And pet project I was. Between Jose and Dee, they had me ready at the speed of light. When they were finished, I zipped up my knee-high combat boots and walked over to the mirror. The red lipstick I was wearing contrasted with the all-black attire, making it the perfect combination. I smiled. I looked sexy. I felt sexy.
“You’re both magicians.”
“So they say.” Jose winked. I laughed.
“Let’s head out. I told Martín we’d meet him at Dolly’s for shots.”
“I cannot wait to see this Martín guy,” Jose said. “Is he cute?”
“He’s cute.” I smiled. “He doesn’t stop talking, but he’s cute.”
“Oh, a chatterbox with Dee?” Jose’s eyes widened. “Who talks more?”
“I’m going to pretend you are not talking about me like that in front of me.” Dee shook her head, smiling as we walked out of her room. “But for the record, I talk more because I have a lot more interesting shit to say.”
“Right,” Jose and I both said with a laugh.
“Who’s the host this year?” I asked. “Of Carnival I mean.”
“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Jose’s brows rose.
“Shit. I didn’t tell you?” Dee’s eyes widened as she grabbed my arm. “This doesn’t change anything. We’re still going.”
“Don’t tell me it’s a Caliban.” I rolled my eyes.
“It is.” Dee bit her lip. “But who cares? It’s not like he’s going to pick you. You don’t even know each other.”
“Isn’t Mr. Caliban old, like really old?”
“And bedridden,” Jose said. “He’s not the host. God. He was such a horror when he was the host. I’m kind of shocked they picked someone from that family at all.”
“Seriously,” I agreed.
“Who’d they pick? The son?”
“Must be.” Jose shrugged. “He’s become a legend around here, coming in and out of Pan Island whenever he pleases with his fancy-ass cars and model girlfriends.”
“Really?” My brows rose. “Why would he come here? And how?”
“By boat, I assume.”
“He takes a boat and doesn’t die in those waters?” I raised an eyebrow and glanced at Dee.
“Hey, I haven’t been here either. Whenever I do visit, I only hear stories about this gorgeous god of a guy. I still think it’s crazy that they chose a Caliban though, hot or not.”
“Same.” I nodded slowly. Jose did as well.
Of course, none of us had been alive when it happened, but it was the talk of the town for years and years afterward. The curse and the Caliban Carnival was always mentioned at dinner parties even if it was just in passing, usually hushed, as if no one could bring themselves to speak the words aloud. And like everything else on this island, they called it a fable, a legend, a myth. It was the only fable I actually bought into. Some things are too horrible not to believe. Every year, the host of Carnival was the firstborn male of each household. Every night of Carnival, the man got to pick one woman to spend the night with. Single, married, widowed, it didn’t matter. Most of the men on the island were respectful and responsible with this task. They picked a single crush or a woman they were already dating, engaged, or married to.
The year Wilfred Ambrose Caliban was chosen, he picked a married woman. The wife of a farmer whose beauty was said to only be rivaled by that of the sun’s rays. Like most stories, there’s no telling what’s true and what’s not. It’s been passed down to so many ears and spoken by so many mouths that we can only deduce what we think may have happened, but legend has it that the woman, Sarah, was never seen again. The farmer tried, with his equipment, to take the black iron gates down himself. When he finally received word from Sarah, it was via divorce papers and an apology letter that is now framed in our town library. I read the letter many times, trying to search for clues of lies and sadness, but found none. She seemed sorry for her husband, but not sorry enough to come back. And so, with Sarah, the sun left the northern part of the island, where the Caliban residence sat. They say the farmer put a curse on it that no one, not even the most spiritual beings around here, like my grandmother and people like her, could displace because no one could erase grief like that.
“Whoa.” That was Dee as we started nearing the main street of town, where everyone was in some kind of costume and walking around.
Whoa was right. The costumes were dark, but the mood was festive. Martín, who was waiting for us, spotted us quickly. He was in all black, including a top hat with a feather sticking out of it.
“Do you know what Black Swan is?” I asked.
“Not really.” Martín grinned as he gave both Dee and me a kiss on the cheek and shook hands and introduced himself to Jose. “The three of you look like you belong on the cover of a gothic album.”