever the guy on the floor had done to the computers, they were a total loss. He went through every drawer, dumped the half-burned scraps from the trash into a garbage bag. He spotted a bulletin board with a number of handwritten notes. He used his phone to photograph it in situ then unpinned all the notes and dumped them into the bag. He grabbed several cell phones that were lying around.

The man on the floor groaned and shifted. Alex hauled him up by his shirt. “Okay, hoss, you got ten seconds to tell me somethin’ that’s gonna change my mind about killin’ you.”

“What do you want to know?” said the man. He didn’t seem to be taking the situation seriously.

Carmen silently entered the room and stood next to Alex, with her arms crossed. “Tell me about the big boss,” he said.

The man was on his knees, hands tied behind his back. He shrugged. “I don’t know much,”

Alex rubbed the back of his neck. “You ain’t making me want to not kill you.”

“Okay, okay. They call him the Don. Don Carlos. Him and Armando go way back. Way back.”

“Is Armando the vamp who left here late last night in the BMW?”

“Yeah.”

“He your boss?”

“Not really. He comes and supervises when he gets hungry.”

“Well, don’t you worry about him. He’s just dust in the wind, now. Where do we find this Don Carlos?”

“Shit, man, you think they tell me?” Alex did his best to jam the gun barrel in the man’s ear. The man cringed. “Shit, okay, okay! They just call it the Villa. That’s all. ‘Armando’s going to the Villa to talk to the Don.’ That kind of thing.”

Alex sucked at his teeth for a moment, trying to dislodge a sesame seed from lunch. “Okay hoss, one last question. Lightning round.” Alex nodded to Carmen, who pulled out the picture of Mia. “You seen this girl?”

The man looked at the picture for a moment. “Yeah, she was here. Maybe a week ago.”

“Are you sure?” asked Alex.

“That girl was hard to forget. God, what a tight little package.”

Carmen narrowed her eyes, but otherwise didn’t react.

“Where is she now?”

“The prettiest ones go to the Don. Armando or one of the others comes and picks them up.”

Carmen stared at him for a long moment. “I have another question,” she said. “What goes on downstairs? In the butcher shop?”

“We, uh, we get rid of the bodies afterward. Our customers drop them off when they pick up new feeders. It’s part of the service we offer.”

“Feeders?” Carmen repeated.

The man lowered his head and said nothing.

“So what do you then? Grind them up? Dissolve them in acid?”

“A little of both. Vampires only want the blood. But there are other…customers…who want meat. We’re trying to expand our customer base. But some parts you can’t…” He stopped himself.

Carmen’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you the one who puts on that bloody apron downstairs? Is that part of your job? Or don’t you get your hands dirty?”

The man hesitated. “We take turns.” He nodded toward a whiteboard on the wall with a duty roster drawn upon it.

Carmen took a step back and turned to Alex, who still held his gun against the man’s head. “I’m done.”

Alex pulled the trigger. Blood and bone splattered the desktop, stippling a white coffee mug with red. The lifeless body slumped to the floor.

“Okay,” Alex stepped over the fresh corpse. He used a handkerchief to wipe the spray of blood from his face. “You get them prisoners outta here. Get ’em all ready to go, and tell ’em to be calm.”

“What are we going to do with them?”

“Don’t rightly know,” admitted Alex. “Guess we could just set ’em loose, or we could call the police. Gettin’ sent back to Mexico beats hell outta gettin’ chopped up for sausage.”

“There was a van outside,” Carmen said, “I say we give them the keys and wish them well.”

Alex nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“I’ll go talk to them.”

“We ain’t gonna be here but a few more minutes. You best be ready to go as soon as you’re done.”

***

Holding the keys tightly in her hand, Carmen headed down the stairs into the crude basement. She was met with dozens of pleading eyes. “Silencio,” she said, as she found the right key. The padlock fell to the floor, and the crudely welded cell door swung open. Imploring the prisoners to be calm and quiet, she led them up the stairs to the warehouse section.

They were four men and three women, not particularly old, not particularly young. Weather-etched, deep-brown faces and dirty clothes. Tired, hungry, scared. One of the men, dressed in jeans and a faded Adidas soccer T-shirt, clutched at his belly as he stumbled up the stairs.

She spotted Alex on the stairs. “Alex,” she called out, “how are we doing?”

“Real good,” he said. He had his gun holstered and held the railing loosely as he descended the stairs, the other hand steadying an overfull black satchel. “Even if they managed to get word out, I figure we still got ten minutes or so before we can expect any reinforcements.”

The man in the Adidas shirt fell to one knee, grimacing and holding his gut. A matronly-looking woman in a plaid shirt moved to help him.

“Cuál es su problema?” asked Carmen.

“Sick,” said the woman. “He was worse before. We thought he was dead.”

“Tengo hambre…” moaned the man. I’m hungry.

Alex slipped the strap of the satchel off his shoulder. The bag thumped to the floor. He started forward. “Hey, now wait a sec.”

The man roared, “Hambre!” He grabbed the woman’s arm and dragged her down. Her neck stretched invitingly.

The man opened his mouth to reveal razor-pointed canines. He tore into the woman’s neck. She screamed and blood spurted while he ripped away a chunk of her neck. He held her in an iron grip and lapped frantically at the fountain of blood. The other immigrants stumbled backwards, crying out in fear and horror.

In the same instant, Alex lunged. He planted a side kick squarely in the vampire’s chest. The vampire let go of the woman and stumbled to the ground. The woman collapsed, blood still pumping from her neck.

The vampire instantly sprang up again, growling and baring his fangs at Alex. Blood covered the lower half of his face like a mask. He charged the vampire hunter.

In an eye blink, Alex’s .45 appeared in his hand. He pumped three rounds into the vampire’s chest and sidestepped as it lurched blindly forward. One well-placed leg tripped the creature, and it again crashed to the floor. Alex stood motionless, his eyes flat, dead pools. He kept the smoking .45 trained on the vampire.

The vampire stood again, this time with more difficulty. For the first time, he seemed to notice the plump middle-aged woman on the ground, spasming as her lifeblood ran out onto the cement. He saw Carmen, blood up to her elbows, trying desperately to staunch the flow.

Something changed in the vampire’s face, as if he’d been hit by a bucket of cold water. The savage gleam left his eyes. His expression shifted from animal savagery to pure, cold horror. He looked down at his bloody hands then at the blood leaking from his chest.

“Aye Dios mio,” he said, almost a whisper. “Dios mio, Dios mio, Dios mio. No, no, no, no, no…”

One of the other refugees, a thin woman with salt-and-pepper hair, clutched at her chest. Tears welled in her eyes. “Mateo?”

The vampire turned away from her, tears streaming down his face. He covered his mouth with his hands and sobbed.

Alex stood like a stone idol, the pistol never wavering.

The vampire glanced back once more at the semicircle of people who surrounded him. With an inhuman scream of grief and horror, he bolted for the door.

He made it ten steps past the shade of the building. Flames burst from his hands and his neck, spreading to his head. His shirt ignited. In seconds the blaze engulfed him. He stopped and fell to his knees. His screams went on and on, the fire raging like a blowtorch. A thick, greasy column of smoke rose into the blue sky.

The fire was as fast as it was intense. In minutes, only a smoldering pile of ashes remained.

The group stood there at the door. No one spoke. Alex turned away. “Poor bastard. Didn’t even know what he was.”

Carmen checked the woman for a pulse then stood up. Blood covered her forearms and dripped from her fingers. She stared down at the vampire’s first and last victim. “She’s dead.”

Alex holstered his pistol and picked up the satchel again, his face as unreadable as a poker player’s. “Drag her outside so she don’t turn. Otherwise, Nothin’s changed. We got a schedule to keep. Andale.”

Carmen went to the bathroom and cleaned the blood off of her hands and arms, then found the keys to the van hung on a row of cup hooks in the office.

The van started on the first try. The former prisoners piled in, still in shock. Carmen leaned in the window. “Vaya con Dios,” she said.

“Y tu tambien,” mumbled the man behind the wheel.

Carmen and Alex climbed into their own truck and followed the van. As they passed the factory, they saw workers peering fearfully from behind forklifts and pallets of rock. Alex ignored them.

Leaving the front gate, he turned right.

“The city is the other way,” said Carmen.

“Yeah, but that’s the way reinforcements will be comin’ from. This’ll take us an hour or two out of our way, but hopefully with no surprises.”

They drove in silence for a while. Finally Carmen said, “Christ, what a mess.”

“Wasn’t so bad,” said Alex. “We shut the place down, killed some bad guys, got some intel, and saved five hostages.”

Carmen shook her head. “And lost two.”

“We lost one. Mateo was dead ’fore we got there. He just didn’t know it yet. And like I always say, it’s a rough business. Five out of six ain’t bad, all things considered. You did real good back there.”

She let out a long sigh. “And what did we really do? What’s to stop them from opening up shop again tomorrow?”

“Nothin’. Ain’t nothin’ to stop ’em getting a new place, starting all over again. Matter of fact, I’m sure they got two or three around here already. See, if we weren’t tryin’ to move so fast and find your sister, we could watch that place for weeks, find out where all of them cars go to. Might find a hundred vamps that way.”

“And you’d just sit there and watch all those people die?”

“Mean old world,” Alex said with a shrug. “You gotta look at the big picture. People die every day. You can’t save all of ’em.”

Alex plugged the input cord of his iPod into the stereo. The raucous intro to Elvis Presley’s “Hound Dog” pumped through the speakers. The scenery, the throb of the engine, the rocking of the cab seemed to synchronize with the driving rock ‘n’ roll beat. The hot desert air blew through the cab. Alex chucked his hard hat out the window, picked his battered Stetson up off the seat and plopped it on his head. Smiling, he bobbed his head and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

Carmen looked out the window at the blurred desert scrub, the mountains scrolling by behind them. “What’s it like to be a vampire?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that one back there. Mateo. In the movies, vampires are always evil. You know, their whole personality changes. Just, boom, evil. But he seemed…normal. It was like he was in some kind of fugue state. He just disappeared, and then he came back, and he was horrified. How does that work? How much control do they have?”

“Well, look at it this way. How much control you got right now? You gotta eat, right? Gotta drink water, gotta do lotsa things. How long could you just stop yourself from drinking water, if it was around and you was dying of thirst? From what I seen, it don’t really change their personality. Just gives ’em this hunger and only one way to feed it. Their own brain does the rest.”

On the stereo, Elvis and The TCB Band hammered out the ending to “Hound Dog”, followed a second later by the baritone vocal intro of “Why Do Fools Fall In love.” Then the drums and the chorus joined in, and Alex rocked his head, lost in the music. “God-damn. Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers. 1956, Gee records.” A moment later, he said, “The hell was I talking about?”

“Vampires.” Said Carmen.

“Oh yeah. I mean, look at a junkie,” he went on. “You know, a heroin addict. Does he really mean to do the things he does? Rob and cheat and kill, hurt all the folks that love him? Nah, he just needs his fix. He just needs it more’n he needs anything else.”

Carmen was silent for a long moment. At last she said, “Then we should be pitying them, not killing them.”

“Darlin’, believe me, I do. I pity the ones like Mateo. Fact is, not many folks make it as vampires. Most people can’t handle it. They just off themselves before too long. And all them bodies in the freezer…notice how they all had their heads chopped off? That was so they wouldn’t turn. Vampires don’t like competition. Don’t like amateurs running around, blowing their cover. I dunno how ol’ Mateo slipped past ’em, but they woulda set that to rights before long. You want a vampire like this Don Carlos to turn you, an old-school vamp like that, you gotta want it. You gotta earn it. You gotta show that vamp you’re ruthless and loyal. Gotta prove you like to kill. Them assholes back there that we killed, they ain’t workin’ for the money. They’re workin’ to get made. They want it more than anything. They wanna live forever and eat folks for breakfast. Those are the vamps we’re after. Mateo was an accident. And if I ever end up like him, I hope to hell somebody has the mercy to put me down. Only kind of mercy there is for them.”

Carmen made a face. “Couldn’t they live some other way? Donated blood? Animals? Willing human donors?”

“All I know is it’s gotta be human, and it’s gotta be fresh. A vamp can live off refrigerated blood for a while, but it wears him down. Same with animal blood. It’s like, I dunno, eatin’ toilet paper or somethin’. It’ll fill up your stomach, but it ain’t no substitute. And as far as donors, I’ve heard tell of it. But vampires, they get hungry enough, they get a little crazy. Like Mateo. Didn’t even know what he was doin’…and you already seen what happens to humans who get bit. There’s just no tellin’. They might be fine, might get a raging infection and die, wake up a vampire. Unpredictable as hell. Sometimes a man gets made, on purpose, and it still don’t take. They just die. Then sometimes a scratch is all it takes.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

Alex adjusted the angle of his hat brim. “Ain’t nothin’ fair about it.”

***

A black truck pulled through the wide-open gate and rolled to a stop in front of the building that said, consolidated aggregates. Jacob climbed out of the truck and looked around. Behind mirrored sunglasses, his thick, meaty face surveyed the gravel factory’s office.

A balding man approached him from the building. He was wearing a white short-sleeved business shirt with a striped tie and brown slacks. “Jacob, right?” said the man. “I’m Todd Hartman. I’m the manager here.”

Jacob touched his hat brim and nodded. “Hello, Todd. Why don’t you tell me what happened here?”

Todd put his hands on his hips. “I don’t know much. A truck came through with a man and a woman. They were wearing hard hats. They looked pretty official, so none of us thought twice about it. They drove into the back yard, and then a few minutes later, it was like a war over there. Machine guns and explosions. We all hid inside here, and a few minutes later, the truck left again, and so did a white van.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it. None of us has been through the gate. I mean, what were we supposed to do? They had machine guns. Our landline didn’t work, and even our cell phones wouldn’t get a signal until after they left.”

Jacob nodded. “Probably used a cell-phone-signal jammer. So nobody else knows about this? Nobody called the police? Nobody called their wives? No Facebook? No Twitter?”

“No.” Todd didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He put them at his sides, then moved them back to his hips. “You…you people pay me pretty well to not pay any attention to that half of the yard. I did just like you told me. No police. I called you first. I made it clear to everyone else that if they kept their mouths shut, there’d be…that there’d be a reward.”

Jacob didn’t react.

“I hope I didn’t overstep. I just felt like that was the best way to…keep everyone quiet.”

Jacob smiled. “No, you did just right. I don’t mind greasing a few palms to smooth this all over. Now you’re sure nobody went and had a look? Nobody called the police?”

The man nodded. “Absolutely. There are only eight people here today, and they’ve all been in my sight since the phones started working again.” He jerked his thumb toward the back half of the property, “I don’t know what you do over there, and I don’t want to know.”

“Good. That’s a good, healthy attitude,” said Jacob. “I keep some spending cash for just this sort of thing.” He turned back toward the truck and folded the seat back.

Jacob turned back around with an AK-47 in his hands. He pulled back the bolt. The manager’s eyes grew wide. He held out his hands as if they could stop bullets. They couldn’t.

The machine gun chattered and blew the manager’s guts out his back. The crowd of men inside didn’t even have time to react before the bullets tore through them. Sunlight shone through the cluster of brand-new bullet holes in the sheet-metal wall.

One man managed to dodge the hail of bullets and took off running. Jacob calmly turned back to the truck and replaced the rifle’s magazine. He switched the fire selector to single shot, aimed carefully, and shot the fleeing man in the middle of the back. He collapsed in the desert across the street from the factory. Jacob tucked the rifle under his arm and pulled out a cigarette.

A black SUV pulled in, and four men got out. Jacob turned to them. “Okay, our hunters probably split by now, but let’s not take any chances.” The cigarette bobbed in his mouth. “We’ve got enough dead bodies as it is. You guys secure the perimeter, but don’t touch anything. Get that gate locked, and get that body back in here. Keep your guns out of sight, and for God’s sake, call me if any police show up.”

Jacob walked through the back gate. There was Juan’s corpse, along with a dead Hispanic woman, her throat torn open, sprawled out in the sunlight. Jacob observed the drag marks from the woman’s heels, and the charred pile of ashes that used to be Mateo. He went inside. The cement floor was sticky with blood. The place reeked of blood and gunpowder and burnt electronics.

Jacob inhaled another lungful of smoke. “Son of a bitch.” He took out his cell phone and dialed a number.

On the other end, Armando didn’t pick up.

“Son of a bitch,” Jacob repeated. He put the phone away.

Back in the truck, he used his laptop to access the off-site storage for the security camera backups. He saw the white work truck pull up to the gate. He saw Alex, in his hard hat, standing at the gate. He hit fast forward and watched as the two vampire hunters shot their way into the factory. Jacob picked out a few key frames—good face shots of Alex and Carmen, the truck’s license plate—and saved them. He brought up a full-screen picture of Alex’s face. “So that’s what you look like. Buddy, you’re starting to piss me off.”

He approached the nearest soldier. “Okay, we’re going to have a truck come by. I want all of these bodies loaded up. We’re taking them to site four for disposal. Then I want this place sanitized. No blood, no bullet shells, no paper work, no nothing.” Jacob took one last drag off his cigarette. He regarded the smoldering butt for a moment then flicked it away. “I need to go check on Armando.”

Thirty minutes later, he pulled into Armando’s driveway. Immediately he saw the front door hanging open, the doorknob blown apart. He nudged the door aside with the shotgun barrel and stepped inside. The carpet squished under his feet.

He lit another cigarette. “Son of a bitch.”

***

Jacob’s black truck followed a single-lane blacktop road that wound through a narrow canyon, roughly following the path of a meandering stream. Birch trees dotted the canyon floor alongside the creek. A few miles later, where the canyon began to neck out into a narrow valley, Jacob pulled the truck to a stop at a security gate. He raised an eyebrow at the camera, and a second later the steel gate rolled aside. Jacob put the truck in gear and crept through. To his right were low rolling hills, terraced and planted with grapevines. To his left, a cliff rose, a jagged monument of volcanic glass and stone. Its face was past vertical; it leaned ominously over the valley, like the bow of a sinking ship. Clustered around the base of the cliff were a dozen or so buildings, with a Spanish-style manor house at their center, the red-tile roof visible behind a high stucco wall.

Jacob looked out to his right and saw laborers hunched among the vines, pruning and tending. An overseer, mounted on horseback, rested a shotgun across his lap. He nodded once to Jacob and turned his head back toward the fields.

He drove past the cluster of maintenance and administration buildings, past the barracks and the garage and the bottling plant. He drove alongside the ten-foot-tall stucco wall and briefly stopped again as the black wrought-iron gates opened for him. He pulled his truck inside. The blacktop gave way to brick pavers. The main drive cut a path through acres of immaculate landscaping. He pulled his truck into the roundabout that surrounded a fountain in front of the house.

Jacob killed the engine and set the parking brake. He took off his sunglasses, tucked them in his shirt pocket, and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. Tired, red eyes stared back at him from a face reluctantly succumbing to middle-age. His nose was a little bit larger than he remembered, the lines around his mouth a little more like jowls every day. He straightened his hair, then his collar. A cough rose in his throat. After a moment of fighting the impulse, he gave in and hacked into a white handkerchief. He glanced at the fresh blood spots on the kerchief before returning it to his jacket pocket.

He met his own eyes in the mirror. “This is it,” he said. “This is your day, Jacob. It’s going to happen. You’ve got this.” He left his black cowboy hat on the seat and climbed out of the truck.

Before he could touch the doorknob, a young girl in a blue housekeeper’s dress opened the great double doors from within. She was a waifish thing, dark skinned, black haired, brown eyed. Her face was blank, her eyes downcast. Without a word, she stepped aside as Jacob strolled into the foyer.

The great room was pure old-world opulence. Marble tiles. Crystal chandelier. A grand staircase that curved up and around to meet with a balcony. Priceless art hung in gilt frames along the walls. Marble and bronze statues stood atop fluted pedestals.

The girl had gone back to dusting the walnut railing. Jacob climbed the stairs. As he reached the top landing, an older woman in an identical blue dress burst out of a doorway on the left. She was the opposite in almost every way of the girl downstairs: thick, severe, with rounded shoulders and strong laundress arms. She leaned both hands on the railing that overlooked the entrance hall, breathing deep and deliberately, willing herself under control. She took her hands off the railing and rubbed her eyes then slid her hands down to cover her mouth. “Otra niña. Solo otra niña,” she whispered. She saw Jacob and froze.

He smirked. “Hey, Luisa. Rough day?”

A wailing scream from within the room cut off her response. The scream rose to a jagged crescendo then faded away. Luisa’s shoulders tensed and her lips pressed tighter together. Her eyes closed for a moment. She turned away from Jacob.

Jacob didn’t seem the least bit surprised by the scream. He pushed the door open.

The room was as lavish as the rest of the house, from the patterned ceiling, to the paintings on the walls, to the carved baseboard skirting the tiled floor. There was a matching William-and-Mary style chaise lounge and accent chair, a wooden end table, a vase of fresh-cut carnations.

The vampire and his victim swayed in the middle of the room like a couple dancing to a slow song. The vampire raised his head at the sound of the door. Blood coated his chin and neck. The girl in his arms was young and scrawny. She, too, wore a blue housekeeping uniform. Her dark eyes were wide open. She trembled in her death throes, both hands wrapped futilely around Pablo’s wrist as he held her by the shoulder. His other hand was wrapped within her long, jet-black hair. Blood seeped from the puncture in her neck.

Jacob’s mouth fell open. “Pablo?”

Pablo was a lean, tall young man, with tanned skin and deep-black hair. He wore black slacks and a white T-shirt, splashed with blood. “Jacob! Hola, qué tal?”

Jacob’s shoulders slumped. “You? You got the promotion?”

“My first meal,” said Pablo. He lowered his face to the girl’s neck and drank again. Her entire body shivered, her bare heels dancing on the floor. Finally her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp. Pablo let go of the dead girl, and she thumped to the tile floor. “It’s amazing.”

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Yeah, congratulations, Pablo.”

Pablo regarded him for a moment. He grinned slyly, wiping blood from his chin. “Oh, are you upset? Did you think it was going to be you?”

Jacob stifled a cough. He looked off to one side. “I’m sure the Don picked who he thought was best.”

Pablo called out, “Luisa!” A moment later, the woman appeared at the door. “I’m finished,” he said. “Clean up this mess.”

Luisa, her face now expressionless, leaned down and grabbed the dead girl’s ankles. The young woman’s arms flopped above her head as Luisa dragged her through the doorway. The girl’s mouth hung open, her eyes seeming to track Jacob as her lifeless head lolled to the side. She left a bloody stripe across the marble tile.

“Don’t worry, Jacob,” Pablo said. “I’m sure your promotion will come soon enough. And it had better, right?” Pablo grinned wider and leaned in. He delicately sniffed Jacob, “You know, before now, I didn’t even know cancer had a smell.”

“Can we just get to business, Pablo?”

Pablo stopped smiling. “Maybe Armando put up with such informality, but I’m in charge now. You can call me ‘sir.’”

Jacob swallowed down some bile. “Yes, sir.”

“So, back to business.” Pablo turned and observed a painting on the wall, some baroque scene of half-naked people sitting in a garden and looking pensive. “Where are we with these vampire hunters? Did you find them yet?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Why haven’t you caught him?”

Jacob put his hands in his jacket pockets. “Like I said, we’re working on it. This guy is good. He doesn’t leave a lot of clues.”

“What about the registration from the truck at Rafael’s house?”

“Oh yeah, James Burton. Turns out he played guitar for Elvis Presley.”

Luisa reentered the room, pushing a mop and a wheeled bucket. She wiped away the red smears on the tile. Both men ignored her.

Pablo said, “You’ll find that I’m not the kind of boss who likes excuses.”

Jacob took a deep breath. “It’s not an excuse—it’s a fact. This was your job, up until about an hour ago. Remember?”

Pablo snorted. “So what do you have?”

“Not much. We have a few pictures, a few license-plate numbers. I sent the pictures in to the national council. Hopefully they have a file on these two. They’ll get back to me. Aside from that, we’re down to checking out every dive motel and bar in the county, looking for the truck they drove to the factory. That’s about all we can do right now, unless we get a break.”

Luisa finished her job. She replaced the mop in the red mop water, and pushed the bucket ahead. The door slipped shut behind her.

“That isn’t good enough,” Pablo said. “You find this asshole, and you find him now, or I’ll—”

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Or you’ll what? Kill me? And then how will you find this guy? You’ve been riding my coattails from day one. All I’ve ever seen you do is snort cocaine and diddle the help. Without me to do your job for you, how long do you think it’ll be before Don Carlos realizes you’re dead weight? You can’t do this without me.”

Pablo’s nostrils flared. He drew in breath to speak.

Jacob’s phone rang in his pocket. He turned away from Pablo as he pulled the phone out. “Hey,” he told Pablo, “shut up for a second. I gotta take this.”

Pablo seethed as Jacob took the call.

A minute later, Jacob hung up and put the phone away. He turned back to Pablo. “We found the truck.”

Pablo didn’t respond.

“Look, I’ve gotta go do my job. You come and find me when the sun goes down…sir.”

Jacob turned to hide the grin on his face as he walked out the door and onto the landing. He pulled out a cigarette and lit up while he strolled down the stairs and out the front door.

On the front stoop stood a waist-high ashtray. As Jacob pulled the front door open, he glimpsed Luisa furtively drop a handful of not-quite-finished cigarette butts into her dress pocket. She turned and looked at Jacob wordlessly.

“Pablo gets the promotion,” said Jacob. “Fuck everything. I mean, isn’t there any goddamned justice in the world?”

Luisa raised one eyebrow, which said everything she intended to say.

Jacob chuckled. He took one last draw on his cigarette, still three-quarters unsmoked, then dropped it onto the marble step, where it lay smoldering. He looked down at the cigarette then met Luisa’s gaze as she looked from the smoke to him. Jacob crushed the cigarette beneath his boot heel and ground it into powder. He briefly raised his eyebrows. “Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

***

An hour after midnight, Pablo’s car pulled into the liquor-store parking lot across the street from the Wagon Wheel Motel. It eased into a space next to Jacob’s black truck. On the other side of the truck was a white van.

Pablo got out of his car. He wore a slim gray single-button suit and mirror-polished brown Chelsea boots. The the top three buttons of his red shirt were undone. He climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. When he rubbed his nose a trickle of white powder fell from his nostril to the lapel of his suit. He didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s the place.” Jacob handed over a pair of binoculars. “Room fourteen. Truck’s still there. The manager says they pulled in around three thirty, and they haven’t left the room. The lights went out a few hours ago. Our guys here in the van can take care of it. When they get coffee in the morning, they’ll grab them and go. Easy peasy.”

Pablo frowned as he lowered the binoculars. “Why wait? Let’s just kick down the door and get them.”

“Seems too easy. This guy isn’t stupid. Why would he—” Jacob stopped and cocked his head, considering. “I mean, he’s dangerous. He’s a big-time vampire hunter. He’s a big name, you know? Seems safer to wait.”

A mocking grin spread across Pablo’s face.”Safe? Are you afraid?”

“Afraid? Of course not. It just seems like it’d be better to do it in the daytime.”

“Ah,” said Pablo. “Daytime. Now I see. You want to cut me out so you can take all the credit. I don’t think so. We go now.”

“Well, I mean, if you say so. You’re the boss.” Jacob undid his seat belt and put his hand on the door handle. “You wait here, and I’ll take care of it.”

Pablo shook his head. “Are you joking? I’m going with you.”

“I just figured, you know, you’re in charge now. Seems like you should be letting the underlings do the work.”

“Like I said, I’m going.”

“If you say so. But I’d feel better if you’d just stay—” Jacob’s coughing fit strangled whatever he was going to say next. The wet hacking went on and on. He coughed so hard he nearly retched. He could barely pause long enough to draw a breath. Finally, he stopped. He leaned against the steering wheel, gasping.

“Look at you,” Pablo said, sneering. “You’re pathetic. You can’t even breathe. In fact, I think you should stay here. I’ll take care of this.”

“No,” Jacob said. “I can—” The coughing started again.

Pablo raised a hand in protest. “Just stay here. That is an order. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” Jacob managed.

As soon as Pablo left, Jacob stopped coughing. He straightened up in his seat, shook a cigarette out of his pack, and stuck it to his lower lip while he fished out his lighter. “Asshole,” he muttered.

Pablo climbed into the van. A minute later, he and four men, all dressed in black, crossed the road. As they approached the motel room door, they pulled out pistols and lowered masks over their faces. Pablo took the lead. The rest lined up on either side of the door, ready to pour through the breach.

Pablo slammed his foot into the door. Even with his vampire strength, it took two tries to kick in the thick motel door. Finally the jamb splintered and the door swung open. They rushed into the room, guns drawn.

“What the fuck?” said Pablo.

The room was empty. On the floor were two gallon jugs wrapped with tape. Wires led away from them. Toward the door. The smell of gasoline hung heavy in the air.

“Mierda…”

The antipersonnel mines detonated. Seven hundred bullet-size steel balls tore through the gallon jugs full of gasoline. A spray of flaming gas and shrapnel tore into the attackers at four thousand feet per second, ripping apart both the living and the undead.

They ran and fell, screaming, burning, dripping liquid fire. They rolled on the floor and pawed at themselves and still burned. Pablo went up like rocket fuel. The men burned slower but burned all the same.

The parking lot was a vision of hell. Men and cars burned. The screams of the maimed and the dying split the cool desert air.

Jacob didn’t flinch. He took a drag off his cigarette and watched the men and the monsters burn. He scanned left then right. “Where are you?” he muttered. “No way you’d miss a show like this.” He sat patiently. Faraway sirens wailed. A minute later, in a parking lot a quarter of a mile down the road, the headlights of a white SUV came on. It eased out of a parking lot and drove in the opposite direction, away from the flaming motel.

Jacob smiled thinly. “There you are.” He put his truck in gear and pulled out in pursuit.

As he shadowed the white SUV through the empty streets of Las Cruces, he dialed a number on his phone. “Señor?” he said, “I have bad news and good news. The bad news is, Pablo is dead. It was a trap. Yes, I tried to stop him, but he went ahead anyway. The good news is, I found the hunter. Yes. Yes of course. I will.” He hung up the phone.

Chapter Eight

Morning sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the diner. The roof swept upward at a rakish angle, cutting a diagonal line of shade across the wall. The textured stone wall outside glowed pink in the eastern light. A single palm tree swayed gently in the hot desert breeze. Inside, the place was a fantasy in Formica and chrome. A row of piston-like stools stood in front of an art deco curved counter, behind which a cook in a white paper hat peered out from his stainless-steel kingdom. A generic Eisenhower-era soundtrack piped in through tinny speakers.

Alex sat across from Carmen at an oversize booth, both of them sipping coffee from white ceramic cups. The seats were upholstered in blue-and-white vinyl. The white Formica tabletop featured little boomerang patterns. Alex’s cowboy hat rested on the seat beside him. He leaned against the windowsill and glanced out the window. He and Carmen were dirty, tired, and disheveled. They could have been mistaken for a couple recovering from a night of hard partying.

“When’s your friend supposed to show up?” asked Carmen. She finished her coffee and set the cup at the edge of the table.

“He gets here when he gets here,” said Alex. “Mack never was much for schedules.”

A bored-looking waitress came by and refilled their coffee. Carmen peeled the foil off a tiny plastic cup of cream and poured it in the mug.

“Have you ever been here before?” Carmen said, as she looked around at the bric-a-brac lining the walls.

Alex shrugged. “Maybe once or twice.”

“Seems like your kind of place.”

He grinned. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He fiddled with the nonfunctional tabletop jukebox, which was flanked by a chrome napkin holder and a glass bottle of ketchup. He looked out the window again. “There he is.”

A blunt-nosed Winnebago lumbered into the parking lot, light brown with darker-brown stripes running down the side. The RV turned a ponderous circle and came to a stop, taking up an entire row of parking spaces.

The side door opened, and Mack stepped out into the sunshine. He wore a tangled mane of salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a ponytail. Three days’ worth of equally salt-and-pepper beard stubbled his face. He slid on a pair of black Wayfarer sunglasses and glanced both ways as he stepped off the bottom step. A red polo shirt, blue jeans, and battered sneakers completed the ensemble. He held a cardboard accordion file as he strolled across the parking lot, through the foyer, and past the hostess stand.

Alex raised his hand and waved.

“Alex! How the hell are you, you son of a bitch!” Mack clapped Alex on the shoulder and slid into the booth next to Carmen. “Who’s your friend?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Is the drought over at last?”

“She’s…ah…” Alex scratched his neck.

“A client,” Carmen finished.

“A trainee,” said Alex. “Mack, Carmen. Carmen, Mack.”

Mack gently took her hand. “A pleasure.” He chuckled and looked around. “Jesus, Alex, where do you find these places? It’s like I’m in a goddamned episode of Leave It to Beaver.”

Alex shrugged. “They got good shakes.”

“I don’t know if Alex mentioned it to you, but he’s got a giant hard-on for cheesy nineteen-fifties Americana like this shit.” Mack gestured to the Elvis poster on the wall. “The man would blow the King if he could.”

Alex sipped his coffee and raised an eyebrow. “Elvis was a good lookin’ man.”

“And the music! Sweet Jesus, the bubblegum crap he listens to! Makes me want to stab my eardrums with a pencil.”

Alex leaned back and smiled. “That’s really somethin’, comin’ from a man thinks Kraftwerk is the best band of the century. Lemme tell you, shit he listens to sounds like a toolbox in a clothes dryer.”

The waitress reappeared. Carmen ordered a waffle, while Alex and Mack both got the pancake plate. When the waitress left again, Carmen said, “So, are you two about done? Are we going to talk business here?”

“Impatient, isn’t she? But okay. The lady calls the tune.” Mack picked up the cardboard accordion file and undid the elastic closure. He pulled out a handful of papers. “So I ran down the names and the addresses you gave me, Alex—for starters, the place you called the factory, otherwise known as Consolidated Aggregates. A very legitimate business producing actual gravel and decorative stone. Belongs to a private trust called Monesco Holdings. They don’t give out much information, but I did find a tangental connection to a man named Gabriel Garcia.” Mack held up a picture. “Look familiar?”

Carmen stared at the photo. She inhaled sharply. A wave of panic knotted her stomach. Her hand unconsciously found the line of stitches on her neck. “I met him,” she whispered.

“That’s the vamp we whacked the other day,” said Alex. “His real name is Rafael.”

Mack nodded. “Thought so. Now, Monesco, interestingly enough, was incorporated more than a hundred years ago. It has its thumb in about every industry in the state. They have quarries, gravel plants, cement factories, farms, shipping firms, waste-management companies, you name it. Very large. Lots of money. Very private. And, coincidentally, they own lots of businesses that could make a body disappear.”

With a gambler’s flourish, he fanned out a stack of documents. “It’d take me hours to walk you through where all this money goes, and I know poor Alex doesn’t have that kind of attention span. So I’ll give you the abridged version. They have their income hidden well. Unusually well. In fact, the money trail goes cold right here.” He pointed to a letterhead that read, “Law Offices of Manuel Sandoval.”

“This guy, Manuel Sandoval,” Mack continued, “oversees all the money that comes in. He administers the trust and makes all cash disbursements. Privately. He pays all the taxes and handles the company’s PR. And get this. At one time, the law office was called ‘Law Offices of Sandoval and Sons.’”

“So?” said Carmen.

“So that was in the 1850s”

“So Manuel is, what, the great-grandson?” asked Carmen.

“Great-great-grandson. Apparently he has kids, but none went into the family business. This one firm has been administering the interests of Monesco Holdings for almost two centuries.”

“This Sandoval cat…” said Alex. “Think he could he be a vamp? Could he actually be the original Sandoval, just switching out identities every generation? We’ve seen that sort of thing before.”

Mack scratched his chin. “It’s possible. If he was, it’d be a damned good trick. All the wives, kids, grandkids, they’re all there in the official records. Not that it’s impossible. I’ve seen setups almost as good.”

“Only one way to know for sure,” said Alex.

“Exactly. And that’s where you come in, my shit-kicking throwback friend.”

“Yep, you hide out in that RV and play on your computer,” Alex said, “and I’ll go out and risk my ass again.”

“Damn right,” said Mack. He grinned to reveal coffee-stained teeth. “Hitting is for crazy assholes like you.” He turned to Carmen. “Sure you want to hang out with this loser? You don’t look like a hitter to me. Maybe you’d rather come keep me company in the RV.”

Carmen gave him a puzzled look. “Hitter?”

“Jesus, Alex, are you teaching this girl anything? Hitter. One who hits. In the hunter community, there are…specializations of labor. Me, for example, I’m a researcher. I’m no good at the messy stuff. I do forensics, research, analysis, computer junk. Science junk. We also have facilitators, people who supply guns and cars and IDs and so forth…anyway, Alex is a hitter. That’s the kind of hunter who actually goes out in the field. Kicks down doors and lops off h—”

The waitress arrived with three plates. Mack shuffled his paperwork together and slid it back into the folder as the waitress set down their food. Mack asked for a bottle of Tabasco, and the waitress returned with it a minute later. He poured it on his pancakes. Carmen made a face.

“So where were we?” said Mack. He shoveled a heap of red-hot pancakes into his mouth.

“I think you were mentioning how I’m a dumb hick that does all the dirty work and takes all the risks, while you talk big and sit in your camper, whacking off to Internet porn.”

Mack grinned and turned to Carmen. “Right. Exactly. And while I’m pleasuring myself to videos of Japanese teenagers, Alex is out kicking vampire ass. He finds information. Phone numbers, hard drives, documents, names. Then he gives them to me. I process said information, and I give him more information in return. Other names, other addresses. He takes that information and goes and kills vampires. The circle of life is complete.” He turned to face Alex. “Speaking of which, what else have you got for me?”

“In the bag,” said Alex. He used his boot to nudge a satchel under the table toward Mack. “Couple laptops. Couple phones. Little somethin’ to cover operating expenses.”

Mack grinned again, revealing those coffee-stained teeth. “Alex, you’re a prince. A redneck, shit-heeled prince.”

“And you’re a creepy, dirty old man with questionable personal hygiene.”

His fork still in hand, Mack laughed and gave a regal nod. “You know me well.”

“Oh, yeah, one other thing,” said Alex. He pulled two small ziplock bags from his pocket. “We found this shit on the bottom of a vamp’s shoe,” he handed over the tiny baggie full of gunk, “along with this bit of label. If you could figure out where either of ’em came from, we’d be much obliged.”

Mack examined the gunk and the label, then tucked the baggies into the satchel. “Not much to work with there. But I’ll send it along to a botanist friend of mine, and we’ll see what we can find out.” He shoveled some more food into his mouth. “So did you hear about that motel room that exploded last night? All over the news.”

“Naw, hadn’t heard about that,” Alex said through a mouthful of pancakes. “Crazy ol’ world.”

The conversation died out for several minutes. The only sound was the ambient clatter of the diner, and Buddy Holly crooning from the cheap speakers. The three ate their meals in silence, washing it down with coffee and orange juice.

***

Across the street, in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven, Jacob sat in the cab of his truck, a pair of binoculars trained on the restaurant. When his phone rang, he answered without putting down the binoculars.

“Yes, señor,” he said, “the hunter and the girl are meeting with an associate. It seems to be another professional. I’ve been asking around. The man’s name is Alex Rains. He’s apparently an up-and-comer in the hunter world. Rumor has it he’s the one who took down Alejandro last year. The woman? No, I don’t know where she fits in. Nobody seems to know about her. Look, Don Carlos, I can take care of this right now. Three bullets and…” He sighed and put the phone back to his ear. “I understand that. It’s just a risk. We could end this now and not have to worry…Yes. Of course. By yourself. I understand. I’ll keep track of them. And what about the associate?” Hearing the response, the man broke into a smile for the first time. “Yes, Don Carlos. I can do that.”

***

The trio walked to the parking lot together. At the door of the RV, Alex and Mack shook hands and hugged. “Take care of yourself now, all right?” Mack said.

“Back atcha, man. You keep diggin’, and I’ll keep kickin’ ass. Lemme know what you find.”

“Will do, man. Will do.” Mack turned to Carmen and started toward a hug then stopped awkwardly when she didn’t respond. He held out a hand, which he accepted. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” Mack said.

Carmen nodded. “Likewise.”

The RV went one way; Alex’s SUV went the other. In the cab of the truck across the street, Jacob watched the screen of his tablet computer as two dots diverged on a map.

***

By that afternoon, Carmen and Alex were parked in the largely empty, shaded parking lot of a mortgage brokerage in Alamagordo, across the street from Sandoval’s law firm. It was a modern, nondescript office, in a modern, nondescript office park. Pleasantly green but minimal landscaping formed a border between the sidewalk and the tinted windows of the law office. Occasionally a professionally dressed man or woman entered or left, driving away or arriving in a luxury car.

Alex put down his binoculars and picked up a manila folder on the seat between him and Carmen. He opened it and looked at the photograph that was held there with a paper clip. It showed a man, probably in his sixties, wearing a navy business suit. He was hale, bald and unashamed of it, his expression one of aloof self-assurance.

“It seems like you mostly sit outside buildings and watch people through binoculars,” said Carmen.

“That’s right.” Alex raised the binoculars again. He held a milkshake in a paper cup between his legs. The engine hummed smoothly, and cool air poured from the air conditioner vents. “Usually more so. This is a rush job, on account of your sister. Most times, I’d a stake out a place for longer. Less surprises that way.” He picked up the milkshake, adjusted the straw, and slurped the last dregs of chocolate out of the cup.

“We’ve been waiting here for hours. We should be doing something.”

“Well I wanted to go to the Pistachio Museum, but you said—”

“I don’t mean the damned Pistachio Museum!” Carmen slammed her hand against the dashboard.

“Well, what then? You got a better idea?”

“I don’t know. We should go in there. Tie people up and beat answers out of them. Something.”

“You’re actin’ like he’s got your sister in his desk drawer or somethin’.”

“He knows where she is. We should be—”

“Well we ain’t.”

Carmen crossed her arms. “This is boring.”

“Can’t argue with that.” After a minute or more of silence, Alex said, “Tell me about her.”

“What?”

“Your sister. Tell me about Mia.”

“Okay,” Carmen twisted in her seat, leaning against the passenger door. “She’s…willful.”

Alex laughed. “Guess that runs in the family.”

Carmen smiled and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, maybe. She’s stubborn as a brick, when she gets an idea into her head. But she’s…I don’t know. She just shines, you know? She’s got this energy to her. She’s got it in here.” Carmen tapped her chest. “She’s got so much potential. She’s like that girl in high school that was beautiful and good at everything, and you wanted to hate her for it, but you couldn’t because she was just so damned nice.”

“Sounds like quite a girl.” Alex’s milkshake was empty, but he still tried to get more out of the cup.

“She is. She could do anything, if she had the chance. If she wasn’t stuck being dirt poor in Juarez. If she’d been—”

“Hold on a tick.” Alex held up his hand. “Here we go.”

The glass door of the law office swung open. Manuel Sandoval strode out, holding a cell phone to his ear with one hand and unfolding a pair of sunglasses with the other. He walked into the bright sunshine of the parking lot.

“Well,” said Alex, “least we know he ain’t a vampire.”

Sandoval used his key fob to unlock a tan Jaguar. He got in and closed the door. As the Jag backed out of its parking space, Alex shifted the SUV into gear. He merged into rush hour traffic a few car-lengths behind the sedan.

Carmen rolled her eyes and tapped her fingers on the dash. “Now we’re following another car to another house.”

“Look, you wanted my help,” he said gruffly. “This is how I do it.”

She let out a wordless growl of frustration. “You heard what that vampire said. Mia is alive. God, with every minute that passes, she could be—”

“I know, goddamn it. Don’t you go thinkin’ I don’t.”

The Jaguar pulled into the garage of a sand-colored mansion in a tony subdivision on the edge of town. It was a two-story monolith of a house with a red tile roof and a two-car garage. Alex continued past and around the corner, before pulling a U-turn and coming back. He parked across the street at a safe distance, with a clear view of the lawyer’s house.

“Now we go?” asked Carmen.

“Now we wait.”

Carmen crossed her arms. “God damn it.”

***

An early-evening rainstorm cut loose. Water ran in sheets down the windshield, throwing dappled shadows inside the car. Alex sat silently, watching the house through his binoculars. The raindrops made a steady patter on the roof. He kept his window cracked open, and the smell of fresh rain on hot pavement wafted in.

“Sorry there ain’t a quicker way to do this,” said Alex.

Carmen sighed. “I just don’t know how much more time we have.”

“We’re gettin’ there. Don’t you worry.”

She shook her head. “This is silly.”

“Let me ask y’all a question. Sandoval. Does he live alone? Does he got an alarm? Does he answer the door himself, or has he got a maid? Does he own a gun? A dog? He got company over? He expectin’ company? We don’t know none of that, and it makes all the difference.”

An hour passed. The Chevelles played softly on the radio. Nobody entered or left the house.

Alex took out his infrared scope and focused it on the lawyer’s house. The infrared showed one man, sitting alone in an easy chair, sipping a drink. “All right,” said Alex. “looks like he’s gettin’ ready to spend the evening alone. That’s what we’re lookin’ for. Pretty soon we can go and have a chat with him.”

The rain stopped, and the sun briefly peeked out through the narrow band of pink sky on the horizon before disappearing behind the mountains.

Alex spent several more minutes looking through the binoculars then switched back to the infrared. The heat vision showed the same person, in the same chair, holding the same drink. “Yeah, looks like he’s still alone.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” asked Carmen. She leaned her back against the passenger door to face him.

“Don’t rightly know,” said Alex. He switched to the binoculars again and scanned up and down the street. “I just got a funny feeling.”

“We don’t have time for this.”

“Darlin’, don’t matter what we don’t have time for. Somethin’s hinky. It’s too quiet. Somethin’ about this is makin’ the hairs on my neck stand up.”

“So what? You want to call the whole thing off, because of your neck hairs? Sit here and watch with your binoculars for a week?”

Alex nodded. “Ideally, yeah. I’d like that.”

“That son of a bitch knows where Mia is, and I’m not going to wait.” She put her hand on the door handle and watched for his reaction.

Alex sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment. “All right then. If that’s how you want to play it.” He opened his door; Carmen followed suit. They crossed the street and walked up the concrete walkway, through the xeriscaped yard, and up onto the tiny front stoop. After a minute’s search, Alex found a door key under a planter. He eased the door open.

Inside, the house was dark. An enormous Navajo rug sat in the center of the foyer. A staircase curved upward, rising above the vaulted entrance to the hallway. Neoclassic art lined the walls. The only illumination came from subtly placed night-lights, save for one doorway down the hall, which glowed yellow. Brisk, crisp strains of flamenco guitar drifted down the hallway.

Alex drew his pistol. Carmen followed him, trying to match his silence as they crept through the grand foyer and down the hall. Alex held the pistol down low at his side. The music grew louder as they approached the occupied room.

Light from the doorway threw an orange rectangle across the hall. Alex stood on the edge of the darkness. From where Carmen stood, he was silhouetted, his face in perfect profile against the shifting orange glow of candlelight. Alex closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and entered the room.

Manuel Sandoval sat reclined in a leather-upholstered easy chair. His eyes were closed. He wore his suit slacks and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and cuffs. He still wore his suspenders. His black-stockinged feet rested on a leather ottoman. Next to him on an end table, a decanter of Scotch sat next to a half-full snifter. There was no fire in the fireplace, but a half dozen candles flickered on the mantle, the only light in the room. On the opposite wall, a small fortune’s worth of home audio equipment pumped out high-fidelity flamenco. A row of level indicator lights jumped from green to red with every crisp pluck of a guitar string.

Alex stood in the doorway, noting every detail. Carmen came forward and stood next to him. Her foot came down on the hardwood during a lull in the music. Sandoval’s eyes snapped open.

Only the eyes moved. Otherwise, he was still as a stone. He took in the scene in an instant—his quick, intelligent eyes flicking from Alex, to Carmen, to the guns, back to Carmen.

“Who the hell are you?” he said at last. He looked more annoyed than frightened.

Alex was silent for a moment. The shadow of his hat brim in the dancing light made his eyes into dead pools. “Gonna ask you a couple questions, hoss.”

“And you need guns to ask me questions?” Slowly, Sandoval straightened up the recliner and put his feet on the floor. “You need to sneak into my home?” He reached for a black object on the end table. Alex’s pistol came up. The sweet metallic click was audible above the music as he thumbed the hammer back.

Sandoval froze, then very slowly picked up the remote control. He turned the music down.

“Well, if you have questions, ask them.” Sandoval—again, slowly—picked up his glass and drained it.

“Tell us about your client,” said Carmen.

Sandoval chuckled. “My dear, I have many clients.”

“Your oldest client,” said Carmen.

“Monesco Holdings,” said Alex. “Where’s the money go?”

Sandoval looked back and forth between them. He smiled and laughed again. “Is that what this is all about? Monesco? There couldn’t be a more mundane portfolio in the world.”

“We ain’t interested in the portfolio,” said Alex. “We’re interested in the beneficiary. Who’s been gettin’ all that money all these years?”

The lawyer shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Attorney-client privilege.”

“We ain’t gonna worry about little details like that,” Alex said, taking a step closer to Sandoval.

The old man sighed. “Okay, no need for violence.” He eased himself out of his chair. “I have all the information you want, in my office.” He picked up the Scotch decanter and the empty glass. “Follow me.”

Far from the confident stride they’d seen earlier in the day, Sandoval shuffled like a sore old man as he led them two doors down, through the darkened hall. He flicked on a light and entered a miniature version of his office at the law building. A slightly smaller desk. A slightly smaller bookshelf. A slightly smaller row of filing cabinets.

Sandoval set down the decanter and poured himself another glass. “Would you like some?” he asked. “It’s a sixteen-year-old Lagavulin, quite good.” He swirled the glass and smelled the scotch. “Quite good.”

Alex made a hurry-up gesture with his pistol. Sandoval shrugged and pulled open the oak filing cabinet.

“Nothin’ fancy now,” said Alex.

“What could I do?” asked Sandoval. “A bald old man against two people with guns? Please. I’m not an idiot. I’ll give you what you want, and then you, it is to be hoped, will go away.”

He flipped through the filing cabinet and finally pulled out a thick manila folder. He sat at the desk and opened it.

“Monesco is our oldest client. It’s the account that made this family. For five generations, Sandoval has been keeping this client and their assets safe and anonymous. And now you just want me to tell you? Why? For some bizarre vendetta?”

“This client,” said Carmen, “you know what he is. How can you live with yourself?”

Sandoval knitted his brows. “I don’t follow you. What is he?”

“A vampire,” said Carmen.

Sandoval leaned back, held his belly, and laughed. He laughed until he nearly fell from his chair. He rocked back and wiped tears from his eyes. “A vampire? Oh, that’s rich. I don’t know what’s funnier, that you think my client is a…a vampire…or that you think I’d mind! I am a lawyer, after all! Mustn’t we bloodsucking fiends stick together?”

Alex waved the pistol at the old man. “Don’t matter what he is or what he ain’t. We just need his name and where to find him.”

Something changed in Sandoval’s demeanor then. A sly grin spread across his face. The lawyer leaned back in his chair and hooked his thumbs into his suspenders. A look of deadly satisfaction settled onto his face. “I think you’ve probably already heard of him,” he said. “Don Carlos is his name. And, my stupid friends, I think you’ll meet him sooner than you might like.”

Carmen felt the cold touch of steel against her neck. At the same time, someone snatched the pistol from her hand. She drew in her breath.

Alex started to turn. “Don’t try it,” said a voice from the shadows. Someone stepped forward, holding Carmen by the collar, a pistol jammed against the back of her head. Alex turned back. Sandoval held a Taser in his hand.

It sounded like a book dropping on a tabletop. The Taser’s compressed air charge propelled two barbed metal prongs across the room and into Alex’s chest. He felt the sting as they burrowed into his muscle. Then fifty thousand volts hit his nervous system. He screamed, and the floor rose up and hit him in the face.

Chapter Nine

Alex spasmed on the floor as electricity coursed through his body. The Taser crackled. Carmen cried out and tried to go to him, but strong hands held her fast and twisted her arms around painfully behind her back.

The Taser stopped. Alex went limp against the floor. Sandoval laughed. “I’ve always wanted to see what that would do to somebody.” He hit the button again, sending Alex back into convulsions.

Carmen turned and found herself staring down the barrel of a pistol. Three men faced her. Two looked to be in their early thirties and wore clean, pressed slacks; shined shoes; crisp white shirts. The third was older, weathered. He wore a black cowboy hat and a denim jacket.

They forced Carmen into a chair. The cold steel of handcuffs ratcheted around her wrists.

The one in the black hat pulled out a cell phone. He dialed, and then, after a moment’s pause, he spoke into the phone. “We have them. At Sandoval’s house. Of course.” He hung up the phone and put it away. He turned and looked down at Alex while he leaned against Sandoval’s desk. “Well, here we are. Alex, right? I’m Jacob. And you, buddy, are about to have a real bad night.”

In response, Alex drooled on the carpet. “Nothing to say? Just as well.” Jacob looked down at Alex’s boots, at the hat lying on the floor. “A cowboy, huh? I feel bad for you. The Don hates cowboys.” He tipped his own hat. “Hell, he hates me, and I work for him.” He suppressed a cough. “You hear that? That’s esophageal cancer. I mean, I don’t just want that promotion. I need it. And he knows it. I’ve done damned good work for the man. Ten years I’ve worked for the Don. So when you guys whack his head of security, who does he tap for a replacement? Me? Hell, no. He picks some fucking new guy, some worthless fuckwit, who just happens to be a full-blooded Spaniard. Does that sound fair to you?” Jacob paced the floor. “Oh, no. Anything but promote the only competent one. Anything but promote the white guy who wears cowboy boots.” Jacob stopped himself. He laughed. “Sorry. I’m venting. Anyway, he’s gonna hate you.” He knelt and looked into Carmen’s face. “And if there’s anything the Don hates more than white cowboys, it’s women and Mexicans.”

“Fuck you,” Carmen spat.

Jacob grinned and winked. “Careful what you wish for.” He turned to Alex. “Now, just so you know. There’s only one reason you’re still alive right now. When somebody pisses off the Don, he insists on finishing them himself. He’s old school like that. Tradicional. And you know what? You really, really pissed him off. I don’t know what he’s going to do to you, but I’m pretty sure you aren’t going to like it. Me? I’m a pragmatist. If it were up to me, I’d put a bullet in you now. But since the Don won’t be here for a while, we have some time to kill. What should we do?”

Jacob kicked Alex in the face. His nose snapped wetly. Blood spurted onto the Navajo carpet. Carmen screamed and turned her head away.

“Ah, why on the rug?” moaned Sandoval.

“Buy a new one. You can afford it.” Jacob kicked Alex again, this time in the stomach. And again. In the other room, a brisk, fiery flamenco track started, at first only the percussive ratatatat of boot heels on hardwood, then hand claps, and then the guitar exploded into a brash, dirty melody.

Jacob gestured to his men. They picked Alex up and held his arms. Jacob pummeled him in the kidneys, in the face. The men kicked him in the groin then let him drop again. The three of them kicked and stomped him again and again. Sickening, wet thumps filled the room as each blow connected. Sandoval stood and watched, impassive.

As tears ran down her cheeks, Carmen strained against the cuffs that held her wrists together, threaded through the ladder-back chair. She tried pulling the chair’s slats apart, but they wouldn’t budge. She twisted her hands until they bled, but the cuffs were tight enough to cut off circulation.

Alex lunged off the floor and took a clumsy swing at one of the attackers. He missed and sprawled over the desk. Papers, blotter, pencil holder, and stapler all went flying. Jacob grabbed Alex’s shirt, pulled him upright again, and slugged him in the gut. When Alex bent over in pain, Jacob’s knee slammed into his face. He stumbled backward and fell against Carmen. He planted one hand on the chair between her legs and locked eyes with her for a long moment. Blood smeared on her shirt as he slid to the floor.

Carmen looked down. There on the seat cushion was Alex’s bloody handprint. Next to it, tucked up under her butt, right where the crotch seam of her jeans came together, was a blood-smeared handcuff key.

Alex lunged again and managed to land a decent punch. His attackers responded with renewed fury. While they focused on Alex, Carmen scooted her butt forward in the seat, stretching her hands down as far as she could, jamming the backrest into her armpits. She fished around for the key. After a moments’ panic, her fingertips touched metal. She gently teased the key toward her with a fingernail, got it between two fingers, followed by her finger and thumb. She oh-so-carefully inserted the key into the handcuff lock. The shackle fell away from her left wrist. She looked around but kept her hands behind her back. Amid the chaos, no one seemed to be paying her much attention.

One of the henchmen had Alex’s chrome .45 tucked into the back of his waistband. His back was to Carmen. She judged the distance, calculated the odds, and tensed her body to spring.

Carmen crouched and lunged. Time slowed down. She grabbed the pistol and yanked it free.

Sandoval sat at his desk and watched her, his mouth shaped in an O of surprise.

The henchman turned, not yet fully aware of what was happening. As Carmen brought the weapon to bear, his face just started to register the fact that things might be going horribly wrong.

Then he didn’t have a face. The .45 bucked and spat fire. The henchman’s brains splattered the shelf of leather-bound law books..

Jacob and the remaining henchman dove for cover while they scrambled for their guns. Carmen bared her teeth as she pulled the trigger again and again. One bullet caught the other thug in the throat. A red waterfall cascaded down his white shirt. His knees buckled, and he fell. Another bullet punched through Jacob’s chest as he dove into the hall.

Sandoval stood frozen. Carmen pointed the gun at the old lawyer. She wiped her bloody lip with the back of her hand.

“Let’s be reasonable,” said Sandoval, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“Reasonable?” said Carmen. “Fuck you.” She looked down at Alex and held up the key. “Where the hell do you hide this thing?”

Alex smiled a bloody smile in return. “Man’s gotta have some secrets.”

“Can you walk?”

“Mebbe.”

She turned back to Sandoval. “You want to live? Tell us where to find the Don.”

Staring down the huge barrel of the .45, blood dripping from the walls, Sandoval said, “Well, you’re going to meet him here any minute. In fact, I don’t think you have time to torture any information out of me. If you’re smart, you’ll just leave now, or you can wait until—”

Carmen shot him in the face. He jerked once, his arms splayed out to the side. His head lolled back, gore dangling from the back of his skull.

She went to the doorway and peered out. Jacob lay on the floor, wheezing. Foamy pink blood bubbled from his chest, but he still raised his pistol. Carmen pulled her head back as bullets pierced the doorframe, inches from her head.

“Fuck it,” she said. “We’re going out the window.”

She ran to Alex and bent to pick him up. He shook his head. “My hat…”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” She snatched his hat up from the floor and planted it on his head.

He smiled. “Thanks, darlin’.”

“Now can we go?” She knelt next to him and pressed the .45 into his hands, then snatched one of the guns scattered on the floor for herself. She went to the window and peered down the dark, hedge-lined gangway ten feet below. She unlatched the window and kicked out the screen.

With her help, Alex got shakily to his feet, but then he began to collapse again. Carmen caught him and hauled him to the window. “Sorry about this,” she said. She helped him, more or less, to fall out the window. He landed in a heap in some shrubs and cacti and groaned. She followed him out, with a far more controlled drop. Still, her ankle rolled when she hit the ground. Pain lanced up her leg. She stumbled, but stayed standing.

Carmen gathered Alex up and slung his arm over her shoulder. His toes dragged on the ground. “You’re a lot strongr’n you look,” he mumbled. His head hung limply. She gritted her teeth and ignored the pain that shot through her ankle with every step. She half-carried, half-dragged him down the gangway, toward the orange glare of the streetlights, and shouldered open a wrought-iron gate. She broke into a shuffling run, urging Alex towards the SUV.

When she was close enough, she saw that the SUV rested on four flat tires. Rude slashes marred the sidewalls. A wave of despair washed over her. She fought back the tears that pressed at her eyes. “Damn it. Goddamn it.” She looked around desperately. She leaned Alex against the SUV. “The Jag.” She said. “We have to go back inside. I need to get Sandoval’s car keys.”

Alex muttered, “Get…Get the duffel bag.”

“Easy for you to say, Alex.” Still, she opened the hatch and pulled out an oversize ballplayer’s duffel bag, black with a white Nike swoosh. She wrapped the duffel’s shoulder strap across her chest, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder again. She gritted her teeth and blew her hair out of her face. With the added weight of the duffel bag, she could barely stand. Still, she hobbled across the pristine blacktop.

Carmen spotted the cold glow of headlights around the bend in the road, a hundred yards distant. She stopped. As she watched, a black limousine rounded the corner.

An icy hand clutched her heart and squeezed. Some deep animal part of her brain screamed a frantic warning. She hadn’t thought she had anything left in her, but a new surge of adrenaline coursed through her. She turned and hobbled the other way, back toward the SUV.

She hobbled-limped faster, ignoring the searing pain in her ankle. It was hopeless. The limousine ate up the distance, growing larger each second. It stopped in front of Sandoval’s house. Carmen kept hobbling anyway.

The rear door of the limo opened. The man who stepped out was thin and pale. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. He was dressed in a black suit, and his black hair was slicked straight back. He stood ramrod straight and regarded Carmen with idle curiosity. He left the door of the limo hanging open and strode toward the vampire hunters.

Carmen looked back at him. Her legs shook and threatened to give out. Her ankle ached. Alex was a hundred tons of deadweight on her shoulders. Her fingers were numb and useless. She felt the pistol slipping from her grasp. Suddenly she just wanted to lie down and wait for the end.

Don Carlos strolled nonchalantly down the middle of the street. He carried a silver-headed cane in one hand. The streetlights glinted off his polished leather shoes. As he got closer, Carmen made out more details. The white shirt was silk. He wore no tie, and his top button was undone. He had high, pronounced cheekbones, a narrow chin, and eyes that seemed to reflect ambient light. Like a cat. Two corners of a red handkerchief poked out of his suit coat’s breast pocket. When he grinned, a cold shudder slithered down Carmen’s spine.

Headlights appeared from a side street. A cream-colored Audi eased around the corner before pulling to a gentle stop next to Carmen.

A pleasant-looking, well-fed woman stared out the driver’s-side window. She was later middle age and wouldn’t look out of place at an artist’s reception or a cheese tasting. Her face registered mild concern. “Miss,” she said, “Are you all right?”

Carmen jammed her gun through the open window. Her scream seemed to come from some other place. “Out of the fucking car!”

The woman froze in shock. Carmen dropped Alex and pulled the car door open. The woman blubbered and held up her hands. Carmen reached across, unlatched her seat belt, and yanked the woman out of her seat. “I’m sorry,” she said, before dumping the driver on the ground.

And Don Carlos was there. He seemed to have covered the distance by magic, still traveling at the same sedate pace, as though it were beneath him to exert the effort. Carmen spared a glance back at the vampire. He smiled at her.

Alex’s pistol dangled loosely from his hand. He raised his head to look at the vampire. As if by its own volition, the pistol fired.

The vampire’s knee exploded. Don Carlos growled in rage and fell. At the same moment the driver of the limousine cut loose with a machine gun. The front windshield of the Audi shattered. The cowering Good Samaritan gurgled and fell headlong as a bullet pierced her throat.

The last of Alex’s strength left him. The pistol clattered to the pavement.

Don Carlos rose to his hands and knees. Leaning on his cane, he got to his feet.

Carmen opened the back door of the Audi, threw in the duffel bag, then picked Alex up and heaved him in as well. She kicked the door shut and fell into the driver’s seat.

She dropped the car into gear and burned rubber, aiming straight for the vampire. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, as if to say, Well played. He stood, unperturbed, as a ton of German steel barreled toward him. At the last minute he lunged aside, fully in control, a matador dodging a bull.

Carmen sped away, aiming the car at the open door of the limo. The driver ducked inside and slammed the door just in time to avoid being cut in half. In her rearview mirror, she saw the driver open the door again and yell something. Don Carlos shook his head in response. The vampire reached into his inside suit pocket and removed a silver cigarette case. Carmen saw the flare of the match and the glowing red cherry ignite. Two seconds later, she was around the corner and accelerating hard.

“Are you still with me, Alex?” she said, adjusting the rearview mirror so she could see him lying in the backseat.

He didn’t respond.

She set her mouth into a firm straight line and kept driving.

Carmen kept the pedal to the floor. The car surged ahead, its headlights cutting through the darkness. She used the butt of the pistol to break out the last of the safety glass on the windshield. Wind howled through the car. She reached one hand back and shook Alex. “Stay with me,” she said. “Stay awake.”

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into a lonely highway rest stop and turned around in her seat. Alex shifted and murmured something unintelligible. His breath was a labored, uneven wheeze.

“What now, Alex? Where do we go? You have to help me out here.”

After a rattling inhale, Alex said, “North. Up 54. Lemme know when you get to the 42.” He grimaced as he pulled out his phone. He dialed a number and handed it to Carmen. “It’s Jen.”

Carmen hit “send” and held the phone to her ear. After the third ring, a voice said, “Hello?”

“Jen?” said Carmen.

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Carmen. Alex—”

“What happened?”

“He’s hurt. He’s hurt bad.”

A pause. “Where are you?”

“Alex, where are we going?”

“The…the ranch,” said Alex.

“We’re headed to the ranch,” said Carmen.

“I’ll be there.” She hung up the phone.

The Audi slid through the darkness, effortlessly breezing past semis and late-night drivers, past truck stops and gas stations. Carmen squinted in the wind and prayed she didn’t catch the eye of the police, prayed the car hadn’t been reported.

In the backseat, Alex’s breath was a metronomic rattle, punctuated by an occasional wet cough. Again, Carmen reached a hand back and found his skin cold and clammy. Despite the cold night air, he was bathed in sweat. “Just hold on, Alex. We’ll be there soon.”

“Didn’t know…you cared…”

She held his hand and squeezed.

Chapter Ten

They drove through the night. Alex raised his head up enough to see out the window and weakly give directions. Carmen turned onto a second highway, then a road, then a smaller road, and finally a dirt path. Alex winced with every bump and rut. Carmen slowed the car to a crawl.

They came to a locked steel gate. Alex whispered the combination, and Carmen got out and knelt in the dust to undo the combination lock. She pulled the Audi past the threshold and locked the gate again.

She drove through a narrow draw and into a cluster of enclosing hills. Slowly the desert gave way to grass and, bushes, then birch and cottonwood trees. She rounded the last bend and Alex’s house came into view, stark in the glare of the headlights, her own yellow Pontiac still parked out front. “Alex, we’re here.”

He didn’t respond. Carmen got out and felt around in his pockets for keys. At the front door, she tried key after key until the lock turned. She went back, hauled Alex up by the armpits, and dragged him from the car. He moaned softly as his cowboy boots thumped on the ground. They dragged behind as Carmen shuffled backward. She muscled him up the steps, through the entryway, and dumped him on the couch.

She found the light switches. The room bloomed into being around her. Alex looked worse in the light. His skin was deathly pale. Blood, both dried and fresh, caked the bottom half of his face and stained his T-shirt.

Carmen grabbed a towel from the kitchen, soaked it in warm water, and gently daubed the blood away from his face. Alex hissed and flinched every time the cloth touched his skin. She made shushing sounds and combed his hair back with her fingertips. “Just hold on,” she said. “Jen’s on the way.”

When she tried to pull his boots off, he groaned in pain. Unsure what to do, she slid to the floor and leaned against the couch. She held Alex’s hand in her own and squeezed. She felt a faint squeeze in return. She was still sitting there minutes later when headlights appeared in the driveway. The curtains covering the front windows glowed as the lights washed across them.

Carmen suddenly remembered the pistol sitting on the passenger seat of the stolen Audi. She crouched and looked for a weapon, anything.

Outside, a car door slammed. Carmen peered out the yellowed blinds. Dust drifted through the sweep of headlights. A familiar voice called out, “Alex? Carmen?”

Carmen sighed with relief as she opened the front door. “Thank God you’re here.”

Jen had her medic’s kit in her hand as she barged through the doorway. She pushed past Carmen and into the living room. “Where is he?”

“On the couch..”

Jen dropped her toolbox next to the couch and got to work. “What happened?” she asked, as she pulled out a pair of paramedic’s shears. With a few expert swipes, she cut Alex’s shirt open.

We were…he got beaten.”

“Alex?” Jen raised an eyebrow.

“There were three of them.” When Jen still looked incredulous, Carmen added, “They Tasered him first.”

“That makes more sense. Alex could take any three people I know.” She ran a finger across the wounds from the Taser electrodes. She brought out a penlight and held one eye open at a time, sweeping the light back and forth. Next came the blood pressure cuff. She pumped up the cuff, counting as she kept time with her watch, then released the pressure.

As she cut away the dusty leather of Alex’s cowboy boots, he stirred. “Aw, shit…Not the boots,” he murmured.

“Sorry, hon.” She pulled off his ruined boots and tossed them aside. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Shut up now.” She slapped an oxygen mask over his face. She felt along his legs and pushed gently on his abdomen, listened to his breathing with a stethoscope. She filled a syringe from a vial and injected it into his arm.

She sat back on her haunches. “Well, it isn’t good,” she said. “But it could be worse. Definite concussion. Broken nose. Maybe broken ribs. Kidney trauma. He’s gonna be pissing blood for a few days. Probably a minor ruptured spleen. I’d know more if I could take some x-rays. He really should be in a hospital.”

Carmen said, “I don’t think that’s—”

Jen cut her off. “Yeah, I know. Not an option. Comes with the business.”

The pain-killer began to take effect. Alex’s breathing evened out, and he visibly relaxed. For the first time, Jen focused her attention on Carmen. “How are you feeling?” she said, examining the bruises on her face.

Carmen shrugged. “I’ll live.”

“I noticed you’re limping. Can I take a look at that ankle?”

Carmen nodded. She sat down on the floor and winced as Jen pulled off her shoe. “That’s a nasty little sprain,” she said, wrapping the ankle with an ACE bandage. “You’re going to want to keep off it for a few days.” Jen stood up and rummaged through her medical kit. She shook a handful of pills out of a bottle and handed them over to Carmen, along with a bottle of water.

“What are these?”

Jen smiled. “Just ibuprofen. You don’t get the good stuff.”

Carmen swallowed the pills with a swig of water. Jen knelt again and draped an ice pack over Carmen’s ankle. “You look worn out. When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Well, I think I’ve got Alex under control. Why don’t you go and…” She stopped. Carmen was fast asleep. Jen smiled her tight-lipped half smile and let out an exhalation that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah, just like that.” She went to her van and came back with a blanket. She covered Carmen and arranged her hair as she slid a pillow under her head. “Sleep tight, honey.” She stood and moved back to Alex. As she felt his pulse at the wrist, her expression darkened.

***

The house reeked of shit, blood, and gunpowder. Strains of flamenco guitar still drifted through the darkened halls. Don Carlos stepped through the threshold. He was immaculate save for one pant leg, which was shredded at the knee. He leaned slightly on the silver-headed cane as he crossed the carpeted floor and entered the hallway. His driver followed silently. Light poured from Sandoval’s office at the end of the hall. Over the music, Don Carlos’s vampire ears picked out another sound: a quiet, wet wheeze.

He found Jacob in the hallway.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, Jacob opened his eyes. He looked up from the floor and opened his mouth as if to speak. Instead of words, a pink foam emerged from his mouth and the hole in his chest.

Don Carlos stepped over Jacob and into the lawyer’s office. Two of his men lay sprawled and gaping, shredded by bullets. The Navajo carpet was unrecognizable, soaked in blood. Sandoval sat slumped behind his desk in his office chair, hands out to the sides, head tilted back, in a gruesome parody of a skydiver. His mouth was open, tongue hanging out. His eyes stared at something off to the right on the ceiling that only he could see. The top of his head, above the eyebrows, was now only a bloody mess on the wall behind him. The window was open, and cool night breeze drifted in.

The Don’s Italian loafers squished on the bloody carpet. He turned in a full circle, taking in the scene. After a moment of reflection, he stepped out of the office and back into the hall.

Seeing the Don, Jacob once more tried to talk. He spasmed and lay back again, gurgling and foaming. Don Carlos knelt beside him.

“Don’t try to speak,” said the Don. He leaned over and sank his teeth in.

Jacob smiled through the pain.

***

Carmen woke up and found herself staring at a hideous popcorn ceiling. Morning sunlight filtered through the venetian blinds. She sat up. Her ankle throbbed under the ACE bandage. Next to her she found three ibuprofen tablets in a glass, a bottle of water, and a pair of aluminum crutches. Taking the hint, she washed down the pills with the water, and stood with the help of the crutches.

Alex still lay on the couch, a blanket tucked up under his armpits. A hat rack had been repurposed as an IV stand. A plastic tube ran into his wrist. The bruises on his face had fully developed. Under the white rectangle of bandage across his nose, Alex’s face was an ugly lump of purple and black. Despite that, he looked peaceful, and was breathing steadily and easily.

Carmen watched him for a moment. She leaned in, tentatively, and brushed a few strands of hair away from his face. He didn’t move. She cocked her head and smiled a little, still herding that one errant lock of hair behind his ear. Her pulse quickened. She leaned in farther…

Alex snorted and shifted in his sleep. Carmen straightened up abruptly, blushing, and limped away.

She found Jen out on the steps of the back porch. She wore a tight white tank top and the same camo pants. The dragon tattoo that ran from her left shoulder to her left wrist seemed to writhe as she raised her cigarette to her lips. For the first time, Carmen noticed the rest of the tattoo: an armored knight astride a white stallion, facing the dragon with a raised lance. Next to Jen, a red Bic lighter, a bottle of water, and a compact handgun sat on the step.

Jen turned when she heard the sliding door open. She held up a pack of Camels. “You smoke?”

“No.” Carmen, still getting used to the crutches, eased through the door.

“You’re smart. It’s a disgusting habit. I should quit. But…” she regarded the burning cigarette between her fingers. “…this business makes it hard to worry about long-term health risks.” She took another drag.

“I can understand that.” Carmen fumbled with the crutches and managed to ease down into a deck chair. “How is he?”

“Not great,” she said. She stared out into the stand of cottonwoods. Songbirds trilled in the crisp morning air.

“How not great?”

“I don’t know exactly.” Jen stood up. She took her pistol and her cigarettes and moved to the patio chair next to Carmen. “He’s in rough shape. And the worst of the damage is internal. Stuff I couldn’t get to without surgery. I know some people at hospitals who would help out, but…frankly, moving him again might be more dangerous than waiting it out.” She shrugged. “He’s a fighter. If anybody can make it, he can. He’ll make it.”

“You two seem pretty close.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty fond of that dumb hick.”

Carmen hesitated then said, “Are you and he…an item?”

With an amused smirk, Jen flicked ashes from her cigarette. “You mean romantically? No. Not into men so much.”

“Oh. Oh…”

Jen leaned back in her chair. “So, why do you ask? About me and Alex, I mean.”

Carmen shrugged. “No reason. Just curious.”

For a moment, neither one spoke. Jen pondered the glowing tip of her cigarette. Finally she turned her eyes towards Carmen. She said, “He’s not a bad looking guy though, right?”

“Well…I guess…”

Jen smiled knowingly. “You guess.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I just felt like I picked up a little more than platonic concern last night. And this morning, did I or did I not see you damned near lean down and kiss him on the forehead?”

Carmen blushed deep crimson. “I wasn’t—” She paused. “You saw that.”

“Eyes like a hawk,” said Jen. “So, what’s the story, morning glory? I know it gets lonely out there on the road, death right around the corner…things happen. Are you and Alex…” Jen made an obscene gesture with her cigarette.

“No!”

Jen laughed. “Okay, okay. But you’re into him.”

For a long time, Carmen looked down at the table. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That was actually more of a statement than a question. You’re into him. Nothing wrong with that, he’s a good guy.”

She smiled. “Yeah. He is. I just…” She touched the still tender wound on her neck. “Finding my sister is my first priority, and I don’t know if I…”

“No, it’s okay. You went through something awful. A vampire attack is traumatic. Nobody’s going to blame you if you’re not ready. Least of all Alex.”

“It… Here’s the thing. I’ve been…attacked…before. More than once. When that vampire attacked me, it…I guess it brought up some old stuff. Stuff I thought I was done with.” When Jen looked over, she saw tears in Carmen’s dark eyes. “I swore it wouldn’t ever happen to me again, you know? I worked out. I took martial arts. I learned to shoot a gun. I became a cop, for God’s sake! And then I came up against that vampire, and none of it meant shit. I shot him four times, right in the chest, and he didn’t even care. It was like something out of a nightmare. He just…”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Carmen let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe I look like I’ve got it together, but when it comes to romance, I’m a fucking mess. I just put up this wall, and I avoid the whole subject.”

Jen scooted her chair closer and put an arm on Carmen’s forearm. “Hey, it’s not your fault. You know that, right? You’ve lived through more than most people ever will. And let me tell you a little secret. Alex, under all that charm and the dopey cowboy act, he’s a fucking mess too. He’s got some serious intimacy issues. But believe me when I say I’ve seen some of the worst of what men are capable of. So coming from me, this is saying something. Alex is one of the good guys. I think he’d be worth your trouble.”

“What happened to him?” Carmen asked. “Why is he the way he is?”

Jen was quiet for a long time. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you. He’ll tell you his story in his own time. When he’s ready.”

“So why are you telling me all this?”

Jen laughed. “Because he needs to get laid? Seriously, though, because he likes the hell out of you. I can see it. And I think maybe, under that aloof, frosty exterior, you might like him a little bit. Or am I imagining things?” Carmen didn’t answer. “Anyway, I want him to be happy. He deserves a little damned happiness.”

***

Carmen lay in the bathtub, her injured foot propped up awkwardly above the waterline. The water, once scalding hot, was fast approaching tepid, and her fingers were wrinkled up like raisins. “All good things must end,” she sighed, and pulled the plug. As the water drained, she reached for her crutches and used them to maneuver to the edge of the tub, where she dried off and dressed.

When Carmen left the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel, Jen had coffee on, and Alex was awake.

He smiled weakly. “Hey there, darlin’.”

“Hey, Alex. How are you feeling?”

“Feel like I got ate by wolves and shit over a cliff.”

Carmen laughed despite herself. “Sorry to hear that. Does it hurt much?”

“Only when I’m sexy. So, yeah, pretty much all the time.”

Then Jen jammed a thermometer in his ear. “Ow, goddamn it! Easy, woman! Whatcha think you’re doin’?”

“You seem like you’re doing better,” said Jen.

Alex shrugged. “You know me. Tougher’n a two-dollar steak.”

“That’s great. Because I’m sick of babysitting you, and I could use some sleep. Carmen?”

“Yeah?”

Jen pointed to the little box on the floor that a tangle of monitor wires flowed to. “See this screen? Here’s heart rate, blood pressure, intercranial pressure… well it measures all kinds of things. Basically, if any of this stuff gets wonky or stops or makes beeping noises, wake me up. If Alex gets pale or passes out or starts talking crazy talk, wake me up. If blood starts spraying everywhere, wake me up. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear from either of you for six to eight hours.” She went into Alex’s bedroom and shut the door.

Carmen awkwardly sat on the floor next to Alex, placing the crutches next to the couch. “I’m sorry,” she said. She took his hand. “This is all my fault. You knew something was off. You wanted to wait. I should have listened.”

Alex weakly raised his head off the pillow. “Ain’t nobody’s fault. Shit just happens sometimes. Name of the game.”

She met his eyes. “You were right, and I was wrong. I just wanted to say that.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” said Alex. “But you was right too. Clock is tickin’. We still gotta find that sister of yours before—”

Carmen placed his hand on her shoulder. She sighed, her eyes downcast. “My sister is dead.”

“Hey, you don’t know—”

“No. It’s silly to believe that. I know better. She might be alive, but it’s not damned likely. It’s time for me to let go. The thing is, for all this effort, it’s likely she’s dead. And we’re alive. You’re alive. It’s selfish of me to ask you to risk your life for such a slim chance. And there’s no way I could do this without you.” She smiled. “Besides, I kind of like you not dead.”

Alex grinned stupidly. “Shucks.”

“So, the thing is, a few weeks isn’t going to make any difference. When you’re back up to full speed, we’ll get back to it. This vampire—Don Carlos—he’s been around a long time. He can wait a few more weeks to die.”

“You still game, even though Mia…”

“Well, yeah,” she said, “There’s always revenge. Nobody hurts my sister and gets away with it.”

“So…” said Alex. “You’re gonna hang around? Don’t you have a job to go to or somethin’?”

Carmen said nothing for a moment. “I don’t have a job.”

“Thought you was a cop.”

“I was.” She smiled thinly. “Like I said, I was only on the department for six months. I asked for time off to go take care of my sister. They wouldn’t give it to me. So I quit.”

“Well, you got someplace you gotta go pay rent at? Houseplants to water?”

“Rent isn’t due for a few more weeks. I guess I could always mail a check in.”

“So you’re stickin’ around?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m sticking around. For now. If that’s okay.”

Alex beamed. “Well, that’s just fine.”

Carmen leaned her head back against Alex. He winced at the pain in his ribs, but he didn’t try to stop her.

***

The sun climbed higher, taking the chill off of the morning air, shining warmly on Carmen’s back as she pulled the duffel bag from the back seat of the Audi. The tan leather upholstery was crusted with dried blood and chips of safety glass. She heaved the bag over her shoulder; somehow it hadn’t seemed as heavy the night before. She managed with a single crutch and dragged the bag back to the house. She glanced at the couch and saw Alex asleep again. She opened the bag and began to unpack.

A pair of binoculars. An infrared camera in a case. A half dozen loaded magazines. A laptop. A crowbar and an assortment of hand tools. A coil of climbing rope and a folding grappling hook. A ski mask. Stacks of cash. She got to the bottom of the bag and realized it wasn’t empty. She fiddled with the zippers and found a second compartment on the bottom. The bag was made for baseball players, with a separate, longer compartment for bats. Carmen unzipped it and found two cloth-wrapped packages. One was the Spanish rapier, wrapped in a T-shirt. She set it aside. The second package was wrapped in fine silk, buttery to the touch. She untied a single knot and the silk fell away.

She held a gleaming, black-lacquered sheath in her hand, topped by a cloth-wrapped handle, the graceful curve broken only by a tiny round guard. Carmen used her thumb to push the blade an inch out of the scabbard and grasped the handle. She understood then that it wasn’t a cloth wrap but some sort of fine leather. She pulled the sword free of the scabbard. The blade glistened like a wet mirror. She turned it in the light, watching the pattern ripple. The hamon, the temper line, ran like a wisp of cloud along the back of the blade. Engraved on the blade was the legend “For Alex.” She turned it. The other side said, “Protector of Men.” She pointed the blade toward a window and sighted down the curve of it. She noticed something and turned the blade around again.

The tiny round hand guard was engraved with a picture of a young Elvis Presley. “Oh, Jesus Christ.” Carmen rolled her eyes and slid the sword back into the scabbard.

***

Carmen and Jen once again sat out on the broad wooden deck behind Alex’s house. The afternoon was hot and still.

“Four days is pushing it a little bit,” said Jen, as she gently unwrapped Carmen’s ankle. “But it looks like the swelling’s gone down, at least. How’s it feel?”

“Okay,” said Carmen. She rolled her foot through its range of motion.

“Why don’t you give it a test drive. Carefully.”

Carmen stood up without the aid of her crutches and walked to the end of the lawn and back. “It still hurts a little, but I can put weight on it.”

“You’re a fast healer.”

Carmen shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of practice lately.”

“Now just be careful with it. Just because you’re done with the crutches doesn’t mean you’re healed yet. Ease back into—” Jen’s phone rang. She picked it up from the patio table and answered it. “Yeah? Okay. Where? No, I mean where on the body. Did it pass through? How’s the bleeding?” She sighed in frustration. “I mean, describe the bleeding. Red? Purple? A stream? A fountain? Okay. Okay. Look, just keep direct pressure on it, and try not to move around too much. Yeah. I know you know. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She ended the call. “I have to go,” she said.

“What happened?” asked Carmen.

“Same thing that always happens,” she said with a weary look. “Work-related injury.” She stood up and headed into the house. Carmen followed her. Jen gestured toward Alex as they entered the living room. “I think we’re out of the woods. Alex is on the mend. He just needs some time. I think you can handle it from here on out. Okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Great. Just don’t let him stand up for another week or so. Then make him take it easy. You hear that, Alex?”

Alex smiled his lopsided smile. “If it ain’t easy, I don’t take it.”

Jen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he’s gonna be fine. I made a call, and somebody’s going to come up here tomorrow and get rid of that Audi for you and drop off something that isn’t hot. So you think you can handle this?”

Carmen nodded. “Yeah. I think so. Thanks for everything, Jen.”

“No problem. You just take care of Alex for me. Remember, don’t let him go and hurt himself again. Call me if anything happens. Hopefully I’ll be back around again in a week or so.” She hugged Carmen then went over and kissed Alex on the forehead. “You two take care.” She picked up her medic’s case and headed out the door.

Alex grinned. “Well, sugar, guess it’s just you and me.”

Carmen was furious with herself for blushing.

Chapter Eleven

Jacob gasped and opened his eyes. He recognized his surroundings. The filigree of the patterned ceiling. The ornate light fixture. He was in same room where he’d watched Pablo feed for the first time.

He was lying on the antique chaise lounge. He sat up and felt his chest. No bullet hole. He took a deep breath. No shortness, no ache, no constant urge to cough. He stretched and yawned like a man waking from a deep, restful sleep.

“You’re awake.” The Don sat across from him. He didn’t move.

“I’m alive,” Jacob responded, feeling his chest. “Sort of.”

“More than alive.” The Don crossed one leg over the other. “Your mission to capture the vampire hunter went…poorly.”

The memories of the night before began to return to Jacob. He cringed. “You might say that.”

“Sandoval was too badly damaged, too long dead. I couldn’t turn him.”

Jacob let out a long breath. “I’m not going to make excuses. Everything went to shit. I take full responsibility.”

“Bueno. I detest sniveling.”

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” Jacob said, sitting up.

Don Carlos thought for a moment. “No. You’re of an impure race. You’re loud, brash, uncultured. You have no concept of history.”

“Then why keep me around? Why turn me?”

“Because you have the one quality I respect above all: you’re useful to me.” He narrowed his eyes at Jacob. “The question is…will you continue to be useful?”

Running his tongue over his new fangs, Jacob answered, “More so than ever.”

The Don’s lips moved in what might have been a smile. “You must be hungry. Do you understand the rules of feeding? The risks involved?”

Jacob nodded. “I’ve picked up on the basics.”

“Good. One of the girls will be made available to you.” The Don snapped his fingers, and a moment later, Luisa appeared in the doorway. She wordlessly looked from the Don, to Jacob, and back to the Don. “Do you have a preference? Pick a girl, and Luisa will fetch her.”

Jacob studied Luisa for a moment. Her face was a blank slate, revealing nothing. Finally he smiled and winked at her. He said, “How about Luisa? Could I take her?”

The Don laughed softly. “No. Luisa is also useful to me.”

“Okay then, Luisa, just go ahead and pick one out for me.”

“Sí, señor.” The woman disappeared from the doorway.

Jacob noticed he was wearing different clothes. A badly fitting shirt and slacks. The former contents of his pockets were laid out on a nearby table. A pack of Marlboro Reds, a Zippo lighter, truck keys, pocket knife, cell phone. He picked them up, one by one, and put them in his pockets.

Luisa returned, dragging a girl in a blue dress behind her. She was shorter than Luisa by a full head, and had her short hair tucked behind her ears. The girl struggled absently, as if she knew it was a foregone conclusion. Her breath came fast and shallow, like a cornered rabbit. Her eyes were wide with terror.

Luisa hugged the girl, ran a hand down her black hair. “Lo siento, mija.”

“Esta bien,” said the girl. “No es tu culpa.” She squeezed Luisa’s hand and let it go, then turned and faced Jacob. She didn’t look away.

Jacob had seen it done enough times. He took hold of the girl, wrenched her head back, and sank in his fangs. The blood that poured into his mouth was sweeter than candy, a headier rush than wine. It was the perfect drug, spilling out of the girl and down his throat. He closed his eyes and moaned, still drinking, unaware of the girl’s slim arms battering against him. She moaned too, high and hopeless. Finally she went limp and began the trembling that he’d seen so many times before. The flow of blood tapered off, then stopped as her heart stopped pumping. It was all over in less than a minute.

Jacob raised his head and panted. “Jesus Christ, what a rush.”

The Don frowned. “You blaspheme.”

“What?”

“In my presence, you will not take the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ in vain.”

“Ah. Yeah. Sorry about that.” Jacob let go of the girl’s body. It slumped to the floor. He pulled out his pack of Marlboros. Luisa still stood in the doorway. “Okay, Luisa. I’m finished.” Luisa started forward. “Don’t look so glum,” he said. “It could always be worse.” Jacob pulled out two cigarettes. He stuck the first to his lip and flicked the other towards Luisa.

She stared at the cigarette for a long moment as it lay on the floor. Eventually she picked it up and tucked it away into a pocket of her uniform. With the ease of long practice, she took hold of the dead girl’s ankles and dragged her from the room.

“So,” the Don said, “what to do about our vampire hunters?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Jacob. “Me and the boys tuned this Alex Rains up something fierce. He’s hurt bad, wherever he is. He’s a wounded animal—he’s gonna go to ground. I might have lost my best chance at finding them.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” the Don replied. “Vampire hunters aren’t like a stag or a deer. With a deer, if you miss your shot, you never see the deer again. But a vampire hunter is more like a fly. A mosquito. He can’t help himself. You swat at him, but he keeps coming back. Again and again.”

Jacob nodded slowly. “But it’d be nice if we didn’t have to wait for him to make a move. Come to think of it,” he snapped open his Zippo and lit the cigarette dangling from his mouth, “I think I know one person who could tell us where this Alex Rains might be.”

The Don smiled a tight-lipped smile. “Bueno.”

***

Jacob’s headlights cut through a moonless desert night so dark that the Milky Way stood out like white paint splattered across the sky. His truck rolled down a narrow side road halfway between Las Cruces and Alamagordo. Not a single other pair of headlights was visible in either direction. As he drove, he watched the dot on the map screen of his tablet computer grow ever closer. Two miles out, he pulled the truck over.

The pain and the incessant rough tickle in his throat was gone, along with a dozen other minor aches. His tongue explored the needle-fine points of his new teeth.

He reached behind the seat of the truck and retrieved a pair of military-grade night-vision goggles. He had them halfway on his head when he stopped. He laughed softly at himself and set them on the seat. When he turned off the headlights, he could see the highway stretching in front of him as if it were broad daylight. Still chuckling, he pulled back onto the road.

Jacob approached with the headlights off, never touching the brake. He coasted the truck to a stop and engaged the emergency brake, at which point he delicately opened the door and left it open. He pulled his shotgun from behind the seat. Fifty yards distant, parked in the desert, sat the RV. Completely blacked out, inert, and silent. Anybody driving by, or walking by for that matter, would never see it. But to Jacob, it was as obvious as a pyramid in the desert. With effortless silence, he crept closer.

Inside, behind blackout curtains, Mack pored over three computer monitors worth of data. Census records, newspaper archives, county property records. On the table in front of him, a half dozen books lay open, piled on top of one another. The wan glow of the computers was the only light in the RV. Hundreds of books lined the shelves, secured with bungee cords. Rack-mounted electronics blinked and hummed in the darkness. Heavy-duty fans whirred to keep the electronics cool. A tiny cabinet held a tiny chemistry lab. Kraftwerk’s “It’s More Fun to Compute” pounded out of speakers mounted high in the corners. A half-smoked joint rested in an ashtray, a narrow curlicue of smoke rising from the burnt tip. A layer of smoke hung at eye level throughout the RV.

Mack’s eyes flicked from screen to screen as he scrolled through databases. He made unintelligible notes on a yellow legal pad. He suddenly froze. His eyes narrowed, widened, and narrowed again. He frantically dug through the stack of books on the table. The one he pulled out with was titled, The Memoirs of the Conquistador Bernal Diaz del Castillo, Written by Himself, Containing a True and Full Account of the Discovery and Conquest of Mexico and New Spain.

He flipped through the pages, absentmindedly picking up the joint and puffing it back to life, taking a hit, and setting it back down. He tapped keys as he exhaled a plume of smoke. His fingers stopped. His face broke into a grin. “I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you now, you bastard.” He went on with his work, switching from document to document, taking notes on the pad.

A tiny red light blinked in the corner. Mack froze. He ground out the joint in the ashtray. He closed all the windows on the screen and brought up his security program.

The vampire crept silently through the dark, crouching low. It didn’t do him much good, however, with infrared cameras tracking his every move. He had parked a hundred yards down the road and crept all this way. He was good.

Mack swiveled his chair around, flipped a few switches, and reached into the corner. He picked up a short-barreled AR-15 carbine, pulled the charging handle back, and eased a round into the chamber.

Jacob crept closer. As he came within stone’s throw of the RV, he heard the dull base thud of an electronic drum track. The smell of marijuana smoke reached his nose. He pressed up against the siding of the RV and saw thick canvas curtains covering the windows. He edged toward the door. As he reached toward the handle, he took a deep breath.

Inside, Mack hit the trigger.

Jacob couldn’t have explained why he ducked. He didn’t even really know he was doing it. Maybe he was psychic. Maybe something deep inside him recognized the sound of a claymore firing mechanism. In any case, Jacob didn’t even know he was hitting the dirt, but there he was. He pressed his face against the cool, dry desert sand while the sky ripped itself apart above him. The antipersonnel charges embedded into the RV’s siding shredded everything in a fifty-foot radius. Bits of cholla cactus and mesquite blasted into the air and rained down again.

Jacob’s eardrums ruptured. A high-pitched whine filled the air. But even as the charges detonated, he was rolling back out from under the RV. He grabbed the door handle and pulled. The reinforced door didn’t budge. Jacob emptied his shotgun into the side of the camper. Woven Kevlar fibers showed through the holes in the siding.

The RV’s engine roared to life. Headlights lit up the darkness. The RV peeled out, throwing a dust cloud high into the night sky. Jacob tried to chase after it but misjudged. He realized too late that the RV was fishtailing in a tight circle. The rear end of the camper slewed around and knocked him to the ground. He got up and shook his head. The RV’s taillights were quickly receding.

Right toward his truck.

“Oh, no, you bastard. Not the truck.” Jacob sprinted across the desert. “Not the truck!”

Mack hit the black Dodge Ram going a good twenty-five miles an hour. The RV’s reinforced front end didn’t suffer in the least. The black truck crumpled like a child’s toy. It bounced off the RV and spun away across the road.

Mack didn’t slow down. He downshifted, and the RV peeled out when its wheels touched pavement.

With a laugh, Mack burned rubber into the night. “Asshole,” he muttered. He watched in his rearview camera as the crippled vehicle disappeared behind him. The driver ran back to the wrecked truck and retrieved something from the toolbox in the bed.

Mack’s smile faded. He stepped down harder on the gas.

Jacob held something long and skinny, with a trumpet flare at one end and a bulbous point at the other. He grasped the handle and raised the rocket-propelled grenade to his shoulder.

“No way, man. There’s no way you could hit me at this dist—”

For all the RV’s reinforcements, the RPG round was made to penetrate six inches of solid steel tank armor. It punched through the vehicle like a bullet through butter. The warhead detonated. The polycarbonate windshield cracked and bulged outward. The blast lifted the RV off the road and slammed it down again. It pitched, slewed, and then the front wheels caught, and it went over on its side. The RV slid sideways down the road in a shower of flames and sparks.

Jacob held the smoking RPG, still on his shoulder, and watched as the burning hulk ground to a stop. He smiled faintly. “That was for my truck, asshole.”

He dropped the smoking launcher and pulled out his cigarettes and his cellphone, then sat down on a rock next to the remains of his truck. He sighed. “Brilliant, Jacob. Fucking brilliant interrogation technique. Way to keep that temper in check.”

He dialed a number and held the phone to his ear.

“There was…a complication.”

Chapter Twelve

Carmen put on a final burst of speed for the last hundred yards, running hard, listening to the sound of her footfalls on the sandy ground. The cold morning air numbed her face, and her own breath was heavy in her ears. She wore black workout tights and a blue hoodie over a gray T-shirt, and her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. Her sprained ankle was only a distant ache.

The house came into view around a gentle hill and grew larger until she reached the back deck. She picked up the towel she’d left there earlier and wiped her face. She paused for a drink of water, then picked up the rapier which lay next to the towel and the water bottle. She ran through fencing drills, up and down the lawn.

As she finished up a set of furious lunges across the grass, a voice said, “Not bad.” She turned and saw Alex standing in the doorway. He leaned on a wooden training sword like it was a cane. “You got good movement. Clean. But your form is a little sloppy. Keep the blade parallel to the ground. And keep that head up.”

Carmen smirked. “What do you know about it? Anyway, you shouldn’t even be on your feet.”

“I been layin’ around and watchin’ daytime television for two danged weeks. I’m sick of it. My ass is goin’ numb. And as far as fencing goes, I don’t guess I know all that much about it. Picked up a little bit here and there. Never really was my thing.” He winced a little and leaned harder on the wooden sword as he put weight on his right leg, but he made his way across the steps and down the stairs. “But you’re pretty good. Don’t get me wrong.”

“Thanks,” she said with a slight grin.

“What I didn’t like about fencing is there’s all these rules. Don’t get you ready for an actual fight. You got rules tellin’ you when you attack and when you defend, when you go forward and back, when you stop and when you start. And for Christ sakes, y’all just go back ‘n’ forth in a straight line. Ain’t like no fight I ever saw.”

Carmen wiped her face with the towel then draped it over her neck. She unzipped her hoodie. “Well come on, who ever gets in a real sword fight these days?”

Alex tipped his cowboy hat back with his thumb. “Vampires do. They got a real hard-on for sword fights with each other. And lots of ’em are old enough that they used ’em centuries ago. Other thing is, sword’s still the best way to kill a vamp.” He drew his thumb across his neck for emphasis. “Chop that head right off.”

“Wait, so the vampires kill other vampires?”

Alex leaned on the wooden sword. “Thing is, vamps are territorial as all hell. I mean, think about it. They gotta kill to live. Maybe one victim a week. That means bodies start to stack up pretty fast. If they ain’t careful, folks start to notice people goin’ missing and all. Vamp needs a pretty big territory to stay inconspicuous. So if some other vamp moves in on his digs, that’s twice as many bodies, twice the chance somebody’s gonna notice. They don’t like that one little bit. They got their traditions, been around since longer’n anybody can remember. If two vamps got a beef with each other, they’ll fight it out with swords.”

“But we’ve seen three or four vampires already, and they haven’t all killed each other.”

“But see, they’re all Don Carlos’s crew. They’re his offspring, and they all swore fealty to him. If some free agent blew into town, they’d cut him down quicker’n grass through a goose.”

Carmen opened her mouth then closed it again. Then she said, “So do you get in many sword fights with vampires?”

“Not if I can help it. Vamps are faster and stronger than me. And lots of ’em have been studying swordplay for hundreds of years, startin’ at a time when people fought to live, not to score points with some referee. But yeah, I’ve fought with some vampires.”

She smiled. “And you’re still here, so I guess you won.”

Alex pulled up his shirt. A gruesome hooked scar ran across his belly, forming an eight-inch crescent moon around his navel. “Sort of.”

“Jesus.” Carmen blanched. “I saw the scar, but I thought you’d had an appendectomy.”

Alex laughed. “Amateur appendectomy.” He hobbled down the back deck stairs to stand next to her on the lawn. “Been a while since I actually fought anybody, though.” He raised the training sword unsteadily into a guard position. “Have a go,” he said.

Carmen shook her head. “But that’s wood, and this is a real sword.”

“Well, you don’t really gotta stab me.” Alex twitched his wrist, and the blunt wooden point poked her in the stomach.

“Hey!” she said. He poked again, and she beat the sword away with her blade.

He grinned. “Atta girl!” He thrust, cut, thrust, and Carmen neatly blocked. She returned a thrust. Alex sidestepped, grabbed her sword hand, slipped past her blade, and stopped the wooden tip an inch from her throat.

“Wait,” she said, “that’s—”

“Against the rules? Ain’t no rules, darlin’. That’s what you still gotta learn.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Try again.”

They clashed back and forth across the lawn. Carmen advanced and retreated, sweat pouring down her face. Alex limped along, barely seeming to make an effort, yet blocking her every attack and, at intervals, inserting a perfectly timed attack that breezed past her defenses, tapping her on the belly or the leg.

Carmen leaned her hands on her knees, breathing hard. “You aren’t even trying!” she said, “How do you do that?”

Alex shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. I just do. Most of the time it works out. I can show you a few things, if you…ah, goddamn!” Alex grimaced and clutched his leg. He tumbled onto the grass.

“I told you you shouldn’t be moving around yet.” Carmen stuck her sword point down in the lawn and helped him off the ground. He gratefully leaned his weight on her.

“Just a danged Charley horse,” he said, as she helped him up the stairs. “More from sittin’ around for two weeks than anything else.” He looked back. “Don’t you leave that sword out there. Ain’t no way to treat a good blade.”

She got him back to the couch. He sat, leaning forward, and gritted his teeth as he massaged his spasming thigh.

“Here, let me,” Carmen said. She set his leg up on a chair and sat next to him. She dug her thumb in at the base of the muscle, at the hip joint, and gently worked at the knot. Alex’s leg quivered. He exhaled in relief as the muscle let go. She continued to move her thumbs in tiny circles, seeking out tension, gently untying knots with her fingertips. She couldn’t help notice the lean, toned muscle under her fingers, covered by only a layer of denim. She breathed deeper as she moved her hands in long, slow circles, ever closer to… She shook her head and blinked, then moved her hand away. “Is that better?” she asked.

Alex swallowed. “Yeah,” he answered. He looked anywhere but at her. An awkward silence followed.

“I’ll go get that sword,” Carmen said at last.

She returned, cleaning dirt and grass from the sword’s point with her shirttail. “Got any oil?” she said. Alex pointed to a kitchen drawer. Carmen pulled it open. She tilted her head. “Do you spend much time here?”

“Well, I travel a lot, with work and all.”

“It seems like more than that.” She pulled out a bottle of household oil. “The place just doesn’t seem lived in. There’s the bare necessities, and that’s it. I mean, look at this junk drawer. There’s no junk in it. The first time I was here, I assumed it was some kind of temporary thing, a safe house or something. But it seems a little more permanent to you. Except there’s nothing here.”

Alex grinned. “You’re pretty sharp.” He eased to his feet and leaned on the wooden sword. He cocked his head and looked at her for a long time then nodded once, as if coming to a decision. “Thing is, I ain’t showed you the Batcave yet.”

“The what?” Carmen raised an eyebrow. “Batcave?”

“C’mon. I’ll show you.” He stood, holding the wooden sword in one hand, and went out the back door. Carmen followed.

He took the gravel path that started at the back porch and the lawn, to the freestanding two-car garage. Alex opened the side door, and they crossed the oil-stained concrete floor. He stopped at a tool bench and pulled on a section of perforated tool board. The wrenches and hammers on it jingled as the board swung away, revealing a worn keypad. Alex typed in a number and threw a switch.

Somewhere a buzzer sounded. Machinery clanged, and an unseen engine whined to life. The whole garage lurched. Carmen felt an uneasy, dropping-away sensation in her stomach. She looked up to see the garage rafters rise up into the distance. The tool board, the shelves with paint cans, the lawn mower all stayed put as the whole interior of the garage descended into the earth.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Alex giggled. “Ain’t it cool?”

The garage/elevator lurched to a stop again. Alex threw another switch. Instead of a bright, sunny New Mexico morning, the garage faced an immense man-made cavern. High above, giant lights chunked into life one after another, and the space kept getting bigger. Up above in the darkness, Carmen could barely make out steel rafters. On the concrete floor, rows of cars sat there gleaming. A ’56 Chevy, sky-blue and white. A ’55 Ford truck, gloss black. A vintage Harley-Davidson. An Indian cruiser. A cherry-red deuce coupe. Some kind of vintage military transport, and a handful of more nondescript cars.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Carmen repeated. She stared in disbelief. “How the hell did you do this?”

“That’s the great part. I didn’t do none of it. This here is all courtesy of the US Government. I seen you out jogging. Did you ever notice the big cement pad over cross the hill?”

Carmen nodded. “The one that looks like some kind of foundation?”

“That’s the one. ’Cept it ain’t no foundation. That’s the lid for a nuclear missile silo.” Alex limped forward with his cane. “Whole place, house included, got built back in the fifties. Army officers would live in that house, pretendin’ to be June and Ward Cleaver, and all the time, they’d have their thumbs on the button that could nuke Mother Russia. Crazy, ain’t it?”

“Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“Crazier still is that they forgot all about it. Shut ’er down, lost the paper work. Or somethin’ like that. Mack found this for me. He’s got a way with archives.” He gestured toward the military transport. “That one was down here when I found it. The rest are my collection. Don’t like to take ’em out when I’m working. I’d hate to have to leave ’em, or get ’em get shot up or somethin’.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Thanks. C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.”

Alex led her across the garage space to a man-size door in the wall. They followed a bare concrete hallway, with conduits running above, and color-coded stripes along the wall painted with stencils that said, power main, staging, and fire control, among other things.

“How big is this place?”

“Pretty danged big. Don’t know what all they planned to do with this place, but it was more than just a missile base. They got bunks down here for a few hundred, mess halls, gym, shooting range, you name it. I still don’t think I’ve seen all of it. For all I know, they were planning to restart the world after Armageddon.”

Carmen, speechless, followed him. They passed empty rooms with windows of wire-reinforced glass, their purposes long since forgotten. Faded squares on the walls marked where desks or pictures had once been. One room held a single broken office chair. “‘Course, it’s more space than I know what to do with. When I come down here, I mostly hang around the control room. Officers’ quarters were a little nicer, and they open right up into the fire control room.”

They came to a door. Alex flicked on a light. Inside was a fully equipped dojo, with a full-wall mirror, hardwood floors, punching bags, Wing Chun dummies, racks brimming with every conceivable kind of weapon: spears, pikes, sai, nunchucks, knives and clubs and maces. One full rack was devoted to katanas. “I’d rather train upstairs in the yard, but this is pretty nice when it’s rainin’.”

Carmen admired the swords. “You have quite a collection,” she said.

He smiled, with a hint of pride. “Guess I do, don’t I?”

“I noticed the sword you brought with you. It says, ‘Protector of Men’.”

“Yeah, friend of mine in California made that. It’s my name. Alexander. Means ‘protector of men’ in Greek. Kinda dumb, really. Good blade, though.” He pointed out another door. “Got a regular gym in there, weight benches ‘n’ such. Then of course…” He crossed the hallway and opened yet another door. “We got the armory.”

The lights came up, and they were confronted with enough firepower to equip a small army. Everything from tiny derringer pistols to mortars. Rocket launchers, grenades, .50 caliber machine guns. Cases upon cases of ammunition. “‘Course, I don’t actually use most of this junk. But you know how it is when you start collecting something. Nice to have it around, just in case.” The next room over was a long dark cavern with stalls at the near end and targets at the far end. “Firing range,” said Alex.

“I can’t even believe this,” said Carmen.

“Heck, you ain’t seen the half of it.”

Next, Alex led her into a room that was the archetype of a control room, a Cold War relic of consoles and computers, darkened scopes and screens, a place where dozens of balding technicians and engineers had sat in swivel chairs and operated machinery that could destroy the world. Now it was a den. What used to be an observation area now held two couches and a flat-screen TV.

All around, on and between the lifeless rows of consoles, was a museum of Americana. A Phillips 66 gas pump. A man-size tiki statue with an attached plastic palm tree. Wood-panel TVs with tiny, rounded screens. A shelf full of vintage lunchboxes, from Hopalong Cassidy to Flash Gordon. A bookshelf with a full set of Hardy Boys books. A row of Kit-Cat clocks, each one glancing left and right as its tail swung. A full-size Howdy Doody puppet. A half dozen jukeboxes. A wall of enameled metal Coca-Cola signs. A Formica-topped diner table with two chrome stools. A flock of plastic pink flamingos standing sentry around a vintage Coke machine.

Carmen wandered through the aisles as if in a museum. She was in a museum. “Mack was right. You really are into this stuff, aren’t you?”

Alex came up behind her as she peered at a neon-and-chrome wall clock. “Guess I always been that way. Can’t rightly explain it. When I was a kid, I’d always watch them old shows on TV, Andy Griffith and such, and it always just seemed…I dunno, like it was a better time. I wanted to live there. Here everything was all screwed up. Watch the news, and there’s pollution, wars, crime. I remember bein’ in the backseat of my folks’ Oldsmobile, and I’d look along the roadsides and see all these faded signs, broke-down old gas pumps, old motel signs…” Alex leaned both hands on one of the old consoles and looked back toward Carmen. “All that stuff seemed like relics from some golden age. Seemed like there I was, livin’ in the ruins. Like I missed the boat. The past seemed magical. Just this…optimism. You know? Like our time had come. We was on top of the world, and we was stayin’ that way. ’Course, it ain’t real. Never was. Just rose-colored glasses…just the great American fairy tale.”

Carmen leaned forward, examining a red-and-white Burma-Shave sign. “I’m sure it seemed real at the time. We’d just won the war, the economy was booming, science was doing incredible things. It was a good time.”

Alex shook his head. “Nah. World was just as fucked up back then. In lots of ways, more so.” He nodded toward two towering metal cylinders, one fat, one skinny, like a steel Laurel and Hardy. “I mean, you see them? Those two are exact replicas of Fat Man and Little Boy, the atomic bombs we dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The really messed-up thing is that they started it all. How’s that for a mind fuck? The whole atomic age. Elvis Presley, I Love Lucy, flyin’ to the moon, better livin’ through chemistry. The whole American Gilded Age. And it all started when we vaporized two hundred thousand innocent people. It was all because we needed to figure out better ways to murder people. I mean, how the hell do you square that one up in your head? How’s that supposed to make any sense at all?”

Carmen sighed. “Sometimes there’s no making sense of things.”

Alex ran one finger along the headstock of a sky-blue Stratocaster guitar. “Goddamn it, though. I love it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“When I was a kid, I figured out Santa wasn’t real, pretty early on. But the weird thing is, I pretended like I still believed. I wasn’t just foolin’ my parents—I was foolin’ myself. And I was okay with that. It’s like…the lie was too good. I still had to believe. That sound crazy to you?”

“No. That’s not crazy at all.” She hooked an arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.

Alex grinned stupidly. “Glad you think so.” He stood there, enjoying the moment. “Well, c’mon. Let’s finish the tour.”

He led Carmen down a short, carpeted hallway. Here the musty cavelike smell of the rest of the compound didn’t penetrate. The air was warm and dry.

“This was the officers’ quarters,” Alex said. “They had a little rec room there.” He gestured toward a room with a few pinball machines and a pool table. “Kitchen, all that stuff.”

Carmen still held onto Alex. His arm was solid like a bar of iron, yet responsive to her touch. His arm hairs tickled against her forearm. She faintly smelled the clean scent of his sweat.

“This here’s my real room.”

It was a modest square of a bedroom. A queen-size bed, neatly made, with a white comforter and a hardwood headboard. A cherrywood dresser, a wardrobe. A row of cowboy boots lined up on the floor. On the wall, a framed movie poster for Love Me Tender, starring Elvis Presley.

There came a moment when neither of them could think of anything else to say.

He turned to face Carmen and reached out one hand, his calloused fingertips brushing softly against her cheek. She responded with a slight turn of her head, bringing her lips against his hand. He grazed his thumb against her lower lip as he leaned in. She leaned forward in kind. He closed his eyes and kissed her, slowly, tentatively. Something inside her stirred. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his lean, hard body against hers, felt his own stirring in response to her touch. His hands were at her waist, pulling her into him. Strong, capable hands. He kissed her again, with growing confidence.

She realized she was crying. He noticed too.

“Oh, hey, hey, what’s all the…” Alex backed off, wearing a hurt expression.

She pulled away from him. “Oh, goddamn it,” she said.

“What’s the matter?” he said, looking confused.

“It isn’t you, I swear to God. It’s…oh, shit.” Carmen let out a shuddering sob. “It’s a long story.” She stepped towards him and he took her in his arms again, but this time it was a comforting, enveloping embrace. She leaned her face against his shoulder. “I like you. I want this to work…I do. But there’s something you should know about me.” She smiled through her tears. “I’m actually pretty fucked up in the head.”

“Why don’t you sit down and tell me ’bout it?” He sat on the edge of the bed and invited her to do the same. “Is it about the vamp that attacked you?”

“No. Well, yeah. I mean…not entirely.” She sighed. “It’s sort of been a theme in my life.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay. I need to tell you.” She sat down on the bed next to him, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. “I told you about my parents, right? How they got deported?” Alex nodded. “I stayed, because I was a citizen. They thought I’d have more opportunities on this side of the border. So, like I told you, they left me with my uncle Hector. Well…” She ran a hand through her hair. “That didn’t work out so well. He wasn’t a good guy. He…did things to me. For years, before I understood I could stop it. When I was about Mia’s age, I called the police. He went to jail, and I went to a foster home.”

She took a deep breath, let it out, and continued. “And the really weird thing is…it’s like it made me a magnet for it. Like it branded ‘victim’ on my forehead, you know? I thought I was over it, and then it happened again in college. It was somebody I knew. At a party. I thought he was my friend. And I just couldn’t… That was kind of the last straw. I sort of shut down. I just…” Carmen wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I shut down. I decided nobody was…I don’t know. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Alex gently rubbed her back.

“I thought I was getting better. I thought I could take care of myself. I thought I wasn’t anyone’s victim anymore. But then that vampire…set me back.” She leaned against Alex, and he held her. “I don’t want to be this way. I want this. I like you. I want you. I want to want you. But it’s like there’s this thing inside me, this wall I can’t break through. I can’t let anyone in. And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“It’s okay. It don’t matter none. Maybe I got a hangup or two my own self.”

“You asked me once why I wanted to become a cop. It was a cop that took me out of my uncle’s house. I still remember him leading me out to the car. I felt safe for the first time in years. Just…safe. That’s how you make me feel. Safe.” She leaned harder against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I’m crazy.”

“You ain’t crazy.” He leaned in and buried his nose in her hair. “You’ve just had a rough time of it. Ain’t nobody can blame you for that.”

“Thank you.”

He lay down on his side, and she nestled into the curve of him. He wrapped a hand around her waist, and she took his hand in both of hers. Strong, nimble cowboy hands, hands that seemed to exist in two worlds, hands that could belong to a carpenter or a concert pianist. She rubbed her thumbs along the calloused ridges of his fingers. Alex nuzzled against her neck, kissing her gently above the collarbone. She flushed and breathed deeper. She said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m ready for anything more right now.”

Alex closed his eyes and enjoyed her warmth against his body. “It’s okay,” he said. He drew her in closer and let out a contented sigh. “This is enough. This is plenty.”

They lay there like that for a time, enjoying the moment.

“Her name was Maggie,” Alex said. He cleared his throat. “My…my wife. Her name was Maggie. And I had a daughter. Allie. Cutest little thing. She was three when they…”

He spoke low and soft, his voice like gravel. “I told you I was a bad man. But it’s kinda hard to…I dunno. I was a different person then. I loved to fight. Loved it. Loved to hurt people. That’s all I wanted to do with my life. Fight and fuck and drink, and drive fast cars. I worked for bad people, and I did bad things.” He paused for a moment then went on. “And I was good at it. I was happy as hell. But then something happened.”

“You met Maggie?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, you called it. She was workin’ as a carhop at a drive-in restaurant. I ordered a burger, and Maggie rolled over on her roller skates and brought it to me. And wham. Just like that. Can’t quite explain it.”

Carmen smiled. “I think we’ve all been there once or twice.”

Alex laughed softly. “Thing is, she hated me. Hated my ever-lovin’ guts. But I changed. For her. And for some crazy reason, she chose me. She made me a better man. Gave me my little girl. Best years of my life.”

Alex was quiet for a few hearbeats, then he cleared his throat and continued. “Thing was, before I met Maggie, I wasn’t actually workin’ for a man. I was workin’ for a vampire, and I didn’t even know it. He went by the name of Hard-Way Tony. Aside from bein’ a vampire, he was just another two-bit gangster. Ran protection rackets and loan sharking and the like, down around San Antonio. I guess he took a shine to me. Thought I was vampire material.”

“And you didn’t know was a vampire?”

“Didn’t know there was any such thing, then. And hell, I hardly met him. He was my boss’s boss. And he never smiled much. But, he didn’t take it so well when I left. And this vampire, he wasn’t the sort you just up and quit on. I thought I’d gotten away clean. Me and Maggie moved to another state. I found work as a skip tracer. We was gonna buy a little house. But eventually they found me. They—” Alex was silent for a moment. “He tried to talk me into coming back. I guess I got a little fed up. I maybe gave him a piece of my mind. You can probably figure out the rest. They came for me. Except me and Maggie had a fight that night. I was out gettin’ drunk when Tony’s crew showed up. They… well, they did what they do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So yeah. That’s my deal.”

In response, she pressed his hands a little harder against her belly.

“It’s been more than a few years now. And I just never wanted no one else. It was like there was this hole in me. I couldn’t even think about movin’ on. Weren’t no other woman who could do it for me. Not for a long time. But then you know what happened?”

Carmen said, “No, what?”

“Well, then I saw you.”

Carmen smiled. “Oh, yeah?”

Alex nodded matter-of-factly. “Yeah.”

“Well, I guess that’s just fine,” said Carmen.

***

Neither of them could have said how much later it was when the buzzer went off.

“What’s that?” said Carmen, raising her head.

“Perimeter alarm.” Alex rolled over and grabbed a remote control from the nightstand. He turned on the television. From a grid of a dozen different camera feeds, he selected one and brought it up to full screen. “Looks like Jen’s here.”

On-screen, Jen climbed out of her van. She stayed behind the door and drew a pistol. With her other hand, she held her phone to her ear. “Aw, shit. I left my phone up top. She’s probably wonderin’ why I ain’t answerin’. Alex leapt to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go say hi.”

He led Carmen through the control room, and to a metal staircase in a concrete shaft. Four flights of stairs up, Alex pulled a lever, and a massive vault door swung open with an ease that belied its bulk. They stepped through into the den of the little house. Carmen watched in amusement as the vault door swung shut, and a bookcase slid into place to conceal it. “If this was here the whole time,” she said, “why did we go through the garage?”

“‘Cause goin’ through the garage is cooler,” Alex said, as if it should have been completely obvious. He crossed into the living room, where his cell phone vibrated its way across the coffee table. He snatched it up and answered, “Hey, sugar! Sorry ’bout that. C’mon in!” He hung up the phone and crossed to the door. He pulled it open and grinned. “Sorry. We were down in the basement. Didn’t want you to think we was…” He noticed the expression on Jen’s face and fell silent. “What?” he said at last.

Jen said, “It’s Mack.”

Chapter Thirteen

Carmen still wasn’t used to it, the way Alex could simply go away. In one second he was there, all puckish smiles, exuberant, eyes alive and expressive, and the next moment, like a cloud passing in front of the sun, it was all gone. His eyes became cold pits, his mouth a line like a razor cut. She could almost feel the pressure drop in the room, like an oncoming storm front. She came to think of it as his murder face. No grief, no sadness, just murder. She suddenly felt like a spectator in a dangerous world.

Alex clenched his fists. “What happened?”

“Someone hit the RV. With an RPG.”

Alex nodded absently. “Goddamn. Must’ve tracked us when we left Las Cruces. Tagged him when we met the next mornin’. Probably one on the SUV too. That’d explain how they found us at the lawyer’s house.”

Jen said, “Cooper tells me the feds are pretty interested in why a heavily armored recreational vehicle packed with military-grade electronics was attacked with a rocket launcher in the New Mexico desert.”

“Yeah, well, I imagine they would be.” Alex sat down on the couch and stared at his hands. “Goddamn. We shoulda been more careful. I got cocky.”

Carmen sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. Alex softened ever so slightly, a nearly imperceptible response to her touch. Jen raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“It’s part of the job, losin’ people. It’s war. Don’t mean it ever gets easy. Me an’ Mack, we went back a ways.” He turned to Jen. “Somebody plannin’ a funeral?”

“Yeah. I heard there’s going to be a roundup next week. Cooper’s going to get me the location.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “You want a beer?”

“You got some?”

“In the van.”

Jen returned with bags of groceries and a twelve-pack of Corona. She put the groceries away in the kitchen, then handed the beers out, tapping her bottle neck to theirs. “To Mack.”

“To Mack,” Alex and Carmen said in unison.

Jen sat on the arm of the couch and peered at Alex’s forehead. “I think those stitches can come out now. How’re you feeling?”

Alex shrugged. “Gettin’ better, I guess. Rib still hurts like hell. Still hurts to walk. But nothin’ feels permanent.”

“Good, good. That’s what I like to hear.” Jen went to her van and fetched her medical kit. She set the orange box on the floor and opened the lid, selecting a tiny pair of scissors. One by one, she delicately snipped the sutures in Alex’s forehead, then pulled them out with tweezers. “I want you to take at least another week off before you get back to business.”

“A week? Darlin’, I’m fine. I can kick ass one-legged.”

Jen’s tone grew serious. “Listen to me, Alex. Another week. Even that’s pushing it. You suffered a nice little concussion. If you get hit in the head again before it’s healed, things could get a lot worse. Like, brain damage worse.”

Alex shook his head. “You women, always worryin’.”

“Well, somebody has to.” Jen snapped.

Alex’s hand somehow found its way to Carmen’s. Jen finished her beer and set the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Well, look. I just wanted to check in on you. I’m a busy girl, so I’m going to be on my way.”

Alex stood up. “C’mere, you.” He hugged Jen, and Carmen followed suit.

“I’ll let you know about the funeral.”

“Thanks for coming by…hell, thanks for everything. Take care of yourself.”

Jen nodded and headed out the door. A minute later, they watched the van bounce away, down the gravel driveway.

Carmen sat down next to Alex and rubbed his shoulders. “You okay?”

“As well as you might expect. Gonna miss that old bastard.”

“Yeah.”

Alex nodded slowly. “In the end, just one more score to settle.”

Chapter Fourteen

Carmen woke at sunrise when Alex slid out from beside her. In the weeks since learning of Mack’s death, she’d become accustomed to Alex’s schedule. She pretended to sleep, watching him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He stood up, still dressed in the sweatpants and T-shirt he’d slept in, and picked up a pair of gym shoes. He left the bedroom. Birds sang outside, and the early morning light made the blinds glow. Carmen closed her eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked at the clock and saw that a half-hour had passed. Carmen climbed out of bed and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She walked through the living room to the kitchen. While she made coffee, Carmen looked through the kitchen window and saw Alex exercising in the backyard. He finished a set of push-ups and immediately transitioned to a pull-up bar. When the coffee was ready, she poured two cups and carried them out to the back porch.

She sat down on the steps and enjoyed the brisk chill of the morning air, the pink sky still lingering from the sunrise.

Alex finished his last set of pull-ups and let go of the bar. He was breathing hard and his bare chest glistened with sweat, but he continued without pause and began his martial arts forms.

Carmen remembered sitting in the same spot and watching him exercise the first morning she had woken here. She ran her fingers over the welted ridges of scar tissue on her neck.

Alex moved as if he were underwater. His arms rose gracefully, his entire body expanding then contracting. He stood on one foot, the toe of the other foot resting just below his knee. The leg rose into a slow-motion kick then fell again. He landed, catlike, in a low stance, hands out wide. Again Carmen thought of falling water. With each movement his entire body seemed to breathe, to expand, then collapse into itself.

Abruptly the tempo changed. Alex leapt up and shifted into a lightning-fast series of punches and kicks, exhaling sharply with each strike, climaxing with a spinning jump kick. He landed and twisted his legs together as he sank, finishing in a full crouch. He rose again, took a solid two-legged stance, and brought his arms up and around, like a closing flower, until his hands rested in front of his belly. He brought his arms to his sides and bowed.

He pulled his leg back into a runner’s stretch. “She’s a little stiff yet. But I think I’m back in the race.” He came over to the porch steps and leaned down to kiss Carmen on the forehead.

She smiled contentedly. “That’s tai chi, right?”

“Mostly,” he said. “Is that coffee?” He accepted the cup. “Thanks. Yeah, little tai chi, little bit of other stuff.”

“Still seems like an odd thing for a guy like you to get into.”

“It’s kind of a funny story. Short version is, one time I got my ass handed to me by a scrawny old Asian man. Can’t say I didn’t deserve it. After…well, after I met Maggie, I started takin’ lessons from him. He did a lot for me. Not just fighting. He straightened me out in the head. Helped me see a lot a things clearer.”

“Seems like he did a pretty good job.”

“I like to think so.” He set down the mug. “So…you ready for today’s lesson?”

Carmen smiled. “Bring it on.”

“Atta girl.” Alex stood and went into the house. A moment later, he returned with two curved wooden swords. He tossed one to Carmen, who stood and held the sword at her side.

“More sword drills today?” she said.

“Hell with that. Let’s just fight.” Even as he spoke, he whipped his wooden blade around in a side cut. Carmen raised her sword awkwardly, handle up, but still blocked the strike. She parried Alex’s blade away and returned the cut. He stepped back to avoid her attack. He laughed. “Good! Damn, girl, you’re getting’ good! You got me grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ sweet ’taters.”

Carmen smiled in return and pressed the attack. The swords clacked together as Alex blocked. They circled each other around the yard, lunging, dodging, pouring sweat, breathing hard. “You’re gettin’ the right attitude. You’re fightin’ like you got somethin to lose.”

She lunged and drove her sword point at his midsection. Alex blocked the thrust, trapped up her arm, and swept her leg. She tumbled to the ground. “But I still win.” He grinned as he held the sword to her throat.

“Oh yeah?” Carmen responded. She smirked. Alex felt the wooden tip of her sword tap him in the groin.

He beamed. “Hot damn, girl, you got me! Good for you!”

Carmen lay on the grass, reclining on her elbow. “I guess I did, didn’t I?” she said. “It only took a week of trying.”

“That’s better than a lot of folks ever do. You’re a natural.” He held out a hand to help her up. But when Carmen took his hand, she hooked his knee with her leg and pulled him down to the ground. He let it happen and tumbled onto the grass next to her.

“Treachery!” said Alex. “I am undone.” They wrestled for a few moments, ending with Carmen straddling him. They were both panting as she pinned his arms out to his sides.

“I got you again,” she said, her tone a bit more serious.

“You did at that.”

Carmen leaned down and kissed him. Her hair fell around his face. She let go of his wrists, and he ran his hands up her hips. He pulled her in closer, and his lips worked their way down her jawline, then to her neck. She sat up, smiling, her hair a mess, leaning both hands on Alex’s belly.

Alex looked up at her. He said, “Hey, I been thinking. I’m about healed up, and your ankle is fine. What say we get back on the road? Go hunt us some vamps?”

“Yeah,” said Carmen. “I like the sound of that. It’s about time.” She stood and pulled Alex up by his hands.

Alex grinned. “Past time.”

Carmen sat down on the porch steps and drank from her now-cold cup of coffee. “So what’s the plan? I’m thinking it all comes back to Monesco Holdings. That’s still our best lead. Don Carlos has to be connected somehow.”

Dusting grass clippings from his jeans, Alex said, “I’m thinkin’ you’re right. We should stake out some of these Monesco businesses. Some of ’em must be some kinda front for the blood trade. And if there’s blood, there’s vampires. So we wait and watch, find another vamp, then follow him until he goes and talks to the boss.”

Carmen nodded then took another swig of water. “That makes sense. So…let’s think. The vampire we killed, he had some kind of fruit—or something—on his shoe, remember?”

“Yeah, Mack was gonna find out what it was. Guess that ain’t gonna happen.”

“Okay. Well, vampires don’t eat, right? So there must have been a reason he was around food. A restaurant? A supermarket? A food warehouse? I think one of the Monesco businesses was a produce warehouse.”

“Okay, that’s good…as good a start as any. Let’s go find us some vampires.”

***

“Well, this is the place.” Alex peered through his binoculars at the warehouse.

The sign out front read, aj’s produce. It looked like just any of the other warehouses surrounding it, in a dingy industrial area of Las Cruces, not far from the Wagon Wheel Motel. It was an immense steel building with a loading dock running the entire length of one of its sides. The cargo doors were all closed, and the last workers straggled out the door before the manager locked the door.

“It sure looks like a produce warehouse,” said Carmen. She had her own pair of binoculars, and she held a strawberry milkshake between her thighs.

Alex held a chocolate shake in his right hand. He sipped at it absentmindedly. “Well, it’s supposed to look like a produce warehouse. Ain’t gonna have no sign sayin’, this here’s a vampire-front company.”

“So now we just wait until we see something shady?”

“Pretty much.”

“I don’t see anything yet.”

“Me neither.”

A light rain speckled the windshield, making the lights outside bleed and run. The warehouse appeared to be still and empty, the freight entrances closed and locked.

Carmen unhooked her seat belt and scooted across the bench seat. She leaned against Alex, who hung his arm over her shoulder. “So,” she said. She sipped at her milkshake. The straw creaked as she adjusted it. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

Alex cocked an eyebrow. “Guess that depends on the question.”

“The vampire who…you know, your family. Did you get him?”

“No.” Alex picked up his binoculars and scanned the warehouse. “No, I never did. I broke ’im. Killed his brood, burned his home, ran him right outta town. But he got away. I’ll get the son of a bitch someday.”

“And when you get him, what then? Are you just going to keep hunting? Once you have your revenge?”

He put down the binoculars. “Don’t rightly know. Maybe when I’m hangin’ his sword on my wall, I’ll feel different. But for now, I don’t think I’ll be done until I’ve killed every last one of ’em. That’s revenge. Every last damn one.”

“You don’t ever think about retiring?” When he didn’t answer right away, she said, “Do people ever retire from this?”

“Lotta hunters die young. Most, even. Some can’t hack it no more and move on to other things. Some manage to get old and fat. Thing is, I feel like I found my calling. I’m good at it. I’m havin’ fun, I’m makin’ money. Why would I want to move on from that?”

“I don’t know, maybe the constant risk of a horrible, violent death?”

He laughed. “Aw, come on. Me, quit huntin’ vampires? It’d be like Beethoven quitting the piano.” Alex twisted in his seat to face her. “What about you? When we get that vamp who killed your sister, you gonna keep huntin’? Or you gonna move on to something else?”

Carmen smiled wryly. “I don’t have the slightest idea. Guess I’ll get the job done first, and then I’ll see how I feel about it.”

“Fair enough.” Alex raised his milkshake. “To revenge,” he said.

“To revenge.”

Alex raised the binoculars again. A few minutes later, he noticed something at the warehouse. He sat up in his seat and tapped Carmen on the arm. “All right, here we go. Now we got us some action.”

A white van pulled up to the warehouse. Two men in dark-blue jumpsuits climbed out. One of them lit a cigarette. “Okay, them two are the help. They’re waitin’ on the boss, so they can…” Alex stopped.

The men opened the back of the van. They attached a metal ramp and rolled out a propane-powered floor buffer.

Carmen snickered. “Or maybe they’re the janitors.”

Alex crossed his arms and glared out the side window. “Well, they was actin’ mighty suspicious.”

They waited and watched through the night. As daylight threatened on the horizon, the first workers of the morning shift trickled in. Doors rolled up. Lights came on.

“I don’t think anything’s going to happen,” said Carmen.

“Yeah, I’m thinkin’ you’re right. Maybe tomorrow.”

***

Alex insisted on staying in a run-down fighter-jet themed motel called the Afterburner Inn, along the highway on the outskirts of the city. They slept until the afternoon. Carmen woke to see Alex doing fingertip pull-ups on the doorframe of the bathroom. They had an early dinner and went back to their surveillance.

Nothing happened.

And nothing happened the third night. All out of patience, Alex picked the lock on the back door and they searched the office, finding nothing but the excruciatingly boring paper work that accompanied fruit and vegetable logistics.

They drove away as sunrise loomed. “I hate to say it,” Carmen said, “but I think we might have been wrong about this place.”

Alex let out a long sigh. “Darlin’, I hate to say it more, but I think you’re right.”

“Well, shit. Now what do we do?”

“Hell, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Maybe go back over the—” Alex’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered. The conversation was brief. When he hung up, he wrote something down on a napkin. “Guess we know what we’re doin’ now,” he said.

“And what’s that?

“Goin’ to a funeral.”

***

“This still seems like an odd place for a funeral,” said Carmen. They drove over a cracked ribbon of heat-shimmering blacktop, running straight as a razor’s edge through the middle of the Arizona desert. On either side, red desert and flat-topped mesas scrolled past.

“It’s a perfect place for a vampire hunter’s funeral,” said Alex, “Space, privacy, and plenty of sunshine.”

The turnoff was little more than a track in the dirt, an unnamed intersection marked by an ancient fencepost. Alex barely slowed down for the turn, throwing up a huge cloud of silt as the truck left the pavement.

Carmen held the passenger side roof handle. “And I still feel underdressed,” she said.

“Aw, don’t worry. I told you, it ain’t like a funeral funeral. Mack was in the ground weeks ago. This is just some folks getting’ together to say goodbye and get drunk. You won’t be the only one in jeans and a T-shirt.” He nonchalantly charged through the turns, leaning casually against the doorframe. “This is a good chance for you to meet some people. Networkin’ and all that. Shit, funerals are ’bout the only time we all get together.”

“So you don’t have a convention or anything?” Carmen said with a smirk.

“Every once in a while.”

“I was kidding. You actually have vampire-hunter conventions?”

“Like I say, every now’n again. Gets dangerous havin’ us all in once place for too long, though. Puttin’ all our eggs in one basket, like. Makes too good a target. Plus, last convention got a little rowdy. The venue ain’t askin’ us back again.”

A row of barbed wire fence tilted across the desert, stretching out of sight on either side. Where it crossed the dirt road, there was a metal gate and a cattle guard. Alex left the engine running and stepped out of the truck. As he reached out to examine the padlock, a red dot appeared on his chest. He froze.

One of the surrounding creosote bushes stood up and became a man wearing a desert-pattern ghillie suit. His face was painted in broad stripes of black and tan. He held a rifle steady on Alex.

Alex held his hands up. “Howdy, Rob.”

The man lowered the rifle. “Alex Rains, how the hell are you?” He held out his hand. Alex shook it. “Who’s this with you?”

“This is Carmen. Friend of mine.”

“Step out of the car please, miss. Into the sunshine.”

Alex said, “It’s okay, darlin’. He just wants to make sure you ain’t a vamp.”

Carmen climbed out of the cab, blinking in the sunlight. She shaded her eyes with her hand. “Satisfied?” she said.

Rob looked Carmen up and down. “Entirely satisfied.”

Carmen rolled her eyes.

“Alex, how’s a hick like you score a piece like that?”

“He’s got a secret technique,” Carmen said. “It’s called not being a creepy asshole.”

Rob laughed. “I never got the hang of that one.”

“Rob and his brothers run a hunter outfit called the Coffin Crew,” Alex told Carmen.

“We’re working security today, so we won’t be there for the ceremony, but it’s good seeing you.”

“You too, man. Tell Brian and Terry I said hi.”

“Will do.” Rob unlocked the gate for them, and they rolled on through. Carmen looked in the rearview mirror to see him melt back into the desert.

Carmen twisted in her seat to see Rob disappear into the desert. “That guy was…”

“A creepy asshole?” Alex finished. “Yeah. Sorry ’bout that. Can’t stand him. But he sure can kill vampires. Coworkers, you know? What the hell you gonna do?”

They jostled along the dusty road until they came around a low hill and found a row of parked cars, trucks, and a row of motorcycles. Carmen recognized Jen’s van. Nearby was a cluster of pop-up white gazebos. They shaded a row of buffet tables that held a variety of snack foods and alcohol. A crowd of a few dozen milled around.

Alex killed the motor. “Well, this is the gang.”

Carmen looked around at the crowd. It made up largely—though not entirely—of men, and featured a staggering variety of styles. There were a handful of greasy biker types with ratty beards; they wore leather chaps, blue jeans, and black leather vests with patches on their backs that said hell hunters mc.

Paramilitary types were well represented, wearing any combination of fatigue pants, combat boots, and assault vests. But most of the crowd looked just like normal folks to Carmen.

Cooper was there, dressed in a crisp khaki suit, the coat slung over his shoulder. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, and his tie loosened. He chatted amicably with a blond femme fatale in leather pants. A group of four clean-cut young men in camo fatigue pants and black T-shirts grazed the snack table. Nearby, a grizzled old man with a week’s worth of white stubble poured tequila into a red plastic cup. Despite the heat, he wore a black full-length duster coat and a warped fedora.

Carmen spotted Jen talking to a young man who looked like an Asian college student. Jen waved, and Carmen headed her way. Alex followed.

“Carmen!” They hugged. “How are you?”

“I’m well. Ankle’s at one hundred percent.”

“And how about you, Alex? All healed up?”

Alex smirked. “Shit, darlin’, nothin’ keeps me down for long.” He touched his hat brim. “Hey, good seein’ you, but we got a lot of people to meet. C’mon, Carmen. I’ll show you ’round.”

“I’ll see you,” said Jen.

Alex put a hand around Carmen’s shoulder as they walked toward the buffet table. The old man in the duster turned. He grinned, revealing yellowed horse teeth. The duster swung open, and Carmen saw some kind of drum-fed rifle underneath. “Hello, Alex,” he said. “Who’s the lady?”

Alex introduced him to Carmen as “the Judge,” and they shook hands. The old man’s hand was dry and calloused and surprisingly strong. “So how long have you been running with Alex?” he asked.

“Just a few weeks.”

Alex added, “She’s new to the business.”

The Judge nodded. “Did you ever meet Mack?”

“Once,” answered Carmen. “He was a nice guy.”

“He was,” the Judge said. “He was. I’m going to miss that son of a bitch.”

Alex poured gin into two red plastic cups and handed one to Carmen. “No, thanks. It’s too early for me,” she said.

“Just hold on to it,” said Alex.

Jen walked by and tapped Alex on the shoulder. “Looks like we’re getting started.”

A large circle formed as the attendees stood shoulder to shoulder. Alex and Carmen found places among the crowd. The Judge came and stood next to them.

“Is everybody here?” said Jen. No one answered, which she took to mean yes. She looked around the circle. “Since The Judge here probably knew Mack longer than any of us, I think he should start off.”

The old man stepped forward. He cleared his throat and looked around the circle. No one spoke. He pulled out a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. “Mack always loved this stuff,” he said. “Me and Mack were running together since half of you were in diapers. I never met anybody with more…goddamn it.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “Mack was a legend. He didn’t do the dirty work, but he was responsible for more kills than I can count. He worked miracles. I trusted him with my life, and he never let me down. He was one of the old guard, and there are less of us every day. Goddamn it, I’m gonna miss you buddy.” He took a swig from the gin bottle and poured the rest on the ground. He fished a quarter from his pocket and tossed it into the center of the circle. “Here’s a coin to pay the ferryman. Rest easy, my friend. You earned it.”

Standing at the Judge’s right side, Alex stepped forward and said, “Ol’ Mack, well, he listened to some awful goddamned music.” A few muted chuckles escaped from the crowd. “But I never held that against him. We gave each other a lot of shit. But he always had my back. He was a brother to me—the brother I never had. Brother, I wish I’d been there for you like you was always there for me. Godspeed, Mack.” He poured his cup out on the ground.

Everyone looked to Carmen. She hesitated. “It’s all right,” Alex whispered. “Just say whatever comes to mind.”

“Mack…” she started. “I only met him once. But he was a perfect gentleman. He made me feel at ease. And he didn’t look down on me for being…out of the loop, I guess. And I can see he meant a lot to all of you. So here’s to you, Mack.” She poured out the cup.

Jen stepped forward next, said her piece, and poured out her cup. So it went around the circle, as each of them shared a memory or two and poured out their drink.

As the ceremony came full circle, the Judge stepped forward again. He spoke, but in a language Carmen didn’t know. A few others in the crowd spoke along with him, but most stayed silent, staring at the ground.

Finished, the Judge raised his head. “Now let’s all do like Mack would have wanted, and get shit-faced.” The crowd erupted in a cheer, and the drinking began in earnest.

Carmen leaned in to Alex. “That sounded like a Catholic Mass. Was that Latin?”

Alex answered as they followed the crowd toward the refreshments. “It was Latin, but it wasn’t Catholic. People been hunting vampires longer’n you might think.”

While Alex sipped on a bottle of beer and chatted with Jen and Carmen, two of the bikers approached. Alex raised his beer and said, “Cutter, man, how are you!”

“Good, man, good.” He and Alex shook hands and hugged. “Helluva a thing about Mack.” Cutter was Alex’s height but probably weighed ten pounds more, all of it muscle. His dirty-blond hair was tied in a ponytail that reached past his shoulders. A spray of stubble dotted a chiseled, underwear-model chin. Under a black vest, he wore a blue chambray shirt, the sleeves rolled up past the elbows. He carried a large knife in a sheath on his left hip.

“Hey, this is my buddy, Pretty Boy,” said Cutter. He gestured toward his friend. Pretty Boy had a face like a dump truck. His head was shaved, and his a physique could kindly be described as rotund. His T-shirt was stained and stretched, and advertised some heavy metal band.

“Pleasure.” Alex touched the brim of his hat. Pretty Boy nodded.

“Listen man, I was just telling Pretty about that thing you did at the barbecue last year, with the silver dollars, and he didn’t believe me.”

“Nobody can do that shit,” said Pretty Boy.

“What’s this trick he’s talking about?” Carmen interjected.

“Ain’t nothin’,” said Alex. “Besides, I ain’t got no coins with me.”

“I do,” said Cutter. He pulled out a handful of silver dollars. “Brought ’em just for the occasion.”

“Aw, come on.” Alex rolled his eyes. “I don’t feel like it.”

A small crowd had gathered around. Jen wandered over. “Oh, come on, Alex. Let’s see it.”

“Aw, goddamn it.” Alex sighed. He handed his beer to Carmen. “All right.” He barely nodded to Cutter.

It happened too fast to register. Without warning, Cutter flung the handful of silver dollars skyward. They glinted in the sunlight. Alex spun and crouched. In an eye blink, his chrome .45 was in his outstretched hand and spitting fire. The shots echoed and rolled off the distant mesas. Brass cartridges spun away through the air.

Alex tucked the gun away behind his back in the same smooth motion. An instant later, the silver dollars plopped into the dust. The crowd applauded. Alex adjusted his hat brim and took his beer back from Carmen. He emptied the bottle in one long pull.

Cutter walked over and picked up one of the coins. He peered through the bullet hole punched in the center of the coin. “See?” he said to his friend. “What did I tell you?”

Pretty shook his head. “Nuts, man. That’s fuckin’ nuts.”

Carmen picked up another one of the coins. It, too, had a perfect hole drilled through its center. She held it in her hand and followed Alex.

She caught up to Alex at the drink table. He pulled a fresh beer from an ice chest and twisted off the cap.

“That was amazing,” said Carmen.

Alex sipped at the beer. “Weren’t nothing.”

“How do you do that?”

“Don’t rightly know. Just do it.”

Alex felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Cooper. “Coop,” he said. “How you doin’?”

“Getting along,” said Cooper. “Is this the girl you told me about, from the vampire’s house?

“Yeah, this is Carmen. Carmen, Cooper.”

“Miss,” Said Cooper. He didn’t offer his hand. He stared at her through mirrored aviator shades, as the wind played with the few remaining hairs on the top of his head. His face was as unreadable as a hockey mask.

“A pleasure,” said Carmen, without much sincerity.

“Cooper here helps me out sometimes,” said Alex. “He works for the CIA.”

“I don’t work for the CIA,” said Cooper.

Alex chuckled. “See? That’s exactly what a CIA agent would say.”

Cooper surveyed the crowd. “Listen, I think I was the last one to talk to Mack before he died.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He mentioned he was working on something for you.”

Alex nodded. “That’s right. He was runnin’ down some leads for me.”

“That’s what he said. Well, I haven’t been able to find out much. But I got hold of some of the wreckage from his camper.”

“How in…? Naw, never mind. You wouldn’t tell me anyways.”

Cooper pulled out a stack of photocopies. The pages they depicted were singed and tattered. “This was his notebook. I can’t make any sense out of it.”

Alex took the pages and flipped through them: doodles, scrawled notes, all of it practically illegible. “Thanks. We’ll see what we can figure out.”

“And one other thing,” Cooper said. “I managed to pull some strings and keep this information out of the hands of the proper authorities, but I got hold of his call logs. The last call he received was from a Dr. Peter Stein, a botanist at New Mexico State University. Does that mean anything to you?”

Carmen and Alex looked at each other. “A botanist? Yeah, that just might be something.”

Chapter Fifteen

“You know,” Carmen said, “I hated college.”

The campus was made up of modern, angular buildings painted in khaki and terra-cotta, blending in with the surrounding terrain and the desert landscaping.

Alex and Carmen walked side by side down a broad tree-lined walkway. Alex had on crisp new blue jeans and a black bowling shirt, topped, as always, with his beat-up cowboy hat. Carmen wore jeans and a black-and-red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. They made their way through the crowds of young, attractive, happy people.

Two kids—they were probably twenty, but Carmen couldn’t think of them as anything else—played Frisbee on the lawn. A young bottle blonde in a New Mexico State University T-shirt walked past them, chatting loudly on her phone, detailing to someone just how awful last night’s frat party was.

“Never went to college myself. Seems like it mighta been fun, though.” Alex turned his head to watch the coed go by. Carmen thumped him on the arm. He smiled and hooked an arm around her waist.

“I guess maybe that was the problem,” Carmen said. “I wasn’t there to have fun. I was taking classes with people who were going on to be doctors and engineers, but I felt like I was surrounded by idiot children. I guess I’ve always just been the serious type.” She smiled. “And stepping back on a campus makes me suddenly feel like I forgot to study for an exam.”

“All right, we’re lookin’ for Casseter Hall, right? Here’s the place.” It was a tall, boxy building, painted the same desert colors as every other building in the state. He pulled open the double doors and held them for Carmen. Inside, the place was blessedly cool. The students in this part of the campus seemed more serious, leaning over books or laptops, whispering together in groups, holding up flash cards. The building was full of taxidermied animals in glass cases, framed collections of insects, displays of local minerals and fossils. They wandered down the hallway until they found an office door labeled prof. peter stein, botany. Alex rapped on the glass.

Professor Stein opened the door. “I’m not able to add any more students until—” He stopped, looking over his visitors. He was lean but healthy looking, with a hooked posture from long hours of bending over books and specimens. Well tanned, he had fully gray hair and a distinguished face. “Can I help you?”

Alex put out his hand. “Name’s Alex. This is Carmen. We talked on the phone?”

Stein’s demeanor changed from cautious curiosity to enthusiasm. He shook Alex’s hand. “Oh, yes! Mack’s colleagues! Please come in!” They stepped into the cramped office. Potted plants crowded every horizontal surface. A full-length bookcase lined one wall, and a tiny desk lay buried in paper work. “Please excuse the mess. Thank you for coming in.” He gestured towards a pair of chairs in front of the desk. “Please, sit down.”

“Thanks for having us,” said Carmen, as she eased into her seat.

“I’m so sorry to hear about Mack,” said the professor. He walked around his desk and sat in his rickety old office chair. “I knew him for many years. He was actually a student of mine once. He consulted with me on several cases. How long have you worked at his private investigation firm?”

“Four or five years, on and off.” said Alex.

Carmen said, “Since his passing, we’ve just been trying to get up to speed on the cases he was working. We understand he sent you a sample of something?”

“Yes, that’s right. An unknown vegetable substance.”

“That’s the one,” said Alex. “You got any idea what it was?”

Stein nodded. “Well, the very simple answer is that it’s a grape. I could tell that without even without taking it out of the bag. There were intact seeds and exocarp, really quite easy to identify. Clearly Vitis vinifera. So not just a grape, but a wine grape.”

Alex furrowed his brow. “Wine grape?”

“That’s right. A cultivar of grape used for producing red wine. It’s easy to tell, just by the size and texture of the skin. But here’s where things start to get strange.” Dr. Stein adjusted a stack of paperwork on his desk, resulting in an avalanche of papers sliding to the floor. He sighed and ignored it. “In the last few years, viticulturists have begun compiling genetic information about wine grapes. We’re tracing the history of the grape, from its humble origins in ancient Phoenicia, all the way to modern varieties. Mack was a good friend of mine, so I wanted to give him as much information as I could. So I ran a simple gel electrophoresis of the sample—”

“A which now?” said Alex.

“A DNA test…like on the police shows?” Dr. Stein pulled out a stack of transparent films showing black-and-white dots of DNA ladders. “I’m sure you’ve seen something like them before. Comparing the patterns on these films to those of known grape cultivars will give us precise information about the origins of a particular specimen. Grape plants are for the most part cloned, so the genetics within a cultivar are identical. A Sauvignon Blanc grape from France, for example, will be an exact genetic copy of a Sauvignon Blanc grape from California. They are, in essence, the same plant. But the fascinating thing is, this grape that Mack sent me doesn’t exist.”

Carmen made a quizzical face. “It doesn’t exist? How’s that possible?”

Dr. Stein smiled. “Well, obviously it does exist. What I mean is, it doesn’t match any known cultivar, and it doesn’t fit very neatly into our family tree. It’s apparently very old. And don’t get me wrong, there are many old grape varietals. But this one isn’t known to modern viticulture.”

“So what does that mean?” asked Carmen.

“Well, here’s my theory. In the 1860s, a disease called phylloxera blight nearly wiped out the wine industry worldwide. Before the problem was solved, several grape varieties went extinct. I suspect this is one of them. Maybe it survived, isolated from the epidemic in someone’s backyard. I can tell you about where it comes from in history.” From the mess on his desk he pulled out a family-tree sketch of wine varieties. “It’s somewhat like these Spanish cultivars, your typical mission grape. These are the grapevines the first Spanish missionaries brought to the New World to make sacramental wine in the 1600s. But again, this grape is more…I hesitate to say primitive, but it’s closer in character to much older varieties. Do you know where Mack found this?”

Alex exchanged glances with Carmen then said, “‘Fraid not, Professor. Wish we did.”

“Well, if you find out, please let me know. Perhaps someone has this growing wild in their yard. It’s even possible that some little winery around here is growing a vineyard of this stuff. They might not even know what it is. I could probably publish a paper about it. And I’d love to try a bottle. It would be like taking a sip of history.”

“We’re a little in the dark ourselves,” Alex said, “but if we find out, we’ll let you know. Thank you for your time.”

Back in the hall, Carmen said, “Wine.”

“Right? Somehow that fits. Can’t explain it, but it feels right.” Alex took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and replaced the hat again. He lowered his voice. “Now all we gotta do is find out which winery is growing an extinct grape, and we got our vamp. How hard could that be?” He turned and leaned his head back into the office. “Say, Professor? You know offhand about how many wineries there are, around here?”

“In the state of New Mexico? Well, as far as commercial wineries, fifty or sixty. Smaller places, who knows? Hundreds.”

Alex turned back to Carmen. “Well, shit.”

***

They reached the car again. Carmen turned to Alex. “Hey, remember what we found with that grape?” She pulled out an accordion file and rifled through it until she found a photo of the folded piece of label. “Do you suppose this could be part of a wine label?”

Alex examined the photo. It was a cream-colored label with a scrap of border on it. A black line, a red line. Farther up, the very tip of some kind of logo. “Maybe, darlin’. Maybe. Gonna be harder to find than a black jellybean in a rabbit hutch.”

Carmen shook her head. “Do you just make these lines up?”

Alex grinned. “Yeah, maybe. Well, c’mon. Let’s find us a wine store.”

***

The bell on the doorway dingled as they entered the Oaken Barrel Wine Bar. Carmen looked around and took in the scene. Practically every surface of the place was polished wood. A wooden bar ran across one wall, lined with wooden stools. Wooden half barrels stood on a hardwood floor, filled with displays of wine bottles. Wooden wine racks lined the other two walls. Brazilian jazz played quietly in the background. The store was empty, save for a pale, bookish bartender. He paused from wiping down the bar, pushed up his wire-rimmed glasses, and said, “Welcome. Can I get you anything?”

Alex tipped his hat. “No, thanks. Just lookin’ around.”

Turning to Carmen, Alex pulled the photo out of his pocket. “Well, best get started.”

Carmen pointed to a wall labeled local wineries. “Over here.” She picked up a bottle. “Well, not that one.” She tried another. And another.

Ten minutes later, still no luck. The bartender watched them curiously. “Is there something in particular I can help you find?” he asked.

“Thing is…” Alex started.

“We were at a dinner party the other night,” said Carmen. “The host had some wine we really enjoyed. He said it was locally made, but we can’t remember what the name was.”

“Had a bit too much,” Alex said with a goofy grin.

“But we’re sure we’d recognize the label if we saw it. Are these all your local wines?”

The bartender straightened up. “We have the best selection of locally produced vintages in Las Cruces. If you can’t find it here, it doesn’t exist.” He looked them up and down, pausing at Alex’s polished snake-skin boots, and made some sort of internal judgment. He said, “We do have another display room, where we keep some of our higher-end selections.”

He led them through the back door and into a small wood-floored room, lined on all sides with bottle racks.

“Do you mind if we look around?” Carmen asked.

He answered with a “go ahead” gesture.

The only furnishing was a small oak table. The bartender leaned nervously against it as they pawed through the inventory.

After a few more minutes, Carmen pulled out a bottle. The border consisted of a red line outside a black line. The logo was a heraldic drawing of a dragon, its wings curled to form a round border. “Alex,” she said. “Look.”

“Well, goddamn,” he breathed. He pulled out the picture of their scrap of label and held it up to the bottle. The edges matched up perfectly. “Goddamn.”

The label read, “Mondragon.”

“This is the one,” said Carmen. “We’ll take this one.”

The bartender took the bottle gingerly in both hands. He admired it as if it were a newborn infant. “You had this at a friend’s party?” he said. “Those must have been very good friends. This bottle is three thousand dollars.”

“Three thousand? Fer a—” Alex began. Carmen elbowed him.

“We’ll take it,” she said. “What can you tell us about this winery?”

“Mondragon is rather mysterious.” Holding the bottle carefully with both hands, the bartender made his way up to the cash register. Alex and Carmen followed behind him. “I’ve heard that it’s the oldest continuously operating winery in New Mexico. Perhaps in the whole country. But that’s just talk. You see, they don’t have any official publicity. No winery tours, no advertising, no anything. They discourage publicity. No one is even certain where the place is. So everything I’ve heard is just…rumor. Supposedly they’re on the outskirts of Las Cruces, in the mountains. But they don’t even sell their wine domestically. It goes straight to Europe. I had to buy these bottles from a wholesaler in England.”

“No one’s ever tried to find them?” Carmen asked.

“A few years ago, a writer for a wine magazine was on a crusade to find them, but he never got to finish. He was killed in a terrible car accident.”

The bartender reached the front counter. While he talked, he reverently wrapped the bottle in layers of brown paper, taped it, and dropped it into a wine-size paper bag. “People say the Mondragon family is one of the oldest in the state,” he continued. “I’ve heard the land the vineyard is on has been in the family so long that it was given to them by the Spanish crown, under the land grant system. Again, just hearsay and rumor. But supposedly they do everything the old-fashioned way. No chemistry to test the wines, no artificial fertilizer, no cultured yeasts, no sulfites. Just earth and grapes and the vintner’s instinct. But it’s marvelous stuff. They let the wine speak for itself. They seem to pride themselves on the mystery of it all. The cachet. The only winery I’ve ever heard of that has paid not to be mentioned in a wine magazine. But people who know wine know Mondragon. I was lucky to get any bottles at all. And three thousand dollars is for last year’s vintage. Some of the older ones…well, they sell at auctions, not places like this.”

“That’s absolutely fascinating,” said Carmen. She flashed him a brilliant smile. To Alex, she said, “Pay the man, darling.”

The man squinted carefully at Alex’s fake ID and held on to the bottle until the credit card cleared. “Thank you very much!” he said. “Come again anytime. And tell your friends!”

“Thank you! We will!” said Carmen. The little bell tinkled again as they left.

They exited the store and stepped onto the covered brick sidewalk that ran past a row of faux-adobe buildings in the Las Cruces historical district. “Jiminy Christmas, we didn’t have to actually buy the bottle! Three thousand bucks for a bottle of rotten grape juice—”

“You don’t like wine?” said Carmen, as they walked down the sidewalk, past a store selling crystals and metaphysical books.

“Just think it’s overblown is all. Bunch a highfalutin rich folk wantin’ to think they’re better than everyone else on account of they can afford to pay more money for the same bottle of grape juice. Bet most of the folks who buy these sorts of wines couldn’t tell this from the five-dollar bottle you’d buy at Rite Aid.”

Carmen smirked. “Well, have you ever tried three-thousand-dollar wine?”

“Can’t rightly say I have. But I can’t help thinkin’ how many cold beers I could buy with that kind of scratch.”

“I haven’t tried wine this expensive either. But this seems like as good a time as any. Let’s call it research.”

“So where we goin’ now? Truck’s back that a way.”

“Well, if we’re going to drink wine that costs as much as a used car, we’re going to need some wineglasses. And maybe some cheese and baguettes.”

Alex rolled his eyes but smiled as Carmen snaked her hand around his waist. “Highfalutin nonsense.”

***

Sunset. The remnants of a late-afternoon rainstorm lingered in the sky, burning bright pink and orange as the sun dipped under the western horizon. The deck boards were still beaded with water, and the air smelled of moist earth. Sitting on the top step of the stairs, Alex twisted the corkscrew in and pulled out the cork with a hollow pop.

“We smell the cork now, right?” said Carmen, sitting next to him.

He smirked. “You’re askin’ me? You’re the fancy college girl.”

“I seem to remember that wine wasn’t what most people were drinking in college,” she replied. “More like Pabst and Coors Light.” She picked up the corkscrew along with the impaled cork and brought it up to her nose. “It smells like a wine-soaked cork.”

“Ain’t that a shock?” Alex poured the wine into two brand-new wineglasses. They touched the glasses together. “Cheers.” He put his nose in the glass and inhaled, then took a sip.

“Well damn,” he said. “Ain’t that something?”

The wine flowed over his tongue, insinuating itself into his taste buds, coating his throat. A dozen scents bloomed in his nose, each one crisp and distinct, yet blending perfectly together. The smell of a hot summer night. Cinnamon. Damp earth. Dry, seasoned wood.

“Wow,” said Carmen. “I mean, I’ve had wine before, but…”

“But not like this,” Alex finished. He took another sip. A new crop of flavors blossomed. Mesquite and wood smoke. Fine tobacco. “I guess this is what three-thousand-dollar wine tastes like.”

Carmen ran her tongue over her lips. “I’ve heard people talk about different flavors in wines, but this is the first time I’ve actually tasted what they were talking about. It’s like it changes every time you take a drink.”

The last ripple of sunlight disappeared over the hills, leaving the sky azure and pink. The crickets began their nightly symphony. Carmen leaned against Alex, the warmth of his body a shield against the growing chill of the evening. She sipped at the wine. One by one, the stars bloomed into existence. She emptied the glass and leaned her head against his shoulder.

Alex, as always, was intoxicated by the sensation of her silky hair against his cheek and neck. He breathed in, smelling the faint flowery smell of whatever she washed her hair with, and the real smell of her underneath, something faint and clean and musky, almost below the level of conscious perception. He kissed her softly on the temple, then the ear, then the gentle curve where her jaw ended. Her breath hitched as he reached the welted line on her neck, lightly grazing his lips against the scar tissue.

Carmen leaned her head back and away, closing her eyes in contentment as she exposed her neck to him. He slid his arms around her waist, and she reached one hand up, ballerina-like, to caress the stubble of his cheek. She leaned back against the deck, and he followed, rising over her. He watched her there for one perfect moment, her black hair haloed around her head, lips parted, eyes half-shut. He touched his lips against hers, tenderly, tentatively. She responded, lifting her head to meet his, running one hand against the contours of his chest. She felt his hand, the casual strength in his fingers as he caressed her belly, sliding up to her ribs, ending with his hand encircling her left breast.

She pressed her own hand down to his jeans and found him ready. Her other hand was wrapped around his neck. She slid it around to his chest and gently pushed him away, pleased at his responsiveness. He opened his eyes. In the dim light, she saw them flick from her eyes to her lips and back again, waiting for a sign.

Carmen’s chest heaved under Alex’s steady hand. Her breath came so fast and heavy in her throat that she could hardly get the word out. “Yes,” she said.

He paused for a moment, as if still processing the word. She rose up to kiss him, and he responded urgently. She stood and pulled him along by the hand, across the deck and toward the house. A wineglass tipped and shattered. They made it to the sliding glass door before their clothes started to come off.

Alex pushed her against the doorframe, somehow rough and tender all at once. She shuddered with pleasure as he pressed himself against her. She found the edge of his T-shirt and lifting, running her fingers along his body as she pulled it over his head. He responded in kind, deftly undoing the buttons of her shirt.

Clothes fell to the floor as they stumbled through the house. They tumbled onto the bed. His mouth was everywhere. She moaned and ran her hands through his dirty-blond hair, squirming in ecstasy as he explored her belly with his lips. He moved lower still and undid the button fly of her jeans.

Carmen let out something between a sigh and a whimper as he pulled her jeans down.

***

Later, as the sweat evaporated off her body, she watched Alex sleeping next to her, one broad hand resting across her belly. She used a finger to comb his messy hair behind his ear. He smiled without opening his eyes. She smiled as well, and drifted off to a contented sleep.

As they slept, entwined and exhausted, a couple of raccoons came out from under the porch and devoured the plate of baguette and fine Brie cheese. They tipped the wine bottle over. Approximately $1,500 worth of world-class wine dribbled between the boards of the deck and soaked into the thirsty New Mexico soil.

Chapter Sixteen

Carmen awoke alone. She got up, threw on one of Alex’s button-up shirts, and stumbled out of the bedroom. She found a pot of coffee and a stack of pancakes waiting. Alex sat at the kitchen table, working at his laptop while he sipped his coffee. “‘Mornin’, darlin’,” he said. Carmen leaned over and kissed him. His hair was still wet, and he smelled like soap.

“Good morning.” She poured a cup for herself and sat down in front of the pancakes. “You’re working early.”

“What can I say? I been energized.” He smiled over his mug at her. “I was just about to try and find something about this Mondragon winery.” He typed some words into the search bar. “Well, aside from wine catalogs and auctions, the only thing that looks interesting is this Google Books result.” The book was published in 1916 and was titled A History of the American Southwest and Former Spanish Territories. He clicked on it, and a scanned page appeared. The word Mondragon was highlighted in yellow.

Alex read aloud, “‘Little is known about the early life of Carlos Mondragon, a young soldier who traveled to the New World in the 1600s. His birth date is recorded as 1482, but this is highly disputable, since this would have made him more than a hundred years old during his verified actions following the New Mexico Pueblo Revolt. It is also possible that later actions were actually undertaken by his son or grandson. In any case, Mondragon fought in several campaigns against native tribes in the Americas following Hernán Cortés’s conquest of Mexico. Having achieved the rank of captain, Mondragon was granted the title of “Don,” as well as land holdings, in repayment for his actions to retake the territory of New Mexico for Spain following the Pueblo Revolt of 1680. The land holdings are still owned by the Mondragon family, who produce wines which bear the family name.’”

“Well, that’s fascinating.” said Carmen. “Try finding more about the land grant.”

Alex typed in, “Spanish land grants in New Mexico.” An official New Mexico state website appeared. “Shit, this is a lot of information to sift through.” There were lists of a dozen private collections of letters and documents. Alex scrolled through them slowly, skimming over the titles.

“Wait a minute,” said Carmen. She pointed at a name. “Chester Dunbar Collection.” Why does that name sound familiar?”

“I got it.” Alex stood up and retrieved the packet of Mack’s papers. He flipped through it until he found a scrawled note that said, “C. Dunbar.”

He clicked on the link. A page of thumbnail-size documents appeared. Alex skimmed through the pages. “Says here Chester Dunbar was a lawyer, dealt with property rights’n such.” There was a thumbnail document titled “Mondragon v. Dominguez.” Alex clicked on it and read through it. “Says the Mondragon claim was in dispute after Mexico lost New Mexico to America in the 1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. Lotta records got destroyed, and folks weren’t sure if land given out by the Spanish still belonged to the original owners. Fella by the name of Ricardo Dominguez tried to claim the Mondragon land under US settlers law. Hired this Dunbar fella to represent him. And whaddya know? Mondragon was represented by a lawyer named Ernesto Sandoval.” Alex smiled. “And here’s the kicker. Paperwork states the land in question. Listen to this. In Mr. Dunbar’s words, ‘The property in question is a verdant valley fed by an artesian well, practically lost among the mountains and canyons of the New Mexico territory, and given by the locals the somewhat ominous name of La Boca del Diablo.’”

“La Boca Del Diablo,” Carmen said. “The Devil’s Mouth.”

“Well, now. If that don’t describe a vampire, I don’t know what does. And whaddya know? The lawsuit lists coordinates. Township and range.”

Alex wrote down the coordinates. A quick trip to the New Mexico State Land Office website translated the information to latitude and longitude. He opened Google Earth and typed in the coordinates. “Yeah, well there’s somethin’ there. Just a little place. Tucked away in the hills, just like the lawyer said.” He zoomed in to maximum. “Almost looks like a little town, but there ain’t no name on it. Only one road in or out. And look there.” He pointed to a green hillside that formed a crescent around the little cluster of buildings. “Looks like terracing. Betcha anything that’s a vineyard.”

Carmen kissed him on the cheek. “I think we found our vampire.”

“What say you and me take a little hike today, sugar?”

Carmen leaned in and nibbled on his ear. She grinned mischievously. “I think there’s something we should take care of first.”

Alex grinned stupidly. “Well, if you say so.”

“I say so.” She stood up and pulled him by the hand.

“I am powerless to resist.” He obediently followed her to the bedroom.

***

Alex took off his hat, wiped the sweat pouring from his brow, and resettled it back on his head. He looked around. The desert spread away in all directions, spotted with cacti and olive-colored shrubs, punctuated by spires of wind carved rock, striped in hues of red and orange and yellow. The only evidence that humans had ever been there was a line of cyclone fence, topped with coils of razor wire, running along the base of a ridge a hundred yards distant. He raised the binoculars hanging around his neck. “I think this might be the place.”

Carmen stepped up to stand next to him. Her hair was tied back with a red bandanna, and sweat beaded her walnut-dark skin. “I hope so,” she said as she looked up at the sun, sinking in the afternoon sky. “I hope we can make it back to the road by dark.”

“We’ll be okay.” They walked the last hundred yards to the fence. There were no signs, no warnings, no gates. Just a well-maintained fence in the middle of the desert. Alex took off his backpack and retrieved a pair of wire clippers. He cut a hole in the chain link fence, and they climbed the hill before keeling down to crawl the last twenty yards to the ridge-top.

Scrub brush gave way to an outcropping of broken shale that shifted under their hands and feet as they peeked above the ridge line. In the valley below them, rows of terraced crops followed the contours of the hills, forming a parabola, the focus of which was a cluster of buildings at the valley floor. Opposite the fields, an ominous black cliff rose, an overhanging wall of jagged volcanic rocks, dwarfing the tiny buildings. Overall the arrangement resembled a giant sundial. Alex rolled onto his side and took off his backpack, from which he pulled out a pair of high-powered binoculars.

“Yeah, this is the place,” he said, as he adjusted the focus knob. The tiny buildings below became large in the viewfinder. He panned the binoculars across, taking in the scene. Dozens of workers labored over the grapevines, while overseers on horseback watched over them.

Alex handed the binoculars over. “Take a look.” While Carmen took in the scene, Alex dug around in his pack and removed a camera with a telephoto lens.

“Jesus,” Carmen said. “It looks like a chain gang. The bosses all have shotguns. They’re running the place like a slave plantation.” The men and women laboring in the fields all had dark-brown skin and black hair.

“That’s what I thought, too.” Alex focused the camera and snapped pictures. “The whole place is fenced in, ’cept for the front gate and that cliff. Guess they figure a fella would have to be plum crazy to try and get over that beast.”

He panned to the large sheds, with their faded paint on sagging wood and rusted tin roofs, where workers went in and out carrying bushels of grapes. He snapped pictures of the garage, a newer-looking prefabricated steel structure, where another worker was changing the oil on a limousine. Farther on stood a Spanish mission-style mansion—complete with stucco walls and terra-cotta roof tiles—surrounded by a ten-foot wall. Attached to the house were rambling gardens and—“I’ll be goddamned,” said Alex. “Look over by that house.”

“I don’t see…Wait, the…what is it?”

“It’s an actual Spanish mission. What’s left of one, anyway.” A chapel and a white stucco bell tower stood, ancient, its belfry empty. A crumbled adobe foundation marked where the building once surrounded a garden courtyard.

Carmen’s eyes grew wide. “How can this be here? How have they gotten away with this for so long?”

“Well, you seen what we had to go through to get up here. For a while there I thought we was gonna need to come back with climbing ropes. And there ain’t much up here—as far as anyone knows—to make it worth the trip. Then they’re right on the edge of restricted airspace from the White Sands Missile Range. Ain’t no wayward planes gonna come in this close. And anybody hikin’ here and findin’ a fence would just assume they’d found military land. On top of that, I imagine a whole heap of money finds its way to the local authorities. Probably more than a few of ’em don’t mind the Don makin’ their illegal immigrant problem go away. Don Carlos has got himself his own little fiefdom.”

Alex held down the shutter button. The camera snicked away, rapid fire. “Yes, sir, this is a hard little target, all right. Ain’t sure we could pull this one off by ourselves. I mean, might be doable. Maybe. Might see what the Hell Hunters is up to this week. ’Course, we’d have to split the loot.”

As they watched, one of the overseers spurred his horse forward. Silently, in the viewfinder window, Alex watched a bullwhip snake out and lick one worker’s back. The man’s shirt split open, and a red gash appeared on his back. Seconds later, the sound of the whip’s crack reached them and echoed off the hillsides.

Alex lowered the binoculars. “But one way or another, we’re takin’ this place down.”

***

“I swear to God.” Carmen looked around the room, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, “Another tacky, moldy, old motel room. This is a weird obsession, Alex. You need help.”

The sign outside said astro motel and featured a neon rocket ship orbiting a neon moon.

Alex playfully nudged her through the door with a hand on the small of her back. “Can’t help it, darlin’. It’s my style.”

She dropped her bag on the floor as she looked around the worn, Spartan room. “Seriously, couldn’t we stay someplace with a little less ‘style’ and a little more room service?”

“Aw, come on now. It’s my thing. Me and my dusty old boots, drivin’ a classic car, pullin’ into a run-down motel in the middle of the desert. I got my aviators on. I got my hat down low. I take in the look of the place, real cool-like…Maybe a couple vultures overhead. Half the neon sign flickerin’…”

Carmen slowly shook her head. “You give this way too much thought.”

“Well, come on now, it just wouldn’t be right, me walkin’ into the lobby of some Holiday Inn, all like, ‘Howdy, what time’s the continental breakfast start?’”

“Ridiculous.” Carmen opened the plastic shopping bag that had been hanging from her wrist and pulled out some votive candles.

When she put them on the table and started lighting them, Alex said, “What are you doin’?”

“Scented candles,” said Carmen. “I can’t deal with the cheap motel smell for one more night.”

“So that’s what you had me stop at the drugstore for?”

“That and some more condoms.” She grinned.

“Well, hot damn.” Alex circled his hands around her waist and nuzzled her neck.

Carmen took his hands and un-encircled herself. “But right this moment I think I need a shower.”

Alex shrugged. “I’m a patient man.”

Ten minutes later, Carmen emerged, wet and steaming, from the shower. Alex had the photos he’d taken earlier loaded on his laptop. He was sketching a map of the compound in a notepad. Carmen came up behind him, wearing only a towel, and leaned down. “I think you could use a shower too.”

“Don’t gotta tell me, darlin’. I feel like I been rode hard and put away wet.” He made his way to the bathroom and shut the door. When he emerged, Carmen was on the bed. She wasn’t wearing much at all.

Alex shook his head. “Well, gol-damn.”

“What was that you said about being rode hard?”

Alex dropped his towel to the floor.

Pretty soon they both needed another shower.

***

Carmen decided to stay in the motel while Alex picked up some Chinese food. She lounged in bed, flipping through the pay-per-view menu to find a good movie. Alex got in the truck as the sun sank below the horizon. He went to Li’s Dragon Palace a few blocks away to pick up pork chow mein and stir-fried rice, with a side order of crab puffs. Then he stopped at the market for a bottle of champagne. On the way back, on a whim, he picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

“Alex,” said the voice on the other line.

“Hey, Cutter. How’s it going?”

“Well, enough, man. Well enough. What’s up?”

“I’m plannin’ a hit near Las Cruces. Looks like it might be a little big for just me and Carmen. You and your boys want to tag along?”

“When?”

“A week? Maybe longer.”

“We’ve got something cooking right now. We should be free in a week.”

“Sure. If not I’ll try the Coffin Crew.”

“Okay, let me know.”

“Will do, good buddy.” He hung up the phone as he pulled into the motel parking lot. He carried the plastic takeout bag around his wrist and held the cold champagne in the crook of his elbow.

When Alex knocked on the door, it swung slowly open. Candles flickered. The TV murmured softly.

Carmen sat on the bed.

Next to her, hand wrapped around her throat, sat Jacob. He grinned to reveal needle-sharp fangs.

Chapter Seventeen

The champagne bottle and the bag of takeout dropped to the floor. Alex’s hand flew to his pistol…and froze. The vampire’s hand tightened around Carmen’s throat. Her eyes were frantic—the blind panic of a trapped animal. Alex glanced to his right. He saw another man with a pistol. Another gun barrel tapped him in the back.

The room was dark, save for the candles on the bedside table, the television screen, and the light in the bathroom.

Alex saw the eyes first. Candlelight danced on two bright points in the darkness. Slowly, a face and a body materialized around them as the Don stepped forward. He moved into the light that poured through the bathroom door and suddenly became visible in bright contrast—half in light, half in shadow. A gaunt, triangular face narrowing to a pointed chin, black hair, combed back hard. White shirt, black slacks. He carried a sheathed sword with an elaborate basket hilt, which he leaned on as if it were a cane.

“Bienvenidos, Alex.” He flashed a silken demon grin. “Come in.”

“You goddamned son of a bitch,” Alex managed. He didn’t see the hand that took his pistol. He was shoved forward, and the door shut behind him.

Don Carlos took another step forward. He examined the well-manicured fingernails of his left hand before focusing on Alex. “So,” he said, “here we are at last, cowboy.” He enunciated each syllable, as if it were two words. Cow-boy.

Alex spared another glance at Carmen. Jacob’s hand still held her throat. Two wet lines ran down her cheeks. She stared at him with imploring eyes. Knives twisted in his gut.

“We live in an age of miracles, no?” The Don gestured toward the camera and the laptop. “I see your technology, your toys. Is it so strange to you that I would have such things as well? Did you think I was too old for such notions? Motion sensors, remote cameras? Remote-controlled drones? Remarkable things. They just fly along, unseen. And they follow you. All. The. Way. Home.”

Alex said nothing.

“This is your woman, no?” He ran a long finger up Carmen’s cheek. She shuddered. “Very pretty, for a morena.” He turned back to focus on Alex. “Do you love her?”

Alex swallowed but didn’t respond.

“You thought you would win, no? You thought the cowboy would ride in to save the day, like in the movies? Would you then ride off into the sunset, cowboy?”

The vampire turned away from Carmen and paced the floor. “This is my land. Mine! Who are you to hunt me? You and your Mexican whore. You are nobody. You are nothing.”

“Son of a bitch,” said Alex.

“Do you want to fight me?” Don Carlos smiled. He leaned his sword in the corner and made a beckoning gesture. “Come then, cowboy. Fight me.”

The arms holding Alex let go. He screamed and launched a wild kick. Don Carlos dodged effortlessly before slamming a flat hand into Alex’s chest. Alex smashed into the wall. His hat came off and fell to the ground. He heaved, trying to get his breath back. Don Carlos took one long step to reach him. He stretched a hand out, wrapped it around Alex’s neck, and lifted. Alex’s cowboy boots dangled off the floor. He jerked and clawed at the vampire’s hands as the air ran out of his lungs. The Don’s fingers were like steel tongs. Spots appeared in Alex’s vision.

“How easy it would be…” said the vampire. He released his grip, and Alex collapsed. “Too easy.” The Don paced the room again before picking up Alex’s sword from the table. “And is this your sword, cowboy? A katana? Are you a cowboy or a samurai?” He laughed. “I could kill you here and now, with your own sword. Ironic, no? But I won’t. Not yet.” He set the sword down. “Because you hurt me.” The vampire tapped his chest, above his heart. “You disrupt my business, yes. You dog my steps. That would be enough for me to kill you, but that is not the reason.”

The Don loomed above Alex, looking down. His eyes were bright slits in the darkened room. “You kill my friends. My blood. Do you know how long Armando served me? Five hundred years. I knew him in life. We stood in the sun together. From the earliest days, he stood by me. He spilled his blood with me. He was my right hand. My brother. And you, only a child, took him from me. How shall I repay you for that?

Don Carlos paused, standing over Alex as he lay sprawled on the floor. The vampire’s eyes were flames in the dark. “I think you know what must happen. Blood for blood.” He gestured to Jacob, who stood and dragged Carmen to her feet. Don Carlos took her by the shoulders.

“No!” Alex screamed. He lunged. Jacob kicked him in the face, and when the vampire hunter fell back, he planted a boot on his chest. He tried with both hands to move Jacob’s foot, but the leg weighed him down like a stone column. “Please,” said Alex. “Take me. Don’t hurt her.”

Don Carlos looked long into Alex’s eyes. “Blood for blood.”

Without another word, Don Carlos turned back to Carmen.

Carmen closed her eyes and grimaced, trying to turn away. Don Carlos held her fast.

He sank his teeth in. Carmen gasped. Blood bubbled from the corners of the Don’s mouth, spilling down her neck, soaking into her white T-shirt.

Alex flailed against the boot that held him to the floor. He heard someone scream and only later realized it was him.

Carmen opened her eyes and peered down at Alex. She was already fading away. Tears brimmed in her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks, mixing with the blood. She reached one hand out, as if she could reach him from across the room. “Alex…”

“Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, darlin’. I love you.”

“I love you…” Her eyes rolled up into her head, and then she went limp. Don Carlos raised his head. Blood rimmed his mouth, dribbled down his chin. He threw Carmen onto the bed like a dirty towel.

The vampire dabbed the blood from his mouth with a silk handkerchief. “How do you Americans say?” he snarled. “I think the expression is…‘Do not fuck with me.’ Now we are even. But I know that this won’t end it. In this way we are alike, cowboy.”

Don Carlos picked up the katana and threw it on the floor at Alex’s feet. “You will need this”—he nodded toward Carmen—“to do what must be done. And then, when you think you are ready, you know where to find me.”

Don Carlos walked out the door, his two foot soldiers following him. Jacob stayed behind and looked down at Alex. “Didn’t I say you were going to have a bad night?” He took his boot off Alex’s chest. “Guess I’ll see you around.” He winked, touched the brim of his black hat, and turned on his heel. He gently shut the door as he left.

Alex sat, leaning against the wall, staring at nothing.

Carmen shifted, almost imperceptibly. Alex stood unsteadily and went to her. Slowly, hesitantly, he began to think and react again. He brushed back her hair, examining the bite. This time, instead of neat punctures, her wound was a jagged furrow. He could see bone. A dying trickle of blood seeped from severed arteries.

He dashed to the truck and returned, seconds later, with his first-aid kit. He slapped QuikClot on the wound and got out an IV bag. Carmen didn’t have enough blood pressure to keep her veins inflated. Alex made four shaky tries before successfully inserting the IV needle. He whispered things to her, meaningless words of comfort. Sweet lies. He combed her hair back with his hand. Held his ear to her lips, listened to the faint rasp of her breath.

Carmen suddenly opened her eyes and grasped his hand with surprising strength. “Alex,” she said, “hold me.”

He sat her up and wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m scared,” she said. “I just…you make me feel safe.” The words drifted away. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. Alex realized his hand was wet. He looked down. A red-yellow mixture of blood and saline seeped from beneath the bandage and ran down her neck.

“Aw, no, Carmen. Stay with me. No, baby. Don’t…”

He felt her heart stop.

Tears blurred his eyes. He started frantic chest compressions. He pushed until his arms gave out. Carmen lay there, immaculate in death, staring at the motel-room ceiling.

The scented candles still burned, perfuming the room with lavender and jasmine.

Alex felt something break inside his chest, sharp and wet. His mind refused to take it in. He lay beside her, holding her hand as it cooled, stroking her long raven hair over and over, while he whispered sweet words she’d never hear.

It might have been an hour he lay there; it might have been a minute. He didn’t know. The TV still played, babbling just above audibility, some black-and-white movie with Humphrey Bogart. The shifting light slid across the walls. The scented candles, one by one, burned down, sputtered, and died in wisps of smoke.

Alex sat up and stared into the darkness. He stood like a sleepwalker. Finally he arranged Carmen’s body on the bed with dignity: her legs straight, arms crossed over her chest. He walked to where his katana lay on the floor and returned to her side. The sheathed sword rested across his lap. He ran his fingers across the smooth, lacquered scabbard, the ridges of the folded ray-skin grip. He looked at her again. Her skin was pale and waxy. The bandage on her neck, soaked with blood, had fallen away. Already the gaping hole in her neck had begun to heal.

He stood abruptly and unsheathed the blade. It hissed as it left the scabbard in a quicksilver arc, a bright flash in the dark room. He leaned over, kissed her lips, then raised the sword.

The sword trembled in his hands, held at the apex of its swing. A terrible moment passed.

His will broke. Alex collapsed and fell to his knees. The sword clattered to the carpet beside him. He buried his face in the cheap motel comforter and sobbed at her side.

When he couldn’t cry anymore, he picked up the sword and stood again. He took three deliberate breaths before he raised the blade a second time. He stood over her, the katana held high. She looked peaceful now, a hint of a smile on her lips, her neck whole and unmarred, her eyes closed. He lowered the sword. The weapon dangling limply from his hand. He moaned and again broke down crying.

A car pulled into the parking lot. Headlights washed over the curtains of the front window. The wall-mounted air conditioner rattled on.

On the TV screen, Humphrey Bogart said, “I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me.”

Alex made a third, half-hearted attempt to raise the blade before he gave up and sat down on the bed beside her. He sheathed the sword and rested it across his lap. And waited.

***

Night turned to morning. Outside, if Alex had turned his head to look, he would have seen the first sinister hints of dawn, the dull gray of approaching daybreak.

Carmen lay beside him, still as death.

Her eyes snapped open.

She drew in a shocked breath. Her eyes focused on the ceiling. Her hand found the smooth, complete flesh of her neck.

She sighed, still staring at the ceiling. “Well, shit.”

Alex didn’t respond. He stared at the door.

“Alex?” she said. “Am I…”

“Yeah,” he said. “You are.”

“Goddamn it.”

“Yeah.”

Carmen sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, sitting next to Alex. She trembled and rocked slowly back and forth, hugging herself tightly. Her breath was fast and shallow. “He killed me. The bastard killed me. Oh, God. Oh, Jesus.” She grimaced, and tears formed in her eyes. She hugged herself even tighter. Her eyes came to rest on the sword that lay across Alex’s knees. “Is that for me?”

Alex nodded once. “Was, yeah.”

She hesitated for a moment then asked, “Was?”

“Dunno. Guess if I was gonna, I shoulda done it by now.” Alex ran his hands through his hair; he looked around as if trying to find an escape. “Damn it, I always said, if I was a vamp, if anybody really cared about me, I’d want ’em to do what had to be done, so I wouldn’t have to live like that. But now it’s you.” He sighed. “And I can’t do it.”

She pulled her hair back, holding it in a loose ponytail with her hands. “If it helps any, I’m not sure I want you to.”

Alex just looked down at the sword.

“I mean, I don’t really feel any different. How bad can it be?”

He still didn’t look up. “You ain’t never gonna see the sun again. Gonna be livin’ in the dark, killin’ to survive. You really want to live like that? You ever seen a junkie cravin’ a fix? That ain’t nothin’ compared to a vampire needin’ blood. I’d have to be crazy to be in the same room with you…even right now. You say you love me? You’d kill me anyways. You’d just wake up feelin’ full and glowy, and I’d be there on the floor with my throat opened up. That’s the truth, darlin’. You wanna live like that?”

“I…I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t feel dead. And I don’t want to die. Does anything else work? Animal blood? Could it come from blood banks?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know how it works. Nobody does, really. But the blood’s gotta be human. And it’s gotta be fresh. Ain’t no other way.” He turned the sword in his hands, examining the folds of the grip.

“What about a donor? If I…”

“Maybe. It’s been done. Gotta be done with a needle, so you don’t infect your donor. You’ve seen what a vamp bite is like, even if the vampire don’t take enough blood to kill you. Those bites are unpredictable mothers. And sooner or later, you’re gonna lose your self-control. Then you’ll have to find a new donor.”

Carmen stood up and went to the sink in the bathroom. She stared in the mirror and raised her lips, examining her newly pointed incisors.”Goddamn it.”

“You can say that again,” said Alex. “I should’ve done it before you ever woke up. Woulda been easier that way. I can still…I mean, it’d be quick. If you want.”

She came back into the room and sat next to him on the bed. “I don’t know what I want.”

“I don’t wanna see you livin’ like this.”

Carmen glared at him. “Well, what the fuck do you want me to do, just kneel down and stretch out my neck?”

“I dunno,” whispered Alex. He still wouldn’t meet her eyes.

She sighed. “Look, I know you’re trying to look out for me and all, but I just fucking got killed, and I’m still trying to work that out in my head.”

Alex stood. He stumbled, in a fog, toward the front door, grabbing his hat along the way, holding the katana in his hand. “Look, I gotta…This is all gettin’ too much. I need some air.” He fumbled with the doorknob. “You just…just stay outta the sunshine.”

“Are you going to come back?”

He paused in the doorway and looked back at her. “Yeah. I’ll come back.” After he closed the door behind him, he said, “One way or the other.”

***

The morning was crisp and peaceful, the sky a flawless blue. Eastern sunlight had just begun to take the chill out of the air. Alex hung the do not disturb sign on the motel-room door and headed to the truck. He slid his katana behind the seat and climbed in.

He drove aimlessly as the day warmed, drifting over cracked blacktop, past nameless strip malls and truck stops. He stopped at a roadside café and ordered breakfast. When it arrived, he discovered he wasn’t hungry. He drank a cup of coffee while he moved the food around on his plate, then left a twenty on the table and slid out of the booth.

Alex headed west and found himself in the Arizona high desert. Pillars and arches of tan-red sandstone rose out of the horizon and stretched toward the bright-blue sky. Eventually he took an unmarked dirt turnoff. After a long, dusty drive, he parked at the base of a towering rock formation. He climbed to the top and sat, looking out over the desert. Hours passed. He sat like he was a part of the stone. A hawk trilled overhead, turning in the bright sunshine.

Around noon, Alex stood up. He pulled his pistol. The big chrome .45 gleamed in the sunlight. He aimed at the horizon and pulled the trigger again and again. He screamed as the shots boomed and echoed off the rocks. He fired until the slide locked open on an empty chamber.

The desert fell into shocked silence. Alex slapped in a fresh magazine and holstered the pistol.

Under the brim of his cowboy hat, his mirrored aviator shades reflected a funhouse-mirror miniature of the desert all around him. He stormed to the truck and retrieved his katana.

He took a deep breath, unsheathed the blade, and forced himself to concentrate on sword forms. For an hour or more, he lunged and cut his way across the desert, slicing apart cactus and mesquite. Finally, panting and sweaty, he bowed, then wiped cactus juice from his blade before returning the sword to its sheath.

His mouth was a thin slash as he drove the truck back towards the motel. He left the radio off and listened to the sound of the desert rushing by outside. By the afternoon he was back in New Mexico.

A squat, nameless roadhouse bar called to him. He pulled the truck off the road and went inside. The place was cool and smoky, empty save for a few die-hard regulars, dark save for the neon signs and the lamps above the pool tables. Alex took a seat on a barstool. The bartender noticed him and stopped washing glasses.

“What’ll it be?”

“Whiskey,” said Alex.

“What kind?”

“The kind you drink.”

The bartender grabbed a shot glass and a bottle of Jack Daniels. As he poured out a shot, he said, “Rough day?”

“You might say that,” said Alex. “Just need a little liquid courage. Gotta go end it with my girl.”

The bartender leaned on his hands. “That’s rough. Not an easy thing.”

Alex knocked back the shot and winced. “You ain’t jokin’, amigo. Breaks my heart. But I gotta do it. It’s the right thing, you know? We’ll both be better off. She don’t know it yet, but she will eventually.”

The bartender leaned against the bar. “Just grown apart, huh?”

Alex nodded. “She’s changed, and I ain’t. Guess that’s really the problem.” He tapped his finger on the bar, and the bartender poured another shot. “Last one,” he said, before he tipped the shot back. “I don’t wanna get sloppy.”

“Yeah, probably best to be able to keep your wits.”

“I mean, I hate to do it to her. It ain’t her fault. But it’s for the best.”

“Well, you have to think about you,” said the bartender. “If you aren’t happy, don’t stay in it for her sake.”

“Yeah, you’re right, of course.”

“They say the clean cut heals fastest.”

Alex stared at the worn veneer of the bar for a moment. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s what they say, ain’t it?” He pulled out a twenty and slapped it on the counter. “Thanks, pal.”

“Good luck to you, buddy.”

***

He pulled into the parking lot of the motel. A vulture flew in front of the sun, casting a brief, flickering shadow over the parking lot.

“All right, Alex,” he muttered. “You can do this.” He sat at the wheel, staring at the peeling red door of the motel room. “Done it a hundred times. Quick ‘n’ clean. Don’t think about it. Just get it over with.”

He unholstered his pistol. From a bag on the seat, he retrieved a thick black silencer, which he screwed onto the barrel before opening the door of the truck.

He looked around for witnesses then slid the katana into his belt on his left side. He cocked the pistol and held it down low at his knee. In his left hand, he held the motel-room key.

The key slid smoothly into the lock. Alex took two deep breaths, turned the bolt, and pushed the door open. As the door swung open, he brought the pistol up into a two-handed grip, sweeping across the room as he stepped inside. He didn’t see Carmen.

The sound of retching came from the bathroom. Alex looked around the room and saw the Chinese takeout from the night before, sitting on the table. The pork chow mein was open, a pair of chopsticks protruding from the box.

In the bathroom, Carmen made heaving, gasping noises. Alex crossed the room in three strides and peeked the gun around the corner, his gunsight aligned on the back of her head.

Carmen didn’t notice. She gripped the porcelain rim with both hands, so hard her knuckles were white. Spasms wracked her body. A pathetic trickle of chewed food dribbled from her mouth as she hunched and made extended vowel sounds into the toilet bowl. Her tangled hair hung in her face and stuck to the rim of the toilet.

Alex wasn’t really sure how it happened. The next thing he knew, he was stashing the pistol under a pillow. He pulled the sword—still sheathed—from his belt, and set it on the bed. Then he was kneeling next to her, holding her hair out of the way while she vomited.

In between heaves, she said, “That Chinese food was bad. It tasted…like rancid cardboard or something. It made me sick.” She doubled over again.

Alex used a pinky to comb an errant lock of hair from her face. “You’re a vampire, darlin’. You ain’t gonna eat food no more.” One part of his mind was musing on the strange fact that he was supposed to be killing her.

“But I’m so hungry.”

The vomiting seemed to be finished. Alex sat on the floor of the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe. “That’s what I been tellin’ you, hon.”

Carmen stood up, rinsed her mouth out at the sink, then flushed the toilet. “Look, I’ve been thinking about it all day. This…this can’t be right. I mean, this is crazy. I’m not a vampire.”

Alex leaned his head back against the bathroom wall. “Just take a look at your teeth.”

Carmen put down the seat and sat down on the toilet. “I mean, there’s no such thing as vampires. It’s silly, when you think about it. Logically, I mean.”

Alex let out a deep breath. “Sugar, I know this is hard. Believe me. I know. But you gotta face facts.”

“No, I’ve got to start living in the real world. This is all your sick fantasy. You and Jen and all your vampire-hunting buddies. It’s mass hysteria. This is all crazy.” She stood up, left the bathroom, and paced the motel room. “There’s no such thing as vampires. I’ll just go out and—”

Alex stood up and followed her out. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Darlin’, you need to—”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do!” Carmen shoved him. He flew across the room and smashed into the mirror on the wall. The mirror shattered, and he tumbled onto the dresser. He groaned and rolled onto the floor.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” Carmen rushed over to him and knelt. “I don’t even know how I did that!”

“Unhh…” As he got to his hands and knees, Alex held his side. She tried to help him up, but he shook off her hands. “I’m fine,” he said. He got up on his own, limped to the bed, and sat down.

“I’m so sorry,” Carmen repeated. She sat next to him on the bed.

“I’ll live.” He managed a smile. “Damn, girl, you got some push.”

He had a small cut on his forehead, upon which a single bead of blood welled. Carmen wiped the blood away with her finger. “Oh, you got a little…” She exhaled shakily and stared at the blood on her finger “…cut.” She swallowed loudly, her eyes never leaving the smear of blood.

“Take it easy now,” said Alex. His hand slowly crept toward the gun under the pillow.

Carmen shook her head as if knocking out the cobwebs. She smiled unconvincingly. “Hey, let me make it up to you. Let’s go get some dinner. My treat.”

“Honey, you ain’t goin’ nowhere till the sun goes down. And you ain’t gonna want no dinner anyhow.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. What should we do then?” she asked, with a mischievous raise of her eyebrow.

After a moment’s thought, Alex said, “Let’s just watch some TV.”

And so they did. They watched the evening news, followed by some PBS show about polar bears. By then, it was dark outside.

Finally, Alex stood up and shut off the TV. He picked up his sword and holstered his pistol. “All right,” he said, “if we’re gonna do this, let’s do this. Put your shoes on, grab your gun, and come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Takin’ care of some business.” But instead of the front door, Alex went to the bathroom.

Carmen laughed. “I don’t know what business you’re taking care of in there, but I’m not sure I want to help.”

Alex stood on the toilet lid and opened the small, high, rectangular window. He looked through it then pulled out his folding knife and cut the screen away. “We’re leavin’ the back way.”

“Are we going to blow this place up too?”

“Not this time.” With fluid ease, Alex slithered out of the window headfirst, hanging on to the eaves as he pulled the rest of his body through.

Carmen followed him through then brushed the dust off her jeans.

“C’mon now,” said Alex. They walked to the end of the row of motel rooms and peeked around the corner. “See that black Volvo there?”

“The one with two people sitting in it?”

“That’s the one. Them two are Don Carlos’s stooges. They been sittin’ here watchin’ us since last night. Followed me for a while when I left today, until I lost ’em. Guess they came back. You and me, we’re gonna take care of ’em.”

After he briefed Carmen on the plan, they crept around the corner, following the edge of the parking lot until they came around behind the car. One of the watchers smoked a cigarette, the orange cherry standing out like a flare. Smoke drifted from the cracked window.

Alex sidled up to the driver’s window, and Carmen took the passenger’s side. Alex drew his pistol and tapped the glass with the barrel.

Don Carlos’s thug turned his head and froze, mid-drag, his cigarette held to his mouth with two fingers. Smoke escaped from his open mouth. Alex put thumb and forefinger together and made the universal gesture for “Roll down your window.”

The thug complied. “Unlock your back doors,” said Alex.

“They’re unlocked,” said the thug.

Alex slid in one side and immediately pushed the pistol barrel against the back of the driver’s skull. Carmen got in on the other side. “Guns out the windows,” said Alex. Two pistols clattered on the pavement. “Now drive.”

“Where?”

“Just drive.”

The engine purred to life. The car slid out of the parking lot and onto the main road. The driver continued smoking his cigarette.

“Mind if I light up too?” said the thug in the passenger’s seat.

“Whatever,” Alex replied. He kept a close eye on the second thug while he produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter then went through the smoker’s ritual. He took the first drag and leaned back in the seat as he let the smoke out. “You know, if you hurt us, our boss is going to—”

“Spare me, kid. Little late in the game for that kind of play. Turn right up here.”

All the while, Carmen sat quietly, holding her pistol unenthusiastically against the passenger’s skull.

The little road turned from pavement to dirt and eventually ended. The headlights showed a collapsed wooden structure whose original purpose wasn’t clear. Random bits of rusted metal lay strewn around.

“You two, outta the car.” Alex held his pistol on them as the two climbed out of the front seats.

Alex and Carmen exited the car as well. In his left hand, Alex held his sheathed sword. He holstered his pistol and slid the sword into his belt. He marched them forward, into the glare of the headlights. They squinted and turned their heads away. “All right, Carmen, this one’s for you.”

“What do you mean?”

Alex pointed to the two thugs. “Y’all get on your knees.”

Reluctantly, they did.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,” said Alex. He grabbed one of the thugs by the collar. In a flash he whipped out his folding knife and cut the thug on the neck. It was a shallow cut, not even close to fatal, but blood flowed freely and soaked his white shirt-collar.

“Hey, what the fuck!” said the thug. He pressed his hands to the cut as he screamed in outrage.

“Carmen, you smell that?”

Carmen’s nostril’s flared. She took a deep, sensual breath. “Yeah,” she said. “I smell it.”

“That’s blood, darlin’. That’s what you need now. That’s all you’re ever gonna need anymore. This right here, this is your life, you hear me?” He hauled the bleeding prisoner to his feet and pushed him toward her.

Carmen couldn’t help herself. She moaned as the smell of hot blood overpowered her. She seized the thug by the shoulders. He struggled, but her fingers were like iron spikes. He screamed again as she sank her teeth into his flesh. The other thug started to stand up, and Alex roughly shoved him back onto his knees.

Carmen’s razor-sharp canines severed his carotid artery like a scalpel. A hot jet of blood spurted into her mouth. She pulled him closer and drank hungrily. He flailed and kicked, but she held him fast, the blood pumping into her mouth and down her throat. She swallowed greedily, reflexively, barely able to keep up with the flow. In seconds, it was slowing. The thug relaxed his grip and went limp. His heartbeat slowed, faltered, and stopped. Carmen fell to her knees, her lips still locked around the fatal wound. She drank every last drop. Finally, she pulled her mouth away, panting. The man’s body flopped to the ground and lay still.

Carmen, on her knees, gasped for breath. “Oh my, God,” she said. “Oh, my God…oh, my God. What…oh, Jesus, what did I just do?”

“You did what you gotta do. And now there’s one less scumbag in the world. You still hungry?”

“God no,” said Carmen, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Without another word, Alex pulled his pistol and casually shot the second thug in the head.

“Well, you’re a vampire, darlin’. You believe me now?”

Carmen looked down at her bloody hands. “Yeah.”

“If you wanna live like this, you gotta know what it takes. You gotta have blood. ’Bout once a week, at the least. Less often than that, you’ll get a little crazy and might do something you’ll regret.” He stood over the bloodless corpse and drew his sword. “One last thing. You feed on someone, you gotta take care of the body.” He swung the sword. The corpse’s head rolled away and bumped against a mesquite bush. “Cut the head off, burn it, or leave it out in the sun. That’s the only way of being sure it won’t turn.”

Alex flicked the blood from his blade and wiped it with a cloth before returning it to the scabbard. “You feel okay?” he said.

Carmen stood up and looked around, in a daze. “Could you turn the headlights off?” she asked, “It’s too bright.” Alex leaned in the open driver’s door and hit the switch. The darkness was absolute. It was a moonless night, the stars cold white spots upon an utterly black canvas. As Alex looked up, the sheer immensity of the sky rocked him back on his heels.

“I can see…” Carmen turned in a slow circle. “…everything. It’s like daytime! I can see every shrub! Every twig!” The night was so dark that Alex could barely see Carmen. “There’s a bobcat right over there,” she continued. “And a mouse hiding under a bush. I…I can smell them. I can hear them. This is incredible. My God, can you smell it?”

“Smell what?” said Alex.

“The night! The air, the ground, the bushes…It’s hard to explain. And you know what? I feel…warm. I feel really good.” She rubbed her shoulders and took a step toward Alex. “I just killed somebody, and I drank his blood. Shouldn’t I feel bad? I mean, I do…but at the same time, I feel good. It’s like…”

“Like a drug,” Alex finished for her.

“Yeah. Like a drug. And…” She took another step toward him, close enough that he could see the smile on her face. “You know what? I lied. I’m still hungry.”

Carmen moved faster than even Alex could react. In a heartbeat she was next to him, pinning his arms to his sides. She leaned in and opened her mouth.

“Wait a minute darlin’. Don’t do nothing you’re gonna…” He stopped. Instead of the sharp burn of piercing teeth, he felt warm lips on his neck, the gentle flick of a moist tongue. She ground against him and sucked on his ear. His cock snapped to attention. “Now, hold on a tick, darlin’, maybe you ain’t in your right mind right n—”

Carmen ripped his shirt down the front and ran a hand across his chest. Her other hand traced the rigid contour in his jeans. She kissed him again, just above the collarbone. “Shh. No more talk,” she whispered as she unzipped his fly.

Alex could feel more than see her. She was a shape, a silhouette against the night sky as she rode him. She was the feeling of hands on his chest, lean thighs hard beneath his own hands, her pushing him into her again and again. She leaned in close, and he felt the electric brush of her hair and her nipples against his chest. She grabbed his wrists and held him down, her lips hovering above his, her breath hot and heavy, never losing the rhythm.

And Alex, God help him, had never been so turned on…and he was terrified. Her hands held his wrists like a vice; he felt like they were trapped under a boulder. He couldn’t get away if he wanted to. Carmen’s mouth, those two bone knives, hovered just inches from the highway of veins and arteries in his neck, veins that strained and bulged as he strained against her.

She came silently, her breath short and fast, her body squeezing against him until he thought he might die. Her hair teased against his face as she froze, her thighs tight and rigid, her muscles spasming as she rocked with the force of her orgasm. After what seemed like minutes, the tension left her body, and she resumed a leisurely pace. Alex came mere seconds later, so hard he felt like he’d broken something. Carmen smiled beatifically as she watched his face contort. She tightened herself against him as he desperately pushed into her. At last he too finished. His body went limp as a wet rope, utterly spent.

Finally Carmen let go of his wrists. She let him pull out of her then lay down next to him on the cool desert sand. She kissed him. “Holy shit,” she said. “Wasn’t that something?”

“You can say that again.” He wrapped his arms around her, and they lay there, in the dust and grit of the New Mexico desert, the impassive stars high above. Two fresh corpses lay sprawled not twenty feet away.

Some time later, Alex felt a warm wetness against his cheek. He touched the wetness with a fingertip and brought it to his mouth. They were tears.

Carmen was crying. She hugged him tightly. “Jesus, what am I?” she said.

Alex ran a hand down her hair. “You’re my girl.”

Chapter Eighteen

“The Don said he was gonna wait for me to come to him,” Alex crammed his gear back into a duffel bag. “But I ain’t waitin’ around in case he changes his mind. We can make it back to my place before daybreak, if we hurry. Then I can take a little nap in peace, then we can figure out what comes next.”

Carmen mechanically packed her meager belongings away and didn’t respond. Since they’d dusted themselves off, dressed, and driven back to the motel, she’d been distant, almost drugged.

The cleanup was fast, slowed only by Alex going over every piece of gear and clothing, searching for surveillance devices. He found a thumb-size device at the bottom of a duffel bag and left it in the nightstand drawer. When he was satisfied, they piled into the truck and drove away.

Carmen spent the drive in silence. She responded briefly, if at all, to Alex’s attempts to drum up conversation. Leaning against the doorframe, she watched the night desert through the open window. Her nostrils flared, as if she were smelling incredible new things, but her face maintained an expression of wistful sadness. Finally Alex gave up on conversation and plugged in his iPod. He put on Leonard Cohen’s Songs of Love and Hate and let it play through to the end.

The desert outside the window was alive like Carmen had never realized before. With vampire eyes, she saw rabbits scurry and dart, saw owls silently take wing and the rabbits cower in fear. The smells that reached her were impossible and complex, yet, to her amazement, her mind had no trouble sorting them out.

Shortly before sunrise, they arrived at Alex’s home. He pulled the truck up to the front door in a wash of dust. He shut off the headlights. “Carmen?”

Carmen started, as if waking up.

“You still with me?”

She blinked. “Yeah, I’m all right.” Like a sleepwalker, she opened the truck door and helped carry the gear inside.

Alex rummaged in the fridge and found some pizza. While he wolfed it down, he said, “C’mon’ darlin. It’s been a long couple days. Let’s get some sleep.” He realized he was talking to an empty room. “Carmen?” he said.

Alex stood and searched the house. Finally he found her out on the porch, facing the east. The sky lightened and turned gray, the first hints of the dawn.

“C’mon in, Carmen,” said Alex.

She didn’t move. She simply stood and watched the developing sunrise. “I guess I won’t see any more sunrises. Or, at least, only one more.”

“Hey, sweetheart, let’s just get some sleep. Things’ll seem different in the mor…tomorrow.” He took her by the arm, but she didn’t respond.

“All I have to do is stand here, right? Just stand and watch the sun come up? Easiest thing in the world.” She turned to him. “Wouldn’t it be better this way?”

The eastern horizon trembled and turned yellow, a thin liquid line of fire breaking over the mountains. Tears welled in Carmen’s eyes.

“Darlin’, I don’t know anymore, honest to God. Why don’t you just come on inside? We can figure it out later.”

She looked at the horizon, then back at him.

As the first rays of daylight swept over the plains, she relented and let him pull her inside. He slammed the door to the rising sun.

“Carmen, don’t scare me like that ever again.”

She hugged herself and looked at the floor. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

“If it helps any, I’m a mite confused myself. Don’t worry about that right now. You got all the time in the world.” He took her by the hand and led her, like a child, to the bedroom. She didn’t resist as he sat her on the bed. He took off her shoes and undressed her then pulled back the covers and laid her down in the bed. He made sure the drapes were closed tightly, then undressed himself and climbed in next to her. Her body felt cold beside him, but he wrapped his arm around her anyway. He listened to her breathing even out, and soon she was fast asleep. Alex lay there for an hour, closing his eyes and willing himself to fall asleep. Though he was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open, sleep still didn’t come.

Finally he slid out of bed, leaving her there. He left the bedroom and eased the door shut. Dressed only in his underwear, he padded down the hallway to the den. He hit the hidden switch, and the bookshelf swung out, revealing the stairway leading down. He closed and locked the vault door. With a dozen feet of steel and concrete between him and Carmen, he went to bed and fell immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

Alex woke up in the late afternoon. He dressed and went upstairs to find Carmen still asleep. He exercised, made coffee, and took his laptop and camera downstairs to do some work. By the time Carmen woke up in the evening, he’d printed out dozens of high-resolution photographs of the Don’s compound. He was busily at work, sketching out a map of the buildings and surrounds. A glance at the security monitors told him that Carmen was awake, so he grabbed his coffee mug and headed upstairs.

Carmen stood at the sliding glass doors, her toes just shy of the rectangle of sunlight on the floor. She heard Alex behind her. “I can’t drink coffee anymore, can I?” she said.

“Actually, liquids ain’t a problem. Vampires can drink. I mean, you can drink booze. Wine, for example. Or coffee. Ain’t gonna get no sustenance from it, though. Alcohol still gets you drunk, and caffeine’ll still wake you up.”

“Thank God for small favors.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. She was dressed in sweat pants and one of Alex’s T-shirts. She held the mug with both hands as she sipped the steaming brew. “I slept like…like the dead.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Alex. “God knows we needed it.”

“Did you sleep upstairs last night?” asked Carmen.

After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “No. I went downstairs.”

“That’s what I thought.” She paused. “How come?”

Alex rubbed his neck. “Old habit, I guess. C’mon. Lemme show you what I’m workin on.” He led her downstairs to the basement. She followed him to what seemed to be an office. There were filing cabinets, desks piled high with paperwork, maps pinned to the walls and dotted with thumbtacks and photographs. “I got a pretty good map of the compound laid out. Now, we’re still gonna need more surveillance to put together a proper hit. Gotta know when supply trucks come in and out, how many guards, what the shift changes are like. Gotta find out more ’bout them remote sensors at the fence line.”

“Alex,” Carmen said, “are you afraid of me?”

Alex laughed and rubbed his neck again. “Darlin’, what the heck are you talkin’ about?”

“Is that why you slept down here today? Were you afraid I was going to bite you in my sleep or something?”

“Baby, that’s crazy talk. You’re my girl.” He kissed her on the lips. “I ain’t afraid of you. I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all, and I wound up down here. It’s quieter.”

She cocked her head and smiled hopefully. “Because you know I’d never hurt you.”

“I know, darlin’. You don’t gotta tell me.”

Alex went back to planning. Carmen sat on the edge of a table, watching him as he added details to his map, making notes in a spiral notebook.

“Now, I’ve always had more luck with daytime hits, but your condition kinda puts a kink in that. Either I go in the daytime without you, or I go at night and put myself at a disadvantage against the other vamps. Ain’t really figured how we’re gonna play that one yet. I guess if—”

Carmen tugged at her collar. Suddenly the house felt cramped and stifling. “Alex, is it dark yet outside?”

Alex checked his watch. “Yeah, it’s just now sunset.”

“I’m going to go get some fresh air.”

He looked at her for a moment. “Sure thing, darlin’. Stay out of trouble.”

Carmen fled up the stairs, reaching the back door just as the orange sunset gave way to indigo. She breathed the evening air in deeply, feeling it like electricity coursing through her blood, her muscles, her bones.

Every sound, every cricket, every rustle of leaves in the wind. She drank them all in. She could hear a mouse breathing, cars on the road miles away. The snap of bat wings above her head.

Not really knowing why, she coiled her body and jumped. The ground fell away beneath her. Before she knew what had happened, the ground was twenty feet below. She flailed her arms in terror as the ground came back up to meet her, but somehow she landed perfectly, light as a down feather. She laughed and did it again.

She bounded across the hills, ran flat out across the desert at superhuman speed, held her arms wide out and caught the wind. Though it was a moonless night, every detail of the terrain was as plain as day to her. She never took a wrong step. All around her, the desert was alive. Rattlesnakes hunted mice; lizards scampered off to sleep; a lone cougar slunk through the dark. Coyotes yipped and squealed.

At her approach, a jackrabbit broke cover and bounded away at top speed. On a whim she chased it, matching its erratic path turn for turn, finally bending down and snatching it up in her hand. She felt its heart hammering in its chest. Exultant, she held it for a moment as it watched her in abject terror. She dropped the little animal. It stood there for a second, dumbfounded, before it finally broke and ran.

Carmen headed for the highest point around, an outcrop of worn sandstone. She half climbed, half leapt to the top and crouched there. She saw the distant lights of a small town, the twinkle of solitary cars moving along a lonely highway. Far away, she spotted a single light that could have come from a ranch or a home. A jetliner flew far overhead, blinking red then green.

She tilted back her head and laughed.

***

Hours later, flushed and exhilarated, Carmen found her way back to the house. She squinted at the glare of the porch light as she came in through the front door. Alex sat on the couch, watching TV. The only light in the house came from the glowing screen. He held the clicker in his hand, but his .45 sat on the couch next to his leg. When the door opened, he turned his head. “Where’ve you been?” he asked.

“Out,” Carmen answered. She stood in the doorway.

“Out where?”

She shrugged. “Just out.”

“Just out?”

“Yeah, just out.”

“Awful long time to be just out.”

“Jesus, Alex, what? I went for a walk—well, a run. It’s a beautiful night. Do you want to fight about it?”

Alex sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “No, baby. I don’t want to fight. I was just worried is all. You was gone a long time.”

Carmen sat next to him and tucked her feet underneath her so her knees touched his thigh. “There’s a lot to see. I lost track of time. Sorry. It’s a lot to get used to.”

“Yeah,” said Alex. “It is.”

She walked up his thigh with two fingers. “But I’m home now. So…” She grinned evilly. “What do you want to do?”

“Aww, hell,” said Alex. She leaned in and kissed him. Even as she slid on top of him, Alex used his free hand to tuck the .45 between the couch cushions, within easy reach.

***

Daytime. Alex was downstairs, printing maps and double-checking his camera gear, when his phone rang. “Cutter!” he answered. “Hell, yes. Y’all just ride on up!” He hung up the phone. “Darlin’, we got company.”

“Oh, yeah?” Carmen poked her head into the room. “Who?”

“Couple of Hell Hunters. I think you met ’em at Mack’s wake. They’re a motorcycle club, hunt vamps on the side. Or a vamp-huntin’ club that rides bikes on the side. Never was sure which. But they’re good folk…and they got numbers. We can maybe get six or ten of ’em to help us hit the Don. Cutter and a few of his lieutenants are comin’ up for a strategy session. Why don’t you come on up and say hi?”

“Alex, are you sure that’s a good idea? Since I’m…you know. My condition.”

Alex stopped. He considered for a moment. “Aw, shit. It’ll be all right. Just don’t say nothin’ about it. Long as you don’t smile too wide, they won’t never know.”

***

Twenty minutes later, three motorcycles threw up a massive wake of dust as they churned up the driveway. Alex stood at the front door of his little house and waved.

The snarling chorus of tuned-up American motorcycles crescendoed, then settled to a low, gut-thumping rhythm. The three riders pulled up and idled their bikes, walking them backward into a neat row. They shut off their engines one after another, leaving only echoing silence.

They were three greasy bikers. Each wore stained, ragged blue jeans and a black leather vest. One was fat, the other two skinny. They shook off road dust and pulled off gloves, removed brain-bucket helmets and hung them from easy-rider handlebars.

“Cutter! How in hell are y’all?” Alex called out. He stepped off the front steps and shook hands with one of the bikers; then they hugged. “Still ugly?”

“Ugly as fuck,” said Cutter.

Pretty Boy walked up beside him. Still not pretty. He had on the same heavy-metal-band T-shirt he’d worn the day of Mack’s funeral. “Damn, Pretty, you lookin’ better’n ever,” said Alex.

“Yeah, you know me.” Pretty Boy enveloped Alex’s hand in his meaty fist.

“And who’s this?” said Alex, nodding toward the last biker.

“That’s Bear,” Cutter said. “Bear, Alex.”

“Pleasure,” said Bear. He extended his hand. Bear was slightly shorter than all of them. He had a thick black beard and wore no shirt under his leather vest, showing off a thick coat of fur on his chest.

Alex shook his hand. “Y’all look thirsty. C’mon inside.”

They followed Alex into the house. “We’re pretty dirty. Maybe we’d better stay outside,” said Cutter. “Don’t want to ruin your furniture.”

“Ain’t no trouble,” said Alex. “Come sit inside.”

“Oh, come on. It’s too beautiful today to be sitting indoors.”

Alex hesitated for a second then waved his hand. “All right. You know the way. Right on through the sliding glass door. I’ll be out in a tick with some beer.”

“Where’s that sweet thing you were shacking up with?” said Cutter.

“She’s a lady, man. A lady. And she’s around here someplace.”

The morning sun was pleasantly warm. Alex handed out cold Coronas in bottles, and they all sat down around the plastic patio table. Alex had a manila folder in his hand. Pretty Boy strained the load limit of the cheap plastic chair, but it held.

Cutter leaned back and put one foot on the table. “So,” he began, “tell us about this operation you’ve got cooking.”

“Okay, here’s the deal. Found this vamp down south, outside of Las Cruces. Looks like he’s been there three or four hundred years.”

“Old vamp means big money,” said Cutter.

“You got that right. Looks like this boy’s got his fingers in a little bit of everything. Besides human trafficking, he’s got legit businesses all over the state. Shipping, manufacturing, you name it. He’s a slippery bugger, but Carmen and I tracked him down. Get this—there’s a whole Spanish mission out there in the middle of the desert that nobody even knows about.”

“Shut up, really?”

“No joke, amigo.” Alex opened the folder and passed around glossy photographs. “Looks like somethin’ out of a Sergio Leone movie, don’t it? But I got it all worked out. Got some preliminary recon, but with you boys helpin’, I imagine things’ll move a little faster. How many people you reckon you can get?”

Cutter drained a third of his beer in one long pull. “We’ve got about ten trained right now. There’s more charter members, but I wouldn’t trust them on a hit quite yet. If we need, we could pull in reinforcements from another chapter.”

“Ten works. Hell, we could probably do with half that.”

Cutter noticed movement in the house, a flash of dark hair. “Hey, there’s the little lady!” he said. “Hey, Carmen, come on out here and say hi to the boys!”

“She’s been feelin’ a little under the weather,” said Alex.

Carmen came to the sliding glass door. She squinted at the sunlight. “Hey Cutter, how are you?”

“Don’t be a stranger, girl, come on out here and give me a hug!”

Carmen demurred. “I’m not feeling very well. I don’t want you to get what I’ve got.”

“Well, ain’t you even gonna come out and say hi?” said Cutter.

“Look, the lady don’t want to come out and say hi,” said Alex.

Cutter shrugged. “Okay, okay, sorry. So where were we?”

Bear hadn’t said anything up until this point. But he stared at Carmen. He cocked his head to one side. “Are you sure you don’t want to come out here in the sun for just a second?” he said.

“I’m sure.” Carmen turned to leave.

Bear, still leaning back in his chair, pulled out a mirror-polished sheath knife.

“What the fuck, man?” said Alex. He started to rise from his seat.

Bear twisted the blade in the sunshine. A rectangle of reflected sunlight danced over the porch boards, along the wall, and flicked across Carmen’s face.

When the sun hit her skin, it sounded like bacon on a hot griddle. Carmen hissed, baring her fangs, and stumbled backward into the living room.

The Hell Hunters sprang to their feet. Alex stood between them and the door.

“What the fuck, Alex?” said Cutter. “What are you trying to pull?”

“Ain’t none of your concern,” Alex answered.

“You’re hiding a vampire in your home, and it ain’t none of my concern? Goddamn it, Alex!” Cutter sighed and rubbed the stubble on his face. “So she got turned. I’m sorry, brother. I really am. My heart breaks for you. But you know what’s gotta be done.”

Alex wore his killer’s face. “Like I said, that’s my concern and none of yours.” The words were cold and dead, without inflection.

“Just get out of the way,” Bear said, “and we’ll take care of it.”

Alex didn’t move a muscle. “You wanna try and move me, son?”

“You threatening me?” said Bear. He still had the knife in his hand.

“If that’s the way it’s gotta be.” Alex’s gun hand hung loose, fingers relaxed. The bikers tensed.

Cutter held out a hand. “Let’s just take it easy, Alex. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“It’s three to one,” said Bear. “We don’t need to take this—”

“Bear, shut the fuck up,” said Pretty Boy. “He could kill all three of us before we cleared our guns and still have time to smoke a cigarette.”

“Not to mention he’s a friend of mine,” said Cutter, shaking his head. “At least I thought he was. Now I’m not so sure.”

Alex fought back tears. He made a pained face. “Goddamn it. I just gotta work this thing out in my own way. I love the girl. I can’t just—”

Bear said, “If you love her, you’ll do what needs to be done…before she does it to you,”

“What you should have done already,” said Pretty Boy.

Cutter said, “I think it’s time we go.”

“Yeah, that might be best,” said Alex.

Slowly Cutter, Bear, and Pretty Boy backed along the path around the side of the house, with Alex following them. The men straddled the bikes and strapped on their helmets.

“I don’t fucking believe this,” said Cutter. “Alex Rains, shacking up with a vampire.”

“Fucking collaborator,” muttered Bear.

Cutter shook his head. “You know you can’t ever trust her, man. How many nights are you going to lie there awake, waiting to feel those teeth in your neck?”

Alex didn’t have an answer.

“You know I’m right, brother. Call me when you come to your fucking senses.” Cutter punched the starter, and his bike roared to life.

The three motorcycles peeled out of the driveway, pelting Alex and the house with gravel. Alex raised his hand to shield his eyes as the Hell Hunters disappeared down the driveway.

Alex went back into the house. Carmen was nowhere to be seen. He searched the house then went down to the bunker. After a long search, he found her in one of the many empty rooms. He peered through a wire-reinforced window and saw her there, sitting on the concrete floor, leaning against the olive-drab wall. She didn’t look up when he entered.

“I wouldn’t a let them hurt you,” he said.

“I know.” After a moment’s silence she, said, “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for.” He took a step into the room and crouched next to her.

“I mean…” Where the reflected sunlight had hit her, Alex saw a red welted burn, a narrow patch across her eyes like a mask. “I’m sorry you have to choose between your friends and me. But that’s what’s going to happen, isn’t it?”

Alex said nothing.

“There’s no way they’ll ever be okay with me. I’m dead to them. Worse than dead. I’m everything they hate. And if you stay with me, they’ll turn on you too.”

“I don’t care,” said Alex.

“Maybe you should.” She picked up a random piece of something off the floor and tossed it into the corner. “Look, I was thinking…maybe I should get out of here for a few days. Or a few nights. I’m…I’m still processing all of this. I think I’d just like to take a little time.”

Alex was quiet.

“And I’m getting hungry,” Carmen added.

He shrugged, “Yeah, well, it had to happen. If you want, we can nab another one of the Don’s men…”

She shook her head. “Look, Alex, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I can’t keep depending on you to feed me. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I think I can do this. I guess this is a pretty terrible thing to say, but there are plenty of people who deserve to die.”

Alex frowned. “And you’re the judge of that?”

“And you’re not? I’ve watched you be judge, jury, and executioner.”

“That was different. They—”

“They what? They were vampires? They helped vampires?”

Alex said nothing.

“So just hear me out. Lots of people, I think the case could be made, well, the world would be better off without them. I can think of a dozen right off the top of my head. Murderers. Rapists. Pedophiles. I was only a cop for six months, but even then I saw people who never seemed to get caught, but everyone knew what they were. Maybe I can feed myself and do the world a favor.”

“Reckon that might work,” Alex said grudgingly. “Vigilante vampire. It’s got a ring to it.”

“After dark tonight, I’m going to go down to Albuquerque and see what I can find.”

“Reckon I couldn’t stop you.”

“No, probably not. How do you feel about that?”

He shook his head. “Carmen, I don’t know how I feel about it. Any of it. You got me all twisted up inside. First I go one way, and then a minute later I go the other. One second I’m ready to burn the goddamned world down to be with you; the next I just want to run.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know the feeling.” She smiled, blinking back a tear. “This sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Darlin’, you ain’t kidding.”

“I think a few days would do us both some good.”

“You might be right.”

“This doesn’t mean—”

A little too quickly, Alex said, “Naw, I know. ’Course not. We’re still—”

“That’s right.”

***

The sun dipped below the horizon and the stars came out. Somewhere, a pack of coyotes serenaded the nightfall with a frenetic chorus of high-pitched yips and howls.

Inside Alex’s house, Carmen paused for a moment to listen to the coyotes, then finished stuffing her few clothes into a duffel bag. She added in a pile of cash, her half of the take so far.

“Well, darlin’, looks like you’re about ready,” said Alex.

She gave him a thin smile. “I guess I am.”

He followed her as she walked out of the bedroom, through the living room, and out the front door.

Standing on the front stairs under the yellow glare of the front light, Alex said, “I got you a little something.” He held a long narrow object wrapped in cloth. He untied the ribbon around it, and the cloth fell away. It was a Japanese sword with a yellow handle and scabbard. The fittings were silver. “It’s a wakizashi,” he said. “Short sword. Blade you got is fine, but it’s long. Thought you might need somethin’ you can hide under a coat. See? It’s got this leather harness I had made, like a shoulder holster.”

“Thank you.” Carmen pulled the sword from its scabbard and turned the blade, admiring its smoky sheen.

“It’s a Yoshimichi. Mid-1700s. Not a famous blade or nothin’, but it’ll get the job done.”

“It’s beautiful.” She slid the blade back into the sheath. “Thank you,” she repeated.

He smiled. “Beautiful sword for a beautiful girl.”

“You’re sweet.”

They embraced, then kissed. As Carmen’s lips pressed against Alex’s, he responded. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about those razor teeth, a fraction of an inch away.

They pulled apart, still holding hands. “You take care of yourself. And come on back.”

“I will,” said Carmen. They kissed again, this time more briefly. She got into her Pontiac and started the engine.

Alex sat on the front step and watched her headlights recede into the darkness. Finally he was all alone, with only the porch light and the stars high above.

***

Carmen pulled into Albuquerque a few hours later. She booked a room at the Hyatt Regency. She smiled a secret smile as the bellhop took her bag away and smiled it again when she saw the tasteful, modern room, with its total lack of tacky crap or mysterious motel-room funk. She ordered a bottle of chilled white wine from room service and drew up a bath, then stripped off her clothes and let them fall to the bathroom floor. The wall-to-wall mirror caught her eye. Turning left and right, she examined her reflection. Everything seemed…tighter. She flexed and saw definition in her arms that hadn’t been there before. Her skin was a slightly paler shade, barely noticeable to someone who hadn’t known her before.

She turned three-quarters and peered over her shoulder at her butt. “Eternal youth,” she muttered, “might not be all that bad.”

She slipped into the scalding tub, holding a cold glass of wine in her hand. She ducked her head under and came back up, slicking back her wet hair. She soaked in the tub until her toes wrinkled, then stood up and pulled on a white terrycloth robe.

Though the room was immaculate, Carmen could smell the previous occupants on the mattress. She smelled them like layers of geological strata, a timeline of sleep, of men and women, health and sickness, sex and menses.

With the lights out, she opened the blinds and watched the city below her. Thousands of people living their lives. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Her stomach growled. “Tomorrow night,” she said. The sky was lightening to dawn. She closed the blinds and pulled the heavy curtains shut before she went to bed.

***

Alex sat on the porch steps for a long time, listening to the sounds of the night. Coyotes howled. Moths battered against the bare bulb above the door. At last he headed inside and went to bed.

When dawn broke, as Carmen was settling into sleep in Albuquerque, he woke up, exercised, and ran through his tai chi forms, facing east toward the rising sun.

He spent the day down south, tucked away in a low draw, facing the unmarked turnoff to the Mondragon winery. He wore a camouflage ghillie suit, covered in swatches of burlap and bits of rags and leaves and weeds. When he stayed still, he blended completely into the rocks and scrub brush. He stayed still. Whenever a car went in or out, he snapped pictures and marked the time. The notebook sitting on the rocky ground beside him slowly filled up with notes. Personnel, deliveries, comings and goings all went into the book. When night fell, Alex crawled back to his where his car was hidden.

The next day he did the same thing.

***

Day three. A bright-blue ’56 Ford pickup rested on jack stands in Alex’s garage. Roy Orbison played on a grease-stained boom box on the counter. Alex’s cowboy boots protruded from underneath the truck. His cell phone rang. He banged his head as he slid out from under the truck. “Motherfucker,” he said while he reached for the phone.

The caller ID told him it was Jen. “Hey, darlin’,” he said. “Oh, sure. Come on up.”

Minutes later, Jen’s van pulled into the driveway. She got out of the van and walked toward the garage just as Alex pulled himself out from under the truck. He stood up and wiped his hands on a red shop cloth.

“New ride?” asked Jen.

“Just a little somethin’ I’m workin’ on. How are you?”

“I’m peachy,” said Jen. “It’s you I’m worried about. I heard a kinda crazy rumor.”

He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “Yeah? What’d you hear?”

“I heard Carmen’s a vampire, and you’re still with her.”

Alex picked up a wrench and leaned over the open hood of the Ford.

“Is that true?” Jen pressed.

“Maybe it is,” said Alex.

Jen leaned against the truck fender. “Alex, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry ’bout what?”

“I’m sorry they got her. I know she meant—she means a lot to you. Is she here?”

“Naw. She took off.”

“Is she coming back?”

Alex didn’t answer for a long time. Finally he said, “I don’t know.”

Jen took a step forward. “Do you want her to come back?”

He hesitated again then repeated, “I don’t know.” He turned away from Jen and the truck, looked out toward the trees. “I just don’t know. I’m…” He didn’t finish.

“So you two have…a relationship?”

“Guess you could say that.”

“You know this is never going to work, right, Alex?”

Alex frowned. He looked at the ground and scuffed the gravel with his boot. “Shit, I know. I just can’t…It was so good, you know? It was all right. Everything was good. She was my girl. I ain’t felt that good since I met Maggie. And then bam. It all went to shit. But it’s still her, you know? She’s dead, but it ain’t like she’s dead dead. How can I just walk away? What kinda man would I be? I know it ain’t easy for her neither. She needs somebody. And goddamn it all, I still love her.”

Jen placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Alex. I know.”

He let out a long sigh. “I shoulda killed her before she ever woke up. If it was me, it’s what I’d have wanted her to do for me. But I couldn’t. I was too weak. Too scared. And now she’s still here, and it’s my fault.”

“It isn’t your fault. It’s their fault.”

Alex sighed again and put the wrench down. He picked up a shop towel. “It ain’t workin’. I know it ain’t. Wish I could say it was. I love her so much it hurts. But I can’t trust her no more. Goddamn it, I’m afraid of her. And she’s afraid of me. We go tip-toein’ around each other like cats ‘n’ dogs. It’s like living with a hungry tiger.”

“You know, you wouldn’t be the first vampire hunter to let one go,” said Jen. “Sometimes…well, sometimes it’s complicated.”

“You can say that again.”

***

Carmen walked down the dark alley, her high heels echoing off the stucco walls. She passed by lightless stoops and occupied cardboard boxes, wearing a scandalously short skirt, a low-cut blouse, and a jacket nearly as long as the skirt. She held tightly to her purse and tried her best to look scared and helplesss, just like she had done the last two fruitless nights. Her stomach growled. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered under her breath. “How hard can it be for a girl to get sexually assaulted?”

A bum called out to her from the darkness. “Hey, lady.”

She turned. “Yeah?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around back here. You never know what might happen. Is everything all right? I’ve got a phone; can I call someone for you?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” She stormed away, leaving a confused Good Samaritan.

She exited into a half-full parking lot, lit by dirty orange light, enclosed on three sides by the back walls of businesses. One of those businesses was a bar, and occasionally a drunk would stumble out of the back door, a blast of music escaping with him until the door swung shut. Carmen entered the bar.

It was a dive, with no attempt made at interior decorating. The walls were still painted with whatever color the last tenant had wanted. The pool table was so badly off level that the balls barely held still. The place reeked of cigarettes and spilled beer. Hard country blared at an uncomfortable volume. The bare concrete floor was sticky under Carmen’s shoes.

She hiked herself up onto a barstool, flashing a long thigh at the room. Someone was offering to buy her a drink before she even had her purse down. She asked for a gin and tonic and thanked the man who bought it for her.

He looked out of place in the bar. The crowd was mostly angry-looking young men in jeans and black hoodies, standing around the pool table, watching motocross on the bar TV, unsubtly glancing at Carmen’s legs. By contrast, this guy was clean-shaven, with neatly combed hair, and wore a button-down shirt and tan slacks.

“So,” he said, with a smile that seemed almost apologetic, “you come here often?”

Carmen smiled back. “First time.”

“Yeah, this place is a dive. I don’t know why I decided to come in here. But now I’m glad I did. I’m Brian.”

“C…Cathy,” said Carmen.

“Pleased to meet you.”

Brian made small talk with Carmen while she sipped her drink. His intentions were painfully obvious, but he seemed sincere enough. Carmen was beginning to lose hope. She finished her drink and stood up from the stool. “Thanks for the drink, Brian,” she said.

“Wait, you’re just leaving?” A flash of anger crossed his face, and disappeared just as quickly.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh come on. Can I at least get your number?”

“I wouldn’t bother if I were you.” She turned and headed toward the back door.

After the din of the bar, the back parking lot was blessedly quiet. Carmen stood next to the dumpster and looked around. The dark shadows around the mouth of an alley a little farther on looked promising. She followed the wall, detouring around a stack of pallets and a cluster of trash cans. She heard the bar door open behind her, another snippet of music escaping into the night.

Someone approached her at a run. Before she knew it, two strong hands slammed into her back, knocking the wind out of her. She stumbled forward and fell onto the gritty pavement of the alley.

Chapter Nineteen

He was on her before she could recover. Carmen rolled over and Brian straddled her. He clamped one hand around her throat. The other held a knife in front of her face. “Don’t make a fucking sound, bitch.” The hand left her throat and wormed down her shirt. His knee forced her legs apart.

Carmen smiled, which seemed to make Brian angrier. “You little tease. You like this, don’t you?”

“Probably not in the way you think.”

She grabbed the knife hand and twisted. The bones in his wrist splintered. He would have screamed but for the hand clamped around his throat. Carmen leaned in close and growled, “Don’t make a fucking sound, bitch.”

He struggled, for all the good it did him. Carmen held his throat in an iron grip while she got her legs under her. She stood up, taking him with her. She squinted to protect her eyes as his fists beat at her face, but otherwise his blows had no effect. “What was it about me?” she said, as she slammed him up against a wall. “Do I just look like a victim? Can you smell it on me? How do you just pick me out of a room and say, there, she’s the one?”

Brian tried to answer, but all that came out was a strangled squawk. His feet skittered on the pavement.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m genuinely curious. I’d love to know what goes on in the mind of a guy like you. But then again, it doesn’t really matter. Not anymore. I’m done being the victim.”

Carmen pulled him close and sank her teeth in. They sliced effortlessly through layers of tissue and fat, found his carotid, and laid it wide open. Blood exploded from the torn artery and into her mouth.

She drank like a frat boy chugging a beer. His lifeblood pumped out from the gash in his neck. In seconds it was all over. His one good hand, which had been battering at her like a moth on a window, fell away. His entire body spasmed one last time then went limp.

The body fell at her feet. Carmen stood, panting, catching her breath. Already the warmth, the heady rush, spread from her stomach, racing up her spine, making her arms and legs tingle. She laughed giddily as she kicked the body at her feet. “Fuck you, asshole.”

A voice came from behind her. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Carmen turned. A man stood silhouetted by the lights beyond the alley. He held a machete in his hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked Carmen. She smelled him. Smelled the absence of him. No residue of food. No heat. A vampire.

“I’m asking the questions. I said, ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’”

“He attacked me,” Carmen said casually. “And I was hungry.”

“That’s all well and good, but…” The vampire leaned the machete blade against his shoulder as he strolled closer. The light caught his face, and she saw that he was in his thirties, with black hair that came down to his narrow chin. He wore blue jeans and a brown leather jacket. He smiled dangerously. “The thing is, honey, this is my turf.”

Carmen shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know.”

“That’s right. I didn’t know. I apologize. You’ll never see me again.”

“And what about”—the vampire nodded in the direction of the corpse—“your friend there?”

“What about him?”

“What were you planning on doing with the body? You must be a newbie, because this is some shoddy fucking work. This guy gets found, I’ll have every hunter in the four corners down on my head. You see, I run a tight little ship here, and I don’t like amateurs like you fucking things up.”

“How many times can I say I’m sorry?”

“Not enough.” He leaned against the stucco wall of the alley. “See, nobody feeds in this city unless I say so. Now, if you want to stay around, we could arrange that. Just swear fealty to me, and”—he looked her up and down—“maybe we could get to know each other better.”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, probably not going to happen.”

He cocked his head. “So that’s how it is?”

She nodded, matter-of-factly. “That’s how it is.”

“Have it your way.” With feigned casualness, the vampire pushed off the wall. “So who made you anyway?” He walked in a slow circle around her.

Her short sword, given to her by Alex, hung from its shoulder holster under her jacket, the end of the handle just below her left armpit. Although she was reassured by the weight of it, she resisted the urge to grasp its handle.

“Don Carlos,” she said.

That got his attention. She saw fear in his eyes, and he stumbled a step before he recovered. He stopped in his tracks. The machete still rested on his shoulder. He squinted. “Bullshit,” he said. “The Don doesn’t make women. And he doesn’t make people with your…complexion.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“So you’re a mistake.” He shook his head. “The Don doesn’t make a lot of mistakes.” He resumed his casual circling. “Which means he won’t be upset if I—” He cut the sentence short as he swung.

The stroke was clumsy but blindingly fast. He lifted the machete blade off his shoulder and whipped it around one handed. It gleamed in the streetlight and flickered toward Carmen’s neck.

Carmen had her sword’s grip in her hand. She shrugged her jacket back. As fast as her opponent was, his blade seemed to crawl. His face was a rictus of rage, teeth bared, eyes wild. The blade came at her neck. Carmen pulled her own blade straight up and out of the scabbard. Her steel intercepted the machete and she parried, redirecting the blade’s energy. The machete’s thick, brutal blade whispered above her head. The Japanese steel followed, maintaining contact with the machete, guiding it away. In the same liquid motion, Carmen turned, halving the circle, twisting with her legs and hips as she drove the blade back sideways.

Carmen’s blade didn’t even find enough resistance to slow down. A slight tremble coursed through the handle, and the vampire’s head popped into the air, as if it had decided to jump up and dance a jig.

The head hit pavement with a solid, bony crack. Blood hosed from the fresh stump and spattered along the alleyway like the first heavy drops of a summer rainstorm. The body slumped to the ground, still clutching the machete.

Panting, Carmen stood in a broad stance. She held the sword down and to the side. Blood ran down the fuller and dripped from the sword point. She looked down at the head. There was still life in those eyes. They blinked and focused on her, shocked, the mouth forming words with no lungs to push them out. She tried to think of something to say, some witty parting shot, but nothing came to mind. She simply watched. Soon enough, the life left his eyes, and he stared at nothing.

Carmen walked back to the corpse of her would-be rapist. His throat was a gaping horror. Already a few flies had found him. They crawled up his nose, across his eyeball. He didn’t seem to mind. Carmen held the sword down low like a golf club and swung sideways, neatly severing the head. This time there was no blood left to flow.

She cleaned the sword with her unfortunate attacker’s shirttail before re-sheathing the weapon. Then she reached down and took one body under the armpits, stumbling the way someone might when expecting to lift a heavy box and finding it to be empty. She held the body over her head one handed, with ease. Laughing, she tossed him twenty feet into a Dumpster, where he landed with a thud. She did the same with the other body and the two heads.

The blood was fully in her system now. She felt warm and silly, a heady rush like the first glass of wine. She whistled the melody to “Heartbreak Hotel” and did a clumsy little dance as she left the alley and walked under the streetlights back to the Hyatt.

***

Later that same night, with daylight threatening, Carmen pulled into the gravel driveway in front of Alex’s house. She used her key to unlock the front door and slipped inside. Alex stood in the bedroom doorway, barefoot and wearing only sweat pants. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned. “Hey,” he said.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“It’s all right. I was just gettin’ up.” He looked out the window. “You’re cuttin’ it pretty close. If you’d had a flat tire, you’d be ashes before too long.”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s a good thing I didn’t. Good to see you too.”

“Sorry,” said Alex. He stepped forward and kissed her. “How was your trip?”

“It was good. Sort of. But it’s a long story, and I’m tired, so I’m going to go to bed. I’ll tell you about it in the evening.”

“Okay,” said Alex. He headed toward the backyard.

***

When Carmen woke up twelve hours later, Alex was dressed in blue jeans and a black T-shirt. He sat at the little round breakfast table in the kitchen and read on his laptop. This time it was Carmen rubbing sleep from her eyes as she stumbled toward the coffee maker..

“Guess y’all had a pretty good time in Albuquerque,” said Alex.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Carmen dropped in a new filter and spooned coffee in.

Alex turned the laptop around so she could see the screen. “Double Decapitation Horror,” read the headline. “Tell me that wasn’t you.”

Carmen set a mug on the counter, harder than was necessary. She shrugged. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, that was me.”

“Two? I guess you was extra thirsty?”

“One of them was a vampire. He tried to kill me.”

Alex paused for a second. “Oh,” he said. “Well, good on you for that. But still, this is pretty much exactly the kind of shit I was tellin’ you not to do. Toss ’em in a Dumpster? I mean, shit, this is gonna bring every hunter ’tween here and Saskatchewan.”

Carmen let out a wordless growl of frustration. “I know,” she snapped. “Okay? I know. It was sloppy. It was risky. It was bad form—it breaks the rules. I’m a terrible vampire. What the fuck am I supposed to do with two bodies? Put them in my pocket? I walked away. When I came back with the car, the police were already there. There’s a lot of things I could have done differently, but that’s what I did, and I seem to have gotten away with it.”

“Okay, okay. I’m just sayin’—”

“You’re just saying that I did it all wrong,” she crossed her arms. “I get that. What are you, my dad?”

Alex sighed. “I just feel like you ain’t taking it seriously.”

“Seriously? Could you be more condescending? I’m the one he tried to decapitate with a machete. Believe me, I take it seriously.”

“I’m just tryin’ to look out for you is all.”

“Oh, and you’re so great at looking out for me. As I recall, I got turned into a vampire under your watch.”

Alex stared at her for a span of heartbeats. He stood and turned away. “Fuck you. That ain’t fair.”

Carmen sighed. She reached out to him. “Alex…”

He pulled away. “No, you knew the risks. Right from the get-go. It coulda just as easily been me. Wish to hell it had been. Wish I could trade you places.”

Carmen rubbed the bridge of her nose with two fingers and sighed. “I’m sorry. That was over the line. But you’re treating me like a little kid. All you do is tell me what I’m doing wrong. I’m just trying to get a cup of coffee here, and you’re jumping all over me.”

“I just worry. I’m just…just tryin’ to look out for you.”

“Maybe I can look out for myself now,” she said somberly. “I mean, look, when I met you I had a lot to learn. You helped me out. But maybe I have to make my own mistakes now.”

“Maybe so,” said Alex. “Maybe so.” He turned away from her before she could see the tears in his eyes.

“Alex…”

He crossed the kitchen and leaned both palms against the sink while he looked out the window. His voice cracked. “I don’t think this is workin’ out.”

Leaning against the counter next to him, Carmen studied him in profile. His face was contorted as if in pain, and tears ran down his cheeks. She made a bitter face but nodded. “No. I guess it isn’t.”

Alex laughed, a half-choked laugh. “Kind of dumb ever thinkin’ it would.”

“Yeah,” said Carmen. “Maybe.” Tears stung her eyes.

“The lie was too good, you know? I just wanted to believe it.”

“It was good. At the beginning.” She took his hand with both of hers. “But you keep wanting me to be somebody I’m not anymore. I think that Carmen died in a musty motel room a week ago.”

“I know,” said Alex. “I mean…I loved you. Still do. But I wish to hell I didn’t. It just ain’t workin’. I think… I think it’s best we just call quits.”

“Yeah.” She nodded sadly. “I think you’re right.” After a pause, she smiled a little. “At least we got that out in the open. So what now?”

Alex sniffled and swallowed. He took a breath. “Well, we still got some business to clear up, I guess. The whole reason we hooked up in the first place.”

“Revenge.”

“Damn right.” Alex turned around and leaned his butt against the kitchen counter. “We still got revenge.”

The coffee was ready. Carmen poured a cup, added some milk, and sat down at the kitchen table. “So,” she said, “how’s this going to go down?”

“I’m still workin’ on that.” Alex went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. “Still ain’t figured out how we’re both gonna do this. I go in the daytime, you can’t come along. I go at night, I’d be about as useless as a bent-dick dog. Maybe it’d be best if I did this one solo.”

“Absolutely not,” said Carmen. “I deserve to be in on this. I’m the reason you’re involved in it at all.”

“That’s all well and good, but it don’t solve the problem. I don’t want to go at night. You can’t go in the day. You got a better idea?”

After a moment’s pause, Carmen answered, “Maybe I could just do it myself.”

Alex took a swig of his beer before sitting down at the table again. “Ain’t gonna happen.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why not?”

“How ’bout you’d get your fool self killed?”

Carmen gestured angrily. “How do you know that? Isn’t that what you’ve been teaching me all this time? How to be a badass vampire hunter? I mean, shit, I’ve basically got super powers. I can take care of myself. That vampire in Albuquerque wasn’t much of a problem.”

“Darlin’, he had to be just a baby vamp. Didn’t even have a real sword. The Don, he’s got security. He’s got men and guns and technology. And he’s been fightin’ off contenders for five hundred years. You can’t just go waltzin’ in there.”

She leaned in close to him. “You could help me,” she said, almost conspiratorially. “Help me figure out what I’m up against.”

“It ain’t goin’ down like that, and that’s final. ’Sides, I got my own score to settle with Don Carlos.”

“And I don’t? Are you serious?” She threw up her hands. “He took…everything. He took literally everything I have. I deserve my revenge. More than you. And you have no right to stop me.”

“Darlin’, you got one thing left. You got your life.”

She laughed bitterly. “Do I?”

“Well, whatever you want to call it. You go after him by your lonesome, he’s gonna take that too.”

Carmen stood up. “Oh, Jesus Christ. Here we go again. Carmen, don’t do anything because you’re a stupid girl and you’ll just fuck it up.”

“Hey now, it ain’t like that.”

“It’s exactly like that. It’s always like that.”

“When we met, you sure didn’t mind a little advice.”

“That was then.”

“Darlin’, Just believe me. You’re gettin’ a little too big for your britches. You ain’t ready for this.”

Carmen exploded. “Too big for my britches? Did you actually say I’m getting too big for my britches? Can you even go thirty seconds without spouting some bullshit Southern cliché? Fuck you, Alex.”

Alex folded his arms. “I ain’t gonna let you do this.”

Carmen glared coldly. “How do you plan to stop me?” She stormed off into the bedroom. Alex followed.

She jammed her clothes back into her duffel bag, then took the Spanish sword and set it on top of the bag.

“C’mon, Carmen. Let’s not be like this.”

“Get out of my way,”

“I ain’t gonna let you do this,” he repeated.

“You don’t have a choice.” She picked up her things and shoved past him in the doorway, heading for the front door. She snatched her car keys off the table.

“No, goddamn it,” said Alex, yanking her by the shoulder.

“Let me go!” yelled Carmen. She pushed him with both hands, meaning to send him flying across the room. But Alex shifted his weight, twisted imperceptibly, and then Carmen was pushing thin air. She stumbled forward, and just the slightest nudge from Alex sent her crashing into the wall.

“C’mon, darlin’. Let’s talk about this.”

Carmen stood again, pulled her hair out of her face, and picked up the duffel bag again. “We’ve talked enough. I’m going.”

“I ain’t lettin’ you leave like this.” He stood with his feet apart, his hands balled into fists.

Carmen came at him again. This time she grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands. Again he seemed to melt away from her grip. She found herself grasping air. Alex seized her hand. He turned and dropped his full weight onto her wrist. Pain lanced up her arm. Before she knew it, she was airborne again before slamming into the wall.

She got up swinging. Alex ducked and weaved, nimbly slipping each blow. He didn’t block so much as he nudged, gently altering the course of each swing so it missed him by mere inches. “C’mon now,” he said. “If you can’t even take me, how’re you supposed to take on Don Carlos? I mean hell, you can’t even land a—”

Carmen connected with a jab. Alex’s head snapped back on his neck like a rear-end collision. His legs kicked out from under him. Galaxies exploded in his head. He fell in slow motion, a fine spray of blood trailing from his nose and mouth. He hit the floor hard and stayed there.

“I’m sorry,” said Carmen. She stood over him and unclenched her fists. “I’m doing this for you. For us.” She left through the front door.

Alex fought his way up from the bottom of the ocean. Seawater rushed in his ears, a white-noise hiss that crescendoed as he climbed up out of blackness. He opened his eyes and saw the ceiling. He touched his face and winced, drawing back a bloody hand. He raised his head and felt sick. The room spun around him.

From outside, he heard the sound of a car starting. Cursing, he leapt to his feet. The room twisted underneath him. He hunched over and vomited on the floor. By the time he stumbled to the door, Carmen’s yellow muscle car was peeling out of the driveway. Flying gravel pelted the house. The taillights disappeared into the night.

Still unsteady on his feet, Alex half ran, half stumbled to the den. He flicked the hidden switch, rolled back the bookcase, and opened the vault door to his underground hideaway. He nearly killed himself racing down the metal stairs, rebounded off the wall, and dashed down the empty concrete corridor.

Alex dropped into the driver’s seat of the blue-and-white ’55 Chevy. He turned the key, and five hundred horses roared to life. The car lurched forward onto the cargo lift. He climbed out and hit a switch. The lift ground into motion and rose, excruciatingly slow. “C’mon, damn it. C’mon,” he muttered, tapping his fingers impatiently on the control panel. At last the lift reached the surface and squealed to a halt. The garage doors folded away. Alex redlined the engine and dropped the clutch. The engine howled as the car rocketed out of the garage and down the driveway.

Alex threw the car into four-wheel drifts through the turns of the dirt driveway, his jaw clenched, blood still running down his face. He hit the pavement going sideways. The tires screamed in protest until they found purchase, then the car shot forward.

He banged through the gears and drove the tach into the redline. Sixty, eighty, a hundred and counting. The g-forces pressed him back in his seat. The tires chirped as he barreled through the turns, barely keeping control.

Finally Carmen’s taillights appeared, two red eyes far in the distance. The road straightened out, and Alex floored the gas pedal. The twin carbs drank in air and gas, a hungry animal running down its prey.

The taillights ahead grew larger. Carmen had the pedal floored, but it was no contest—her all-stock V8 against Alex’s fire-breathing hot rod. Alex rocketed past her like she was standing still. He swerved in front of her and jammed on the brakes. The big Chevy fishtailed dangerously, tires smoking. Alex’s brake lights flared. Carmen slammed on her own brakes to avoid rear-ending Alex’s car. She swerved to the other lane and tried to pass him, but he matched her move for move, slowing the whole time, forcing her to follow suit.

She faked right, swerved back again, and downshifted. The Pontiac’s engine howled, her tach needle buried in the red. She pulled ahead and managed to nose ahead of the Chevy’s rear bumper. Carmen swerved at the bigger car, forcing Alex to evade, giving her time to pull ahead again.

Alex downshifted. The car peeled out at eighty miles an hour and surged past Carmen.

As his rear bumper came even with her front, she swerved and nudged her front bumper into his car’s flank.

The Chevy pitched sideways, its tires screaming, fighting for purchase. The Chevy seemed to freeze in time then pitched back the other way. The front wheels caught, and the car went airborne. The car sailed through the air, spinning sideways before crashing to the pavement. The front fender hit first and crumpled. The car pitched up into the air again and came down on its roof. The Chevy ground to a halt.

Carmen stopped a hundred feet ahead and got out of her car.

One of the Chevy’s headlights still worked. It flickered on and off spastically. Carmen walked back to the wrecked car.

Alex hung upside down, suspended from his seat belt. His arms flopped over his head and rested on the roof of the car. Blood poured down his face. Chips of broken glass shone like diamonds in his hair, stuck to his bloody face, and lay scattered around the passenger compartment.

Broken glass crunched under Carmen’s feet as she crouched next to the driver’s-side window. “Alex?”

Alex made a subhuman noise.

Carmen reached in and undid the seat belt. She caught him and dragged him out through the shattered window. He lay out on the pavement, which was still hot from the day, and tried to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She stared down at him with a look more of curiosity than pity, like a cat discovering some strange insect. “Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t you just let it go?”

“Please don’t go,” Alex murmured. “You ain’t ready.”

She stood up, brushed off her knees, and looked down at him. “Don’t try to follow me.”

She turned and walked back to her car. Her taillights disappeared down the road.

Alex lay there in the dark, feeling the warm pavement under his back, the sharp pains in his body, the blood trickling down his face. He rolled onto his back and watched the stars shine far above him. For one second his focus shifted, and he saw the stars as they truly were. Not points of light in a dark canvas but immense searing orbs of burning gas, millions upon millions of them, scattered at mind-boggling distances throughout a cold, infinite, unfathomable blackness. The sudden shift in perception induced a profound, gut-twisting wave of vertigo in him. He rolled onto his side. There he stared along another infinite black plane, the blacktop highway stretching away and eventually melting into the night. Stars glittered there as well. Tiny cubes of safety glass littered the roadway, picking up the starlight, forming their own private galaxy. Deciding he liked this miniature universe better, Alex smiled and passed out.

He didn’t know how much later it was when he woke up. It was still dark. The desert night was cold and empty. His head was suddenly clear. He rocked to his hands and knees, stood agonizingly up, and looked all around. Only night and darkness and stars. He pondered who he could call as he reached for his pocket and felt…nothing. A vision came to him of his cell phone sitting at home on the kitchen table.

“Well ain’t I about…” He paused, searching for a suitable Southern adage. “Ain’t this about as…” At last he finished, “Well, fuck.”

He started walking.

Chapter Twenty

The yellow Pontiac had developed a grinding rattle. Carmen knew she’d pushed it too hard. But the car got her where she needed to go. She pulled off to the side of the road and shut off the engine.

The pistol went in its holster at her side, and she carried the sheathed rapier in her hand. The cloying scents of the desert called to her as she stepped off the road and climbed into the low, rocky hills.

She slipped by like a shadow, her steps light and soundless. A coyote, gnawing at a flea on its haunches, didn’t notice as she passed five feet away.

After a long run, she reached the top of a low ridge. The Don’s compound stretched out across the valley beneath her. Although the work buildings and slave quarters were dark and silent, lights shone from the windows of the main house. Even from her perch high on the ridge, she caught the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine, daphne and lavender, clematis, and damask rose. The sound of a single violin reached her, along with the slap of water falling on rock.

She easily jumped the fence and made her way down the ridge, picking her way across the broken scree that threatened to fall away beneath her feet. She headed toward the back wall of the walled garden surrounding the house. Closer now, she crept more slowly. The sound of the violin grew louder—mournful, wrenching melodies that twisted something inside her. She placed her hands on the cool, rough white stucco of the garden wall, then crouched and leapt twelve feet to the top.

She jumped down, landed silently, and found herself in a nighttime paradise. All around her were night-blooming flowers. Jasmine and daphne, four o’clock, moonflower and lilies. Up close, the scent was overpowering. The rush of falling water was louder now. She saw that it came from a circular fountain pool, where a tiny waterfall cascaded down a haphazard pile of stones. A frog croaked. Koi fish glinted in the water. An ancient wooden arbor, laden with fragrant clematis vines, shaded a walkway of herringbone red brick. The pathway disappeared around a curve, practically inviting her to stroll down it.

For a moment, the beauty of the place overcame her. She stood stock still, breathing in the multitude of fragrances, listening to the soothing night sounds: the falling water, the frogs and the crickets.

Shaking her head, she put the garden behind her and crept up the pathway toward the house.

The house was just as beautiful up close—pure old-world grandeur. White stucco walls, red-tiled roof, arched colonnades, heavy wooden doors with forged iron hardware.

Iron grilles covered the windows, but Carmen leapt to an unprotected second floor balcony. The light was out in the room attached to it. She jimmied the simple window latch with a pocket knife and slipped inside.

Carmen found herself in what seemed to be a guest bedroom. An ornate four-poster bed sat in the center of the room, surrounded by dark wooden furniture. Baroque artwork lined the walls, in ornate gilded frames. Carmen crept across the darkened room to the door and listened.

The violin began again, a hypnotic throb echoing down the hallway outside.

Holding the pistol in her hand, low at her side, Carmen eased the door open. The hallway was tiled in black-and-white marble. Along the walls, wrought-iron sconces held unlit candles. The occasional accent of patterned Spanish tile surrounded alcoves holding small statues, plants, or candles.

She slipped down the hallway. The music came from behind a closed door a little farther on. Light spilled across the tiled floor from the crack beneath the door. Carmen crept closer. She gripped the pistol tightly in her hand and tucked the sword into her belt, then rested her other hand on the doorknob. It turned with no resistance, and the door swung open. Light and music poured into the hallway.

Don Carlos stopped playing the violin. The music ceased abruptly. He leaned against a solid oak table, upon which lay a sheathed sword. He didn’t look at all surprised to see her. She glanced around and saw Jacob, as well as the vampire who’d been driving The Don’s limousine. They both had guns trained on her.

She started to back away. Another gun cocked behind her back. She looked left and right and saw a half dozen guards with submachine guns.

The Don grinned. “Ah, there you are. Carmen, is it not? Come in.” He gently set the violin down on a table before picking up his sword and drawing the blade from its scabbard. The blade shone in the light. The steel basket-hilt wrapped around the vampire’s hand like a fistful of snakes.

Carmen took a hesitant step into the room. “You’ve come for me, no?” the Don asked. He took up a fencer’s stance. “Well, then, come for me. You’re a vampire now. You have the right of challenge. As long as you abide by the ancient laws, my men won’t stop you.” He gestured toward her pistol with his sword point.

She looked around the room. “Hall” would be more accurate, she thought. It seemed to be some kind of training area. A rack of foils, sabers, and épées lined one of the walls. Fencing lanes and footwork patterns were painted on the hardwood floor.

Without hesitation, Carmen threw the pistol down and drew her sword. She took two running steps and lunged wildly, with an animalistic cry. The Don easily deflected the blow. Carmen recovered and turned, sinking into a deep stance, studying her opponent. She launched a series of probing attacks, but each time the Don parried her sword away and returned an attack of his own, which she just barely avoided.

The Don grinned wider, his vampire teeth fully visible. “You have some skill with a blade. For a woman.” He parried away another flurry of blows. “French school. How unfortunate.” Carmen attacked again, ferociously, and he allowed himself to be driven back.

The Don retreated unhurriedly, casually flicking away her blade. “And yet I see another influence,” he said, “Japanese? Yes. Japanese. Did your cowboy teach you that? Ah, yes. I see it in your eyes. I must say, I’m surprised to see you here. Surprised he did not kill you. Why is he not here? Did you kill him instead?”

Carmen answered by attacking with renewed fury. The Don merely batted the blade away, then flicked the tip of his sword across her thigh, parting the denim of her pant leg. A red line appeared on her exposed skin and blood flowed freely down her leg. She snarled, keeping her blade pointed at him.

He circled slowly around her. “And I see you have Armando’s sword. Do you know the things that sword has seen? For five hundred years, Armando stood at my side with that blade. And then he was murdered, through cowardice and treachery. By a cowboy and a stupid woman. You think you deserve that sword? You child.”

Carmen lunged again. Don Carlos batted down her blade then went on the attack. Carmen found herself losing ground, using all her skill just to keep the Don’s steel from cutting her down. She felt the first wild flutter of desperation. His blade moved faster than she could see. The Don, unfazed, drove her back toward the wall. At last he sliced at her sword hand, and the blade clattered to the floor.

The Don lunged. His blade ran through her chest and drove deep into the wall. Carmen screamed in agony, the sword a blowtorch flame splitting her chest. Blood welled from around the blade in a dark, spreading stain on her shirt. She fixed him with a look of pure hatred. “Just finish it, you bastard.”

Don Carlos let go of his sword. It stayed there, stuck in the wall, with Carmen impaled upon it. “I give you credit. You have spirit. More spirit than skill, perhaps. I could let you live, but then you would come again and again, until I had no choice. I sense that in you. The anger. The…how do the Italians say? Vendetta. Tell me, before I kill you, what did I do to you to make you hate me so?”

“You exist. You’re evil.” With every breath, every movement, the sword sent new oceans of pain surging through her chest.

The Don feigned hurt. “Am I evil? I say my prayers. How is it evil to live the life that God has given you? Is a wolf evil when he falls upon the lamb? Must we all not kill to live? Must you not kill to live? How am I any worse than you?”

“You enjoy it,” Carmen spat out. “You kill the innocent.”

“Mija, no one is innocent. And people die every day. Wars, famine, car crashes, heart attacks. Of the immigrants coming over the border, dozens die every day. Of thirst, of heatstroke. They’re shot by gangs, shot by police. So much death…and for nothing. Is it so wrong that I take a few so that I may live? Is it better for them to die so that I will live, or for them to die trying to get to Los Estados Unidos to pick lettuce for pennies a day? This country is a hungrier vampire than I. I take a few lives. It takes thousands upon thousands. I kill cleanly. It kills by degrees, over a lifetime. This country thrives on the lifeblood of those it exploits. How is it different, what I do?”

“How can you say that? You treat them like meat, like a commodity.”

“Are they not?”

“They’re people! They have lives and families and hopes! Until you murder them.”

The Don cocked his head, thoughtfully. “I ask again…what did I do to make you hate me so?”

The words left Carmen’s mouth of their own accord. “You killed my sister!”

Don Carlos nodded. “Ah. I understand now. Blood vengeance. A noble motive.” He kicked Carmen’s sword to the other end of the room before pulling his own sword from her chest. Blood poured from the wound. She screamed again, short and sharply, and collapsed to the floor in a heap.

He stood over her, holding his sword. Blood dripped from its point and onto the floor. “When did I do this thing? When did I kill your sister?”

She glared up at him. “Your men. You kidnapped her when she was crossing the border.”

“Ah…” A calculating look crossed The Don’s face. He briefly touched the point of his chin with a forefinger. “Tell me, what was your sister’s name?”

“Mia. Her name was Mia Carranza”

The Don turned away and whispered to one of the men present. The man left, and a minute later a plump, middle-aged Mexican woman appeared. The Don shot a rapid-fire string of Spanish at her, and she responded in kind. She left again.

“Your sister is alive,” said the Don.

Sitting on the floor, Carmen scowled at him. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie? Do you think I eat all of them? I have a household to maintain. Your sister had housekeeping experience, so she was assigned to the domestic staff. No matter. You will see for yourself in a minute. Get up.”

Carmen hauled herself to her feet and stumbled into a chair. Her chest had already healed, but her shirt was still soaked with blood. She seethed, as if she could kill Don Carlos with a look.

He ignored her as he leaned casually against the great wooden table. An attendant handed him a towel, and he wiped Carmen’s blood from his blade.

The plump Mexican woman reappeared. Mia was with her.

Her beauty was a fine-boned delicacy, as if she might snap in a strong wind. Her brown eyes seemed too big to be contained by such a delicate face. She had long black hair much like her sister, but her figure was slender and boyish. She wore a simple blue housekeeper’s dress, like all the other girls.

Mia looked around the room, dazed, like a drugged animal. She tugged halfheartedly at the woman’s hand around her wrist as she stared at the Don with terror past any hope. She didn’t notice Carmen.

“Mia?” said Carmen. She stood up from the chair. “Mia.”

Mia seemed to hear her, but it was a moment before her brain caught up. She slowly turned her head and saw the woman standing there. She blinked as though it were only a mirage. “Carmen?” she said.

“Dios mio,” said Carmen. She ran forward and put her hands on Carmen’s shoulders.

Luisa looked at Don Carlos. He nodded, and the matron let go of Mia’s hand.

“Carmen? What are you—”

Her words were cut off by Carmen’s embrace. Carmen hugged her sister, tears streaming down her face. “Dios mio,” She said again and again.

“Is it really you?” said Mia. “What are you doing here? How—”

Carmen pulled back from her and looked her in the eyes. “I said I’d find you. I’d always find you.”

“But how did you—” Mia was crying now too.

“It’s…it’s complicated,” said Carmen. They both looked at the Don. “Don’t you worry about it,” she reassured her sister. “I’m going to take care of you. From now on.”

“Luisa,” said the Don. “Make up a room. Make up two rooms.”

Mia poured out her story in a torrent of mixed English and Spanish, tears streaming down her face. Carmen held her tight, making shushing noises. The Don stood aside and observed, lightly tapping his chin with his fingers.

When Luisa returned, Don Carlos said, “Take the girl to her room. Carmen and I have matters to discuss.”

Mia looked questioningly at Carmen but allowed herself to be led from the room.

“So…” Don Carlos examined his fingernails before raising his eyes to meet Carmen’s. “Life is strange, no?” He took a leisurely step. “Just when you think you have nothing left to lose, you find that you still do.” He looked out the window. “A word from me and she dies. You know this.”

Carmen didn’t respond.

“You can save her still, you know,” said the Don. “All you have to do is…exactly what I say.”

“You bastard.”

Don Carlos merely smiled. “Call me names if you must. But think carefully. Who do you love more? Your sister or your cowboy?” He paced the room. “Your sister is still alive for a reason. You know why? Because she is useful to me. She does her job well. She does what it takes to stay alive. She has stayed useful. The question is…will you do the same? I will give you time to think this over. But know this: disobey me, defy me, attempt to escape, and I will drink Mia’s blood while you watch. Then I will behead her. She will not be as lucky as you.”

Don Carlos snapped his fingers, and two servants appeared. “Take Carmen here to her room,” he said. “She is to be given every comfort.” The servants led Carmen away.

Jacob hadn’t said a word the whole time. He had sat in a chair in the corner, watching the show. The Don turned to him and said, “Follow me.”

Jacob stood up and trailed his boss down the hallway to the Don’s private chambers. A young Latina girl, dressed in the same blue dress as Mia, was cleaning the mantelpiece with a feather duster.

Don Carlos seized the girl by the hair and tore her dress down to the waist. She screamed and crossed her scrawny arms over her breasts.

He tore her neck out in one bite. Blood sprayed, as much on his face as in his mouth.

Jacob checked his phone.

The Don lapped hungrily at the fountain her neck had become. She flopped like a fish on a hook, more and more weakly as the blood drained from her body. She trembled, then went still. The blood stopped. The Don dropped her corpse to the floor.

“I feel better,” Don Carlos said. He pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his face.

Luisa appeared out of nowhere and picked the dead girl up under the armpits. The girl’s heels dragged on the floor as the older woman pulled her out of the room.

“I don’t get why you’re doing all this,” said Jacob. “We could torture this Carmen woman for information, find out where Alex Rains can be found, and then we can go on the offensive. She’s been with vampire hunters for at least a couple of weeks. She knows them. She knows their names, what they look like, where they gather. We could get a lot of good information from her.”

Don Carlos Mondragon opened a wooden cabinet and pulled out a bottle of his namesake wine. He peeled off the foil and dug a corkscrew in. He poured two glasses and handed one to Jacob.

“Pain,” he said. “I want the cowboy to feel pain.”

Jacob shrugged. “You want pain, we could do pain. It’s not that complicated.”

“But why bother? He will come to me. Archimedes said, ‘Give me a place to stand, and with a lever I will move the whole world.’ This girl, Carmen, she is the cowboy’s lever. As long as I have her, I can move him however I wish. And if I control the sister, I control Carmen. In that motel room, I meant for him to kill his lover with his own hands, and he defied me. I mean to finish it. If I control the sister, I control Carmen. I will make him fight his lover to the death. If he wins, then I finish him. If not, I finish both of the women.”

Jacob scratched the back of his head. “Still seems more complicated than it needs to be.”

The Don smiled thinly. “I am a stubborn old man. Forgive me my diversions. I enjoy my little games.”

“Well, you’re the boss. But there’s one other thing I really feel I need to bring up.” He took a deep breath and released it. “I hate to say it, but this place…this mansion, this vineyard. Things are coming to an end here.”

“Never,” the Don snarled over his wineglass. “I have been here four hundred years. This is my home.”

Jacob shook his head. “The world is changing. The world has changed. It’s a miracle you’ve gotten away with this as long as you have.”

The Don sank into a red leather-upholstered chair by the window. He swirled his wine in the glass. “For four hundred years, people have come and gone here. A hundred times I’ve said to myself, this is it. Time to move on. The river will run dry. People will catch on. And yet every time I am wrong. This lovely border, this lovely country, it keeps bringing me disposable people. People disappear, and no one notices. No one cares. And nothing changes.” He took a sip of the wine and ran it over his tongue, savoring the profusion of flavors. “Some vampires must travel the world to feed. They seek war zones, genocides, plagues, all manner of human suffering, just to cover the evidence of their work. And here I sit all this time.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Like a spider in a web. I stay here and I grow my grapes, and I feed off this country’s apathy. When will that ever change?”

Jacob sat on an ancient oak bench against the far wall. He, too, sipped his glass of wine. “Don Carlos, you know I’ve always told you the truth, even if it isn’t what you wanted to hear. Information is…I mean, it’s the information age. These days any idiot can go on the Internet and look at satellite pictures. The government is digitizing old records and putting them online as fast as they can, so anyone can look at them from anywhere. You don’t have to go and search dusty basements anymore. It’s getting easier and easier to put the pieces together. And this guy, Alex Rains…he knows where you live. If he does, I guarantee a dozen others know also. If they don’t know already, it’s only because Alex wants you for himself. He could tell the whole world with the click of a button. With a Facebook post. You can’t just bury information anymore. You can kill him, but they’ll keep coming. And they won’t stop coming until they take your head. You’ve got to start thinking about moving on. They will come for you here. It’s only a matter of time.”

The Don sighed and took another sip of wine. “You are right, of course. It is difficult to admit this to myself. At my age, one becomes set in one’s ways. Nevertheless, I will deal with the cowboy in my own way. Then we will worry about other matters.”

***

Still in shock, Carmen sat on the edge of the bed. The room was lovely and elegant, like everything else in the house. The bed was an ancient four-poster, clearly carved by hand. Ornamental tiles detailed the window frame. Iron bars over the window divided the view into nine separate squares.

She heard sobbing from adjoining room and knew it was Mia. She knocked on the door connecting the two rooms then tried the knob, but it was locked. She applied pressure to the doorknob. The doorjamb splintered, and she pushed the door open. Mia stood facing her. Her eyes were red and puffy, and tears had left trails down her face. “Carmen,” she said. She looked closely at her sister. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Carmen paused, considering. Finally she nodded. “How did you know?”

“You just broke the door with one hand.”

“Oh yeah.”

Mia looked away, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then met her sister’s eyes again. “How did it happen?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not what I wanted. I just can’t believe you’re safe. This changes everything.”

“Don’t trust him,” said Mia. “He’s the Devil.” She shuddered. “If you knew what goes on here, every night, the things he…” She broke down crying again.

Carmen put her arms around her, and Mia didn’t stop her. “Don’t worry anymore,” said Carmen, running her hands over Mia’s hair. “I’m going to get you out of here. I don’t care what I have to do.” Something occurred to her. She pulled away and patted her pockets. “Where’s my phone?” she said.

***

Alex limped up his driveway. The sun was low in the morning sky. He’d walked all through the night, through the sunrise, and only just had returned home. Dark blood was crusted on his face and stained his shirt. The front door still hung open, and he walked into his living room. With a groan, he flopped onto the couch. He sat for a moment, catching his breath, then found his phone. He dialed Carmen’s cell.

The phone rang. Alex tapped his fingers on the table while it rang again and again. Finally a voice came on.

The voice was low and smooth, like silk on steel. “Hello? This is Alex, no?”

Alex didn’t respond. The Don held the phone to his ear and grinned. “Is this the cowboy?”

“Where is she?” said Alex.

“She is here, with me. Where she belongs. With her own kind.”

Alex said nothing.

“Perhaps there was something she needed, something you could not provide? Something that brought her here to me?”

“Goddamned son of a bitch.”

Don Carlos laughed. “Now, you see, I have something you want. So I make the terms. You come here, alone. No friends, no reinforcements. Bring your sword.” He paused for a long moment. “Or your precious woman dies.”

“See, there’s where you’re wrong, asshole.” Alex growled. “She ain’t my girl. For a while, I thought that might work out. Thought she was still the woman I loved. But that girl’s dead. She ain’t nothin’ to me now ’cept one more vampire. One more thing I gotta kill. Only thing you got that I want is your head. But other’n that, you’re right on the money. ’Cause I’m comin’. I’m comin’ real soon.”

***

Daylight. Mia sat on the stone edge of a little round fountain and trailed her fingers in the water. Koi nibbled unshyly at her fingers. Squinting in the sunlight, she looked around at the elaborate garden. Not far away, Luisa stood unobtrusively next to an armed guard.

Carmen looked down at her sister from the second-floor window. She peered from behind half-closed drapes, in the safety of the shade. Even then the sunlight hurt her eyes. As she watched, Mia stood and wandered down the brick path, beneath the wisteria-laden arbor. She ran her hand along the dark green jasmine as she walked. She moved like someone in a trance, someone who had just walked away from a car crash.

“Such a simple pleasure.” The Don had come up behind her without her realizing. “Sunlight. Had I only known, I would have enjoyed my last day of sunshine more. She is lovely, your sister. The sunlight is where she belongs.”

Carmen turned around and faced him. “How dare you,” she said. “She told me all about this place. She told me about you. She’s lived in terror for months. This place is worse than a concentration camp. You act like you give a shit, but a day ago she was nothing but food to you.”

“And yet look at her now. Happy and well fed. Cannot a hunter admire the beauty of his prey before he shoots? Cannot a farmer choose one lamb for a pet and another for the pot? Your sister was a prisoner, and now she is a guest. It is fortunate for her. Best not to overthink it.”

“Don’t think I don’t know why.”

“Of course you know why. Because you are going to help me.”

“I’ll never help you,” she snarled. “I may be a vampire, but I’m not your friend.”

“Very well then,” said the Don. He pulled out his phone from his suit coat and dialed a number. Outside, the guard answered. The Don spoke one word. The guard nodded and walked toward Mia.

“You wouldn’t,” said Carmen.

The guard seized Mia by the hair and shoved her head underwater. The girl flailed and battered her hands uselessly against the man. Water splashed all over his suit, but still he held her.

“No!” Carmen screamed, pressing her hands against the window.

“Would it not be better to be my friend?”

“Okay!” said Carmen. “Okay. You made your point.”

The Don tapped on the glass. The guard looked up, saw him nod, and released the girl. Mia collapsed to the ground, retching and spitting up water. Luisa stepped forward and helped her sit, wiped her hair from her eyes.

The Don stood up and brushed some imaginary dust from his suit. “Remember, if you will, that you are a guest here. Do not abuse my hospitality.”

“A guest?” Carmen shook her head. “I’m a prisoner.”

“If you prefer to think of it that way.” The Don turned on his heel and left the room.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jen pulled her van to a stop next to the wrecked Chevy, which sat in the driveway where the tow-truck driver had dropped it off. It looked like some twisted piece of modern art. She got out and walked once around the car before she crossed over to the open garage. The blue Ford truck still was up on jack stands, with Alex’s boots protruding from beneath. Orange sparks fountained from under the car. Johnny Cash’s “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” blasted on the stereo, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the arc welder.

Jen yelled a few times and finally resorted to kicking one of Alex’s toes. The sparks stopped, and he slid out from under the car on a dolly. He wore a welder’s helmet, a featureless black surface broken only by a rectangular view window.

He pulled off the helmet. “What?” he said.

“Hello to you too,” said Jen. “Just checking in.”

Alex sat up and stood, brushing dirt off his gray coveralls. He turned the stereo down. “Sorry. How are ya, darlin?”

“That’s better,” said Jen. She pointed a thumb at the wrecked car. “Were you inside that thing when that happened?” She noticed the Band-Aid at his hairline, the slight wince as he stood.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay? Do you want me to look you over?”

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“Alex, shut up. That wasn’t a question. Go sit down.” She looked around the garage. “Still working on that truck?”

“Yup.”

After a detour to get her medic’s kit from the van, Jen followed Alex to the back deck. He stripped off his coveralls and sat on the top step. She peered into his eyes with a penlight, listened to his breathing with a stethoscope, asked him a dozen routine questions. Then she said, “So what’s going on with you and Carmen?”

“She’s gone.”

“Yeah, I get that. What happened?”

“She went to go kill our vamp by herself. I tried to stop her. She didn’t much like that.”

“Oh.” Jen hesitated. “So did she…”

Alex shook his head. “No. He’s got her. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe she’s a hostage. Hell, maybe they’re fucking. I don’t know.”

“But you’re going after her?”

Alex didn’t say anything for a moment. “Yeah.”

“Why?” Jen said, raising an eyebrow.

“Shit, I don’t know. I just…’cause I gotta know, I guess. I gotta finish it. If she’s still on my side, I gotta help her. If she’s gone over, then I gotta do what I shoulda done already.”

“I can understand that.” Jen lit a cigarette, took a drag, exhaled. “So you’re going to go and take down this vampire. Got any help?”

“Ain’t nobody I’d trust to let her live. Ain’t nobody would go along if they knew that’s what I had in mind. Any other hunter would kill her and call it mercy.” He stood up and headed toward the door. Jen followed.

“You know, Alex. I know others…like her.”

“How you mean?”

“I mean, vampires. Vampires who don’t want to be vampires.”

Alex stopped just shy of the sliding glass door and turned around. “You’re palling around with vampires? Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before?”

Jen put her hands on her hips and glared. “What would you have done if I told you that before?”

Alex stopped and thought for a moment. He shrugged. “Probably woulda quit talkin to you, then gone out and killed them vamps you mentioned.”

“Exactly. You weren’t ready to hear it. You weren’t ready to see that they don’t all deserve to die.”

“Goddamn it, Jen, how can you even say that?”

“Does Carmen deserve to die?”

Alex said nothing. He turned his back to her and crossed his arms.

Jen rolled her eyes. “So, yeah. I know a few vampires. Not everybody gets to choose. I help them out. I help them find others, so they can find a way to—”

Alex turned around again. “Damn it, Jenny, how the fuck could you do that? How could you do that to me?”

“Oh, so now it’s about you?” Jen poked him in the chest, hard, with two fingers. “Shut the fuck up for a second and listen to me. You know why I got into this business? It’s not so I can sew up bullet wounds for you idiots, watching you all die and then go stealing your corpses out of county morgues. I started doing this for the victims. And I’m still here for the victims. I’m here to help the ones who didn’t choose this, the ones who never wanted this. You might remember, you were a victim yourself once.”

Alex didn’t respond.

“What you’ve got to accept is that people like Carmen, they’re victims every bit as much as the ones who get killed.”

For a long moment, Alex was silent. When he finally spoke again, he still didn’t turn to face her. “Well, how’s…how’s that all work? What exactly can you do for ’em?”

“There are a lot of ways. The first one I met was when I was still a practicing nurse. Every so often we’d get a terminal patient. Just somebody who was in pain. No hope, no life. Nothing to look forward to but more pain. We’d explain the situation to them. It was always consensual. After dark, I’d let the vampire in the back door. I called her the night nurse. She’d come to the hospital room, and I’d unplug the IV line. She’d drink out of the IV like a straw. No way to transmit the virus to the new host. They’d just bleed out and go peacefully.” Jen sighed. “It isn’t easy for them. They don’t enjoy killing. They’ve got hunters after them on one side and other vampires after them on the other side.”

“Yeah, like I always say, it’s a mean old world.”

“It sure is. And it doesn’t need us to make it any meaner.”

After a pause, Alex turned back around to face her. He said, “So you’re going to help Carmen out now?”

“I’d like to. But if she’s gone over to the Don’s side…”

“Yeah. Shit, either way, one of us is going to have to take care of her.”

“Please tell me you aren’t going to go in there Wyatt Earp style.”

Alex grinned and tipped his hat. “I got a few tricks I’m comin’ up with. Tell you the truth, gettin’ in won’t be the problem. This vamp’s old school. Wants to kill me himself. ’Course, I don’t intend to give him the chance.”

He opened the sliding glass door, and they crossed through the kitchen. The living room was a disaster. Opened boxes, Styrofoam padding, and bubble wrap lay knee-deep across the floor. Random electronic components were seeded throughout the mess.

In the corner, a blindfolded man in a rumpled black suit was handcuffed to a chair. He raised his head when he heard Alex and Jen enter the room, but the duct tape over his mouth kept him silent. He rattled his cuffs and hummed through his nose.

Jen took it all in. She looked back at Alex. “Do I even want to know?”

Alex nodded toward the man. “Jorgé here works for Don Carlos. That’s all you gotta know. We was just discussin’ a few things.”

She shook her head. “You don’t need a medic. You need a psychiatrist.”

“Might be somethin’ to that. Say, I gotta ask a favor. I’m gonna need some help on this job.”

“Alex, you know I’m not a hitter.”

“Ain’t nothin’ like that. All you gotta do is push a couple buttons.”

She sat down on the couch. “Somehow, I doubt it’s that simple. Why don’t you tell me about it.”

***

As the sun rose over the cliffs and cast the first rays of light on his grapevines, Don Carlos sat in his private chambers with a carafe of wine, freshly siphoned out of one of the great oak casks in the basement. He poured three fingers into a glass, swirled the wine around, and tilted the lip of the glass up to his nose. He inhaled deeply, opened his eyes after a moment’s pause, and wrote a few notes on a piece of paper.

The cell phone on the table rang. Carmen’s cell. After a brief contemplation, he picked it up. He hit the “answer” button, saying nothing, and held the phone to his ear.

“This Don Carlos?” said Alex.

“Ah, the cowboy.” Don Carlos smiled and leaned back in the leather easy chair. He took an absentminded sip of the wine. “What can I do for you?”

“All right, hoss. Here’s the thing. You said I should just come on in when I was ready, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I guess I’m ’bout ready. So here I come.”

“I look forward to it.”

“See ya soon.”

“Hasta pronto, Cowboy.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ten minutes later, a blue Ford truck turned off the main road and plowed through the decorative wrought-iron gate that blocked off the road to the Mondragon winery.

The Don’s security control center was a windowless room deep within the mansion, where four men sat at desks, sipping coffee from Styrofoam cups and watching video monitors. Just as Jacob entered the room, a half dozen alarms went off. No less than five cameras watched the blue Ford as it maneuvered up the narrow, twisting drive.

Jacob leaned over and studied the video monitors. “This asshole should have a little more trouble with the second gate.” He picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Vasquez, I want A and B teams to be waiting at gate two by the time Rains gets there. We need to take him alive. Don’s orders. The Don says he’ll go quietly. No, I don’t buy it either, so watch yourselves.”

While the old truck continued up the driveway, Jacob walked to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup.

One of the techs turned away from his computer. “Hey boss,” he said, “you heard anything about Jorgé? He didn’t show up this morning, either.”

Jacob dumped creamer into his coffee and stirred it with a little plastic straw. “Let’s not worry about him right now. Eyes on the prize.” On the monitors, the beat-up pickup lumbered around the turns, following the narrow blacktop road through the rocky terrain. It almost went off the edge then swerved and righted itself.

“Is he drunk?” said Jacob.

“I guess you’d have to be, to come up here like that,” the tech said.

They all watched the monitors. Two teams of guards approached the second and final gate to the property. They wore desert camouflage uniforms, helmets and goggles, knee pads and combat boots. Their tactical vests were festooned with knives, grenades, and spare magazines. They moved purposefully towards the gate in a well-choreographed dance, their machine guns held at the ready.

Gate two wasn’t decorative. It was a homely, custom-built steel affair that could stop a fully loaded cement truck moving at freeway speed. Security teams A and B, groups of four men each, crouched nearby. Their camouflage blended into the arid terrain. As they waited, they double-checked their weapons and peered down the driveway.

The old blue Ford came into sight around the bend. It drove at an unconcerned pace, occasionally darting wildly to the left or right. As it approached, they heard music, growing louder.

“It’s Elvis,” said B team’s leader. “He’s playing Elvis. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?”

They could make out the driver. He wore a battered white cowboy hat and mirrored aviator shades. He seemed to be bopping his head to the rhythm of the song.

“He’s insane,” said A team’s leader.

“Just hold it steady now,” Jacob said over the radio. “Eyes open.”

Brake drums screeched as the truck eased to a halt, five feet from the gate. The music was blasting. “Okay, A team,” Jacob instructed, “take up defensive positions. B team, approach the truck.”

The guy behind the wheel seemed to be having some kind of fit. He twisted his head back and forth then rocked in the seat so hard that the truck bounced and groaned on its springs.

B team held their rifles trained on him as they approached. “Turn off the radio, shut off the engine, and step out of the truck,” said the team leader. “I said, ‘Step out of the truck!’”

Now two guards were at each door. One reached forward and pulled the driver’s door open. “Oh, what the shit?”

The driver was handcuffed to the wheel. His mouth was stuck shut with clear packing tape. The wheel was a useless prop. The steering wheel shaft connected to a pulley system that ran down to a mass of radio-controlled aircraft components on the floorboards. A tiny camera sat mounted on the dashboard.

“It’s Jorgé,” the guard said. “Goddamn it. Everybody get—”

The truck’s payload, five hundred pounds of ammonium nitrate and fuel-oil mixture, detonated. The blast flung the security gate across the valley like a toy. Its twisted remains tumbled down a far hill and flattened a row of wine grapes. The men surrounding the truck were reduced to their constituent atoms. The truck itself vaporized; twisted splinters of metal sheared off and spun away in every direction. The entire security checkpoint disappeared in an enormous fireball.

A twenty-foot wide crater marked where the truck had been. The low rumble of the explosion rolled off the far hills and returned again. Bits of truck and gatehouse and security guard fell, pitter-patter, all around the property.

In the security control room, Jacob had time to see his the remainder of his best troops become a high-velocity meat spray before the explosion took out the cameras. A half dozen squares in the grid of security feeds turned to static.

“Fucking shit,” he muttered. “Shit. Okay.” He switched to a different camera feed, watching the mushroom cloud rising from the driveway. “This is a diversion. Send a team out to the perimeter fences. Get all the workers into the barracks, and I want that drone in the air.”

“Sir,” said one of the techs at a computer, “somebody just cut the west fence. And the cameras went down.”

Jacob sighed. “Send another team to back up the one on the way. And have the last two teams take up defensive positions around the house. Shoot to kill.”

The tech stared at him. “But the Don said—”

“I know what the Don said,” Jacob spat. “Let me deal with that.”

Eight camouflage-clad men jogged up the slope of the low ridge, beyond which stood the western fence. They moved quickly but efficiently, staggered into a loose skirmish line. When they were within view of the fence, they lay prone on the ground. One man turned around to cover the team’s blind side. They settled in and waited for their quarry to appear.

***

Inside the maintenance building, one man sat, working on a machine part with an angle grinder. He wore gray coveralls and a full-face shield. Sparks poured around his feet. Behind him stood the manor’s small gasoline tanker, the supply truck, and the boss’s limousine.

The grinder screamed and whined as it ate into steel. The man had his radio up loud enough for it to be heard over the grinder.

He shut down the grinder, pulled up his face shield, and examined his work. Then he pulled off one glove to feel the smooth edge of the metal. He glanced out the big roll-up door and saw a column of greasy black smoke rising into the sky. Four men in full combat gear sprinted past the doorway, machine guns in their hands.

“Que coño?” said the maintenance worker. He peeled the face shield off his head and wiped his face with a bandanna as he stood and peered out the door.

Behind him, Alex silently uncoiled himself from the undercarriage of the supply truck and eased himself to the ground. He wore a black Hawaiian shirt patterned with white surfboards, unbuttoned, and a white T-shirt beneath. As the maintenance worker peered in confusion out the door, Alex reached back beneath the truck and came out with a battered white cowboy hat. He adjusted it on his head and crept toward the worker, drawing his pistol along the way.

The worker turned back in time to see Alex thumb back the gun’s hammer.

“Hey—” he said, slowly raising his hands.

Alex noted the man’s fine black hair, the deep earth brown of his skin. He holstered his pistol, then nodded towards the door. “Run. Sal de aquí inmediatamente.”

The man stumbled towards the garage door.

Alex walked over and turned the radio down, then went back to the truck and dislodged a duffel bag from behind the gas tank. As he rifled through the bag, he dialed his phone with the other hand.

In her van, parked in a parking lot in town, Jen sat with a laptop on her lap. A radio-controlled device sat on the seat next to her. She answered her phone. “Hey, Alex. How did you sleep?”

“Was a mite cramped,” he answered, stretching his neck. “It was a long night, but it got me inside. That was some good driving, by the way. Nice work. Wish I coulda seen that explosion.”

“That was a little more than pushing a few buttons.”

“Aw, you done great.”

“You could have made it so that damned thing steered a little smoother. I almost ran it into the ditch. So, hey, I just set off the decoy at the back fence. I’m not sure what else I can do for you.”

“You done plenty, girl. Thanks a bunch. Just sit back and let me go to work. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Alex reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a western-style gunbelt made of deeply-oiled, hand-tooled leather, with a low-slung holster and cartridge loops all around its waist.. He strapped the belt low on his hips, dropped his chrome .45 into the holster on the right, then slid his katana into place on his left side. Reaching back into the duffel bag, he came back out with a jury-rigged-looking contraption, a cell-phone wired into a duct-taped package. He pressed it against the side of the gas tanker, and magnets held it in place.

He returned to his bag and retrieved a stubby, matte-black machine gun with a grenade launcher attached below its barrel. He screwed a silencer onto the end of the barrel, cocked the weapon, and peeked out the roll-up door just in time to see a man leave one of the outbuildings with a remote-controlled quadcopter in his hands. He wore dark slacks and a button-up shirt with a tie. The man tossed the craft into the air, and it rose under its own power.

Alex fired twice in rapid succession. The quadcopter fell from the sky; its pilot staggered and fell to the ground an instant later. Alex grabbed a backpack from the duffel bag and sprinted the short distance to the vineyard, where he disappeared into the rows of grapevines.

On the ridgeline, the eight soldiers waited for their target to appear. “I don’t see anything,” one of them said.

“Well, somebody cut the fence,”

The first man whispered over his shoulder, “Luis, you see anything on our six o’clock?” No answer. “Luis?” He turned his head around in time to see Luis cough up a spray of blood and slump over.

“Goddamn it, he’s behind us!” The men scrambled for cover.

Jacob’s voice came over their radios. “He’s in the vines!”

The barren shale slope gave no cover whatsoever. The seven remaining soldiers sprinted for a nearby rock outcropping. Not fast enough. The horribly familiar, hollow thump of a grenade launcher resounded in the air.

“Fuck—”

The grenade detonated, its percussive crack echoing off the hills. Shrapnel tore through the fleeing soldiers. An instant later, Alex opened fire on the survivors with his machine gun. They fell in a bloody mist as bullets ripped through them. He kept firing, raking the corpses with bullets until he was sure they were all dead.

He left his cowboy hat hanging on a grape stake and crawled away on hands and knees. Seconds later, a bullet punched through the hat. Alex watched where the shot came from. “That’s my hat, asshole,” he whispered. He sighted in on the gunman, concealed on the roof of the mansion. Alex pulled the trigger, and the gunman tumbled off the roof.

The vampire hunter swept his rifle sights across the valley, over the grounds of the mansion. From the cover of the grapevines, he fired again and again. Down below him in the valley, Don Carlos’s men fell one by one.

The last intact squad of four men darted across the open ground and took cover behind the maintenance building. Before they could make another dash for the vineyard, Alex dialed a number on his phone. Moments later, the bomb he’d planted on the gas tanker exploded. The building disappeared in a gout of flame and black smoke. Burning gas sprayed onto adjacent buildings. Sheet-metal roofing spun through the air and rained down onto the earth.

Alex set down his rifle and stood up. He walked over to his hat, pulled it off the stake, and examined the damage before seating the Stetson on his head.

He stood there, still as a fence post, peering down toward the valley floor. Beneath the tattered brim of his cowboy hat, his mirrored aviator shades glinted. A breeze kicked up, blowing dust and smoke around his knees, whipping at the cuffs of his jeans. He looked down at the buildings, at that ancient mansion. Somewhere, ancient eyes looked back at him.

The wind gusted. Alex’s unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt billowed like a flag, and his T-shirt pressed tight against his body. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed toward the mansion.

A lone guard popped around the corner of a building, rifle at the ready.

Without breaking stride, Alex raised his own rifle and snapped off a shot.

The guard fell, a red bloom spreading across his chest.

Alex jogged in a half crouch, sighting down the barrel as he went. The ragtag remnants of the Don’s security fell before him. The smart ones ran for the hills. The rest of them died where they stood.

He reached the wrought-iron gate in the wall surrounding the mansion. He had a satchel charge in his backpack, but before he could reach for it, the iron gates swung open. Alex walked through, holding the rifle at the ready.

The mansion’s front doors—great hardwood slabs held together with iron bands—were unlocked and cracked open.

He paused for a second, considering. Then he ran forward and tossed the satchel charge through the enormous wooden doors. He huddled off to the side.

The explosives detonated. The old doors blew off their hinges and tumbled into the driveway. A cloud of plaster dust and smoke billowed out from the doorway.

Raising his rifle, Alex entered the building. The grand foyer was a wreck. Antique tables lay splintered and broken; marble cracked, plaster demolished. The remains of a vase full of roses lay strewn on the marble floor, gaily colored petals of red and white and yellow.

The Don’s vampire limo driver stood hunched in the foyer, dazed, retching and clutching at a foot-long sliver of wood stuck in his throat. He saw Alex and reached for the gun he’d dropped. Alex let go of his rifle, letting it fall back onto its sling. He ran forward and drew his katana. The draw flowed seamlessly into a downward cut, hacking off the vampires’ arms at the elbows. Before the vampire could scream, Alex followed up with a diagonal cut that bisected his head from the top of his right ear to the bottom of his left, leaving a jagged cross-section of his face.

Alex heard the sound of someone cocking a shotgun behind him. He froze.

“Okay, enough of this shit,” Jacob said from behind him. “Drop the sword.”

Alex turned his head the slightest bit.

“Nah-ah,” Jacob said. “Don’t even think about it.”

Alex dropped his sword, raised his hands, and slowly turned around.

Jacob stood, holding a shotgun one-handed, the barrel pointed at Alex’s belly. With the other hand, he lit a cigarette. He put the lighter away. “I’m getting real fucking sick of you,” he said, the cigarette bobbing in his mouth as he spoke.

“Right back atcha, hoss,” said Alex.

Jacob stepped forward, the shotgun rock steady. He stood in front of the doorway, careful to stay out of the sunshine. “The Don wants me to take you alive,” he said. “But I can’t help remembering what happened the last time I tried that. You know, sometimes, you’ve got to do what you know is best, no matter what the boss says. I’m sure he’ll get over it. Because hey,” he shrugged, “accidents happen.” He pulled the trigger. The shotgun boomed

Buckshot hit Alex full in the chest.

The blast knocked him off his feet. He lay on the floor, gasping for breath.

Jacob jacked another round into the shotgun and sauntered over. Black fibers were visible through the new holes in Alex’s shirt. “Oops. Kevlar vest, huh? Didn’t figure you for the type. Still, I bet you felt that one.” He trained the shotgun on Alex’s head. “Well, enough of this shit. Good night, asshole.” His finger tightened on the trigger.

Jacob heard a noise and glanced to his left. “Luisa?”

Luisa emerged from the hallway, wearing her blue housekeeper’s dress. She approached Jacob at an unconcerned pace, shuffling on flat, aching feet.

“What the hell do you want?” He kept his eyes on Alex, occasionally glancing back at the woman.

She waddled closer, not making eye contact. Her thick laundress arms hung straight at her sides.

“Goddamn it, Luisa. I’m a little busy here. Get your fat Mexican ass out of here.” Jacob held the shotgun steady, still pointed at Alex.

She reached Jacob and stood for a second, her expression neutral, shoulders rounded.

“What the fuck, you stupid woman?” spat the vampire.

Luisa almost nonchalantly gave Jacob a two-handed shove. He stumbled and fell out the door. Into the sunlight.

He ran, screaming, as fire engulfed him. He dribbled flame down the driveway for twenty feet or so before collapsing into a heap.

Luisa stood and watched him die. Her expression never changed. She reached down and picked up his still-lit cigarette, held it between thumb and forefinger, and took a long drag. “Pinche pendejo,” she muttered.

Alex pulled himself off the floor and stood next to her in the doorway, as they watched Jacob burn. “Muchas gracias.”

Luisa shrugged and blew out a lungful of smoke. “De nada.” She disappeared down the hallway. A moment later she reappeared with eleven teenage girls, trailing behind her like baby ducklings. They all wore the same blue dresses. Luisa said, “Buena suerte, señor,” as she passed by Alex. She went out the front door into the sun, the girls following after.

Alex touched the brim of his hat. “Good luck to you too. Vaya con Dios.” After they were gone, he picked up and sheathed his sword, then took off his sunglasses. He dropped the spent magazine from his rifle, fished out a new one, and rammed it home.

Alex crept through the mansion, searching the rooms as he went, leading around corners with the rifle, checking behind doors and furniture. He worked his way down the hallway, cleared the corners, and finally burst through a set of double doors into a dining room.

And there she was.

Despite everything, the sight of her hit him like a brick in the face. He stood, his rifle sight centered on her forehead, and for the first time since arriving, he felt true panic. His hands began to sweat. The rifle barrel shook.

“Carmen,” he said, finally.

She stood, hands at her side. She wore her hair down, a gloss-black waterfall that reached halfway down her back. She was dressed just like the last time he had seen her: blue jeans, black T-shirt. She looked good. She looked damned good.

“Hey, cowboy.” She stepped forward and opened her arms. He let go of the rifle and stepped up to meet her. She pressed against him. Their lips touched.

She was soft and warm against him, her touch electric. All the old feelings came rushing back. Suddenly nothing else mattered.

He opened his eyes when he felt her lift his pistol out of its holster.

Carmen stepped back and held the pistol level, pointed at his belly. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Alex raised his hands with a bitter sneer. “Yeah, everybody’s sorry.”

“Drop the rifle,” she said. He lifted the strap over his head and tossed the rifle aside. “And the little gun in your boot.” He leaned down and pulled out the derringer. She took it from him and slipped it into a pocket. “You can keep the sword.”

“So that’s how it is?” Said Alex. “Guess I shoulda known. Decided to go with your own kind.”

“Mia is alive.”

“What?”

Tears stood in her eyes, but Carmen’s face was resolute. “My sister’s still alive, and she’s here. Don Carlos has her. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep her alive.”

After a moment’s silence, Alex nodded. “I’d probably do the same, in your shoes.”

“He wants to see you.”

“Reckon he does.”

He followed her down a tiled hallway, with arched ceilings and walls lined with candle sconces that at one time were more than decorative. They passed a commercial-size kitchen, passed through a storage room, and found a set of stairs leading down into the earth. “This way,” Carmen said. “He’s waiting for you. In the wine cellar.”

The air smelled of damp soil and cooled as they descended the stone staircase. Light was provided by a series of single yellow bulbs linked by a wire that ran along the top of the tunnel. The walls were ancient, crumbling brick.

At the end of the tunnel, they reached an arched doorway with a worn wooden door. Carmen opened it, and Alex followed her through and into the wine cellar.

After the claustrophobia of the tunnel, the space seemed huge. Alex had the sudden brief feeling of being in the cargo hold of some great wooden sailing ship. He imagined for a second he could hear ropes groaning, feel the floor rolling on the swells. Row after row of barrels on wooden racks, stacked three high, stretched to the ceiling. The smell of the place was a heady mix of wine, oak, dust, and tallow. Despite the dim electric lights, candles burned in sconces, casting a shifting yellow light, making the casks seem to dance at the corner of Alex’s eyes.

The floor was hard-packed dirt beneath his feet. Columns of carved stone supported the ceiling, worked by some long dead master craftsman.

“You are here,” said a low, honey-smooth voice from the far end of the cellar.

Alex strained his eyes. He saw the girl first. Unmistakably related to Carmen but scaled down, impossibly delicate. Elfin to Carmen’s Aztec. She could have been a ballerina, given a different life. She trembled. Her eyes were wide with fear.

It took Alex a moment to see the hand on her shoulder. Only then did Don Carlos come into focus. He saw the eyes first; two flickers of reflected firelight, like an animal in the darkness. Then the pale cheekbones, then another hand, the torso only visible by inference.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” said the vampire. He grinned, teeth gleaming in the shadows.

“Well, here I am,” Alex said with a shrug.

“We have taken much from each other, have we not? This place is finished for me. After four hundred years, you have driven me from my home. And I, in turn, have taken from you that which you love. It is time to end this. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready. You wanna fight me, that’s just fine. Let’s do what’s gotta be done.”

Don Carlos smirked. “No. You won’t fight me. You will fight your woman.” He picked up Carmen’s Spanish rapier and tossed it across the room. Carmen caught it one-handed.

Carmen flashed the Don a nervous look. “He’s better than me. I won’t have a chance,” she said.

The Don only grinned.

“Can I at least say good-bye to Mia?”

After a pause, Don Carlos said, “Very well.”

Carmen stepped forward and embraced her sister. “Mia, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better for you.” She held the girl’s hands in hers. “You’ll have to take care of yourself now. Just do the best you can.” They hugged again.

Mia stared at her sister and started to respond, but Don Carlos cut her off. “Enough. Fight or I kill her now.”

Carmen approached Alex and unsheathed her sword. Her eyes flicked downwards, then back to Alex’s face.”I’m sorry,” she said. Without any more warning, she lunged and swung the blade at his head. Alex twisted and barely managed to draw his sword in time. He deflected her blade and twisted away, then kicked her to gain precious distance.

They stood for a frozen instant, watching each other. Finally Carmen repeated, “I’m sorry.”

Alex had his killer’s face on. “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

Carmen lunged again. Alex met her sword with a flowing block and followed up with an overhead strike. Carmen, off balance from the lunge, barely had time to whip her blade up and avoid being split in half.

Speed against skill. Alex brought a lifetime of training on top of natural ability. Carmen, though less experienced, was blindingly fast enough to make up for it.

All the while, the master vampire stood by, watching and grinning. The ring of clashing steel echoed throughout the basement. Mia huddled in the corner behind him, watching the fight with wide eyes.

Carmen unleashed a flurry of wild blows, and it was all Alex could do to avoid being cut down. He gave ground, inching backward as she advanced.

“It don’t gotta be this way.” Alex breathed hard, his back against a row of wine casks. “You think he’s gonna let Mia live? Or you, for that matter? He’s just playin’ his games. He’s havin’ some fun with us.”

“What choice do I have?” she asked.

“You always got a choice.”

In response, Carmen lunged again, driving her sword at Alex. He ducked to the side, and the blade bit deep into a wine cask. Deep-red vino spilled from the cut, filling the air with the sweet reek of fermented grapes.

Alex spun as he retreated, catching Carmen with a glancing cut on the leg. She cried out and clapped her hand over the wound.

“I’m better’n you, darlin’. Only one way this is gonna end.”

She grimaced. “Then end it already.”

Alex paused, breathing hard, his blade held low.

“What are you waiting for?” Carmen lunged again, following after as he retreated around the corner, down a long dark row of casks. The lights barely reached there, and they clashed in shadow and gloom. Alex still fought defensively, while Carmen charged ahead with blind rage, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She lunged. Alex parried, cut her leg again. She fell. He swung the blade around and sliced her forearm. The sword spun out of her hand and to the ground. Alex kicked it away. He held his sword point at her throat.

“Guess this is it, darlin’,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes and snarled, “Just get it over with.”

Alex hesitated. “Goddamn it…”

“Just do it! Do what you should have done before!”

Don Carlos heard the whip of a blade cut through air, its dull chop biting deep into wood. The slump of a relaxing body. The wet trickle of liquid splashing to the dirt floor.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Carmen cringed and opened her eyes. The katana blade had stopped, quivering, an inch from her neck, buried deeply into the hardwood of the casks racked behind her. She looked up. Alex met her eyes and held a finger to his lips. Carmen pulled Alex’s chrome .45 from beneath her shirt, holding it close up against her belly. She met his eyes and nodded. He wrenched the blade from the wood and turned away. Wine trickled from the cut.

The Don stepped forward. The cellar was silent. He smelled blood, heard something dripping. He took another few steps.

Alex came around the corner. Alone. Red liquid dripped from his katana. His face was a mask of grim murder. “Just you’n me now, hoss.”

“Ah, not quite,” said the Don. “There is still the sister. If you—”

“Don’t think so. See, she’s way back there, and I’m right here.” Don Carlos had indeed taken a dozen steps from Mia, who still stood cowering in the corner. “You turn your back on me to get back to her, and I’ll cut you down. Matter of fact, I hope you do. What you was sayin’ about me, that was true. I’m a stone killer. And that girl, she’s just another life. You took a million of ’em. I don’t even know her. I just killed the girl I love—you think that little bird’s life is gonna stop me? If I gotta trade her life for yours, I’ll do it in a hot second. So go on ahead.” He nodded. “You just go on after her.”

Don Carlos smiled, like a man whose chess opponent has shown surprising resourcefulness. “Very well. Then we fight.”

“Yeah, we fight.”

Mia stood there, frozen in terror. Alex yelled at her, “Go on, girl. Get out of here! Go for the sunlight!” She didn’t move.

The vampire drew his sword, swung it experimentally through the air, and saluted in the fencer’s fashion before taking up a fighting stance. Alex held his ground and waited.

The Don’s attack was surgically precise, impossibly fast; perfect technique honed for centuries. Alex parried and blocked desperately, stumbling backward. The vampire wore a confident smirk as he drove Alex mercilessly back.

“You think yourself a swordsman? You are nothing. You are a spoiled American child, playing with a man’s tools.”

A thrust, another, a parry, and a cut. The razor-keen edge of the blade separated Alex’s pant leg, drawing a thin line of blood across his thigh. The Don drove forward again, and Alex jumped away just in time to avoid being impaled on the vampire’s blade.

“Look around you,” said the Don. He gestured towards the rows of wooden casks. “Look upon my work. This is my legacy, my art.” He lunged, forcing Alex back another few steps. “My skill has grown for a dozen lifetimes. No man can do what I do. This is the greatest wine the world has ever known! You would take this gift away from the world, for some petty vendetta? Some self-righteous crusade? For the life of a few peasants, lost in the desert? What could they ever accomplish, in comparison to this? They are the trash of the world.”

Alex stood wearily, and the blade trembled in his hands. “They’re people,” he said. “Maybe they ain’t all great people, hell, maybe some ain’t even good people, but they got hopes and dreams and lives. They deserve better than what you do to ’em.”

“Why do I bother?” Don Carlos rolled his eyes and shook his head sadly. He held his blade at the ready. “How could you, a mere child, ever comprehend what I have done? My works. The things I have accomplished. What I have brought this world. I was a warrior of God, five hundred years before you were even born.” He pushed forward again, and Alex fell back with each attack. “I came to these shores as a stranger in a strange land. I drove the heathens from their temples and smashed their idols. I brought them to Christ at the point of a sword. I marched with Cortés himself. I broke the back of the Aztec Empire!” He beat at Alex’s blade again and again, and the vampire hunter stumbled further back. “I built this country!” Don Carlos snarled, “Me! Before your pathetic Puritan colonies and your Founding Fathers, I was here, bringing civilization to these savages. You Americans are children, playing with your toys in the house that your father built.”

Panting, his sword arm shaking, Alex said, “It’s a house built of bones. And I aim to tear it down.”

The Don paused for a moment. He sneered and ran his tongue over his fangs. “All great works are built of bones,” he said. “And mortared with blood. Soon with your blood.”

Alex retreated again and again, his blocks growing increasingly sloppy and erratic. His arms felt like lead, the shock of each strike traveling up them like a hammer blow. Sweat poured from his face; his side ached. Blood trickled coldly down his leg. His breathing was ragged, his throat raw.

The Don, by comparison, remained composed and upright, his blade at the perfect angle, his left hand raised in a fencer’s posture. He wore a tight smirk as he ground Alex down. He lunged for the kill and Alex rolled away. The sword bit deeply into the stone wall. The Don turned and brought his sword around in time to parry the hunter’s last, desperate blow.

Don Carlos batted Alex’s katana away. The vampire hunter’s sword flew from his hand and across the cellar. The Don grinned wider, displaying his teeth. He centered his sword point in front of Alex’s neck. The hunter retreated before the advancing blade, until his back touched a row of wine casks. Alex swallowed.

“So, cowboy, who’s laughing now?”

Behind him, Carmen rose from the shadows, Alex’s chrome pistol in her hand. She crept forward, silent as a cat, and raised the pistol to the back of the Don’s head.

“I’m still laughing,” said Alex. “On account of you missed one thing.”

Fast as a trick of the light, the Don spun. His blade whipped around, a mercury blur, and took off Carmen’s right hand at the wrist. Her hand, still clutching the pistol, plopped unceremoniously to the dirt. After a shocked moment, blood hosed from her wrist. Mia screamed. The Don spun back toward Alex.

It all happened in a blink. Even Alex didn’t have time to react. One moment Carmen was aiming the pistol; the next she was clutching her bleeding stump, staring at it in mute horror as blood poured onto the ground. Don Carlos’s sword was right back where it had begun, poised in front of Alex’s neck.

“Well, shit,” said Alex.

“I grow bored,” said the Don.

He lowered the blade and stabbed Alex in the stomach. It passed through the Kevlar vest and into his guts like a hot wire through wax. Alex made a shocked gurgling sound as he watched the blade slide in. The point came out through his back and stuck an inch deep into a hardwood cask.

“Fuuuuck…” said Alex.

Carmen screamed and lunged blindly at the Don. He let go of his sword to knock her to the floor. Alex remained pinned to the cask, screaming. Every twitch and breath brought him a new wave of agony.

“You see where your pride, your foolishness get you?” said the Don. He pulled the sword free, and Alex collapsed, gasping, to the floor. Blood pulsed angrily from his stomach. He tried unsuccessfully to hold it in with his hands.

“You didn’t think it would end this way, yes? The hero is supposed to win. So maybe you are not the hero after all.” The Don raised his sword.

He lowered it again. A thoughtful look crossed his face.

“Ah, but we haven’t finished.” He turned to Carmen. “I told you that if you didn’t kill your cowboy, I would drink your sister while you watched.”

“Please don’t,” said Carmen. “I’m begging you. Please.”

In response, the Don approached Mia. The girl trembled but didn’t try to run. The Don gripped her hair with one hand, her shoulder with the other. He turned her so Carmen would have a good view. He opened his mouth and his teeth lowered, closing in on her neck.

From somewhere came the sound of crashing thunder, a flash of lightning. The top half of Don Carlos’s head vaporized. He jerked as if he’d touched a live wire. His hands fell away from Mia. He took two staggering steps backward and turned toward Alex and Carmen.

Mia stood, Alex’s tiny derringer outstretched in her hand. She gritted her teeth and snarled, opened her eyes, and pulled the trigger again.

The last bullet caught the Don in the throat. The impact knocked him off his feet in a gruesome spray of blood and bone. He lay on the ground, kicking and twitching. He tried to reach his sword, but his hand wouldn’t obey. Carmen, still squeezing her severed arm, kicked the sword away. She let go of her bleeding stump to pick up the sword with her left hand.

The Don’s one remaining eye stared up through a fog of rage. He bared his teeth and hissed. “You cannot kill me, puta morena—”

“Atta girl!” urged Alex.

Don Carlos screamed, “Peasants!”

Carmen swung clean. The Don’s head rolled away. His body flopped and convulsed, bowing and arching its back, making obscene patterns in the bloody mud.

“Jesus Christ,” said Carmen. “My hand.”

Alex, grimacing in pain, uncurled himself enough to look up at her. “Darlin’,” he said, “you’re a vampire. Just stick the damned thing back on.”

Then his world went dark.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The incessant bleating of hospital machinery insinuated itself into Alex’s fevered dreams. He swam up into consciousness. His eyes opened to slits, the room entirely too bright. He smelled hospital smells. Bleach. Disinfectant. Clean cotton sheets. Flowers. Plastics and warm electronics. He raised his arm and found it stuck full of needles and wires and sensors.

“It’s about time,” said a voice.

He turned his head toward the voice. Jen sat backward in a plastic chair, leaning her arms on the backrest. She wore a white tank top that showed off her tattoos. Her hair was cut boyishly short and spiked. An unlit cigarette was tucked behind her ear. “You had us worried there for a few days.”

“I feel like shit,” Alex mumbled.

She smiled mischievously. “Can’t imagine why. Not like you got stabbed in the guts with a sword or anything. But you’ve got enough dope in you right now to get an elephant stoned, so you shouldn’t be feeling much of anything.”

Alex tried to sit up, thought better of it, then laid back down before Jen had to stop him. She used the bed controls to raise him up a bit.

“We got ’im, though,” Alex murmured. “Got that son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, you got him.”

“How’d I get here?”

“Carmen. She called me and told me where you were.”

“Is she—”

“I haven’t seen her. She called from the Mondragon estate but was gone by the time I got there. I got Cooper and some Hell Hunters together, and we found you there. She bandaged you up first, but then she took off.”

“Prob’ly best.”

“Yeah,” said Jen. She put the cigarette in her mouth and had the lighter in her hand, caught herself, then put it back behind her ear. “Probably best.” She was silent for a few moments, staring out the half-open venetian blinds. She looked back at him and grinned. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Alex laughed then winced. “Darlin’, you and me both. You’re a doll, Jen.”

Jen reached out and squeezed his hand. “You’re a good man, Alex. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry how this all worked out. You deserve a happy ending.”

Alex’s face darkened. “Ain’t no such thing. Happy endings are for suckers.”

“Yeah.” She sighed and tousled his hair. “By the way, your name right now is John Tyleski. You were injured in a freak farming accident.”

He chuckled. “Always was a mite clumsy with that tiller.”

Jen smiled. “Well, hopefully we can get you out of here in a few days. Can I get you anything in the meantime?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“If you think of anything, I’ll be around. Cooper is around here somewhere too. He’s going to want to talk to you now that you’re awake. Good seeing you, Alex.”

Jen left. A few minutes later, Cooper entered. He wore a wrinkled tan suit, no tie. He looked strangely naked without his mirrored aviators. He slicked back his nonexistent hair as he entered the room. “Hey, cowboy. Good to see you pulled through.”

“Yeah, you know me. Tougher’n a one-eared alley cat.”

Cooper snorted a laugh. “Yeah, exactly what I was thinking. But anyway, congratulations. This was a hell of a bust.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s right, cowboy. This vamp was a player. He had his finger in every pie along the Mexican border, from San Jose to Corpus Christi. He had enough border-patrol officers in his pocket to field a football team and then another team for them to play against. He was paying off officers to look the other way while he rounded up illegals, and then he’d ship them to vampires across the country. And not just people: drugs, guns, the whole enchilada.”

“So how much of this did y’all know when you gave me the tip ’bout a vampire livin’ out in the desert?”

Cooper shrugged. “Not much. No specifics. We knew there were dirty cops, and we knew there were immigrants disappearing, but we were getting nowhere. We caught one border agent taking bribes, and we leaned on him. He told us about a guy out in the desert who only comes out at night. All I did was hand you a thread. You unraveled the sweater. Just like I knew you would.”

“I’m flattered you got such faith in me. Maybe next time you’ll wanna get stabbed instead of me.”

“Oh, but you’re so much better at it than me,” Cooper said with a laugh. “I’m doing my job; you do yours.”

“And what is your job exactly?”

Cooper smiled. “As I’m sure you’re aware, I’m not at liberty to say. Why don’t we just call it ‘information management’? I get the right information to the right people.”

“Goddamn spook.”

Cooper raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. “Anyway, this was a serious bust. My guys are still sifting through all the intel we found at his place, but we’ve got some very promising leads.”

“How ’bout the money?”

He held up a hand. “I’m getting to that. There’s the usual, of course. Cash, assets, antiques. But it turns out the Don had a taste for art.” Cooper pulled out his phone and brought up a picture. “See that? That’s a painting by Francisco Goya, missing since 1904. Our fence says we’re looking at six or seven million. And that’s just the one painting. We’re still going through it all. Of course we have to split it a few different ways, but we’re looking at a fortune.”

Alex slowly nodded. “Well, I guess that’s somethin’.”

“Well, you have a big hole in your guts, so I wouldn’t expect you to be in a great mood. But just so you know, the bad guy is dead, we have plenty of new leads, and we’re rich. Everything worked out great.”

“Yeah,” said Alex. He turned his head to look out the window. “Just great.” He looked back. “Listen, Coop, I wanna get a little more sleep.”

Cooper turned around, stopped, and turned back again. “Look, for what it’s worth, I never meant for it to turn out this way. The girl was a wild card. Nobody could have predicted it. I’d even prefer you’d finish off the bad guy without getting yourself disemboweled, for once. But we both know this isn’t a glee club. Shit happens. I’m sorry for your loss, but at least you made it. And hell, for that I’m glad. Take care of yourself, pal. I’ll see you around.”

Cooper closed the door on his way out, and Alex was left alone with the aseptic smells of the hospital room and the insistent beep of the monitors.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jen’s van bounced and jostled up Alex’s driveway. In the passenger seat, Alex winced and held his side. “Goddamn, you wanna take it easy?”

“I can’t go any slower,” said Jen. “You’re the one who never wanted to get this road paved.”

“I just got outta the hospital, and you’re tryin’ to kill me.” On the floorboards between his feet lay a black duffel bag containing approximately six million dollars.

“Don’t be such a baby. You’ll be fine.”

The van lumbered around the last curve, and Alex’s little homestead came into view. A familiar yellow muscle car was parked outside.

Alex stared at it for a moment. His pulse quickened. He turned to Jen. “Did you know about this?”

Jen nodded. “Yeah, I knew.”

Alex didn’t say anything. He stayed in his seat.

Jen reached out and squeezed his hand. “Just go on inside, Alex.”

He sighed. “You gonna hang around?”

Jen thought about it for a second. “Nah. I gotta run. Call me, though.”

Alex winced as he climbed down out of the van. He slung the bag of money over his shoulder and shut the door.

“Take care of yourself,” said Jen. “I’ll be around.”

“Sure thing, darlin’.” He raised his hand as the van pulled a wide circle in the driveway and drove off.

The world was suddenly a very quiet place.

The evening sky blazed orange in the west, nearly touching the horizon. The front door had taken on some greater significance, as if it were a portal to another world. Alex stood in the driveway, his hat cocked back on his head, his posture a graceful S curve. He regarded the door.

Finally he came to a decision. The brass doorknob was cool to his touch. It wasn’t locked. He turned the knob, and the door swung open.

Carmen sat on the couch, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. Her black hair fell loose, spilling around her shoulders.

“Hey, Carmen,” he said.

“Hello, Alex.” She rose to her feet.

They stood there like they expected something else to happen.

Carmen broke the silence. “Your plan sucked.”

Alex smiled a little. “Hey, we got him, didn’t we?” He slung the duffel bag down onto the coffee table.

She smiled back. “But you got stabbed, and I got my hand cut off.”

He shrugged. “How’s that hand, by the way?”

Carmen raised her right hand, flexed it, turned it this way and that. A dimpled red scar encircling her forearm was the only evidence. “It’s fine. You were right. I just stuck it back on, and it stayed. It was about the weirdest damned thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t doubt it. Hey, that was some good thinkin’, handin’ that pistol off to Mia.”

“I didn’t…” She paused. “I hate to say it, but I gave it to her in case things didn’t work out. So she wouldn’t have to suffer. She came up with that last part herself.”

Alex grinned. “Well, good on her. Looks like smarts run in the family.”

“So, hey. I’m glad you made it. I’m sorry I couldn’t stick around. I did what I could. But I didn’t want to hang around a house full of vampire hunters.”

“Naw, it’s all right. I understand. Where did you end up at anyway?”

“That place had four hundred years’ worth of tunnels. It wasn’t hard to find someplace to hide away until dark. Then I took a car and got out of there. I holed up at a hotel for a few days, and then I came back here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I wasn’t usin’ the place.”

She smiled. “We actually did it, didn’t we?”

“Damn right. We got the bad guy, and we rescued the girl. By the way, where’s—”

“She’s here,” said Carmen. She called out to her sister.

Mia came out of the bedroom. Dressed in blue jeans and a Coca-Cola T-shirt, she was as beautiful as ever, delicate as spun glass. She wore no makeup and was prettier for it. Alex knew with a sudden certainty that it had all been worthwhile.

She stood awkwardly with her hands at her sides. She looked down, never quite meeting Alex’s eyes. “I wanted to say thank you,” she said. “Carmen says she couldn’t have found me without you. She says…she says you saved my life.” She stepped forward and hugged him. She was warm, strong but fragile, like a bird. She smelled like the same shampoo her sister used. She gave him a chaste peck on the cheek.

“Shucks, little darlin’, weren’t nothing,” said Alex. He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “That was some real good shootin’, by the way.”

“Mia,” said Carmen, “why don’t you go get the car started? I’ll be out in just a minute.”

Mia slipped out the door, with one last glance and a smile at Alex.

“So,” said Alex. He scuffed at an imaginary piece of dirt on the floor with his boot toe. “What’re you gonna do now?”

Carmen shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

Alex leaned down and unzipped the duffel bag to reveal piles of bundled bills. “If it helps any, half this money is yours. Works out to ’bout three million each.”

She smiled despite herself. “Yeah, I guess that simplifies a few things.” She looked away and ran a hand through her hair before saying, “Look, I’m sorry. About the way I left before. I just—”

“Naw, ain’t nothin. I ain’t sore.”

“I should have listened to you.”

“I shouldn’t a been such an asshole.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally Alex said, “Look, I’m worried ’bout you is all. If I was you, I’d light out for someplace else. You ain’t gonna find many friends ’round here. Too many folks know your face.”

“I know. I hadn’t planned on staying. I don’t think I should say where I’m going.”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, probably better you don’t.”

“I, um, I hear things. I hear there are other people like me. Other good vampires like me. I guess good is the wrong word. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.” Alex sat down on the couch and began divvying up the money, stacking his half on the coffee table. “Carmen, I hope to hell y’all make it. I hope you both can find some peace in this world.”

“Right back at you, cowboy.”

“Ain’t gonna be no easy life for you.”

Carmen smiled. “It never was.”

He handed her the now half-empty duffel bag. She hung the strap over her shoulder. “The sun’s down. I guess this is it.”

“Yeah.” Alex stood dumbly. He felt a sharp pressure behind his eyes. He reached out and took her hand and squeezed it. She leaned in, and they hugged.

“Take care of yourself, Alex,” she said, then kissed him.

A tear brimmed and ran down Alex’s face. Carmen let go of him and turned her back. He stood in the doorway as she walked away.

“I don’t think I wanna see you no more,” he said to her retreating back.

She half turned around. “You won’t.”

She climbed into the car. The headlights came on, and she pulled around in a circle. Alex saw a flash of raven hair, and Mia cast one last glance at him as he stood there, his hands useless at his sides. He watched the car disappear down the driveway.

He stood there for a long time, a lanky silhouette leaning against the doorframe as the dust settled. Somewhere a coyote howled, and in the sky, deep blue faded slowly to black.

Epilogue

A cold, damp fog blew in off the Pacific, blotting out the stars, painting the sky a dull, uniform gray, illuminated by the dockside lights.

Carmen pulled her knee-length wool coat tighter around her waist and jammed her hands deeper in her pockets. The damp, Northwestern cold cut right through the coat. She heard the rhythmic splash of seawater against the pilings, the clang of a bell. Farther out in the harbor, the green-and-red navigation beacons on the big ships shone, softened by the fog.

She heard a sound—a shoe scraping against concrete—and turned. A young Asian man appeared, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. He stood with his hands at his sides, looking Carmen up and down.

“Are you Kasem?” asked Carmen.

Two more young Asian men materialized out of the fog, carrying Uzi submachine guns.

“I might be.”

After a moment’s silence, Carmen said, “Well, are you trying to work up the nerve to ask me to the prom, or are we going to do some business?”

Kasem smirked. “You have the money?”

“You have the merchandise?”

“Money first.”

Carmen, out of the corner of her eye, caught a hint of movement high up in the scaffolding of the dockside cranes. She ignored it. “Okay. Take a look.” She dropped the duffel bag and stepped back.

The two armed men kept a close watch while Kasem knelt and unzipped the bag. He pulled it open to reveal a stack of neatly bundled cash. He looked up at Carmen. “Is it all there?”

“Do you want to count it?”

The man zipped up the bag. “You rip us off, we’ll come find you.”

“Right back at you. Where’s the merchandise?”

Kasem put his hands out. He smiled wider. “Hey, pretty lady, don’t worry. You’ll get what you paid for. This way.”

With the two gunmen following, Kasem and Carmen walked down the docks in silence for five minutes. Kasem stopped at a stack of steel cargo containers, each one the size of a semi trailer. He fished a ring of keys out of his pockets. After a few tries, he found the right key and pulled the lock off one of the container. He pulled the handles, and the door scraped open.

Behind the door was a welded grate of steel mesh. Behind that was a sick parody of a dorm room. A row of bunk beds, a chemical toilet bolted in the corner, a pallet of bottled water, and another pallet of snack food.

And two dozen girls. They were huddled among the bunk beds, filthy, hungry, terrified. They were Asian, young, and pretty. Not one of them could be over eighteen. Their black hair was tangled and matted, their faces smeared with dirt and God knows what else. When the stench from the container hit Carmen, she gagged.

“Hey, don’t worry.” Kasem laughed. “They clean up nice.”

“I’m sure.” Carmen composed herself and counted the girls. “There’s only twenty-one. You said twenty-two.”

“Sometimes they don’t make the trip.” Seeing Carmen’s look, Kasem laughed, his vampire teeth on full display. “I know what you’re thinking, but she died of dysentery. I’ll tell you what, we’ll give you a credit toward your next purchase.”

“So no one has sampled the wares? In any way?”

“Guaranteed. They’re pure as the driven snow. Or as pure as they were when we got them, anyway.”

“Good. My buyer is very particular. I’ll take them.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Kasem tossed her the ring of keys then turned to walk away.

“Oh, one other thing,” said Carmen.

Kasem turned back. “Yeah?”

Carmen was silent for a moment. She made a face. “I was trying to think of something witty to say. Fuck it.” She reached into her coat. Instead of a sword, she pulled out a forearm-length section of steel pipe. She swung with all her vampire strength. The pipe connected with Kasem’s head hard enough to bend the steel. He dropped like a slaughtered ox.

The gunmen opened fire. Carmen flung the section of pipe, taking out one of the gunmen in a spray of blood and shattered teeth. She spun around, launching a low kick at the second gunman’s legs. He hit the ground, and Carmen was on him in a heartbeat. She held his Uzi with one hand. With the other, she administered a surgical punch to the gunman’s jaw. He spasmed once and went limp.

Carmen felt something hit her left shoulder, hard. She watched blood spray on the pavement, and a fraction of a second later, heard the following crack of a high-powered rifle.

She ran for the cover of the storage containers, her arm numb and hanging at her side. She bent down with the other hand and scooped up the now boomerang-shaped piece of sewer pipe before she slid into a gap between the cargo containers.

Already the feeling was returning to her left arm. She hefted the pipe experimentally and peeked her head out. Another bullet pocked the pavement as she pulled her head back.

“Asshole.” She flung the pipe side-armed. It whipped off into the darkness, and a moment later, she heard a clang and a cry of pain. She sprinted across the pavement to the base of the crane. She spotted the gunman above her, frantically trying to angle a shot down through the maze of girders and scaffolding. Carmen didn’t give him the chance. She climbed and jumped and scrambled up the structure, and then she was there next to him. She snatched the rifle out of his hands and pinned him against the wall. In a flash, she bared her teeth and bit into his neck. When she was finished with him, he tossed his lifeless body from the crane and watched as it splattered on the concrete like a bug on a windshield.

Carmen leapt from the crane and landed next to Kasem, who groaned and began to sit up. She planted a knee in the middle of his back and handcuffed him. She drew the short Japanese sword from beneath her coat.

“Fuck you, bitch,” he spat. “You have no honor. Put a sword in my hand, and we’ll settle this by the ancient laws.”

“I don’t give a shit about your ancient laws.” She walked right by Kasem and beheaded the fresh corpse on the pavement.

“Then just kill me already.”

Carmen sheathed her sword and knelt to cuff the still-unconscious gunmen. “You aren’t going to die for quite a while. I have a lot of questions about your organization.”

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. “It’s clear,” she said. “Come on in.”

Moments later, a familiar-looking van pulled up beside the cargo containers. Jen got out, her medic’s kit already in hand. An Asian woman climbed out of the passenger seat and approached the cargo container. She spoke to the girls in Thai while Carmen unlocked the metal grate on the cargo container. Jen entered the portable prison and cautiously approached the girls.

Moments later, an old school bus pulled up next to the van. Its brakes squealed as it stopped. The bus’s door hinged open. Mia was at the wheel. She grinned childishly and waved. “Hey, Carmen!”

Carmen, despite herself, smiled in return. “Hola, hermana.”

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on whichever platform you purchased it.

About the author

Matt Kincade, the son of a librarian, was often left to wander the fiction shelves for hours as a child, happily lost among the stacks, soaking up a love for words and the smell of books.

Since then he has been a pizza chef, a sandwich artist, a cash-register jockey, a night manager, a furniture assembler, and a creepy one-hour photo clerk, all while dreaming of being an author of sci-fi and supernatural fiction.

Matt lives in Northern California, where he enjoys the outdoors and gets out into the nearby Sierra Nevada mountains every chance he gets, whether to hike, camp, or just go jump in a creek. When not writing or working at his slave job, Matt reads entirely too much, makes music, rides his bicycle, watches movies, and plays video games.

If Matt drank as much alcohol as he does coffee, his family and friends would have staged an intervention by now. Matt shares his apartment with a cat who grudgingly tolerates his existence. Check out his blog, (Matt’s blog, not the cat’s) at http://www.matthewkincade.wordpress.com/