AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maestra Cecelia always said that complementary sleep habits made for good friends, and she was right.
I rolled my neck and stretched my feet out on the bed frame. My toes popped as I flexed and pointed them. I arched my back despite the protests from my multifidus muscles. Slowly, I drew myself into a sitting position and let out a long sigh.
It was time to run down to the kitchen. Trabajadores delivered prepared meals daily, which helped cut down on cross contamination since the meals were only made by approved staff for Artistas all around the city.
It was simple. We saw more people, so we needed more protection.
I stood up and yawned before grazing the soft cotton blankets on Magda’s legs as I passed her. A habit, something simple to say “nos vemos pronto” or “see you soon.”
My feet slid into my slippers, and I spotted a singular scorch mark across the floor I hadn’t seen before. The air in my lungs seized.
That was from my magic.
I quickly opened the wooden door which led into the hallway where the other dancers’ rooms were. I felt grateful that none of the others would be awake yet. We got the day after performances off to help us recover.
Rounding the corner and quietly descending the stairs with my thin slippers, I thought about the night before. Every time I blinked, I saw the man lying dead on the ground and I found myself in a burning purgatory. When I tried to ignore it, the only other memories my brain was willing to supply were the ones containing Antonio Castillas. The less I tried to think, the more I summoned new layers of fear, anger, and insecurities from my subconscious.
When faced with two evils, it wasn’t hard to see that thinking about Antonio was less soul-crushing than the night-time brand of public execution. I funneled the depth of my fear into disliking him.
To be honest, it helped.
Casas Grandes was nothing like the capital. Perhaps we were not sophisticated or polished enough for his taste. Maybe it was our looks. Fifth island citizens were usually taller and flat-faced. His wife had been arguably one of the most beautiful women in Arrebol, after all. Petite and graceful.
But… Other Élites had come to shows before, and they had at least veiled any contempt they felt for us. Something inside of me supplied a helpful reminder that they were also from the Quinta Isla, and therefore could be blind to the eccentricities of our small culture.
The stairs spit me out into the laundry room, which consisted of a small stretch of space where a few machines were stacked next to the kitchen.
I shoved away my thoughts when I heard voices from the other side of the door. A smile crept onto my lips as my stomach grumbled; I had arrived right on time. I pushed into the kitchen. Four familiar faces greeted me, but I smiled at Fernando first. He was flirting with that boy who supposedly lived near his mother.
“Carmen!” one of the delivery boys called.
I looked up to find Dan drying off his hands. “Buenos días,” I trilled brightly before walking to the counters where all the breakfasts were carefully lined up.
The room had gone strangely quiet compared to how it had been moments before. My muscle spasmed.
Quiet invited torture.
The blast from the gun shone in my eyes once more. The memory was strange—all blurry and bright in the wrong way. Like looking at a faded photograph underwater. It sunk past all the other concerns and settled in the foundations of my souls. Maybe the boys had heard something more about the man who’d been killed in the street.
I shifted course and headed toward the insulated tea jug. The top of a fresh box of pills had been ripped off and set next to the drinks. The pastillas negras were placed in hard plastic casing and covered with blister foil. It was nice that we didn’t need a Médico hanging around to distribute them because no one really wanted to steal ready-available pills.
A part of me always wondered if we should be suspicious at how readily available they were. They didn’t help with a light cold, nor a quick stomach bug. But it had been a while since the last outbreak, so that was positive.
Furrowing my brow, I glanced over my shoulder at the boys. “Don’t stop talking on my account.”
Dancers and crew members were close, like family often. I didn’t really feel that close to them, but I doubted they would completely ignore me.
I mixed in one spoonful of sugar to the amber liquid before turning around. Leaning against the counter with my free arm crossed over my stomach, I took a careful sip and raised an eyebrow at the three men staring at me. “Unless,”—I shot them a sly smile—“you are doing something you shouldn’t be.”
They glanced between themselves, and I rolled my eyes. “All right. What now? Did you steal El Jefe’s cat again?” I smiled, but they did not. Acid pooled in my stomach.
“Carmen…” Fercho started.
I sat my tea down, slapped on what I hoped was a conspiratorial smile, and invaded their sloppy circle. “Hush. I don’t wake up this early to be snubbed on all the good gossip. What’s going on?” I kept my tone light, but that creeping sensation tightened the muscles in my back.
Unbidden, horror stories intruded my thoughts. Death. Violence. Bombs. Cold ocean water.
I froze, willing my body to be okay. I wanted information, not a pity party.
