Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Mayté
Mayté was supposed to return to the suite and change out of her nightgown and robe.
But now she found herself stuck. So many thoughts bounced through her head and competed for her full attention.
The discovery of the El Beso de la Fortuna card.
Knowing exactly what she had to do to free everyone from the house.
The brief taste of Alejandro’s lips against hers.
But, most of all, her thoughts kept returning to Lo.
Lo had seemed so strange. As if she were a completely different person.
Not the dearest friend Mayté had grown up with.
There was something odd about her demeanor.
She looked beautiful in her black gown. But all the gowns in their suite had been bright and colorful. Not the color of shadows in the night.
When she had looked at Lo, she’d felt something off, but she couldn’t figure out why or what it could be.
“Mayté? What are you doing in your nightgown?”
Carlos approached her in front of the elevator, clad in a suit. His dark eyes squinted with exhaustion.
Mayté clutched her satchel tighter. Inside was her father’s framed photo and calavera. This was the moment she most dreaded. She pushed the button to call the elevator if only to buy her an extra second to pull herself together. “I need to tell you something.”
“What is it?”
The elevator doors opened, they got in, and Mayté looked to the ceiling, blinking back tears. She had never noticed that it was painted to match the night sky: stars winked and glistened like gems floating in a sea of ink.
“Mayté, what happened?”
She took a shaky breath. “F-fa—” She snapped her mouth shut before her voice could completely shatter.
If she dared speak, she would completely break down, and that wouldn’t help anything.
She needed to collect herself, so, instead, she pulled out the photograph and calavera and forced them into her brother’s hands.
“Wha—?” Carlos flinched as he studied the photograph. “Where did you get this?”
“Father gambled here,” she blurted out. It was painful and her vision blurred, but there was also a relief. Just like ripping out a splinter. “This …” She took a shaky breath as a hot tear crawled down her cheek. “This is what happened to our family’s fortune.”
Carlos didn’t say a word. Instead, he just stood there, mouth agape.
But soon his eyes twitched and his lips curled.
He hurled the calavera at the wall. It shattered into thousands of pieces, leaving a spatter of brown.
He shouted a string of curses. Mayté felt every vile word because the exact same thing had gone through her head.
“Why?” His shouting and anger morphed into tears.
“He had everything. So why?” The frame slipped from his fingers and landed with a thud. “Why would he come here?”
“I have no idea.” Mayté knelt to pick up the photograph.
A long crack stretched along the glass. She changed her mind and instead hugged her brother.
The two stood like that for several moments as the elevator ascended.
Just silence, and the tears dripping down their faces.
She finally broke that silence. “We’re here because of him, and if we lose … ”
“We’ll either die a gruesome death or live to become just like him,” Carlos croaked.
Their father had destroyed their future. Becoming like him was a fate worse than death. “The only way to avoid that is to win,” Mayté said. “And I know exactly how to do it; I know a way that we can all escape from here.”
Carlos’s eyebrows rose.
“So, please.” She wiped her tears. “You have to trust me and make sure you keep surviving. Okay?” Now she was more determined than ever to save everyone.
“I should have trusted you from the very beginning,” Carlos said as the doors opened.
She gave his arm one final squeeze before the two stepped out into the gaming den, leaving behind the remnants of their father’s greatest mistake.
Lo was already seated between Dominic and the shopkeeper. She wouldn’t even look in Mayté’s direction.
Carlos glanced between the two girls, but said nothing as he and Mayté took the only two seats left.
What was going on with Lo? Even the Banker, who stood at the table shuffling cards, kept glancing at her, a mixture of bewilderment and concern in his blue eyes. He was usually as slick as a serpent. Smug and nonchalant, but right now he looked disturbed.
Misterioso strode into the room. “Everyone’s here. Let’s begin!” he growled.
Mayté didn’t dare look as he rested his hand on the back of her chair; she felt his imposing presence directly behind her.
“This round should be short and straightforward,” he spat. “Souls are on the line. We play until one person is eliminated.”
Mayté broke into a sweat. One person. After that would be the final round. El Beso de la Fortuna would surely appear then. But they still needed to get through this round. She glanced around the table. Carlos, Dominic, Lo, even the shopkeeper: she couldn’t stand the thought of any of them dying.
But one of them would have to.
“Understood?” Misterioso drummed his fingers against the back of her seat.
She felt each of those forceful taps in her heart.
She finally dared a look up at him, and froze.
He had swapped out his white calavera mask for a black one.
It was made from harsh angles and looked almost decayed.
The large round eyeholes emphasized the murderous way he stared down at her.
“Wait a minute,” the shopkeeper said, stealing away Misterioso’s attention.
No longer under his terrifying scrutiny, Mayté let herself breathe.
“We’re not all here. What about Don Zelaya?” the shopkeeper asked.
Her heart thudded.
“That’s right. Where is he?” Carlos murmured as he looked around the room.
“I’m afraid Don Martín Zelaya is no longer with us,” Mysterioso said plainly.
“He dropped out of the game?” the shopkeeper spat in disbelief. “What a foolish move.”
Dominic looked down, conflict written all over his face.
And Lo? She stared calmly, straight ahead.
Had Lo killed Don Zelaya? He was a nasty, horrible monster. He must have threatened Lo somehow. Had he done something to her? Was that why she was acting so strangely?
“Banker, begin the game,” Mysterioso said.
Everything felt wrong. Yet the game began as usual with the Banker calling out cards and everyone placing beans on their boards.
Cards like El Tifón, which unleashed strong winds through the gambling den; El Venado, which summoned a herd of deer that walked around and munched on the vases of marigolds; and La Sandia, which prompted the servers to set out plates of sliced watermelon.
Lo took a big bite of hers and wiped away the dribbling juices from her chin.
She still wouldn’t look at Mayté. Instead, she studied her board. “Oh! Lotería!” she shouted and flicked her hand.
The Banker leaned over to check her card. Even he looked like he didn’t believe it.
“Congratulations.” Misterioso waved his cane, and an image of Lo’s board appeared. It showed beans covering the first row and column. “Double lotería. How fortunate for you.” But he hardly sounded pleased. “You may draw two cards.”
Lo plucked two cards from the Banker and held them high for everyone to see.
There was El Cotorro, which showed a green parakeet on a branch; the other one was La Corona. The same card that Xiomara had given Don Zelaya.
“We …” Misterioso’s eyes widened as if he were taken aback.
Seeing the man who had presided over so much carnage made Mayté feel ill.
Something was seriously wrong. “We’ll start with El Cotorro,” he said, voice strained and flat.
“This card can be used on another player, who then must truthfully answer your questions or else lose their wager.”
“Then I’ll use it now,” Lo said.
“On whom?” Misterioso asked, looking oddly relieved.
Lo pointed at Mayté.
“Me?” Mayté asked in disbelief. “Why me?”
Misterioso eyed Lo suspiciously. “In order to keep your soul, you must answer Lorena’s questions truthfully.”
The room spun. Why would Lo do this?
No one had actually lost their soul in sudden death, but Mayté was almost certain what losing meant: sharing the same fate as Senor Vasquez, if not something much worse.
The card flashed and a parakeet flew out of it. Its colorful tail feathers trailed behind it like elegant ribbons as it landed on Lo’s shoulder.
“Ask as many questions as you wish until El Cotorro stops you.”
Lo gently stroked her finger under the bird’s chin. “Mayté, are you jealous of me?”
Mayté’s heart stopped.
Lo simply stared inquisitively with a knowing smile.
Mayté’s face burned. She became hyperaware of all the eyes on her. The gazes from the other croupiers, the other contestants. But most of all, she felt Lo’s eyes.
“I—I—yes.” Mayté couldn’t lie. “I have been jealous of you.” She looked down.
“Truth,” El Cotorro squawked.
“Why?” Lo asked.
Mayté’s head shot back up. Lo still smiled, brown eyes cold.
Mayté clenched her fist, nails digging into her palms. “B—because all the boys adore you. They’ve always paid more attention to you and not me.
” Her voice cracked. Vocalizing her darkest feelings—everything she despised about herself—hurt.
“You’re the prettier one. And you’ve never had to worry about money.
” She sucked in her cheeks, willing herself not to cry.
“Truth,” El Cotorro squawked again.
That wasn’t the full story. The truth was that it wasn’t Lo’s fault, and Mayté never held it against her. “But, Lo, I—”
“What about the croupier, Alejandro?”
Mayté’s heart stopped.
“What do you think of him?”
“H—he’s handsome. And kind. And … he makes me feel safe,” she rasped.
“Truth.”
“Please, no more,” Mayté whispered.
But Lo ignored her. “Do you want to save him?”
The uncomfortable, slimy humiliation hardened into piercing thorns. How did Lo know about that? “Y—yes.”