Chapter 9 #2
This was a golden opportunity. Almost too perfect to be real. Had the house really kissed her with such fortune? It baffled her, but she would be a fool to question it. “You—you’re the one from dinner.”
“You recognize me.” His eyes crinkled and he looked pleased.
“Of course. I’m an artist so I have to be observant about people’s faces.” She ignored her pounding heart and stood taller.
“It’s an honor to have an artiste in my presence.” He bowed, clearly playing along, but it felt more fun than condescending.
Mayté couldn’t stop grinning.
“I’ve been wanting to meet the world-famous Mayté. Just Mayté,” he said.
Her smile fell. “How did you—?”
“Did you like the pan dulce?” he asked as he turned to the fireplace, which cast dark shadows over his face.
She hesitated. The question hung in the air, but she had come here for different answers. “Yes, it was good, and you were right—it made me feel a little better. Thank you. My stomach’s still a bit unsettled,” she admitted.
He seemed almost relieved. Or was she just being paranoid? “Ah!” His face lit up. “Wait a moment.” He held up a finger before dashing off.
Now alone, Mayté’s head caught up with her racing heart. She needed to focus on her mission. Get answers. Hints. Rules. Anything she could find out from him. She crept closer to the fireplace and warmed her hands before they could tremble.
“I’m back.”
Mayté whirled around. Her heart fluttered like a butterfly trapped in a glass jar.
The croupier held out a saucer and teacup.
The butterfly in her heart slowed. She took the saucer and cup. “Isn’t it a bit late for coffee?” She raised an eyebrow.
He chuckled and shook his head. “No, no, it’s cinnamon tea.”
Taking a closer look, a couple of cinnamon sticks poked out from the liquid. She hesitated. Abuelita always warned her never to accept a drink from a stranger. Wicked men slipped dangerous potions into drinks.
“You don’t like cinnamon?” He frowned, heavy eyebrows furrowed.
“No, no.” Without thinking, she took a small sip, careful not to burn her tongue. How could she let a simple frown pressure her so easily? But if she acted too suspicious, he might not want to tell her anything.
The tea tasted good. Surprisingly sweet, the velvety hot liquid went down smooth.
The soft spice warmed her down to her toes.
“Mmm …” She took another sip, then another and another, each one bigger than the last. Surely if this were laced with a potion, she would have noticed by now.
“It’s really good.” Her shoulders relaxed and she sat on the plush sofa nearest the fireplace.
The croupier sat next to her. “That’s the best cure you’re going to find for an upset stomach. Even better than a potion.”
“Ohh. Mmm. It tastes much better than a potion. That’s for sure.” Mayté took another sip. “The cooks here are really good.”
“I made it,” he corrected her. “It’s a recipe I’ve always known. I think.” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “I take it you can’t sleep.”
“After seeing a woman beheaded? No, actually, I can’t.”
Even though her tone was harsh, the croupier flashed the smallest of understanding smiles. “You grow numb to it after a while.”
“Seeing enough of that to get used to it? That would be even worse.”
The croupier frowned. “You’re right. It is.”
There was a pause where all she could hear was the crackling flames consuming the firewood. It was warm. A sleepy, calming warmth. This was the most relaxed she had felt since arriving. “Is this room magic?”
“Hmm?”
“It’s just … being in here is making me feel really good.”
“Oh, it’s not the room. It’s the house. It feeds off the emotions of you and the other players and gives them back to you.
Right now, it’s reflecting your pleasant feelings.
I feel it too. You’re a very calming person to be around.
” There was that smile again. So charming.
The room grew even warmer, and the candlelight dimmed, becoming almost dreamlike.
“What really brought you here at such an hour?” Mayté asked.
“I already told you.” He chuckled. “I came to read. This is a library, after all. The books change each time the house moves, so I have plenty to read.” He beckoned at the thousands of shelves all around them.
“No matter what’s going on, I can grab a book and be transported to another place.
The house has every book one can dream of reading.
I know I’ll never run out.” His words were cheerful, but the way he spoke them sounded more wistful than anything.
Mayté racked her brain for a clever response. Flirting was Lo’s thing. She was a performer. But Mayté had zero talent in that medium.
As a child, when she first began drawing, she used to place her paper on top of her favorite Lotería cards and trace over them.
The lines were rigid and awkward, but it helped her learn.
Now she would have to do the same. What would Lo do in this situation?
She imagined her best friend, sweet and smiling.
The warm firelight casting a glow on her pretty face and bouncy curls.
With her own twitchy smile, Mayté scooted a tad closer to the croupier.
“Be honest. Did you really come here just to read, or did you come hoping to see me?” Dios.
As soon as she said it, she wanted to curl up into a ball and die.
She was nothing like Lo. Didn’t have the beauty or charisma to pull this off.
He chuckled again. “I think perhaps it was you who wanted to see me.”
“Wh-wh-what?” Mayté stiffened.
“Everyone here knows the house has a way of leading people to what they desire.”
Mayté didn’t know where to look. His hazel eyes made her insides twist and the way he smiled made the rest of her feel warm and melty. The chandelier above glittered and the smell of cinnamon filled the air.
“Maybe that’s why the house wouldn’t let me sleep. It knew you wanted to see me.” He rested his head on his palm. “So, tell me, why did you want to see me?”
“I—I— Well …” What was she supposed to say?
That she wanted to use him for information?
What would Lo do at a time like this? No, Lo was too crafty to even find herself in such a bind.
Mayté reached for her teacup to take another drink but fumbled.
The steamy liquid sloshed around, burning heat bit through her finger. “Ow!”
“Are you okay?” The croupier took the saucer and teacup and set it on the side table.
“I’m fine.” Mayté rubbed her finger. The skin was red and tender, and already she felt a burn blister forming.
“You’ve burned yourself,” he said as if reading her mind.
“Don’t worry. It’s fine.” How many times had she singed herself frying tortillas for herself and her brother?
But the croupier shook his head and gently took her hand. “It’ll just be a distraction and you need all the concentration you can get during the games.” He lifted her hand toward his mouth. “May I?”
Her heart skipped. “Uh. Sure. Yeah.” But what was he going to do?
He pressed her finger against his parted lips.
His tongue brushed against it. Warm. It sent a flood of heat down her arm.
But soon a familiar cool sensation chased away the warmth.
The pleasant, relieving sort of cool. The kind that vanquished her stinging skin.
“Alivio Frío?” she whispered. Abuelita always insisted on cooking for fiestas.
Always complained that the servants’ cooking didn’t have the same magic to it.
And she was adamant that Mayté learn her recipes so she could pass them on to her children, and so on.
She learned how to make delicious chicken and rice, fresh tortillas, and many other dishes, but a memory of the time they made tamales filled her head.
Abuelita warned Mayté to wash her hands after touching the serrano peppers, but Mayté didn’t listen and accidentally rubbed her eyes.
All these years later, she could still remember the fiery pain.
Her eyes instantly began to burn, and she screamed her head off.
Abuelita quickly came to the rescue with an icy blue Alivio Frío potion.
Just a drop in each eye and she felt instant relief.
The croupier quickly looked away as he lowered her hand. Was he blushing?
Mayté swore she could feel the heat of embarrassment radiating off him. She studied her finger. The blister had already shrunk, and the redness had dulled into a faint pink. “How did you …?” Why would he consume such a potion?
His eyebrows furrowed.
“What is it?” she whispered.
Clunk!
The two whirled around, but no one was there. A book with an azure casing lay on the floor not even a foot away. It must have fallen off the shelf.
“I really can’t stay much longer.” He stood.
“Wait. Can I at least know your name?”
He bowed. “Alejandro.”
“And you already know mine.”
He nodded, eyes dancing.
“How did you know?” Maybe it was risky to ask, but she couldn’t help it.
Alejandro picked up the book. “You could say I’ve read up a bit on the contestants. We croupiers don’t have that much to entertain ourselves with.”
It was a simple enough answer, but her stomach clenched as if telling her that there was more to it than just that.
The way he looked at her, it was as if he knew something she didn’t.
Wanted something from her too, but the most frightening part of it was that she found it all oddly …
thrilling. “Wait!” She reached back and grabbed his arm.
She couldn’t let him slip away without getting any information.
“I—I’m a bit nervous about tomorrow.” She chewed her lower lip and chose her next words carefully.
“Is there anything I should bring with me? Which of Los Santos should I pray to tonight?”
Alejandro looked over his shoulder, then leaned in close.
It was so sudden. Every part of Mayté froze except her heart.
Was he going to kiss her? What would she do?
What should she do? But he wasn’t going for her lips.
Instead, he whispered in her ear: “Just bring your wits, and remember: the house has a way of leading people to what they desire. Focus on what you want most, but be careful. The magic comes at a price, and those with wicked intentions pay a steeper one.”
“W-w-wha—?”
He pulled away before she could ask more. “I’ll come see you again, but I really have to go.” With that, he left the library.
Now alone, Mayté rubbed her finger, which had stayed cool to the point of numbness.
A smoky haze filled the air as the fireplace’s glow dulled.
The room had changed from pleasant to ghostly once again.
She got out of there as quickly as she could, but once she returned to the hallway, her unease morphed into excitement.
If Alejandro was right, if she could keep calm and focus on what she wanted, maybe she could win the next game.
As if to prove that theory true, she found her way back to the suite with no problem. She threw the door open and grinned at the sight of Lo back in bed. “You’ll never guess what I found out.”
But Lo didn’t respond, or even stir. She was sound asleep.
Mayté couldn’t help but wonder if Lo had actually left the room earlier.
Or if it had been just an illusion.