Immortal pleasures, p.26
Immortal Pleasures, page 26
The entire time I could not stop thinking about being abandoned. All that work, and hope. My soul was crushed. When I thought of what Chantico would say, my mind went blank. Maybe all the lonely vampires were alone for good reason. At the very least, I will finally get to see the death of Hernán Cortés. I’ll have to settle for vengeance over love after all.
Cuauhtémoc is waiting for me on the tarmac when I arrive. “The mother of the mestizo is back and she has brought her long-dead master Hernán Cortés with her.”
“I’m glad you find it amusing.”
“No, not at all. The irony and blessing. He can face real justice. Thank you for this ancient gift. It is priceless.”
“So where do you have me staying?”
“A villa not far from the church where we will lure him to. Behind me is the car that will take you there. There is plenty of bagged blood, but if you require fresh, then I can arrange whatever type of human you like. And my driver is one of my best fighters. You need not feel unprotected.”
This statement makes me think of Alex, how it hurts not to have him here with me. I want to know where he is. Is he okay? I’ve never missed anyone like I miss him.
“Great, another man who doesn’t think I can handle myself.”
“I know you can, but we take no chances. This is our opportunity. Don’t look so sad, Malinalli. Life is full of surprises. Like you delivering the devil to my doorstep.”
* * *
The drive to the villa is quiet. It feels good to be home. The sunshine through the open window makes me smile despite the throbbing sorrow in my heart. How I wanted to share this with Alex. To share all this existence with him. All I can attempt to do is harden myself to the pain like I always have before and move on. I didn’t survive this long crying about the poison darts in my heart—I pulled them out and ignored the pain. But I wonder if the agony of his absence or the promise of true love will ever heal. My phone pings. It is John.
We landed. We go after dark to avoid human eyes or needless victims. See you at Cholula.
* * *
As I walk into the room, I can smell him. My heart leaps.
I didn’t expect to see Alex again, had been prepared to take it all on alone, but here he is.
“Malinalli. I’m sorry I left you like that. My fear of loving you and what that means for the rest of my life got the best of me. Like I said, I only do forever.”
Alex takes a step closer to me. His energy saturates me with sunlight. I can’t stop myself from allowing him to put his arms around me despite feeling furious at his silence. “I will never abandon you or give you anything less than what you deserve. You can trust me.”
“Why did you?” I scream. “And how did you know I was here?”
He kisses me with the softness of rabbit fur. Those lips and his body feel like they belong to me. “When you left I could feel my life drifting away. I felt guilty I couldn’t protect you and might not have the chance. I felt I would rather die than love you and lose you. Part of me felt I didn’t deserve your love.
“Then I saw what Hernán would do if he caught you. His rage sounded like a gong in my brain. There was no way I could let that happen. Max was dead, but his blood still fresh enough…I had no choice. I drank what I could of him, then buried him before burying myself beneath the soil to continue to recover and try to sense Hernán.
“Then Cuauhtémoc—damn, he is powerful—spoke to me while I lay there in the cemetery. He told me your plan. I dragged myself out of the dirt to come to you.”
Alex hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”
I throw my arms around him. “I will bury you myself if you ever do that again.”
He kisses my forehead. “Fair enough. What happens next?”
I pull away and grab my phone. “Fuck. John says Hernán is on the run and is heading to where he thinks I am.”
“And where is that?”
The blood in my belly sours. “Where I once stood by him during a massacre. Now he will know the pain of true death.”
* * *
We stare at Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de los Remedios, the church built on the site of the temple of Cholula. “A fitting place for Hernán to die,” I say. My desire to kill has not been this strong for a very long time.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Alex squeezes my hand. Within seconds I am bolting toward the church. I can smell at least twenty vampires surrounding it, but can’t see them. No one stops us because we have safe passage. I push the heavy doors open.
Hernán crouches at the altar, snarling, with fresh human blood dripping from his body. If demons existed, they would look like him at that moment, with his eyes intent on torture and pain. The scent of other vampires fills the vestibule.
Hernán sneers at Alex and me. His eyes morph from red to black. The veins in his neck protrude as thick as the ones in his arms. He appears even more deranged than in the cemetery. “The two traitors have each other at long last. What a quaint love story that will now meet its unhappy ending.”
“I hope you didn’t forget about me, cabrón.”
Hernán bites at the air to his right, hearing the voice. Cuauhtémoc stands bare-chested in jeans, his eyes glowing red and nails sharpened to points. His black hair is loose to his shoulders. A large, colorful tattoo of the feathered serpent Quetzalcoatl snakes across his entire chest and onto his back. He has bloodlust in his eyes, not to be mistaken for mere hunger.
“I keep my word, and I vowed to kill you if you ever set foot here again.”
“All of your kind…filthy. Your stories and your people don’t matter. Look at the world. No one cares about your people. In fact, look how they are treated, like common criminals. Spain might not be an empire any longer; however, it is respected in Europe as your country is not.”
My hate makes me shake hearing this. It reflects everything I’ve ever encountered and felt as a Brown woman. His words are cruel but hold truth about how the descendants of this land are treated and viewed.
“I should have hunted you down after I was created and killed you so you would be rotting in the ground now,” I scream.
Cuauhtémoc walks closer to Hernán with hands flexing. “I should have as well. However, there was a little matter of staving off the atrocities my people were fighting through.”
Without looking at Alex or Cuauhtémoc I run full speed to Hernán, knocking him into the altar below a hanging Jesus Christ. My fangs dig deep into his flesh, but I can’t drink his blood despite wanting to. Instead I rip flesh and veins like my life and soul depend on it.
Hernán grabs a gold chalice on the altar and whips it around at me in blind ferocity. He snarls and moves without direction. Truly blind rage. Cuauhtémoc is by my side when he rips Hernán’s left arm out of the socket. Blood spews across the altar and splatters the cross. The hand lands on the ground, still clutching the chalice. Hernán thrashes and roars, attempting to catch one of us in his grip. He manages to bite a chunk of flesh from Cuauhtémoc’s right forearm. The fallen emperor roars in anger, fueling more of his fight.
Alex stands poised to catch Hernán if he tries to escape again. Blood and viscera continue to fly into the air as our attack doesn’t wane. White lace and gold candelabras drip with crimson. These items would not be here in our country if not for this man.
“Die now!” I scream, with bloody tears streaming down my face. I can feel the shadow of Cuauhtémoc’s mind lurking in mine. Time to end this nightmare once and for all. We both punch through Hernán’s skull and chest with centuries of vengeance and pain. There is no way to recover from those injuries.
He is dead. I look at the man who was once a sort of king.
Cuauhtémoc’s eyes drink in the image of a mutilated Hernán Cortés. “I don’t take kindly to invaders. And this is my territory.”
John walks up the center aisle of the church from the shadows. His face is stained red with eyes fixed on the dead body of Hernán. “Good.”
From the confessional a Black man wearing a black suit emerges. “John Hawkins,” he says.
John looks back and nods. “Sins are meant to be paid for, I suppose. How fitting that it will happen in a church. Kill me now. I am ready. There is nothing left to live for.”
“No, we won’t kill you. You will live a little longer to understand and feel the weight of what you created as a human, and of being a vampire running your despicable sort of business.”
“Again, I will not fight you.”
The Black man stands in front of John and places zip ties on his wrists before shoving a syringe into his neck. “My name is Jacques, and I am here to carry out justice.”
John falls unconscious where he stands. Jacques turns to Alexander. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter. My family will be very pleased at his capture.”
Alexander bows his head. “Thank you for the business. Anytime. Send my regards to everyone. It cannot erase the past, but perhaps it can bring you some peace.”
Jacques turns to Cuauhtémoc. “We should talk about territory. There are more of these cretins walking the world, our world. Let us unite.”
Cuauhtémoc walks toward Jacques and extends his hand. “Yes, as brothers in blood and vengeance, I am open to this. Speak to your council and we shall meet.”
Two Black vampires, both with braids to their waist and wearing suits, approach John’s body. One of them hoists him across his shoulder. Jacques nods to Cuauhtémoc and follows the vampires out the back entrance of the church.
Alexander takes my hand. “We should burn the body, then take a long vacation.”
Cuauhtémoc kicks one of Hernán’s severed limbs out of his way. “I will dispose of this garbage. And if I recall, you have a headdress to get me, Malinalli. Don’t stay away too long.”
I hate owing people anything. But I had agreed to this condition.
“Don’t worry, Cuauhtémoc. I won’t keep you waiting.”
* * *
For now the hunt is over. Instead of keeping the skulls in my home in Tulum, I have them sent to the national museum in Mexico City anonymously. Let them inspire others. Part of me wishes I could fund an entire wing under my known name and identity with items from my entire journey on display to show my pain, evolution, and joy. If I could endure, then anyone could; however, telling my true story is impossible for now, because the world is not ready for vampires.
Alex stands on the balcony of my home in Mexico, overlooking the ocean with his shirt off and his already dark skin a beautiful deep hue. His hair blows in the breeze.
He loves it here in the solitude of my study with books and journals. All that time I spent on my own in the dark and the light was at times soul-crushing in its loneliness, but it also taught me stillness within myself. It prepared me to share my life with another and heal my wounds. Now my inner flame will never be blown out by the slightest drizzle. Being strong first before finding love has been essential. Because now Alexander and I are bound by something greater than ourselves.
Our days here have been a frenzy of lovemaking, in between gathering leads for the next adventure. Cuauhtémoc still wants the Penancho. I’d still like to find Catherine.
But for now, Alex and I celebrate each other in blood and flesh. Maybe one day the world will be ready for the truth of my story and our love story.
Until then, we will walk our immortal path together until our flames are ready to be extinguished.
Dedicated to A.J.D.M. Thank you for being my support and pleasure. And to my ancestors. Thank you for the wellspring of inspiration. Your stories are my stories.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It was my forty-second birthday, my first postdivorce, when I received the call from my agent that Del Rey had acquired The Haunting of Alejandra in a two-book deal. Up until then I had almost given up writing for the millionth time, feeling like my self-belief would simply never be enough to give the world all the stories I held in my heart, the stories exploring my culture and identity. It has always been my mission to carve out space for future generations of women of color.
They say that it takes a village to raise a child; however, I think that the same could be said for writing books! I have to thank Beth Marshea for her constant hustle, taking the time to be present, listening, and being an advocate for even the craziest ideas I pass along to her. She has been a beacon. I also must shout out a woman who has what seem like superpowers—Tricia Narwani. She saw potential in my writing and me. I can’t thank her enough for the time she takes with her edits and notes. There is no denying that I have become a better writer because of her meticulous eye and talent. She is the best in the business.
I also want to acknowledge the readers, journalists, podcasters, and reviewers. Thank you for the constant support on this journey.
BY V. CASTRO
Immortal Pleasures
The Haunting of Alejandra
Mestiza Blood
Queen of the Cicadas
Goddess of Filth
Hairspray and Switchblades
Photo: V. Castro
V. Castro is a two-time Bram Stoker Award–nominated Mexican American writer from San Antonio, Texas, now living in the UK. As a full-time mother she dedicates her time to her family and to writing Latinx narratives in horror, erotic horror, and science fiction. Her most recent releases include Aliens: Vasquez, Mestiza Blood, The Queen of the Cicadas, Goddess of Filth, and The Haunting of Alejandra.
vcastrostories.com
Twitter: @vlatinalondon
Instagram: @vlatinalondon
TikTok: @vcastrobooks
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V. Castro, Immortal Pleasures
