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When we got into the sleek white car waiting outside, I braced my arms on either side, feeling the coolness of the leather seep into my skin, and soothe the burning in my bones.
“What are your names?” I demanded weakly.
The tall one didn’t look at me, but the dimple chin said, “I’m called Javier. This is Manuel.”
When they didn’t say more, I stopped looking at them and reached in my pocket. There was something cool and solid inhabiting the pocket. I pulled it out, and saw the costume jewelry necklace that I had worn to see Antonio.
I clamped my lips shut, unwilling to cry in front of these men again.
Shoving the necklace back to its hiding spot, I leaned back against my seat and closed my eyes. My body sagged against the seat. I was so tired, and my head was still pounding. Still, I tried to take stock of everything that was happening. I needed water, but didn’t want to ask for it. I knew that I wouldn’t be getting a medical exam. All of this felt so strange.
It wasn’t possible for me to fully comprehend in that moment, nor an hour later when I was sitting on a ferry gliding over the foggy sea, exactly what life would be like without Magda. I fell asleep at some point during the ferry, and the last thing I remembered was gently being placed into another car with warm leather seats.
Dreamland was dark and blank, but at least it wasn’t full of pain and loss.
PartTwo
Three Months to the Blood Tournament
Chapter16
Hacienda Rosa de Oro
Somewhere, someone was knocking on a wooden door. Then, a muffled conversation paired with a light creak of the door interrupted the quiet.
The sound was fuzzy, definitely too far away to be anywhere near my room.
Or was it?
Suddenly much more alert, I stirred in a casing of soft sheets. I carefully peeled my tear-crusted eyelids open. I was lying on my side, facing away from the entrance. The room spun around me, causing acute nausea to sour my stomach while dusty pink light shone all throughout my room.
I blinked, waiting for the world to come into focus. Everything was soft and warm.
I strained my ears for a moment, but when another knock didn’t come, my eyes drooped once more and I descended back down the ladder that led to unconsciousness. My mind was swimming with vague memories and quiet thoughts. The last thing I remembered was sitting in yet another cushioned seat with two beefy body guards named Javier and Manuel. They didn’t say much to me after I got their names, and they barely spoke to each other.
I would’ve been less lonely traveling by myself.
The thought barely ended before bubbly blackness took over my mind.
When the same door as before snicked shut, an alarm sliced through my body like electricity. Javier and Manuel—where were they?
I bolted upright, light-headed from the sudden movement, and was greeted by a girl not much older than me. She was smiling. Sunlight gilded her short stature.
Everything came flooding back. The wine, the televised audition tape, Cecelia kicking me out, and saying goodbye to Magda.
Fresh tears burned my eyes. Desperation and grief were potent. I wanted to dive under the blankets and pretend like my life wasn’t really happening. There was no way I could function while being this impaired—I needed to stop drinking.
“¡Buenos días!” the young woman said brightly. She was wearing a simple uniform, a navy blue button up top and a navy blue skirt with short-heeled black shoes—clearly a Trabajador. That put me marginally at ease. Trabajadores were closer to me than Élites.
At least it was still morning, though I would not have classified it as a good one. If I remembered correctly, today was Sunday. I rubbed at my sleep-crusted eyes. “Buenos días. Where am I?”
It was then I noticed the woman was carrying a large, fluffy white towel. She took a few steps toward my bed, and I glanced down.
This wasn’t a bed—it was a beached whale. The entirety of Las Patrias could have fit on this monstrosity. My head was still pounding hard enough that it took me more time to catch all the details.
“Estamos en la Hacienda Rosa de Oro, el hogar del Señor Castillas. Me llamo Isolda, y es un placer atenderle,” she said with a shallow curtsy.
A pleasure to attend to me? Like hell it was.
