by Ryan Calejo
I had a split second to wonder if they’d gone off into another room when suddenly the world around me changed: I was no longer standing in the middle of Saci’s hotel room—no, in fact, I wasn’t even in Peru anymore! Somehow—someway—I’d been transported two thousand plus miles north, back to that little house on Giralda Avenue. To the very kitchen in South Florida where I’d battled La Cuca—the very kitchen where she’d almost ended me. To my right was the small breakfast nook. Past it, beyond the counter, stood the sink that overlooked the backyard crowded with palm trees. Dizzy with shock, with panic, I blinked around the room, wondering if a) this was Saci’s most elaborate prank yet, or b) I’d accidentally stepped through some invisible rip in the space-time continuum and had actually wound up back in Miami.
“What’s going on…?” I heard myself breathe.
And the answer that came was: It’s a trap!
I had no idea where those words had come from. But they felt true.
Just then a terrifying—and terrifyingly familiar—cackle echoed around me. Every single hair on my body stood on end as I turned over one shoulder to see a tall cloaked figure in robes as black as the night itself stalk out from the hallway to my left.
The figure stopped less than ten feet away, pushing back its hood to reveal a hard and haughty face with eyes so green they were almost black.
Instantly the blood turned to ice in my veins. My breath escaped me in a half-choked gasp.
No, I thought, dazed. No, it can’t be.…
Yet there she was. La Cuca.
She was back!
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
How?… I mean, HOW?” was all I managed. Not exactly Shakespeare, I know. But I was in so much shock that the fact my mouth still worked—if only barely—was a small miracle in its own right.
La Cuca’s bloodred lips split into an evil grin as her eyes locked with mine. “You didn’t think you had actually defeated me, did you…? A runt like you?”
Her suddenly furious gaze blazed brighter. In that same moment some invisible force seized me, pinning my arms to my sides and making it impossible to move, scream, or even blink. Immediately my survival instincts began screaming at me to do something—anything!—but before I could figure out exactly what, the witch tightened her hold, tightened it around my throat, and now I couldn’t breathe! Another wave of panic crashed over me as I struggled and squirmed, trying to break free. But it didn’t take me long to realize that it was completely useless. This was just like the last time we’d fought—there was no way to overpower her!
“You’re too weak, Charlie.…” La Cuca laughed, sending a chill, like an icy blade, through my heart. “You can’t control your manifestations. You can’t help Joanna. You can’t save those you love. You can’t even save yourself!” As she stalked forward, her long, black-nailed fingers slowly curled into fists and the pressure around my throat suddenly clamped down like a vise. Waves of agony crashed over me. Black spots danced in front of my eyes.
I grimaced, crying out in pain, though no sound actually made it out of my mouth. Already I could feel my lungs burning for oxygen, starving for it; could feel myself teetering on the verge of consciousness. Worse, there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it. Nada!
But even more terrifying was the realization that when la bruja was finished with me, she’d go after Violet next. And then she’d go after my par—
Hold up a sec! I shouted at myself. This makes, like, ZERO, sense.…
How could La Cuca be here with me when here didn’t even exist anymore? This house had been obliterated during our battle. And how could she be standing right in front of me, looking as whole and evil as the first day we’d met when I’d already defeated her, when I’d already watched her burn up in the mesosphere like a falling comet?
Two really good questions. And the answer, of course, was pretty simple: She couldn’t.
Which meant that none of this was actually happening.…
“This isn’t real,” I heard myself say.
And it was right then, right as the truth of those words sank in, that the scene around me once again changed: Suddenly La Cuca vanished, as did the rest of the house on Giralda.
I was back in Saci’s hotel room again. And the second that sank in, I looked wildly around and spotted Violet first, then Saci. V was off in the far corner, crying and shivering, while on the other side of the room, by the row of flat-screen TVs, Saci was on his hands and knees pleading with a stack of Blu-ray players in Portuguese). Kind of curious what that was about (but also kind of not), I rushed over to Violet and hauled her up by her shoulders.
“V, snap out of it!” I shouted. “It’s not REAL!”
I’d basically shouted it right in her face, but it didn’t seem to have gotten through, because she was fighting me now, struggling and squirming like a rabid raccoon as she yanked madly at my wrists, trying to break my grip. “WHY? BUT WHY?” she kept yelling over and over again.
“Violet!” I yelled into her ear. “WAKE! UP!”
Her eyes seemed to focus for a second. But instead of snapping out of it, she screamed and slapped me. Hard. Which wasn’t exactly the response I’d been hoping for.
I shook her, shouted, “HEY, NOT NICE!” And, naturally, she slapped me again, this time making cartoon birdies fly lazy circles in front of my eyes. There weren’t any mirrors around so I couldn’t tell for sure, but I was willing to bet she’d left a Hollywood-Walk-of-Fame-style handprint on my left cheek. Nice.
I rubbed my face, trying to get the sting out, and could hear Saci yelling something about sparing his Ballon d’Or—“Take me!” it sounded like he was saying. “Just don’t hurt the trophy!” I had no idea if these hallucinations could leave permanent brain damage, but I did know that we didn’t need to make Saci any more of a wild card than he already was. I had to do something. And fast.
“Violet, c’mon!” I shouted. “We don’t have time for this!” When she ignored me, I looked around, spotted a signed Gatorade bottle (it looked like it had been signed by Dani Alves) inside the mouth of the World Cup trophy.
Thinking fast, I snatched it up, twisted the cap open, and squeezed. An icy blast of blue nitro nailed Violet square between the eyes, and she let out a huge gasp.
Her eyes blinked into focus. Sticky bluish tears streaked down her cheeks.
“That wasn’t—”
“Real?” I asked. “No. Now help me get Saci and let’s make like trees!”
“Huh?”
“Haven’t you ever watched Back to the Future? I’m saying we gotta leave!”
Violet didn’t need convincing. We rushed over to Saci, V taking one arm, me the other; then we began to haul him toward the door. No easy task considering the guy probably weighed as much as a fridge. He wore the weight well, though—I had to give him that.
“WAIT!” Violet shouted suddenly. “OUR STUFF!” She hustled over to the table in the dining room, where, I now saw, our money, passports, and clothes had been stacked into a big messy pile next to an equally messy pile of signed trading cards. “Your book bag!” she shouted. So I tossed it to her, and she quickly dumped the rice and put all our stuff back where it belonged.
Okay, so maybe I should’ve dumped the rice myself a while ago, but the truth was my mom’s Cuban, which meant I’d basically grown up on the stuff, and I hated the idea of wasting any. Especially when it could be used to make a rockin’ plate of arroz con frijoles.
While Violet was gathering our stuff, I happened to glance around the room—and spotted our egg! It was on Saci’s couch, trapped between two cushions and glowing faintly. Not wasting any time, I snatched it up and slipped it into the inside pocket of my shorts (making sure Saci didn’t see me do it) for extra safekeeping.
“Wait! Where’s the egg?” Violet shouted.
“Already got it!” I shouted back. Then together we hauled Saci the rest of the way across the room. The instant we dragged him through the door and out into the hall, his eyes snapped ope
n, and he began flailing around.
“QUE, WHAT—WHO?” His gaze rose to meet Violet’s. “Did we make it out?”
She nodded. “Barely.”
“Oh, and thank you so much for storing our stuff in such a wonderful place,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Had a blast in there.”
Saci looked around at us, giving a sleepy-eyed, dazed sort of grin, and said, “Me think dis is da start of a beautiful friendship!”
“Shut up!” Violet and I snapped.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
By the time we made it down into the hotel lobby and back outside, the sun was setting again (which was one of the side effects of traveling backward through time zones—Lima, Peru, time was exactly two hours behind central Brazil), and the sidewalks were packed with people in suits and other business attire catching rides home or heading out for the evening. Still feeling a little dazed (actually feeling like someone had dropped my brain into a meat grinder, then ran it through a high-speed juicer), I asked, “What the heck happened to us up there, huh?”
“Da spell that protect my room,” Saci explained, “it makes you see you worst fear. That way no one wanna stay there, snoop around, entende?”
Yeah, I definitely understood. It was hard not to once you’d experienced it.
Violet, who was looking a bit dazed herself, nudged me on the arm. “Charlie, we need to focus. We have to get to El Dorado already.”
And she was right. So we both turned to look at Saci, who stared back at us, shaking his head. “Wha? Wha you lookin’ at Saci for? I not some mythological tour guide.…”
V’s eyes flicked back to me. “So…?”
I shrugged. “So…?”
“Where do you think it is?” she asked me.
“You mean El Dorado? How am I supposed to know?”
“Well, Mario did tell us it was somewhere in Colombia. You don’t remember anything from any legends that might give us a little more to work with.”
I tried to think back. “I mean, I know most explorers and treasure hunters believed it was inside Lake Guatavita, which I think is somewhere in central Colombia.”
Violet beamed at me. “I think you’re starting to get the hang of this investigative journalist thing.”
“But, V, none of those treasure hunters ever found it. Which means it’s probably not there.”
“True, but we know it’s somewhere in Colombia, so we might as well start there. Plus, it’s our only lead.” She turned back to Saci. “Okay, here’s the deal, Neymar. Whirlwind us over to Colombia—Lake Guatavita. And after you help us find our friend, you’re free to go. Deal?”
The sweet-toothed prankster snickered at that. “Ha. Colombia. From here? Você está louca?”
“What’s the big deal?” I said. “You got us here all the way from Brazil.”
“Saci not machine, manequim! Saci need rest. Saci need food. Saci need pranks and funnies to get him excited and happy!” He paused, giving us a pouty look as his dark eyes moved past us, up the block. “But maybe Saci know another way.…”
“Well?” Violet said.
“Is right on the tippy of my tongue.…” He smacked his lips together, grinning at her. “Hmm. Maybe you give Saci some sugar it help jog my memory.”
V cut him a sideways look. “Excuse me?”
“I talking about those sugar packs you use to lure Saci onto the hill. Hellooooo? What you think I mean, huh?”
“Never mind.” She took out one of the leftover sugar packs from her bag, tossed it to him, and we both watched as he tore it open and poured a stream of sugar into his mouth.
Okay, now, I had a pretty big sweet tooth myself. I could probably live off tres leches, which is this sugary, milky, custardy dessert. But just eating the stuff right out of packets like that…? Yeah, that was a whole ’nother level of sugar cravings.
Violet only stared. “You do know that refined sugars have been linked with a whole mess of health issues, including obesity and diabetes, right?”
Saci nodded, loudly chewing sugar. “I know. But Saci love it! I addicted. You know Saci’s dream? Own a huge sugarcane farm with all different kinda sugarcane, make lots and lots of sugar, and jess eat it all day long!”
“Cool story,” V said. “Now are you gonna tell us the other way to get to Colombia or what?”
“Hmm… still right on the tippy of my tongue. Maybe you gimme my pipe back, that really help jog my memory?”
“Oh, c’mon, now you’re just messing with us!” I shouted.
“No, dis true! It could help… maybe.”
Sighing, Violet reached into her bag, came out with his pipe.
“Obrigada, obrigada, obrigada!” Saci chanted happily as she handed it to him. “You soooo much nicer than Sassy”—glaring at me now—“I like you much better!”
“For your information,” Violet said, “smoking is a disgusting habit. It kills millions of people. A year. And it’s responsible for tooth decay and a whole bunch of other respiratory issues I don’t really feel like getting into.”
“Man, you like a walking public service announcement!” Saci shouted, sounding almost impressed. “But no worry… Dis pipe ain’t for smoking.”
Violet didn’t look convinced. “What’s it for, then?”
“My apartment is where I keep my good stuff. My pipe is where I keeps the rest of my stuff. Plus, I like to chew on it.” He grinned at her and V gave an annoyed sigh.
“You going to get us to Colombia or not?” I said.
“Ei, sim, sim. Come!”
* * *
We followed him to the corner of the busy street, where an open-backed shipping truck with crates of raw vegetables and freshly picked flowers sat parked along the curb. The driver—or at least a man I assumed was the driver—was standing in the loading bay of the tall building to our left, talking to some lady in an orange hard hat.
“Climb on back!” Saci whispered. “Go! Go!”
Violet’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Rápido, por favor! No waste time!”
Shaking our heads, we both climbed on, glaring at him.
“I got a bad feeling about this,” I admitted.
Violet dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. “And I’m feeling a little light-headed.”
“You need food!” Saci said. “Same thing happen to my cat. Hol’ on!” He peered cautiously around, like a bandit just before a bank robbery. Then he turned sideways, hiding his pipe (and his hands) from the view and seemed to reach into the mouth of said pipe. His arm went in almost to his elbow (at least it appeared to), and he came out with—a chicken…?
I had to blink. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. But there it was, some strange orange-and-blue-feathered chicken, clucking and bawk-bawking and peeking airheadedly at nothing. “Ay, sorry. Wrong thing.” He stuffed the chicken back into his pipe and this time came out with a couple of nice-looking yellow bananas. He grinned. “Saci love plátanos! Yellow Saci’s favorite color, you see. Green, number two.” Handing one to each of us, he said, “There you go. Now eat you plátano. Relax. Fique tranquilo. Saci gonna handle everything.”
He’d started to turn when Violet grabbed back of his overalls, stopping him. “Hey. You try anything funny, and your cap’s toast. Literally.”
“C’mon, you know Saci…,” he said with a sly grin.
“I do. That’s why I’m warning you.”
His grin widened. “Eat you plátano. Saci be right back.”
Watching him go, I said to Violet, “Wouldn’t eat that if I were you. You don’t know where his pipe’s been.”
Two minutes later Saci came back, grinning widely, and climbed onto the truck beside me. “We go to Colombia now,” he announced proudly. “Lake Guatavita. Is all taken care of…”
Violet shot him the same sort of deeply distrustful look teachers reserve only for the most devious students. “What? You paid the guy or something?”
“Pay him?” Saci sounded insulted—hurt, even. “No, no, no, no�
�� Saci change his papers and add Lake Guatavita as his next stop. Then I sneak and put it in his little GPS machine too!” He burst out laughing. “You two proud of Saci or what?”
Or what, I thought. “That’s the guy’s livelihood you’re messing with,” I pointed out.
“Ei—relax. He heading north anyway. Now he just going a little bit farther north, okay?” Clasping his hands behind his bald, shiny head, he lay back against a stack of crates, stretching his leg out in front of him and wiggling his toes as the truck suddenly lurched into motion. “Saci take care of everything.… Dis gonna be one smooth ride.”
But there was something about the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, about the way his lips curled up at the corners, plus everything I’d ever heard about him from my abuela’s stories—not to mention the seemingly never-ending string of pranks he’d pulled over his thousand-year-plus existence—that made me think it was going to be anything but.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
A few hours later I jerked awake. It was dark now, and the delivery truck was droning along some winding stretch of blacktop framed by little hills and trees silhouetted against the starry night sky. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but with the cool wind blowing in my face and the way the truck rumbled and hopped and hummed underneath us, it was no surprise I had. Something had woken me, though—not quite a sound or a touch, but a feeling.… Something was up.
Blinking, I looked drowsily around and saw exactly what that something was: Saci. The guy might’ve been fast asleep, snoring up a storm, but he also happened to be clutching Queen Joanna’s crown tightly against his chest like it was his favorite nighttime snuggle toy. Which meant the sticky-fingered punk had been going through our stuff again!
“Can’t believe this…,” I grumbled, and reached over to snatch it away. But his fingers wouldn’t give it up; the dude had a killer grip—even in his sleep!
Scooting closer to him, I brought my legs around so I could plant my feet firmly on his shoulders and rip the crown out of his greedy little paws, but I accidentally kicked the pipe out of his mouth in the process. It clattered onto the truck bed, emitting a wisp of gray smoke.