Page 274 of The Wishing Game

A.S.L.

I stare at the letter for minutes on end. Who is A.S.L.? How does he or she know about me? The questions swarm inside my mind, making me more confused than ever before. A letter written hundreds of years ago knows so much about me, from the writings on my skin to Nikki and my participation in the Game. How could this happen when I was not even born when this A.S.L. must have written it?

Immediately, my gaze swings around the room as I search for an intruder—someone who could watch me closely enough to know how I'll react to the contents of the letter.

There's no one. I'm all alone. And even if there had been someone around, could they travel back in time to write about it in this letter? Is time travel possible? Who has that power?

The questions are endless. The answers... not so much.

I carefully fold the letter and place it back in the envelope before I stow it safely in my little bag.

If I cannot speak with anyone about this—that is, if I am to take this person's warnings seriously—then the library will be my best friend. Skeptical but curious, I drink the last of my tea before I make my way out of the conservatory. Although I'm weirded out by the letter, I cannot dismiss its contents—not when my actions could negatively impact Nikki.

At the very least, the next few days should tell me if there's any truth to what this letter is saying.

FIFTY-SEVEN

Iset the letter down with a sigh after reading it for the hundredth time. Two days later, and I don't know more than I started with. The library didn't yield any new information, being even more cryptic on the subject of time travel. The most I could gather was that it's the job of the Supremes to ensure that the time and space continuum are not meddled with, and from that perspective, time travel is not only frowned upon but also forbidden—just like creatures hopping between realms. Deities might be allowed to do so, but even they are limited by scope and duration.

Just who could this A.S.L. be, and how would they even know about me, someone who would not be born for hundreds, if not thousands of years, since who knows how long the letter had been hidden in that wall before Wyn came across it?

The matter is entirely too strange, made even more so by the fact that it was as if A.S.L. knew all my worries regarding the new discovery that my marks might be demonic in nature and decided to ease my mind with this letter.

Yet if the writings on my body are neither a curse nor a demonic mark, what are they? What type of vow would be seared on my skin like this? What could have possibly triggered it? And if it doesn't spell doom, then what is it?

I cannot fathom how these marks could be a good thing, yet A.S.L. says exactly that. I tuck the letter in a secure place and occupy myself with getting ready for my meeting with Ze. As I browse my now fully stocked closet for a suitable gown, I take a small trip down memory lane to when the marks first appeared on my body.

I must have been roughly thirteen. My mother, burdened by poverty, could not afford to feed two mouths, so she decided to sell me—in her mind, it was the only chance I could have at life.

Ten thousand pesos.

That had been the price she'd fetched for me—a fortune by the standards of those days.

A vague sound whispers in my ear—her voice as she'd told me I was going to live with El Señor, and that I was to be obedient to him as a wife would be to her husband.

I don't blame her for selling me, though I was still a child with no understanding of the outside world. I was so naive, I had no idea what went on between a wife and a husband. Yet as I was wrenched away from the only home I'd ever known, I had to grow up fast.

And my first lesson was that El Señor was already married.

I was not to be his wife. I was to be his whore.

My eyes squeeze shut as I'm transported back to the moment I was taken to the hacienda. I was given a large room—larger than the small hut my mother and I had lived in. A pair of maids dressed me in the finest clothes I'd ever worn and told me to wait patiently for El Señor to come to me.

Had I known what was going to happen? No.

The only saving grace at that time had been my unquenchable curiosity. For all my stilted education growing up, I was starving for knowledge just as I was starving for any information about this new home I was supposed to live in.

Despite the warning that I should stay still, I did not. I opened the door and stepped out, wandering about the long-winded corridors and marveling at the impressive art that decorated the walls. Some of the illustrations I was familiar with as they represented the gods of our tradition. Others, not so much. I walked and walked until I heard the sound of foreign voices that uttered my name. Slowly, information filled my brain—why I'd been brought there, and how I was to serve El Señor. Even in my innocent mind, I realized that his purpose for me was sick and perverted, and I quickly resolved to escape. Maybe I would not have a home to return to, but I at least would have my virtue intact.

Yet that was the second lesson I learned. No one left the hacienda. Not alive, anyway.

El Señor came to my room and didn't find me there. He had all his guards search the premises until they dragged me from my hiding place and brought me in front of him. Those fine clothes had already been torn and soiled in my attempt to fight the guards off. One look at my rebellious gaze, and El Señor decided to teach me a lesson. He ordered his guards to strip me naked, deriving sick pleasure from seeing me fight to keep what was left of my modesty. When I put uptoomuch of a fight, he intervened personally.

That was the third lesson I learned. El Señor had a heavy hand.

I lift my hand to trace the contour of my cheek, the past sting reverberating into the present.

He smiled as he struck me. Again and again until my skin broke, until I was bruised and battered, and my blood stained the ground.

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