Chapter 3 #3
The spraying mist was usually refreshing, especially on sweltering summer days, but right now it chilled Mayté.
Would they be able to get in? What if they couldn’t?
The thought of continuing like this, dirt poor, with a muddied family reputation, at the mercy of patrons and shopkeepers: she couldn’t bear it.
The two fell silent until the spurting, babbling waters became deafening.
At times like this, there was only one thing to do.
Mayté went over to a sage bush. She pushed past the purply flowers and pulled out a pouch of old paint supplies.
Her secret stash. It may not have been the safest place to keep her stuff, but the odds were much better here, away from the twins’ grubby little fingers.
“Oooh. What are you going to paint?” Lo asked.
“Who else but you? You are my muse, Lorena de León.” Mayté deepened her voice, impersonating a suitor. “With my art skills, I’ll prove that I’m the best man for you, my lady.”
“Oh, hush!” Lo splashed at her.
With a laugh, Mayté sat in the dirt and crossed her legs.
Truth was, painting calmed her. The messier the effort, the clearer her mind became.
She pulled out a small oval-shaped canvas and began outlining Lo’s face and hair with graphite.
Real cameos with engraving and glass were much too expensive, so she painted her own.
Lo’s curls were always so fun to draw. “Let’s talk through what we know, and then make a plan.
The doors open tomorrow at dusk and they’re only accepting ten entrants. Also, the price of entry may be steep.”
“The winner, or winners, are the last ones standing after everyone else folds,” Lo said.
“Mm.” Mayté nodded. “The winning pairs had to be on to something. Working together will increase the odds in our favor.” She paused to quickly sketch out Lo’s bemused expression. Perfect. “What do you think it’s like inside the salon?”
Winners described it as a beautiful dream, full of luxuries, riches, and magic they could barely comprehend. The losers babbled about giving anything for a second chance to return.
A picture was worth a thousand words, yet no one had replicated it in a painting yet. And if the outside was so incredible, then the inside had to be absolutely stellar. A thrill shivered up Mayté’s spine.
“Fortune’s … Kiss …” Lo propped her head in her hand. “It sounds like something romantic and decadent. Like everything will be made of pure gold and like—” She smirked. “Lips and bosoms everywhere. Statues of lovers passionately all over each other,” she drawled, eyes aglow with mischief.
“Please, no!” Mayté wrinkled her nose.
“But really, who cares what it looks like, so long as the prize is enough.” Lo sat up, frowning hard as a marble sculpture. “Enough to live happily and never have to rely on a man ever again.”
“It will be enough.” Mayté layered golden brown paints for Lo’s face and hair.
“Every winner is happy. They come back with life-changing fortunes and their most desperate wishes granted. Kings have ascended to their throne not by blood, but from winning. People recover from diseases; even the dead have been brought back to life, and we all know the rumors about our”—she cleared her throat, correcting herself—“las grandes familias.” Ever since they were little girls, they heard versions of the tale of triumph.
“Hey! Do you remember the stories about the last winner from Milagro? Edmund Benedict III?”
“He won the round during winter solstice, right?”
Mayté nodded as she replicated the shine of Lo’s luscious curls on the palette.
“With his winnings, he moved himself and his entire family to a secluded island and turned it into his own personal kingdom. Every palm tree gilded in gold. Every meal an imported delicacy from nearby countries. An entourage of elephants to ride as transport. Just imagine what we could do.” The endless possibilities tantalized her.
More than anything, she wanted this. “I’ll use my fortune to become a famous painter.
Mayté, they’ll call me. Not María Teresa Robles, just Mayté.
” She admired the cameo. There was something alluring about half-finished work.
So much mystery. Less overwhelming than a blank canvas. Too far in to give up.
“And your family, you’ll really leave them all behind?” Lo asked softly.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Mayté replied without a thought. “They only see me as a glorified babysitter. The boys are getting older, and Carlos will take care of things. Plus, it’ll be one less mouth to feed. Once I’m free, I’ll buy myself a big house by the sea.”
“You better not forget about me when you go.”
“Never.” Mayté grinned. “You and your sisters could live with me if you’d like. We’d make our own family.”
Lo frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just, I’ve been thinking.” Lo twirled a curl around her finger. “My mother could still be in Fortune’s Kiss. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t returned. We could bring her back.”
Mayté’s stomach lurched. All these years, Lo had clung to the hope that one day her mother would come back home.
She was certain she had fled to Fortune’s Kiss.
Everyone else thought she had simply run off.
Mayté wasn’t sure what she believed, but whenever the topic came up, her gut twisted with dread.
Deep in her heart, she felt that Lo’s mother would never return.
Yet she never had the heart to admit that to her best friend; so, like always, she forced a smile.
“Then if she’s in there, we’ll bring her back too. ” And she truly meant it.
Seemingly satisfied, Lo turned away, gazing at the fountain’s water. “But what if we lose?”
“We won’t,” Mayté assured her. “But even if we did, we’ll have time to think of a plan while we work off our debts. Together, we’ll come up with something.”
“We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” Lo whispered, just as the exact same thought crossed Mayté’s mind. They were both on the same page. Always had been.
And that was why they would win.
“First, we have to get in.” Mayté wet her lips. “And I’m worried about the cost,” she admitted.
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Lo stood and brushed off her gown. “If it’s money, I’ll handle it. We should also bring our most prized possession. Just in case.”
Leave it to Lo to make problems just—poof—disappear! Mayté set aside her painting supplies and stood. “All right. Then let’s meet at Centro Street tomorrow night, right after sunset.”
“Deal.” Lo held out her hand.
Mayté shook it. “Also, bring back my rebozo. That’s my most prized possession,” she teased.
They both burst out laughing. Mayté’s heart pounded.
Their childhood pact started full of hopes, dreams, and fantasies. Promised with blood. Solidified with a handshake.
And now, they would fulfill it.
“Mayté!” Her older brother rushed over, out of breath.
She clicked her tongue in irritation. “What is it, Carlos?” Only ten months older than her, a lot of people confused them for twins.
Out of all six Robles kids, they looked the most alike.
They even had the same full upper lips that straightened out whenever they grinned, along with the tiny cleft in their chins.
Though Carlos was taller, they were even built similarly—much to Mayté’s chagrin.
He was the only other person who knew about their secret spot, and he always had a knack for interrupting at the worst moments.
Water splashed as Lo nearly lost her balance and slipped into the fountain. She barely caught herself with her hand, instead soaking her sleeve.
“Are you okay?” Mayté and Carlos blurted in unison.
“I should be getting home.” Lo abruptly stood, shook at her dripping sleeve, and avoided looking at Carlos.
“Are you sure?” Mayté asked.
“I need some rest.” Lo smiled. “But I’ll see you tomorrow evening, yes?”
“Yes.” The excitement of Fortune’s Kiss filled Mayté’s head once again.
Carlos looked like he wanted to say something, but Lo quickly turned on her heels and rushed off. He stared at her retreating figure.
When their family had still been part of Las Cinco, everyone thought that Carlos would marry Lo.
Then she and Mayté would have been sisters officially—bound by marriage.
Lo and Carlos said they had feelings for each other back then.
Mayté sometimes wondered if they still did.
She always used to tease her brother about Lo.
He would get so mad, yelling and huffing, but his reddening ears always told a different story.
Not long after their father’s fall from grace, she had once teased him out of habit.
But that time there was no yelling or arguing. Just red ears and sad eyes.
“Was there something you wanted?” Mayté folded her arms.
Carlos jolted as if a trance had broken. “Ma sent me to find Father. He’s been gone since yesterday.”
“Of course he has.” And of course Carlos couldn’t find him on his own. He always had to involve Mayté. “All right. Let’s find him.”
As the two searched, the sun sank below the horizon.
And dusk brought danger. Abuelita used to say that spirits roamed the street at night.
Blending in with the gleaming fireflies, lights the color of peridots dipped in gold, the spirits’ wills wisped about.
But it wasn’t just a pretty story, it came with a warning: hay que tenerle miedo a los vivos, no a los muertos—and she was right.
It wasn’t the dead they had to worry about.
Even with Carlos at her side, it wasn’t safe. Drunks lumbered about, cursing anyone who would listen, and pickpockets grew bolder in the cover of dark. Not to mention the sneering men who would eye a girl as if she were freshly cut meat being sold at the mercado.