Chapter 13 #2
“It’s fine. I know you’re hoping to win Lo’s affections. Good luck.”
Dominic stammered. It looked like he wanted to say something more, but then closed his mouth.
He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet before filling the awkward silence.
“Once we get out of here … can you paint a portrait of me instead? I’ve been thinking about that lately, and I would prefer that. ”
Mayté frowned. He spoke as if they just had to survive a few more rounds, and then they’d all be free, but no. It wasn’t that simple. Nothing about this place was. “Dominic—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “But then again, anything is possible here. Look at where we’re standing.” He gestured out the window at the sparkling blue sea. “We’ve seen all the terrible stuff that can happen, but surely there are good things that can happen too.”
It was … optimistic. Foolishly so. But in that moment, after all the horror, Mayté truly hoped he was right. “If that happens, I’ll paint you the best portrait you’ve ever seen.”
But until that happened, she had to focus on her own plan. She rubbed the cut on her hand.
“Thanks, Mayté.” Dominic grinned, then patted his stomach. “I’m getting hungry. Want to get some lunch?”
“I’m going to stay a little longer.”
“All right, but make sure you eat something before the next round.”
“Sure.”
After Dominic left, she turned back around and gasped. The painting supplies had returned, and the targets shifted back into canvases. The painting of Alejandro was once again pristine and perfect.
“Is that a painting of me?”
Mayté jolted. She had been so shocked by the morphing painting that she hadn’t heard anyone else approach.
It was Alejandro.
He still wore his uniform, face paint and all.
The sight of him brought back a flood of memories from today’s game.
Carmen jolting as the bullet pierced her heart.
Bright red blood spurting from her chest. The life leaving her eyes in a heartbeat.
Then Senor Vásquez, giving up his hopes and dreams so he would not have anyone’s blood on his hands.
Did he regret it by now? A lump formed in her throat.
“It is me, right?” Alejandro pointed at the canvas. He looked delighted.
“I—I—” There was no way to hide it or even explain herself.
“You’re very talented. It’s an honor.” His grin sent warmth to her stomach. “Though the hair’s a bit …” He leaned closer, studying the painting. “Is my hair really so flat?”
“Of course not!” Mayté bit back a laugh. “I’m not the best at drawing figures without a reference,” she admitted.
“Well, here I am now.” He sat on a stool and raked his fingers through his dark hair until it looked absolutely fluffed out.
“You want me to paint another one?”
“Just a sketch will do.” His stare intensified. He raised an eyebrow, narrowed his eyes, and posed with his lips curled into a roguish half grin.
She bit back a laugh and grabbed a piece of charcoal, all while ignoring the heat swirling behind her cheeks. It was hard to tear her gaze away from his face and draw, and even when she did, she felt his eyes on her. It made her feel self-conscious and squirmy.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“What you said during the game. Your comment about desires. It really helped, you know,” she said, changing the subject.
“I’m glad.” His posing relaxed, but he still looked at her.
She wanted him to keep looking at her.
She needed him to look away.
“Do you have … any other morsels of truth for me?” she asked as she looked over her shoulder. Something about this place felt less private than last night. Maybe because they didn’t have the cover of dark to hide behind, or the whispers of shadows to drown out their words.
“You mean like how sweets go down easier.” He flashed a grin; even his teeth were charming—the way they dug into his lower lip slightly. “I can’t say much more than what I’ve already told you.” He gestured at the blank canvas next to hers. “May I?”
“Sure.” She handed him the charcoal and watched in curiosity as he sketched something in bold, assured strokes.
It was messy. His hand moved so fast. Mayté always worked slowly, contemplating every line, but Alejandro was quick and confident.
When anything looked like a mistake, somehow it worked inside his composition.
Every few seconds, he paused to look at her.
Wait. Was he drawing her? Every time his eyes locked onto hers, her heart thrummed against her chest. All she could do was stand there awkwardly, unsure what to do.
Soon the messy scratches formed into a girl with a braid. It was stylized, with eyes much too big for her head and lips that looked more like a heart. It was incredibly charming—even more so since he did it in only a few minutes.
“Since you painted me …” He flashed a lopsided grin. “What do you think?”
“It’s … it’s lovely! And you did it so fast. Much faster than I ever could. Are you an artist?”
Alejandro set down the charcoal with a frown. “I …” His eyes lit up as if the most mesmerizing spell washed over him. “I think I am.”
“What do you mean, ‘you think’? If you make art, you’re an artist. Simple as that.” That was something she was firm about.
He chuckled. “Then I suppose I am …”
“How did you come to be a croupier here?” she asked.
“I was once a player in the game, just like you.” He hesitated as if carefully choosing his words. “I bet everything but my life itself and lost. I was given a choice—return home without my dreams, or stay here and work.”
“How long have you been here?”
He shook his head. “Weeks? Years? I can’t remember.”
Mayté’s mouth hung open. At least some of the rumors about this place had been true.
“Everyone here has competed in the game at one time or another. I’ve been a dish scrubber, a butler, and now here I am.”
“Could you work your way up to become like the Banker or Misterioso?”
“The Banker, maybe. Rumors say he lost but showed much promise. Whatever that may mean.” His eyebrows creased. “But Misterioso … I’m not sure. No one is certain how he came to be.”
Mayté’s tried to wrap her head around this new information. “So, losing isn’t always a death sentence. And if you don’t have to give up your dreams, maybe it’s not so bad.”
Alejandro jumped as if she had slapped him.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked over his shoulder once, and then a second time. He rubbed his mouth. Then, without warning, he pulled her into his arms. Her cheek pressed against his chest. Her heart pounded wildly. She would have pushed him away if she hadn’t been so shocked.
Holding her tight, he whispered in her ear: “There are ears everywhere.” Keeping an arm around her, he grabbed the charcoal and wrote on the canvas in shaky letters.
THE HOUSE HAS MY SOUL.
“What?” Mayté gasped. “That’s—”
Alejandro pressed his hand against her mouth. He shook his head and put a finger to his lips.
Mayté’s head raced faster. The soul was the place where hope was born, where love manifested, where … memories lived.
Alejandro slowly lowered his hand from her mouth. His eyes glowed like gems dipped in sorrow.
A lump formed in her throat. It all made sense now.
The reason why he seemed uncertain about so many things.
She couldn’t imagine it—all of his memories gone.
No sense of where he had come from, or who he was.
What he did … or who he loved. Her eyes stung, but now wasn’t the time to cry.
She grabbed her paintbrush, squeezing it tight to keep her fingers from trembling. She painted under Alejandro’s words.
CAN WE WIN?
She had to know. Was everything she was fighting for futile?
Alejandro started to write an answer, but he hesitated. Clearly the answer was much more complicated than a yes or a no. And by the way his jaw clenched, it was an answer Mayté wouldn’t like.
“It’s not fair,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Something tickled her finger. She looked down and screamed.
The biggest centipede she had ever seen curled around her finger where she once had held the paintbrush.
She flailed and fell backward. All the paint supplies on the shelf had transformed into centipedes, spiders, scorpions.
They all crawled toward her with shocking speed.
She tried to get away, but they climbed onto her legs, biting and stinging her.
“NO!” she shrieked.
Something grabbed her from behind. She sobbed.
“Mayté, Mayté,” Alejandro whispered. “The house is messing with you. Just breathe.”
He held her tight. She took deep breaths as warm hands gently took her wrists. When she opened her eyes, the creatures were gone. Paintbrushes and tubes of paint lay scattered around her. Her legs didn’t itch or burn.
Alejandro scooted in front of her. His hazel eyes were wide with concern.
She opened her mouth, but only a whimper came out.
“Shh, it’s okay.” His voice was soft and soothing.
“I—I may have said too much. The house … reacts. It can take scheming as a threat.” He took her hands and helped her up.
Behind his warmth and strength, Mayté felt a tremor.
“You should return to your room.” There was a warning behind his suggestion.
“And please, be careful during the next round.”
Everything comes at a price.
What was the price for knowing the gambling house’s magic—or for using it during the game?
As Alejandro led her to the door, her stomach twisted into tighter knots.
The house had helped her up until now. Was she suddenly losing its favor?