“Get your mind out of the latrine, prima.” Carolina slid the floorboard in place and stood. “I wasn’t out kissing all night. I wasliterallydesecrating graves.”
“Oh.” Nena had the audacity to appear disappointed.
Carolina threw off the dirt-covered garment and shoved herself into a respectable black gown and heeled slippers.
“What are you getting ready for? The whooping your mamá is sure to give you when she sees you?”
“Shit,” Carolina whispered.
“Don’t fret. I swapped her regular tea with valerian root. She slept like a baby most of the night. She hasn’t a clue you were gone.”
Carolina dabbed at the sweat dripping from her hairline. At least she didn’t need to put on rouge, for her cheeks were a sun-kissed pink.
“I saw a carriage laden with trunks when I rode in. I think the traders have arrived early.”
“I see.” Nena stood behind Carolina and began re-braiding her hair into two plaits.
“That is all you have to say? You, who counts down the days until the traders come so you can flirt with them.”
Nena shrugged. “People change, Carolina.” She raised her chin. “Perhaps I am one of them.”
“Could this be because of a certain green-eyed young woman with a certain vampiro brother?”
A smile pulled at Nena’s face. “I don’t know who you are talking about.”
Carolina splashed on some of the perfume she’d been given on her eighteenth birthday. She grabbed Nena’s hand.
“Come on. We should welcome our guests before my mamá gets mad.”
She and Nena hustled through the casa. Her mamá and younger brothers were there, already speaking to—Carolina’s eyes bulged—Lalo.
At least whatever Papá had tracked near his home left him alone.
He wore a large coat, gloves, scarf, and sombrero. An absolutely ridiculous outfit, seeing as the sky was bright blue. But it certainly shielded him from the sun’s rays. He looked so uncomfortable. He kept pulling at the scarf wrapped too tightly around his neck. The smile on his face was strained.
Lalo’s head tilted, and he met her gaze. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. Something warm pooled in her belly.
He had held her in his arms only hours ago. He had comforted her when no one else had been allowed to. Nena and Mamá had tried, but she simply couldn’t let them—not when she had been the reason her abuelo was slain. He had been out there to give her a birthday gift, to train her in secret like she begged him to do. She had been caught off guard and her blood had lured in more monsters. Aside from her sediento, no one else understood that heavy burden of guilt.
Lalo knew how to wade through the unrelenting bog of sorrow.
He never told her everything was going to be all right. Or lied and said she was faultless. Lalo simply said he was sorry and let her cry into his shirt. That had been enough.
She tore her eyes away from him. Heat clawed up her neck. The first young man to ever hold her so intimately had beenthe very same sort of creature who killed her abuelo. Though, she’d come to see that, unlike her cousin Lorenzo, his humanity remained intact.
She glanced at Lalo again. Her belly dipped once more. It wasn’t because he was in her home, nor because of the moment they’d shared under the stars. The tremor of surprise buzzing through her body came from the fact that Lalo Montéz, in that very moment, looked utterly adorable.
From the journal of Jonathan Monroe of Santemala
June 18, 1709
I tried to bring my precious daughter to a bruja in Sololá. I wrapped her in ropes made with wooden beads and covered our wagon to shield her from the sun. We traveled east for half the night until she began to shriek as if she were being sliced apart. I couldn’t force the wagon any farther for fear she would be lost to me.
I sent word to the bruja, and this was her reply: “You did not tell me you made a deal with a trickster god. There is nothing I can do. Nor can you bring that thing here. Those given new life by Tecuani cannot venture very far from their graves as part of their curse. I shall burn incense and pray to Xipil, goddess of understanding, for you, but I fear only a stake to the heart will end your child’s suffering.”
CHAPTER 27
Lalo
