Page 25 of Castle of the Cursed
I dig my hand into the pocket of my hoodie, and I pull out the photograph she sent me, where teenage versions of her and Mom are posing in the purple room. I set it flat on the table between us.
Beatríz’s face puckers, like she’s ingested something sour.
I clear my throat and move my tongue to speak five words: “What happened in that room?”
I only know I haven’t asked the question out loud when Beatríz says, “Your mom was younger than you are now in that picture. Keep it. It’s yours.”
She pulls my plate toward her, ready to clear the table and end any chance of this conversation happening. I keep trying to force the words out, but my vocal cords won’t cooperate. My throat closes, and my jaw stays firmly shut.
Rather than panicking, I flip the photograph over.
Dad said for every interrogation, you should always have a plan B. So on the back, I’ve written a different four-word question: Where is this room?
I keep my eyes on my aunt. I don’t even blink so I won’t miss any part of her reaction. Her hair is pulled back into such a tight knot that it tugs on her skin, making it hard to read the lines of her face. But the answer is in her eyes.
Raul’s Rule #6: The big answers lie in the small details.
Beatríz’s eyes widen for a flash, like she fears the secret’s revelation, and I know it’s true. Something horrible happened in that room.
“As I said to you already, the castle is in disrepair.” Beatríz stands up, her chair scraping the floor. “Many parts are no longer accessible.”
I spring to my feet, too, unwilling to let her off so easily, but my tongue is glued to the top of my mouth. My aunt takes our plates and silverware and her empty wineglass to the kitchen, leaving me struggling with my speech.
I grab my glass of water and the photograph, and I stomp after her, determined to get answers. When I get to the kitchen, she turns away from the sink to look at me and reaches out a hand.
For one dumbfounded moment, I think she’s offering me affection. Until I step forward and see the seedlike black pill in her palm.
I don’t take it.
I show her the photo again.
“If you’re going to act out like this, I’m sure I can find an in-patient facility that will take you.”
That’s not concern in her voice. It’s a threat.
Since I’m going to spit it out in my room anyway, I take the pill and tuck it under my tongue like I’ve done the past two nights. Then I swallow some water to top off my performance.
My aunt’s bony fingers wring my wrist. She pulls me in so abruptly that I swallow again, hard—and the pill goes down my throat.
She lets me go just as quickly and starts washing the dishes, as if nothing happened.
I press a hand to my chest as the thing makes its way down, and I run up the stairs, a single thought repeating itself, standing out from the jumble of my mind: My aunt just forcibly drugged me.
No wonder Mom left this place. Her sister is a monster.
I hurry so I can throw up whatever she just gave me, slamming shut the door to my room—
The shadow beast steps forth from the darkness, like he exists just for me.
Startled, I back up to the wall. My breathing shallows with every step he takes, his presence as intoxicating as it was in my dreams.
“I believe I gave you a choice,” he says, his voice as cold and murderous as it was last night. Everything about the shadow beast is blade-sharp, from his cheekbones to his jawline to his gaze.
“End the spell or die. What is your answer?”
After dinner with Beatríz, I’m not sure my voice works. “I—” My throat is rough, and I try to clear it. “I’m not a witch. I’m just a girl.”
“Then your life is forfeit.”
