Blood of Gato

The neon above the door flickered as if it were freezing and crackled softly. The café smelled of hot oil, pickles, and sweet soda—a scent that promised simple happiness while reminding that happiness is always sticky. Leticia had changed from a dress into a pair of ordinary jeans, worn at the knees, and a T-shirt that read "Ozzy Lives Forever." The black glasses—once Valentin's, now hers—sat crookedly on her nose. William leaned against a stranger's jacket: black, a size too large, smelling of supermarket cologne and cigarettes. They had also found a stash of cash and various trinkets in the dead man's pockets, which they split evenly.

Leticia ate without shame or hesitation, ketchup streaked across her chin, sauce dotted on her cheek. She dipped French fries into the white sauce as if drowning matches, immediately stuffing them into her mouth. William kept pace, devouring a second portion and swallowing in big, uneven chunks, barely chewing. From the outside, one might think that two people and one unruly pig were seated in the corner. Or two pigs in human suits.

"This is paradise," Leticia breathed, not fully swallowing as she reached for her cup. "I swear, paradise smells like lime." She made a hissing sip through the straw, squinted in pleasure, and shook her head. "God, thank you for soda. I love lime soda. What about you?"

William choked on a fry, coughing as if someone had yanked him from the inside, and took a drink as well.

"I like orange. And lemon… that's good too."

"Good choice," she smiled, licking the salt off a fry. "Lime and lemon are almost the same; it's just that lime feels a bit meaner. It perks you up."

They chatted, forgetting their earlier intentions. Leticia chuckled, adjusting her glasses, while William laughed, resting his forehead on his fist. For a moment, it felt like they were just having an ordinary day—just a very hungry one. Soon, William remembered and reminded her, "Um, maybe we should discuss the fact that we killed and buried six people just an hour ago?"

Her hand froze for a moment, and the cardboard boat of fries creaked slightly.

"Let's," she said quietly, wiping her mouth with a napkin and adjusting her glasses higher. "What exactly?"

"You said you owe me now," he tried to smile, but it came out crooked. "I have a question." He reached into the pocket of the stranger's jacket and pulled out a golden frog on a thin chain. "What is this thing, and why did it hurt you when he pressed it against your cheek?"

Leticia seemed to be electrocuted. Her skin paled to a bluish hue, and the corners of her mouth trembled. She didn't hiss—that would have been ridiculous—but the sounds that escaped her chest were too low and rough for a human.

"Put it away," she said dryly, her voice lacking breath. "Get that damned thing away."

He instantly clenched his fist and hid the pendant again. His heart thudded in his throat. A couple at a nearby table, teenagers, stopped poking each other during their gaming battle and looked up.

"Sorry. Okay, okay. Calm down," William whispered. "They're watching us."

Leticia took a deep breath, and as she exhaled, she smiled.

"It almost turned me inside out," she said, taking another sip of soda and grimacing—it was too sweet. "Why don't people get rid of such… relics? This frog is older than all your temples. It's over six thousand years old, can you believe that? Mesopotamia, dust, a river, girls with black hair down to their waists, clay under the nails of the men... and this." She tapped her fist on the table as if striking an invisible object. "I don't know what it was made for, but it's soaked in something that can't simply be called bad. That's too simplistic. All those emotions—anger, longing, envy, hunger—are clumped together into one black mass. It's alive. It whispers."

William fought the urge to check his pocket to see if it was still there. Inside, it felt hot, as if the pendant were warm.

"And even someone like you… a lamia," he lowered his voice, "can't handle it?"

"Even someone like me," she smirked, nudging her sneaker. "When he pressed it to my cheek…" Leticia suddenly fell silent, swallowing hard. "It's like someone poured iron filings into your head and started moving a magnet over it. It sounds like glass cracking, but it's your skull that's breaking. And also…" She winced, searching for the right word. "It got very, very loud. And frighteningly empty. I don't like that."

A waitress approached the table—a woman in her forties with a ponytail and tired eyes.

"Is everything alright? Need more sauces?" she asked quietly, as if afraid to startle them.

"Yes, please," William smiled too widely. "And… can I get another Sprite? With lime, if you have it?"

"We only have regular," she replied, "but I'll add some syrup." She nodded at Leticia. "Cool T-shirt."

"I know," Leticia muttered, then added more softly, "Thanks."

When the waitress left, William whispered again, "What should we do with it? With that frog?"

"Burn it, drown it, toss it down a mine," Leticia snorted. "Any option where no one can get to it. Better yet, water that flows," she glanced at the windows, where the dreary night dripped. "A river. Or sell it to some antiquities lover for a hefty sum and let them lose their mind instead of you. But seriously, get rid of it. It clings. To people. To places."

He nodded silently. His fingers trembled. The skin still held the scent of wet earth, and under his nails darkened a thin strip of something he didn't want to name. The jacket on his shoulders felt heavy—maybe it was the weight of guilt or the money in his pocket.

"We…" he started, then stopped. "How can we eat so calmly?"

"Because we're hungry," Leticia said simply. "And because all of this…"—she waved her fork toward the window, toward the river and the city—"is part of the cycle of life. Have you ever seen animals hit the brakes after a hunt? They eat. They live. They sleep. And their conscience doesn't torment them. So why the hell should ours torment us?"

"We buried them…" he blinked.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Would I prefer them to still be alive? No. This is the law of our world. Get used to it, Will. Either you eat, or you get eaten."

He flinched at the short "Will," as if Leticia had pressed an invisible button inside him. Their eyes met, and in them was the understanding that he was now no more than the same monster she was.

The television above the counter was showing the news without sound, and the scrolling text crawled slowly in red letters. Someone at a nearby table glanced at them, not because of their sins—no, no one knew anything—but because they looked… strange. Too hungry. Too excited. Too alive.

"In any case," Leticia picked up a fry again, "don't mess with that thing." She leaned slightly toward him, and her emerald irises sparkled beneath her glasses. "And if you decide to wear it, give me your address first so I can come and take you out. Just as a friend."

"Of course."

The waitress returned with the soda, set down the glasses, adjusted the salt shaker, and left without asking any further questions. A police car drove by outside.

In the window glass, red and blue glimmers spread in ragged stripes, and for a moment, everything inside—tables, faces, ketchup on napkins—felt foreign. Leticia squinted, adjusted her glasses, took a sip of soda, and lazily remarked, "There seem to be too many cops wandering around your city lately."

William pulled his head into his shoulders. He scratched the back of his neck and, without looking at her, forced out, "It's a bit my fault. I've recently… become a local legend. They even gave me a nickname."

"Wait," she leaned in, nudging the empty basket from the fries with her elbow. "Are you involved in the recent murders? Are you really that Heart-Eater maniac?" Her eyes lit up like the neon above the door.

William grimaced, as if someone had slapped him across the face with a wet towel. "Shh, don't shout like that!" he hissed, covering his mouth with his fist. "In short… yes, I'm involved in the recent series. But I'm not that idiot. I'm actually called Gato."

The word hung between them like a shiny coin. Leticia smirked, and the toe of her sneaker playfully nudged William under the table. "Gato, huh? Bad boy. An evil maniac who wanna tear apart a beautiful maiden like me?" She theatrically feigned fear—wide eyes, fingers on her throat, a slight gasp—and then winked. "Cher, you better watch out now!"

"Why did I even tell you that?" he groaned, covering his face with his hands. Through his fingers, he could see his ears turning red.

"I hope you're not planning to use me in an intimate way?" Her voice turned sweetly syrupy, almost silky, and the artificial sweetness made his cheeks ache. He stared down at the table, seeking refuge.

Her laughter was short and genuine; she immediately covered her mouth with her hand to avoid drawing too much attention, but a couple of heads still turned in their direction.

"Hey, don't worry so much," she said, placing her hand back on the table and gently patting his. "I'm not judging. It's really funny. You're a monster that the whole city is hunting, and people sleep in fear that you'll pounce on them and gut them like pigs… and you look like a shepherd from a postcard. A holy little angel. If it weren't for the stubble, I'd say you were sixteen. Sorry, I can't help it!"

"Thanks!" he retorted dryly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. The air deflated from him like a bag that had been squeezed too hard.

And yet it was hard to blame her: there was something soft and trusting about William, like a boy helping his grandmother with a bag and politely nodding to a policeman at an intersection. He knew this and hated it, especially at moments like this when the word Gato echoed in his mind, and the mirror showed him a good boy.

"Okay, okay," Leticia waved it off, her smile fading to something warmer. "I'm just starting to get a kick out of you, that's all. A rare phenomenon, savior, part-time maniac. The perfect dream man if you believe the worst softcover romances."

"Please, let's just change the subject," the young man pleaded, raising his hand in surrender.

"As you say, Mister Gato," she nodded, taking a long sip from her glass. The ice clinked against the plastic, and the flashing lights reflected in her black glasses, turning them into two shimmering screens.

"Why did Valentin and his people try to behead you?" William licked his lips, took a fork, and cut a hot triangle from the apple pie. "And what kind of crystal did you steal from them?"

Leticia tilted her head as if checking if her head was still in place, and her neck cracked. She massaged the back of her hair, paused, and reluctantly said, "I won't go into all the details," her eyes darting somewhere toward the window, "but a year ago, I foolishly became part of a witch cult."