Karen Chance - The Day of the Dead

The Day of theDead

Karen Chance

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 KarenChance

Smashwords Edition LicenseNotes

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Im looking for mybrother, the girl repeated, for the third time. Her accent wasterrible, New Jersey meets Mexico City, making her difficult tounderstand, but Tomas doubted that that was the problem. Thelargely male crowd in the small cantina werent interested ina gaba with a sobstory, even one who was tall and slim, with slanting hazel eyes andlong black hair.

Japanese ancestry, Tomas decided, ormaybe Korean. There might be some Italian, too, based on the slightwave in her hair and the Roman nose, which was a little tooprominent for her slender face. She was arresting, rather thanpretty, the kind of woman youd remember, although her outfit wouldprobably have insured that anyway. He approved of the tight cargopants and the short leather jacket. But the shotgun she wore on astrap slung over her shoulder and the handgun at her waist tookaway from the effect.

Hes nineteen, shecontinued stubbornly. Black hair, brown eyes, 6 foot 2

The bartender suddenly snapped toattention, but he wasnt looking at her. His hand slid under thecounter to rest on the shotgun he kept there. Tomas hadnt seen it,but hed smelled the old gun oil and faint powder traces as soon ashe walked in. But the man who slammed in through the door wasmerely human.

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

The man shook his head, lookingvaguely green under the cantinas bare bulbs. I thought I heardsomething behind me, he said shakily, joining a few friends at analready overcrowded table. On the way back from thecemetery.

You shouldnt have beenthere so late, one of his friends reproached, sliding him a drink.Not tonight.

I lost track of time. Iwas visiting Elias grave and

Aguas! You will do your daughter no good by joiningher!

There was frightened muttering for amoment, and several patrons stopped fingering their weapons toactually draw them. Tomas had the distinct impression that the nexttime 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 alaugh, and slid another round onto the mens table. I wouldntworry, he said heartily. From what I hear, even your Consueladoesnt want you. Why would the monsters?

The room erupted into relievedlaughter as the man, his fright forgotten, stood up to angrilydefend his manhood. She ran off with some wealthy bastard, hesaid, shooting Tomas an evil look.

Tomas calmly sipped mescal and didntrespond. But he wished for about the hundredth time that hed givena little more thought to blending in. His reflection in the chippedmirror behind the bar, while not Anglo, stood out as much as thegirls.

The high cheekbones and straight blackhair of his Incan mother had mixed with the golden skin andEuropean features of his Spanish father, resulting in a combinationthat many people seemed to find attractive. Hed always found it aninconvenient reminder of the domination of one half of his ancestryby the other. The conquest of a continent written on hisface.

He couldnt honestly blame the localsfor mistaking him for a wealthy city dweller, despite the fact thathed been born into a village even poorer than this one and wascurrently completely broke. Hed picked up his outfit, a dark bluesuit and pale grey tie, at an airport shop at JFK. Hed needed adisguise, and the suit, along with a leather briefcase and a quicksession with a pocket knife in front of a mens room mirror, hadchanged him from a laid-back college student with a ponytail to athirty-something businessman in a hurry.

Hed eluded his pursuers, but with nomoney hed been forced to use a highly illegal suggestion on theclerk. Since then, hed lost track of how many times hed donesomething similar, using his abilities to fog the minds of airlineemployees, customs agents and the taxi driver who had conveyed hima hundred miles to this tiny village clinging to the side of amountain.

Every incident had been a seriousinfraction of the law, but what did that matter? If any of his kindcaught up with him, he was dead anyway. He just wished hed thoughtto find something else to wear after landing in Guadalajara. Therewerent a lot of locals in $1200 suits.

Tomas couldnt see theoutfit that helped him stand out like a sore thumb, because analtar to the souls of the dead had been placed in front of themirror. Hand carved wooden skeletons in a variety of poses sathaphazardly on the multi-tiered edifice, each representing one ofthe bartenders family members who was gone but not forgotten. Onehairless skull seemed to grin at him, its tiny hand wrapped aroundan even tinier bottle of Dos Equis presumably the mans favouritedrink. A regular-sized bottle stood nearby, a special treat for thespirit that would come to visit this night. It was El Dia de la Muertos , theDay of the Dead.

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

At least resentment of the cityslicker gave the men something to talk about other than their fear.They didnt relax, being too busy shooting suspicious glances hisway, but most of them let go of their weapons. Which is whyeveryone jumped when a shot exploded against the cracked plasterceiling.

It was the girl, standing in themiddle of the cantina, gun in hand, ignoring the dozen barrelssuddenly focused on her head. My. Brother, she repeated, pointingthe gun at the bartender, who had lost his forced joviality. Whereis he?

Put your weapondown, senorita .You have no enemies here, he said, eyeing her with understandableconcern. And I told you already. No one has seen him.

His car is parked by thecemetery. The rental papers have his name on them. And the frontseat has his handprint in blood.

She threw the papers on the bar, butneither they nor her speech seemed to impress the bartender.Perhaps, but as I told you, this is a small town. If he had beenhere, someone would know.

The glasses on the shelf behind himsuddenly exploded, one by one, like a line of firecrackers. The gunremained in the girls hand, but she hadnt used it. Tomas slowlyset his drink back down.

Someone here does know.And that someone had better tell me. Now. Her eyes took in thebar, where most of the mens weapons were still pointed at her.That fact didnt seem to worry her nearly as much as it shouldhave.

I saw a stranger. Thevoice piped up from a table near the door, and a short, stocky man,dressed in the local farmers uniform of faded jeans, cotton workshirt and straw hat, stood up. He was taking photographs of theceremony, out by the graves.

Hes a reporter, the girlagreed. He was doing a story on...something...but said hed meetme here.

I told him to go away,the man said. This is a day for the dead and their families. Wedidnt want him there.

But he didnt leave. Hiscar is still there!

The man shrugged and sat back down.He said he was going to photograph the church, and I saw himwalking towards town. Thats all I know.

The church is the whitebuilding I saw driving in?

Yes. The bartender spokebefore the man could. I can show you, if you like. He motionedfor the boy whod been running in and out all night from the back,clearing off tables and wiping down the bar. Paolo can take overfor me here.

Youre goingout?

But its almostdark!

Are you mad?

The voices spoke up fromall directions, but the bartender shrugged them off. He brought outthe shotgun and patted it fondly. Ochoochenta . Its only a short way. And no oneshould go anywhere alone tonight.