“Of course, of course, no need to be dramatic.” Esmeralda is already turning toward the entryway, her back to us. I shoot her one last glance, but she isn’t looking at me. Instead, Miguel catches my eye. Holding my gaze, he spits one final time on the ground and slams the door closed behind them, sealing away, for the moment at least, any answers we might have found within those walls.

Kiki

I hold myself together just long enough to be out of shouting distance of Esmeralda’s. My legs carry me into the night, away from the brothel, away from the only person who might have answers for me.

“Goddammit!”

I kick the nearest thing, which happens to be a stack of empty crates lining the alley en route to Santiago’s.

The wood cracks under the force of the blow, buckling inward.

I don’t know why I did it.

I don’t know why I let Esmeralda close the door in our faces.

I don’t know why I didn’t fight.

Because that’s not what ladies do.

The voice in my head isn’t mine. It isn’t anyone’s. It’s an amalgam of every tutor, every governess, every person who had ever tried to shove me into a box in which I would never fit. The voice is always there, always lurking in the shadows of my mind. Usually, I’m so good at ignoring it I forget it ever existed.

But not now. Not when I need it to be silent more than anything.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I whip the hat off my head. I’m too hot all of a sudden. Beneath my frock coat, my shirt sticks to my skin with a fresh sheen of sickly sweat.

I’m not ready for this.

That’s what’s wrong with me.

“Hey.” Ana has to jog to catch up to me. Had I been walking that fast? I don’t recall. My body moves as if of its own accord. I am merely a passenger, going where my limbs take me.

“Kiki, what the hell was that?”

That was me, not knowing what I’m doing. I am not ready.

But all I do is shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I just—”

“Hey, it’s all right. You’re all right.”

I don’t even realize I’m still mumbling until Ana lays a gentle finger against my lips.

“Come on. We’ll wait it out. Rosalita won’t be otherwise engaged forever. We’ll go, get something to drink, and then head back. And we can ask Santiago if he or his little urchins have heard anything unusual about the death of a certain nobleman.”

She doesn’t say his name. A small kindness for my benefit. The sound of it is still raw. An open wound.