by Marie Arnold
“What’s going on?”
“My family is gone. My uncle, my aunt, Kayla, the twins—everyone is gone.”
“Are you serious? What happened? Who took them?” she asks.
I tell her everything.
“Did your parents in Haiti disappear too?” she asks.
“No. I called and heard their voices. They are okay. It’s only my family here in America.”
“Okay, don’t panic. We’ll find that twisted little witch. And we’ll force her to take us to your family.”
“Thank you for helping me. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you before.”
“It’s okay. No time for that now. We need a plan.”
I try to pull myself together and focus on getting my family back safe and sound. Carmen is right. We need a plan.
“First, I think we should find out exactly who we are dealing with,” I say.
“But we already know—it’s Lady Lydia,” Carmen says.
“What did the boy mean when he said, ‘You’re the last one’? Who exactly is Lady Lydia? How did she become so powerful? And more importantly, how do we stop her? All the things that I should have asked before,” I say to myself.
My face falls, and I look at myself in the mirror.
“I’m not sad about how awful I look now,” I say. “I’m sad about how awful I acted. I knew better than to make a deal with a witch like Lady Lydia. But all I cared about was making people like me. How could I have been so dumb?”
“You’re not dumb. You made a mistake. But friends help friends fix things. So let’s try, okay?”
“Thank you, Carmen.”
“Sure.”
“No—thank you for everything. You were nice to me from the beginning, and I didn’t need the wish to make us friends. You were already my friend, and I should have been better with our friendship.”
“Yeah, you’re kind of a major pain,” she teases. We laugh together.
“Carmen, I can’t lose them. I can’t lose my family.”
“You can’t think that way. Let’s focus: Lady Lydia is the enemy. And we need to know as much as we can about our enemy. It’s the only way to defeat her,” Carmen says in a deep, commanding voice.
“Where did you learn to talk like that?”
“Our family plays a serious game of laser tag every year when we go camping. My mom and I are the Hernández laser tag champions three years running.”
“That’s cool. And . . . a little scary.”
“Is there anyone we know who might be able to tell us anything more about Lady Lydia?”
“Well, Mrs. Bartell said something about magic when my accent went away,” I reply.
“Do you think she was just joking?” Carmen says.
“No. Mrs. Bartell is Haitian. We never joke about witches.”
“So she might know something. That’s good. Let’s find out as much as we can. Then figure out a way to take Lady Lydia down and get your family back.”
Chapter ThIrteen
Home
CARMEN HELPS ME CLEAN UP as much as she can. We wait until school is over so we can talk to Mrs. Bartell. We knock on the library door, and Rocky stands on the windowsill.
“Hello, girls. Is the rat with you?” she asks as she looks over at Rocky at the window.
“Rat? Very funny. I happen to be a rabbit,” he says.
“Okay . . . Gabrielle, your new look is nice, although I rather liked the way you looked before. What happened to make you change so drastically?” Mrs. Bartell asks.
“Well, that’s kind of why we came to talk to you,” I reply. “There’s something we need to tell you—but first, you might want to sit down.”
She looks at Carmen, who nods in agreement. Carmen walks over to the door of the library and closes it so that we won’t be overheard. Mrs. Bartell pulls out a chair and is ready to listen.
“I met a witch who said she could help me . . .”
I tell Mrs. Bartell the whole story. The more I talk, the more I realize I am to blame for all of this. When I’m done telling her what happened, she looks at me with fear and worry.
“Gabrielle, this is really bad. It’s one thing to make a deal with a witch, but Lady Lydia? She’s the worst of the worst,” Mrs. Bartell says in a small, sad voice.
“What can you tell us about Lady Lydia?” I ask.
“She’s a powerful witch with one goal: to turn Brooklyn into an abyss of white and gray; a place where every leaf, every snowflake, every grain of sand looks exactly the same. She wants every resident of Brooklyn to look, speak, and behave exactly the same—mindlessly.
“To make this happen, Lady Lydia needed to find a kid who just arrived in Brooklyn from a different country. She fed on that kid’s culture, customs, and courage. She called it their essence. She needed to collect the essence of one kid from every country. She has collected essences from all but one place—Haiti.”
“Why hasn’t she been able to get the essence of a Haitian kid?” I ask.
“Because Madam Monday—a good witch—stopped her.”
“How?” Carmen says.
“Madam Monday lured her to a graveyard. She used a powerful spell and was able to trap Lady Lydia there. It seems she’s managed to break out of the graveyard. And now she’s trying to finish what she started. She’s trying to collect the essence of a kid from the last country on her list—Haiti. Once she has it, Brooklyn as we all know it will be lost forever.”
“Can she just take a kid’s essence like that?” Carmen asks.
“A person’s essence—their culture, customs, and courage—can’t be taken. It has to be given freely,” Mrs. Bartell explains.
“So that’s why she gave me three wishes,” I say. “She needed me to turn away from my culture three times. And once that happens, she will have what she needs to take over all of Brooklyn.”
“Exactly. Once she has your essence, it’s all over.”
“Where’s the witch who defeated her before—Madam Monday?” I ask. “Maybe if we find her, she can tell us how to defeat Lady Lydia.”
Mrs. Bartell says, “That’s just it—no one knows where Madam Monday lives. She hasn’t revealed her location in years. Many think that she’s a myth. But that’s what they thought of Lady Lydia too. And if Lydia is real, then . . .”
“Then so is Madam Monday,” I finish.
“Yes, but how do we find her?” Mrs. Bartell wonders out loud.
“I know!” Carmen says. “Mrs. Bartell, Gabrielle, follow me!”
Mrs. Bartell and I look at each other and shrug. I tell Rocky to go recheck my apartment on the off chance that my family’s back. He knows it’s pointless, but he goes anyway, just to make me feel better. We then follow Carmen down the hallway. She looks in on the classrooms.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“What classroom is detention in today?” Carmen asks Mrs. Bartell.
“Just up ahead,” she replies. Carmen marches forward.
“Why are we going to detention?” I ask.
“Because that’s where we’ll find him,” Carmen says.
“Find who?” Mrs. Bartell asks.
“The one guy who knows how to get anything for anyone,” Carmen says.
Mrs. Bartell and I say his name at the same time: “Getz!”
“Yes! He can get Madam Monday for us,” Carmen says.
“Wait, can he? I mean, I know he can get anything, but can he actually get the location of a long-lost witch?” I ask Mrs. Bartell.
Mrs. Bartell thinks it over and says, “Well, he did manage to get me a scarce Star Trek action figure that was discontinued.”
Carmen says, “A Star Trek doll. Oh, for your kids?”
“No, not a doll. Action figure. And no, not for my kids. For me. I’m a Trekkie,” Mrs. Bartell proudly says. We all look at her strangely but wisely decide not to say anything.
“Hey, I found him,” I announce. Carmen was right: Getz is in detention. Looking bored and ready to leave. We signal
to him in the window. He perks up and sneaks out of class.
“Gabrielle. Carmen . . . Trekkie,” he says, flashing a smile at Mrs. Bartell.
Mrs. Bartell blushes and turns away.
“What can I do for you ladies?” he says.
“We need you to get us something that no one has seen in forever,” I reply.
“And what would that be?”
I take a deep breath and begin, “We’re looking for a witch. I know it sounds crazy—”
“What kind of witch?”
“Excuse me?” Carmen says.
“Come on, ladies, be specific. Is this an elemental witch, a sea witch, or a traditional witch?”
“Traditional,” I reply.
Getz nods slowly. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What’s this witch’s name?”
“Madam Monday,” we all say at once.
“I see . . .” he whispers to himself.
“You know how to find her?” Mrs. Bartell asks.
“Maybe . . . maybe not,” Getz says. “That all depends.”
“On what?” I ask.
Getz turns his attention to Mrs. Bartell. “That quiz you plan to give us next week?”
“What about it?” she replies suspiciously.
“I have some associates who would prefer the test disappear,” Getz says.
“No,” she replies.
“All right, perhaps we make it a take-home test?”
“Nope,” she replies as they stare each other down.
“I’m not an unreasonable guy—an open-book test,” Getz says.
“Can’t do it,” Mrs. Bartell says.
“Extra five days to study?”
“One day.”
“Four days.”
“Two.”
“Deal.” They shake on it.
“Now, take us to Madam Monday,” I tell him.
“That’s not how this works. I have to make moves. Reach out to a few people. Hit the streets. I’ll get back to you in the morning.”
“Getz, can you find a family that’s gone missing?” I ask.
“Was the family taken by a witch?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Sorry. I can get a witch, but I can’t get the things, places, and people they conceal with magic.”
“Okay, then please get us Madam Monday. She is our only chance to save my family,” I say.
“I’ll get started right now,” Getz says.
“You’re in detention. How are you going to get out of school?” Carmen asks.
He scoffs. “Please. I’ve got three escape plans for this hallway alone. Detention . . . you ladies kill me.” Getz disappears down the hallway.
“Don’t worry, Gabrielle—Getz will find Madam Monday, and she’ll show us how to defeat Lady Lydia,” Carmen says.
“Yes, but what if she hurts my family in the meantime?” I ask.
Mrs. Bartell puts her hand on my shoulder and says, “Lady Lydia knows how important your family is to you. She’s going to keep them safe and use them as a bargaining chip. She won’t hurt them—at least not right now. Tomorrow we will start fresh and work with the good witch. Until then, go home and try to get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”
* * *
Rocky did not find anyone at my place. I knew he wouldn’t. He then went to the park to see if anyone knew anything. I would have stopped him, but I think he wanted to feel like he was helping. Carmen would not let me go home and be alone. She insisted I have dinner at her house.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes, you are coming with me,” she says as we leave my building.
I have never been to Carmen’s house, and I’m not sure what to expect. I’m grateful that she invited me to dinner, but I’m not sure I’m a good guest to have right now. I’m so worried about my family that I can’t think of anything else.
“Gabrielle, when we get inside, you have to promise me something,” Carmen says just before she opens the door.
“What is it?”
“Promise that you will try to relax—just for dinner. We are going to get your family back. But for now, I know your aunt and uncle wouldn’t want you sad the whole night. So tonight, try to have a good time, and tomorrow we will deal with the witch. Okay?”
I’m not sure I can relax, not with everything going on. But she has been so good to me, the least I can do is try.
“Okay, worrying is not allowed tonight.”
“Good—and before we go in, I should warn you, my house is like a circus right now,” she says.
“Why? What’s happening?”
“It’s my sister Gloria’s quinceañera in a few days.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Gloria is turning fifteen. In Mexico, we celebrate the fifteenth birthday with a big party, to mark the passage from girlhood to womanhood. Although I’m not really sure I’d call Gloria a woman yet. This morning she knocked our little brother down trying to get the last of the Fruity Pebbles cereal.”
I laugh, she opens the door, and we walk in together.
Carmen’s place is decorated with family pictures and large candles in glass tubes with images of saints. The house is full of activity. I count seven people in the living room alone. They move in different directions, speaking both English and Spanish. At the center of all the attention is Carmen’s sister Gloria. She’s wearing a big, beautiful white ball gown with purple flowers. It cascades down to the floor. She looks like she belongs on a bright, glamorous wedding cake.
“They’ve tried on the dress a hundred times, but Gloria and my mom wanted to try it on again. Just to be sure,” Carmen says.
“It’s a really big thing in Mexico, huh?” I reply as I gaze at Gloria’s dress.
“Yeah, my family has been preparing for it for over a year. We have a bunch of people coming: aunts, uncles, cousins, and their cousins. It’s going to be in a big church, and the reception is in a really big dance hall.”
“There’s going to be a dance?” I ask.
The woman adjusting Gloria’s dress laughs. “A dance? No! There will be many, many dances!”
“Mom, this is my friend from school, Gabrielle,” Carmen says.
Mrs. Hernández is short, with a round face, dark eyes, and dark hair. She has the same kind eyes that Carmen has. And when she smiles, the house lights up. She shouts something to the crowd, and they all yell back, “Hola, Gabrielle!”
“Hola!” I reply. I turn to Carmen’s mom. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner, Mrs. Hernández. I don’t know what you’re making, but it smells delicious.”
“You can call me Mrs. H, okay? I’m making Carmen’s favorite: posole. It’s a hearty soup with chicken, chili peppers, and my secret seasoning. We also have tamales. It’s a typical traditional Mexican meal. What are some traditional Haitian meals, Gabrielle?”
I’m excited to tell her about the meals my mom makes in Haiti. There are so many that I love that I don’t know where to start. “Well, my mom makes . . . There’s a dish called . . . um . . . I love when she cooks . . .”
I can’t remember. Oh no! I can’t remember one meal my mom has made. And the harder I try, the more nothing comes to mind. What’s going on?
I look at Carmen, panic in my eyes. She comes to my rescue.
“Gabrielle is thirsty, Mom. I’m gonna get her something to drink,” Carmen says as she takes my hand and guides me to the kitchen.
“What happened? Why couldn’t you answer?” Carmen asks.
“I tried to, but nothing came out,” I reply. “When I think about the foods I love back in Haiti, I just see a blank space.”
“You think the witch—”
Before Carmen can finish her question, one of her relatives enters the kitchen. She smiles as she checks on the food and adds water to one of many pots on the stove.
We can’t talk like we want to because every few seconds, someone comes into the kitchen. I lean over and whisper to Carmen, “I think Lady Lydia took more than just my family. A
ll my memories of family dinners in Haiti are gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” It’s not okay. It’s like with every passing minute, I’m losing another part of me.
Carmen’s dad enters the kitchen and says something in Spanish. Carmen tells me that he invited me to come to the backyard, where they are practicing a special dance for the ceremony.
“Yes, in a quinceañera, there are a few dances. And one of the most important ones is the father-daughter dance. And someday, I will have that dance with my Carmen,” her dad says in English as he pinches her cheeks.
“Dad, company,” Carmen reminds him. Her cheeks glow red with embarrassment. But that doesn’t stop Mr. H from squeezing her other cheek.
“I’m sorry, mi hija, I can’t help it. Your quinceañera will be the last one this family has.”
He gets weepy and takes a tissue out of his pocket to wipe his eyes.
“Oh no! Carlos, no more tears. Go and get ready to rehearse the dance,” Mrs. H says as she enters the kitchen. Mr. H nods and walks out.
Mrs. H shakes her head. “I thought I was the emotional one, but my husband . . . he might flood the church with his happy tears.”
“Mom, he pinched my cheeks. We had a deal,” Carmen says.
“I know, I know. Not in front of company. But he can’t help it. He loves you. That’s what dads do. And moms . . . we worry. Gabrielle, I’m happy you’re here with us, but I’m sorry that things are so crazy in the house tonight.”
“That’s okay. I like crazy,” I reply.
“Good, then you are in the right place. Have you ever been to a quinceañera before?”
“No, Mrs. H, I haven’t.”
“Well, you are invited to this one. We would love to have you.”
“Thank you. I’ll ask my aunt and uncle.”
Well, that is, if they are still alive.
“Tell me, what are some of the events you celebrate in Haiti?” she asks.
“Um, a lot. We celebrate . . .”
My mind goes blank. I can’t recall one celebration in ten years of being alive. How is that possible?
“Gabrielle? Are you okay?” Carmen’s mom asks.
“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.”
Carmen tries to rescue me again. “Gabrielle’s parents are still in Haiti, Mom, and I think—”