Page 30 of Castle of the Cursed
DINNER IS LEFTOVER PAELLA.
After what Beatríz did and said last night, I can hardly stomach food in her presence. It was easier sharing space at the clínica, where we work in separate areas. Being at the same table is unbearable.
The only sounds are the tines of her fork scraping against the polished porcelain plate. I set down my glass of water, a little too hard. It thumps against the wood, and my aunt raises a quizzical eyebrow at me as she swaps her fork for her wineglass.
As she brings it to her lips, I shatter the silence.
“How much longer are we going to do this?”
The question flies out on its own, bypassing my brain as my body expels it.
“She speaks,” says my aunt, setting down her glass. She sounds less pleased to hear my voice than I was expecting.
I guess after last night, she’s no longer curious about what I have to say.
“Where’s the purple room?” I ask, getting right to the point.
“It’s gone,” says Beatríz, swallowing another forkful of rice.
“The room ran away, too?” It’s a cheap shot, but so are her lies.
“I told you the castle is in disrepair. Some parts are no longer accessible.”
“Then why did you send me that picture?”
“To prove my identity.”
“Why that room? What happened there?”
Beatríz holds my gaze, and now she’s the one who’s gone silent. I get the sense she’s searching me for something, too.
“I’ve contacted an in-patient facility a few hours away from here, and they have a bed available.” Beatríz’s subject shift is so swift, it takes me a few seconds to pick up on what she’s saying. “Continue this line of questioning, and that will be your next stop.”
She drops the black pill on the tabletop in front of me.
“Now take your medicine.”
I want to shove that seed up her nostril. But I know better than to strike too early. So I swallow her pill, and I spare her a glower before hurrying to my room.
The halls look even redder tonight as I rush to throw up the seed. I didn’t get the chance to last night because Sebastián distracted me. Seems to be what he does best. Tonight, he better not be—
In my room again.
This time he’s standing over my desk and reading my journal. I hid it in my period drawer, so he could only have known where to find it if he’s inside my head.
He looks up, no trace of shame at breaching my privacy. Between him and my aunt, I’ll never find any peace in this house.
“Give me back my photograph.”
The words come out of their own volition, same as with Beatríz.
The shadow beast glowers at me. I doubt he appreciates my tone. “What is the black fire?” he asks, holding my notepad open to the page where I made my list of strange occurrences.
“That’s enough!” I squeeze my head between my hands, willing him out. “This time I’m giving you a choice—show me where the purple room is, or get the hell out of my head!”
“I have told you I do not know. Do you not believe me?”
“Why should I? I don’t know anything about you. Where do you come from? Why are you here? Who are you?”
