Page 9

CHAPTER 9

Lalo

Why was Fernanda such a stubborn mule? He gave her a perfect reason to pardon herself, unintentionally making the worst first impression in the process, and she still didn’t take the bait. Now he was merely left with a stain on his best coat.

Lalo made his way toward the water closet, but his eyes caught on the silver moon through an arching window. It was so large tonight. One could see the craters that pocked its terrain. The moon and stars, the planets and galaxies, they’d always been something that fascinated Lalo. Far more than joining his father in their boot business.

Studying the universe was like gazing into the past, in a way; once one answered the questions they had about the how and why, even more questions began to pile up. He supposed that was why he enjoyed history so much; it gave his brain something to reach for, something to explore in a solitary fashion. There weren’t often troves of people milling about the archives underneath libraries, and one could be alone on a roof somewhere and stare at the universe beyond.

Solitude. Quiet. Calm. Those were the three things Lalo loved most in the world. He currently had none of them. He was at a fiesta with a huntress for saints’ sake!

But why? That was the question he should truly be asking. Why had Carolina personally invited him?

He studied the moon once more. Two days had passed since he came to Del Oro, and he wasn’t much closer to finding the answers he needed. Though, to be fair to himself, he had spent one of those days hidden in a foxhole, recovering from Carolina Fuentes’s assault. How was he going to save himself before his body gave out from lack of human blood? He could feel the cruel thirst creeping into his system with each passing moment. Being in the Fuentes residence might offer a clue as to what he should do next. There had to be some sort of text that might help him know more about el pueblo in Alma’s time. That might give him a clue about who the original sediento could be. If only the walls could talk.

He continued down the corridor and stopped when a familiar scent hit him. Dust. Leather. Parchment. Lalo let his senses lead him toward two double doors painted in a hue of burnt orange. He chanced a look back from where he came—there was no one. The guests were too busy with their drinks and chatter in the ballroom and courtyard to notice his absence. Plus, his sister had enough flair to woo any crowd. She would keep all entertained while he snuck inside and peeked through their things.

Slipping through the doors without a sound, Lalo found himself in a library that could rival the one in Los Campos. Books filled glossy shelves that reached the ceiling. He stood there for a moment, breathing everything in, letting his eyes lap over the worn bindings. These books had been cared for. He wondered if that brute of a girl read them.

His heart gave a sudden and painful thump, sending the blood he’d stolen from the buck through his veins. He bent over as a sharp cramp sliced through his belly. His fingers grasped at the back of the leather chair before him.

“Saints,” he groaned. The beast inside didn’t call for the blood of a deer. It screamed for that of a human. “Curse you, Maricela.”

He dug his nails deeper, clenching his jaw tight.

His eyes flicked about the room. The plaster walls were a creamy white. The massive desk near the back was stained a rich mahogany but had nicks and dents as if it were well used. Two glass doors opened onto a balcony. From the library, one could see the valley, the rambling pueblo, the forest, and the small, rather terrifying peak of Devil’s Spine.

Lalo strode toward the books that were shut behind glass. As gently as he could, he twisted the key that was in the lock and opened the delicate door. He could smell the age on the ancient parchment. Carolina Victoria Fuentes’s scent was there too.

A heartbeat thumping quickly sounded down the hall. He needed to hide. Gently, Lalo shut the glass door and tiptoed back. He turned, readying to make his escape, but froze when he felt the prick of a blade dig into his jugular.

“One word and you’re dust, sanguijuela.”

Though Lalo took offense to Carolina calling him a leech, he did not utter a word. He preferred to leave unscathed. Instead, he raised his hands in surrender.