Page 60 of Castle of the Cursed
“I managed to come to the castle a few more times,” he says, approaching me. “But I only found you in the garden again once. Do you remember?”
As he asks the question, I see the flicker of an answer. Wild green grass, a rock, and a young me talking to a boy with the biggest and brightest eyes I’ve ever seen.
And blood.
I look down at my palm, and then at Felipe. He’s standing before me now, grinning to see that I’ve made the connection. The glow of his amber eyes is warmer than ever, like it’s been spiked with a new emotion.
He shows me his palm. There’s no physical scar on his or mine, but I remember.
We sliced our skin with a stone and mixed our blood. I don’t know why.
“I will never forget,” he says. “I told you I wanted to live in la Sombra, and you said I had to be of your blood. So you offered to help.”
I don’t recall the details yet, but I know it happened.
“I knew then,” he goes on, inching closer to me, “that one day we would share this castle together.”
The new, uncomfortable energy between us is back.
“Felipe, we’re friends—”
“Can’t you see we’re each other’s best match?” The light in his eyes is becoming too bright, and I can barely look at him directly.
He moves in, and too late I realize I’ve backed myself into a wall.
“As soon as I saw you on the news,” he says, speaking eagerly, with a frenetic energy, “I knew you’d come home. So I started learning English. I’d studied it at school, but for months I drilled the language into my brain, watching movies and reading books until I could speak it perfectly. Just so there would be no obstacles between us.”
“You’ve known me for like a week—”
“No,” he says, taking my hand. “I’ve been waiting for you over a dozen years.”
This was what Beatríz meant about Felipe consuming too much fantasy. He’s spent so much time reading fiction that he believes he’s starring in his own epic romance.
“Felipe, listen to me,” I say, freeing my fingers from his and looking him in the eye. “I care about you a lot, but as a friend. I don’t want anything more.”
“Don’t say that,” he urges. I try to sidestep him, but his hands hook onto my hips, and he presses me into the wall.
“Come on,” he pleads, “give me one chance.” Now I see the brightness in his eyes for what it’s always been—not fascination, but fanaticism.
I shove against him, but he doesn’t budge. “Stop, please—!”
Felipe’s tongue cuts me off, forcing its way into my mouth. I can’t fight him off, and when I try twisting my neck, his hands clamp around my face.
I struggle against him until spots cloud my vision, as if I’m about to pass out. I feel a strong gust of air blow from my mouth into his, but not in a way that robs me of oxygen, and all of a sudden I know what’s happening—
Black smoke blankets my view.
Felipe’s fingers go limp, and I scramble away from him.
I can’t see a thing through the fumes, so I cling to the wall, dragging myself in the direction of the exit, until the air clears.
I look wildly around me. Felipe is exactly where I left him. He looks paused, like my parents on the subway.
“F-Felipe?” I say, my voice trembling.
He turns to me, and my heart rams my chest when I see his eyes.
They’re made of black smoke.
