“It’s my life.”

“When you punish yourself this way, it’s also my life. Turn over.”

Alicia closed her eyes and turned on her side. Leandro lifted her dress up to her waist. He unfastened her harness and took it off. Alicia was moaning with pain, squeezing her eyes shut and breathing with difficulty.

“This hurts me more than it hurts you,” said Leandro. He grabbed her thigh and held her down on the bed. Alicia was shaking when he plunged the needle in the wound on her hip. She let out a muffled cry, and her whole body tensed up like a steel cable for a few seconds. Leandro pulled the needle out slowly and left the syringe on the bed. Slowly, he lessened the pressure on her leg and turned her body around until she was lying faceup. He pulled down her dress and gently placed her head on the pillow. Alicia’s forehead was bathed in sweat. He pulled out a handkerchief and dried it for her.

She looked at him, glassy-eyed. “What time is it?” she murmured.

Leandro stroked her cheek.

“It’s early. Rest now.”

16

Alicia woke up in the dark room to discover Leandro outlined against the armchair next to her bed. He held the Víctor Mataix book in his hands and was reading it. While she was asleep, he must have gone through her pockets, her handbag, and probably all the drawers in the room.

“Better?” he asked, without looking up from the book.

“Yes,” said Alicia.

Waking up was always accompanied by a strange lucidity and the feeling of frozen jelly sliding through her veins. Leandro had covered her with a blanket. She felt her body and realized she was still wearing her day clothes. She pulled herself up and leaned against the headboard. The pain was now just a weak, muffled throb buried in the cold. Leandro bent forward and handed her a glass.

She took a couple of sips. It didn’t taste of water. “What’s this?”

“Drink it.”

Alicia drank the liquid. Leandro closed the book and left it on the table.

“I’ve never really understood your literary tastes, Alicia.”

“I found it hidden inside the desk of Valls’s office.”

“And you think it might have some connection with our business?”

“For the moment I’m not ruling anything out.”

“You’re beginning to sound like Gil de Partera. How’s your new partner?”

“Vargas? He seems efficient.”

“Trustworthy?”

Alicia shrugged.

“Coming from someone who doesn’t trust her own shadow, I’m not sure whether to take your uncertainty as a sign that you’re converting to the faith in the regime.”

“Take it as you please.”

“Are we still at war?”

Alicia sighed and shook her head.

“This wasn’t a courtesy call, Alicia. I have things to do, and there are people at the Hotel Palace who’ve been waiting to have dinner with me for quite a while. What can you tell me?”

The young woman gave Leandro a brief summary of the day’s events and let him digest it in silence, as was his habit. He stood and walked over to the window. Alicia watched his still outline against the lights of Gran Vía. His fragile arms and legs, attached to a disproportionate torso, lent him the air of a spider hanging in its web. She didn’t interrupt his meditation. She’d learned that Leandro liked to take his time to scheme and conjecture, savoring every piece of information and working out how to extract the greatest possible damage from it.