Ghost Squad

by Claribel A. Ortega

  “Mamá?” he asked wistfully.

  Lucely nodded.

  “The tour group is already in the cemetery taking pictures of the old church. You remember our plan?”

  Lucely loved helping her dad out with the Luna Ghost Tour on the weekends, because she got to play a ghost, and she’d been looking forward to it all week.

  “I’m gonna hide behind the Varela mausoleum and blast ‘ghost sounds’ from my phone.”

  “Right, but not before I give the cue. Remember, it has to go perfectly this time. Mr. Vincent wasn’t bluffing when he said he was coming tonight.”

  Simon hardly ever lost his cool, but tonight Lucely could tell he was nervous.

  Her father still hadn’t admitted that they were in danger of losing their home, that if Mr. Vincent did show up and tonight went well, they might get an extension. She may have been only twelve, but she wasn’t a dummy. She just wished her dad trusted her with the truth.

  “When have I ever let you down, Dad?” Lucely said. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

  He wiped the sweat from his brow, but more dotted his dark brown skin a second later.

  “It’s just really important, chula.”

  Lucely smiled and nodded. They were a team. She looked out for him, and he looked out for her. It was how it’d been since forever. Or at least since her mother had walked out on them and never looked back.

  Tonight’s tour was taking place at the cemetery a short walk from their house, so when Lucely had finished getting ready, she headed out, using her phone’s flashlight to avoid tripping over any gravestones.

  Tucked behind the crypt of the Varela family, Lucely waited, listening for her father’s voice. Despite the cool autumn breeze, sweat trickled down her forehead. Her favorite part of the tour was about to begin.

  Beams of light cast long shadows from the tombstones surrounding Lucely’s hiding place. As the tour group approached the mausoleum—all hushed tones and nervous laughter—Lucely cued up the spooky audio recording on her phone.

  “And here, we have the crypt of the Varela family.” Her father’s slightly accented English resounded in the dark. Just a few more seconds, she told herself, and these people are in for the scare of their lives. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, giddy with anticipation.

  “This family was quite prominent in the eighteen hundreds, but they had a dark secret …”

  Simon stopped walking, and the group fell eerily quiet. She couldn’t see her father but could imagine how he looked right now: one eyebrow hitched, his eyes open wide, his large hands held in front of him dramatically. He always knew how to sell a story. That was for sure.

  “One by one, the Varela children began to fall ill and die. Except the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with them. It’s rumored that their mother, Dolores Varela, had been poisoning them all along.”

  The group gasped in sync, almost as if they’d rehearsed it.

  “It is also rumored”—Simon paused, walking toward the side of the crypt so he was now in full view of Lucely—“that the spirits of the children can be seen wandering this very cemetery, calling out …”

  Lucely suppressed a giggle. Here it was.

  “For their mother.”

  The moment the words left her father’s lips, Lucely pressed play on her phone.

  “Maaaammmmááááá,” the voice carried through the darkness, coming from the camouflaged speakers they kept hidden throughout the cemetery. Screams erupted from some of the more superstitious, and Lucely had to stifle a laugh with her sleeve.

  One of the patrons, an elderly woman who reminded Lucely of her abuela, stood near the group, completely unfazed. She turned and looked right at Lucely, who could now see her more clearly. The woman flickered, her eyes glowing a bright white. The face Lucely knew as if it were her own was now contorted with terror.

  “Mamá?!” she yelped. Her grandmother materialized before her—eyes wide.

  “Lucely, they’re coming.” Mamá’s voice quivered.

  She grasped Lucely’s wrists with hands as cold as ice, but her abuela’s hands were never cold.

  “Who’s coming? What’s wrong, Mamá?” Lucely’s breaths came in short jabs. She took a few quick steps toward her grandmother—and out from her hiding place.

  “Don’t forget me, niña. Stay strong!”

  Lucely’s phone fell to the ground and abruptly stopped the recording.

  This was all wrong.

  “Stop, Mamá, please!” Lucely called out.

  She was now in full view of her father and the tour group. They groaned, clearly annoyed that the gag had been exposed. Lucely spotted Mr. Vincent first, who looked disappointed. Her father did not look happy.

  “NOOO!” Mamá wailed in a voice so terrifying that even Lucely shrank away. Mamá held her hands up against the air, as if someone was trying to hurt her.

  “Please, Mamá! Somebody help her!” Lucely screamed, throwing rocks in the direction of the invisible threat in front of her grandmother. But Lucely was the only one who could see her.

  Mamá Teresa rose above the trees around them before diving straight down and right through Lucely’s body. It was painful and too cold, like being dunked into a tub full of ice.

  Lucely fell to the ground, her body trembling like the aftershock of an earthquake.

  From her throat came a sound, low and gurgling. “Lucely,” it said in her grandmother’s voice. “A darkness is approaching. You have to run.”

  Muffled screams, her father’s voice telling her it would be okay, his warm breath above her, the smell of cinnamon and that blue fabric softener he always used too much of.

  “Papi, I’m sorry,” she croaked. Then there was only darkness.

  The soft glow of moonlight filtered through Lucely’s bedroom window as she regained consciousness, feeling the familiar weight of her father sitting at the foot of her bed. The room twirled around her as she sat up, like she had been doing somersaults down a hill.

  “Oww.” Lucely held the back of her head.

  “Here.” Simon handed Lucely an ice pack, and she held it to the tender bump that had formed when she fell. The memories came tumbling back: the tour, Mamá, the angry patrons. What. A. Mess.

  “Is Mamá …” Lucely started but knew her dad had no way of knowing. She looked next to her bed, but there were no fireflies in the mason jar. She would have to wait until everything stopped spinning to go out to the willow tree and ask the other ancestors.

  Simon’s phone rang then, and before he could even bring it up to his ear, a shrill voice erupted from the other side. He stepped into the hallway, and Lucely waited till he’d exited completely before taking a tentative step out of bed.

  “Whoa.” The room lurched around her, but after a few careful steps she was able to make it to her door, where she could listen to her dad’s phone call.

  “I apologize, miss—” Simon said, the muffled voice cutting him off. “Yes, of course. I will be refunding everyone on the tour. I do apologize about the incident during the tour. I understand it’s your right to leave a review, but is that really necess—” Simon sighed. “I will have the money back to you first thing in the morning. Again, I apologize and—”

  The woman hung up on him. What a bag of rats.

  Lucely scrambled back into bed and pulled the covers over her legs just as her father came back into the room. Close call.

  “Who was that?” she asked.

  Her father sank down next to Lucely. “I had to refund tonight’s tour.”

  Lucely knew he was trying his best to keep his voice calm, but this was a huge deal. The proceeds from one tour alone was a lot of money for the Lunas. Lucely couldn’t even imagine how far back this would set them.

  Simon rubbed a hand across his forehead, the bags under his eyes darker than usual. “What happened on the tour was not your fault, okay?”

  But it was her fault. Lucely’s entire body went numb as she saw the defeated look in his eyes. She would do an
ything to take back what had happened earlier that night.

  Lucely twisted her hands, wrestling with the thought of telling her father what had happened with Mamá. She knew the story would upset him, but she couldn’t keep something like this from him.

  Simon listened intently as Lucely explained, and then he put his hands on her shoulders. He looked almost relieved.

  “That must’ve been really scary for you, Luce. I’m just glad you’re okay. Do you know if Mamá is all right?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I hope so.” Lucely’s stomach sank. The last thing her dad needed was another reason to worry. She’d seen a video on YouTube once about stress being a silent killer, and she didn’t want to be the reason her dad kicked the bucket.

  He gave her shoulder a light squeeze as he stood, straightening the portrait of Enriquillo on the wall before retreating to his office for the night.

  “Sweet dreams, Luce.”

  “Night, Dad.”

  Lucely brought her knees to her chest, fighting back tears and trying her best to ignore the headache that was coming on. She would not let Mr. Vincent take their home away from them, and she had to figure out what was happening to her fireflies. Whatever it took, she had to make this right.

  LUCELY SAT BENEATH the willow’s canopy, perching on the lowest branch like she did every morning before school. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting the smell of the leaves and rain-soaked dirt fill her lungs. She felt the air become warmer, and without even opening her eyes, she knew the fireflies were awake and zipping around her, casting their light and comforting her like they had done so many times before. If she could keep this feeling with her throughout the day, maybe school wouldn’t be so awful. The fireflies were the one thing that made her special, a secret she had never told anyone outside her family—except for Syd.

  Every branch of the willow tree was adorned with mason jars of varying sizes, each giving off the amber-tinted glow of the firefly it held inside. Her tía Milagros was there, and her cousin Manny. Her grandpa, great-grandmothers—all the ghost family members she had grown up with. But Mamá’s firefly sat motionless in her mason jar.

  Lucely reached out for her abuela carefully, lightly touching the smooth glass before pulling away. A sob caught in her throat as she watched for any signs of movement.

  Mamá’s wings fluttered softly, but her light had gone out. Lucely tried to coax her awake, tried to make her show her human form, but it was no use. She had never seen anything like this happen to any of the cocuyos, and she couldn’t help but cry.

  She was so worried and felt so … helpless. If they were going to lose their house, lose the willow tree, what could she do? She was just a kid. Her heart clenched as she thought again of her mother. If they left, how would she find them? She always hoped that someday, if things got better at home, if the ghost tour picked up again, her mom would come back. Her dad didn’t know it, but before each tour she said a little prayer for her mother to return. For her to walk in through the door after one of those tours, removing a scarf from her curly black hair that looked just like Lucely’s, and pull her close. Lucely closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could almost smell her mother—the coconut oil she used in her hair, the fruity smell of her favorite ChapStick. If she were here, she’d know how to fix this mess Lucely had made.

  “Lucely!” Simon’s voice broke her from her trance.

  She swung over and scrambled down the tree without looking.

  “My goodness, look at this mess.” Simon shook his head upon seeing her.

  Lucely followed her father’s gaze to her knee, which was now bleeding. She must have scraped it on the tree when she was climbing down.

  Lucely caught a wet paper towel Simon had thrown in her direction and got cleaned up.

  “You didn’t feel that?”

  “It’s just a scrape, Dad. Chill.” Lucely smiled, throwing the paper towel away as she shrugged on her backpack.

  “Sometimes I think you’d keep going even if your head fell off,” Simon said. “You want a ride to school? I don’t have to start work for another hour.”

  “Nah, that’s okay. I was planning to meet up with Syd to bike over.” Lucely smiled before saying goodbye.

  “Let’s find Mr. Vincent’s house after school and slash his tires.” Syd Faires clenched her fists as they made their way to history class.

  “How’s that gonna help with my house problem?” Lucely cocked her head to the side, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Or with the fireflies?”

  “It probably won’t help, but it’ll feel good to exact revenge.”

  Lucely shook her head but was glad Syd’s freak-out over the news about the house had ended. She was worried that her best friend might pop a vein or something.

  “You can’t leave, Lucely. You’re, like, the only decent person in this stupid school. I’ll be reduced to talking to the teachers for fun,” Syd grumbled.

  “Then we have to come up with a better plan than popping Mr. Vincent’s tires. And fast.”

  Their history classroom was unusually quiet when they arrived and took their seats, and their teacher, Mr. Lopez, looked solemn. Lucely exchanged a confused glance with Syd.

  Lucely rubbed her arms. The temperature at their school never seemed to work correctly, and if it wasn’t sweltering, it was close to freezing. Their thermostat—like everything else in their school—was super old and either on the fritz or completely broken.

  “Pop quiz?” whispered Lucely, and Syd scowled.

  “Better not be, or I’m flipping this table.”

  When all her classmates were seated, Mr. Lopez walked over to the door and placed his hand against the wall. “Today we’re going to talk all about …” Suddenly, the room fell dark as Mr. Lopez flipped off the light switch and continued, “Witches!” The class erupted into squeals and giggles.

  The darkness soon softened as the sunlight from the adjacent playground spilled through the windows. A chill ran down Lucely’s spine as she waited excitedly for the lesson to begin. She could practically feel Syd bouncing in her seat. Syd was obsessed with anything even remotely supernatural or scary. Especially witches.

  Mr. Lopez wrote the words Las Brujas Moradas with an elegant flourish on the chalkboard and turned around to face the classroom, his eyebrows knit.

  “Who knows who Las Brujas Moradas were?”

  Before he had even finished the sentence, Syd’s hand waved frantically in the air.

  Mr. Lopez pointed at Syd and smiled.

  Syd cleared her throat and stood up. She threw her long black braids over her shoulders, ignoring the side-eye from some of her classmates. How she managed to be so cool and dorky at the same time would always be a mystery to Lucely. “It’s just confidence,” Syd would always say, mimicking the same calm as her brass-band musician dad or drummer mom. Lucely hoped if she spent enough time with her best friend, one day some of that would rub off on her.

  “The legend goes that Las Brujas Moradas were a coven of witches from Spain who fled to St. Augustine during the Spanish Inquisition. They chose the name Moradas because purple is believed to be a powerful color connected to mysticism and the supernatural. It’s said you can—”

  Mr. Lopez held his hand up. “No need for a full history lesson just yet, Syd, but you’ll get your chance. Thank you.”

  Syd slid back into her chair with a look of disappointment on her face. She lived for anything having to do with magic and could talk about it for hours. It was her absolute favorite thing, after macaroni-and-cheese pizza.

  “Syd is exactly right. The witches of the Purple Coven, as they are called in English, were powerful and feared, dangerous and cunning. There is a legend that says a secret book of spells that belonged to the Purple Coven was lost long ago. That it was buried somewhere secret. Somewhere dangerous.”

  “Do you know where it might have been buried?” Syd blurted out before raising her hand.

  “Nobody knows for sure.
If the legend is true, and anything was hidden, it likely would’ve been found by now.”

  Syd scrunched her nose, and Lucely held in a laugh. That was not the answer she was hoping for.

  “What kinds of things are in the book?” asked another one of her classmates.

  “Love spells,” Mr. Lopez began.

  The class laughed in unison, and some kids made retching noises.

  “Settle down. There were also spells for good luck, fortune, and even”—Mr. Lopez raised one eyebrow ominously—“a spell to raise the dead. To bring them back from the underworld, as ghosts.”

  “Ghosts aren’t real,” one of her classmates said.

  “Raise your hand,” Mr. Lopez responded. “And yes, many people think so, but others think they walk among us. Maybe even here in this very classroom.”

  The class was silent. Lucely shivered in her seat, an eerie feeling washing over her. Ghosts might be a joke to her classmates, but she knew better. She knew the ghost world was a lot closer than anyone thought.

  “Some say that the Purple Coven even had spells that would make those ghosts visible to us, to make the dead that walk the earth as real as you and me. No one knows what eventually became of them, but rumor has it their spirits still roam the streets of St. Augustine, seeking revenge for being driven from their homes. But those are just silly urban legends … Or are they?”

  Lucely fumbled with her combination lock, trying for the third time to get her locker open.

  “Helloooo … Lucelyyyy … Where are you today?” Syd waved her hand in front of Lucely’s face. The smell of her bubble-gum lip gloss permeated the air.

  “Huh? Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”

  “I was thinking about what you told me.” Syd lowered her voice. “About the thing with your fireflies. What if we found that book Mr. Lopez was talking about? The one with the ghost spell.”