We drink from bamboo stalks, and as the water touches my lips, a butterfly lands on the wooden cup. Her wings are a vibrant red, with iridescent veins creating a shimmering pattern that literally takes my breath away. She’s a tiny thing, no bigger than my palm.
I slowly lower the cup from my lips. With my free hand, I reach toward her with my index finger. She doesn’t move, and as I’m about to coax her onto my hand, I stop.
Manuel’s warning:Don’t touch anything.
I shoot him a glance, surprised to see him watching. He suddenly grins, and his brown eyes become warm. He’s pleased I’ve remembered his lesson, especially after my near miss with the flower. I lift a brow in question.
“Butterflies don’t harm humans.”
Again, I stretch out my finger for the butterfly to climb on, and a moment later she does, her wings fluttering. I gleefully show Manuel, whose smile hasn’t faded but only stretched wider, as if we were the former Catalina and Manuel living behind the stone walls of the Illustrian keep, sometimes friends.
“What shall I call her?”
He seems bemused by this. “Consuelo?”
I make a face. “I had a Great-Aunt Consuelo who always made me brush my hair one hundred times every nigh—” A sharp pain flares at my finger, burning hot. The feeling travels up my arm, into my chest—smothering.
“What just happened?” Manuel demands. “Condesa?”
The butterfly sinks her teeth farther into my skin, sucking blood. I try to shake her off as the fire spreads to the rest of my body. I clench my jaw as her incisors dig into my skin again. Tears prick my eyes. Manuel grabs my arm and cuts her wings—but still she feasts on my flesh. Finally he yanks the butterfly off, throws her onto the ground, and steps on her.
My index finger has two deep puncture marks and is bleeding profusely, dripping onto the jungle floor. Manuel rips at the bottom of his tunic, producing a long strip. He binds the wound.
“Does it still hurt?”
A shape materializes near his shoulder, paper-thin wings fluttering in the sharp heat of the jungle. “Manuel!” But I’m too late. The butterfly lands on his shoulder, and he hisses sharply, yanking her off. He bats at another one near my ear, and another at the top of my hip. It’s only then that realization dawns.
I look up to hundreds of bloodsucking butterflies riding the warm wind above us, circling like vultures.
CAPÍTULO
Doce
I see the girl first.
Between the oak trees, shrouded in a greenish glow cast from the broad leaves. She’s slight, with dark hair bound into a single braid. Her body is painted in vibrant colors, a thousand wings decorating her skin. Manuel and I barely notice as she transforms into a butterfly; we’re too busy smacking at the insistent creatures fluttering above our heads. There are hundreds of them, swooping from behind broad palm leaves. Manuel shoots me a quick look. It only takes me a second to understand: We’ll be eaten alive if we don’t run.
We race away from the cloud of furious insects, our arms flapping over our heads, trying to protect our necks. The swarm of butterflies persists and a few catch up as I struggle with tangled roots and vines spooling at my feet. Damn being careful or quiet, damn whatever we accidentally touch. There’s another prick on my upper arm, then one on my right leg and one on my left, close to my knees and ankles.
The burning sensation blazes up and down my body, making my head swim. I yank the creatures off me, and blood drips down my arms and legs. Manuel glances over his shoulder, motioning for me to keep up.
Another butterfly lands on my exposed skin. And then another. I slow my pace, tears streaming down my scorched cheeks. I’m burning alive, set on fire from the inside. Manuel doubles back for me, his eyes yellingdon’t slow down, don’t give up.He swats away the little monsters, hissing as one sinks its teeth into his palm. He plucks it out, throwing it to the ground, and then takes my hand, now slick with his blood. I don’t stop to think how disgusting that is. Somehow I push through prickly leaves and jagged-edged palms.
We are too slow.
There are hundreds of them.
And then—just ahead, something made of stone looms between the trees. Manuel guides me toward a square building, both of us still swatting at the hungry butterflies. Vines devour the exterior of the building, covering patches of black stone. We clear the trees and race up the front steps. I’m half aware that I’m running straight into what looks like an abandoned temple. The entrance is tall with a curtain of thin leafy vines blocking the way through.
We bolt past the plants, and they swing back into place. The butterflies can’t drift in after us, and the realization makes my knees buckle. I sink onto the stone floor, sweating from every pore, bleeding and fighting to keep the fire under my skin at bay. Manuel drops down next to me, in the same miserable state. He drags in air, but on his exhale, he sits up and frantically grabs a hidden butterfly near my ankle. The rip of flesh and fabric rents the air and I groan. He steps on the insect with his left boot and then swivels around to face me. His hands run along my arms and legs, urgent and methodical. Satisfied I’m butterfly free, he lifts his gaze as my vision blurs.
Exhaustion covers me like smoke intent on smothering life. Manuel shakes my shoulders. “Condesa!” A second later he smartly slaps my cheek. My eyes fly open. “Don’t youdarefall asleep on me.” His fingers dig into my skin. “Stay awake. Talk to me. Look for more of them; I might have missed one.”
There’s a shaft of light coming from somewhere above, landing in a triangular shape in the center of the room. There’s enough light to see his expression as he examines my face. His dark eyes softly glow in the shadowy chamber. I return the favor, and when we’re satisfied there aren’t any more insects feasting on our blood, we bind the wounds as best we can, and then lean back against the cool walls, exhausted.
“I feel as if I’ve walked through fire.” My mouth is dry. I lick my lips and swallow. “Have we been poisoned?”
His lips flatten, and there’s a grim set to his shoulders. “Possibly.”