Five
Marina leaned back against the footboard of her queen-sized four-poster bed and stared at the circle of candles and popcorn. She had to admire Fern’s ingenuity. It really looked like a ritual was going to take place.
“What do we do first?” Marina nibbled nervously on the cuticle of her index finger.
Fern pulled Marina’s finger out of her mouth. “Stop that.”
“Well, what if the store owner in Moonlight Midwifery was wrong, and casting spells isn’t at all the same as prayer? What if a bolt of lightning strikes us from above?” Marina glanced at the ceiling as if she expected shards of electric light to burst through any minute.
Fern burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding! How did you get so much guilt?”
“The Catholic religion,” Marina said resolutely.
“But you’re not Catholic,” Fern said.
“I know that,” Marina retorted. “But I’m the first generation in my family to not be raised in ‘the religion,’ as Grandpy would say. I think I got Catholic guilt through osmosis.”
Fern stared at Marina in disbelief. “So does your brain ever turn off? I mean, how do you come up with these ideas?”
“Do you think it’s possible to pass guilt like some defective gene?” Marina insisted as she toyed with the hem of her kelly green Pink sweats.
“Maybe in your case,” Fern said. “Not to mention a case of insanity and runaway anxiety. When will you ever learn to trust me?”
“When you say something sensible.” Marina poked Fern on the shoulder. “How is any of this going to work? We don’t know what we’re doing.”
Sitting cross-legged, Fern teetered side to side. “I’ve got it all figured out. I’ll cast a circle and lead the meditation. Then we raise a Cone of Power, call in the quarters, welcome Spirit, and do the spell. That’s probably when we make the god’s eyes. Then we eat,” she added lovingly, patting the bag of caramel popcorn. “Lastly, we lower the Cone of Power, give thanks, say farewell to the quarters, and erase the circle.”
“How do you know so much?” Marina was awestruck at the command Fern had over this project. She herself was never that dedicated or passionate about…anything.
“What do you think I was doing all day? I studied the book,” Fern replied as she struck a match to relight the candles.
There was no stopping Fern now. And anyway, thought Marina, it’s high time I did something without worrying about every inch of it.
Fern stood up. With a straight arm and extended index and middle fingers, she slowly turned, drawing the circle around the room. “I now cast this circle for magic. Let this space become a world between heaven and earth.”
Marina closed her eyes. She felt a jolt in her stomach, and her heart leapt to her throat. Chills chased each other up her arms.
“Imagine your body is the trunk of a tree with branches reaching to the sky and roots pushing down through the earth,” Fern read, speaking in a trancelike monotone.
Marina wondered if it mattered what kind of tree. She thought of the massive five-hundred-year-old oak tree in Irvine Park. When they were kids, she and Fern had hugged the tree from opposite sides and hadn’t even come close to touching each other’s fingertips. The more she concentrated on being an oak tree, which seemed solid and strong to her, the more she could feel her feet stretch into roots that grew and grew through the layers of earth. Her arms became waving branches that extended through the heavens to wrap around a single star of an intricate constellation. She liked being a tree. It made her feel like no one could push her around.
“Okay,” Fern whispered. “It’s time to welcome the four quarters.”
“What’s a quarter?” Marina asked dreamily.
“Quarters represent the directions; you know, like east, west. And you need to face each direction as you welcome it.”
After they took turns welcoming the four directions, Father Sky, and Mother Earth, Marina grabbed two Popsicle sticks. “I feel all tingly.”
“I know,” Fern agreed. “Okay, the book says to make an equilateral cross with the Popsicle sticks and glue them together at the center.” After completing the first task, they cut several long strands of yarn. Following the directions, Fern showed Marina how to weave the yarn over the top of the first stick, then under the next stick. “Now we concentrate on receiving a magical power while we work,” Fern said. “It’s like when Native Americans say prayers as they make dream catchers.”
Marina wove together shades of blue until she had completed a perfect diamond-shaped god’s eye.
“Next we need to bury them in the earth and bless them by saying, ‘Sun above, whose gift of light is given to me, I ask for your blessings of a magical power. This I make true, three times three, times three,’” Fern announced.
“Why three?” Marina asked.
“Three must be a magic number. You know, like ‘third time’s a charm’?”
“Maybe we should make three god’s eyes?” Marina suggested.
“Okay,” Fern agreed.
When they finished, Marina slipped into her sandals to go outside. Fern was barefoot, as usual. They collected the three god’s eyes and their food, then stole down the hallway and through the immaculate kitchen. As they traipsed through the den, Marina stared at the oval sepia picture of her maternal grandmother and wondered what that mysterious woman would have thought of this ritual. Marina had never known her nana, who had died one month before Marina was born. Everyone in the family said Marina’s birth was a blessing, which for someone like Marina translated into a lot of pressure to be successful and accomplished.
In this sepia photograph, Nana was four, and she looked like an angel with her tranquil expression and velvety smooth face. Marina had come to think of her nana as a legend, more surreal and imaginary than a real person. The exact same picture of Nana was on display at Marina’s home, and in the homes of her aunt Carmen and Grandpy. Her mother spoke in reverential tones about Nana and her prestigious Spanish bloodline. On the other hand, no one ever spoke of Grandpy’s poor family from Mexico.
Marina tore her eyes from her nana’s photograph and quietly opened one of the French doors to the backyard. Behind the lush foliage and large rocks bordering the pool, she and Fern found a patch of dirt in a spot farthest from the house. The full moon had traveled past the zenith, the highest point in the sky, and crept silently toward the western horizon. The moonlight illuminated Fern and Marina as they dug into the earth.
“We should have brought shovels,” Marina whined as she surveyed a broken fingernail with regret. “And look how dirty our feet are getting. I just had a pedicure!”
“You are such a princess, Marina,” Fern said. “Would you concentrate, please? If you don’t, it won’t work.”
“Fine,” Marina mumbled, taking one last glance at her toes.
They placed their creations side by side in the hole. Marina marveled at their handiwork. Together they chanted three times: “Sun above, whose gift of light is given to me, I ask for your blessings of a magical power. This I make true, three times three, times three.”
Satisfied, they covered the three god’s eyes with dirt and patted it down. Fern tore into the popcorn and crunched loudly. Marina cracked open a soda and gulped it down. She belched loudly and smiled when Fern made a face.
“That’s revolting,” Fern reproached.
I’m no princess, Marina thought rebelliously as she gave an untroubled shrug. “So when do you think we’ll get our powers?” she asked eagerly.
Fern leaned back and stared up at the indigo sky speckled with stars. “Dunno. I guess it depends on whether or not the stars are listening.”
Marina looked up to the heavens. She concentrated with all her might on the brightest star she could find. Combined with the stars around it, it looked like the tip of a goat’s tail. Marina focused all her energy on that star. With a steady gaze, she sent her wish for a magical power, and the star seemed to wink back at her. “I think t
hey are,” Marina said.
“Hope so.” Fern yawned. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. Magic makes you tired.”
Marina nodded to the star as if she was confirming their contract. “Okay,” she said to Fern and the star simultaneously. Marina placed a couple of twigs over the dirt mound that concealed their creations. She got up, shook the dirt off her sweats, and led the way back into the house.
Marina checked the stairwell to her mother and stepfather’s bedroom suite to be sure they were both snoring and hadn’t woken. All was safe. She and Fern crept down the hallway to Marina’s bedroom. After changing into her nightgown, Marina crawled into her bed and snuggled under the covers.
“Good night, Fern,” she whispered.
“Night,” Fern said as she settled onto the trundle bed next to Marina.
Soon they fell fast asleep, completely forgetting to close the portal to the world of magic.
An hour or so later, Marina tossed and turned, lost in a place between consciousness and deep REM sleep. She moaned, quietly at first, but within minutes she began to hyperventilate.
Fern woke up and blinked several times, looking around groggily. “Marina?” she whispered.
“There are imps in the orange trees,” Marina mumbled in a raspy voice. She tossed her head back and forth, as if she was spotting these magical creatures in a dense wood before her.
“What?” Fern asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“They were put there on purpose,” Marina continued. Her voice became clearer, not so hoarse. “They agreed to come to this dark place. They say I can help. I don’t think I can. I like orange trees, though. Yes, I do.” She began to talk faster. “My favorite orange crates were the ones from Sunkist, where I used to work. Glad I don’t have to pack them anymore. I used to get caught in the spiderwebs.” Marina tried to sit up, her eyes still closed.
“Marina, are you okay?” Fern sat up in bed, concern creasing her forehead.
“They lost the land, but the markings are still on Thomas Guide maps.” Marina kept talking to no one in particular. “You can still find a few orange groves here and there.” Then her voice became lighter, more girlish. “Me gusta oler las flores del naranjo,” she said.
“You like the smell of orange blossoms?” Fern repeated, bewildered. “Hey, when did you start sleep-talking in Spanish?”
“Hace mucho frio aquí,” Marina began to shiver.
“What are you talking about? It’s not cold. It’s probably seventy-five degrees,” Fern said in a worried voice. “Wake up, Marina, this isn’t funny anymore.” She reached out and touched Marina’s right shoulder.
Marina jerked Fern’s hand off, panicking. “¿Donde está el sol?”
“The sun set hours ago. Marina, you’re scaring me. Stop this.” Fern jumped onto Marina’s bed and straddled her friend. She grabbed Marina by the shoulders and shook her hard. “Marina, wake up!”
Marina started trembling violently. Her hand fluttered to her forehead. Panic gripped her heart. She screamed, “Stop them, please! Stop them! Here they come again! Ahhh!”
Rogelia burst into the room with her shawl slung haphazardly over her shoulders. Xochitl entered the room at her nana’s heels.
“She’s babbling in Spanish and doesn’t even speak the language!” Fern yelled.
With closed eyes, Marina mumbled incoherently while she rocked back and forth. A cold terror filled her entire body. Rogelia shook Marina by the shoulders. “Wake up, Marina. Come back to us.” She turned to Xochitl. Marina shook her head and began to whimper. “Xochitl, get the chamomile and the rattle. And water!”
Xochitl gave her nana a skeptical look before darting out of the room.
Rogelia caressed Marina’s forehead and hair. “Está bien. You’re going to be okay.”
Voices clashed in Marina’s head, like people were yelling at her, vying for her attention. She shook all over. Her toes felt like icicles.
Xochitl quickly returned to the bedroom with a handful of chamomile, a rattle, and a bowl of water, which she gave to Rogelia.
Rogelia placed the bowl under Marina’s bed. She shook the rattle over Marina, broke off dried chamomile flowers, and rubbed them behind Marina’s ears, on her temples, and across her forehead. Rogelia sang incomprehensible yet soothing words as she gently stroked Marina’s hair. She worked on Marina for five tense minutes.
The tingly heat emanating from Rogelia’s hand sent warmth spreading throughout Marina. Finally, Marina’s breathing returned to normal. Her trembling gradually subsided. She took a shaky breath. She was going to be okay. She tentatively opened her eyes and looked around. She was safe in her room, and thankfully nobody was talking in her head.
What the hell was that?
“Thank you,” Marina whispered, and pulled her pink and green comforter up to her chest.
“You’ll be all right now.” Rogelia stroked Marina’s hair. “Go to sleep. Buena suerte. Have good dreams.”
Rogelia and Xochitl left the room and closed the door behind them.
“What happened?” Marina asked Fern, her head throbbing a little.
“You spoke in Spanish,” Fern said incredulously.
“I did?” Marina could only vaguely remember voices in her head. Voices that were not her own. Was she going crazy?
“Yeah. It was weird. You got all panicky,” Fern said. “Then Rogelia and her granddaughter came in and Rogelia did some kick-ass witch-doctor stuff on you. God, it was awesome!”
“Right, awesome,” Marina said weakly.
Fern plopped back down on the trundle bed. “We definitely need to get to know those two.”
Marina stared at her closed door. Although she knew Fern was attracted to Rogelia because of her spiritual powers, Marina suddenly realized that she herself was interested in her family maid for an entirely different reason. When Rogelia caressed her head, Marina felt a pang in her heart for the grandmother she never had. The only problem was her mother. Rebecca Peralta didn’t really approve of socializing with the hired help. But maybe it was finally time for Marina to worry less about her mother’s ideals and figure out her own.
Six
Two days later, just after lunch on Wednesday, Fern gripped the steering wheel of Pilar Fuego’s beat-up Volvo, twisting the loose leather covering back and forth. She and her sister were parked in the virtually empty lot in front of Glassell High School, waiting to begin her third test drive. Fern could pretend she was in a race car if it wasn’t for the smashed pretzels and empty juice boxes littering the floor of her older sister’s station wagon. Pilar’s seven- and eight-year-old boys, Danny and Miguel, treated their mom’s old but dependable ride like their personal trash can.
The ice cream truck tootled down Flower Street to Fern’s left, blaring “La Cucaracha” over the crackling loudspeaker. Children raced after the truck joyfully, waving their dollar bills. Fern plucked at the sleeves of her Social Distortion cap-sleeved T-shirt, giving her arms plenty of room to move freely, and adjusted her purple-tinted sunglasses low on the bridge of her nose; then she turned up the volume of KROQ, the local alternative rock station.
“Fernandita, you shouldn’t drive with this many distractions.” Pilar turned the music off and pushed her wavy brown hair off her angular, almost regal face. “Let’s make this quick. I’ve got to pick up Danny and Miguel at the soccer field in an hour and run to Sports Galaxy after I drop you off at Marina’s.”
“Don’t get one of those lame T-shirts with ‘Soccer Mom’ plastered over the boobs in glitter,” Fern said.
“I would never,” Pilar said, looking offended. At twenty-seven, and pretty as well as hip, Pilar was not ready to advertise her mommy status across her chest. She pointed to the dashboard. “Okay, I know we’ve been over this, but repetition is the key to learning. We’re in park. Pull this stick thingy forward and down to drive and the indicator will move to ‘D’. Slowly—I mean, slowly—take your foot off the brake pedal and press down lightly on the gas pedal.”
/> Fern pulled the gearshift forward and down, and the car started to roll forward. “Is that the official word? ‘Thingy’?”
“No, it’s actually a thingamabob,” Pilar said sarcastically. “But since you’re only fifteen I thought I’d use a simple term. Brake!” She pointed to the cement foundation of a lamppost directly in their path.
Fern stomped both feet on the brake and they jerked to a stop. “Stop yelling. And I’m fifteen and a half. You know every month counts.” Fern turned the wheel away from the cement barrier, took her foot off the brake, and carefully pushed on the gas. They inched along at about ten miles an hour, rolling over the speed bumps as smoothly as possible. “Pilar, I’m not a child, you know. I’m a big girl now.”
“I suppose,” Pilar muttered.
“So will you let me drive on the street?” Fern pleaded.
“All right. Just for a little bit,” Pilar said. “Make a left out of the parking lot, but don’t go onto Bristol Street. Just drive through the neighborhood.”
Delighted, Fern made a wide turn out of the parking lot onto Flower Street, almost bumping a parked car, and made a right at a stop sign. A ball shot out between two parked cars, followed by a small boy. Fern slammed on the brakes. Maybe the parking lot wasn’t so bad after all, she thought, watching the boy grab his ball and wave at her. She waved back weakly before proceeding.
After a few more minutes of slow, cautious driving, Fern looked sideways at her sister. She was burning to tell her about last night’s ritual. Maybe she could ask her about Rogelia. “So Marina and I did some magic last night.”
“You mean like with a Ouija board? You shouldn’t be messing with that sort of thing,” Pilar lectured in her most annoying big-sister tone.
“It wasn’t like that.” Fern bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying anything more. She tried to backpedal. “We lit candles, like in church. You know, for a prayer.”
“You shouldn’t be playing with matches, either,” Pilar warned.
Rogelia's House of Magic Page 4