Page 75 of Rafael (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter 28)

“He is done talking to the rest of us,” Claudia said, and handed the microphone to Rafael.

The young bruja that Neva had calledmijacame forward and said, “Carlos texts that Hector smells like a stranger, and Abuela Flora says he smells like atlahuelpuchi.”

“Isn’t that just another word forvampire?” I said.

“Young people think so,” Neva said.

“They are born, not made, and their desire for blood only arises at puberty,” the young bruja said.

“It is good to know you can listen as well as talk,mija,” Neva said.

“Gracias, abuela,” she said, and looked pleased with herself. I wondered ifabuela, which I knew meantgrandmother, was an honorary term or a familial one. I’d ask later; the last time I’d seen my ownabuelaI’d been fourteen.

Rafael said, “If all supernatural blood suckers are defined as vampires, then yes, atlahuelpuchiis a type of vampire.”

“Can’t we use that to just take him into custody?” I asked.

“You cannot be here as a marshal, Anita,” Rafael said.

“I don’t mean me taking him into custody, I mean you guys jumping his ass and capturing him so that we can use him to find Padma.”

“Challenge has been given and accepted, Anita,” Rafael repeated.

Benito said, “I’d like nothing better than to jump his ass, but once inside the fighting pit there are no excuses for canceling a fight.”

“Even the fact that we know he’s a Trojan horse for an evil vampire?” I asked.

“A Trojan horse is only dangerous if you don’t know that it is full of enemies,” Neva said.

I looked into her black eyes and realized that the other bruja with her had normal eyes; only Neva’s stayed in power mode. “What are you planning to do?” I asked.

“Win,” she said.

“Rafael,” Hector yelled, “are we going to fight, or will you talk the night away, old man?”

Rafael raised his arm so that the brand on his arm showed clearly. “If you want my crown, little boy, come and take it.”

“You first, my king.”

Rafael gave a slight nod. Hector did a deep bow that swung his braid forward over his head, which meant he was doing it wrong. For a real bow you bent at the waist, not the neck; I’d been learning protocol for bows and curtsies for the wedding.

Rafael handed the microphone to Benito, then ran down the steps toward the railing, put one hand on the top of it, and vaulted over. The crowd cheered.

“That’s a twenty-foot drop,” I said, my heart beating a little too hard just watching him go over.

“Yes,” Benito said, as if it was no big deal.

I glanced around, but everyone was chill with Rafael jumping, so I tried to be cool about it, too, when what Iwanted to do was run to the edge and see if he’d broken his leg. Instead I stayed where I was and watched him walk toward the middle of the sand. He hadn’t broken anything; in fact, he’d taken the time to dust off any sand that might have clung to his black shorts.

Fredo stepped out into the sand below us, walking toward Rafael. Fredo was slender with his salt-and-pepper hair cut short and neat; the equally short and neat mustache and beard that he’d added recently made him look like a stranger almost. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to them. He looked even shorter than the five foot six I knew he was as he met Rafael in the middle of the sand. It gave me some idea of how tiny I’d look out there. Rafael was still unarmed, as Hector had been, but the overhead lights gleamed silver in the banderillas and small knives across Fredo’s black T-shirt. Some of them were throwing knives and some were just small blades. He was one of the few people I’d ever met who was truly dangerous with a throwing blade. If there was any way to use a blade for lethal purposes, Fredo could do it.

Hector backed up the steps between the benches and did a running start, on stairs, before launching himself into the air, where he rose higher as if he had invisible wings. I’d have fallen on my ass just running on the stairs, but Hector lengthened out his body, his arms tucked in tight, his legs long and graceful together as he flipped himself in the air as if he were on a high dive over a pool instead of solid, unforgiving ground. I honestly thought he was going to crash-land and the fight would be over before it began, but at the last second he bent his body over and did a shoulder roll across the sand like Rafael had done, except Hector rolled farther and faster from the extra momentum he’d gotten from his fancy airtime.

He came to his feet with an almost balletlike leap, arms up and out, when he landed. He smiled at the crowd, waving an arm again; there was that echo of dance orgymnastics or something that you didn’t learn in martial arts.

The crowd went wild, fickle motherfuckers. Flashy bastard, but my stomach was tight as I watched him glide toward the center, where the other men were waiting.

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