Maria rushed to my rescue. She clutched at the woman’s bony shoulders. “Mama! Stop that.”
Wait, what?
“It’s Maria. I’m home. See? Stop bumping Erin.”
Mrs. Botello rolled her thin shoulders to wriggle free from Maria’s fingers and continued pestering me. It would have been comical if it were not so sad. I stopped trying to get away. Raising my eyebrows at Maria, I wondered what, if anything, I could do to help.
It was heartbreaking to see Maria’s eyes misty with tears. “Please, Mama, look at my face.”
“Mrs. Botello, I like your dolly, really—” I tried to reason with her, until she lifted the hapless thing to club me again.
Maria’s face burned dark and angry. “That’s it!” She yanked the doll out of her mother’s hands. “Be nice.”
Mrs. Botello turned her watery blue eyes on Maria. The wild fury immediately evaporated. She seemed to shrink, her tiny body collapsing.
“Oh, Mama.” With a weak smile, Maria re-wrapped the doll in the grungy pink blanket and placed the whole lot in her mother’s hands. “This is my friend, Erin. Remember, I told you she was coming to stay with us?”
Mrs. Botello scurried to her daughter’s side. Using Maria as a body shield, she stole glances at me as if I were evil incarnate.
“Come on,” Maria said to me. “She’ll follow us.” And she did, toddling along beside Maria like a two-year-old with the mangled muñeca in her left hand. “Señora Hernán!” Maria called to a woman in the crowd.
The woman hurried toward us looking panic-stricken. “Lo siento, she got away from me.”
“It’s all right. Nothing bad happened. This is my friend, Erin. Mrs. Hernán is the nurse who takes care of my mother.”
When we got to the car, Maria buckled her mother in the backseat and kissed her forehead while I plopped my carry-on into the trunk. Maria met me at the back of the car. “Sorry. My mother is…” She searched for the right word and couldn’t find it. “She does some funny things, but she’s harmless. I think she liked you. Really.”
It surprised me Maria had kept her mother’s mental state a secret. We’d both hid our skeletons pretty well. “You think?”
“Definitely. You should see how she acts around people she doesn’t like.”
Maria had me sit up front with the driver. Señora Botello was still “getting to know me” which involved humming in a loud voice with her palms pressed to her ears. It was like being stuck in a car with the radio tuned full blast to the emergency broadcast signal.
“Sorry,” Maria yelled over the monotone humming. “It’s only a ten-minute ride to the house.”
After the longest three-and-a-half minutes of my life, the humming ended abruptly. Mrs. Botello was asleep.
“Phew, the drugs finally kicked in. Why was she so agitated?” Maria asked.
Mrs. Hernán wouldn’t meet her gaze. “She’s been out of sorts since we received word you were coming home.”
Maria fell silent.
“Nah, my hair probably freaked her out. Look at this disaster.” I tugged at the mess sticking out from my head.
Maria smiled. “Oh yeah, you look hideous.”
I shook my finger at her. “The compliment thing is not working out for you.”
The driver took us through a giant roundabout. I gripped the dashboard. I’m used to the LA freeways, but this congested circle whipped cars out like a slingshot.
Maria was unfazed. “Oh, look, the Parque de la Alamedilla. My parents used to bring us to this park every summer. My brother and I tried catching pigeons for pets.”
Buildings sprouted up at the edge of the park. Aged and majestic, many of the architectural structures were beautifully ornate with distinctive arches. The Spanish painters of old had been an agreeable bunch—the colors blurred together outside my window were varying shades of sand—from off-white to sunset pink. No shocking turquoise houses here. Red tiled roofs were the norm. Growing up in California I had been to many of the Spanish missions dotting the state, but none of them resembled this bustling city. It was all so European.
“Your city is beautiful,” I said.
Maria smiled. “Salamanca has the oldest university in Spain. We’ll take a tour one of these days. Here’s my street.”
I read the sign. Calle de Gran Viva. “Street of the Good Life.”
The driver turned up a long cobblestone driveway overhung with ancient olive trees and parked in the circular driveway of a Mediterranean mansion. He got out and started removing our luggage from the trunk. Mrs. Hernán opened the door, speaking in soft, gentle words to the groggy Mrs. Botello. The two of them went inside the house.
Maria leaned against the car door. “Home. Finally.”
“This is a palace. You never told me you were Spanish royalty.”
Smiling, she hoisted a large bag over her shoulder. “You never asked.”
We dragged our bags through the archway into an outside courtyard complete with a fountain and large fireplace. “You’re a princess, right? Queen?”
She beamed from ear to ear. “My family had ties to the crown of Castile. Ask Santiago, he can give you all the gory details.”
“Santiago?”
“My brother is a history buff.”
“Oh dear.” A sinking feeling rolled down my esophagus and landed in my stomach. “Santiago. The man I met at the airport. Is your brother?”
She rolled her eyes like a teenager. “Duh.”
My face was hot with embarrassment. Good gosh, he must have thought I was a lunatic, demanding to see his warrant and then…had I pulled out tip money? No wonder he left in such a hurry.
“What’s wrong? Did he say anything?” She studied my face.
“About…?”
She bit her lip. “Nothing.”
“Yep, that pretty much covered our conversation. What was the deal with the security guard?”
She frowned.
A thought brought a low hum of panic up my spinal cord. Was the guard really looking for me and Santiago somehow threw him off my trail?
“You didn’t see a guy in a uniform, about five foot eight, 160 pounds, stop to talk to him?”
“Nope. Santiago knows a ton of people in Salamanca. The guard was probably a patient.”
Maria gave me the tour of her palace, pointing out various antiques and exquisite art pieces. There was a life-sized bronze woman holding a lily up to her nose in the living room. A golden head of an Arabian horse with flying mane, wild eyes and flared nostrils on a pedestal in the entry. Every wall was covered with paintings or tapestries.
“That painting there is a Borrassa, fourteenth century. Been in my family for generations.”
“Impressive.” We kept walking, me gaping, her beaming. “Your family has collected quite a few pieces.”
“Yeah well, this is the Hall of Shame.” She led me into a long hallway lined with photos.
“No way, I love family pictures.”
“This is my favorite. It’s the last one—” her voice caught, “—of us all together.”
“Awww, look how cute you were. Love those pigtails. A skiing vacation?”
“One of our trips to the Pyrenees.” Maria peered closer at the picture. “I’m about nine there. See the look in Santiago’s eye?”
I stared at the handsome young man. Yep, he was the guy from the airport, all right. Only now he was about a foot taller with impossibly wide shoulders, a sexy square jaw and to-die-for green eyes.
“He’s about to smash a huge snowball on my head. He’s hiding it behind his back, the rat. But I got my revenge.” She laughed. “I always do.”
“Is that your dad?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Lord rest his soul.”
“He was very handsome. Your mom sure seems happy.” A much younger Mrs. Botello had wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist. With her head tilted back, her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder. The photographer had captured the exact moment her laughter had erupt
ed.
Maria turned her head away. “He was dead two months after this picture was taken.”
“I’m sorry, Maria.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “It’s just hard, you know. The way things used to be, the way they are now. I barely recognize those people in the picture.”
I hugged her.
She stiffened in my arms. “No. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.” Pulling away, she angrily swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Enough.”
“It’s okay, Maria, really.”
With one quick shake of her head, she told me it wasn’t okay.
“Listen, if you ever want to talk about it, or anything, I’m here, okay?”
“I know,” she whispered. “As I am for you.”
Sweet, but I wouldn’t burden her with my problems. She had more than her share to deal with.
“Come on, let me show you your room. I can’t wait to see what you think.”
She made a big show of turning the doorknob. I had no idea what would be waiting for me behind the door.
dc
Serena pressed her cheek against the cold, stone masonry to fight off the lethargy. She was in the tower. Still. Locked in her eternal prison.
Yet the tower was preferable to the empty place, which resembled dreamless sleep, soundless, lonely. The emptiness pulled at her, stronger than any current, lulling her to slumber. But she could not afford to rest in a place which fed on her memories, sucking them dry. She needed her memories, no matter how terrifying and horrible they were. She had to find Andrés.
“No,” she said and startled a little at the sound of her own voice echoing against the walls and bouncing off the sloped ceiling. “No,” she repeated again, louder. “I will not close my eyes. Andrés! Where are you?”
There was no reply.
Taking the rosary out of her dress pocket she said her Hail Marys slowly by rote. When her fingers rolled across the last worn bead, she added a new prayer. “Madre, ayúdame.”
Shutting her eyes and concentrating with all her strength, Serena chanted, “Erin, Erin, Erin.”
A swooping feeling hit her stomach like flying or, Dios, falling. She cried out, expecting the slashing pain, the breaking of her bones against the rocks, the agonizing last breaths. Nothing of the sort happened. A strange tearing sound, as if fabric had ripped in half, made her open her eyes again.
Wonder of wonders, she had escaped the tower. She was free!
But where was she? The room was empty save a few pieces of furniture. An armoire, large canopy-covered bed and a chair. Serena moved closer. The chair was familiar. It seemed like the one she used to sit upon when—
Her thoughts ended quickly. Someone was coming. Again.
dc
Maria let me go first. I walked into the light pink, paisley-wallpapered bedroom. It was a fairy princess room.
“This is it?” I faked disappointment. “I was planning to host a Lakers’ Party in here.”
Unsure, she peered at me closely. “You can have my room. It’s a bit larger.”
“I’m kidding. This room is much too good. Put me somewhere less elegant if you want and save this room for royalty.”
“Nah, you’re the most important guest here.” She smiled brightly, all tears tamped down. “My room’s next door. Why don’t you rest a while before dinner?”
“Sounds lovely.” I looked longingly at the queen-sized bed complete with four wooden posts and lacy canopy. The soft pink down comforter called my name.
“See you in a few hours.” Maria closed the door behind her.
I yawned. I was ready for a nice long nap.
What the—?
Turning slowly, my gaze drifted across the bed, nightstand, wall mirror, antique velvet chair, cherry-wood armoire and back to the chair again. Flutters of familiarity tickled my brain and lifted the hairs on my scalp. I rubbed my arms. They were covered in goose bumps.
For no explainable reason, the antique chair continued to draw my attention.
The room tilted. I sat on the edge of the bed, balling the comforter up in my fists, hanging on as the room spun around me. Damn, vertigo. I’d had it once before when a cold virus infected my inner ear. Why now? What was happening to me?
Serena gasped. Before her a lady sat on the edge of the bed, holding on to blankets as if they were the sides of a boat being tossed on a merciless sea.
Virgin Mother, could this be her savior?
Serena forced herself to sit quietly on the chair waiting to see what her redeemer might do.
The lady was beautiful and strange in long hose similar to those of the other lady in the tower. And what of her hair? Unbound and chopped short, barely to her shoulders did it reach. The loose tendrils floated about her face like the soft feathers of a goose. Unheard of.
Does she not see me?
The lady’s actions surprised her. Why did she press her fingertips into her temples as if her head pained her?
Serena began to fear the lady would never see her. Something had to be done.
Taking a deep breath, Serena steeled herself and whispered, “Erin?”
Hearing a noise, my head shot up faster than it should have. The room whirled like one of those teacup rides at Disneyland. It was all I could do not to be sick.
It was the craziest thing. The room wasn’t really spinning, my inner ear had gone wonky on me. Keeping my head upright, I hoped the fluid in my ear would settle and behave. Needing to focus on something, my gaze drifted back to the antique chair. I had the sensation I wasn’t alone.
“You’re losing it, Erin.”
No one was sitting on that stupid chair. To prove it, I carefully stood up, walked across the room and sat down.
The lady walked toward Serena.
Glory of glories, she sees me.
Happiness bloomed in her heart. Oh, to be free of the tower once and for all. She did not understand what a “say-on” was, but knew Erin could help her find her true love.
Andrés, we shall be together.
The lady said, “You’re losing it, Erin.”
Serena pressed her hands to her own heart. She did not know what was lost, but knew for certain her savior had been found. Erin, you are my only hope. You must help me. You are…about to sit upon me? Stop. “No!”
Serena’s insides shook and she fell, landing hard. She groaned and rubbed her sore backside.
I am back in the tower.
Staring up at the thick wood-beams, she panted to catch her breath. She was exhausted, but vowed to try it again once she had regained her strength. She would not remain in this place of death much longer.
Somehow, someway, she had to make Erin help her.
The spinning stopped and the déjà vu ended. I sat on the chair for a moment gathering my wits about me. It had to be exhaustion. I needed sleep. Desperately.
Kicking off my shoes, I dove under the thick down comforter. The satin sheets were cool and silky on my hot skin. Perfect. With thoughts of a handsome doctor dancing in my head, I closed my eyes. And dreamed.
I stand in a peaceful garden surrounded by blooming rose bushes. My heart thunders in my ears.
A breeze blows a warning across my skin. It whips my dark hair loose from the blue ribbon at the back of my neck and tugs on my long skirt. The rose bushes sway, revealing thorns beneath the satiny petals. Even here, in the gardens, evil exists.
Behind me is the castle. My refuge. I want to turn and flee back inside, but it is too late. I cannot move. Fear binds my legs and steals the air out of my chest.
If I can catch my breath, I will scream.
Death rides swiftly toward me like a man on a dark gray horse.
He is coming.
Chapter Four
What’s the matter with me?
My pulse raced, thinking about those amazing green eyes, his jet-black hair, the way he moved in those charcoal colored pants… Oh Lordy.
Tossing clothes out of my suitcase, I searched for my nicest blouse w
hile frantically, hand-pressing the wrinkles out of the black skirt.
It may have been a little soon after the Jack fiasco to fantasize about Santiago. But in a way, it felt healthy. Normal. Santiago came with no boost-me-up-the-ladder fringe benefits. It was simple girl-thinks-boy-is-yummy attraction.
This trip was about the normalization of Erin. If the healing process involved a hot studly Spaniard, all the better. I didn’t need a man to clean up my life, or lack of life. No, I knew that responsibility rested solely on my shoulders. But Maria was right. Being a goddess, even for a few weeks, had a nice sound to it.
I rummaged through my carry-on and pulled out the blue notebook. Under Get a Life I wrote a second goal: 2) Relax. Flirt. Enjoy a man, just because. Become a goddess.
“Goddess,” I said to my reflection. The dark circles had faded to light smudges, but my eyes were still tired, my complexion too pale. “Yeah, right.”
Straightening my back, lifting my shoulders, I swiped a little pink lip gloss on my lips. Fingers of excitement tingled down my back and twisted my stomach in knots.
Get a hold of yourself, Erin, I chided myself. It’s just dinner.
I took a big breath and turned out the light.
dc
When she walked into the room, Santiago’s heart did a painful miss-beat against his breastplate, as if it stopped dead in his chest only to start again with her smile.
He’d been sitting on the edge of the sofa impatiently waiting for Maria’s friend to show herself. He wanted to speak with her alone, while Maria showered, to determine the woman’s mental state. She had acted so oddly at the airport. His sister had hinted at some sort of breakdown and he could not, in good conscience, leave a fragile female in this house. It was far too dangerous.
He had enough trouble taking care of his mother and shielding his sister from the darkness. How in the hell could he protect another woman? He couldn’t. He’d insist she move out.
But when he saw her…
Sweet Mother, when he saw her all rational thought ended.
“Hello again.” Her voice was as smooth and promising as satin sheets.
Catch Me in Castile Page 4