“You would like to try it,” she says in English, and I don’t know if she’s asking me or telling me.
I look around the kitchen, at the white countertops and the gleaming white fridge. There’s a way-outdated calendar on the wall, from the year Roo was born, with a picture of a lady saint in a purple robe. I mean, it really does feel pretty good and safe and clean and nonpoisonous in here. Plus, haven’t I been eating every meal in the Selva Café anyway? Besides, whatever’s in that red liquid can’t be worse than grasshoppers. I’m about to say, “Okay, sure, papaya and hibiscus, whatever,” when I notice the bowl of fruit on the counter. Flies laze through the air above it, bouncing around among papayas and mangoes.
“I’m not … hungry,” I whisper, staring at the flies.
“It’s a drink!” Roo insists. “You don’t have to be hungry.”
“I’m not thirsty either.”
The witch goes over to the bowl of fruit and flicks at the flies.
“If you are not thirsty, querida, then it must be story time,” the witch says, pointing at one of the red plastic chairs.
Story time? I have no idea what she means by that. But I cross my arms and plunk down into the chair, because I bet she’s going to keep staring at me from behind that veil until I do as she wishes. Slowly, she lowers herself into the seat across from me.
“Once upon a time,” she begins, and even with just those four words my mind starts to calm down and listen, “a brave young man from the village had a habit of walking up the volcano where nobody else went. He always wore a cloak as blue as dusk, and everyone in the village was scared of him. One day he walked all the way to the rim of the volcano, and there he saw a young woman. She lived inside the volcano. She was a goddess. Of course they fell in love, because they were both so strong and so brave. He wished to marry her, and she wished to marry him too, but she pretended she did not. He got very sad. For months he asked her why she would not marry him. Finally he forced it out of her: If he wanted to be her husband, he would have to jump into the volcano. That was the only way she could be married. She came up to the surface for just a couple of hours a day, the hours she spent with—”
“Oh man, Señora V, you speak such perfect English!” Roo butts in. “I want to speak Spanish the way you speak English!”
I shoot Roo a shush! look, because I hate it when a good story gets interrupted, and she shushes. And then I wonder what’s up with Roo calling Señora Villalobos “Señora V.” I guess that’s just Roo doing her thing, giving nicknames to anyone she likes.
But Señora V doesn’t seem to mind either the interruption or the name. “I have to be able to speak English to the mother of my grandson,” she explains. “And you will speak perfect Spanish someday, querida.”
“Keep going, please!” I say. Hello, you can’t just stop at the climax of a story.
Señora V looks over at me—I’m surprised to see the pleased grin on her veiled lips—before continuing: “The young man said that was fine. He would jump into the volcano. She explained that he would die, that their marriage would be that of a ghost and a goddess. Again, he said he did not mind. That is how much he loved her. He was so strong, so young and full of life, that it made the volcano goddess very sad to think of him dying. But he was determined. He stood on the rim of the volcano and jumped. At the last second, though, she could not stand to see him drown in lava. She raised her finger and gave him wings. He pulled up away from the lava just in time. Before he flew away from the mouth of the volcano, a single drop splashed on his throat and left a fiery streak. He had been transformed into a bird with feathers as blue as dusk and, on the throat, as golden as lava. But the magic of the volcano goddess was very powerful and could not be undone, even by her. She could not transform him from a bird back into a man. For the rest of time, the volcano bird would dwell in the jungle near the top of the volcano, soaring over the pool of lava, forever seeking union with the volcano goddess.”
Roo gasps: “The Lava-Throated Volcano tr—”
“Sssss,” Señora V hisses at Roo, turning very witchlike again. “You know you must not say that name here! Remember what happened last time?”
Last time? Huh?
“The electricity cannot go out now,” the witch growls. “I have flan in the oven.”
“Oh,” Roo says, blushing.
“Supposedly it upsets the volcano goddess to hear her beloved’s name spoken by a child,” Kyle explains. “Reminds her of the children they can’t have.”
Oh yeah. Kyle. I’d gotten so caught up in the story that I’d forgotten about him being right there next to me. Wow. It gives my heart a little jump start, the way he says beloved. What boys I know would ever use the word beloved? And then I feel my cheeks getting all flushed, because into my head pops this image of Kyle marching up the volcano in a blue cloak, his face serious and solemn and full of love.
“Muy poderoso,” comes a voice from the doorway, and we all turn.
“Señor V!” Roo exclaims, her nickname for Señora Villalobos extending to the old man as well.
And there he is, in his bright white linen suit with its bright orange handkerchief. I can’t believe I didn’t realize he was Kyle’s grandfather—how could I not have noticed that he has the exact same thoughtful look in his bright brown eyes?
“Muy peligroso,” he says.
“Okay, okay,” Roo says, rolling her eyes, “I’m sorry, I get it, I know, I know, it’s dangerous to say the bird’s name, it’s powerful, got it!”
“This is not a joke,” the witch says severely.
Señor V steps across the room and murmurs something into the witch’s ear. She sighs, and gazes at me and Roo through black lace.
“There are four truths about the volcano,” she finally says. “I learned them when I was a girl, and my husband learned them when he was a boy.”
Beside me, Kyle clears his throat and stares angrily at his grandmother.
“The time has come to tell them,” the witch informs him.
“They’re just kids,” Kyle says.
Just kids? Ouch. Ouch to the max. Why does Kyle have to group me with Roo, as though I’m not closer to his age than to hers? Do I really just seem like a kid to him?
“They are his daughters,” the witch replies.
“I’m not sure it’ll even help,” Kyle mutters.
Help what? I want to ask. But that’s probably the kind of thing a kid would say.
“Time is running out,” she says. “And if we do not tell them, they may stumble upon it in a most dangerous fashion. They already almost did. You know how this one is.” She points at Roo. Then she turns back to face us. “You already know the first truth of the volcano: Children must not utter the name of the volcano bird aloud.”
“Got it,” Roo says. I’m glad she doesn’t roll her eyes. I’m starting to feel very nervous. I’m not superstitious, because Dad has zero patience for that, and I don’t think words can be magic spells, and I know it’s just a coincidence that the electricity happened to go out when Roo said you-know-what. But I am scared of the witch. And she doesn’t want us to say Lava-Throated Volcano trogon. So I sure as heck won’t.
And you know what else? I don’t really want to know the three other truths. I think I’d rather just go and take a nap, or a shower. I don’t like sitting here wondering, What difference does it make that we’re Dad’s daughters? What is time running out for?
“The second truth,” the witch announces. “Anyone who tries to capture the volcano bird will be driven insane.”
“Well, considering the bird is extinct, I guess we don’t have to worry about that one,” I say brightly.
“Because the volcano goddess still wants to protect her bird, right?” Roo says, gazing at the witch.
The witch ignores me and smiles at Roo. To counterbalance the witch, I frown at Roo. The thrilled, fascinated expression on my little sister’s face is only adding to the melodrama. I can tell she’s hanging on the witch’s every word
when she should be taking all this with a grain of salt. Dad always taught us to take everything with a grain of salt.
“Third,” the witch continues, her face reflecting Roo’s glow, “the volcano can restore lost youth.”
“So he’ll always be as young as he was when she fell in love with him!” Roo says. Jeez, I wish she weren’t quite so into this. I wish she weren’t so full of belief about an old myth—a cool old myth, sure, but a myth. A made-up story.
“And fourth: Once the last bird dies, the volcano will blow.”
“Because they’ll finally be reunited!” Roo exclaims. Then she adds doubtfully, “Or because she’ll be so angry that the bird is dead?”
“Well, who knows!” I say, my voice high and peppy to cover the unpleasant feeling in my stomach. “Too bad the volcano didn’t blow when the species went extinct. Then we’d know myths are true. That would be pretty cool.”
Kyle is staring at me. The witch is staring at me. Señor V is staring at me.
“You’re right,” Kyle says slowly. “The volcano hasn’t blown yet.”
They’re all still staring at me, and Roo is smiling like she knows a secret.
“Well,” Roo says after a moment, “maybe it hasn’t blown yet because the last bird isn’t dead yet.”
Dad told us all about Lazarus species. Lazarus species are probably his Number One Favorite Thing in the World. That’s when a species believed to be extinct turns out not to be extinct (which is why it’s named after Lazarus, the guy who Jesus supposedly raised from the dead). Dad said the idea that an extinct bird might not be extinct helps him get out of bed in the morning.
So, here we are, in the kitchen of the Selva Café, sitting in the silence following Roo’s suggestion, and Roo is squirming in her chair and bobbing her head and holding her breath, and then she releases her breath and reaches deep into the pocket of her shorts and digs something out and puts it on the table.
A golden feather.
A small, delicate, blindingly golden feather.
“Where the hel—heck did you get that?” For the first time ever, Kyle sounds surprised.
“Up there,” Roo says with a shrug. “It was just on the ground.”
How did she sneak that into her pocket without me noticing?
“I’ve never found one of these,” Kyle murmurs, “not that I haven’t tried.” There’s a strange radiance in his eyes as he reaches for the feather and places it in his palm.
We all stare at it. It glimmers softly under the fluorescent lights, looking more precious than actual gold. Lying there in his hand, the feather almost seems to whisper, Life, life, life!
The witch and the old man glance at each other. And I hear Taller’s voice echoing through my head: Think that was one of ’em, Dr. Wade?
Then it hits me in the stomach, and in the heart.
“The bird,” I whisper, shocked. “It’s not extinct?”
“It is virtually impossible to find the male bird,” the witch says. “And it is impossible to find the female bird, much less her eggs. That is why everyone—most everyone—believes the species is extinct.”
“This is why Dad was so happy when he first came down here!” Roo explodes. “The Really Good News. The Big Secret. It’s that Dad saw a Lazarus species!”
Okay, fine, maybe. But Roo is forgetting something huge—The Weirdness. If Dad had succeeded in tracking a Lazarus species, why The Weirdness?
And then it dawns on me in a dark and horrible way: ANYONE WHO TRIES TO CAPTURE THE VOLCANO BIRD WILL BE DRIVEN INSANE.
I look over at Roo and watch her grin droop into a frown as she realizes it too.
“Madeline,” the witch says. “Ruby. Your father has been—”
“We know,” I say, pretending I’m not close to crying. “He tried to capture the bird. Probably so he could gather information about it. And now, if your volcano truths are true, he must be crazy. And he has been acting crazy. Okay, great, what next.”
“That is not all.” The witch’s voice couldn’t sound sadder. “He has not only been trying to capture the bird. He has been trying to kill it.”
I laugh when she says that. A short, miserable laugh, but a laugh. How to explain this to a witch: Dad would never, ever, ever, ever, ever try to kill a bird, much less a member of a Lazarus species.
“You’re wrong,” Roo informs the witch.
“We have observed your father in the jungle on the volcano,” the witch murmurs. “Tracking the last of them. He has been successful at least twice. In January, and again in May. We saw him capture the birds.”
“He did not kill any birds!” Roo insists. “He may have captured them, but he did not kill them. Believe me.”
I’m grateful that Roo is saying all the exact right things, because I’m having trouble finding my voice right now.
“The flesh was found,” the witch says very softly. “All the bones removed. Rotting up there deep in the heart of the jungle.”
And I get this image in my head of a pile of bloody flesh and twisted tendons. A dark feeling moves down my spine, and suddenly my fingers get shaky.
“Up there in that grove,” Kyle adds, “where you were this afternoon. Where you saw your father. The place I told you not to go. Because bad things happen there.”
“Dad would never kill a bird! And he would never, ever kill that bird!” Roo’s voice is rising by the second.
“You do not know him anymore,” the witch says. “He has changed. He is not a bad man, but he is not himself right now.”
And the truth is there’s not much we can say to that.
Roo turns to look at me. “But why,” she says softly, asking just me, “why would Dad kill a Lazarus bird?”
I don’t even have it in me to shrug. And no one else replies either.
“It’s La Lava!” Roo exclaims. “La Lava is making him do it! We saw him with this scientist guy who—”
“Dad wouldn’t kill a bird just because some people were telling him to,” I scold Roo. How can she have so little faith in Dad? She knows better than anyone else how brave he is. He’d stand up to anyone who wanted him to do something idiotic like that!
“Who knows why they want the volcano birds dead,” Kyle says, ignoring me, “but they do. We can’t waste time wondering about their reasons.”
Señor V says something to Kyle and the witch in Spanish, and I guess Roo understands too, because she says, “We have to stop him?”
“He will listen to his daughters,” the witch hisses.
“You think he’ll listen to us?” I say, remembering the way he was when we visited him in the white marble room. Acting like we were the last people on the planet he wanted to see.
“You and only you can stop him before he kills the last of the volcano birds,” the witch chants at me and Roo, almost as though she’s saying a spell. “You and only you can stop him before the volcano blows.”
The golden feather seems to glow with its own light, there in Kyle’s palm.
“Will you do it? Will you do it? Will you do it?” the witch whispers from behind black lace. The rhythm of her questions starts to match the rhythm of my heart. “Will you stop him?”
CHAPTER 10
In the morning, I wake up to the sound of Roo squealing. A soft, amazed squeal. I lean over the side of the bunk and look down. Roo is sitting on the edge of her bed, legs extended, staring at her toes.
Sprouting from each of her toes: miniature yellow flowers.
No kidding.
I lean even farther to get a better look, almost tumbling out of bed. Then I scramble down the ladder and grab Roo’s heels and stare at the flowers. They’re simple flowers, three petals each, and smaller than Roo’s pinky fingernail.
“Pret-ty,” Roo breathes, the first word of the day.
“CREEPY!” I say. “You. Have. Flowers. Growing. From. Your. Toes!” I shake her heels with each word. One of the flowers falls off.
“He-ey,” Roo moans, and slaps my face.
&nbs
p; “Ow!” I shriek.
“You made my flower fall!”
“Jeez, sorry, jeez.” I press my hand against my cheek, hot from the slap.
Roo steps out of bed, walks carefully across the room on her heels, and opens the door.
“Hey, where are you going?” I say. “You’re still wearing your pj’s.”
“Kyle will know why I have flowers on my toes,” she says prissily, and I just roll my eyes. Since when is Kyle God?
But underneath the eye-rolling I’m going, Hey, why don’t I get to have flowers growing on my toes?
I follow Roo as she toddles across the concrete courtyard to the Selva Shop. Even though she moves as gently as possible, still she leaves a little trail of fallen flowers that I have to step around.
“Darn!” she yelps as each flower falls.
By the time we reach the Selva Shop, there’s only one flower left.
Inside, Kyle is arranging bottles of sunblock. Roo marches up to him, or marches as much as someone trying to make sure a delicate flower doesn’t fall off her right big toe can, and lifts her leg to show him her foot. I stay in the doorway, watching, grateful that my pj’s don’t look too much like pj’s.
“Huh,” he says, looking at it for a millisecond before continuing to stock the shelves.
“Hel-loo?” Roo insists.
“Hello,” Kyle replies, as though he doesn’t hear her tone.
“I have a flower growing out of my toe,” Roo says.
“I see that,” Kyle says.
“Well, isn’t that kind of weird?” she demands.
“Not really.”
“Not really?”
“It happens sometimes. Here in the jungle near the volcano. It’s a kind of fungus.”
“A kind of fungus?” Roo echoes.
I can’t help but laugh—Little Miss Special I-Have-Flowers-on-My-Toes Roo shoots me a mean look.
“Yeah. It only happens to little kids. Before they get, you know, older.” Kyle gestures toward the doorway where I stand. My belly does a little flip. Kyle, pointing at me. Kyle, referring to me as older. “I got it when I was younger too. Abuela says it’s either a sign of being close to the goddess of the volcano or a sign of having dirty feet. Probably the latter, in your case.”
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