Page 40 of Castle of the Cursed
Every inch of wall space is papered, forming a collage of images that comes together to form a fragmented picture.
La Sombra. This whole place is a shrine to the castle.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Art. I hope.”
I stare into his eyes so he’ll see I’m being serious. “Why did you make your room look like la Sombra?”
His smile falls away. “Remember the thirteenth tale about the magical Book?” he asks, and I nod. “It’s real.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s us. My family.” His eyes are shiny with moisture. “We are the keepers of the Book.”
CHAPTER 11
“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” I ask, trying and failing to process Felipe’s newest revelation.
“My great-grandfather told me,” he insists. “You’re invited to come in, you know.”
I realize I’m still standing on the last rung of the stairs, and my skin crawls as I step down. All four walls of his room make up a mural composed of images whose edges don’t quite match, forging a twisted version of la Sombra.
It’s like being inside a pop-up book castle.
“If you’re its keepers, then where is the Book?” I challenge.
“I don’t know yet,” he says dismissively, like that’s not the important part. “But I will know someday. The secret is mine to inherit, just like Libroscuro.”
“Did your great-grandfather tell you anything else, like what’s in the Book?”
Felipe shakes his head. “He said it can’t be read except by a Brálaga.”
“So it’s a Book from a story that can’t be read or found.” I wish I sounded less skeptical, but I can’t help it. “Do you have any older siblings who might know more?”
“My older brother left town years ago.”
“Did you have a falling-out?” Seeing his bemusement, I prod, “Was it a fight?”
He shakes his head. “It’s hard to explain, but you’ll see that people here belong to one of two groups—the nicknames are Oscurianos and Noscurianos. Oscurianos are lifers, and Noscurianos leave as soon as they can. They rarely return.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs like he doesn’t know or care.
“Aren’t you curious what else is out there?” I ask, gesturing to the walls of his room. “Beyond this town?”
“I travel,” he says, almost defensively. “But Oscuro is my home.”
I sense there’s more he’s not saying. And yet I’m almost jealous of Felipe’s single-mindedness about la Sombra and the librería and his place in the world. It must be so much easier to know where you belong and not have to question it.
“Why didn’t you mention that my aunt is the mayor?” I ask.
“Politics isn’t a big deal here. Besides, it’s always a Brálaga in charge.”
“What do you mean? Aren’t there elections?”
“You don’t get it,” he says with a sigh, shaking his head like he’s tired. He walks to the bed, its bloodred covers the only spot of color in the room. He sits down and taps the spot next to him.
