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I took a deep breath. Today was never supposed to happen. “When that gas filled the room, it hurt. I imagine that was its purpose. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t… you know,” I trailed off awkwardly.
Half of Antonio’s face was shadowed as he searched my face. “You would have gone unconscious.”
My brows drew together. “I wouldn’t have died?”
He shook his head, but I thought back to the excruciating pain that had coursed through my veins.
My jaw tensed. “So you were okay with hurting me, but not killing me?”
He stared at me but didn’t respond. I had intended on taking another step, but I instead held his gaze. “Why aren’t you calling the Guardias? You recognized me, and you know I am impersonating an Élite. I should be dead.”
As soon as the words were out, my mouth dried up. I was left with a salty bitterness in the back of my throat, and I thought about the night before. The dead man laying in the street. We walked a fine line as citizens at the bottom.
Antonio looked at me in a way that I would never forget for the rest of my life. He peered at me as if I were the scourge that plagued the Islas de Arrebol. A problem and a punishment wrapped up into one bundle of rubbish.
A long moment passed, and I stood there like a helpless child. I hated feeling this way. I couldn’t call for help when I was the intruder, and I couldn’t pass this tall spire of a man. My only option was to stare at him wordlessly.
“I’ve been the cause of plenty of deaths. I don’t want to cause another, especially because it would likely result in more problems,” he said simply. Then his voice dropped low once more. “If you ever tell anyone about what happened here—ever show anyone else what you can do—then you will wish I sent you with the Guardias today. You don’t belong here. You shouldn’t have any power at all.”
“I didn’t ask for that power. But damned if I wasn’t thankful for it while you were experimenting on me,” I said bitterly.
His eyes flashed. “Life is pain, Carmen. If you want to stay alive, I suggest you get out of here, go home, and never think about this day again.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And I’m just supposed to trust you?” I demanded.
“Yes.” He stepped back. “I’ve chosen to trust you, haven’t I?”
I fisted my hands. “I have spent my whole life taking care to hide what I am. I’m no Élite, I’m just some strange mistake.”
The muscles on either side of his face ticked, but he didn’t respond. With that, he did step out of the way. I saw another black car with tinted windows waiting for me. I glanced back, unable to help myself.
“He works for me. Neither you nor I will have any problems,” Antonio said. He looked just as serious as he had all night. This was dangerous for him, too.
I did him the only favor I could offer and walked out to the car. The driver rushed around in a few quick movements before opening my door. He ushered me inside, but didn’t say a word.
The purr of the engine, and the smell of polished leather were the only things that kept me grounded to earth. On the ride home, I didn’t cry. I didn’t speak. I just stared out the window as buildings and lights blurred past.
Everything that happened today didn’t make sense. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. But I hoped that I would never see Antonio Armando Castillas Morales ever again.
Chapter12
Vino de Fresa
“All I know is that he was from another district and they were having an affair. They weren’t supposed to kill him—just take him in,” Magda said to me. We were sitting on an old wooden bench just outside the Mercado del Trabajador with a basket of fresh fruit between us. Both of us had our black gloves on for shopping.
I stared at the naranja in my lap. It was round, orange, and bigger than both my hands put together. Two minutes ago, I had been dying to peel it open and eat it, but now all I could think about was how sour my stomach would get from the acidity of the fruit. We’d come to the market just to get something new to eat. Something I would actually find appetizing.
Asking Magda about the person we saw die in the streets had been a mistake. Fernando had already told me everything he’d known, but I couldn’t stop picking at the topic like a festering wound. It kept me up late at night.
Maybe it was because of how close I had been to dying two weeks ago.
I rubbed my thumb over the bumpy surface of the citrus. “But Élite men have affairs all the time. Why did it matter? Because she’s a woman?”
Magda glanced over at me, and cleared her throat. “Her husband found them, and… they say she’s pregnant.”
My eyes widened. “With the Trabajador’s child?” I knew he worked for an Élite’s house, but this was a lot to take in.
Magda shrugged. “I mean, maybe? They don’t know. But it’s possible—and that’s what’s so dangerous. Imagine if the child comes out with no magic. Diluting the bloodline is a serious problem. Dan told me he was using the Élite woman to steal things. You know how Élite are; if they get sick with the Withering, they just heal themselves.”
