Page 26 of The Familiar

Maybe she had. But talk of the devil was dangerous. It could take root and grow into a hanging tree. “My little tricks are milagritos. They are a gift from God.”

“The arrogance—”

“A gift from God.” Águeda’s knife rested on the table, waiting to be used on the fish Luzia had brought back from the market in her bucket. Luzia didn’t pick it up but she tapped her fingers on the handle. “Say it.”

“What is wrong with you? I—”

“Say it.”

“They’re the work of God,” Águeda bit out.

“Next time you get it in your head to speak the devil’s name in this house, think about what it would mean to have an enemy who has his ear.” Luzia stepped back. “Peace, Águeda. Think too of what a godly woman might accomplish for you, if you treated her with kindness.”

At that the cook blinked, her indignation and fear giving way to assessment, as if considering for the first time what accidents might befall a lady playwright.

“There,” said Luzia. “One must never expect miracles, but one can hope for them all the same.”

She expected to find Santángel waiting for her in her room, and she nearly stumbled when she saw Hualit sitting at the writing desk, Doña Valentina hovering at the window. At least she had an excuse to look flustered.

“At last,” Hualit said, rising from her seat so gracefully she seemed to simply float upward. She was in her full Catalina de Castro de Oro regalia, swathed in black velvet, her sleeves voluminous and pinked in an elaborate pattern to reveal the cream satin beneath. The corset smashed her breasts into a kind of armor plate so that she looked like a large bell, but somehow it suited her. “I’ve been so longing to meet you. You’re the talk of Madrid.”

The words were a near exact echo of what Hualit had said to Luzia in the chapel at San Ginés, and she had a strange sense of doubling. They were Luzia and Hualit, niece and aunt. They were two strangers, scullion and widow.

Valentina’s hands fluttered, then settled at her waist. “Señora de Castro de Oro has agreed to help prepare you for La Casilla.”

“That is very kind of you, señora,” Luzia said, and curtsied.

Hualit’s brows shot up. Luzia had practiced her curtsy in her new room the previous night, tucking one foot behind the other. It wasn’t so hard, not when your legs and back were strong from servants’ work.

“It is, isn’t it?” Hualit murmured under her breath. She took a slow turn around Luzia and said, “Well, this won’t be easy. She’s too short to be imposing, and I could wish for a finer complexion. But Pérez should look at her and see a weapon to be honed. Besides, Gracia de Valera is one of the other hopefuls and it would be foolish to try to place them on even footing.”

“I don’t know that name,” said Valentina.

“No? She is often at court.”

Luzia wanted to celebrate her aunt’s cruelty, but she couldn’t help feeling that in this moment, she and Valentina, ordinary gray birds seldom seen far from their roost, had more in common than she and Hualit.

Hualit clapped her hands and strode toward the door. “Come. There’s much to do.”

“You’re leaving?” Valentina asked.

“We are leaving. It will be easiest if we visit Perucho at his warehouse.”

“You cannot take her!”

Hualit paused and turned slowly on her heel, the movement exaggerated, almost comical. “We will go together, will we not?”

“Together?”

“Of course. You need new dresses too. Or did I misunderstand?”

How clearly Luzia grasped Valentina’s longing, her humiliation.

“We cannot …” Valentina’s voice was hoarse. “We cannot go unaccompanied.”

Widows had greater freedom than most women. Wealthy widows even more. But there were limits.

“My confessor will go with us,” Hualit said as if it were obvious. “He is waiting in the coach.”