Vampires of El Norte

by Isabel Cañas

Ever since she was old enough to bleed, she became something to be sent away. Something to be bartered like meat or salt in exchange for a powerful relationship, in exchange for more cattle or land or vaqueros.

Javiera inhaled sharply. “That face,” she whispered into Nena’s shoulder. “In my dream. It had no eyes. And teeth, so many teeth . . .”

A monster clawed its way forth from within the man’s body, slick with viscera, wet as a birth, its long teeth bared.

He dropped his eyes to her mouth. The space between his lips and hers was candescent with promise. One short movement was all it would take to steal a kiss, to lose himself in her.

“I couldn’t face it,” he said. “A world without you. I am not brave enough.”

“Buenas tardes, señor,” he said, voice falsely bright. “I am a poor vaquero with a sordid history, and this beautiful woman is the daughter of some rancho’s patrón. What’s that, you ask? Why are we alone in the chaparral, looking very much worse for the wear and clearly running from something? Well, for that I have a perfectly reasonable answer. Vampires, señor. We are running from vampires.”