“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he says after a long silence. “I’ll get you into Los Lagos. I’ll take you to your family. But after that, you’re on your own.”
“No. You don’t get a dime unless we make it back safely.” I turn around to face him.
I hold out my hand. Nova takes it. The light he conjures hits me in the gut, but I push back with my own. It’s the release I’ve been looking for. I can feel his arm shake as I hold it, but he won’t let go either.
“Deal.”
12
Drunk with their magics, brujas thought themselves as high as the Deos.
So the Deos slowly took away their powers,
leaving the brujas barely above humans.
Except the encantrix. The encantrix is always Chosen.
—The Creation of Witches, Antonietta Mortiz de la Paz
While Nova runs off to gather an ingredient to create the portal, I shower and pour peroxide on my cuts. I could try to heal them, but I choose not to. I don’t deserve it. I change into a black shirt and black jeans. I turn my backpack upside down and shake the contents onto the floor.
In the pantry, I grab a couple of bread loaves, apples, a jar of peanut butter, a dozen protein bars, and six water bottles. I start to think about how empty the house feels. That it hasn’t been an hour and I miss Lula’s teasing. I miss finding Rose in different corners of the house, reading her books. I miss the smell of my mother’s midnight teas. Their absence is a punch in the gut, and it’s hard to breathe.
There’s a noise coming from the front of the house. Nova’s back. He runs in and shuts the door behind him. His shirt is speckled with raindrops.
“What is that?” I motion to the shoe box rattling in his hands.
“Uhhh—”
The familiar squeak of a New York City rat answers for me.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, well you didn’t have an extra parakeet.” He sets the box on the table. The rat scratches and bites from the inside. Nova sets one of my mother’s good luck roosters on top of it to keep the box closed.
“I’m not paying for a comedian.”
He unbuttons his stained blue shirt, revealing a white undershirt that clings to his muscles. He winks. Blue eyes now. “I’ll throw that in for free.”
He grabs a mortar and pestle, then riffles through the pantry for a handful of ingredients. He works fast and confidently, grabbing a pinch of dirt from our cactus, a feather from the dead parakeet, ash from the charcoal bowl, and a vial of seawater. He grinds it to a paste and dots the cardinal scars of his face. Then he does the same to me.
“It’s disconcerting to me that you know more about what’s in my kitchen than I do.”
“Don’t use your big words on me, Ladybird.”
“Should we bring a dictionary on our journey?”
“Do you want me to help?”
“Do you want your money?”
He wipes his hands on a dish towel. I wonder how badly his tattoo hurt.
“What else should I know before we go?” I ask.
“Be prepared for anything. Los Lagos is another realm. My gran used to tell us bedtime stories about a river of souls and a bloodred lagoon.”
“That actually put you to sleep?” I ask, zipping up my backpack.
“Nah. But it got me to behave.” His smile is all mischief. “For a little while.”
I make a face at him. “I used to think Los Lagos was just a waiting realm for spirits between lifetimes.”
He smirks knowingly. “Not all dead are created equal. Honestly, I find your disbelief a little unnerving.”
“Do people actually believe in heaven? Olympus? There’s belief and then there’s wishful thinking. I’m allowed to be skeptical of things I haven’t seen for myself.”
“So young,” he says. “So jaded.”
I brush him off with a roll of my eyes. “Where will my family be in all this land?”
“The Tree of Souls,” he continues, tapping the map the Book of Cantos is open to. “It collects power throughout the month. Then on the eclipse, well, that’s when it gets ugly. Everything it’s consumed gets turned into raw energy. The tree used to feed the land, but then the Devourer took over. She feeds off the tree now. The creature you described matches the Book of Cantos’s description. I think it’s safe to say your family is at the Tree of Souls.”
“Why would the Deos create something like this?”
“Why do gods do anything?” Nova asks. “You can have your existential crisis when we return.”
“Get to the tree,” I say. I grab the Book of Cantos and rip the map out of it. “Simple enough.”
“You wish. Everything in Los Lagos is designed to keep us from getting to the tree. Hope you’re ready to use your bruja boxing gloves.”
I feel for the whispering pulse of my magic. I’ll make myself ready even if I don’t feel so just yet. “I am. Are you?”
“Listen, Ladybird. If I can survive these mean streets, I can survive just about anywhere. I’ll keep my promise. I’ll get you to the tree.”
“And you get your payment when we return safely.”
He shoulders the backpack and picks up my dagger from the table. It still has blood caked on the blade. He wipes it off on his jeans, then bends down. With one hand, he takes hold of my ankle, and with the other, he slides the dagger into the loop of the outside of my boot.
“Just in case,” he says.
When he stands, he’s barely two inches from me. Every time I look at him, I find new scars. There’s another one close to his upper lip.
I fold the map and slide it into my back pocket. I go to the storage closet and tuck the Book of Cantos under a loose floorboard. I take one last look at my home. My legs feel weak. I start to picture Lula and Rose and my mother.
“I’ll get you back. I promise,” I whisper.
“Come. We have to make the portal.” Nova places a hand over the shoe box. The rat squeaks and scratches, like it knows this is his end.
“What are you going to do with your money?” I don’t know why I’m asking.
He starts to speak, but something makes him stop. He runs out the door, where the sound of sirens fills the streets. He curses. We’ve thought about the supernatural threat but not the human one. Lights start flicking on in the neighborhood. I can still make out the impatient blare of traffic and the urgent whirl of emergency sirens. One of my neighbors must’ve called the cops after all the noise we made. Right now, I don’t care about exposing our secret. I care about getting to Los Lagos.