The bell clangs a second time and I shuffle out of the heat of the inner courtyard, the tiles shimmering from the midday sun. With my hand on the bolt, I take a moment to compose myself in the cool shade of the foyer, the other resting on my swollen belly.
"What is taking so long?" My husband steps from the gloom beneath the arches. He snaps his fingers. “Open it.” I bow my head and pull the heavy wooden door open.
Sun pours in, obliterating the cool air, blinding me for a moment.
"Mister Alvarez, how good to see you again!" There is a smile in my husband’s voice. One of the many he uses for others. I blink away the sunspots and wonder, briefly, whether I prefer the fake smiles or no smiles at all.
"Mister de la Torre,” says the round man as he grips my husband’s hand. The man from church. “It has been too long. Thank you for your invitation." He is several years older than my husband, with gray touching his mustache and temples and a paunch that only comes with age and status. He turns to me and inclines his head and I spread my skirts, about to welcome him inside, when a woman steps into view behind him.
Her white dress radiates in the noon sun, a blazing inferno of pure ivory that makes me blink even harder. The dress hangs off her shoulders, her skin light brown with a touch of gold. A splash of red, a poinsettia, rests above her ear, tucked into the curls of her dark hair. Large brown eyes peer out from strands that fall over her face and she smiles softly at me, like sharing a secret.
For a moment, there is only the two of us, standing, facing one another, in a deluge of white and red petals, stirred up by a cool breeze.
"Woman, stand aside." My husband’s sharp voice cuts through the hallucination and I finish my curtsy before stepping back and gesturing them into our home.
“Mister and Misses de la Torre, this is my niece, Alejandra. She is my charge. She is back from her university studies and, if it is not an imposition, I thought it would do her good to meet the lady.” He gives my husband a knowing look. “I know there is much work to be done around the house with the baby on the way.”
My husband, who cares only for the cattle sale, forces another one of his smiles and bows to Alejandra. “A pleasure, miss. Wife, you will show her around, won’t you?”
I bow my head quickly. “Of course, husband.”
"Good. Come, Mister Alvarez. My study is this way.” My husband leads Mister Alvarez across the courtyard and out of sight, leaving me alone with Alejandra.
We stand for a moment, me attempting to speak, the words frozen in my throat as she watches me, before her lip curls just so and she releases me.
"Thank you for welcoming me into your home," Alejandra says in a soft voice and she steps into the sunlight of the courtyard. She glows in the sun, while I stay in the shadows, hunted. Her fingers trail over the vines growing on the arches around the edge of the courtyard and she flashes a smile of white teeth. “So beautiful.”
I swallow, trying to work moisture into my mouth. "Of course. I mean thank you. What brings you to—but of course, your classes are over. How long have you been back? What did you study?" I am babbling, as if now that I am released, I cannot stop the constant stream of words. The heat of the courtyard grows, heavy with the smell of cempasuchil and honeysuckle, and I grow lightheaded. I want to be close to her. What is happening to me?
“Who does your gardening?” She glides between the flower beds, bending to smell each blossom. I blink. It looked, for just a moment, like one of the buds stretched out to meet her face.
I clear my throat.
“I do.”
Her smile grows wider and she straightens, finally meeting my gaze.
“There is so much love in the growing of them. They sing with it.” She takes a step toward me and I try to swallow.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” An excuse to get myself one. The air is syrupy and I can’t catch my breath. She steps closer again and my heart rabbits inside my chest. She has to be able to hear it. She looks up at me through long lashes and all proper thoughts flee from me.
A burst of laughter from my husband’s study echoes through the villa and the spell breaks once more.
“Yes, thank you,” she says with a warm smile and she allows me lead her to the kitchen.
Mister Alvarez and my husband strike a deal. As part of it, Alejandra will come clean the house to ease my duties while I am with child.
She insists I recline in the courtyard, surrounded by my flowers, while she brings me drinks and fruit and tidies the house. I try to read, but her presence makes the words disappear on the page. No matter where she is in the villa, I can sense her. I can lift my finger and point to exactly where she stands. A lodestone.
At the end of the first afternoon, Alejandra asks, "Is there anything else you need, missus?" She looks up at me through her long lashes, her brown eyes large and burning, and I swallow. My heart races at the question but I can only shake my head, unable to speak. She smiles and I watch her go, regretting my silence.
The flowers in my courtyard are blooming.
At church, I find out more about her. The older women, bitter from their own marriages, hate her for her beauty and youth. Men covet her in that way they do all things that make them confront their weakness. They want her so they can break her.
"There’s something wrong with that one," mutters Missus Salinas, when she catches me staring at Alejandra. “I hear her parents died when their villa burned down.”
"She has spent too much time in the capital. Too much time in the classroom, not enough in a pew," mutters Missus Varela. "And I've heard she practices witchcraft by the moonlight, that's why she is so beautiful."
I swallow my anger. I want to scream at them, but I have long ago given up doing what I wanted.
I excuse myself. The heat, I say, it’s too much.
Alejandra catches me looking once more as the services end. She comes over and greets my husband and then me.
“Is there anything you need, missus?”
I am silent once more.
A week later, she asks me her question and I am prepared for it. I press a flower into her palm, a vibrant Morning Glory, trimmed at the peak of its bloom.
She lifts it to her lips, her eyes still locked onto mine, and then gives it a kiss. Something changes, and I find my voice.
“Thank you for your help, miss.” I smile, a foreign sensation to my face, and she smiles back.
“Until tomorrow,” she says, and she spares my having to come up with more words by leaving. She places the blue flower into her hair and I swear the blue of her dress changes to match it.
It is the hottest day of summer. I fan my blouse, hoping to catch a stray breeze, while the sun-soaked tiles of the villa radiate heat like an oven. There is no reprieve and sweat trickles down every part of me. In the distance, even the cries of the street vendors are muted by the oppression of the sun.
Alejandra is unaffected, though, and she makes sure I am as comfortable and cool as I can be, insisting I lay on a couch in the darkest room of the villa. I am powerless to resist her and with a firm touch, I am reclined. She leaves me in the less stifling shade and begins to hum as she moves around the rest of the house. I imagine her dancing as she hums, her skirts flaring as she spins, white and red petals raining down around her as she pirouettes.
I stand in the courtyard beneath an impossibly large full moon. It fills the sky above and bathes everything in a silver light. I am dreaming, but even as I recognize it, I become unsure. Yellow and purple passiflora fill the air with their fragrance and my skin prickles in a cool breeze.
Alejandra holds one of my hands, a young girl the other. My daughter. I am going to have a daughter. The certainty of it feels so natural. Alejandra nods to me and smiles before bending forward to kiss my cheek. I weep with joy. I so want to have a girl. I squeeze both their hands.
A soft knocking wakes me.
"I am finished for the day, Missus de la Torre," Alejandra murmurs. She leans against the door frame, silhouetted by the light of the courtyard behind her.
I nod. "Thank you, Alejandra. I should not have made you come. It is too hot to do anything today."
Alejandra straightens and takes one step into the room and I am suddenly very aware of the space between us. My skin tingles where she kissed my cheek in the dream and I lick my lips.
"Not everything," she murmurs.
My face heats. The spicy scent of honeysuckle presses in around me as the villa sighs. I want to fall into the space between us, to feel her hand in mine again. I brush stray hairs from my face and will myself to snap out of it, hoping the darkness will hide my trembling fingers.
"Thank you, Alejandra," I say again, a mantra to get myself under control. I make as if to walk her out, but she blocks my path. There are only centimeters between us now.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, missus?” She curls a thick eyebrow at me and my breath catches in my throat. Did I make a sound? Oh, Lord, let it not be so.
I clear my throat and push past her, gasping for air. “No, no, my dear. It’s just the heat, and the baby …” I trail off and rush to the front door. As I put my hand on it, she catches it and presses herself close behind me.
Her lips brush my ear and I shiver. Her fingers trail up my arm to my neck and she pulls me around. Our faces are so close. All I can smell is blooming flowers and her sweat. I don’t dare move. I don’t want to.
She plucks the blossom woven into her hair, a rosy-tinted laelia, and holds it out in her palm. The petals are wrinkled from a day in the heat, but they grow plump in her hand and the bud lifts into the air, spinning slowly. It floats into my hair and she pushes it in right above my ear.
"How did you—?"
Her fingers curl around the back of my neck and she pulls me in, my lips to hers, and she lets me taste her. She is all strength and blooming flowers and I am hers.
As the heat of summer abates, ours burns brighter. We steal kisses, our lips hungry for one another's, beneath the eaves of the flower-filled courtyard. We find excuses to be alone for brief moments. A question about a piece of furniture. What groceries are needed. We brush fingers as she passes through the courtyard to another part of the house and the whole villa sings while my belly grows.
On the first full moon of autumn, she sneaks me out of the villa and we dance naked under the brilliant silver orb until we fall into each other, a tangle of arms and hair. She caresses my swollen stomach while the queens-of-the-night bloom around us, pale and bright.
She tells me she loves me and I bloom for her, too.
The next day, Mister Alvarez pays us a visit.
"My apologies, Missus de la Torre. I must speak to your husband."
Something twists in my gut. My husband and Mister Alvarez shut themselves off in the study. I hover nearby, hoping to catch anything more than the whiff of tobacco, but there are only somber voices, too quiet to make out.
Mister Alvarez gives me a shallow bow as he leaves. My husband watches him go and shuts the door.
"What has happened?" There is a surprising strength to my voice, even with the terror writhing in my gut.
My husband considers me for a moment before replying.
"Mister Alvarez has found Alejandra a husband. He regrets she is no longer able to help around the house here.” He misunderstands the look on my face. He trails his fingers on my cheek and I shudder. “Do not worry, wife. We will find another.”
That night I cry myself to sleep.
I dream of her again.
We stand in the courtyard, the moon high above, the flowers singing around us. Her fingers trace patterns on my skin and her lips brush mine before she whispers in my ear.
"Bring the ashes of the largest bloom in your garden to me. Bring salt. Bring a broken tile from the courtyard. Pack some belongings and money with you. I will take all three of us from here." Her hand rests on my belly and my daughter kicks with pleasure. Alejandra’s breath is warm on my ear and I shiver, missing her, missing her touch.
When I wake, I know it is more than a dream.
It does not take me long to gather the items. I pick a red poinsettia, like the one she wore when I first saw her.
I hurry to Mister Alvarez’s house, but the guard are already there.
A half circle of them surrounds Mister Alvarez. He is wild-eyed and gesticulating. Blood covers his shirt. "She tried to burn my house down!"
"We will have to burn her body," mutters one of the guards, as two medics pull a stretcher covered with a white sheet from inside. The priest walks out after them, his holy book in his hands and disgust painted all over his face. He holds a bundle of dried flowers and bones, inspecting them.
"Filthy witchcraft.” He tosses the totem aside. “A good thing you woke when you did, Mister Alvarez."
I flee, tears streaming down my face, until I am alone in our field. I scream out to her, wailing for her not to be gone, though I know she is.
The column of smoke from the village square blackens the skies and a thunderstorm batters the village for three days. When the storm clouds finally break apart, the village celebrates. The church bells toll and they dance in the street, eager to spit in the face of the devil and his dead mistress.
I clip flowers in the courtyard for a wreath. I will take it to our field.
"In my own home! And you didn’t suspect her of anything?" My husband leans against one of the arches in the courtyard, a dangerous glint in his eye.
If I open my mouth, I can’t be sure I won’t break down again.
He steps closer, looming over me as I pick the largest sunflower. "I will have the priest come and bless this house.” His voice is cold and expectant, but I remain silent. He crouches behind me and snakes his hand onto my belly. “To make sure she didn’t do anything to either of you."
I suppress a shudder.
After a while, he retreats to his study.
That night, she comes to me again.
Her touch is fire and I weep and gulp for air as I smile and she kisses me. She is not gone, not yet, but will be soon, she tells me.
"Do you have the ashes?"
I nod, unable to speak even in my dream.
"Good. I cannot complete the spell, anymore. You will have to."
I shake in her arms and she smooths my hair and holds me close. My girl kicks in between us, surrounded by our love.
“You are braver than you know. Trust in me and we will be together soon.” I nod, my face in her chest.
As soon as I hear my husband snoring, I lock myself in the nursery.
I draw the sigils as Alejandra instructed me. She is with me, unseen, her hand on mine, guiding me. A pinprick of my blood, some of my spit, swirled with the ashes to make an ink. I draw, my finger the pen, and black lines mark the tile, like scorch marks left by a fire. As I draw the patterns, she whispers in my ear. A gust of wind, filled with the scent of flowers, swirls around the room.
My husband hammers the door with his fist.
"What are you doing in there?"
You have to hurry, she tells me.
The door shakes, hard. “Why is this door locked?”
Almost there. Almost finished. We will be together soon, she says, the three of us.
The door crashes open and my husband yanks me out of the circle. "What the devil is this?"
I scream. He hits me and the smell of flowers dissipates as I lose consciousness.
When I wake, he is dragging me behind the villa to the creek.
I beg for him to let me go. He doesn’t listen. He hits me again and I fall to the bank, my head swimming, but I push myself up, try to lunge at him. He kicks me, his boot hard against my temple, and all strength leaves me.
“Please,” I say. “My daughter.”
He holds my head below the water until the world goes dark.
I wake in our field. The symbols are burned into the dry grass of the meadow, with me in its center. The queens-of-the-night are shriveled. The air is dry and stale. I am alone.
My husband tells the other villagers I, too, had been a witch and I had tried to give our unborn daughter’s soul to the devil. I had drowned myself in the attempt. So he said.
I weep for my unborn daughter and I weep for Alejandra and I weep for the incomplete ritual, but I have no tears for myself.
A few nights later, they find my husband hanged in the middle of the courtyard. No one notices the scuff marks on the tile from where he had kept trying to stand.
Mister Alvarez’s villa goes up in a conflagration the night after. Neighbors say they could hear him screaming for forgiveness as the fire consumed him. The priest drinks every cask of red wine in the rectory shortly thereafter, drowning himself in the sanguine liquid. The cattle herds have grown emaciated and the orchards are rotten. The river has dried up. Only one thing grows in the whole of the countryside. A single blossom of red in a field of dry grass.
I weep over the single poinsettia every day and during the night, I exact my revenge.
Originally Published in Unspeakable Horror 3: Dark Rainbow Rising
Content Warnings: domestic violence, murder, forced pregnancy termination, patriarchal violence against women