Chapter 8
EIGHT
Lo
Lo couldn’t stop sobbing. Her shoulders shook and she couldn’t breathe.
It had taken everything in her to keep it together during dinner.
The moment it was just her and Mayté, she completely crumbled.
She was a murderer and now trapped here, doomed to a fate even grislier than the one that had met her father.
“Lo.” Mayté stepped in front of her, but Lo barely saw her. Instead, her gaze locked onto a painted calavera atop the vanity. Golden and covered in wilted roses, it faced her as if staring straight into her soul.
The same exact calavera she had seen after drinking that Dios-forsaken potion.
Suddenly, she was back in that dark room surrounded by only candles and bloody carnage. No. No, no, no. She bit her lip until she tasted metal. “M-M-Mayté—” Her mouth dried up and the rest of her words shriveled into her throat.
Lo’s best friend was still there, but now the old blood staining her own face and blouse was the brightest and freshest of red.
So fresh, it glimmered under the candlelight.
Then there was her skirt. Lo didn’t know where the scarlet fabric ended and the blood began, but, like a waterfall, it flowed down her legs.
No, waterfall wasn’t the right word. Waterfalls flowed fast, but the blood oozed.
The crimson puddle pooling under Mayté’s feet crept toward Lo. She stumbled back with a yelp.
“Lo?”
It was Mayté’s voice, but when Lo looked up, a figure stared at her with cold, dead eyes. Blood spurted from his neck where she had slit his throat. She tried to run but got tangled in her cloak.
Her father. He was here for her.
“Lo.”
She wanted to scream but couldn’t.
“Lo?”
No matter how hard she tried.
“Lorena!” Mayté’s voice cut through the dark and suddenly everything was back to normal. No more fresh blood on the floor, or on Mayté. The painted calavera was nowhere to be seen.
Mayté hugged her tight. “I’m here. It’s okay.”
Nothing was okay. Lo whimpered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”
“For what?” Mayté held her.
“You were going to leave, but I made you stay.” Her vision swam with endless tears. “A-a-and now—”
“No,” Mayté whispered. She brushed away the curls that stuck to Lo’s wet cheeks. “We made a promise to each other. And I think—maybe it’s good that we’re here.” She averted her gaze and chewed her lip.
“Why?” Lo whispered.
Mayté took a shaky breath. “Last night when Carlos needed help finding my father …” She shuddered. “There was a group of men waiting at our home. Thugs.”
Lo’s stomach lurched.
“They came for the money my father owed them, but he couldn’t pay, s-s-so they … they were going to take me instead.”
“No!” Lo gasped. She gripped her cloak tighter around her shoulders. If she had been there, she didn’t know what she would have done.
Mayté nodded. She managed the slightest bit of a smile. “Here … at least here I have a chance. But, Lo.” Her expression turned worried. “You have to tell me the truth. Something happened with you before we entered Fortune’s Kiss, didn’t it?”
Lo couldn’t hide the fear on her face.
“That’s why you were almost late, and why you’re dressed this way.” Mayté tugged at the cloak. “What happened?”
If Mayté knew, what would she—
“Lo.” Mayté squeezed her hand. “You know you can tell me anything.”
That was true. Mayté was the only one who knew the extent of the terrible things her father had done. Lo was the only one who knew what Mayté’s family had to endure.
But this was different.
Wasn’t it?
“Lo, please,” Mayté pressed.
“B-b-before I left, my father tried to stop me.” The words dribbled out, shaky and uncertain.
“He found out my plan and wasn’t g-g-going to let me leave.
He threatened me. Wanted to hurt me. He grabbed me and I pushed him.
” The tears came back as the memories flooded in.
“He fell into a shelf of v-v-vases a-a-and—”
Mayté hugged her tight and Lo lost the last thread of composure she had so desperately clung to. She could have continued. Should have. But then Sera’s face filled her mind. Sofía’s terrified, heartbroken wails rang in her ears. Would Mayté react the same way?
Lo had already lost her sisters. She couldn’t lose her best friend.
“H-h-he’s dead.” She sobbed even harder.
“Oh, Lo …” Mayté rubbed her back.
“It’s … my fault,” she whispered.
“No,” Mayté soothed, “it was an accident.”
It wasn’t.
“Anyone who knows the truth wouldn’t hold it against you.”
But it was all a lie.
Lo was a murderer.
But if being a liar meant keeping Mayté, then so be it.
“We’ll clear your name when we get back to Milagro, but first we have to win this.”
“Y-y-yes. You’re right. Thank you.” Lo hiccupped and wiped her face.
Maybe it was wrong, but it felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. With her father gone, the chains had been broken.
She was free. And when she was victorious, she would find a way to make her life exactly what she wanted it to be.
“I’m glad we get to share a suite. It’s so beautiful.
” She smiled at Mayté to let her know she was okay now.
The two finally had the chance to look around.
The room was marvelous. It made her own bedroom look plain in comparison.
Two huge fluffy canopy beds with flowing orange curtains took up opposite ends of the bedroom.
With the balcony doors open, bringing in the evening breeze, the curtains billowed like magical flames.
Milky moonbeams cast their enchanting glow.
The rest of the room was dark. The walls were a deep slate, with charcoal-black furniture.
Soft candlelight illuminated the bouquets of marigolds on the table along with a tray of chocolates.
The room was eerie, yet oddly calming in comparison to everything else in the house.
The walk-in closet could have been a room of its own.
It was full of extravagant gowns, all in different jewel tones.
Bold sapphires, mystical emeralds, romantic amethysts …
with all the silk, lace, and tulle, it must have cost thousands of gold coins to make them.
Then there were the vanity drawers spilling with jewelry.
Necklaces, chokers, earrings, and bracelets.
All gold and silver with jewels that sparkled brighter than the stars outside.
While Mayté marveled at a pair of golden hoop earrings encrusted with diamonds, Lo stepped into the bathroom.
It was just like stepping inside a rosebud, with red walls on all sides.
She never would have considered that such a color could feel so otherworldly.
Black and white tiles led to a circular marble tub.
Rose vines slithered down the wall like a curtain next to the tub, giving off their subtle sweet scent.
“Let’s wash up,” Lo called into the dressing room.
“Then we can figure out a plan for the rest of the games.”
After her bath, Lo scrunched the excess water from her curls and changed into a flowing white nightgown with a high collar and puff sleeves.
The soft satin soothed her skin, which she had scrubbed raw to ensure that every last flake of dried blood came off.
Now she was spotless. A clean slate. This was her fresh start.
In the bedroom, Mayté sat on the bed nearest the balcony.
Her long black hair hung freely down to her waist. So soft and glossy, those tresses would have been the envy of every noble girl who struggled to tame her hair with hot irons and beauty spells.
A shame she rarely wore it down, but she always complained that it got in the way.
Even when she restrained it with braids and buns, she somehow managed to get paint in it.
Staring off into space, Mayté ran a brush through her hair over and over again.
Her eyes were still the slightest bit red and puffy.
Maybe she cried while Lo was in the bath?
Right now, Mayté was the stronger one, but they were both teetering on the edge.
Every so often, Mayté paused to tug at her lacy nightgown, which kept slipping off her shoulder.
It wasn’t until Lo sat next to her that Mayté seemed to notice her. “Oh. How was your bath?”
“Warm. Refreshing.” Lo scooted closer. “Are you ready?”
Mayté set aside the brush and took a deep breath. Then she re-braided her hair into one thick plait, reusing her red ribbon instead of one of the many jeweled hair accessories the room had to offer. The treasures in here had surely been bought with blood. “Okay.”
As disappointing as it was to see her gorgeous hair pulled back, Lo knew that in that moment, Mayté meant business when she quickly said, “Senora Montoya died because she wagered everything, including her life. She didn’t seem to fully understand what she was doing, but …
I don’t quite understand the rules either.
This isn’t like the Lotería we’re used to. ”
Lo nodded. “It seems like the only thing they have in common is that you win by filling your board.”
“If we don’t figure out how to play properly, we might be the next to die.” Mayté chewed her lower lip.
“That won’t happen,” Lo insisted. She held out her palm, still slightly scarred from their blood pact all those years ago.
With a small smile, Mayté held up her own scarred palm and pressed it against Lo’s. Then she lowered her hand. “With Carlos here too, I’m wondering if there’s a way we can all win.”
Lo truly hoped so, but in all the legends of Fortune’s Kiss winners, the victors were either one or a pair.
Never a trio. “First, let’s focus on learning the game and surviving.
We need to find out something about the next round that could help us get ahead, and I’m certain the people who work here may have an inkling about that.
For example”—she leaned against the pillow and smiled coyly—“that handsome croupier from dinner.”
“Wh-wha—?” Mayté sputtered. Her spine stiffened straight as a board.
“I saw you,” Lo teased in a singsong voice. “I heard what he said. I’ve found sweets go down much easier.” She tried to impersonate the deep timbre of his voice.
“You heard that?” Mayté shrieked.
Lo chuckled. From a young age, she had learned to use her ears.
Listen for footsteps from her father. The heavier the sound, the more likely he was to be furious or drunk.
Mamá had taught her that. She used her ears to her advantage in every situation after that.
People talked louder than they realized.
“He seemed quite concerned,” she said. “Smitten, even.”
“He was just being nice.” Mayté grabbed a pillow and squeezed it against her chest.
“Maybe so, but men are only kind when they want something in return.”
Mayté looked like she wanted to say something, but then seemed to change her mind. She looked away instead.
“Use that to your advantage. He’ll become soft like clay. Or think of him as a blank canvas, free for you to paint your masterpiece on.”
“Blank canvases aren’t soft,” Mayté muttered, but Lo ignored her.
“Get as much information as you can from him about the house and the games. We need every advantage if we’re going to survive and win.”
“Ugh! I’ll try,” she growled, but her red cheeks revealed that she was more flustered than anything. “No promises it’ll work. I’m not good at this stuff like you.”
“Nonsense!” Lo retorted. “You’ve already caught his attention. All you have to do is be yourself.”
Mayté responded, not with words, but by hiding her face behind the pillow.
“And while you do that, I think I’ll see what I can find out from Misterioso. He seemed quite sore after the Banker gave me this room. I can use that to butter him up.”
Mayté’s head shot up from the pillow, face no longer flushed. “Lo, be careful. After everything that happened tonight, he seemed … jolly? It felt sadistic. He’s dangerous.”
Lo couldn’t help but scoff. She wasn’t scared.
No man could frighten her more than her father.
“Maybe you’re right, but we both have to do everything we can.
” She glanced out at the balcony. The full moon shone bright like a glowing opal, but she swore the dark spots made it look like a round calavera.
“We should probably try to sleep. Who knows how early in the morning the next game will be.”
Mayté shuddered. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep after … all that.”
“I know.” Lo took Mayté’s hand and ran her thumb over the fading scar.
Mayté’s skin was rougher than Lo’s, with some dry spots and a callus or two on her fingers.
It was as if her scar hadn’t healed as much either; it was pinker and the flesh still felt a bit jagged.
“Remember what you told me? We just need to do our best and keep going.”
Mayté nodded with a small smile. “As long as we stick together, we’ll have an advantage over everyone else.”
Lo knew it was true. As long as they were together, everything would be okay.