The Snow Gypsy(46)
She stood outside the tavern for a moment, breathing in the cool air. The scent of galán de noche—night-flowering jasmine—drifted over the wall from the palace gardens. Apart from the muffled rise and fall of laughter, the only sound she could hear was the rhythmic thrumming of the crickets. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she set off down the path.
Her boots crunched on the fine, sandy gravel. She couldn’t see more than a couple of yards in front of her, but she knew the way well enough not to be fazed by the twists and turns as she made her way down the hill.
An owl flew out of a tree, swooping so low she could feel the rush of air from its wing beats. Then she heard another sound. Not the rustle of a bird in the branches but a sharp snap, like a twig breaking underfoot. She looked in the direction it had come from, trying to make sense of the dark shapes at the edge of the path. Was that the trunk of a tree or the body of a man lurking in the shadows?
She walked on, faster than before. Once she reached the Gate of the Pomegranates, she would be safe in the light of the streetlights. She could smell the city now—the stink of the river rising on the night breeze, mingling with the earthy scents of the woodland. She blew out a breath when she spotted the looming mass of the gate, black against the charcoal gray of the sky. But as she passed under the arch, someone grabbed her from behind, pushing her into the rough stone and pressing hard against her.
She kicked out and tried to scream, but a hand clamped her mouth shut before any sound could escape. She felt his breath through her hair, hot on her scalp, a wave of alcohol tainted with the stink of sweat. And mule shit.
Antonio Lopez.
His grip tightened. She could taste blood, like metal, in her mouth. An image of Nieve swam before her eyes. Naked and defenseless, the cord hanging from her belly. With all her strength Lola jerked her head up, jabbing him under the chin. She heard his teeth crunch. He swore. But it had no more impact than a sparrow pecking a vulture.
She felt him fumbling with her skirt, yanking it up over her buttocks. She jabbed blindly with her elbow, catching him under the ribs. He coughed, momentarily loosening his grip on her mouth. In one lightning movement she twisted sideways, thrust her hand inside her skirt, and pulled her knife from the belt around her waist. As he lunged at her, the knife went in, so fast and clean he hardly made a sound as he fell to the ground. And then she ran. Faster than she had ever run in her life, clattering up the cobbled streets, on and on, until she staggered through the blue-painted door of the cave house.
“Lola! My God!” Rose leapt up from the chair by the fire, catching Lola as she fell to her knees.
“I . . . I th . . . think I’ve k . . . killed him!” Her teeth rattled as the words spilled out.
“What! Who, Lola? Who?”
“An . . . tonio Lopez. H . . . he t . . .” The words disappeared into a great shuddering sob.
Rose lifted her up, half carried her to the armchair. She laid her gently down, stroking Lola’s hair. “Don’t try to talk. Let me get you something. Brandy—is there brandy?”
Lola nodded, unable to control her lips. She pointed to a cupboard in the wall.
Rose found the bottle and held it up to Lola’s mouth.
“Better?”
“Yes.” Lola’s voice was a rasping whisper.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Rose knelt beside the chair.
“He was waiting for me. By the G . . . Gate of the Pomegranates.” Lola bit her lip, trying to control the trembling. “He jumped on me and tried to . . . but I had m . . . my knife.”
Rose sucked in a breath. “You stabbed him?”
Lola nodded.
“Is he . . .”
“I . . . I don’t know. I just ran.”
Rose scrambled to her feet. “I’d better go and find him. He might be—”
“No!” Lola cut in. “You can’t! They’ll think it’s you who did it!”
“But we can’t just leave him!” Rose unhooked her jacket from a peg on the wall.
“Why not? He’s a monster! He deserves to die!” She spat out the words with a vehemence that stopped Rose in her tracks. Lola could imagine what she was thinking. And it was true. A portion of her heart had frozen solid that day on the mountain. There was no room in it for mercy.
Chapter 16
Rose was dozing fitfully in front of the embers of the fire, a blanket thrown over her knees. Lola had crawled into bed with Nieve and Gunesh after making Rose promise not to go down to the Gate of the Pomegranates.
It had been far too late to go back to her room at the posada—the place would be locked up. There had been no alternative but to try to get what little sleep she could in the armchair. She had fallen into a whirlpool of graphic nightmares, peopled by ghastly figures covered in blood. And Lola was dancing among them in the orange fishtail dress she had worn that first night at the fiesta, her skirts flying out as she slashed and jabbed at their ravaged bodies.
Rose woke with a start. She could hear a whining sound over by the door. She twisted around in the chair, thinking it was Gunesh wanting to be let out. But it was Cristóbal’s dog, Chico, she saw—a skinny black-and-white animal with pointed ears, like the dogs portrayed in Egyptian tombs.
She heard a key twist in the lock. Then Cristóbal’s voice. He was muttering something inaudible to the dog, who ran back and jumped into the chair on the other side of the fireplace.