“I’ve heard voices in my head a few times since the ceremony Fern and I did, and it would be nice to not be so freaked out by it and maybe even figure out what they’re saying,” Marina said.
“Marina, it sounds to me as if you may be an espiritualista, sometimes called a medium or clairaudio,” Rogelia said, sounding impressed. “There aren’t many true espiritualistas.” Nana turned to face Xochitl, but it was obvious to Rogelia that her granddaughter was not going to reveal anything. “Xochitl has learned the ability to focus on the space around her, changing her energy so there is more attention on the space rather than matter. To others it seems as if she has disappeared.”
“I knew it!” Fern exclaimed. “You did that after I crashed into your fence.”
Xochitl avoided her nana’s look of disappointment.
“Manipulating energy can bring healing and harmony,” Rogelia said tersely. “But it can also be abused to avoid difficult situations.”
Xochitl sat on her hands to keep them from trembling and tried to regulate her shallow breathing. She was sure Marina and Fern were going to think this was all too strange and make a run for it.
“Marina, since you hear things others cannot, you will pick up sounds in the distance, as well as the voices of spirits visiting the earth plane. Take all the electronic equipment out of your room so you can slow down the communication. People who have died often connect to those on earth through phones, computers, televisions, iPods, and fax machines. They will flicker lights, and zap phone lines, too, but there isn’t much you can do about that.”
Rogelia turned to face Fern. “Fern, your ability to see auras is part of clear seeing, or being clairvoyant. With practice, you may be able to deepen your skill and have visions into the past, or future, or perhaps see the spirits living among us. I want you to get rid of as many mirrors in your room as possible.”
“But my closet doors are mirrored,” Fern said.
“Cover them with a sheet,” Rogelia advised.
Xochitl shuddered to think how deeply her nana was asking her friends to delve into this magic. In the movies, people blinked or snapped their fingers and objects flew around the room or someone zipped off on a broom. But that wasn’t what it was like in reality. When someone entered Nana Rogelia’s house of magic, they had to alter their life and ways of thinking to make certain magic happen. Xochitl knew all too well what it took to conjure the natural forces, call upon the elements, and direct the energy where she wanted it to go. Now Nana was about to test Fern’s and Marina’s dedication, like she’d tested Xochitl and Graciela long ago. As she watched Fern and Marina giggle with excitement, Xochitl wondered if these girls would make it through the training—and if they didn’t, would they still want to be her friend?
Eight
“Marina!” Her mother called from somewhere in the house. “We’re home! Where are you?”
“It’s my mom,” Marina said apologetically.
“We’ll wait,” Rogelia said. “Go see what she wants.”
Marina pulled open Rogelia’s door and floated toward the kitchen, deep in a fog of concentration. She didn’t know what an espiritualista was, but it sounded good. No, better than good—simply sweet. Marina smiled, thinking how Rogelia had called her powers a gift. Pulling back her shoulders, she stood a little taller than usual as she walked down the hall.
Her mother was sifting through the bills on the kitchen counter. She stood as formidable as ever in her silk blouse, pencil skirt, and heels, but for once Marina didn’t notice how intimidating she was.
“What do you want, Mom?” Marina said impatiently. She was kind of annoyed that her incredible introduction to curanderismo had been interrupted.
Marina’s mother raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “What are you so irritated about?”
Marina stared off into the distance, not really paying attention to her mother. Everything became blurry as she concentrated on the slight sounds of her house, like the humming of the refrigerator, the faucet running in a bathroom, and her sisters, Samantha and Monica, arguing behind the closed door of Monica’s bedroom.
¡Marina, despierta! a voice commanded in her head. The voice sounded young, like a girl her own age.
Marina snapped her attention back to her mother, who suddenly came into sharp focus. She was watching Marina quite intently.
“What are you up to?” Marina’s mother asked. “Where were you just now?”
“I was just hanging out with Fern in Rogelia’s room,” Marina answered quickly. “Rogelia’s granddaughter, Xochitl, is here, too.” She widened her eyes to appear guilt free.
Marina’s mother continued to scrutinize Marina for any detection of a lie, but finding nothing but benign innocence in her daughter’s expression, she returned to sorting the mail. “What are you doing in the maid’s room?”
“What’s the matter with hanging out with Rogelia?” Marina asked defensively.
Ever since Marina could remember, someone had cleaned their house, with the exception of the girls’ bedrooms. When Samantha was born five years ago, they got their first live-in maid, meaning that between Monday and Friday, Marina could leave anything anywhere in the house, and almost like magic it would be neatly put in its proper place within minutes of her walking away from it. It dawned on her that she had never paid one bit of attention to their former maids. What kind of person did that make her?
“Hanging out with the maid,” Marina’s mother said contemptuously. “Next thing I know, you’ll be hanging out in the barrio.” Sarcasm dripped heavily from the last word.
“Rogelia is more than a maid,” Marina objected. “She made us the best cocoa ever tonight.” She recalled how comforting that simple gesture had been.
Marina’s mother glanced briefly at her, then flipped open her OC Metro magazine. “That’s why I hire Mexican maids. They’re always so devoted, domestic, and…you know, loving.”
Indignation and confusion bubbled up in Marina’s head and heart. She watched her mother pour herself a glass of red wine. Why was she talking about Rogelia like she had been bought from a dime-a-dozen-maid service? As if you could hire someone to love your children. As if that was all Mexican maids were good for. “Why would you say something like that?” Marina snapped.
Watchale, came a warning voice in Marina’s head.
Marina’s mother’s left eyebrow rose so far that it disappeared under her perfectly styled bangs. Her right eye lowered into a menacing slant. Her lips thinned and quivered with barely concealed anger. It was the look that could silence Marina and her siblings in an instant. “What did you say?” she asked in a threatening voice.
“Nothing, Mom,” Marina said, smiling apologetically. Rather than face off with her mother, she decided to swallow her anger. Rogelia was waiting for her, and there was magic at hand. “Do you mind if I go back?” Marina asked politely.
“No, that’s fine. I just wanted to know where you were,” Marina’s mother said, picking up her wineglass and magazine and heading toward the den. “One more thing. Don’t pick up any bad habits from Rogelia’s granddaughter. After all, she lives in the barrio.”
Marina quickly turned around and nearly sprinted down the hall. Had her mom always been so snobby about their maids? And what was her deal with the barrio?
When Marina stepped back into Rogelia’s room, she sat between Fern and Xochitl on the bed and shrugged off her thoughts about her mother. She grinned eagerly at her friends, then turned her full attention to Rogelia.
Rogelia smiled warmly at the three of them as though she was surveying a mound of clay sitting in the center of her potter’s wheel, just waiting to be molded.
“Curanderas work very closely with nature,” Rogelia said. “When you are disconnected from nature, you are disconnected from yourself. You will be learning how to recognize and learn from nature’s patterns. This requires courage and dedication.”
Rogelia took a rabbit’s foot from her shelf and handed the furry totem to Xochitl, w
ho hastily passed it to Fern. Fern gave Xochitl a quizzical look before accepting the rabbit’s foot.
Rogelia let her gaze rest on Xochitl. “This talisman from the rabbit is very sacred. Rabbits represent fear.” She looked at Marina and Fern. “Many years ago, Sorceress and Rabbit took a long walk through the woods. Rabbit became hungry. Sorceress picked up some stones and turned them into bread crumbs. Rabbit hesitantly ate the bread but did not say thank you. Later on, Rabbit stumbled and Sorceress healed her friend with herbs.”
Marina nudged Fern, who stared, mesmerized, at Rogelia. In fact, she had to pry the talisman out of Fern’s hand so that she could rub it intently.
Rogelia continued her story. “Rabbit trembled. ‘You scare me,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen anyone do the things you do. Stay away from me,’ he said. Deeply hurt, Sorceress said, ‘From now on, Rabbit, you will be afraid of everything.’ The following morning Rabbit sensed Wolf’s presence. ‘Don’t eat me, Wolf!’” Rogelia made a terrified face and held her hands up above her head.
Fern laughed.
Rogelia smiled appreciatively before continuing. “From that day, Rabbit became afraid of all things, and forever calls these fears to him.” Rogelia stared at each girl in turn. “When you begin your journey into curanderismo, you may encounter many hidden fears. Do not be like Rabbit and talk endlessly about your fears, as if you do not have the power to conquer them. Whatever you focus on grows. Think about what you want, not what you don’t want.”
Marina decided she really liked learning from parables. Perhaps these were the kind of stories she had missed by not knowing much about her Mexican heritage or her grandmother.
From the altar, Rogelia picked up a seven-day advent candle that featured an image of San Miguel, or Saint Michael, his foot pinning down a demon, on the front. “With the power of truth on his side, San Miguel gives us courage and strength to overcome fears.” She set the candle down.
Rogelia pointed to the red, blue, and green advent candles and in turn lit each one. “The red candle represents Fernanda. The blue candle is for Marina. And Xochitl is symbolized by the green candle. Take a stick here.” She pointed to a cup filled with wooden skewers. Fern, Marina, and Xochitl each selected a stick.
“I would like you to commit to learning with me for one season. Tomorrow will be the first day of summer.”
“Summer solstice,” Fern chimed in with a huge smile.
“Yes.” Rogelia smiled at Fern’s enthusiasm. “Over the next week, I will have a plácita with each of you individually,” Rogelia continued.
“Sorry, I don’t speak much Spanish,” Marina said timidly. Maybe one of these days she should learn the language. “What are plácitas?”
“Plácitas are heart-to-heart talks,” Rogelia clarified. “Please bring an item you intend to barter or trade for our time together whenever possible. The barter can be food, gifts bought or handmade, flowers, anything that shows your appreciation. Your gift exchange will keep the energy flowing. After I have spoken with each of you, we will have a limpia, or cleansing. During the limpia we will work on strengthening your spiritual gifts. You will each need to bring something that corresponds with each of the four directions.”
“Like what?” Marina asked. She had no clue what to bring. But Rogelia’s confidence in her made her feel the distinct possibility that she could enter the realm of magic and perhaps someday wield its power.
Rogelia pointed to a bunch of chamomile flowers in a vase on her altar. “Each of the four directions is represented on this altar and is essential in life. These flowers represent earth and the north, which is symbolized by our body. The bowl of water honors the west and the fact that our bodies are seventy-five-percent water. The incense smoke celebrates the eastern direction and air, our life-giving breath. With our breath we give thanks—the most important prayer there is.” At this point Rogelia picked up a cluster of yellow copal resin and dropped it onto a white-hot piece of charcoal in a small black cauldron. Incense smoke billowed from the cauldron. “The candle and its fire symbolize the heat or energy in our body and correspond to the south. The fifth direction is spirit, which is not shown but is always here, and will be symbolized by your presence.”
Marina leaned forward to look into the cauldron. The copal chunks had begun to melt and gave off a strong overly sweet smell. Marina picked at the nail of her ring finger and tapped her left foot nervously. Something about the power symbolized by the incense gave her the heebie-jeebies. She felt like she was entering a new world where nothing would ever be the same again. She was scared but at the same time entranced.
Rogelia pulled out a journal covered with black feathers. “These are crow feathers. Crow is a guide to the Spirit World, to mystery, and to the left direction, which represents feminine wisdom. You will share this book, taking turns recording your dreams and desires, or how you are progressing with me. Whatever you want to write or draw is fine with me as long as you are honest.” Rogelia looked over her new apprentices. “Do you agree to my terms?”
Marina and Fern nodded solemnly. Xochitl hesitated, then agreed.
Rogelia handed the journal to Xochitl. “You are the first because you have been with me the longest.” She smiled. “I want each of you to insert the stick I’ve given you into the flame of your candle at the same time. From the flame that represents your individual spirit, I want you to light the candle of San Miguel, who will protect and guide you on your journey with me.”
Together Fern, Marina, and Xochitl gathered the flames from their individual candles, then lit the San Miguel candle. Almost immediately the individual candles flickered, then went out.
“That is so cool,” Fern whispered.
Rogelia smiled slyly as she set the San Miguel candle prominently in the center of her altar. She turned and clasped her hands in front of her. “I will watch over this candle as I watch over the three of you. We will not need to make appointments for the plácitas. The candle will stay lit for seven days. In that time, you will know when you are ready to talk.”
Xochitl stood up as though she understood some unspoken signal that their lesson was over. “Gracias, Nana,” she said almost in a monotone.
Marina and Fern leapt off the bed. Rogelia placed her hands on Marina’s shoulders. “You are ready for this. Just be willing to be open and honest.” Rogelia turned to face Fern. “Be prepared to alchemize.” Lastly, she faced her granddaughter. “Just show up, mi amor, and the rest will take care of itself.”
Xochitl smiled wanly, then led the way out of the room. Fern and Marina stumbled over each other in a race to get back to Marina’s bedroom.
Once they closed the door behind them, Fern crooned, “This is better than I imagined.” She dug out her torn Sierra Club T-shirt and a pair of striped flannel boxers from her dirt-stained, pumpkin-colored JanSport backpack.
“Really, Xochitl,” Marina said. “It’s like learning from the nana I never had.” She took out a lavender paisley Victoria’s Secret sleep shirt and cotton sleep pants from her dresser and handed them to Xochitl. “This should do.”
“You’ve never had a nana?” Xochitl asked, taking the clothes.
“She died a month before I was born,” Marina said as she chose a cami-and-shorts set with a scripted VS on the cami. She walked to her closet and pulled out a sleeping bag, a fleece blanket with Tinker Bell flying across the sky, and a goose-down pillow. “And my dad’s parents dropped off the face of the earth when he did.”
“Oh,” Xochitl said.
“My mom talks about my nana like she was some kind of saint. I don’t know,” Marina said. “It’s kind of hard to feel connected to someone so flawless and perfect.”
Fern took the sleeping gear. “I’ll sleep on the floor. Xochitl, you can sleep on the trundle.”
Marina pulled back the cover for Xochitl and hopped onto her bed. None of the new friends she made in her posh neighborhood were as easy to be around as Fern or even Xochitl. She was a little surprised that she fe
lt this close to Xochitl after such a short time. Part of this quick bond had to do with the fact that Xochitl had borne witness to Marina’s first bout with the voices. Not only did Xochitl refrain from treating Marina like a psycho, but she had also helped in the healing, which was intriguing in itself. Xochitl had a real down-to-earth vibe that Marina had never felt in anyone but Fern.
“What does ‘watchale’ mean?” Marina asked as she punched her pillow into a comfortable form.
“It means ‘watch yourself’ or be ‘careful.’ Why?” asked Fern.
“I thought it was something like that,” Marina answered. “I heard one of the voices say it tonight, right before I almost talked back to my mother.”
“You, talk back to your mother? Why?” Fern asked.
Marina shrugged but didn’t answer. “Hey, you guys ready to go to sleep?”
“Sure,” said Fern, though she sent Marina a puzzled look.
Marina turned over in bed. She turned off the lamp on her bedside table. “Night.”
When her family had moved to Orange Olive, Marina had found it so easy to walk away from the old neighborhood. The barrio, as her mother would call it. And now she wondered what she had left behind. She had never learned Spanish, and she didn’t know much more about being Mexican than how to make tacos without using premade shells. A desire to learn more about this part of her culture ignited like the flame of the San Miguel candle.
In the silence that followed, she heard the voice of an older woman say, Welcome home, mi’jita.
Nine
Early the next morning, Fern rolled over in her sleeping bag and looked out Marina’s bedroom window. She watched brilliant rainbow-colored sparks dance upon the morning light that shone through the tiny slits between the horizontal blinds. As the colors played, she wondered if she would ever see lights like this in an aura, especially the more she worked with Rogelia.
And then her mind wandered into boy territory. Why did Tristán have that gray aura? What was he doing now? Probably sleeping. It was still early.
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