Page 15 of Castle of the Cursed
I slam my hand down on the book’s cover, a little too hard. “Or not,” he says, wincing as if I’d just hit him. “Be careful. This is an antique.”
I pull back my hand, embarrassed.
He opens back to where we were, and he reads ahead to himself again. But seconds pass, and he doesn’t translate out loud.
“After it happened,” he says softly, no longer looking down at the book but straight into my eyes, “you were all over the news.”
I don’t need him to explain what it means; I almost appreciate having the worst day of my life compressed to those two letters.
He keeps looking at me, like he’s waiting for something, and I’m worried he’s going to pressure me into speaking. I nod for him to go on.
“Everyone started whispering about la doctora,” he continues, to my relief. “That’s when I put together who you were.”
His mouth hitches up on one side in a crooked smirk. “And I knew you would come back. I just had to be patient. La Sombra is where you belong.”
Like Beatríz, there’s something more than welcoming about Felipe’s greeting. It’s almost as if they believe I’m never leaving.
To my own disappointment, I show up to the clínica on time.
“Did it go well with Felipe?” asks Beatríz when I step inside.
I nod in assent, surveying her workplace in all its modernity. Unlike the castle’s and the bookstore’s narrower and shadowy layouts, this place is open and spacious and bright.
“The clínica was endowed by our family,” she says, leading me past the waiting room, which is all white walls and high ceilings. The medical center beyond consists of an office, an operating room, and a wall of patient beds separated by privacy curtains. “Going into medicine is a Brálaga tradition,” she informs me. “There’s been a doctor in every generation of our family. It runs in our blood.”
I guess all traditions come to an end eventually.
I feel her stare, but I don’t return it, pretending to be interested in the equipment by one of the patient beds.
“Over here,” she says, leading me through a back door, “is our storage area.” The temperature plummets as I enter a small space packed with machinery, medications behind locked glass doors, and a metal freezer.
“This is our legacy,” she says, chest swelling with pride. “We’re a small community here, with a population of 852… 853 with you. The nearest hospital is hours away. Before there was health insurance, one of our ancestors came up with the idea for everyone in Oscuro to pay into a town health care fund. We use it to secure medicines and specialists when they’re needed. We have a full operating room and our own private blood bank.”
I cock my head, unsure I heard right. Blood bank?
“All residents donate a few times a year,” she says, yanking open the handle to the freezer. A blast of icy mist hits us, and I peer inside to see rows upon rows of plastic bags filled with crimson liquid.
“As a matter of fact,” says my aunt, shutting the freezer, “I’d like to do a full workup to begin your file.”
They did workups at the center, so this isn’t new to me. Still, Nurse Leticia told me they sent my file to my aunt, which means she must have my most recent report from three weeks ago. Why does she need to run more lab work?
Beatríz guides me back to the relative warmth of the main clinic area and sits me down in a chair near some glass vials. “Roll up your sleeve,” she instructs as she pulls on plastic gloves.
She hasn’t even hugged me, but she expects to take my blood. It rubs me wrong, and I don’t move.
“What is it?” she asks, needle in her hand.
You already have my bloodwork, I want to say.
I wait for the words to make it up my throat to my lips, but they can’t seem to scale my tongue.
“I have a patient coming soon,” she says, making me feel like a small child. This is a pointless battle to pick, so I roll up my sleeve.
Beatríz grips my elbow, and my hand tenses into a fist at her touch. I barely feel the needle as she jabs it into my arm, as if she’s done this millions of times.
“Good,” she says as the vial fills up with dark crimson liquid. “Relax your arm, Tela—”
She clears her throat. “Estela.”
