Mexican Gothic(86)

“I can manage alone. You can go.”

Florence, hands clasped under her breast, stared at Noemí and walked out.

Thank God, Noemí thought.

Noemí ventured into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, removing pins and head combs and tossing the piece of tulle to the ground. The temperature had dropped. She walked back into the bedroom and put on the sweater she liked to wear. Her lighter was hard and cold against her fingers as she shoved her hands into her pockets.

She felt a little light-headed. Nothing unpleasant, nothing like what had happened the last time she’d been in Howard’s room. This was the buzz of alcohol, although she’d not had any wine, except for that one sip during the ceremony.

In the corner of the room she noticed that same stain on the wallpaper that had scared her. It wasn’t moving now, but there were tiny golden points dancing at the edge of it. When she closed her eyes, however, it became obvious that the golden points were in her eyes, as if she’d stared at a light bulb.

She sat down on the bed, eyes still closed, and wondered where Francis was right now and what they were saying to him, and whether he also felt pinpricks running down his spine.

She had a vague impression of a different wedding, a different bride with a garland of pearls. On the morning of her wedding she’d received a silver wedding casket and inside there had been colored ribbons and jewels and a coral necklace. Howard’s hand on her own, the amber ring, and she did not wish for this but she must…

Was this…was she Agnes or Alice? Noemí was unsure. Alice, probably, because the girl thought of her sister.

Sister.

This made Noemí remember Catalina, and she opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling. She wished they might have had a word. A single word, to soothe both of their nerves.

Noemí rubbed a hand against her mouth. It was considerably warmer in the room, where before it had felt like morning frost. She turned her head and saw Virgil standing next to the bed.

For a second she thought she was mistaken, that it was Francis and she was seeing wrong or else it was the gloom, confusing her once more. After all, why would Virgil be in her room? But then Virgil grinned, and Francis would never smile at her like that. He was leering at her.

She jumped to her feet, intending to flee, but she stumbled, and he caught her in two quick movements, grabbing hold of her arm.

“Noemí, here we are again,” he said.

His grip was firm, and she knew she couldn’t fight him using physical force alone. She took a breath. “Where’s Francis?”

“Busy being reprimanded. Did you think we wouldn’t find out?”

Virgil asked, reaching into his pocket and showing her the glass vial with the tincture. “It wouldn’t have worked, anyway. How do you feel?”

“Drunk. Did you poison us?”

He tucked the vial back in his pocket. “No. It was a little wedding gift, a little aphrodisiac. It’s a pity Francis won’t be able to enjoy it.”

She had a razor, she recalled. Hidden under the mattress. It would count for something. If she could get to it. But his hand was still on her arm with an iron grip, and when she tried to brush it away he wouldn’t allow it.

“I’m married to Francis.”

“He’s not here.”

“But your father—”

“He’s not here either. How funny, they’re all busy right now.” He tilted his head. “Francis is a little green boy of no experience, but I know what I’m doing. I know what you want.”

“You don’t know anything,” she whispered.

“You dream of me, you come looking for me as you dream,” he said. “Life bores you, Noemí. You like a hint of danger, but back home they wrap you in gauze, to keep you from breaking. But you’d like to break, wouldn’t you? You play with people and you wish someone would have the guts to play with you.”

It was not a real question, he awaited no answer, and his mouth covered hers. She bit him, but it was not in an attempt to deter his actions, and he knew it. He was right that she liked to play, that she enjoyed flirting and teasing and dancing, that they were so careful around her because she was a Taboada, and once in a while a coil of darkness wrapped itself around her heart and she wished to strike, like a cat.

But even as she was admitting this, even as Noemí knew this was a part of her, she also knew it was not her.

She must have said that out loud without realizing, because he chuckled.

“Of course it’s you. I can nudge you, but it’s you.”

“No.”

“It’s me you want, me you fantasize about. We have an understanding, don’t we? We know each other, really know each other. Underneath the layers of decorum all you do is want.”

She slapped him. It accomplished nothing. There was the briefest pause, and he caught her face between his hands and turned her head, running his thumb along her neck. Lust, thick and heady, made her gasp in ruinous delight.

The mold in the corner of the room was shifting and blurring, and his fingers were clenching hard into her flesh, pulling her tighter against him. The mold was streaked with veins of gold, and he was trying to gather up her skirts, shoving her against the bed, touching her between her thighs. The motion made her panic.

“Wait!” she said, as he pressed down on her, undaunted, impatient.