Page 76 of An Immaculate Deception

My head hurts when I try to think, clouded by the fog of liquor. I could go out there and talk to her. I know I could persuade her to come back inside, but only by impersonating my father. I loathe the notion. If by some miracle her memories do return, how will she feel about me having playacted as my father, encouraging her romantic delusions? She won’t like it one bit.

But without lying, silence is my only recourse.

I reach for the glass of liquor and he snatches it from my hand. He drags a blanket over my shoulders and I lean against a cushion, feel my lids closing. Maybe I’ll allow my eyes to close for five minutes, that’s all.

“You can try the technique here,” I mutter as my eyelids grow heavy. “I’d sooner have her sleep in the stable than at your house.”

“Very well”—he pats his vest and puts on his hat—“I’ll set up a nice bed for her in the stable.”

46

When I next open my eyes, the early-morning azure of the sky peeks through the curtains. I hear birdsong in the distance, and voices speaking in the kitchen. I fell asleep on the couch. My heart lurches—where’s Mother?

As I sit up, I’m hit with a hammering in my head and indigestion. I steady myself, drink a full glass of water, have my coffee-and-cigarette breakfast as I step outside, where the morning sun makes my head spin.

Squinting against the sun, I go to the stable. Mother is not there. I’ve been played for a fool. Lobo, that scoundrel! I ride to Lobo’s house in the carriage at full speed.

The sun is newly risen and the streets are empty at this hour. I remember hearing at the tavern that his house stands out for its extravagant design and architecture, and its lavish gardens. I do not know his exact address, only that he lives on the wealthy Rua Imperial, so I make my way down and appraise my surroundings. I have a terrible instinct about it. He took Mother away against my wishes. No good can come from that.

Rua Imperial is lined with opulent two-story homes. I soon spot a woman on the ground. I tell the driver to halt, already knowing it’s her, even though I can’t make out her face. It is a frightening sight that stuns me to my core. She is in her underpinnings, covered in blood. There are wounds on her arms and legs, and her hair is unkempt. Terror rips through me. Something terrible has happened.

The carriage pulls over and I leap out. She startles when she sees me, as though taking a moment to recognize me…Is she in the permanent stupor?

I help her to her feet. Her face has a haunted, weary look. The palms of her hands are blackened with dirt, and she’s shaking. Her eyes are wide and fear stricken. She sweeps into the carriage and demands for us to take off right away. Hearing her speak is a relief—at least she’s not in a stupor.

“What happened?” I tear off a piece of my shirt to bandage her wounds.

Her features twist, but she doesn’t respond. She mumbles incoherently about the baby. I press again: What happened? Did he harm her? But she avoids my gaze, staring at the air in front of her. Her arms are bruised and there is dried blood all over her. The fact that she’s only wearing her chemise disturbs me as well.

“We need to get you to a doctor.”

“No more doctors!”

“Why not?”

“Doctor Lobo is a dangerous man,” she says. “How did you know I would be here?”

I blink. “What?”

“Last night he was meant to take me home. How did you know he never took me home? You knew to come look for me here.”

It takes me a moment to orient my mind to what she’s saying: By home, she means her mother’s house, not our home. I want to shout that she has no other home, but in her current state, I don’t think she can take it.

“Last night while you waited in the carriage, he told me he planned to take you to his house. I told him not to. In my inebriated state, I believed him when he acquiesced. But this morning when I woke up sober, I remembered what he said and had a bad feeling about it. Did he hurt you?”

She tells me she agreed to stay the night in his guest room. But in the middle of the night, she heard a noise and went about the house. Then she came across something she wasn’t supposed to see.

“What did you see?”

“It was some sort of black magic ritual, I believe.”

My stomach falls. “What happened?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t ask me, Leandro, I dare not speak of it.”

She shares no more details, other than that she escaped through a window. I am stunned. What could have been so bad that it required her to break through a window? I recall Lobo’s esoteric interests, his penchant for the occult. But black magic…?

Her eyes are dazed, glassy. What is so terrible she can’t even talk about?