by Kaela Rivera
Coyote gave a single, quiet hum of laughter. “When you first said stuff like that, I didn’t think I could believe you. But you’re not pretending. You really mean it.”
I grabbed a pillow and squeezed it against my chest. “Well, I want to hurt El Sombrerón. I’m going to destroy him. Probably.” I squeezed the edges of my pillow.
Something shifted at my feet. I craned my neck to glance down at Coyote. His profile was set toward the window, candlelight flickering across the bridge of his nose. For a while, he just stared off.
“In his last life, Little Lion was in love with his bruja,” Coyote suddenly whispered.
The moment he said it, a gray twang moved through his soul. It reverberated from the stone and reflected in my chest. I nearly winced. But not in pain, exactly. More like—guilt.
“I didn’t know it was possible for a bruja and a criatura to fall in love,” I said. But then again, there was something in the way that Tía Catrina wrote about her good, loyal criatura that made me think she’d had feelings for hers.
Coyote laughed quietly. “That’s the worst part. She acted like she was in love with him, but in the end, she betrayed his trust.” His voice caught on the last word.
Silence bloomed in the room. Coyote’s soul carried a growing gray coldness that fought with a layer of warmth. I’d felt that grayness from him before, but not with the same intensity as I did now. If only I knew what it meant.
“What happened?” I asked.
“They won the Bruja Fights,” he said. “She was one of the chosen five that El Cucuy welcomes into Devil’s Alley each year. She was apparently excited to climb the ranks in El Cucuy’s royal court, but Little Lion didn’t want to go back there.”
Something dark entered his tone, the kind of darkness I’d seen only when he’d fought Scorpion.
I sat up, holding my pillow. “Little Lion mentioned that the criaturas who enter our world are trying to get away from El Cucuy and Devil’s Alley.”
Coyote’s gaze strayed away from me. “You can’t blame them for not wanting to go back there. It’s an awful place. No criatura . . . should have to live there.” He shook his head. “You have to understand that Little Lion had originally agreed to be her criatura because she promised to set him free after they won the Bruja Fights. He believed she cared about him. He thought she’d keep her word.” He smirked humorlessly, shaking his head. “Safe to say, he was wrong.”
I scooted a little closer. “How do you know all this?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “It was thirteen years ago. Little Lion was about seventeen in that lifetime, his bruja just a bit younger. They were fighting in the desert, on the way to meet the other four bruja winners and enter Devil’s Alley. They passed the cave where I was staying at the time.” He glanced back at me.
“He said that he’d miss her, but he couldn’t face Devil’s Alley again.” His face hardened. “Most criaturas haven’t been as lucky as me. I was created before the world became itself, so I’ve never had to endure Devil’s Alley the way Little Lion has.” He sighed. “When I saw him arguing with her, I was already thousands of years old, but it was the first time I’d seen a criatura talk back to his bruja.” He scratched at the edge of his mouth. “I knew what was coming. But I couldn’t stand it all the same.”
I held my breath.
“She tried to kill him.” Coyote dropped his hand. “I’d seen it happen to disobedient criaturas before. It was just so much worse, somehow, to see it happen to a criatura who didn’t expect it.” His throat jogged. “I couldn’t help it. I dove on her and wrestled his soul away.”
I pushed off the bed and sat down beside him. “You can do that?”
“It’s not easy, Cece. It’s probably the hardest thing for a criatura to do—to wrestle a soul away from a bruja. Because the moment you’re close enough,” he mimicked the grabbing motion I’d used to snatch Little Lion’s soul, “they’ve got you. I managed to snap Little Lion’s soul off and throw it to him, but she’d grabbed mine by then. I told him to run, and then she killed me.”
A chill ran down my spine. I rubbed my arms. “She did?”
“My first time dying.” Coyote smiled, like it was somehow funny. “Thousands of years of life, and I knew I’d be starting all over again. Just before everything faded, she held my soul up in front of me and promised to bury me in a well.”
My chest squeezed. Criatura’s Well. The one boarded up on the other side of town—the screaming criatura had been Coyote all along?
“She didn’t,” I whispered.
My town hated criaturas, of course, but we knew better than to stop one’s soul from returning to Devil’s Alley. Even when the town executed a criatura, there was a solemn ceremony where the head of police took its soul out of town and left it in the cerros. Almost instantly, the ground would separate around the stone and swallow it whole—returning it to Devil’s Alley, where the criatura would eventually regrow. A lot like how the bodies of the losers had been reclaimed in the Bruja Fights.
Criaturas could be terrifying, but they still belonged to Mother Desert, not to us.
Coyote stared at the ground between his feet. “By throwing me in a well, she denied my soul its return to Devil’s Alley.” His lips twitched. “I don’t think she recognized me, or she would have probably kept my soul. She was blinded by anger, and to her, regrowing in Devil’s Alley must’ve seemed like too lenient a punishment for someone who’d stolen her criatura. In reality, she spared me from ever having to live there.”
Something twisted in my chest, and I wasn’t sure if it was Coyote’s emotion or mine. He really sounded like he hated Devil’s Alley. So—why had he made it, then?
“Did it hurt?” I asked. “The well?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, but his smile faded slightly. “Drowning doesn’t kill a criatura, but it’s not fun.” He sighed. “It took about six months before I had grown enough to escape.” At my horrified expression, he explained. “When criaturas are reborn, they’re in their animal form. And we age quickly until we take human form.” He stretched his arms. “I’m the equivalent of a thirteen-year-old human this lifetime. And I’ll age like a regular human from now on.”
I caught myself clutching his soul and forced my hands to drop into my lap.
“What I’m trying to say,” Coyote said, rousing himself, “is that Little Lion has trust issues that have carried over from his last lifetime. He’s mean because your kindness reminds him of his last bruja, and he’s waiting for you to turn on him too.”
I bowed my head. “I wouldn’t do that to him.”
“Even if it meant you couldn’t save your sister?”
His eyes narrowed, flecks of gold haunting my room.
Slowly, I shook my head. “If he refused to go to Devil’s Alley, I wouldn’t make him.” I placed my hand over the second pebble around my neck. Little Lion’s soul. “I’d go save my sister by myself.”
“You could die by yourself—no, you would die by yourself in Devil’s Alley.” Coyote sat up straighter, like he was afraid I was about to go off on my own right now.
I plucked the hem of my jacket. “You’re probably right. But I still couldn’t force him.”
He watched me with the eyes of someone who’d spent six months drowning in a well.
“Would you force me to go?” he asked.
“No,” I said, before I’d even thought about it. “I’d never do that to you, Coyote.”
He’d helped me so much. And yes, I had to help Juana, no matter what, but I wouldn’t make anyone else die for her. That was my job.
Coyote’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re crying.”
I blinked and blushed when I realized he was right. The room dissolved in color.
“I just really miss her.” I tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. “And it’s my fault that she’s trapped in a place that even criaturas want to escape from.” My throat felt like a wrung-out dishcloth. I coughed.
Warmth presse
d against my side. I wiped my tears away and glanced up, just slightly. Coyote’s left arm wrapped around my shoulder. He didn’t look at me, but he held me. He was warm—almost as warm as his soul felt against my skin.
“I would never force you to go to Devil’s Alley,” I said. “But I really, really hope you’ll come anyway. Because I could use the Great Namer on my side. And so could my sister.”
Even though I had his soul, it wasn’t right not to give him a choice in the matter. It was an unfair thing to ask of him, but it was the most I could offer.
He gave a short, hard laugh. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”
I hunched over. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“No, idiota.” He pulled back and nudged my shoulder. “I mean, I can’t believe you’re actually giving me a choice.”
“I don’t want to be a real bruja,” was all I could say.
He sighed out his nose and faced the wall again. He still sat close enough for his side to warm mine. “You know, I agreed to this to pay you back. I’m choosing to help you save your sister.” His mouth curved upward. “So if you could dry those tears and let me do my job, I’d appreciate it.”
“Hey.” I wiped my eyes. “I thought I was the one giving the commands around here.” A hiccup caught in my laugh.
He chuckled and gave me a light push toward bed. “Get to sleep, Cece. We’ve got the semifinals tomorrow.”
“In a minute.” I shed my jacket and stumbled toward the loft hatch. “I’m just going to clean my cut first. But you go ahead and sleep—I’m glad you’re feeling better. I was worried about you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to pout. “Yeah. Thanks.” He lay down and curled up in the blanket. “Buenas noches, Cece.”
I smiled and descended the ladder to the sounds of Papá’s snoring. The house was calm and dark, with only the moonlight from the kitchen window to see by. I pumped the tap in the kitchen alcove, and went to test the temperature with my free hand.
The moment my hand touched the water, a strange blue light caught in the clear stream. I jerked my hand back. The light vanished.
I squinted at it. Was I seeing things? I stuck my head out the window. No, the moon was behind clouds now, so it wasn’t that. I turned back to the water faucet. Slowly, I reached for it again. The water spilled down my palm, racing down my arm—and the turquoise shimmer returned.
Where was that light coming from? I leaned in. It wasn’t strong, but a tingle resonated through my skin wherever the water touched. Kind of the way the limpia felt when Dominga del Sol poured the water and herbs over me.
Before I had time to discover more, the front door opened behind me.
I leaped back from the sink. Mamá stepped into the living room, tired, her head hanging low. I was still in my weird clothes and had an obviously bandaged arm. I glanced around. I’d left a crochet shawl on the table earlier. I dove for it and yanked it over my shirt. Fortunately, its strings just about covered all signs of my wound.
“Mamá,” I whispered.
She lifted her head and paused, like she was confused to see me up, or maybe she was blinded by the embarrassing red-and-gold pants peeking out from beneath the shawl. Either way, she smiled a little and came toward me.
She placed her hands on my cheeks, and the iron in her eyes began to melt. “Cece. Did you have another nightmare?”
Oh, right. My pretend nightmare from the other night. “Sí, Mamá,” I whispered.
Papá snored loudly behind us. Mamá’s mouth tensed up, and she glared back at the curtain hiding their shared bed. She lowered her eyebrows, still covered in smudged war paint.
“You’re wearing nocheztli?” I made myself ask, because I wasn’t supposed to have known about it.
She stroked my face. “To keep you and every other chiquita safe, sí, I am.” Her mouth puckered a little, and she pulled a hand back from my face, looking at her palm. It had come away with sweat and streaks of dust. “You’re dirty, mija.” Some of the hardness returned to her mouth. “What were you doing all night while I was away?”
I paused for a beat too long, and my heart sped up. Mamá’s eyes narrowed.
“Herding the goats,” I blurted, a little too loudly. Papá’s next snore was extra noisy, and we both winced. “Um, Dominga del Sol told me that Señora Gutierrez was having hip trouble and couldn’t take her goats out to graze, so I volunteered.”
I was getting pretty good at lying, but it felt worse and worse each time.
Mamá’s mouth tightened. “Mija, I told you to stay inside while I was gone.”
I hunched over. “I know, Mamá—”
“And is that where you were earlier today, then? Speaking with Dominga del Sol?”
Lying was still better than getting caught with criaturas, but only barely. “. . . Yes,” I whispered hesitantly.
She took a long, deep breath, like she was trying not to be as angry as she obviously was. I smiled, like that would help. The red streaks on her face shined like fire.
“No more leaving the house close to dusk,” Mamá said. “I don’t care what for, it’s not worth it. Do you understand?”
I dropped my smile and nodded, shoulders up by my ears.
Her hand slipped away. “Go to sleep, mija,” she said.
I nodded again and scrambled back up the ladder. When I closed the hatch behind me, Coyote was already asleep. I padded over, letting my racing heart slow, and collapsed into bed.
I hated disappointing Mamá. The way she looked at me downstairs, with anger and exhaustion battling in her face, made me want to bury myself away in the desert. But I knew it was infinitely better than how she’d look if she knew I was one of the brujas she may have fought just half an hour ago.
18
The Sun Sanctuary
Sunday morning, I woke up to Coyote’s insistent, low whisper: “Cece, wake up.”
I groaned and tried to snuggle deeper into my blankets. I was so sleepy. But a hand gripped my covers to stop me. “Cece, someone’s watching us.”
My eyes burst open. I found Coyote crouched on the left side of my bed, staring at my window. The sun was only just starting to rise, so the outside world was still mostly made of disguising grays.
“Who?” I whispered. I couldn’t imagine who would want to spy on me. I suddenly wished my parents were home, but I knew they’d probably left at least an hour ago. “I can’t see them.”
Coyote didn’t even blink. “It’s a criatura for sure.” He took a deep sniff through his nose. “Female, I think. Someone older, stronger.”
“Stronger than you or me?” Hopefully it was me.
“Both of us.” His voice went super quiet, and he signaled for me to stay still. I froze beneath my blanket, trying to keep my breathing shallow and silent. He crawled forward, toward the window, careful to keep his head low.
Coyote stopped halfway between the wall and my bed. Slowly, he lifted a finger and pointed to the left side of the window. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes to get a better look. Gold and black braids dangled slightly into view.
My heart bounced up against my throat. A criatura must be hanging just outside my window, on the exterior of my casa. Coyote took a steadying breath, coiled up, and sprang to the window.
“Hey!” He landed on the sill and let out a growl. “What are you—”
A long, dark arm shoved him off-balance. Coyote yelped and toppled out the window.
I leaped out of bed and dashed forward. “Coyote!”
I made it to the window just in time to see a tall, lithe figure disappear around the corner of my house. What the sunset was that?
Below me, Coyote dangled from my window frame. He held himself there effortlessly, but somehow, that criatura had been strong enough to shove him out in the first place. He scowled in the direction the spy had disappeared. “That was the Criatura of the Ocelot, but she didn’t have a soul stone. A bruja must have sent her after you.”
“Ocelot?” I hadn’t se
en that criatura at the Bruja Fights yet, from what I remembered. But maybe she’d just been in matches I hadn’t paid attention to. “Wait, so you think a bruja’s spying on me? But why?”
“Probably to find your weakness and use it against you in the Bruja Fights.” Coyote swung himself back inside. “It’s a good thing your parents are gone, or that could’ve been a lot worse. Ocelot’s known to be a pretty strong fighter when she wants to be.” He glared out the window again.
Panic buzzed in my chest. How long had Ocelot been watching us? Had she heard me say I didn’t want to be a bruja last night? My palms started to sweat. No, no. Coyote would have noticed her if she’d been there. She’d probably just come this morning. Yeah. Hopefully. Because if she hadn’t—
“What do you think they’d do to me?” I whispered.
Coyote turned back around, still squatting on the windowsill. “Huh?”
“If a bruja found out I wasn’t really what I say I am. They’d probably report me to someone, right? Like El Silbón? Would he—come after me?” I wrapped my arms around myself for comfort. “Would El Cucuy—”
Coyote jumped inside and landed in front of me. “It doesn’t matter because you’re not getting caught,” he said a little too loudly. “El Cucuy doesn’t leave Devil’s Alley anyway. He’d probably send his Dark Saints if anything, since they’re in charge of guarding the entrance. I made sure guarding Devil’s Alley was top priority when I Named it—”
He cut off suddenly. I dropped my arms in surprise. Coyote’s cheeks flushed, and he stood there, silent, clearly mortified, as his soul’s colors bled to a stark white. That was the first time I’d heard him talk about his role in making Devil’s Alley. My mind flashed back to Little Lion’s words from last night.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
He winced a little but nodded.
“Last night you said Devil’s Alley is a terrible place, and Little Lion said it’s a prison. So—why did you make it? In your last life, I mean.”
Coyote hesitated and then looked out the window again, his eyes searching for the dawning sun. “You have to understand, Cece—I know a lot of my last life’s story, but that’s all it is to me. A story. It doesn’t even feel like I lived the things I did then, even if I remember parts of it.” He rubbed his arm. “So, if you ask me why I made Devil’s Alley, I don’t . . . really know. I don’t have a personal connection to it. Just facts.” He swallowed. “Like I read pieces of my own history book.”