Mexican Gothic(46)

Catalina was sitting by the window. She turned and looked at Noemí. “Do you, now?”

“You must choose, the left or right pocket, and then you’ll have a reward,” Noemí said, approaching her.

“What if I choose the wrong one?”

Catalina’s hair fell loose past her shoulders. She had never taken to short hairstyles. Noemí was glad. Catalina’s hair was sleek and lovely, and she had fond memories of brushing it and braiding it when she was a little girl. Catalina had been so patient with her, allowing Noemí to treat her like a living doll.

“Then you’ll never know what was in the other pocket.”

“You silly girl,” Catalina replied, smiling. “I’ll play your game.

Right.”

“Ta-da.”

Noemí placed the pack of cards on Catalina’s lap. Her cousin opened the pack and smiled, taking out a card and holding it up.

“We can play a few hands,” Noemí said. “I’ll even let you win the first one.”

“As if! I never met a more competitive child. And it’s not like Florence would let us play late into the night.”

“We might still play at least a little.”

“I have no money to bet, and you don’t play if there’s no money on the table.”

“You’re looking for excuses. Are you afraid of that dreadful, nagging Florence?”

Catalina stood up quickly and went to stand by her vanity, tilting its mirror and setting the pack of cards next to a hairbrush while she looked at her reflection. “No. Not at all,” she said, grabbing the brush and running it through her hair a couple of times.

“Good. Because I have a second present for you, and I wouldn’t give it to a scaredy-cat.”

Noemí held the green bottle up. Catalina turned around, wonder in her eyes, and carefully grabbed the bottle. “You did it.”

“I told you I would.”

“Dearest, thank you, thank you,” Catalina said, pulling her into an embrace. “I should know you would never abandon me. We thought monsters and ghosts were found in books, but they’re real, you know?”

Her cousin released Noemí and opened a drawer. She took out a couple of handkerchiefs, a pair of white gloves, before finding her prize: a small silver spoon. Then she proceeded to pour herself a teaspoon, her fingers trembling a little, then another and a third.

Noemí stopped her at the fourth, taking the bottle from her hands and setting it on the dresser, along with the spoon.

“Jeez, don’t have so much. Marta said you might have one tablespoon and that would be enough,” Noemí chided her. “I don’t want you snoring for ten hours straight before we even get a chance to play a single hand.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Catalina said, smiling weakly.

“Now, shall I shuffle or will you do the honors?”

“Let me see.”

Catalina slid a hand across the deck. Then she stopped; she lifted her hand and her fingers remained hovering above the pack of cards, as if she’d been frozen in place. Her hazel eyes were open wide and her mouth was closed tight. She looked so strange. Like a woman who has gone into a trance. Noemí frowned.

“Catalina? Are you unwell? Do you want to sit down?” she asked.

Catalina did not reply. Noemí gently grabbed her by the arm and attempted to maneuver her toward the bed. Catalina wouldn’t move.

Her fingers curled into a fist, and she continued to stare forward, those large eyes of hers looking wild. Noemí might as well have attempted to shove an elephant. It was impossible to get her to budge a single inch.

“Catalina,” Noemí said. “Why don’t—”

There was a loud crack—dear God, Noemí thought it might be a joint cracking—and Catalina began to shiver. She shivered from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, one sweeping, rippling motion. Then the shiver became more frenzied, and she was convulsing, she was pressing her hands against her stomach and shaking her head, and the most vicious scream escaped her lungs.

Noemí attempted to hold her, to drag her toward the bed, but Catalina was strong. It was amazing how strong she was considering how frail she looked, yet she managed to resist Noemí, and they both ended up on the floor, Catalina’s mouth opening and closing spasmodically, her arms rising and falling, the legs shaking wildly. A trail of saliva slid down the corner of her mouth.

“Help!” Noemí yelled. “Help!”

Noemí had gone to school with a girl who had epilepsy and although the girl never had a fit on school grounds, she remembered how she once told her she carried a little stick in her purse so that she might place it in her mouth if she had a seizure.

With Catalina’s attack growing in intensity—which seemed impossible yet was undeniably happening—she snatched the silver spoon from the dresser and placed it in Catalina’s mouth to keep her from biting her own tongue. She knocked down the card deck, which had also been resting on the dresser. The cards spilled and fanned out on the floor. The knave of coins stared at Noemí accusingly.

Noemí ran to the hallway and began yelling, “Help me!”

Had no one heard the commotion? She rushed forward, banging on doors, and yelling as loud as she could. Suddenly Francis appeared and behind him came Florence.