Page 41 of Castle of the Cursed
When I sit, he says in a low voice, “Your family runs this town. They finance everything.”
“I definitely don’t get it,” I say, agreeing with his first statement.
He twists his body on the mattress to face me. “Families own their property because it gets handed down through the generations, just like the castle. But there are still taxes and utilities and other services that have to get paid. Your family handles that for everyone, including our health care.”
“I thought households paid into a health fund,” I say, recalling my aunt’s words.
“Not with money. We pay with our blood. By donating a few times a year to make sure there’s enough of each type.”
“How can Beatríz afford that?” I ask.
“Estela, your family is more than old money—you’re ancient money. You will never have to worry about anything again.”
“Except surviving,” I say ominously. “We Brálagas have a short life expectancy.”
“Maybe… or maybe la Sombra holds more secrets than we know.”
I search his face for a smile before asking, “What do you mean by that?”
“Isn’t it obvious after everything we read?” he asks, his eyes ablaze like a bonfire was just kindled. “Your Brálaga ancestor who built the castle wasn’t human. That’s why your family can interact with the supernatural.”
Beatríz wasn’t exaggerating when she alluded to Felipe’s outsize imagination. “You should be a writer,” is all I can think to say.
“I am! I’m working on my own book about la Sombra.” His gaze lingers on mine, laden with whatever else he’s not saying, and I realize I must be part of the story.
The thought pisses me off. I hated being tabloid fodder, and I definitely don’t want to star in a book.
“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your plan?”
The question makes me wish we were back out in the crowded living room and not in here where it’s spacious and quiet and every breath can be heard.
“I—I don’t have one.”
“Yeah, you do,” he says with bold assertiveness. “Your aunt brought you here to inherit her estate and her mayorship and her practice—”
“Whoa, slow down—”
“It’s a good thing! You’ve come here to take her place.”
It’s the same thought I’ve been circling, but hearing him say it out loud rips the fear from my mind and gives it form. I leap to my feet, the food I ate tonight jostling in my stomach. “I never said I was staying in this ridiculous town!”
Felipe looks so crushed all of a sudden that under other circumstances it might be comical. But right now, I’m not finding anything funny.
“Why wouldn’t you stay?” he asks.
“I haven’t decided anything yet,” I say, crossing my arms. “I just got here.”
“Where would you even go?” He springs to his feet, too. “You don’t have anything left in the United States, not a house or parents—”
“Felipe?”
His mother stands above, calling down. “¿Todo bien?”
“I was just leaving!” I call back to her, my eyes burning as I climb the steps as fast as I can.
“Estela se va,” she announces to the living room, and I’m sucked into a sea of farewells that extends to the front lawn.
When I finally make it to the street, cold air buffets my face and the stark emptiness of the night soothes me. I hear footsteps behind me, and the creaking of tiny wheels, and I turn to see Felipe rolling a cart filled with Tupperware.
