Jesus, Culebra. He’s shooting all the men. Wounding them but not killing them.

A spark of dark humor comes through. Of course not. Can’t deplete his workforce by killing them, can he?

What the fuck should I do?

Nothing. Culebra’s tone is obstinate, resolute. There’s nothing you can do. Protect the girls.

I won’t him let him shoot the children. If he starts shooting the children—

Then do what you must.

I watch in disbelief and wait for the shooting to stop. It does, ten rounds later. All the men lie on the ground, moaning, bleeding, their wives and children cowering around them. The smell of spilled blood reaches me inside the church, makes vampire urges flex and chafe to be set free.

Luis, satisfied at last that the villagers knew nothing of how the girls escaped, turns and starts back to his shack. His guards stand by wide-eyed with fear at what Luis will do next. He stops at the door and barks an order that sends them scurrying around the perimeter of the village to expand the search. They leave eagerly, anxious for any excuse to put distance between themselves and their rabid boss.

No one comes near the church again.

I should have stopped him, I tell Culebra.

And then what? We’d be no better off. We don’t want Luis, we want his brother. When Ramon comes back and we have Max on our side, then we act.

I think you want Ramon more than you want Santiago, I say quietly.

He doesn’t deny it. His thoughts are suddenly closed to me.

Why?

His mind doesn’t reopen to me for a full minute. Then, I heard something Ramon said to one of the guards. When he was beating me. He took credit for killing my family. For leaving me to die in that burning car.

I thought you said it was the boss.

I wasn’t there when my family was killed. I always figured it was the boss. I didn’t see who was in the car when I was shot. But today, I learned the truth. I heard it from Ramon’s own lips.

I think of hearing Luis tell his men that Culebra was responsible for the minister’s death. How his brother would kill him. Ramon was setting him up again. Culebra, there’s more—

A sound from the direction of the vestibule. A scraping, like a person struggling to stand up. A moan.

Culebra, I have to go. The girls are coming to.

The next instant he’s gone and I’m rushing to the vestibule. When I open the door, one of the girls is on her feet, wild-eyed and looking around frantically. I see it in her eyes—she’s looking for a weapon. When she sees me and realizes it isn’t Luis or one of his men, her expression shifts to confusion. But the instinct to fight remains strong. She backs into a corner, her fists balled at her side.

I hold up my hands. “I won’t hurt you,” I whisper in Spanish. I put a finger to my lips and glance toward the window. “You must be quiet. El Jefe is looking for you.”

The name ignites fear in her eyes but also understanding. She hasn’t been here long enough to have been reduced to the state Adelita was. Her clothes are still intact on her small frame, her hair still shiny and held back from her childlike face with a barrette. She can’t be more than fourteen.

The others begin to regain consciousness, too. One retches from the effects of the drug, her shoulders heaving. I hold her hair away from her face. The girl who first awoke steps beside me and takes my place, holding the sick girl’s head and crooning softly to her.

She calls her hermana—sister. This one can’t be more than twelve.

Revulsion comes in waves of red-hot fury. I want Luis to find us so I can tear him to pieces in front of this child’s eyes.

Not yet, Anna. Culebra has honed in on my emotions. You will get your chance, I promise you.

Luis is mine.

He is yours.

The young girl has stopped heaving. The older sister hugs her to her chest, whispering that they must be quiet. All four now huddle together, eyes on me.

I want nothing more than to give them the assurance they seek. That I can wake them from this nightmare and get them to safety.

I need a plan. And I need a diversion.

I need Max.

IT’S FULL DAYLIGHT NOW AND I LOOK AT MY WATCH. Ten minutes before I can turn on my cell and try to reach Max. A glance around at the girls looking to me for salvation makes my heart feel heavy in my chest. How long can we hide here before someone thinks to look more closely in the church?

At eight, I switch on the cell. The power indicator reads two bars. Less than half power. I pull up Max’s number and press Send.

He picks up right away. “Are you all right?”

“Did you get Adelita to safety?”

There’s just the slightest hesitation, but it’s enough to jump start my heart. “Max? Where’s Adelita?”

He snaps back. “Relax, Anna. She’s okay. She’s in a safe house on the U.S. side of the river.”

I let out a breath. “Good. Here’s the situation. I got four girls away from Santiago’s brother, Luis, and we’re hiding in a church building in the village. I don’t know how much time we have before they look for us in the one place they haven’t searched. It might not be long.”

“Where’s Culebra?”

I tell him quickly and succinctly what’s happening to Culebra. What I don’t tell him is that Ramon was one of the bastards that attacked him all those years ago. Some news is better left delivered in person. I finish up with, “How long before you get to us?”

“I’m already on the way. Do you have the duffel?”

“You mean the one with the arsenal inside? Yes. Nice thinking, by the way.”

“I should reach you in four hours. I’ll contact you when I get close.”

“No Maria sightings?”

“No. You must have done a good job on that door. Shut your phone down now. Conserve power.”

He says good-bye and disconnects. I do the same, noticing I’m down to just one bar now as I power the phone off.

The girls have been watching me whisper into the phone. They don’t say a word when I shove it into my pocket, waiting, I guess, for me to give them some kind of signal that we can leave now.

Instead, I tell them something that makes their faces grow even tauter with concern. I have to leave them. I need to get the duffel. The weapons inside may be their best hope yet to making it out alive.

The older girl has assumed the role of protector. She listens to what I tell them I must do. My Spanish must be getting better, because she nods and pulls the others into a close circle. “We will be waiting for your return,” she says. In English. “I will keep them quiet. Please hurry. We have been without food and water since yesterday morning. I don’t know how much longer the little ones can last.”

At fourteen or so, she is the oldest of the four by two or three years. She is the most physically developed, her sister and the others are barely into puberty. The tear-streaked faces of “the little ones” burn into my brain. Luis’ appetite has not only grown, it’s gotten more perverse. I look around the church, trying to understand how men can perpetuate such horror on children.

No answer comes.

This used to be a place of worship. My head spins at the paradox. God created men like Luis in his own image? Then maybe god created this vampire to be his retribution.

IT’S GROWN VERY QUIET IN THE VILLAGE. THE WOMEN have taken their men back into their shacks. There is just the occasional muffled cry as a wound is being tended. I can only imagine the primitive tools they’re using to extract those bullets.

Should I feel sympathy? I can’t. Bastards let little girls be tortured under their noses. I hope it hurts like hell.