For several moments, Lo stood stiffly, but soon hugged her back tightly.
The biggest lump formed in Mayté’s throat.Her vision swam.She pressed her quivering lips together and swallowed the swirling terror and sorrow.She couldn’t cry.She had to be strong, no matter what.
“On that note,” Misterioso declared, casual as could be, as if he weren’t responsible for this bloodbath.“I promised all of you a grand dinner and tour.If we want to do that before the night’s end, we should be off.”
It was not a suggestion.Several croupiers ushered them to the elevator.Mayté glanced back.The Banker headed in the opposite direction.The rest of the croupiers continued cleaning.She caught one staring at her.His painted face looked almost sympathetic.
Or maybe it was something her mind conjured up, desperate for someone, anyone, to see how horrific this entire thing was.Before she could figure out if it was real or not, he turned away.Mayté and Lo clutched each other tight until they reached the dining room.
The pungent yet rich aroma of spices and fried meat filled the air as everyone stepped off the elevator.Such savory scents should have made Mayté’s mouth water, but instead she almost gagged.She gripped her stomach as everyone ambled to a large table that was covered with a silky white tablecloth and marigold centerpieces.How could she eat when the smell of blood lingered in her nostrils?
From the corner of her eye, she spotted Carlos inching his way closer.Her fury toward him faded into terror.What if he met the same fate as Señora Montoya?Just looking at him made her mind conjure up scenarios of his death.She swallowed the urge to retch.She couldn’t do this.Not now.
Next to her stood Dominic.This entire time, he had been eerily quiet.He stared straight ahead, face pale and cheeks feverish.“Come sit with us, Dominic.”She tapped his arm, causing him to flinch.
“Oh.”He blinked.“Yes.Of course.”With a weak smile, he followed Mayté and Lo to the table and sat on Mayté’s right, while Lo took her left.Carlos snagged the seat next to Lo.
“I don’t want to talk to him,” she told Lo out of the corner of her mouth.“Please.”Her voice cracked.
“Don’t worry,” Lo whispered before turning to Carlos.“Hi.”
“Lo, are you—are you two okay?”He leaned forward, trying to catch Mayté’s eyes.
Mayté quickly turned away as a line of servers came over, holding platters covered by golden cloches.They each wore identical skull masks and moved in swift coordination as if they had rehearsed this over and over again.
Were these people here working off their debts?
That would mean that not everyone who played died a horrific death.
Maybe things weren’t as bad as she thought.But Señora Montoya … No matter what, she couldn’t get that image out of her head.
One by one the servers set the platters in front of everyone at the table.All ten of them.There was an empty spot across the table where Señora Montoya would have sat.The golden cloche, without a single fingerprint or blemish, reflected the exhaustion and horror on Mayté’s face.And the blood.Spatters all over her face and blouse.She would have tried to wipe it off, but all at once, the servers lifted the cloches from everyone’s plates.Warm steam and a familiar spicy smell hit her nose.
“For the first course of our welcome feast, we have soup made for joyous festivities such as this: menudo rojo!”Misterioso announced as the servers poured everyone water and wine.The contestants squirmed as they stared at their steaming bowl of tripe soup.White hominy floated in the cream-colored broth.Misterioso was mistaken.This was menudo blanco.Mayté squinted.The tiniest bit of red floated in the center of her bowl.Then it spread, just like a bloody cloud—until the entire soup turned red.She gasped.
Lo gave her a questioning look.Mayté shook her head.Had it been her imagination?
“Enjoy your meal,” Misterioso said.
But no one touched their menudo, or even made a move to sip their drinks.Mayté couldn’t eat.
“Oh, come now.”Misterioso paced around the outer edge of the circular table.When he crossed behind Mayté, the hairs on her arms stood.“Being here and competing for the chance to be kissed by fortune, is this not what you wanted?Out of thousands of people,youwere chosen.You made it through the first game as well.This is a time to celebrate!”
Someone let out a small sob.Mayté couldn’t bring herself to look and see who it was.She wouldn’t be able to handle it.She glanced at Lo, who kept reaching for her spoon, only to draw back at the last second.Before she could stop herself, her gaze traveled to Carlos.He frowned at his bowl.He wasn’t one for outbursts or crying.Instead, whenever he got upset, he became quiet, as if retreating somewhere deep in his mind.The time their father gambled away all the coins he had been saving, he didn’t yell at him or complain.None of that.He just went to his room and didn’t talk to anyone for the rest of the night.
What must he be feeling in this moment?
She almost hated that she let herself wonder.
“But please also keep this in mind.”Misterioso continued his pacing.“Maríana Montoya specifically wageredeverything.Of course, something so broad includes her very life and soul.”
Soul?A sharp cold jolted down Mayté’s spine.
“There are rules within the chaos of the house,” Misterioso went on.“For some rounds, you will choose your wagers yourselves.For others, the house chooses what you’ll wager.”
What?That sounded even worse!Distressed gasps and frantic mumbles filled the room.
“Ah, but don’t be alarmed,” Misterioso cooed as if comforting a child mid-tantrum.“I can assure you that the house will not ask for your lives so quickly.Imagine how boring it would be if everyone dropped like flies so suddenly.”
