Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

THE SUN SETS EARLIER AS winter nears, so it's night out when I get back to the castle. My heart thunders the whole way because I'm about to see Sebastián.

I left the bookstore a little before closing so Felipe wouldn't try walking me home. The emotions that surfaced when we argued in his room won't sink back down, and a new energy has wedged itself between us that feels prickly against my skin.

More and more, I feel like in coming to Oscuro, I've stepped onto a game board without knowing I am one of the pieces. This town runs on an ancient superstition about my bloodline, and those who stay are the ones who believe it to be true.

I head straight to the kitchen to check for signs that Beatríz is back, and I see movement by the dining hall.

"Beatríz?" I call out.

"No," says Sebastián as I approach, and I have to blink a few times to be sure of what I'm seeing.

The wooden table is weighted down with a feast of godly proportions, and the shadow beast is standing behind a chair. He slides it out for me, and I'm beyond speechless—I'm stunned.

"As your aunt is not here to do it, I thought I would present your dinner."

It's the melody of his voice that motivates my legs to move, and I somehow make it to the chair. Before me is a sprawling three-dimensional mural of food that extends the full table, featuring everything I brought back from Felipe's.

Everything .

It takes me a moment to assess my options because Sebastián has created what could be an exhibit at a culinary art museum. An eclectic forest of knotted, bread-trunked trees with crowns of spaghetti, gnocchi, and angel hair is planted in a field of paella, beneath an elaborate full moon. By the trees is a residential area with rows of houses built with walls of manchego and topped with slanted roofs of jamón ibérico. There's even a recreation of la Sombra, but I can't see what Sebastián used for its construction because the whole thing is coated with coffee grounds to make it look black, adorned with streaks of red that's either ketchup or hot sauce.

"See anything you like?" he asks.

I bite down to keep my mouth from betraying me.

"Is something wrong?"

I shake my head and attempt to serve myself anything from this table. What looks easiest to pluck is a hard-boiled egg that's part of a spiral design replicating the full moon.

"Um, how did you cook these?" I ask, the egg cold and light in my hand.

" Cook? " he echoes.

Now the laughter bursts out of me, and I can't hold back. When I see the befuddlement on his face, my cackles intensify, and I realize how funny I must have seemed to him the night I told him he was a hallucination. "I'm sorry," I say between breaths. "This is the sweetest thing, but it's… it's not… edible ."

"What do you mean? This is all human food."

"Eggs have to be boiled, bread has to be sliced, hot sauce doesn't go on coffee grounds—" I notice a wineglass by me that's filled with a dark red drink. "What is that ?"

"Tomato juice."

I bring it close to my nose and sniff. Gazpacho.

"Cheers!" I say, and take a big swig. Sebastián slides into Beatríz's seat across from me, his face fallen with disappointment.

"I guess you don't know everything, " I gloat, still smirking.

This appears to be the wrong thing to say because his frown lines only deepen. "I should have watched more carefully, but I lost interest when the human went into the kitchen."

" Beatríz, " I say. "On Earth, humans use names to make it easier to communicate."

He keeps his gaze lowered like he's ashamed, and I feel bad, so I say, "Thank you for doing this."

"You are malnourished," he says gruffly. "Is any of this edible?"

I pick up a ham and cheese house-wich. I collapse the construction, flattening the jamón ibérico against the manchego, and I take a bite. The sharpness of the cheese is tempered by the smokiness of the ham, and I finish the breadless bocadito in two bites.

"Have you learned anything from your source today?" he asks after I've eaten a second house-wich.

I don't want to admit I spent the day investigating him, so I say, "I learned the townspeople believe this castle hides a gateway to another realm they call Otro, and that's why they stay in Oscuro through the generations. They believe as long as the bloodlines remain, the gate stays closed."

I still don't know what to believe, but I keep my tone neutral and study Sebastián for a reaction. "Where is it?" he asks me. "How does it open?"

His hunger for the information throws me off. "I don't know. If it's real, wouldn't you have traveled through it to get here?"

He frowns. "I already told you I do not remember. After our last conversation, you still refuse to believe me?"

"It's not that," I say cautiously, unsure how he's going to take my next question. "But has it occurred to you that since you're missing your memories, it's possible you made a deal with the so-called bruja that brought you here? Like a pact ?"

"I have considered it, and it is possible," he says. "I still want to know for certain."

I nod in agreement. "Good. There's something else—my source believes Brálagas can perform magic on the full moon. Which is tomorrow . If Beatríz is really a bruja, she could have taken off to gather ingredients for a spell."

He frowns, plunging deep into thought. "Strange. I have seen no signs of magic from her. What about the castle lights?" he asks, focusing back on me. "Have they not flickered again?"

"Not since you took those pills from me. Maybe if you give them back, we could find more answers."

"The pills given to you by the one you believe to be responsible for our situation?"

We stare at each other, neither one willing to give ground. I definitely get the sense he's not being fully transparent, but then again, neither am I. There can never be full trust between us. Does that mean we can't work together?

He reaches across the table and crushes a house-wich for me in his hand. Then he sets it down on my plate, like he expects me to eat it.

"You need your strength," he says, making me feel eight years old.

My gaze drops to his lips. His sharp fangs are hidden, but I can almost feel them piercing my skin. His bite was the furthest thing from a kiss, and yet I can't quit fantasizing about the rush of pain and pleasure.

It's probably just because no one has touched me in so long.

Yet when Felipe got close, I shirked at his touch, says the small, devil's advocate impulse in my mind.

What if Sebastián is right about me not caring if I live or die? What if it's not him that I crave but the death he offers?

His gaze flicks to my neck, and my pulse canters—which probably only makes my blood more tempting to him. "You went to such an effort for me tonight," I say, "but you have nothing for yourself."

I tug down on the necktie I looped around my neck so Felipe wouldn't see the fading puncture marks. "You can drink from me if you want."

Lightning flashes in Sebastián's eyes, and he looks as primal and lethal as the first night we met. There's a sharpening of his expression, the way a predator looks when it's cornered its prey, and I think he's pleased.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

I count off my heartbeats as I wait for his answer, trying not to think of what it says about me that I want him to accept. My need to feel his touch outweighs my instinct for self-preservation.

I'm at beat twenty-eight when he says, "As I have failed you tonight, it would not be fair for me to feed."

He looks down at the table, his voice slightly strained. "And you need more time to recover from my last bite."

I don't know why the rejection stings. I should be grateful he isn't trying to kill me, but instead I'm hurt the shadow beast won't use me to sate his thirst. I just gave him consent to drink my blood, and he's turning me down?

"I'm not hungry," I say, pushing away from the plate with the untouched house-wich. "I'm going to bed."

But as soon as I stand up, Sebastián is there, like a gentleman pulling out a chair for a lady. Only he's blocking my exit.

"What is wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing." I shove the chair back and try to sidestep him, but he's in my way again. There's a foot of air between us, and I inhale night-blooming jasmine.

"Have I offended you?" he asks in a murmur.

"You've tried to kill me every night, and now you're worried you've offended me? Make up your mind!" I'm aware my tone is flirting with hysteria.

"If I drink from you, it upsets you, and if I refuse to drink, it also upsets you." He sounds like he's losing his patience, too. "How about you make up your mind?"

"I swear, if Felipe hadn't heard you banging against the door of the castle yesterday, I would still be questioning my sanity!"

"Believe me, I have questioned my own sanity plenty of times since meeting you!" As the frustration builds in him, he seems almost human. "I have no idea why I am trying to feed you, or why I am bothering to keep you alive, especially when you do not even care to live—"

I cut him off by shoving my tongue down his throat.

I feel feral and out of control, like I'm trying to inflict pain and not pleasure with my kiss. Yet as soon as his tongue touches mine, I'm transported.

Sebastián's mouth is an explosion of flavors. Black cherries, dark chocolate, roasted coffee—

He pulls away. "Estela—"

But I can't let him go. That felt so good, and I've been alone for so long, that I throw myself against him, drawing his tongue into another dance.

This time I'm the predator, and I don't care. I just want more of how he makes me feel. Alive.

When he pulls away again, he puts at least ten feet of space between us. "You are right," he says, the silver of his eyes as bright as moonlit oceans. "You should go to bed."

"Wait—"

"Good night."

Sebastián infests my dreams.

I've had nightmares of him before, hunting me, chasing me, biting me. But this was different. Last night, I was the predator.

I kept showing up from the shadows and cornering the shadow beast, no matter where in the castle he sought refuge. It was like we'd traded roles, and I physically overpowered him.

Each time I brought my lips to his, he would warn me that this was a bad idea. But I would drown his words with my tongue until he gave in—then I'd wake up, appalled. Over and over and over again.

I get out of bed.

It's brighter out than usual, so I must have slept in, but I'm not rested. Sebastián's presence feels more pronounced after those dreams, like he's infected my bloodstream.

I check Beatríz's room first thing, as is my new routine, but it's still untouched. The full moon is tonight, and she's not back.

What if she's never returning? asks the small voice in my mind. What if she lured me here to take her place at la Sombra, so she could finally be free?

There must be clues somewhere, something to tell me what she's really up to. I've gone through her things a few times already, but I haven't done an in-depth search of her actual space.

In her nightstand is a ring of keys, probably all duplicates, including an alarm key I've seen her use to lock up the clínica. I pocket it. I open every single drawer and box I see, but I don't find a passport or checkbook or cash.

Either it's all well-hidden, or she's taken everything important with her.

I knock on the floor and walls, but I don't sense a secret compartment like the one in the purple room with my photos and death certificate. I do a thorough inspection of the bathroom and come up empty. That just leaves the closet.

In size and organization, it could be a boutique clothing shop, with extra sections for shoes, handbags, and luggage. The racks and shelves are packed with fashions for both men and women, including ruffly and frilly dresses, ancient-looking frocks made of fur and wool, and accessories like hats and canes. It seems like this closet has been accruing articles of clothing over the generations.

I search everywhere for a false wall, or a hidden hatch, or somewhere to stow secrets, but I find nothing. I'm about to leave when a piece of luggage catches my eye. It's a rolling suitcase, and it's made of denim, just like the matching set Mom, Dad, and I shared. Only this one is a darker wash, and someone has written with marker all over it.

I pull it out from its place in the suitcase lineup, and I try to read what's been written on it. Propiedad de Olivia Brálaga.

This was Mom's.

I set it flat on the floor and unzip it. The breath that's released is a ghost of Mom's scent, and for a moment I feel her here . I close my eyes to hold on to her presence for longer, then I open them again and look at her things.

It's mostly clothing. Sweaters, shirts, pants, socks, underwear, even a white dress for some reason. Some things look like they might fit me, others could be a little big—but I'm keeping it all. Before wheeling the bag back to my room, I feel around for anything harder than fabric, and I touch a flat, semi-hard surface.

A book.

I pull out a journal with a brown leather cover that looks old and weathered. Dad used to love this kind of journal for taking notes because of its sturdiness. I wonder if this one was his. I open it eagerly, but the pages are blank and unlined.

I drop off the suitcase in my room, then I pull on my coat and sling my empty denim duffel over my chest on the way out.

The village is quiet as usual as I approach the clínica. Beatríz's note is still pinned to the door. I try inserting a few keys until I find the right one, and the handle clicks. I hurry to press the alarm key to the sensor so it doesn't go off, but there's no beep or flash of light. Like it wasn't armed.

"Beatríz?" I call out. Did she forget to set it, or did somebody turn it off?

One of the patient beds is unmade. I poke my head in my aunt's office, but it's empty.

I enter the back storage area and open the freezer. It was brimming with what must have been a few hundred blood bags the last time Beatríz showed it to me. Now it looks like there are barely one hundred left.

I grab ten plastic pouches and drop them into my duffel. I can't show up to the bookstore loaded with blood bags, so I head to the castle first to drop them off. But as I'm cutting across the plaza, I see movement.

I'm not alone.

Felipe's great-grandmother Gloria is feeding the birds. She's talking to them, and hearing her gravelly voice, I remember how Felipe's parents seemed worried about what she might say in my presence.

Gloria is whistling to a dove as I approach, and I watch as it lands on her wrist and eats the birdseed from her palm. "Hola, angelito."

I think she's speaking to the bird, until she looks up at me, and I realize she's greeting me as little angel. That's what she called me at Felipe's house, too.

"Hola," I say, hating how round the o sounds in my voice.

She gestures for me to sit, and I perch on the lip of the fountain. "Qué lindo volver a verte," she says. How nice to see you again.

Since I lack the vocabulary to communicate everything I want in Spanish, I weigh my words carefully. "?Usted me conocía de bebé?" I ask if she knew me as a baby.

"Claro," she says genially. "En este pueblito, todos nos conocemos." In this town, we all know each other.

Raul's Rule #7 is Consult the experts, which is what I thought I was doing with my research at the bookstore. Yet it strikes me now that Gloria is an expert as well. She's an Oscurian time capsule.

"?Por qué mis padres se fueron?" I lack the fluency to finesse my inquiry, so I ask her point-blank why my parents left Oscuro.

"Ay, tus padres," she says with a pitying sigh, obviously thinking of their passing. Her face pulls together, tears welling in her eyes, and she grabs my arm, her long nails digging in like claws. "Pobrecitos."

"It's okay," I say, wishing she would let go.

"Pobrecita tú," she goes on, shifting her pity from my parents to me. "Condenada a la oscuridad."

Did she just say I'm doomed to darkness ? I ask for clarification: "?Qué quiere decir—?"

Her bony hand pulls me in so close that I can see every wrinkle of her face, and I flash to the sand dunes of Arizona. "Por siempre serás nuestro angelito sobreviviente." You'll always be our surviving little angel.

"Pero antes que eso," I insist, urging her to think back before the subway, to when my parents and I lived here. "?Qué pasó aquí?" What happened here?

She blinks her glassy eyes, looking lost, like a computer hard drive crashing. I wait for what feels like a few minutes for her brain to reboot, but she just keeps holding on to me in silence.

"Bueno," I say, wresting my shoulder free. "Adiós—"

"Parecía que todo el castillo estaba envuelto en llamas," she says softly, looking up at la Sombra.

I don't know what that means. Something about the castle and llamas ?

"No entiendo," I say, frustrated.

Actual tears are dripping from Gloria's eyes, and I'm not sure what to do. I shouldn't have bothered her with this. "?Está bien?" I ask, checking if she's okay.

She stares up at the sky above the castle. "El fuego era negro."

The fire was black.

"Creí que el castillo se derretía." I thought the castle was melting.

It's only when I swallow that I realize my mouth is hanging open. My throat is dry as I ask, "?El fuego estaba afuera ?" The fire was outside ?

She nods, eyes wide, like she's seeing it now. How could the flames have reached the outer walls of the castle when the purple room is in the basement and nothing else was scorched? It doesn't make sense.

"Y luego—" Gloria snaps her fingers, jolting me back to attention—"se apagó. Así, sin más. Y el castillo quedó intacto. Ni una marca." The fire went out and the castle was intact is all I get from that.

"Esa misma noche, tus padres desaparecieron." Your parents disappeared that night.

"?Qué pasó después?" What happened next?

"Tus abuelos no duraron mucho más en este mundo. Imagínate cómo sufrieron. Fue un golpe muy fuerte para ellos." She's talking faster now, making it harder for me to follow. My grandparents suffered and weren't long for this world—?

"Tu tía Beatríz nunca fue la misma. Decidió seguir la carrera de medicina y se dedicó a sus estudios." Beatríz was never the same and became a doctor.

"Espera," I say so Gloria will slow down. "Más despacio—"

"Pero el culpable fue él. "

I freeze when I hear that pronoun.

He.

"?Quién?" I ask in desperation. " Who set the fire? "

She stares at me in silence, her eyes frosty like crystal orbs.

"Corre, angelito," she whispers. Run, little angel.

"El diablo aun no ha terminado contigo."

The devil isn't finished with you yet.