“You don’t like cinnamon?”He frowned, heavy eyebrows furrowed.
“No, no.”Without thinking, she took a small sip, careful not to burn her tongue.How could she let a simple frown pressure her so easily?But if she acted too suspicious, he might not want to tell her anything.
The tea tasted good.Surprisingly sweet, the velvety hot liquid went down smooth.The soft spice warmed her down to her toes.“Mmm …” She took another sip, then another and another, each one bigger than the last.Surely if this were laced with a potion, she would have noticed by now.“It’s really good.”Her shoulders relaxed and she sat on the plush sofa nearest the fireplace.
The croupier sat next to her.“That’s the best cure you’re going to find for an upset stomach.Even better than a potion.”
“Ohh.Mmm.It tastes much better than a potion.That’s for sure.”Mayté took another sip.“The cooks here are really good.”
“I made it,” he corrected her.“It’s a recipe I’ve always known.I think.”He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.“I take it you can’t sleep.”
“After seeing a woman beheaded?No, actually, I can’t.”
Even though her tone was harsh, the croupier flashed the smallest of understanding smiles.“You grow numb to it after a while.”
“Seeing enough ofthatto get used to it?That would be even worse.”
The croupier frowned.“You’re right.It is.”
There was a pause where all she could hear was the crackling flames consuming the firewood.It was warm.A sleepy, calming warmth.This was the most relaxed she had felt since arriving.“Is this room magic?”
“Hmm?”
“It’s just … being in here is making me feel really good.”
“Oh, it’s not the room.It’s the house.It feeds off the emotions of you and the other players and gives them back to you.Right now, it’s reflecting your pleasant feelings.I feel it too.You’re a very calming person to be around.”There was that smile again.So charming.The room grew even warmer, and the candlelight dimmed, becoming almost dreamlike.
“What really brought you here at such an hour?”Mayté asked.
“I already told you.”He chuckled.“I came to read.This is a library, after all.The books change each time the house moves, so I have plenty to read.”He beckoned at the thousands of shelves all around them.“No matter what’s going on, I can grab a book and be transported to another place.The house has every book one can dream of reading.I know I’ll never run out.”His words were cheerful, but the way he spoke them sounded more wistful than anything.
Mayté racked her brain for a clever response.Flirting was Lo’s thing.She was a performer.But Mayté had zero talent in that medium.
As a child, when she first began drawing, she used to place her paper on top of her favorite Lotería cards and trace over them.The lines were rigid and awkward, but it helped her learn.Now she would have to do the same.What would Lo do in this situation?She imagined her best friend, sweet and smiling.The warm firelight casting a glow on her pretty face and bouncy curls.
With her own twitchy smile, Mayté scooted a tad closer to the croupier.“Be honest.Did you really come herejustto read, or did you come hoping to see me?”Dios.As soon as she said it, she wanted to curl up into a ball and die.She was nothing like Lo.Didn’t have the beauty or charisma to pull this off.
He chuckled again.“I think perhaps it wasyouwho wanted to seeme.”
“Wh-wh-what?”Mayté stiffened.
“Everyone here knows the house has a way of leading people to what they desire.”
Mayté didn’t know where to look.His hazel eyes made her insides twist and the way he smiled made the rest of her feel warm and melty.The chandelier above glittered and the smell of cinnamon filled the air.
“Maybe that’s why the house wouldn’t let me sleep.It knew you wanted to see me.”He rested his head on his palm.“So, tell me,whydid you want to see me?”
“I—I— Well …” What was she supposed to say?That she wanted to use him for information?What would Lo do at a time like this?No, Lo was too crafty to even find herself in such a bind.Mayté reached for her teacup to take another drink but fumbled.The steamy liquid sloshed around, burning heat bit through her finger.“Ow!”
“Are you okay?”The croupier took the saucer and teacup and set it on the side table.
“I’m fine.”Mayté rubbed her finger.The skin was red and tender, and already she felt a burn blister forming.
“You’ve burned yourself,” he said as if reading her mind.
“Don’t worry.It’s fine.”How many times had she singed herself frying tortillas for herself and her brother?
But the croupier shook his head and gently took her hand.“It’ll just be a distraction and you need all the concentration you can get during the games.”He lifted her hand toward his mouth.“May I?”
