by Ryan Calejo
The mystery girl climbed into the driver’s seat of the truck saying, “You either come willingly or I make you. The choice I leave to you.” Didn’t actually sound like much of a choice, but I didn’t think the lobisomem would make us a better offer.
Violet shoved me toward the passenger-side door, and we piled into the truck just as another hair-raising howl sliced through the woods. Before I even got a chance to close the door, the girl slammed her foot on the gas, and the old, but apparently still pretty powerful, Ford pickup leapt forward. Moonlight glinted off the polished chrome edge of the rearview mirror as she gunned it around the narrow bend, tires screeching. On either side of us, the stretches of thick forest looked like walls of blackness. I couldn’t see anything—nada—and that wasn’t exactly a comforting feeling. I mean, where the heck had all those lobisomem even come from? And how many more were there?
“Los lobos have your scent,” the girl said grimly. “They will hunt you as long as they have breath in their nostrils. Or as long as you have breath in yours.” Her odd brown eyes slid to me, and she smacked the steering wheel loudly with both hands. “You’re both reckless! You have no idea what you have gotten yourselves in the middle of!”
“What are you talking about?” Violet said.
“Do you know how much attention you’ve attracted by using an Espejo? You were spotted by black crows seconds after arriving in Brazil.… I’m surprised you’re both not in the belly of some werewolf right now!”
My eyes were still glued to the truck’s rear window, watching out for wolves. “Why are they after us?”
“Not us,” she whispered. “Just you.”
And even though I’d figured as much, her words still sent a chill through me. “Me? But why me?”
“That is an excellent question. How does one go about attracting the attention of such cursed creatures…? Please, tell me. I’m curious as well.”
“Cursed creatures?” Violet repeated, probably not liking the sound of that, either.
“I thought they were lobisomem,” I said.
“They are lobisomem.” Mystery girl cut me a sharp sideways look and whipped us around another bend. “But how many werewolves do you see hooded and caped, their paws wrapped with rosary beads?” When we didn’t answer, she said, “Those that hunt you were once men. Priests of the Most High. But an unspeakable fate befell them; their parish was burned to the ground by banditos, their parishioners murdered in cold blood. The priests, in a blind rage to avenge the fallen, struck a deal with a dark sorcerer, a brujo of old, who took the opportunity to exploit their grief. They are now known as Los Embrujados, neither man nor beast, cursed to roam this world in shadows, exiled from the lobisomem clans, for they are not natural born, but also exiled from the tribes of men, for they are no longer human. In truth, they haven’t been seen for over six hundred years.”
Six hundred years…? Why would things that hadn’t been seen for more than half a millennium be after me?
Violet spoke up before I could.
“So who are you?” she asked the barefooted girl.
“Doesn’t matter,” the girl answered coldly.
“Okay. So why are you helping us?”
“Because I don’t want Morphling blood spilled in South America. You two want to kill yourselves, do it someplace else.”
Violet’s eyes, full of shock, found mine. “How did you know he was a Morphling?”
A small smile touched the girl’s lips. “When a boy slays a witch as old and feared as La Cuca, word tends to get around.” Her eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror. “Felicidades, by the way. Joanna must be very proud.”
“You know Joanna?” I asked, surprised.
“The Witch Queen of Toledo is the only Spaniard I have ever trusted. I would give my life for her, as she would for me… as she would for any sombra.” She paused for a moment as if trying to compose herself. “It has been her tireless work building alliances and bringing together the scattered clans that has saved this world. Both from ourselves and from those beyond.”
“Are you with La Liga?” I asked.
The girl shook her head, eyes locked on the rearview. “It is not that simple. But I do not oppose them, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Where are you taking us?” Violet asked.
She hesitated for a moment before saying, “Away from here.”
“Could you be a bit more specific?”
“Far away. Is that specific enough?”
There was a moment of silence, in which the only sound was the low, steady growl coming from the old truck’s engine. At least I hoped that’s where it was coming from.
“We need to get to Chile,” Violet said finally.
“Not tonight, you don’t. The wolves will be watching the borders. Tonight you stay in Argentina.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
We drove for probably two hours straight, following barely there paths without signposts or markings through the thick woods. Tall trees crammed around us. The night air was sharp but fresh, pouring in through the half-open windows and carrying with it the sweet scent of blooming flowers. I didn’t realize the truck had a radio until about an hour or so in, and before that it was pretty much crickets; Violet said maybe five words the entire time and never took her eyes off the girl, who said even less and never took her eyes off the road. (She did, however, finally give up her name, which was Adriana—Adriana Tovar.) The old-school AM/FM radio–cassette player combo couldn’t pick up any of the local stations (if there even were any local stations), but I found a tape of a band called Memphis La Blusera in the glove box and put that on. Every time the song “La Flor Más Bella”—which translates into “the most beautiful flower”—played, Adriana seemed to let off the gas a bit. Other than that the speedometer didn’t drop below eighty once.
About an hour or so later I noticed that Adriana had begun to stare out the driver-side window like she was looking for an address or a street sign.
“Are we… lost?” I asked, hoping very much that we weren’t.
“I will find my way.” Moonlight shone in her eyes as she scanned the dark woods. “I’m just not used to seeing the trees like this.”
“You mean—at night?”
“I mean in so much dolor.…”
Pain? “How do you… know they’re in pain?”
Her voice was low and grim. “There’s a darkness spreading through the earth. Perhaps you cannot feel it, but I can. It is seeping out of the soil like poison, killing everything it touches.”
Violet frowned slightly. “What do you think it is?”
“No lo sé. No one does.” Adriana gave a small, almost helpless shrug. “Some say it’s the season, but I do not believe that. I never heard the trees cry as they do now.”
“What’s so special about this season, anyway?”
“It’s the time of year when our two worlds are closest. The Land of the Living and that of the dead. It is a time of strange occurrences, without a doubt, but it doesn’t explain the death in the air.” She paused for a second, as if unsure she should continue. “Of course, some believe the rumors.…”
“What rumors?” Violet asked, shaking her head. But she’d barely asked the question when Adriana suddenly swerved the truck around the impossibly thick trunk of a eucalyptus tree.
The Ford’s ancient suspension squeaked and whined with every bump, divot, and break in the ground but surprisingly kept chugging along until we came to a hard stop at a stand of pines.
Adriana cut the engine and said, “Do not leave this truck.” Then, hopping out, she began to examine the ground like she was searching for footprints; she ran over to a pair of trees, appeared to have a conversation with them, then came back saying, “We’re here.”
“And where exactly is here…?” Violet asked her as she climbed out.
“Argentina,” replied Adriana.
V gave her a funny look. “What? No. That’s impossible. There’s no way we would have gotten fr
om central Brazil to Argentina in, what? Three hours?”
“Not impossible at all when you know the forests, and even less so when you’re traveling through sombra wood.”
Confused, I blinked. “Sombra wood?” I’d never heard of that.
“The secret places of sombras. Deep, deep wood—enchanted and magical. Distances and time are not the same in these places. And this place, in particular, is special even among sombra wood. This is Regancho de Gordura, perhaps the most famous feasting place in the entire world. In the spring, when the old trees give their fruit and nuts grow on the branches, sombras come from everywhere to gorge themselves on the bounty and wonderful abundance of nature. It is quite the gathering. But anyway—we are in Argentina, and you are safe.”
“We don’t have time for safe,” I said impatiently, knowing every second we wasted was another second Joanna’s life was in danger. “We need to keep moving. We need to get to Chiloé.”
Violet shot me a look, and I realized I’d probably said too much. After all, we barely even knew this girl.
“Is that where you’re going?” When neither one of us answered, Adriana nodded like that was all she needed to hear—or, not hear. “Then I will take you there myself. You have my word. But first, you are going to help me help you.”
* * *
I had no idea what Adriana meant by that, but before I got a chance to ask, she went around to the back of the truck, dug around through a couple of cardboard boxes, and came back carrying three grocery bags full of all sorts of Argentinian treats. There were a few I recognized, like alfajores, which are these awesome cakelike cookies glued together with globs of supersweet dulche de leche, and Bananita Dolca, banana-shaped candy bars with banana-flavored filling and a chocolate coating. But there were also a whole bunch I didn’t know, like Mantecol, Bon o Bon, and these delicious square-shaped candies called Vauquita. Adriana told me that I could have as many as I’d like (the more the better), and even though I knew my mom definitely wouldn’t approve, I was so hungry, I dug right in. Sitting under the stars, chowing down on all these tasty sweets, reminded me so much of my childhood: my abuela and me sneaking outside before dinner to snack on churros and guava and cream-cheese-filled pastelitos while my mom (who didn’t approve of those, either) was busy grading her students’ tests and waiting for the arroz con pollo to finish cooking.
My abuela had this huge sweet tooth—which was probably where I’d gotten mine—and we’d had so much fun doing stuff like that. Thinking back to it now made me sort of sad because she was gone, and I knew that we’d never get to do stuff like that again. But it also made me happy because it brought back memories of her, and those were some of my favorite memories growing up.
When Violet and I had stuffed our faces pretty good, Adriana said it was time for us to get some rest—that we’d need it because we had a lot of miles to cover tomorrow.
She told Violet to sleep in the truck, then rolled out a sleeping bag for me in the back. I’d obviously gotten the raw end of that deal (the sleeping bag was about as thick as a bedsheet, and the truck bed was just as hard and rusty as it looked), but I didn’t mind; I was so stuffed I would’ve happily napped on a rock.
“Sleep with your head here by the tailgate,” Adriana instructed me as I climbed onto the back. When I gave her a funny look, she said, “What? I’m superstitious, okay?”
As a cool wind blew through the woods, I watched her lean back against the driver-side door, breathing it in deeply. And as the pine-scented air washed over her, she closed her eyes for a moment and sang a few lines from what sounded like a child’s lullaby. It was in Spanish, but I didn’t recognize it.
“You have a beautiful voice,” Violet said from inside the truck. And that was putting it mildly—I could easily see her onstage at some huge concert, singing side by side with someone like Camila Cabello or Selena Gomez.
A soft smile touched the corners of Adriana’s lips, and she looked like she was remembering some sweet memory. “I used to sing every day… during happier times.” There was a dusty three-string guitarra sticking out of a box by my feet. Adriana saw me staring at it and asked, “Sabes cómo tocar?”
“Yeah, I can play a little.…”
She picked it up and held it out to me. “I’ll sing if you play.”
I glanced over at Violet, who was peeking out the back window now, smiling at me, then took the guitar. The first thing I did was sweep my fingers across the strings to make sure it was in tune, and it didn’t sound too bad, actually. Someone must’ve tuned it pretty recently. A moment later Adriana began to sing. It was a low, haunting melody, and I played slowly, trying to keep rhythm. It wasn’t easy playing without a pick, but it wasn’t like I had to play fast, either. And I was mostly playing background, anyway, because Adriana’s voice really was something—high and pure and tragic somehow, which made it difficult to focus on what she was saying. But it sounded like she was singing about a girl, some poor soul whose village had been raided, who’d been captured and beaten, then burned at the stake but hadn’t died—a girl who’d come back as a tree.…
“That was amazing,” Violet said when she was finished. “You have an incredible voice.…”
Adriana smiled. It was both happy and sad. “Gracias.”
“Who’s the girl in the song?” I asked her, but she shook her head like she didn’t know.
“No one remembers her name anymore,” she said in a hushed voice. Her eyes went to the woods. “But both of you should rest now. I’ll be close by.” And with that, she slipped into the dark trees.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
A few moments later Violet asked, “Comfy?”
“I actually sort of am,” I admitted with a laugh. “Never slept in a sleeping bag before. They’re not bad.…”
V laughed. “And I’ve never slept in the front seat of a classic Ford pickup. Not too bad either.”
Around us, the woods were silent except for the occasional hoot of an owl. “What are you thinking about?” Violet asked after a minute or two.
“Everything,” I said. And that was the honest truth. Between Joanna’s kidnapping, those terrifying lobisomem priests, and meeting Adriana, it felt like my brain was being pulled in about a bazillion different directions.
“So what do you think we’ll find when we get there?” Violet asked me.
“Where? To Chiloé?” I shrugged. “Hopefully Joanna. And hopefully she’s okay.” When she didn’t say anything, I asked, “You have a good feeling about all this?”
“Yeah… I mean, I guess. Don’t you?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“V, think about it. It’s just like you said back at the cave. Let’s say we get there and find Joanna, right? You know who we’re also going to find? Whoever kidnapped her…”
“Yeah… so?”
“Well, can you imagine how powerful whoever kidnapped her must be? I mean, they kidnapped the Witch Queen of Toledo, for crying out loud. How are we supposed to beat it or them or whoever?”
“Charlie, when we find Joanna—which we will—we’ll figure that part out. It’s going to be okay.…”
“That’s easy to say.”
“I’m not just saying that, Charlie—I mean it. We’ll figure it out. Together. Because that’s what friends are for. You’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours.”
“Violet, you’re not listening; I cannot control my manifestations, like, at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure I suck at morphing.… It’s like I’m defective or something.”
“You’ll get the hang of it. Just give it some more time.”
“Except time is the one thing we absolutely don’t have.”
“Charlie, chill. You’re fine.… You’re getting better.”
“But I’m not,” I said with a groan. “And that’s not even my point.…”
“Then what is your point?”
“My point is that I’m useless right now. I can’t
do anything. The only reason I’m even still alive is because my body just… just manifests stuff on its own! And I hate to point out the obvious, but if my body hadn’t, I’d be dead right now. You do realize that, right?”
“But you’re not dead. You’re alive. We both are. So what are you getting so worked up about?”
I sighed. She just didn’t get it, or maybe—and a lot more likely—she just didn’t want to get it. “This is too much for me, V… finding Joanna, trying to stop La Mano Peluda from doing whatever it is they’re planning on doing … It’s too much responsibility. I’m not ready for this. I’m not good enough for this.…”
“Charlie, responsibilities don’t fall on us because we’re good enough; they fall on us because there’s no one else for them to fall on.” She looked at me, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “We’re it. It’s you and me, and that’s it, babe. Welcome to real life.”
Yeah, well, real life sucks, I thought.
Hold up—did she just call me babe?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I was pretty sure the two of us just lay there in silence for a long time, but the cool night breeze blowing through the woods and my full stomach were making me so sleepy, I honestly didn’t remember when I drifted off.
Sometime later I woke with this terrible pain in my chest. It felt like all twenty pounds of junk food I’d eaten had turned to stone, settled halfway down my throat, and were now pressing against my lungs with the weight of a cruise ship. My first thought was that it was indigestion. Or maybe part of some freaky dream. But then my eyes fluttered open, and all my sleepiness was swept away in a wave of absolute terror. Not indigestion—it was some sort of hideous monster—a hag!
She was sitting on me, sort of squatting on my chest with her long bony feet planted firmly on either side of my head. Her face, a terrifying mask of greenish, wart-covered skin, hung just over mine but a few inches past so that I almost had to tilt my head back to look into her eyes. In a sliver of silvery moonlight slanting down through the trees, I could see a snarling mouth full of awful rotting teeth and the horrifying bloodred pupils of her beady black eyes as she stared wildly—hungrily—into mine.