Page 10 of Castle of the Cursed
“It’s cold,” she says when she sees me blowing on it. I already know that, so I’m not sure why I blew. Must be nerves.
“These small plates are called tapas, and these are croquetas,” she says, referring to the breaded balls. “Half are filled with jamón serrano, the other half with setas.”
I know jamón is ham, but I’ve no clue what setas means. I finish the soup and eat a couple of croquetas to taste both varieties, determining that setas means mushrooms.
“I run the local clínica,” says Beatríz, waiting until she’s finished eating to speak. “It was endowed by our family, and it’s more sophisticated than any other business for many kilometers.”
She sounds like she’s selling me her services, and I note that her job is a source of pride for her. “Your doctor sent me your prescriptions, so I will continue to administer your medication.”
She doesn’t mention anyone else living here, nor do I see a wedding band on her finger, any sign of service staff, or even a single framed photograph.
“If you’re finished, follow me,” she says, picking up my glass of water and leading us out.
I grab my bag and trail her back to the gargoyle staircase that branches up in a Y shape. This time, she starts climbing, and after a moment’s hesitation, I follow.
The gargoyles’ eyes seem to trail us. I count ten steps to the middle landing, then twelve more as we go up the right side of the Y and cut down another crimson corridor.
“This is the extent of the house that’s habitable,” she says, stopping at a closed door after twenty-three steps. “Most of the structure is in disrepair and off-limits, so there are rules for living here.”
She stares at me grimly, and I flash to the photograph of the purple room. Beatríz looked younger than Mom then, but now she has aged past her older sister.
“Rule number one: You are not to explore the castle beyond where I show you,” she says, holding up one finger. “And rule number two”—she raises a second finger—“you are not to invite anyone over. ¿Está claro?”
I nod in agreement because it’s the path of least resistance.
“I have arranged for you to receive Spanish tutoring in the mornings. I wasn’t sure if you would need it, but I think you do. Afternoons, you will report to the clínica and help me there, then we will come home together to eat. ¿Bueno?”
I want to shake my head in refusal, but it’ll be easier to just disappear. So I nod again.
Yet in my mind, I’m already retracing the steps to the front door. I don’t have a cell phone, but there will be public phones in town. I can take a cab to the airport and fly back to DC. I’m sure Lety will let me back into the center. I still have a couple of weeks before I turn eighteen. I can figure something else out—
“My room is two doors down,” says my aunt, handing back my glass of water. When I reach for it, she holds out something small in her other palm.
I was informed my aunt would have my prescriptions and would continue to administer my doses because I’m not to be trusted with pill bottles after what I did at the center. But this doesn’t look like any medication I’ve ever taken.
The pill is black and shriveled and makes me think of the seed of a sickly tree.
“This is the equivalent of what you’re taking,” she says, with a bite of impatience.
I don’t reach for it.
“Is there a problem?” she probes.
I stare at the seedlike thing in her hand. There’s no way that’s medicinal. It looks more like poison. I look at her, and I’m not sure if I’m frowning or glaring. Is there a difference? Whatever the name of the expression, I’ve no doubt she’s picking up on my refusal.
“Your doctors weren’t sure you could handle this transition,” she says, closing her fist. “If that’s the case, we’ll have to find a new arrangement.”
I can’t believe it’s possible to dislike my mother’s sister this much so soon. And yet it’s barely been a couple of hours, and I already despise her.
Since I’m going to spit it out anyway, I open my palm to accept her pill. Yet part of me wants to call her bluff and dare her to contact the center. I doubt she would have gone through the trouble of bringing me here just to ship me right back.
I tip the black seed in my mouth and chase it with water. Seeming satisfied, my aunt says, “Buenas noches.”
As soon as she shows me to my room, I slip inside and spit the pill into my hand. Then I stuff the seedlike thing into an inner pocket of my duffel for future investigation.
My new bedroom is the size of an apartment and comes complete with its own bathroom and an empty closet that could double as a second bedroom. My parents and I could have lived comfortably together in here.
It’s hard to imagine Mom growing up in this castle. It’s even harder to imagine that I might have grown up here, maybe even in this very room, if not for whatever happened that sent Mom and Dad packing. Their decision changed my nationality, my language, my upbringing… and they never even bothered to tell me.
