Chapter 5 #2
Dreams could come true here, Mayté thought.
“Now that you’re comfortable, there’s one more thing I must share. As I’m sure you all have heard, there are many rumors flying around about the price of entry. Like tiny little flies buzzing about, but now I’ll tell you the truth.” His words were light and airy. Half-singsong, half-taunting.
Mayté’s heart skipped a beat.
Misterioso chuckled, feeding off the tension like a sweet nectar. “I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a steep price to pay. The cost to enter Fortune’s Kiss—is your greatest dream.”
The entire room broke into confused murmurs.
“Our greatest dream?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Are we giving up the chance for our biggest dreams to come true?”
Lo gasped. A wave of dizziness washed over Mayté. Her biggest dream was painting. It was everything to her. The only thing that truly made her forget her problems if even for a few moments at a time. She couldn’t even imagine losing that part of her.
“Ah, but please keep in mind”—Misterioso’s crisp voice cut through the whispers—“one cannot gamble without something to wager. This opens the realm of possibility and eliminates discrimination. Even those stricken with poverty have a dream that they can bet. A big risk isn’t without a handsome reward.
Beat the house and you can leave with your dreams intact along with a fortune and your wish granted.
Any wish—without limitation. A fair trade-off, hmm? ”
The dizzy tingle inside Mayté sparked into something stronger. The fortune itself would solve most of her problems. The wish would be the finishing touch to perfection.
But was it worth the risk? What if she lost? What would that look like? What would happen to her without her dream? She would be empty. Lifeless. Then a sickening revelation dawned on her.
“Are you okay?” Lo whispered.
Mayté shook her head. “Those who returned from Fortune’s Kiss empty-handed … What if they were more than just sad and humiliated? What if they were … empty? Because the house stole their dreams away?”
Lo’s eyes widened. She didn’t argue. Those people who returned from Fortune’s Kiss had nothing left.
Nothing to live for. Abuelita used to point them out and click her tongue, warning Mayté and her brothers to never gamble.
But Mayté had always thought that was just Abuelita’s overprotective paranoia.
“Ahem, it’s not stealing if you willingly pay the price,” Misterioso’s voice cut through her thoughts. “In case any of you came to that conclusion.” His mirthful eyes flitted to Mayté, before lingering on Lo.
There was no way he could have heard her from where he stood. With a shiver, Mayté pulled her rebozo closer. This was a fancy one she’d borrowed from her mother’s closet. It was much too stiff and scratchy and not as comforting as the one she had left at Lo’s.
“The house may be many things,” he continued. “But we’re fair. If anyone here has second thoughts, you’re free to go. We won’t judge you or hold it against you. Just know, if you agree to stay, you won’t be able to change your mind. And your dream will be your collateral.”
There was a pause. A moment where nothing happened and no one moved, as if San Tiempo himself had frozen them. But then all at once, chairs scraped against the floor. Most of the room stood and made their way to the exit. Mayté chewed her lip as she watched them.
“Ah, what a shame.” Misterioso frowned. “Not everyone has what it takes.”
Mayté and Lo exchanged confused glances.
The few left seated at the table looked just as baffled, but the rest of the crowd wore expressions of defeat.
One of them covered their face and wept.
Some consoled others, softly whispering that they would try again if Fortune’s Kiss ever returned to Milagro.
Mayté once again caught Misterioso eyeing them. He chuckled. “The price of entry is a house secret, though they’ll remember this part well enough.”
“So, it’s magic?” Lo murmured. “You make them forget?”
A magic like that was much more potent than anything in Milagro.
Altering the memories of a large group of people was something only Los Santos should have been capable of doing.
But what bothered Mayté even more was the deception of it all.
All these years of dreaming of this. All that hope.
Had it been misplaced? “I don’t know about this anymore. ” She stood, but Lo grabbed her hand.
Fear and shadows danced across Lo’s face, but there was something else. A desperation in her eyes that soon transformed as her jaw hardened with determination. “I won’t let you lose your dream. We’re going to win. And …” She took a shaky breath. “I need this.”
So did Mayté. Memories of last night flooded her mind. If she left now, she would have to face her father’s mess with those vile men. What would be worse? Being trapped with them, in a living nightmare? Or in a life where she couldn’t even remember the one dream she had?
“We’re winning this.” Lo squeezed her hand.
“We’re winning this,” Mayté whispered back.
Yes, it was the only option.
Still, they had to be chosen first. For as large as the group had been, now only six remained—including her and Lo. There were hundreds of people still waiting to be let in. Among them, maybe a tenth would try to compete.
Misterioso cleared his throat. “Well, then. If everyone else is here to stay, let us begin.” For a split second he looked disappointed.
Maybe he had hoped more people would remain.
With a flick of his wrist, a staff appeared in his gloved hand.
Like his mask, the handle was bone-white.
Bright orange marigolds gathered at the top where a lit candle rested.
He held the staff to his lips and blew out the candle.
One by one, the doors at the far end of the room flew open.
A gust of wind hit Mayté’s face and extinguished all the candles at the table.
Thick smoke surrounded her as she and Lo followed Misterioso and approached the door.
The scent of woody musk filled her nostrils.
Petals rained from the ceiling, making a path toward the door.
She squinted and craned her neck to get a better look inside, but the haze was too thick. The only way to see was by going in.
Mayté turned to Lo. This could be the last time they saw each other.
No, they were both going to get chosen. They had to.
Lo flashed her a small smile. In the candlelight’s glow, Mayté swore she saw tiny spatters of red on Lo’s neck, but before she could get a closer look, the thickening smoke overtook them both.
All she could do was step into the pitch-black room. “Hello?”
Then all at once, the space lit up and burning candles surrounded her.
A small wooden table stood in front of her.
Atop it, a calavera. Plain and white, yet something told her it was the same one from the poster.
Next to it sat a vial of amber liquid and a sign that read: MARíA TERESA ROBLES, ARE YOU WILLING TO RISK EVERYTHING FOR A CHANCE TO BE KISSED BY FORTUNE?
“Yes,” she whispered.
The sign changed. So quick, she swore it must have happened when she blinked. Now it read: DRINK AND LET YOUR SOUL BE MEASURED.
This was it. She took the vial in her hand, studying the liquid.
It looked as if it were made of dwindling stars at the brink of dawn.
A tingle of warmth seeped through the vial into her flesh and straight into her pounding heart.
How many times had she gulped down potions from the street mercado?
Just yesterday she had drunk the potion from Senor Vasquez.
Sometimes they worked. Other times they gave her stomach cramps, but something about this felt so much more permanent.
Drinking this would reveal her fate.
She lifted the vial to her lips and took a shaky breath.
Then she gulped it all down. It tasted sweet and went down silky smooth, warming her insides.
But soon, a strange aftertaste slithered up her throat.
Bitter and fizzy, it burned her tongue and constricted her throat.
Her legs buckled and the warmth became suffocating.
Her rebozo slipped off. Chills and hot sweat overtook her body.
Her head throbbed and her heartbeat sounded so distant as if her heart had been ripped from her chest.
All at once the candle flames went out, unleashing a thick blanket of smoke.
Mayté choked back a cough and resisted the urge to cover her nose.
The candles lit back up, this time a blazing haunting blue.
Marigolds bloomed around the room’s perimeter.
One by one the petals plucked off and swirled through the air, surrounding her as if she were in the eye of an ethereal vortex.
The petals bit into her arm. She recoiled with a hiss. Scarlet blood bubbled up from her skin and glowed like a bright red energy spell. A strong smell of flowers and iron filled her nostrils. The calavera changed before her eyes.
Was any of this real? She gripped her head. Suddenly she was outside in the sunshine. Bright, burning sunshine. She squinted as the scent of paint comforted her. A girl with long black braids and a rebozo sat on a stool, painting a canvas.
Mayté rubbed her eyes. The girl was her.
Seagulls squawked and the ocean, glittering and lapis, splashed against the rocks. Where was this place? It certainly wasn’t Milagro. Then everything changed and a crowd of nobles formed.
“Mayté! Mayté!” They cheered her name, voices full of adoration. “Show us your next masterpiece!”
The other Mayté stood ahead, looking happy. Happier than Mayté herself had felt in a long time. The other Mayté beamed, brown cheeks extra rosy, as she pulled away a cloth to reveal a finished painting. The crowd burst into applause and began bidding. Bidding honest-to-Dios coins on her painting.