Page 80 of The Hacienda
I lowered my gaze to her hands, watching them methodically shred the end of a tassel. Paloma must have told her about Mariana. I closed my eyes and made the sign of the cross for her. I had failed her too.
“I know,” I murmured.
“Then you know he is too evil to feel it,” Beatriz said.
“I don’t believe it works that way.” Even my father had felt what dripped from his walls. Perhaps it was one of the many reasons he turned topulque: to dull his senses, to blind himself to the shadows that slithered from the corners of his house. “A house like that... heshouldfeel it.”
“Do you know what he said?” She turned to me, tightening the blanket around her shoulders. Most of her hair was still in a long plait that fell down her back, but much had worked its way loose and fell around her face. “He complained that the house was too warm. Can you imagine?”
I could not. “Perhaps he is mad.”
“Perhaps I am,” Beatriz muttered, the animation in her face dulling. Her shoulders slumped as she leaned against the back of the pew. “I have nightmares. I see things no one else can. I hear things no one else can.”
“Perhaps you are a witch, Doña Beatriz.”
Her laughter was the bright, sudden snap of castanets, its surprise echoing in the dome of the chapel. She cast a coy look at the crucifix and crossed herself. “God forbid, Padre,” she said, a little breathless as she touched her thumb to her lips.
Despite myself, a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. God forgive us, blasphemers both.
I moved to the side, slightly away from her down the pew, and patted the pile of blankets that remained. “Rest,” I said. “I will wake you before dawn and escort you back to the house when it is tolerable.” I almost saidsafe, but I wondered if it ever would be.
It was as if she heard this, or saw the thoughts written across my face. “You should rest too,” she said. “Your head...”
“It will heal, God willing,” I said. Then, soft and determined: “I will not leave you.”
She considered this, her expression grave. This was the fifth night we had spent in each other’s company, each more unpredictable and dangerous than the last.
“Do you promise?” she asked.
When a man makes a promise, he makes it on his honor. When a witch makes a promise, they feel it in their bones. Titi believed words are power:they may lay your destiny in stone or shatter a legacy altogether. Words can damn or bless in equal measure, and are never to be used lightly.
“I promise,” I breathed.
Then I knelt on the knee rest before us, reaching out of habit to my pocket for my rosary. I met the soft cloth of my sleeping clothes. My rosary was in my room, resting on the stack of books next to my bed. No matter. I made the sign of the cross and began to pray in a low voice. I had learned visiting orphanages in Guadalajara that there was no easier lullaby than someone else’s meditative prayer. Behind me, I heard Beatriz lay herself down on the blankets, shift, and settle. Her breathing softened, then deepened.
When I was certain she was asleep, I let my voice drop to a murmur, then fell silent.
She was curled in a fetal position on the pew, one arm tucked under the blankets she used as a pillow. Dark hair tumbled over her cheek and her mouth, rising and falling with her breathing.
I brushed curls away from her face, mimicking her own gesture by tucking one gently behind her ear. I ached to leave my hand on her hair, to stroke it gently, but I drew it back. She shifted; her eyes fluttered open.
“Sleep,” I murmured. “You’re safe.”
Her eyes drifted shut. She believed me. She had seen all I was—darkness, damnation, and doubt, my failings, my fear—and still trusted me enough to fall asleep by my side.
I listened as her breathing resumed its deep, steady pattern.
“I promise,” Iwhispered.
24
BEATRIZ
BEATRIZ.”
Sleep was deep and soft and dreamless, and I was reluctant to be drawn out of it. Let me be, let me sink deeper into silence. It was only when there was a hand on my shoulder that I floated to the surface of awareness.
I was curled on my side on a bench. Candlelight draped over me like a blanket. I blinked. There were pews before me. An altar. Where was I?
