Chapter 1 #2
She rounded the corner, and the sizzling scent of elote hit her nose.
Senor Vásquez must have just started a fresh batch.
Her heart pounded in anticipation as she approached the stall.
Senor Vásquez swayed over the steaming corncobs, sprinkling chile and cotija cheese on top.
As he spun, he skillfully squirted fresh lime over everything.
A true artist. Everything about the stout man sparked with joy.
His big curly head of hair and bigger grin.
His round face, rich and dark with ruddy undertones, beamed as bright as the sun.
His teeth may have been yellowing, and deep furrows hung around his eyes, but these just added to his lively air.
Joy like that couldn’t be contained. Despite everything that had happened at the shop, Mayté couldn’t stop grinning.
“Buenos días. I have something for you.” Gingerly she reached into her satchel and pulled out a wooden sign.
Bright-green painted letters read: FRESH ELOTES 3 brONZE COINS.
Below the letters she had painted a corncob.
It had been quite fun sprinkling on red paint to represent the chile.
She had tweaked it for hours, until looking at it made her stomach tingle with hunger. Only then did she know it was ready.
“Oh. How wonderful!” Senor Vásquez leaned over the counter to study the sign. “Thank you, thank you!”
“Of course!” This project may have been small fish compared to the commission, but maybe the payment would be enough to buy paint from one of the stalls.
They weren’t as good quality as the ones sold in the shop, and it was always a toss-up on which colors would be in stock that day, but she would make it work.
“Well, you see, I won’t be able to pay you in coins this time.”
Oh.
“I still owe you, of course.” With a sheepish smile, Senor Vásquez took the sign and set it on the counter.
Everything inside her deflated, but she tried not to let it show on her face. It would be hypocritical to get upset. “Ay, this sign will bring you more business and you’ll be able to pay me in no time!”
“Sí, sí!” Senor Vásquez brightened. “But in the meantime, I’ll give you this.
Elote on me and”—he ducked down, disappearing under the counter—“a potion. My sister-in-law brewed it just last night, and she really knows her stuff, you know? Why, last month she made a love potion for our cousin, and now the lucky fellow is getting married!”
“Really?” There were always several vendors in the mercado selling potions for cheap and promising miracles, but it was a gamble whether they truly worked. As they said, “You get what you pay for,” and only the wealthy had access to the reliable stuff.
“Here.”
Mayté took the bottle and turned it in her hands.
It was made of clay—no way to tell what was inside.
“What kind is it?” she asked. Icy-blue No Más Tristeza elixir would brighten her mood.
Dame Energía looked rather unpleasant with its bouncing chartreuse slime, but it would give her the boost she needed to keep going for the rest of the day.
Really, she would take almost any kind of potion except for Joven Para Siempre.
That stuff made her squirm since it was thick and deep crimson, like blood.
“This”—Senor Vásquez rubbed the palms of his beefy hands—“is Una Pizca de Suerte.”
A pinch of luck was something she could use.
“Thank you.” Mayté uncorked the bottle and guzzled the potion as Senor Vásquez prepared elote for her.
Fizzy and sweet with a metallic aftertaste, it stung her throat on the way down.
She put the empty bottle in her satchel as he handed over a cob on a stick.
Wasting no time, she took a big bite, not bothering to wipe the juice running down her chin. Sweet corn, spicy chile, salty cheese, and sour lime had to be the most irresistible combination.
A spark of gratitude tickled her insides.
Elote was always a comfort—a welcome treat on the bad days or a relief from hunger when there wasn’t enough food at home.
Her five brothers always had to eat before her—the unspoken law of the Robles family.
Which made that new shopkeeper’s assumptions even more infuriating.
She couldn’t depend on her family. Never had.
Never would. It wasn’t fair to lump her with them, not when she was the one fending for herself.
She took another big bite, throat burning.
Whether it was from her lingering fury or the spicy chiles was debatable.
Elote might briefly fix some problems, but not this one.
Mayté didn’t want to go home and face the unfinished canvas.
Or deal with her family. Her father always left as soon as he woke up, while her mother cooked and tended to her younger brothers.
Maybe in a normal family she would have been able to cry about her woes to her mother, but no, all the sympathy had been wrung out of the woman years ago.
Now she was dry and brittle. She wouldn’t bat an eye or offer a hug.
Instead, she would just say “Así es la vida.” But that wasn’t the life Mayté wanted. She refused to accept it.
“It’s back! It’s back in Milagro,” a man yelled as he ran down the street.
Mayté turned. Carriages stopped. Shop owners stepped away from their stalls. Everyone spoke all at once.
“Appeared at midnight.”
“Could it be real?”
“It must be. Don’t you remember what happened ten years ago?”
Ten years ago.
“Well, then. The rumors must be true,” Senor Vásquez muttered to himself. He rubbed his chin. “This could change everything.”
Mayté’s pulse quickened. Could it be? She rushed through the crowd, her plaited hair bouncing against her back. Her rebozo flew in the breeze like wings wanting to take flight. All around, everyone spoke of it. The rumors swirled in the thick humid air.
“They say it will be even grander than last time.”
“Ay, son solo encantos y trucos. ?Nada más!”
“No, no, you know what happens to those who win!”
“And what of those who lose?”
“They wander aimless like ghosts. Worse off than street beggars.”
“But the risk more than makes up for the reward.”
Mayté’s ears pounded, making it even harder to hear.
Then she saw it.
Plastered on the smooth adobe walls of the grand cathedral like a divine blasphemy, a poster, black as ink.
An ornate calavera contrasted with the dark background, outlined in shimmering amber as if penned with pure magic.
Big white teeth, the only white on the entire page, grinned at her, as wide flowery eyes stared into her soul.
She ran a finger over the skull’s swirly floral pattern.
The rest of the poster’s text was that same magical amber. In the harsh sunlight, it twinkled like the stars at night. IT IS HERE. THE LEGENDARY EL BESO DE LA FORTUNA.
“Fortune’s Kiss,” Mayté choked out, then slapped a hand over her mouth. As if saying it out loud would chase away the mirage. But no. This was real. It was happening. Finally.
Twice a year, during the summer and winter solstices, Fortune’s Kiss was said to appear in a random city without warning, sometimes seemingly swallowing up whole buildings. But once it was there, it opened its doors for those brave enough to gamble. Those willing to accept the high stakes.
Now Fortune’s Kiss had chosen Milagro once again.
A tiny lizard darted along the wall but kept away from the poster, as if the paper were cursed. But it was just the opposite. This was the biggest blessing.
Try your luck to make your greatest desires manifest, Mayté read. She let out a breath. Her greatest desires … To make a name for herself as a painter with enough money and commissions to support herself.
To be free from the weight of her family’s name.
If you dare …
Yes, yes, she did. She would do anything to make her dream come true.
Mayté ripped the poster off the wall and held it against her chest. In her other hand, she squeezed the empty bottle of Una Pizca de Suerte.
Senor Vásquez’s sister-in-law was really onto something.
Most potions only had temporary effects—it made the business more lucrative—but something told Mayté that her luck wouldn’t run out anytime soon.
Her father claimed that the family fortune had floated away.
All the way up to the sun, where it had melted into starlight, but no one believed him.
Mayté heard enough whispers to form her own conclusion.
Gambling. He had gambled it all away like a fool after Abuelita passed on.
And to further ruin everything he became a drunkard, refusing to work and speaking barely a syllable to anyone.
Their family had once been highly regarded.
They had been members of Las Cinco Familias, representing everything the country of San Solera stood for.
Still, the Robles’s powerful bloodline couldn’t make up for the damage her father had done, and soon Las Cinco became Las Cuatro. All because of him.
But now it was Mayté’s turn to gamble. She wouldn’t lose like her father. No, she would succeed, rise above everyone else, and forsake them for what they’d done to her.
Father, for not picking up the pieces of his life and running away from his problems.
Mother, for putting everything into her brothers and neglecting her.
Her brothers, for taking all that was left without leaving Mayté even the smallest of scraps. The list was endless …
The rest of Las Cuatro for shunning her.
The girls who stopped inviting her to parties.
The boys who suddenly forgot she existed.
She wouldn’t need Senora Castro’s commission, or that greedy shopkeeper’s business either. Like imperfections on the canvas, she would paint over them until her life was pristine, flawless. She would blot out every last person—
Except for Lo. Her best friend.
They had a pact, the two of them. One that Mayté could never forget.
She studied her left palm. The thin straight scar cut straight through the middle.
When she closed her eyes, she saw Lo’s round cherub face and wild curls.
Felt the misty breeze that cooled their skin.
The dusty dirt under their knees. Tiny fingers trembling as they cut into each other’s palms, then warm and sticky red hands clasping together. A pact by blood.
Still clutching the poster, she ran as fast as she could. She needed to tell Lo.
“If Fortune’s Kiss returns to Milagro, we’re entering. No matter what.”
Mayté still heard Lo’s words all these years later.
“No matter what,” she whispered back.