Casa de los Suspiros

Chapter one

Sam's fingers tremble slightly as he double-checks the address on his phone, his other hand white-knuckled around the handle of an oversized suitcase. After sixteen hours of travel, his shoulders ache from dragging the unwieldy luggage through Barcelona's winding streets. Twenty years of life compressed into sixty-five pounds of carefully curated possessions—his camera equipment wrapped in t-shirts, his gaming laptop cushioned between layers of jeans, and his mother's worn copy of "Don Quixote" tucked into a side pocket.

The house before him seems to loom impossibly tall, its blackened granite facade a stark contrast to the cheerful student housing he'd imagined when responding to the advertisement. Gargoyles peer down from their perches, their weathered faces twisted into eternal snarls, while carved serpents writhe along the upper trim. In the fading Barcelona afternoon, the dragon above the second-floor windows appears almost alive, its stone wings casting long shadows across elaborate Art Nouveau flourishes that seem to pulse with hidden meaning.

He adjusted his glasses, pushed back the brown hair falling into his eyes, and took an unsteady breath. The thirteen steps leading to the entrance seemed to stretch endlessly upward, flanked by two life-sized Art Nouveau female figures with exposed breasts and shamelessly ecstatic expressions. He felt the temptation to place his hand on one of their breasts and feel that perfectly firm, stone carved nipple between his fingers, as he finally **** himself to climb, his suitcase thumping heavily against each step.

Before he can reach for the brass knocker, which has been worn to a warm gold by countless hands, the heavy wooden door swings open with a sound like a sigh. A young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and bright blue eyes greets him with a warm smile that somehow makes the imposing entrance feel less threatening. She wears riding jodhpurs and boots, as if she'd just returned from the stables.

"You must be Sam! I'm Laura," she says, stepping aside to let him in. "We've been expecting you."

The interior is dim, with high ceilings that disappeared into shadow. Ornate woodwork traces patterns across the walls that seem to shift in the corners of his vision. A flash of electric blue hair catches his eye—another girl, small but commanding in presence, crosses the hallway in striking athletic wear that seemed designed to draw attention. She disappears up the stairs before Sam can get a proper look, leaving him behind with just a flash of her skimpy white tennis skirt.

Laura leads him up the winding stairs, her voice warm and welcoming. Sam barely listens though. His mind is distracted by Laura’s firm butt stretching the jodhpurs and swaying in front of him as he hauls his heavy suitcase up the stairs. ”We usually do shared dinners three times a week.” Laura cheerfully explains. “Lisa's an amazing cook when she's not practicing aerial silks, and I make a mean paella. You'll meet everyone tonight!" She pauses on the landing. "That's Georgina's room there—you’ve just seen her rushing up the stairs.

They climb another flight to the attic, the wooden stairs groaning under their weight. "I know it's a lot of stairs," Laura says apologetically, "but the view is worth it!" She pushes open a door beneath the slanted ceiling. "And this is your room!"

The space is small and dark, with a dormer window that looks out over the city rooftops. A metal bed frame stands against one wall, its thin mattress bare. The slanted ceiling makes the room feel even more cramped, and the wooden floor creaks ominously with each step. The air holds the musty scent of long-closed spaces, and somewhere above, rain patters against the slate roof. In one corner, an ancient radiator hisses softly, its pipes disappearing into the wall behind inexplicable brass fittings decorated with tiny carved faces.

"I'll let you get settled," Laura says, her perpetual smile faltering slightly. "Dinner's at nine if you'd like to join us. The bathroom's just one floor down—the one with the green door. The handle sticks sometimes, but you'll get used to it."

Alone in the room, Sam stands motionless, his suitcase a familiar anchor beside him. The contract he's signed is for the entire semester, and his flight back to the States isn't for six months. Now, staring at the uninviting space that is to be his home, he faces a decision: Should he unpack and commit to staying, or should he forfeit his deposit and look for another place to live? Through the dormer window, he can see one of the gargoyles watching him, its stone eyes holding secrets about the house and the girls who live here.