“Do what?” he asks.
I take one last look at the disappearing plaza, at its noise and people living free of invisible chains. “Escape.”
CAPÍTULO
On the night El Lobo is supposed to come, I pick out the least ruffled dress in my arsenal and put it on carefully, making sure its hems lie exactly right. Chewing on mint leaves, I straighten the room, making the bed and wiping the dresser of any accumulated dust. I braid my hair and put on rouge the way Catalina taught me.
For some unfathomable reason.
I try not to think about it as I open the balcony doors, letting Luna’s light flood the room like an untamed river current. I try not to think about it as I sit in front of the loom, getting lost as I weave moon thread into a new tapestry. My basket of wool is nearly overwhelming; every day more of it arrives. Soon I’ll have enough to outfit every person in the damn castillo. Or to populate the whole of Inkasisa with woolly animals.
Time flies as I weave, and the world disappears and I don’t care to join it. All I want is to choose the next color, the next pattern to create something new and beautiful that’s just for me. But Catalina’s words whisper in my mind, loud and insistent.
Traitor. Rat.
Tears rise from the depths of my wretched guilt. I angrily scrub my cheeks. Catalina is my best friend. But she’s utterly wrong. I fight to remember that, even as my reasoning feels hollow. I take a fortifying breath and strengthen my hold on the wool strands. My animals jump back into their tapestries and watch me as I work.
“You’re really talented,” someone says from behind me.
I turn to meet the accented voice. He’s lying on my bed, as comfortable as a pampered cat. Dressed in his usual black ensemble, he reminds me of the perfect night. The kind of night that makes you want to get lost somewhere. The kind of night that invites adventure and misbehaving.
He climbs off the bed and faces me as I stand. We stare at each other, and the silence stretches between us. There’s something in the air that heightens my senses, or maybe it’s the vigilante himself. He fills up the room, impossible to ignore, a tangible energy that fascinates me as much as it confuses me. Is he who I think he is?
“Do I know you?”
He blinks. “Yes.”
This time he doesn’t disguise his voice.
Luna. I’veheardit before. My heart hammers in my chest. My next question is obvious—Who are you?—but he anticipates it and gestures toward my nearly finished tapestry. He doesn’t want me to ask. I picture my guard, and then the healer, under the mask. Because he must be one of them. The height, the width of their shoulders, the dark eyes. He could be either of them.
“It’s beautiful. Who’s it for?”
“This one’s for me,” I say. “Who are you?”
He shoots me an exasperated look. “Can I trust you, Condesa? Because I don’t think I can.”
His admission doesn’t bother me. After all, Ican’tbe trusted. That’s the sorry truth. And even sorrier is my wish that I can trust him. Maybe I can. At least with something small but important.
I clear my throat. “I want to show you something.”
“What is it?” His voice holds a note of wariness that makes my heart stutter. As if he knows I’m about to cross some imaginary line we’ve drawn to protect ourselves from each other.
“It’s a secret,” I whisper. “One of my secrets anyway. Out of all of them, it’s my favorite, I think.”
“Are you sure, Condesa?” he asks, his shoulders tense.
“No,” I say with a shaky laugh. “But the point is that I want to share something with you that’s real. Something about me, something personal and—”
“Show me.”
I draw a long breath, my body trembling. I’ve never been this vulnerable with a stranger. Aliteralstranger—his mask guarantees that. He could find a way to use my secret ability against me. But hearing him call me by Catalina’s title sits heavily in my stomach. I want him to know part of the real me. Something that doesn’t belong to her, something only I can do. I want someone to know Ximena Rojas—even this stranger who’s pushed his way into my life in a manner I didn’t expect.
I head to the tapestry hiding the serpent. “Come out,” I say, my voice firm. “It’s fine; he’s a friend.”
I must look like an idiot. After all, I don’t know if my creatures understand a word I say, but in my heart, they do. Nothing happens for several long seconds, but then the anaconda slithers from the tapestry, growing longer and stretching until it’s full-bodied, and then it heads straight for the vigilante.
El Lobo jumps about a foot.
