Page 30 of The Gilded Survivor

Magda spread her hands out in front of her, and leaned in closer. “Anyway, the Don of the house had suspected because items around their house kept going missing. He stayed home that day because he thought he was going to catch a thief. His wife didn’t know, and she went on like business as usual. The Trabajador only had enough time to grab his uniform before he was out of the house and running away from the Guardia’s sirens. Can you blame him?”

An icy shiver skittered down my spin. Two weeks ago, I had nearly passed out in front of Antonio because of how afraid I was to go with the Guardias.

Silence stretched between us once Magda plucked out a ripe, squishy persimmon. I turned the orange over in my hands, squeezing over and over.

Magda’s hand appeared, and she rested it on top of my hands. “Carmen, I know you don’t want to talk about what happened with Señor Castillas, but at least you are still here. Some time has passed, but everything is back to normal. Can’t you see everything is going to be okay?”

I looked up at her and blinked, my eyes suddenly burning in the early afternoon air.

My friend continued. “Both the Maestra and I have told off Fernando at least a dozen times. He knows that what he did was incredibly stupid and dangerous.”

I nodded. “He tried to buy me new slippers.”

Magda huffed a single laugh. “He doesn’t even have the extra money to buy the soles on those shoes.”

I have a weak smile. She was right. I leaned back onto the stained wooden bench. “He told me that he was in my debt,” I said.

Magda looked thoughtful, her brows furrowing and her lips pursing. “I’m glad he realizes that. That man in the street could’ve been him. You know how the Guardias are—punishments are like dominoes. Each new one invigorates their senses, pushing them to search out more crimes to solve.” Magda leaned over, her voice going low. “They took Lázaros and Miriam in for questioning.”

I shut my eyes, willing my heart to stop beating so fast. Lázaros was a nickname for the man who was in charge of the Mercado del Trabajador. He was one of the richest men in the Naranja Quarter as a result of the market’s success, but he was also a good person. He kept Comerciantes Nocturnos from coming here and stealing young Dreg girls. I hadn’t known it until later, especially because everything in Casas Grandes had been so dangerous when we’d first arrived, but he and Fernando were the reason that Magda and I hadn’t ended up in a Comerciante Nocturno’s brothel.

And Magda had gotten close.

We called him Lázaros because he was called in every few months, and then released. The man kept cheating death, but there was still this overhanging fear every time he left that he wouldn’t come back.

This time they’d taken his wife, too. It was terrifying for everyone.

All of this was heavy, and I was tired of holding up weight. The problem was, there wasn’t any escaping real life. I had always been a realist. There was no other life to live but my own, and daydreaming wouldn’t help that. It was a second nature for me to find meaning in my world. To reach for hope, no matter how idiotic it was.

Magda’s hand squeezed my palm which made our thick black-rubber gloves squeak. “Look, I know you are scared. But, again, it’s been two weeks and no one has even come sniffing at Maestra Cecelia’s Theater. You’re a hero, Carmen,” my best friend said softly.

My lip quivered and my eyes burned even more. Even though a couple weeks had passed, I couldn’t stop thinking about that vapor—about what it made my body do.

I hadn’t told a soul the full story.

Magda, Cecelia, Dan, and Fernando knew I had taken the cufflink back, but I never mentioned the audition. Magda had seen me use Blood Magic when we were children—she knew what the scar on my thigh meant, but she never acknowledged it. Not even once.

I took a long breath that burned my nose. “You’re right,” I said at last. I stood up, continuing to breathe deeply so that my body would return to a normal state.

“Let’s go home. I’m not feeling so well, and we have practice in an hour,” I said quickly.

Magda stared up at me before standing. She smiled, but it was full of pity. Something I didn’t like seeing.

She threaded her arm through mine. “I think we should buy some vino de fresa to celebrate tonight.”

I glanced down at her. “To celebrate what?” Magda was extremely ritualistic. She never did anything without a cause, even if that cause only made sense to her.

She dipped her delicate chin down and smiled. “Not being investigated by the Guardias.”

The same bitter acidic flavor that had been in the back of my throat all week returned. I sucked in a breath. “Sounds good.”

The cloying sweetness of strawberry wine wasn’t my favorite flavor, but getting drunk did sound very enticing.

We veered left down the market alleyway, and into a small shop with flowers on the windowsills and bits of broken stained glass hanging from the ceiling. The whole space smelled like yeasty dough and overripe fruit. Pink bottles lined the wall with simple white labels.

The young Trabajador behind the counter smiled at us as we came in. The girl was about a year or two younger than Magda and I, but she was a good Trabajador. She had thick hair piled on top of her head to resemble a pretty bird’s nest. Simple cotton clothing draped over her curvy body, but small bits of colorful fabric had been twisted together to make a necklace. Her thick black gloves were covered with colorful powders from some concoction she was mixing together. “Buenas tardes,” she greeted us, and wiped her hands on a stained towel on the counter.

We both smiled, and returned the greeting. Magda was familiar with this girl, though I didn’t know her very well.

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