The Day of the Dead Part 1

The Day of the Dead.

by Karen Chance.

'I'm looking for my brother,' the girl repeated, for the third time. Her accent was terrible, New Jersey meets Mexico City, making her difficult to understand, but Tomas doubted that that was the problem. The largely male crowd in the small cantina weren't interested in a gaba gabawith a sob story, even one who was tall and slim, with slanting hazel eyes and long black hair.

j.a.panese ancestry, Tomas decided, or maybe Korean. There might be some Italian, too, based on the slight wave in her hair and the Roman nose, which was a little too prominent for her slender face. She was arresting, rather than pretty, the kind of woman you'd remember, although her outfit would probably have insured that anyway. He approved of the tight cargo pants and the short leather jacket. But the shotgun she wore on a strap slung over her shoulder and the handgun at her waist took away from the effect.

'He's nineteen,' she continued stubbornly. 'Black hair, brown eyes, 6 foot 2 '

The bartender suddenly snapped to attention, but he wasn't looking at her. His hand slid under the counter to rest on the shotgun he kept there. Tomas hadn't seen it, but he'd smelled the old gun oil and faint powder traces as soon as he walked in. But the man who slammed in through the door was merely human.

'Hijole, Alcazar!' the bartender shouted, as the room exploded in yells of abuse. 'What do you mean, bursting in here like that? Do you want to get shot?'

The man shook his head, looking vaguely green under the cantina's bare bulbs. 'I thought I heard something behind me,' he said shakily, joining a few friends at an already overcrowded table. 'On the way back from the cemetery.'

'You shouldn't have been there so late,' one of his friends reproached, sliding him a drink. 'Not tonight.'

'I lost track of time. I was visiting Elia's grave and '

'Aguas! You will do your daughter no good by joining her!' You will do your daughter no good by joining her!'

There was frightened muttering for a moment, and several patrons stopped fingering their weapons to actually draw them. Tomas had the distinct impression that the next time the door opened, whoever stood there was likely to get shot. Tension was running far too high for good sense.

Then the bartender suddenly let out a laugh, and slid another round onto the men's table. 'I wouldn't worry,' he said heartily. 'From what I hear, even your Consuela doesn't want you. Why would the monsters?'

The room erupted into relieved laughter as the man, his fright forgotten, stood up to angrily defend his manhood. 'She ran off with some wealthy b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' he said, shooting Tomas an evil look.

Tomas calmly sipped mescal and didn't respond. But he wished for about the hundredth time that he'd given a little more thought to blending in. His reflection in the chipped mirror behind the bar, while not Anglo, stood out as much as the girl's.

The high cheekbones and straight black hair of his Incan mother had mixed with the golden skin and European features of his Spanish father, resulting in a combination that many people seemed to find attractive. He'd always found it an inconvenient reminder of the domination of one half of his ancestry by the other. The conquest of a continent written on his face.

He couldn't honestly blame the locals for mistaking him for a wealthy city dweller, despite the fact that he'd been born into a village even poorer than this one and was currently completely broke. He'd picked up his outfit, a dark blue suit and pale grey tie, at an airport shop at JFK. He'd needed a disguise, and the suit, along with a leather briefcase and a quick session with a pocket knife in front of a men's room mirror, had changed him from a laid-back college student with a ponytail to a thirty-something businessman in a hurry.

He'd eluded his pursuers, but with no money he'd been forced to use a highly illegal suggestion on the clerk. Since then, he'd lost track of how many times he'd done something similar, using his abilities to fog the minds of airline employees, customs agents and the taxi driver who had conveyed him a hundred miles to this tiny village clinging to the side of a mountain.

Every incident had been a serious infraction of the law, but what did that matter? If any of his kind caught up with him, he was dead anyway. He just wished he'd thought to find something else to wear after landing in Guadalajara. There weren't a lot of locals in $1200 suits.

Tomas couldn't see the outfit that helped him stand out like a sore thumb, because an altar to the souls of the dead had been placed in front of the mirror. Hand carved wooden skeletons in a variety of poses sat haphazardly on the multi-tiered edifice, each representing one of the bartender's family members who was gone but not forgotten. One hairless skull seemed to grin at him, its tiny hand wrapped around an even tinier bottle of Dos Equis presumably the man's favourite drink. A regular-sized bottle stood nearby, a special treat for the spirit that would come to visit this night. It was El Dia de la Muertos El Dia de la Muertos, the Day of the Dead.

A particularly fitting time, Tomas thought, for a vampire to return home.

At least resentment of the city slicker gave the men something to talk about other than their fear. They didn't relax, being too busy shooting suspicious glances his way, but most of them let go of their weapons. Which is why everyone jumped when a shot exploded against the cracked plaster ceiling.

It was the girl, standing in the middle of the cantina, gun in hand, ignoring the dozen barrels suddenly focused on her head. 'My. Brother,' she repeated, pointing the gun at the bartender, who had lost his forced joviality. 'Where is he?'

'Put your weapon down, senorita senorita. You have no enemies here,' he said, eyeing her with understandable concern. 'And I told you already. No one has seen him.'

'His car is parked by the cemetery. The rental papers have his name on them. And the front seat has his handprint in blood.'

She threw the papers on the bar, but neither they nor her speech seemed to impress the bartender. 'Perhaps, but as I told you, this is a small town. If he had been here, someone would know.'

The gla.s.ses on the shelf behind him suddenly exploded, one by one, like a line of firecrackers. The gun remained in the girl's hand, but she hadn't used it. Tomas slowly set his drink back down.

'Someone here does know. And that someone had better tell me. Now.' Her eyes took in the bar, where most of the men's weapons were still pointed at her. That fact didn't seem to worry her nearly as much as it should have.

'I saw a stranger.' The voice piped up from a table near the door, and a short, stocky man, dressed in the local farmer's uniform of faded jeans, cotton work s.h.i.+rt and straw hat, stood up. 'He was taking photographs of the ceremony, out by the graves.'

'He's a reporter,' the girl agreed. 'He was doing a story on...something...but said he'd meet me here.'

'I told him to go away,' the man said. 'This is a day for the dead and their families. We didn't want him there.'

'But he didn't leave. His car is still there!'

The man shrugged and sat back down. 'He said he was going to photograph the church, and I saw him walking towards town. That's all I know.'

'The church is the white building I saw driving in?'

'Yes.' The bartender spoke before the man could. 'I can show you, if you like.' He motioned for the boy who'd been running in and out all night from the back, clearing off tables and wiping down the bar. 'Paolo can take over for me here.'

'You're going out?'

'But it's almost dark!'

'Are you mad?'

The voices spoke up from all directions, but the bartender shrugged them off. He brought out the shotgun and patted it fondly. 'Ocho ochenta. It's only a short way. And no one should go anywhere alone tonight.'

The murmuring didn't die down, but no one attempted to stop him. Tomas watched them leave, the bartender solicitously opening the door for the girl. His broad smile never wavered, and something about it made Tomas's instincts itch. He gave them a couple of minutes, then slid off his stool and followed.

There was little light, with the sky already dark overhead, the last orange-red rays of the sun boiling away to the west. But his eyes worked better in the dark. And in any case, he could have found his way blindfolded.

The village looked much the same as it had for the last three millennia. Many of its people could trace their ancestry back to the days when the Mayan Empire sent tax collectors here, to reap the benefits of the same plots these farmers still worked. The 500- year-old village where he'd grown up in what was now Peru seemed a young upstart by comparison. It was gone now, bulldozed to make way for a housing development on the rapidly expanding outskirts of Cuzco. But although he hadn't been back here in almost a century, nothing seemed to have changed.

A trail of bright yellow petals led the way to a small church with crumbling stone steps overlooking the jungle that floated like green clouds against the mountains of the Oaxaca. The church was still draped with the flor de muertos flor de muertos, garlands of marigolds, from the morning service. He went in to find the same old wooden crucifix on the altar, surrounded by flickering votive candles and facing rows of empty pews. He edged around it and paused by the back door, where the sweet, pungent smell of incense mingled with the damp, musty odor of the jungle. Beyond it, out in the twilight, he caught a whiff of the girl's perfume.

The church faced the red earth of town's only street. Behind it, the jungle washed up almost to the steps, except for the area where a small cemetery spilled down the hillside. It had never been moved despite each summer storm threatening to wash the bodies out of their shallow graves and into the valley below.

Tomas picked his way down a marigold-strewn path to the cemetery gate, pausing beside a statue of La Calaca La Calaca. The skeleton lady was holding a placard with her usual warning: 'Today me, tomorrow you.' In many such villages, families stayed all night at the graves of their dead, waiting to welcome the spirits that returned to partake of their offerings. But not in this one. Only four people stood among the flower decked crosses and scattered graves, and only two of them were alive.

There was little light left, other than a few burning votives here and there, s.h.i.+ning among the graves. But Tomas didn't need it to recognize the new additions. The wind was blowing towards him and it carried their scents clearly: Rico and Miguel, two thugs in the employ of the monster he'd travelled a thousand miles to kill.

'I saw her. She shattered them with some kind of spell.' The bartender was talking, while Rico held onto the girl.

'Why carry all this?' Miguel held one of the girl's guns negligently in one hand, with the rest tucked into his belt. 'If she's so powerful?'

'I'm telling you, she's some kind of witch,' the bartender said stubbornly. 'That mage I sent you this morning was her brother. She came looking for him.'

'Where did you take him?' The girl demanded, her voicefull of cold, brittle anger.

Everyone ignored her. 'Her aura feels strange,' Miguel said, running a hand an inch or so above her body. 'Not human, but not exactly mage, either.'

'What are you girl?' Rico demanded, his breath in her face. She didn't flinch, despite the fact that she had to be able to see his fangs at that range. If she hadn't known what the villagers feared before, she certainly did now.

'Tell me what you've done with my brother or I'll show you.' She sounded no more concerned about her predicament than she had at the bar. Tomas couldn't tell if that was bravado or stupidity, but he was leaning toward the latter. Her heart rate had barely sped up, despite the obvious danger.

'What about me?' the bartender demanded. 'You said if I brought you the mage, I was safe. I want my nephew's safety in exchange for this one.'

'That will depend,' Rico said, jerking her close, 'on what she can do. You had better hope one of them is what the master wants, or we'll be taking out the price for our inconvenience in your blood.'

Tomas didn't move, didn't breathe, a lifetime's habit keeping him so still that a small bird lit on a tree branch right in front of his face. But inside, he was reeling. It wasn't the cavalier kidnapping that surprised him. The men's master, a vampire named Alejandro, had been organizing hunts on the Day of the Dead for as long as Tomas had known him.

While families across Mexico were busily collecting delicacies for the dead chocolate for mole mole, fresh eggs for the pan de muerto pan de muerto, cigarettes and mescal Alejandro was collecting treats of his own. Strong, smart, cunning they'd all had some advantage that made them attractive prey. a.s.sembled together, they were always told the same thing: last until morning or escape beyond the borders of Alejandro's lands and win your freedom. They were given flashlights, weapons and maps showing the extent of the ten mile square area he claimed. Then, at midnight, they were released.

No one ever lived to see dawn.

The partic.i.p.ants had changed over the years, from Aztecs to conquistadors to local farmers sprinkled with the occasional American tourist. But one group Alejandro had always left strictly alone were magic users. He liked a challenge, but not prey capable of bringing down the wrath of the Silver Circle, the guardian body of the magical community, on his head. He was twisted, cruel and s.a.d.i.s.tic, but he wasn't crazy. At least, he hadn't been before. It seemed that some things had changed around here, after all.

'I told you to let go of me.'

The girl's heart rate had finally sped up, but Tomas didn't think it was from fear. Her complexion was flushed and her eyes were bright, but she wasn't trembling, wasn't panicking. And there was something wrong about that. Because even if she was a witch, at three to one odds, with two of the three being master vampires, most magic users would be more than a little intimidated. His estimate of her intelligence took another dive, just as what felt like a silent thunderclap exploded in the air all around him.

A shockwave ran through the ground, s.h.i.+vering through his body like a jolt to his funny bone. It shook the surrounding trees and caused the dusty soil to rise up like steam. The little bird took off in a startled flutter of wings and Tomas made a grab for the limb it had been sitting on, catching hold just as the ground beneath his feet began to buck and slide. Within seconds the slide became a torrent of red earth heading for the side of the mountain and a drop of more than a mile.

The bartender lost his footing and went down, hitting his head against the side of a ma.s.sive oak. It must have knocked him out, because the last Tomas saw of him was his body tumbling over the cliff, still limp as a ragdoll. The two vampires jumped for the trees on the opposite side of the path, out of the main rush of earth. They made it, but the girl wasn't so lucky. She fell into the cras.h.i.+ng stream of rocks, foliage and dirt, her scream lost in the roar of half a mountainside sluicing away.

Tomas hadn't wanted to get close enough for the vampires to scent him, but it meant that she was too far away for him to grab. She managed to catch hold of a tree stump in the middle of the sliding ma.s.s, but she was getting pounded by a hail of debris. Tomas tried to tell himself that she could hold on, that he didn't have to risk being seen by Alejandro's men on a dangerous rescue attempt. He didn't mind the thought of dying so much considering what he was about to face, that was pretty much inevitable but he was d.a.m.ned if he wasn't going to take Alejandro with him.

Then the church bell began to chime, its plaintive call cutting through the sound of the earthquake, reverberating across the valley only to be thrown back by the nearby hills. Tomas glanced behind him to see the back end of the old building hanging precariously over nothing at all, its foundation half gone in the landslide. With a shudder and a crack, the church broke in half, the heavy stones of its colonial-era construction beginning to crumble.Some of them were ancient, having been looted by the builders from nearby Mayan ruins, and weighed hundreds of pounds apiece. Even if the girl managed to hold on to her precarious perch, they would sweep her over the mountainside or break her into pieces where she lay.

Bile rolled up thick in his throat. Alejandro had wanted to make a monster of him, a carbon copy of himself. But he'd probably be pleased enough at the thought that he'd turned Tomas into someone who would stand by and watch an innocent die because saving her might cost him something. He might never live to kill that creature, but he wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Tomas let go of the limb and leapt for the one spot of color in the darkness, the girl's pale face, using her as a beacon to guide him through the hail of falling debris. He reached her just before the first of the ancient stones did, grabbed her around the waist and leapt for the side of the path that remained half stable. It was the one where his old a.s.sociates were trying to scramble to steadier ground, but at the moment, that seemed a minor issue.

Despite senses that made the falling hillside look as if it was doing so in slow motion, he couldn't dodge everything. He twisted to avoid a stone taller than him, and slammed into a smaller one he hadn't even seen. He heard his left knee break, but all he felt was a curious popping sensation, no real pain not yet and then they were landing on a surface that wasn't falling but was far from steady.

Tomas rolled and got up on his good knee in time to block a savage kick from Miguel. He'd hoped that, in the confusion and danger, his old comrades might not have recognized him, but no such luck. Miguel hit a nearby tree hard, but flipped back onto his feet almost immediately and was back before Tomas could regain his stance.

Powerful hands choked him, setting spots dancing in front of his eyes as he grabbed his a.s.sailant's arms, trying to keep his throat uncrushed. He pushed Miguel's arm the wrong way back until he heard the elbow crack. The vamp didn't let go, but his hold weakened enough for Tomas to twist and get an arm into his stomach, using all his strength to send him staggering into the path of the falling church. One of the tumbling pews caught Miguel on the side of his head, knocking him back against the newly created embankment, where the heavy wooden cross from the altar pinned him with the force of a sledgehammer.

It wasn't quite a stake, but it seemed to do the trick, Tomas thought dazedly, right before something long and sharp slammed into his side. 'So the traitor has come back at last,' Rico hissed in his ear, twisting a shard of wood so that it sc.r.a.ped along his ribs, sending stabs of hot pain all up and down his midsection. 'Allow me to be the first to welcome you home.'

Tomas jerked away before the sliver could reach his heart, but his knee wouldn't support him and he stumbled. He felt the hillside disintegrate under his foot, then he was falling, tumbling halfway down the side of the embankment. He grasped the top of a coffin, one of many now sticking out of the newly churned earth, and the lid popped open just in time to intercept another slice from Rico's stake. A pale, silverfish-grey arm flopped out of the tilted casket, and Tomas sent its owner a silent apology before breaking off the limb to use as a makes.h.i.+ft weapon.

He spun to see Rico a few feet away, his hand raised as if to strike. Only the blow never fell. Rico jerked once, twice, then he dropped, falling along with the last of the debris into the valley below. For a moment, Tomas didn't understand what had happened. Then a cascade of spent shotgun sh.e.l.ls tumbled down the embankment, rattling against the coffin lid like bones, and he looked up to see a pair of slanting hazel eyes staring down at him.

'Are you all right?' The girl's blood was dripping onto his face, a soft wet plucking like a light rain.

'I should be asking you that,' he said, struggling to get back over the edge with only one good leg.

He felt it when his skin absorbed her blood, soaking it up like water on parched earth, using it to begin repairs on the damage he'd suffered. But it wasn't enough to do much good. What he needed was a true feeding, something he hadn't taken time for recently. It had cost him in the fight; he couldn't afford to let it lessen his already slim chances against Alejandro.

He paused by Miguel's impaled body, still full of the blood he'd recently stolen, some of it already pooling in his eye sockets. The sight worked on Tomas the way the smell of a feast would on a starving human. His mouth began to water and his fangs to lengthen without any conscious command from him. He would have delayed it, would have gotten rid of the girl first, but he couldn't risk having the blood coagulate and lose the energy it contained.

'I have to feed,' he said simply.

Instead of recoiling as he'd expected, she merely took in his injuries with an experienced eye. 'Yeah. Heroics have a way of coming back and biting you in the a.s.s. But when you're done, we need to talk.'

He nodded and hunched over Miguel so at least she wouldn't have to watch. Tomas couldn't remember the last time he'd fed from another vampire, but he quickly recalled why it wasn't a common practice. The reused blood nourished him, the lightheaded rush of feeding giving the same almost narcotic high as always, but the taste was like metal in his mouth.

He forced himself to finish, trying to concentrate on the feel of his cracked ribs re-knitting, on the tear in his side mending and on the grating sensation in his knee slowly fading. The healing of wounds, especially if done so quickly, was excruciating and this was no exception. Tears had leaked out of the corners of his eyes by the time he was finished, forced out by the pain, but Tomas didn't mind. Pain was good. Pain meant he was still alive.

'I hate it when that happens.'

Tomas looked up to find the girl scowling around at the cemetery. Or what was left of it. A huge swath had been carved out of the middle, where nothing but slick red earth remained. On either side, coffins stuck out of the ground like bony fingers, with a few marigold crosses scattered here and there haphazardly.

Up above, on the crest of the hill, the remaining half of the church swayed dangerously on its ancient foundations. One last pew teetered precariously on the edge of the abyss, half in and half out of the structure. Inside the church, a single candle still burned.

'You handle yourself pretty well in a fight,' she continued, as Tomas rose from Miguel's exsanguinated corpse.

'I've had some practice.'

She gave a sputtering laugh, short and mocking. 'Yeah. I bet.'

Tomas pulled himself over the edge and examined her. Amazingly, she seemed to be all right. There was a shallow cut on her forehead and few sc.r.a.pes and scratches here and there, but nothing serious. It was little short of miraculous.

'We need to talk, but we ought to get out of here,' she said, slinging her shotgun over her back again. He'd heard her reloading while he fed. 'Half the village is likely to be here any minute.'

Tomas sat down on the edge of a stone bearing weathered Mayan hieroglyphs. 'I doubt it,' he said wryly.

She studied him silently for a moment, then plopped down alongside. 'Want to fill me in?'

'This is the Day of the Dead. And in this area, that term has always had more than one meaning.' He spent a few minutes sketching out for her Alejandro's idea of a good time, making it as clinical and unemotional as he could. It didn't seem to help.

'Let me get this straight. That son of a b.i.t.c.h has taken my brother to use in his stupid games?'

'Possibly,' Tomas agreed. 'Although I can't understand it. He never took magic users before.'

'Maybe he got bored. Wanted more of a challenge.'

'Does a cat get tired of playing with lizards or mice, and attack the neighborhood dog instead? Preying on weaker creatures is Alejandro's nature. But if your brother is a mage, he wouldn't fall into that category.'

'His type of magic isn't likely to help him much,' she said curtly.

'I don't understand.'