He laughs, then leans close to me, so I can see the dip between his brows is not a frown mark but a thin scar. And it’s not just there. He’s got three more matching nicks, one on each cheek and the last on his chin, like the cardinal points of a compass.
“Most girls get pumped for their Deathday.”
“Yeah, you know what a bruja wants.”
“Not really. I just guess until I get it right.” His smile falters, but not for long. “It’s okay to be scared. You just have to do your part and welcome your dead. It’s tradition.”
“It’s not fair,” I say. I don’t know why I say it. It just came out. He’s a stranger. But sometimes it’s easier to confide in strangers than the people who love us. “It feels like I don’t have a choice in my life.”
“You could always not do it.”
I can’t really tell if he’s joking, but I can’t deny the little spark of hope that fills my heart. Every bruja and brujo I know has had their Deathday.
“How?” I hope I don’t sound too eager.
He shrugs. “I’m sure you’re not the first witch in history to fear her own strength. Sorry to break it to you, brujita.” Little bruja.
“Didn’t you hear? I’m superspecial. I’m an encantrix.” Why did I admit to that? A second ago I wanted to deny it.
His eyes brighten with surprise, then appraisal. “Good for you.”
“I’m not sure ‘good’ is what I was going for.”
“Well, you only get one Deathday.”
“Except the actual day we die.”
He chuckles, and it makes his face look softer. “That’s a little morbid, even for me.”
I rest my hands on the cool glass. He leans closer to me. His eyes are bluer now. Smoke from the sage bundle burning in the corner descends around us. “I think it’s sweet that you’re nervous.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. How?”
“Well, I usually charge for my wisdom.” He raps his knuckles on the countertop.
I doubt he’s the kind of person who would give me a straight answer. I think he likes to hear himself be charming and clever. Then again, I don’t really know what kind of person he is at all. But I can’t exactly ask my mother or sisters or my best friend, so a stranger is going to have to do.
“Look,” he says, “if there are cantos for raising the dead and making it rain, then there should be something for stopping your Deathday. That is what you’re talking about, right? I mean, I wouldn’t do it because you don’t know what the recoil might be or the effects it could have. You shouldn’t do it because you don’t seem like you know the first thing about performing a canto and might set your house on fire. No offense.”
“How is that not offensive?” I’m filled with the urge to turn him into a slug. Then I lose my spark when I realize he’s right. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
What do I want? To stop my Deathday? That’s only half the problem. I’d still have this magic inside me. Magic killed my aunt Rosaria and Mama Juanita. My magic killed Miluna and set my father running. I could’ve hurt Rishi the other day. It destroys. I wonder…
“I’m saying. Just ’cause you can doesn’t mean that you should.”
“You don’t know my reasons.”
He grins slyly. “I don’t have to. If you want to compare the monsters in our closets, I’d win by a landslide. Besides, I don’t care what you do. I just figured I’d give you a little warning.”
“Why?”
His blue-green eyes flick from my lips to my clavicle. “I’m a nice guy.”
I snicker. “Okay. Where would you start?”
Nova looks over his shoulder where Lady and my mother are comparing the benefits of different bushels of sage. My sisters are in a corner giggling probably because this is the longest I’ve voluntarily talked to a boy my own age.
Nova leans in closer to me. I look at the in-between colors of his eyes—they’re like the shades of Caribbean seas—and hate that someone so cocky is so pretty.
“Listen, Ladybird,” he says, “the ceremony happens whether you want it to or not. But if you reject your blessing, it’ll have an effect on your power. The whole point is that the ceremony makes your power stronger but easier to contain.”
“If I wanted a lesson on spells, I’d talk to Lady.”
He makes a face. “Spells are for—”
“Witches, I know the drill.”
Nova laughs and raises his hands. “Fine. Every Book of Cantos has something to block negative forces. My grandmother uses them on her bakery, so she doesn’t get bad reviews. You can probably use the same to block the blessing of your ancestors. But you’d be foolish to try. You don’t know what could happen.”
“What if—” I bite my tongue. Nervous sweat accumulates between my shoulder blades. “What if I wanted to get rid of it?”
“I already told you it’s too late to stop the party without getting your moms pissed.”
“No,” I whisper. “Get rid of the magic.”
“Oh. Damn.” Nova stares at me. I hate that it makes me feel exposed, judged even. I can practically feel his thoughts racing. Would he tell Lady? Perhaps I’m not special in feeling this way, like I’m in a body that doesn’t fit quite right, but saying the words aloud makes me realize that, maybe, I can change my fate.
Nova raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. A fat vein in his throat jerks when he tenses. I decide I don’t care what he thinks of me. He doesn’t exactly look like a saint.
He rings the bell on the counter and says, “Then I don’t think I’m the person who can help you.”
Finally, Lady makes her way to us with my mom. I get shooed away from the register.
“What are you planning, Trouble?” Lady asks Nova.
For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to rat me out. Nova winks at me and that dimple appears, like we weren’t just discussing a bruja’s greatest family betrayal. I go stand beside my mother. She looks at Nova, trying to place him. Surely all the brujos and brujas in the tristate area know each other. She tells me all the time that there are so few of us left and our connections matter.
“Look at that face,” she whispers to me, like we’re schoolgirls.
“Ma.”
Nova smiles—no sarcastic laugh, no mocking twitch of the lips. Just a smile. His dark hair is shaved short, so all you focus on are his cheekbones and lips and lashes.