by Ben Stevens
“Ah, ah, ah. Just a taste. If you want more, I want it to be my way. I am not one of your cows.”
Don Luis looked nearly panicked, fighting back his urges to take her right here on the palace ramp. “State your price!” he nearly gasped.
“I want you to drink me in front of everyone. I want them all to see it.” Maya breathed heavily. The panic of Don Luis’s face turned to confusion.
“I want you to drink me at the finale of my concert and then take me as yours, make me your second wife… I want you to turn me.”
When he smiled, with his eyes red and his fangs grown, Maya knew for sure what the devil looked like, and she also knew without a doubt that she had him.
12
“How long is this dinner supposed to last?” Lucy asked the two thugs guarding the hall’s doors.
“Until it’s finished,” one of the two men said, smirking, causing the other to laugh.
Lucy smiled back, though not at the joke. She was smiling at the mental image she had of ripping the man into pieces. Her painted eyes fluttered, and her smile widened.
“Charming,” she said.
“Annoying is more like it. Why don’t you go have a seat over there?” The tough scowled at her and pointed with a finger.
I’d like to rip that finger off and stick it up your ass.
“I will continue to remain here and be annoying until you tell me how much longer it’s going to be.”
“Vete a la mierda, niñita. Or I will make you. We ain’t gonna interrupt the king’s dinner date for nothing.” The tough stepped away from the wall where he had been leaning and stood up as straight as he could, puffing out his chest.
Lucy did not back down, but altered her smile to show her teeth.
“You can either interrupt his date by simply peeking in and letting me know what is taking so long, or I will interrupt from out here by making so much noise that you will wish you had. I start screaming in three, two, one—”
“Okay, okay! Esta bien!” the tough said, shaking his head. “Be right back.”
“Muchas gracias,” Lucy replied, her smile vanishing in an instant.
She watched the man disappear into the dining hall and heard some muffled conversation on the other side of the door. A short minute later, the man returned.
“Well?” she asked.
“They aren’t there,” the tough reported.
“¿Qué?” Lucy felt her enhanced nervous system switch into battle mode. She had to restrain herself from launching her BFG into her waiting hand and releasing the dogs of war on these two, and the whole city if need be.
“Relax, chica. They went for a walk. Your friend will meet you back in your room. You can go now.” The man smiled and crossed his tree trunk arms in front of his chest.
Lucy wasn’t one to panic, but she came close. She knew well the monstrous nature of the people they were dealing with, and the idea of her lady being off with one, unprotected, rattled her to her machine core. Every bit of her programming wanted to spring into action, to find and rescue Maya, but part of her restrained herself. If she laid into these guys now and went tearing through the palace, they could forget any chance they had of re-supplying. Not to mention, she might inadvertently put them all in such danger as to make escape from the city impossible. As much as she hated it, she would have to hope that Maya was not in danger, or, if she was, that she would be able to take care of herself.
Damn it all!
The least she could do was find Ratt, and then together maybe they could track down Maya and get the hell out of this city. Jon had been right. Coming here was proving to be a big mistake. No amount of transportation or food would be worth it if they themselves ended up on the menu.
Lucy made for the exit and, finding it, stood on the threshold, looking out over New Puebla by night. Not for the first time since being reborn at the hands of Warbak’s top man, Matiaba, she hated her embellished appearance. Her ghastly visage was known, known and feared in the Shanty, but here? How would the average citizen react to seeing her? She cursed again, lamenting the lack of even a hood to hide her painted face, and stepped out into the streets.
Now where did the little twerp get himself to?
Lucy wandered the streets like a ghost haunting a place not its own. She tried not to look panicked or otherwise draw attention to herself, but failed at every turn. Human and vampire alike cast strange glances at her whenever they came near, no doubt wondering who she was, why she looked like painted death, and why she didn’t smell of blood.
This is no good, she thought, avoiding the confused stares of the undead, and looked for an alley or dimmer path that she could navigate, hoping the darkness would help obscure her unusual appearance.
She found just such a street before long and ducked into it, instantly wondering what she was thinking. The street was only dimly lit by the glow of cook fires in the windows of the hovels that lined it, and was devoid of foot traffic, which in turn meant devoid of Ratt.
This is pointless. Maybe the best thing to do is just to go back to our suite and wait. Her thoughts and the futility of her situation pained her, but she didn’t see many other options. If she kept wandering the city, it was probably only a matter of time before someone questioned her, or accosted her, and then she would have no choice but to show them what she was really made of.
She was about to turn around and head back to the main thoroughfare, when she rounded a sharp corner and startled two children who were busying themselves picking through a pile of garbage.
“Santa Muerta!” one of the children gasped, bolting upright and freezing in place before Lucy like a prisoner in front of a firing squad.
“Hey, easy there. I won’t hurt you,” Lucy said as softly as possible. In her mind’s eye, the dirty children before her transformed and became the children of Underground, pickers, the ones that Home forgot, trying to eke out a small measure of survival by sifting through the refuse of the Ziggurat. Without even knowing their story, Lucy pitied the pair of waifs before her every bit as much as she had pitied the children who lived in the buried ghost city of Denver-That-Was.
“Eres el diablo?” the second child asked, also frozen in place, hands full of rotten produce and trembling.
“Am I the devil?” Lucy repeated the question, the child’s words breaking her phantom heart. It pained her to see fear in the children’s dirty faces. In a better world, ones as tender as these should be innocent and full of joy, not covered in filth, starving, and afraid of the devil.
“No, sweet one. I am a friend. Amiga.” She touched one hand to her chest and smiled at them. “Mi nombre es Lucy.”
“Eres humana?” the first child asked, her body language showing that she was on the cusp of relaxing a little.
“Yes, little one. I am a human.” In a manner of speaking.
Lucy crouched down to the two girls’ level.
“Aren’t you afraid of the curfew?” the second girl asked. Lucy could see now that she was the older of the two. Big sister, most likely. Lucy squinted, curious to know more, so tried her hand at prompting further conversation.
“Curfew?” she asked the girls.
“Humans can’t be out this late. It’s the rules,” they explained.
“Well, you two are out,” Lucy pointed out and instantly regretted it, seeing fear return to their young faces.
“Are you policía?” the older girl asked. “Will you report us?”
“No, niña. Your secret is safe with me. You’re not going to report me, are you? I know I’ve been naughty too.” Lucy deftly turned the tables on the girls and caused them to laugh a little.
“What are your names?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Camila,” the younger said.
“Maria,” the older said.
“It’s nice to meet you both.” Lucy smiled. A thought flashed in her mind. She plucked both of her lapel-mounted LED flashlights from her trench coat and flicked them on. The girls’ eyes l
it up with delight at the soft but strong blue-white lights.
“These are special. They have very strong batteries, muy fuerte, yeah? They will last for many, many moons. Here, you can have them.” Lucy gave the girls one each and watched with joy as the children turned them off and on again, clearly impressed.
“Do you two live around here?” Lucy asked, happy that the kids were happy.
“Si!” they replied in unison. “Just around the corner,” Maria added.
“That’s great!” Lucy said. “I’m not from here. I’m visiting.”
The girls both stopped in their playful examinations of the flashlights and looked at Lucy in puzzlement.
“Vis-eh-teen?” Camila asked, joining the word’s syllables together slowly as if she had never heard it before.
“Yeah, I’m a visitor. A desconocido. Do you understand?”
The girl’s heads nodded in the affirmative, but their eyes told a different story.
Lucy almost asked them if they knew where she could trade for some food, but then remembered how she had just found them, digging in a trash midden, hands full of shriveled and bruised tubers.
“You two enjoy those flashlights and stay safe, okay? Run along home now,” she said, standing back upright.
“Si Claro!” the girls said. Then, “Wait, Miss Lucy?” Maria asked.
Lucy turned to the oldest girl, impressed with the child’s manners.
“Yes, Maria?”
“May I please ask you a question?”
Lucy tried not to laugh at the sheer adorableness of the child. “Of course.”
“Why do you look like that?”
Lucy smiled at the girl, masking the pain the question brought. She thought for a minute about how to proceed, and then told the girl a story.
“Well, you know the Sante Muerta is only scary-looking, right?”
The girls nodded vigorously.
“Okay, well, you see, I am just like her. I look scary because I punish the bad people. I’m only scary to them, not to good little girls like you. I help the good people.”
“You punish the bad men?” Camila asked, her eyes lighting up.
“Yes, little one. I go around and scare them and make them not do bad things anymore.”
“Maria!” Camila nearly shouted. “She does what Eduardo wants to do!”
Maria’s face paled and her eyes shot daggers at her little sister. Lucy watched them both carefully, thinking she knew what was going on. Being a soldier in an underground resistance taught you things.
“Who is Eduardo?” Lucy asked, trying to sound kind and innocent. And why does he want to stop bad men?
“He—uh… he is our… Hermano mayor,” Maria said, looking down, actively avoiding eye contact with Lucy.
“Older brother, huh? Hey, it’s okay. You can trust me.” Lucy stepped forward and squatted back down. The girl still wouldn’t look up.
“Maybe I can help him stop the bad men. Would you let me help?” Lucy asked softly and reached out to brush away a raven lock of the girl’s hair from her grubby face. “Por favor?”
As much as it pained Lucy to see the girl trust a stranger so easily, she was relieved when Maria lifted her eyes and looked back up at Lucy.
“Okay,” Maria said.
Lucy smiled big and moved her hand to stroke the girl’s cheek.
“Thank you.”
Lucy followed the girls down the dark alley, making small talk the whole way, assuring them that they were safe and that she could be trusted.
Before departing, Lucy had helped to gather up as many edibles from the trash pile as possible and wished to herself that she had some foodstuffs with her, but what little they had were back up the mountain with Jon and Carbine.
Thoughts of Jon and Carbine led her to thoughts of Ratt and Maya. She was still worried about their safety but saw in this a mystery that might prove worth solving. They were here, after all, to obtain as much intel on the city and its ways and means as possible. Lucy had a strong suspicion that this Eduardo might represent a source for vital information, and perhaps an ally.
Eventually, the girls led her to a small home, no bigger than the crew cabin in the transport had been. The house appeared to be hand-built from sun-dried bricks, which peeked through worn gaps in the outer layer of clay-like plaster, all of which bore a deep russet color. A simple doorway and several small windows broke up the flowing, organic-looking curves of the structure, none of which had anything more than a tattered cloth covering them.
“Tu casa?” she asked the girls, a question to which they both nodded yes.
“It’s lovely,” Lucy said, sincerely meaning it, despite the apparent poverty of the dwelling.
Camila disappeared behind the entrance’s curtain, while Maria stood back, beckoning to Lucy with a wave of her hand.
“Mamá!” Maria called out as she led Lucy into her home. “We brought a friend!”
Lucy stepped into a plain, open-floor-style home and was met by the astonished stares of a young man, perhaps around Ratt’s age, and a heavy-set older woman who until that moment had been bent over a large, shallow frying pan.
That Lucy’s appearance was unusual was an understatement, and Lucy knew this, so she didn’t waste a second in attempting to assuage any fear or alarm the home’s tenants may be feeling.
“No se alarmes, I am a friend,” Lucy said, both hands in the air. “Your lovely daughters invited me to join them. I am a stranger to the city and did not know about the curfew.”
The young man had been perched on a stool near the woman, whom Lucy assumed was the mother of all three children. He rose to his feet, fists clenched. Neither of them said a word and only continued to stare at Lucy in shock.
“Please, I mean no harm. I have some questions if you would be so kind.” Lucy could practically feel the apprehension in the room, so redoubled her efforts to calm them.
“I know my visage, my apariencia is unsettling, but I assure you, I harbor no bad intentions to you or your family.”
“What do you want?” the boy, presumably Eduardo, asked.
“Maria and Camila here mentioned something when I told them what I do.”
At this, Maria shifted in place and once more cast her eyes down.
“What you do?” Eduardo asked, clearly confused.
“I told them that I stop bad men.” Taking a risk, Lucy decided to command her right thigh to open, revealing her hidden pistol. She saw both pairs of eyes, Eduardo’s and his mother’s, flick to the weapon. Keeping her hands up where they could see them, she nodded to them, tacitly telling them all they needed to know, and then commanded her thigh-compartment to close back up with a thought.
“I see,” Eduardo said, eyes narrowing.
The mother’s face transformed as suddenly as Lucy’s thigh had, morphing into a pained expression: one part hope, one part merciful begging.
“Our prayers are answered! La Virgen de Guadalupe has sent the Sante Muerte to save us!”
Now it was Lucy’s turn to look shocked. Recovering as quickly as possible, she cocked her head slightly and narrowed her eyes.
“What goes on in this city? Save you from whom? The vampires?”
“Si, Los Vampiros,” Eduardo said. “They are devils. They keep us small, you see? My father stood up to them and now he is gone.”
“Gone?” Lucy asked, watching the mother for a reaction as Eduardo spoke.
“Gone. They took him. They take many of us. People disappear. Never come back. Especially people who can do mágico.”
So people down here can shape Strange too, huh? Interesting.
“Why don’t you all leave if you are in danger? Just pack up and go? Why do you stay submissive to the Vampiros if they harm you?”
At this question, the mother made a sound, like a cry, cut off and stifled. She shook her head slowly as Eduardo’s eyes, too old for his teenaged face, bore into Lucy with impassioned anger.
“Señora,” he said, his voice as flat an
d laced with as much danger as the sides of Lucy’s war-clubs, “they won’t let us leave.”
13
After being ejected from the suite, Ratt found his way out of the palace and onto the streets that they had ridden through on their way in. On foot, he could see more, smell more, and hear more. Up close and personal, the city was more real, more tangible. He noticed strange tattoos on the human citizenry’s necks as well as the intravenous ports installed on their arms, which reminded him of field medicine techniques he had seen employed during the war with Home when he was a child.
He wondered at the tattoos but didn’t ask anyone. He passed some old women with a child sitting on inverted rusty buckets next to what looked like an over-sized frying pan set over a small fire of white ash and red coals. He watched them reach into the pan with simple wooden tongs and flip several small, flat yellow circles—corn tortillas. Even coming from as far to the north as Home, no Latino boy worthy of the name would fail to recognize a corn tortilla when he saw one. This familiar food brought a smile to Ratt’s face, and he waved at the multi-generational group of women. The child stared at him as if he were an alien and the old women scowled.
Friendly neighborhood. Ratt rolled his eyes, hidden behind his tinted lenses, and moved on. He strolled through the night, unmolested for little over an hour, passing homes of such poverty that they would have fit in perfectly in the Shanty or Underground before he stumbled upon the answer to the mystery of the ubiquitous neck tattoos.
Not twenty yards ahead, on the other side of a well-worn, hard-packed mud street, was a line of people stretching off into the distance and around the end of the block. How much longer the line was after that, Ratt could not say. Having illegally read as many books and studied as many pre-Storm films as he could find, Ratt was familiar with pre-Storm history. The scene in front of him evoked memories of images he had seen in an old compilation of ancient magazines.
Ghostly images of a bygone era, all in black and white, of things called “gulag,” “concentration camp,” and “Soviet bread lines.” Every person in this line was human, of that Ratt was sure—no glowing red eyes, no fangs—and every single one of them came equipped with the IV port and neck tattoo. The only people present who didn’t have those accoutrements were the armored soldier-looking types at the front of the line. They were not part of the line but were instead facing the queue, receiving the people in the line, one at a time.
