Page 45 of Castle of the Cursed
“What sort of test?” he asks, and I hear the suspicion surfacing in his tone.
“I mean that you are in a cursed castle,” I say, “and if fairy tales have taught me anything, it’s that curses happen to bad princes who misbehave and must be taught a lesson.”
I’m being facetious, but something about what I said hits a mark because he frowns with too much interest in my words. “If we are both in a cursed castle, what are you being punished for?” he asks.
For a moment I forget how to breathe.
“My dad is—was—a detective. A good one. I learned from him how to investigate, and I’m here to figure out what happened to my parents on the subway. If it’s a spell, like you say, maybe we can work together. Under one condition.”
“You are setting the terms—?”
“You don’t touch me again without my consent.” I say it in a rush, unsure I’ll be able to get the words out. “Deal?”
“No deal,” he growls, and I get the sense he’s not used to taking orders.
“So you won’t work with me, and you won’t kill me,” I say. “What do you want from me then?”
“The truth.”
“I wish I had that!” I snap. “I have no idea why you’re here, or why my parents died, or if my aunt is really the one responsible—”
“None of that is what I want to know from you,” he says, cutting me off before I spiral. “The biggest mystery about the subway is not how everyone died. It is how you survived.”
I have no idea what to say to that.
“You… think I have magical powers?” I ask blankly.
“Not exactly.” He looks like he’s evaluating something in my expression as he speaks. “Have you considered the possibility the black fire could have been a protective spell performed on you when you were young?”
His question blows my mind. As I consider his theory that the smoke is protecting me, I realize it tracks: I saw it on the subway, and again last night, when Sebastián bit me.
“But why didn’t I see it now when you threw the daggers?”
He nods like he’s already contemplated this. “I believe it means intent matters. Only true life-or-death danger triggers the spell’s protection.”
It takes me nearly a minute to pick up on what he’s saying. “You mean you didn’t intend to kill me tonight?”
Sebastián moves toward me again, only this time he bends down so he can look straight into my eyes. His gaze is pure steel.
“If I had intended to kill you, Estela, you would be dead.”
I force myself not to shrink from his intensity. “Then why aren’t I?”
I don’t mean for the question to sound so dramatic, but I feel it on many levels. Why aren’t I dead?
After a prolonged silence, he says, “I was certain I would kill you tonight.”
Shivers race down both my arms. My knees bend as I wonder if there’s a point in attempting to outrun him—
“And yet, here you remain,” he goes on. “I have no explanation for my choices. Nor can I guarantee they will not change in the future.”
Here I remain.
Even a starving vampire with no other source of sustenance can’t kill me. Maybe he’s right that the black smoke is protecting me because how else can this be explained?
Sebastián believes the spell gets activated if I’m in true danger. It was also danger that prompted me to speak for the first time in months a few nights ago. I thought the impulse was a sign I wanted to live… but maybe I was just acting on instinct.
I try reverse-engineering Sebastián’s logic: If the black smoke only shows up in case of an actual threat, can it reveal whether a threat is legitimate? Does its presence expose a person’s true intentions?
