“Make what worse?” her father demanded, his boots thudding on the landing outside the door.
“Papa!” Layla went into his arms, just as she had her mother’s, but with a lot less care. Whereas her mother was a petite beauty, her father was big and gruff, with a deep chest and a voice to go with it. His arms tightened around her, still strong and hard with muscle despite his years. “Finally, you come to visit us! It’s a wonder you remember how to get here.”
She laughed. “A lot’s changed, that’s for sure. What’s with the new gate? At first, I didn’t think they were going to let me in.”
“You exaggerate. My people all knew you were coming, as does Lord Xavier. He’ll be happy to see you.”
That was one reunion that was never going to happen, but Layla didn’t say anything. If she mentioned it to her parents, they’d insist on knowing why. She hadn’t talked about her reasons when she’d left, and she wasn’t about to start now.
“Sit, amor meu,” her mother said, hustling her father over to the table. “I’ll pour you a cup.”
“A moment, no more,” Ferran said, sitting with a weary sigh.
“Busy?” Layla asked casually, dropping down onto the chair next to him.
“Oy,” he responded fervently. “I’ve got four fighters still too wounded to fight, and there’s so much to do.”
“Wounded? How?” she demanded.
Her parents exchanged a silent look. “You might as well tell her,” Ramlah said, switching on the gas flame under a freshly filled kettle.
“Tell me what?” She looked at her father. “You got me here with whispered half-secrets, and now it looks as if you’re gearing up for the zombie apocalypse. What’s going on?”
“Zombies,” Ferran muttered, shaking his head.
“Papa. Tell me.”
Her father heaved a deep sigh. “I’m getting old, mija.” He raised his hand when she would have protested. “Don’t argue. For once, just listen.”
She was shocked into stillness by his words. She’d been his shadow most of her life, the son he’d never had. She’d followed him around, learning everything he did, everything he thought. And he’d been just as devoted to her. He’d never ever criticized her, never told her to listen for once. Her reaction must have shown on her face, because he immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close enough to kiss the side of her head.
“I love you, you know that. But you do love to argue, Laylita. I know,” he continued, cutting off her protest. “You get it from me, and I raised you that way. Life can be hard on a woman, and I wanted you strong enough to fight.” He chuckled. “I succeeded in that, didn’t I? But now, I’m an old man, and I need you to listen.”
“I’m listening,” she assured him and zipped her lips shut with a finger to make him smile, terrified now by whatever he was about to say. What would she do if her father were seriously ill?
“I’ve commanded this Fortalesa for over forty years, since before you were born. Only the day guard, to be sure. But we all know that’s the greatest danger for Lord Xavier and the others, and I’m proud that he’s trusted me for so long. But now . . .” His mouth tightened in irritation. “I made a mistake. We’ve had peace for so long and we get along well with the humans in the town, with all our neighbors. Lord Xavier is powerful, but fair to his people. They respect that and return it twofold by respecting his rules, and being honest with him.” He paused when her mother slipped a cup of tea in front of him, looking up with a smile of thanks, then sipping slowly while she walked around and sat across from him at the table.
“As I said, it’s been peaceful, and I took for granted that it would stay that way.”
Layla was dying to ask questions, but held back and waited.
“My team here is a good one. They’re well-trained and loyal. I haven’t slipped that badly. But they’re not enough. Their quality is good, but I need twice as many of them to deal with what’s happening.”
She was all but biting her tongue to keep from demanding to know what the fuck was going on. But she was still feeling the sting of his earlier comment, and knew he’d get to it. Eventually.
“We’re under attack. Humans,” he added, sounding genuinely confused. “Three separate attacks in the last two and half weeks, and only during the daylight. They come out of the trees, armed with good weapons—rifles mostly, a few automatic pistols, and plenty of ammo. They’re decent shooters, but not professional. I’m certain they’re not trained soldiers—more like civilians who’ve been given a few lessons.”
“Has anyone been hurt?” she asked quietly. She’d grown up with some of the fighters who worked for her father.
He shook his head. “Nothing at first. They seemed to aim at the wall instead of the people, and there weren’t that many of them. There were more when they attacked the second time, a week later. More of them and some minor injuries for us. Lord Xavier became concerned then. One attack was a nuisance, a hate crime against vampires. But two? That was something else.”
Layla had to fight against the urge to make a face every time he said, “Lord Xavier.” Not just Xavier. Oh, no. It had to be Lord. As if the bastard vampire wasn’t just a man like any other.
“But the second attack represented a major shift in the battle. Not for us, but for them, because their fighters began to die,” her father continued, seeming puzzled by their willingness to accept casualties. “My fighters are not like the enemy’s. They are well-trained and disciplined and they will use the full capability of their weapons in defense of this Fortalesa. We have families living here, women and children, civilians. When the guards are under attack, so are they. And we fight back.” He met her gaze.
“What do they want? And why do they think this will get it for them?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet. But someone has to be doing the organizing, getting them those weapons, providing enough training to use them. Unless there’s now a store selling MP5s at the Plaça del Mercadal.” He shook his head. “But so far, I haven’t been able to find who is behind the attacks. The coward doesn’t lead his people into battle. He huddles somewhere far away.”
“Have you followed—?”
He nodded. “We’ve tried, but they slip away into the forest and hide”—he shrugged—“long enough that my soldiers lose their trail. And this is my own failure. I don’t have enough people, much less trained investigators, to track them down. The fighters may be simply returning to their homes. But why are they attacking? They must regroup with their leader at least some time, but I can find no evidence of such meetings. And yet, how else would they coordinate their movements, or know where to pick up fresh ammunition?” He threw his hands up in frustration. “None of it makes sense.”