To hold a fiesta whenher abuelo had only recently been laid to rest was utterly preposterous. He should be here. With them. But this was tradition. They mourned, then spent weeks praying to the gods of the Land of the Dead for safe passage. After, in the darkest part of the night when the veils between this world and the next were thinnest and the souls could watch from el Cielo, they drank and danced and remembered all the good their loved ones had done.
Rather than imbibe wine, she would honor him tonight by killing a sediento.
Carolina could picture it. That boy would saunter into the foyer, thinking they’d never met before and she believed him to be human. She’d sweep through the crowded hall and stab him right in the heart.
But what if he used her invitation to strike first?
He might very well tear through the room and decimate her entire family. She laughed that thought away. Nearly every man in her family was part of the guard. A sediento would stand no chance. Especially one that ran from a fight as he had last night.
“There you are,” Mamá’s voice came from down the corridor. She was a vision in a flowing gown with flowers embroidered into plum-colored skirts. One hand rested on her round belly; the other was motioning for Carolina to come.
Carolina picked up her heavy skirts and swept forward. She’d been hiding behind the arches in the corridor. The guests hadn’t even arrived and already she was tired of them. But as the only daughter of the mayor of Del Oro, she was expected to be the epitome of grace and poise. Neither of which she felt like being at that moment.
The entire hacienda had been draped in roses, poppies, and marigolds. Abuelo’s favorite things like tamales, sweet squash empanadas, cured olives, tobacco, and mezcal were set on the ofrenda. Mamá had a block of ice carted down from el pueblo to the north and sculpted in Abuelo’s likeness. Nena complained that the artist had gotten Abuelo’s nose all wrong.
“Mija,” Mamá said, grinning. “You look absolutely stunning.”
The gold adorning Carolina’s neck, wrists, and ears made her brown skin glow. Half of her dark hair had been pulled up and pinned into a tiara of wild lilies. The rest hung in long curls down her back. Her cheeks had been rouged and her lips painted the same color as her gown. She felt beautiful.
But underneath the beauty and refinement stirred a killer. And she needed to stay focused on whatever was to come. She had a mission. If this Eduardo Montéz was as foolish as she hoped, he would be in the mix of guests, soon to arrive. Whichwas why she had strapped two obsidian knives, a stake of birchwood, and her reata to her thighs. Uncomfortable? Yes. Necessary? Also yes.
Mamá kissed Carolina’s cheeks and squeezed her hands. “You will be the most stunning person in attendance tonight. Rafael won’t be able to take his eyes from you.”
“Rafael?”Carolina’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t heard that name in years. “Rafa is coming?”
Rafael Pico had been a pest when they were children. He was always pinching her and teasing her. He’d throw rocks at her head and call her vampiro bait anytime she scampered past his home. The day she finally had enough and popped him in the nose, Rafa cried to his madre like a baby. They were frosty to one another after that, but she always felt his gaze lingering over her when he came to play with her older brothers. He and his family moved away when he and Carolina were fifteen. She had been glad to be rid of him, but their parents remained close. Their families had once spoken of the fine match they would make once she was of age. Carolina could retch at the thought.
“Amá,” she said slowly, facing her mother. “Why is Rafael coming to Abuelo’s celebration of life? People from other pueblos don’t often venture so far during the night.”
“Well…” Mamá gulped. “Your father invited him.”
“For what purpose?”
Her mamá’s pale face grew a bit fairer. “I told your father it was too soon, but he insisted.”
“What are you talking about?”
Theclip-clopof horse hooves sounded from the cobbled road that led up to their casa. The mariachi, which was situated near the entrance, began to play. The horns blared. The vocalist sang.The strum of el guitarrón matched the beat of her now racing heart.
“We’ll speak about this later.” Mamá donned her hostess’s face, one of controlled ease and poise.
“But…why is Rafael coming?”
Mamá ignored her and plastered on a smile as friends and family from their pueblo started pooling through the doors. Through her teeth she said, “Wipe that scowl off your face.”
As Carolina did what she was told, Don Salvador entered, sporting his signature white sombrero and matching charro. His wife, Doña Laura, wore a dress so wide she had to twist to the side to fit around the gargantuan melting ice sculpture. Next came the Cho family. Then the Schuberts. The Rodríguezes.
Carolina greeted each visitor with a delicate bow, a kind word, and a promise to dance with one of their sons or daughters later in the evening. The entire time, Carolina’s eyes went to the entrance, waiting, watching. But no Montéz siblings came. Perhaps they had chickened out. Perhaps they were smarter than she thought.
Mamá elbowed her side. “Look, Carolina. It’s Rafael’s carriage.” A sleek coach drawn with two horses as black as the night sky eased to a stop.
“Are his parents coming?” Carolina whispered.
“Rafael’s papá is ill, and his mamá won’t leave his side.”
“Rafa should have stayed home too,” she grumbled.
The crowd parted ever so slowly as a strapping man with wide shoulders, golden brown skin, and the prettiest smile Carolina had ever seen walked up the stairs and toward the arching doorway.
