Chapter 17 #2
“What?” Mayté wrenched away from him. Distant rumbles filled the air and streaks of lightning cut through the sky. She turned away , pinpricks of pain racing across her chest, followed by heat. Angry, furious heat. She whirled around to face him with a growl. “I’ve been using you too!”
His eyes grew as wide as an owl’s.
She jabbed her finger against his chest. “I was using you to learn more about the game, but you’re easy to talk to, and I … I enjoy being around you, so.”
“That’s not using me.” He stepped closer.
She didn’t back away.
“That’s survival.”
“Then how were you using me?” She forced out the question before she could take it back.
“The thing is, I don’t feel much of anything anymore.” Alejandro slowly released her. “Even the most potent potions—the ones that should cause pain—do nothing to me.”
She thought of the numbing sensation she’d felt from his lips last night. Was that why he resorted to Frío Alivio?
“But you make me feel something, Mayté.”
Her heart swelled. “I mentioned how I enjoyed reading; well, the most fascinating part of Fortune Kiss’s library are the soul books.
” Alejandro reached into his rucksack. She hadn’t even noticed that he had one with him.
He pulled out a book with an azure cover.
“These books are made to fit the player’s desires.
I read them once new players are chosen.
I’ve always held on to a hope that seeing other’s dreams on the pages would help me remember mine.
” He held up the book, showing her the cover.
Mayté gasped. In golden swirly letters, it read: María Teresa Robles. She tore her gaze away, only to find that they were both back in the library. The fireplace roared to life.
Her fingers trembled as she took the book from Alejandro.
Ever so carefully, she sat in the nearest seat and studied the cover.
What could possibly be inside a book about herself?
Abuelita used to read her illustrated stories she’d bought from the street mercado.
Fairy tales about princesses getting rescued, peasants meeting Los Santos, and brujas unleashing magnificent curses on the cruelest of people.
Mayté imagined her own tragic fairy tale about a princess losing her crown and castle after her fool of a father gambled the throne away. She wet her lips and lifted the cover.
What she saw took her breath away.
Page upon page full of gorgeous paintings. The kind she could only dream of creating. Scattered between were photos of beautiful scenery. The same city she was in. The calming beach. A sunset view on a mountain. A field full of flowering cacti. An endless ocean on a cloudless day. “What is this?”
“Your wishes and dreams.” Alejandro peered over her shoulder.
His face was so close, she could see just how long his dark eyelashes were and count the string of moles on his cheek.
They looked like half of a crescent moon.
“The books appear as soon as contestants are chosen. Most are full of palaces overflowing with gold. Some are … not so beautiful to look at.” He frowned.
“But your book is full of the most beautiful dreams I’ve ever seen.
The pages show you have a pure heart.” His warm breath sent pleasant chills down her neck.
“I knew I had to meet you. And you’re just as beautiful on the outside as the dreams inside of you. ”
No boy had ever appreciated her so intensely. She swallowed the biggest lump in her throat. It was something she could only have dreamed of, but now that it was happening, she didn’t know what to do or say.
He continued, “I’m not sure if it’s the magic of the book, or you, but my memory has been coming back in bits and pieces.”
Mayté followed his gaze to the fireplace.
The flames transformed, revealing a boy sitting on the street, sketching on parchment as a crowd gathered around.
Some threw coins into his cup and in return he handed them his drawing, but when he looked inside the cup, the flames weakened, fizzling into smoke.
“I came from Milagro, and I had nothing. Except my drawings.” His voice became distant. Not quite dreamy, more like recollecting a recurring nightmare. “I drew charcoal portraits. Quick. Fast. People enjoyed them, yet no one wants to pay an artist what they’re worth.”
Mayté nodded for she knew exactly what he meant. It was the very reason she fought tooth and nail for patrons like Dominic’s mother, because most everyone else expected masterpieces for very little pay. “You came here to fund your dream.”
“I believe so, but that part is still foggy.”
“I don’t understand how you’re using me, though.” She looked back at the shelf. Each book was a vastly different color, but every name was printed in that same swirly gold. What did the other contestants have inside their books?
The fire crackled; several embers flew out like angry little spirits. Alejandro flinched and gripped the back of the seat. “I know. And we don’t have much time until people start looking for us. There’s one more thing I need to show you.”
Alejandro led Mayté through the twisting hallways of the house. But this time they ended up somewhere completely unfamiliar to her. A different elevator. This one was a claustrophobic box that could fit only four people at the most.
Alejandro leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor numbers as they grew higher. His face was completely unreadable.
“I shouldn’t be in here.” Mayté nervously ran her fingers over her braid. “You’ll get in trouble if someone finds out.”
“It’s okay.” He flashed a small smile. “I made my choice that night we met in the library.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, just as the elevator dinged and the door opened. The panel no longer showed a floor number, but instead a calavera.
He took her hand once again. “I need to show you what Fortune’s Kiss really is.
” He led her down another hallway. Marigolds dusted the floor and a sweet-smelling smoke wafted through the dim air.
They passed by several doors, each large and gilded in gold.
Mayté couldn’t imagine what secrets were locked behind them, but Alejandro instead led her to a red door at the end of the hall.
Hazy wisps slipped through the keyhole like ghostly fingers.
He fished a large black key from his pocket.
“Where did you—?” Mayté started.
“Misterioso,” Alejandro finished. “Plucked it right from his pocket.” With a small smirk, he stuck the key into the hole. “Perhaps I was a pickpocket as well.” He unlocked the door and yanked it open with a grunt.
A blast of wind and smoke hit Mayté’s face.
Marigold petals fluttered around her robe.
It reminded her of when she had first come here.
The ritual that measured her soul. Back then, she had been filled with a jittery concoction of excitement and nerves.
Hubris. Foolish, foolish hubris. But this time, as she stepped into the dim room, her stomach churned with nothing but pure dread.
The biggest altar loomed before her, stretching out to cover the walls.
Similar to altars to the dead and Los Santos, it was full of framed photos, painted calaveras, candles, and other trinkets.
Hundreds of them. Something about this was off.
It wasn’t somber or reverent, but felt more like an elegant abomination. “What is this?” she whispered.
“El Beso de la Fortuna,” Alejandro answered. “Behind the golden possibilities, beautiful illusions, and mystical decadence, this is the truth of Fortune’s Kiss.” He knelt at the center of the room.
Mayté had been so focused on the altar that she hadn’t noticed the floor.
There was a circular pool filled with what looked like molten gold.
It glowed bright, not burningly so like the sun, but it was brighter than the moon, washing Alejandro’s face in glittering light.
The ocean flowed in waves, but this pulsated.
Almost like a beating heart. She knelt next to him.
A pleasant feeling washed over her. Suddenly she was wide-awake, and not the least bit fatigued. The confusion and anxiety racing through her mind calmed into lovely bliss.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Alejandro studied her.
“I think so.” She had never gotten drunk, much less had more than a few sips of alcohol, but this was how she imagined intoxication would feel: the way people swayed and smiled without the slightest care as they acted like complete fools. She rested her head on Alejandro’s shoulder.
“At one time this was a potion, but after absorbing so many hopes, dreams, emotions, lives, and souls, it has become the heart of the house.”
“What?” Mayté jolted. That was enough to sober her up.
“This is what makes the house aware and sentient. It takes in what you give it and amplifies it.” He stared at the pool, eyes narrowed.
“The Gamemakers swim in it, but like everything else here, it comes at a price. There are whispers that it amplifies something dark inside you and corrupts your soul. Like Misterioso and the Banker. They’re different from the rest of the staff.
They have their memories, yet they’ve lost their empathy.
Misterioso has been here the longest, and he’s the most callous of all.
Rumor has it that Gamemakers from the past eventually lose their minds.
Everyone wonders if Misterioso will be the next one. ”
“How …” Her voice came out hoarse. “How do you know this?”