What if—?
She found a flight of stairs and nearly stumbled as she rushed down them, through the next door and into—the library.
In the dark, the room looked sinister, but the burning fireplace on the far end of the room cast a warm glow.
How did she get here?
If you have time, maybe stop by the library.It’s a good place to sit and think.The croupier’s words filled her head.
Holding her breath, she took a few cautious steps.How many books did this room hold?There had to be hundreds at the very least.Almost every inch of the walls had shelves filled withthem, their bindings all different colors and widths.It reminded her of a mosaic.Her fingers twitched.Recreating this in a painting would be a challenge, but sometimes she found comfort in drawing the same shapes over and over.The tiny little differences were what kept the task from becoming maddening.
She continued along, gazing above at the books near the ceiling.She would need a ladder to reach those.Were there special books hidden away up there, to keep their secrets?A rule book, perhaps?Or maybe that was where the worst books went.The ones with little value.Maybe the true treasures were but an arm’s reach away.
“It’s you.”
Mayté jumped back as a teenage boy stepped out of the shadows, hazel eyes twinkling.The most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.“I just came to read,” he said, flashing a knowing grin.“It’s been a tough shift.”
It was him.The croupier.She almost hadn’t recognized him without the face paint.Earlier he had looked haunting, like a living skeleton, but now he looked quite …
Handsome.
She squinted, studying him hard.His face was the color of the buildings in Milagro during sunset: a soft golden bronze, yet his complexion looked almost dull compared to his hazel eyes.As if some of the color had been drained.He wore a black dress shirt and slacks.His tousled brown hair hung near his sharp jawline.He watched her in amusement.
Her heart skipped several beats, and she swore the fireplace blazed brighter, filling the library with heat.
This was a golden opportunity.Almost too perfect to be real.Had the house really kissed her with such fortune?It baffledher, but she would be a fool to question it.“You—you’re the one from dinner.”
“You recognize me.”His eyes crinkled and he looked pleased.
“Of course.I’m an artist so I have to be observant about people’s faces.”She ignored her pounding heart and stood taller.
“It’s an honor to have an artiste in my presence.”He bowed, clearly playing along, but it felt more fun than condescending.
Mayté couldn’t stop grinning.
“I’ve been wanting to meet the world-famous Mayté.Just Mayté,” he said.
Her smile fell.“How did you—?”
“Did you like the pan dulce?”he asked as he turned to the fireplace, which cast dark shadows over his face.
She hesitated.The question hung in the air, but she had come here fordifferentanswers.“Yes, it was good, and you were right—it made me feel a little better.Thank you.My stomach’s still a bit unsettled,” she admitted.
He seemed almost relieved.Or was she just being paranoid?“Ah!”His face lit up.“Wait a moment.”He held up a finger before dashing off.
Now alone, Mayté’s head caught up with her racing heart.She needed to focus on her mission.Get answers.Hints.Rules.Anything she could find out from him.She crept closer to the fireplace and warmed her hands before they could tremble.
“I’m back.”
Mayté whirled around.Her heart fluttered like a butterfly trapped in a glass jar.
The croupier held out a saucer and teacup.
The butterfly in her heart slowed.She took the saucer and cup.“Isn’t it a bit late for coffee?”She raised an eyebrow.
He chuckled and shook his head.“No, no, it’s cinnamon tea.”
Taking a closer look, a couple of cinnamon sticks poked out from the liquid.She hesitated.Abuelita always warned her never to accept a drink from a stranger.Wicked men slipped dangerous potions into drinks.
