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“Buena suerte.” My best friend wished me luck with a wink.
I hurried down the hall barefoot so that no one would hear the clacking of the high heels. Long strides made quick work of the stretch of space in front of the six other rooms. When I reached the hallway that led down to the dressing area, I hesitated for a second, considering turning back. If I tried harder, I could threaten Fernando into going.
But… as angry as I was, I didn’t want him dead or suffering. The pounding in my heart and tilt of my vision was a sickness with only one cure—to go into a building where I did not belong, and help the man who had saved my life.
The cold metal of the emergency exit door handle felt good on my sweating palm when I grabbed it and pushed it open. We had no car, the bus systems in most of the isles were dismal, and taxis were too expensive. Especially for a place as far away as the Grand Hotel.
The stale smell of perfume, hair wax, well-worn fabric and sweat was replaced with crisp autumn air. It felt as if I could reach out with my hand and bite off a piece of that fresh coolness. Nude colored high heels smacked on the ground as I dropped them and slid my feet into their sloping arches.
The tip of my nose tingled from the chill and I started down the street. The historic downtown, where the Élite of the Quinta Isla lived, was the oldest part of Casas Grandes. The reason it had lasted as long as it had was because of the enormous wealth amassed across generations of courtiers, now called Élites.
Working-class people could come and go as necessary for their employment, but Artistas were only supposed to come upon personal invitation.
If Fernando had come alone, then he would’ve been intercepted before he even reached the hotel’s front doors without the appropriate card. I may have pushed it a bit far with the cosmetics, but I didn’t have time to go back and adjust.
I passed the colorful Mercado del Trabajador; a stretch of three blocks where one could find vendors for everything from clothes to medicine to food. Tall smoke-stained buildings stretched up toward the heavens and cocooned the area brimming with people, sounds, and food.
Four Médicos were stationed in front, checking people as they went in. I held my head high and walked past the outer entrance to the market. It was already strange that I was walking instead of taking a car, but if someone recognized me while I was wandering through a lower-class market, things could go from bad to worse very quickly.
I liked the energy of the market, but there was no way in hell that I was walking there today.
“Persimmons, twenty-five pesetas a kilo!” one of the men shouted. Dozens of bright red apples, and pomegranates lined his fruit stands. One last push before winter came and paused the fruit production. I estimated that there would still be stores for at least the next month or so.
Women walked through the hoards of people with bags of avocados and citrus fruits. Time and labor had bent their backs, but they continued on, endlessly providing and fighting for their families and homes like modern versions of a common fairytale depicting an Elven woman fighting off a hoard of men.
The smell of bread toasting on cast iron skillets to make serranito sandwiches and the chatter of early morning bartering swallowed up all other sounds. My stomach twisted in a funny way. Someone played the violin while two small girls in too-big red skirts danced around each other in a childish version of Flamenco. I smiled at the sweetness and felt like an invisible string was pulling me toward them.
I clenched my fists.
This place was dangerous because of the close proximity of bodies. Though everyone was vetted before entering, and constantly taking pastillas negras, the process was not foolproof. Small outbreaks still happened, and common cold swept through such spaces like a runny wild-fire. Everyone wore thick, black rubber gloves which could help, but were a nuisance for obvious reasons.
I fixed my gaze forward and pretended like I had a steel rod tied to my back to keep my posture straight. The hum of life faded, too soon replaced by lonely quiet. The buildings gradually became cleaner, but the vibrancy of life was definitely missed.
The mid-morning air was warming up, and I was hoping that I wouldn’t sweat through my suit coat and leave ugly stains under my arms and breasts. It was late autumn. Why the hell was it so hot?
My calves were tense as a rock, and the backs of my heels were rubbed raw from the brisk thirty-minute walk. I shoved my toes further into my shoes to keep them from bleeding. Nerves had my brain working backwards, and I was regretting my lack of cotton padding with every step.
The architecture changed from boxy buildings with short ceilings and clunky windows, to lengthened structures where the beauty of wealth was easy to both see and feel in the air. Something else that was easy to spot was the poster-sized image detailing a pyramid of people wearing anything from simple cotton shirts and pants of workers, to the ridiculously lavish dresses of the Élite. At the top, it said, “Appropriate Attire for our illustrious Caste System.”
I didn’t need to read the bottom where it also said, “Refusal to dress according to your station will earn you time in a correctional facility.”
It felt like an icy hand was wrapped around my throat.
“Just a few more minutes,” I murmured to myself. Ahead there was a Victorian clock which towered over all other parts of the downtown. The bubble of glass that protected the brass hands and luminous white face had been polished recently. The clarity and shine was even more beautiful the closer I walked to the square, and I could see that one was in the shape of a royal scepter and the other was an ancient key.
May I have more luck than the Familia Real did.
Chapter8
The Grand Hotel
Iwas so distracted, I didn’t notice the car that had pulled up alongside me. The metallic whir of the window rolling down caused the hair on the back of my neck standing on edge.
“¿Señorita?” a deep voice called.
I yelped and flinched. While stomping backward, the point of my heel caught in one of the cracks on the sidewalk. I wobbled, and my arms circled in the air, grasping for anything within close proximity to save me. Instinct had my other leg shifting, trying to right my stance before I hit the cement.
“Señorita!” the same person shouted.
