Cece Rios and the Desert of Souls

by Kaela Rivera

  I scanned Mamá’s expression. She always looked like this when we spoke of Tía Catrina—her eyes granite, her hands balled into fists and ready to face a criatura even now. Only this criatura lived in her memory, and I wasn’t sure she’d ever defeated it.

  I bowed my head. “And once she became a bruja and left for Devil’s Alley . . . criaturas seeking revenge came back to our home and killed Abuela.”

  Her eyes filled with burning, glistening tears. Mine filled with tears to match the ones she didn’t let fall, because the air filled with her memories, and I wished I had gotten to meet Abuela before she passed away. Besides Dominga del Sol, almost no one spoke of her. But my heart always reached for her when they did.

  “And you remember who defended our familia when the criaturas came?” Mamá asked.

  “You,” I said, voice even smaller. Abuelo used to talk about it all the time before he died. Every year on Noche de Muerte, he’d recount the way she’d stood by him to defend their home.

  “I have fought against criaturas since I was your age,” she said. “They took my sister thirteen years ago, they took my mamá soon after, and now they have taken my daughter. I will not let this go on. Someone has to stand up to these monsters called brujas and show them that the Sun god did not make us to be even worse than criaturas.”

  She slammed the door behind her before I could get out another word.

  I stood alone, facing the front door, feeling lost and small and queasy. Mamá hated Tía Catrina. How would she feel if she knew I was following so closely in her footsteps?

  A groan came from upstairs. “Cece, you’re making me sick.”

  Coyote! I snatched my dinner from the table and scampered up the ladder to my loft.

  Little Lion sat cross-legged on the floor, glaring as I closed the loft hatch behind me.

  “Try to hold back your manipulative little emotions, bruja,” he said.

  I frowned. “Sorry.”

  Little Lion pushed off the ground and strutted over to Coyote’s curled up body. He kicked his foot. “Hey. Wake up.”

  Coyote jerked his head up. He must have been only half awake when he complained through the floorboards, because he still looked a bit dazed. Once he spotted Little Lion, though, his face transformed almost instantly from sleepy pup to carnivorous animal.

  “Little Lion,” he said. “You’re younger than when I last saw you.”

  A crease formed between Little Lion’s eyebrows, and for a moment, a flash of something less steaming moved through his stone. But before I could figure out what it was, the quartz heated back up, and he looked as perturbed as usual.

  Little Lion frowned. “So are you.” His mouth flattened. “After this favor, we’re even. You got that, Legend Brother?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Little Lion stalked to the end of my bed, kicking aside worn clothes and sending spare books spiraling, and plopped down, expression dry.

  I scowled. “Can you try not to ruin my stuff?”

  His red eyes leveled on me. Then, he kicked my nearest notebook and sent it flying onto Juana’s bed. It slipped off quickly but dragged the quilt down with it.

  I turned on him. “Were you Named a jerk, or do you just enjoy being one as a special pastime?”

  Little Lion glared. “Funny hearing that from a bruja.”

  “The name is Cece.” I rushed forward, fists clenched. “And please, keep it down. You have no idea what trouble we’ll be in if my papá comes home and finds you here.”

  Little Lion threw a hand in the air. “What? You don’t want me to kill anyone who gets in your way?”

  “No, I do not want you to kill my familia.” I threw my hands up in the air. “Or anyone, for that matter!”

  Little Lion just smirked. “Oh yeah, because as a bruja, you’re known for your selfless love for all living things.” He batted his eyelashes to emphasize the sarcasm.

  My cheeks flushed. “I—I’m not—”

  “Not what? A stammering idiota?”

  Coyote kicked Little Lion’s foot. “Hey! Don’t tease her, burro.”

  Little Lion scowled at him. “You’ve always been too soft on humans. When are you going to learn they’re not worth your time?” He glared at me. Coyote stiffened. “This one isn’t any different. She’s just overly sensitive about her familia.”

  I was tempted, for a hot, blistering second, to grab his soul and send waves of anger and sadness through him, but I fought back the urge. I had to pretend to be a bruja, but I didn’t want to act like one.

  “Yes,” I settled on saying. “I am sensitive about my familia.” I put my hands on my hips. “Familia is life. Without it, there is nothing, and I am nothing. Which is why you’re both here. Now scoot over, I’m sitting there.”

  Little Lion didn’t move. I huffed and took the only spot left, perched precariously on the corner of my bed, and offered my dinner to Coyote. He lifted his mismatched eyebrows.

  “You haven’t eaten anything but jerky all day,” I said. “Here. And you can have some too, Little Lion.”

  Little Lion folded his arms, like he was too good for rice and beans. Coyote took the plate from me cautiously. A bit at a time, he scooped the dinner up in pieces of tortilla until at least a quarter of the plate was gone.

  “Better?” I asked.

  He nodded. I started to pull the plate back, but he grabbed my hand. I froze.

  “Thank you,” he said, with a tone of surprise, like he hadn’t known he was going to speak.

  Warmth filled my chest, either from his own soul or mine, I wasn’t sure. But I smiled. I straightened up and started stuffing my face full of the rest of my meal. “Now Little Lion, it’s time to get ready,” I said between mouthfuls. “The sun sets in thirty minutes.”

  He hunched forward. “Okay, bruja.” he said. “Let’s see if you have what it takes to force me to do battle.”

  “My name is Cece,” I said. “And that’s not the way I do things. Let’s talk tactics.”

  15

  The Lion Tamer

  When we reached the abandoned factory, it was noisier than ever.

  Even though the four-body elimination round should have eliminated three-quarters of the brujas and brujos in the tournament, there were somehow even more people in the crowd bouncing and hollering, roaring and dancing in the dust. Some of them looked like participants-turned-spectators who’d probably lost the first round but wanted to see who won tonight. Others were thrill seekers from Tierra del Sol and nearby haciendas.

  Little Lion and I stood near the ring, waiting for our turn to be called, as the first round waged on. I tried not to look at the fight. Little Lion just glared into the crowd, arms folded. I nearly sighed. I wished Coyote were here, but he still needed rest.

  “Their fight’s almost over.” Little Lion glanced sideways at me. “Remember, just give me your rage, bruja.”

  I pursed my lips. Why did all criaturas run on anger? Coyote needed my fury, and now Little Lion wanted my rage. He’d told me to keep all other emotion out of it. Just the blind, burning fire of anger.

  Everyone wanted fire from me, but my soul was cursed with water. I tried not to worry about what that meant.

  El Silbón crowed the winner’s name as the losing criatura was swallowed into the crumbling floor. I cringed at the sight. Little Lion put a hand to my back and shoved me forward. I stumbled to a stop at the edge of the chalk circle.

  “And our second fight begins with two more hopefuls, Bruja Alejan with her dark criatura, La Llorona, and Bruja Cece with”—El Silbón’s lips twisted in a wry smile—“surprise, surprise, a new criatura, Criatura of the Black Lion.”

  The crowd rustled a little as Little Lion stopped beside me, all eyes turning to him. Most seemed surprised, a few glared with suspicion. I glanced around, wondering what everyone knew about my criatura that I didn’t.

  “They’re not looking at me,” Little Lion muttered, like he knew what I was thinking. “They’re wondering how you can ca
rry two criatura souls at once.”

  I straightened up. He’d mentioned that earlier too. Was that unusual?

  Little Lion elbowed me. “Just focus and do your job, bruja.”

  I frowned a little. He stepped across the chalk and into the fighting ring. Everyone quieted for just a moment. Then my opponent’s criatura stepped forward, and my stomach dropped.

  Her skin was pale white, her lips red, her hands curled around her long nails. I swallowed hard and had to lock my knees so I wouldn’t retreat. “Be careful of La Llorona,” Papá used to say. “Stay in your bed at night or La Llorona will crawl out of the town well to drown you, just as she drowned her own children.”

  Papá had been adamant about keeping me away from water as I grew up. When rare rainstorms came in the summer, he’d usher me inside. When I volunteered to go draw well water (before we got a spigot of our own), he’d refuse and send Juana. Probably because he thought it would worsen Tzitzimitl’s curse. And to make sure I’d listen to his warnings, he told me stories about La Llorona, who haunted bodies of water at night. Because of that, she’d been the dark criatura I’d feared most growing up.

  And tonight, I had to defeat her.

  “Little Lion, what a pity to see you stuck in another bruja’s web.” La Llorona’s black hair stuck to her face as she circled Little Lion, her white, spindly hands twitching back and forth like a dying spider’s legs.

  The sight nearly made me sick. Even so, I couldn’t help but notice she’d mentioned “another” bruja. So Little Lion had been in the Bruja Fights before.

  Little Lion’s emotional feedback spiraled into me. His pebble grew boiling hot. I snatched his necklace out of my sweater, holding it out by the leather strap, before the quartz could burn my skin. I was supposed to push rage into him, but his soul was burning. I didn’t even want to get near it.

  “Bruja!” Lion threw his head back and roared.

  I jumped, struggling to summon anger into my body. El Sombrerón’s face nearly did the trick, but just as the feeling rose—

  “Calling for a bruja to save you again?” La Llorona laughed. “You must like servitude. You little pet.”

  Little Lion prowled around La Llorona, but he didn’t attack, his muscles trembling with uncontrolled anger. His feelings, filled with shades of red and painful orange, exploded back into me.

  I pulled back from them and gasped. No way. His soul was a raw, aching place, and the fire, the anger, was so strong I could barely think when I’d touched it. How could he want my rage when he already had so much of his own?

  Then I realized—that’s why he wasn’t attacking. La Llorona was taunting him on purpose, keeping him so wildly angry that he couldn’t think enough to make a move. And it was working. Because when Little Lion stopped to glare at me for not doing what he said, La Llorona took the opportunity to pounce.

  She landed on him with her claw-like nails. I winced as she got one, two, three swipes in. She pinned him on the floor, her nails at his neck. He snapped his jaws but couldn’t get a bite in to defend himself.

  “Little Lion!” I ran forward but stopped myself at the chalk circle.

  Little Lion’s soul raged with heat. Laughter filled the horde, voices taunting me and him. They’d cheered for me last night, but I guess all they wanted was a good fight. They didn’t care who the winner was.

  I set my face into its hardest, chilliest lines. Here, there were no second chances. Here, I couldn’t be scared.

  Here, I had to be a bruja.

  I lifted Little Lion’s soul—safe in my closed hand—to my lips. On the floor, Lion kicked and thrashed, but La Llorona’s hand was stealing his air. I’d expect nothing less from the criatura who drowned children.

  I closed my eyes and let all the terror flood out of me with an exhale. Little Lion didn’t need my fear. And he didn’t need my rage, either. Gathering everything I had, I pushed cool waves of calm into him.

  It was a struggle. Like Coyote had said, working with Little Lion wasn’t easy. It was like wrestling a goat into its pen, only if you were on fire, and the goat was on fire, and actually everything was on fire.

  But I reached into Little Lion’s soul and parted the flames. In the small space left behind, I forced in every memory of cold I could think of: the desert at night, a hailstorm, the shiver of cold water down my throat—and on top of that, I sent him the cold of loneliness, the cold of calmness, and the cold of perfect, isolated, internal peace.

  His soul stopped burning.

  When I opened my eyes, Little Lion looked back at me from beneath La Llorona’s straggly black hair. His red gaze was, for once, not aflame. Just clear and sharp.

  He gave me a subtle nod. I took his soul in both my hands and let more memories of cold flow into him.

  The rage in his soul vanished completely. And with it, Little Lion fell limp in the dust. La Llorona grinned. Her bruja screamed for her to finish him. But I could see he had a plan now that he could think clearly.

  “Now,” I whispered.

  He thrust his knee into her ribs.

  La Llorona choked on the surprise attack and lost her grip. While she winced in pain, Little Lion wrenched up both hands, grabbed her by the shoulders, and threw her off him.

  She landed on her back and I heard a loud snap. Little Lion leaped on her without hesitation, his teeth flashing. I let go of his soul stone and covered my eyes.

  The mob chanted my name, almost drowning out the sound of the floor giving way to swallow up La Llorona’s body. By the time I lowered my hands, she was gone.

  I expected Little Lion’s quartz to heat again with victory as he stood alone in the ring.

  It didn’t.

  “In another shocking upset, the winner is Bruja Cece and her second criatura, Little Lion!” El Silbón roared. “Keep an eye on this one, comadres and compadres. If the fact that she can carry two criaturas wasn’t enough to make her a contender, her battle moves sure are.”

  Little Lion started making his way back toward me. I looked away and tried not to think about how he must have taken out La Llorona.

  The cheers shifted around me, and suddenly, I realized someone was standing in front of me. I straightened up when I recognized him. It was the brujo with the satin smile I’d bumped into yesterday. He grinned widely at me, as he had before. The ache in my heart started to ease away.

  But there was something different in his eyes today. For a second, I thought something was moving inside his irises. Something dark and almost—purple.

  “Well done,” he said.

  I smiled back hesitantly. “Thank you.”

  “You’re getting better with every match, Cece. And now you can even carry two souls.”

  Everyone was bringing that up. “Practice makes perfect, I guess?”

  “Perfection.” He glanced over my shoulder, toward the ring. “Not everyone is capable of that. But I have high hopes you will be.”

  This was starting to make me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  His gaze lingered on me. The purple-something seemed to sharpen. He reached out and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  “Cece.” His warm expression disappeared. I froze in his grip. “What are you sure of?” His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure that you want to be here? That you want to be a bruja?”

  My heart rate picked up. I looked into his face as the purple in his irises grew brighter. I hadn’t done anything suspicious, so why was he asking me this?

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, it’s exactly what I want.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  I stared at him, not sure what to say.

  His hold tightened and stung. “Why do you want to be a bruja, Cecelia Rios?”

  How did he know my full name?

  The scratch of footsteps stopped just behind me. I tugged out of the brujo’s hold and whirled around, my knees shaking, to face Little Lion.

  He was covered in d
irt and scrapes, but that wasn’t what I noticed first. I was shocked because, for a moment, his soul was just warm. So warm it nearly washed away the fear that had curled tightly in my chest. And the look in his red gaze was almost—though I hadn’t thought he was capable of it—soft.

  Then he sneered, and the feeling vanished. “What’s with that scaredy-cat look?” He bumped my shoulder with his own. “Follow me.”

  Little Lion pushed out a path for me through the crowd. I scanned the entire room, but the brujo had disappeared. I rubbed my shoulder; it was sore where he’d touched me.

  I shivered. I really hoped I didn’t have to run into him again.

  I followed Little Lion out of the factory, my stomach still in knots, and stumbled into the open desert air. I breathed it in and hugged myself for comfort.

  “By the way, Lion, I’m sorry,” I said.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “For what?”

  I smiled awkwardly. Most of my smiles were awkward, but this one felt worse than usual. Probably because I was still trying to get the brujo’s question out of my head. “About, uh, not listening to you. It just seemed like you needed . . . less rage?”

  He wiped sweat out of his eyelashes. “Well, it worked, I guess. So we’ll stick to that from now on.” He pointed at me. “But don’t get used to ignoring me, got it?”

  I nodded. Screams and roars from the next match filtered out the door, and I hunched over. I’d never get used to those sounds. I didn’t want to.

  Little Lion noticed my discomfort. “You don’t like the Bruja Fights.”

  There was very little question in it, but he looked like he expected an answer. I shook my head against the urge. No one here could know the person I was inside. “What I want is to get into Devil’s Alley.” I shot him a look. His cold expression didn’t change, so I assumed he got the message not to press further. “How long do you think until our next match?”

  He turned his head to listen for something. “Fifteen minutes,” he said. A gurgling cry rang out. “Ten, if they all end that fast.” He scowled at the doorway.

  “Oh.” I tried not to look queasy. “So, uh, I was wondering—what do you owe Coyote?” I asked.