by Kaela Rivera
I squeezed El Sombrerón’s hand at my throat, and the red streaks on my cheeks suddenly shattered like glass off of my skin. Rainwater dripped down my face and cooled over any pain. His red eyes widened. A dark shudder moved through his arm as I pushed my water’s strength toward him. Glowing blue streaks, wound together in intricate patterns, appeared on his hand and spread down his sleeve.
El Sombrerón shook his head and stumbled back, but didn’t let me go. “What is this?” His other hand grabbed at his smoky skin, trying to push the blue lines away. They only wound up his shoulder, spreading faster as my soul stone pulsed. “No curandera has done this before.”
I dug my nails into El Sombrerón’s hand as a spiral blossomed down his throat and washed over the soul stone hanging there.
“You don’t get to hurt anyone! Not anymore!” I yelled.
The moment my blue light encircled El Sombrerón’s soul stone, his body froze. His arm locked, paralyzed. I willed his fingers to open. They lifted like a hinge and set me free.
Coyote and Kit Fox lunged forward. Kit Fox somersaulted and caught me as I fell. Coyote raised his good hand’s great, sharp claws, jumped into the air, and twisted above El Sombrerón’s head. Their eyes met, dark criatura and Great Namer.
Coyote delivered the final blow.
Kit and I hit the ground. The rain overhead slowed to a trickle. El Sombrerón swayed on his feet—and then fell to the earth in a great, thundering slap of water and mud.
His soul swung up in the air, trailing his fall. The large black stone caught the moonlight. I watched a single scratch dig its way through its surface. And as it finally dropped next to El Sombrerón, the water and desert ground parted for it. Together, his newly scarred soul and body disappeared instantly into the sand.
Everything fell finally, serenely quiet.
The rain petered out. The flood began to recede. Coyote straightened up next to where El Sombrerón’s body had fallen. He stared at the ground as the gray in his soul seeped away, and a peaceful pulse moved through his stone. His soul filled with the words it’s done. He closed his eyes. Finally, the pink could shine brightest of all his feelings.
I sighed as relief settled over us. My body slowly stopped glowing. Kit lowered me to the ground, and he, Ocelot, and Coyote went to check on Lion.
Sloshing footsteps sounded from my left. I turned and found Juana standing there, a little scuffed, but no worse for the blow she’d taken. The water had nearly drained away. She approached hesitantly, eyes glancing between me and my criatura friends gathered around Little Lion.
She stopped in front of me. “You’re a bruja,” she said.
“A curandera, actually.” I said. “But also kind of a bruja? Maybe both. I don’t really know. Either way, these four are my friends.” I placed a hand over the four souls at my throat. “They won’t hurt you.”
That should have been obvious considering Little Lion had saved her earlier, but I still found it helpful to say aloud. Ideas become more powerful when you give them words.
“Cece,” she whispered.
Her hand reached for mine. I took it and then took her, and we were holding each other, desperate and sopping wet in the cerros. I buried my face in her shoulder as she clasped me to her chest.
And then, for the first time since she erupted from the braid, she gave a light, shivering laugh. “It’s really over,” she whispered in my ear.
I beamed into her collarbone. It was a weak chuckle, almost a sob, but it sounded a lot like hope. I squeezed her as tightly as I could, and the aching parts of me began to heal.
We were still hugging, almost laughing, almost crying, when Coyote, Kit, and Ocelot helped Lion limp over to meet us.
29
La Casa de Familia
Juana stood before the door to our house, looking up at it as if it were a foreign entity.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered. I tried to stay as quiet as possible. The police would probably be patrolling the street soon, though we hadn’t encountered any on our way back through town. Either way, I didn’t want to be banished before I could see my familia put back together.
Coyote’s soul stone warmed my ribs, and I glanced up at him. He sat on the edge of my roof, nursing his arm. Ocelot, Kit, and Lion were there too—but only Lion’s feet were visible, since he was resting. I was glad his wound had closed so quickly, though he’d need to rest for another day before he was back to his old self. Kit swung his legs off the edge of the adobe and chatted to Ocelot between frequent checks on Lion. Ocelot focused on him, clearly listening carefully, even if she made no reaction outside of the occasional abrupt nod.
Coyote was the only one watching me. My chest warmed with the pink in his soul. The gray had vanished for now.
I hoped it would stay that way for a while longer. After all he’d done for me, and after all the battles he’d waged inside himself, I thought he deserved to bask in hope.
I smiled up at him before looking back at Juana.
“Mamá and Papá have missed you,” I said.
She nodded, slowly. The light from inside the window shone in her eyes. They seemed fuller, now, than they had when she’d first unraveled from the braid.
“I missed them too,” she said. “It just looks so much smaller than I remember.”
There was something unsettling in the way she said it. Like our adobe house, our home, was a distant memory she had returned to unexpectedly.
I stepped closer. “Do you . . . not want to go in?”
I’d never considered that she might feel uncomfortable coming back here. But I understood the expression on her face. I’d only been gone for a few hours, and the house felt less like home than it had earlier that day. Maybe because I wasn’t sure whether I’d even be able to stay.
Juana didn’t answer my question right away. Her eyes ate up the light, and she took a hard breath. “Cece?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared.” She took another breath, this one shuddering. “I’m scared, and I hate it.”
In all my life, I’d never heard Juana admit to being afraid.
Juana had always been iron, a mountain, a fire, just like Mamá. And she’d been so angry with me for not being the same way. She’d yelled at me to hide my tears. She’d scoffed like she thought I should be above it.
But there was something I had finally learned that she hadn’t yet.
I stepped forward and took her hand. It was calloused but warm. She looked at me like a candle on its last bit of wick.
I squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.
“It’s okay to be afraid,” I whispered. “As long as you don’t let it stop you from being the best of who you truly are.”
Her lips tipped upward, just slightly. She glanced up, then, at the edge of the roof. Coyote waved at her when she spotted him. Her hand twitched, like she might return it. But then she let it fall limp to her side, like she was too tired to finish the gesture.
“How long was I gone?” she asked. “Here, for you?”
“Just about a week,” I said.
She winced, like there was an ache in her chest. “Only a week?”
Only? Those seven days had been agony. But if it seemed short to her—how much time had passed in Devil’s Alley?
She dropped her gaze to the front door. “Cece?”
“Yeah?”
“You became a bruja in just over a week,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
When she said it like that, it really did feel like a short time. I nodded. “Yes.”
She swallowed. “And you did that . . . for me?”
I glanced at her. She didn’t meet my stare. “Yeah, Juana,” I said. I wrapped my arm around hers to keep her warm. “You’re my big sister.”
She cracked a weak smile. “You’re unbelievable.” Her next inhale came in shaky. “Cece—will you stay with me?”
She stared at our front door like it was the entrance to El Cucuy’s castle. I looked at it with her and couldn’t
help feeling the same way.
“I’ll stay with you,” I said. “I promise.”
And yes, I was frightened. I was worried about what Mamá would say when she saw me, when only five hours ago I had broken her heart. I was afraid to see Papá again—afraid to let him see the way he’d bruised me, and afraid that he would try to do it again. But I also knew I had a choice in how all of this turned out. So for now, I would choose to walk in with Juana, and be by her side, and share in this all-important moment. The rest I’d figure out later.
“Good luck,” four voices whispered above us. I looked up and found my friends cheering us on.
Coyote sat in the middle, smiling softly, as he propped up Little Lion on his right. Lion, looking tired but peaceful, nodded toward us. Kit Fox beamed on Coyote’s left, leaning against Ocelot. And Ocelot’s eyes implied a deep, gentle encouragement that I could feel all the way through her soul.
“Thank you. All of you. We wouldn’t be here without you,” I said back.
“That’s for sure,” Lion mumbled. Coyote snorted and gave him a look.
Juana stared up at the four criaturas like she still wasn’t sure what to make of them.
I laughed a little and looked at my big sister. “Ready?”
Slowly, she nodded, and we approached the door together. The closer we came, the more courage built in my chest. Juana’s eyebrows were drawn, and I saw the fear there, but there was also excitement in her eyes. We held each other tightly—
And stepped forward together into our familia’s home.
Glossary
abuelo—Grandfather.
abuela—Grandmother.
adobe—A building material made by mixing sun-dried earth with organic materials like straw. Adobe is particularly well-suited to sunny, dry environments like those in northern Mexico. My abuelo told me about the time he watched his papá and tíos (uncles) build their first adobe house. It took a lot of time and work but had a beautiful result.
Amenazante—Threatening or menacing. So, in Cece’s world, it’s the Threatening Dance.
atole—A sweet, cornmeal-based beverage served hot with cinnamon. When thickened, it resembles rice pudding or porridge. Typically eaten for breakfast or as dessert, but it can be eaten for any meal. Fun fact: My familia has always prepared atole like a soup, only with rice instead of cornmeal.
Axochitl—Cece’s mamá’s name comes from Nahuatl, the ancient language of the Aztecs, which is still spoken today in parts of Mesoamerica. It’s pronounced, “Ah-shoh-cheet-tl.” The “tl” sound isn’t one that exists in English.
bruja—A female witch. In traditional folklore, brujas used dark magic to curse others by casting spells using intricate ingredients. My abuelo told me that his mother was once cursed by a bruja when the family wouldn’t sell her a goat for a cheaper price. Fortunately, he said a curandera came along a few days later and healed her.
brujería—Witchcraft or the practice of dark magic.
brujo—A male witch. In traditional folklore, stories with brujas are more common than those with brujos, which is why the fights in Cece’s world are called Bruja Fights.
buenas noches—Good night.
buñuelos—Fried tortillas covered in cinnamon and sugar and served as a delicious snack or dessert. Fun fact: I love buñuelos almost as much as Cece does.
burro—Donkey.
cantos—Songs, poetry, or stanzas of an epic poem. In Cece’s world, the Cantos de Curanderas means songs of the curanderas and contains ancient instructions about the magic and techniques they used.
coyamito agate—A type of agate native to northern Mexico, known for its gorgeous red, brown, and sometimes even purple layers of color.
charro (pantalones de)—Close-fitting pants that, together with a cropped jacket, white shirt, and high-crowned hat, were worn by Mexican horsemen (“charros”) in the seventeenth century. They’re designed to fit snugly to avoid getting caught on brush and typically feature embroidery, buttons, or another type of related decoration in a vertical line down the outside of each leg. From the 1900s on, the charro style has evolved into a way to express national pride despite its humble origins and became the colorful, classic Mariachi outfits we know today.
chica—A girl or young adult woman.
chiquita—Typically used to refer to a female that’s physically small and translates to little lady or small fry. It’s usually an affectionate term but can be condescending depending on the speaker.
La Chupacabra—The Goat Sucker. Usually called El Chupacabra. This legend surfaced in the 1990s and describes a reptilian, hairless creature that drains goats of all their blood in the middle of the night. In Cece’s world, La Chupacabra’s gender is female.
criaturas—Creatures. This term is also used to refer to babies or children. Thus, in Cece’s world, criaturas are both legendary creatures and the children of Mother Desert.
cucaracha—An insult that means cockroach.
El Cucuy—The coconut or the skull. A dark, frightening bogeyman with red eyes who hides in closets, stalking children and kidnapping the badly behaved ones under the cover of night. His origin story changes according to who’s telling it, but some say he locked his children in a closet because they were so much trouble. While he was out running errands, his house caught fire and his children died. From then on, he wandered the world in denial, searching for his children in other people’s closets and then stealing children to fill the hole his own had left behind. In Cece’s world, he is the most powerful of the dark criaturas and king of Devil’s Alley.
curandera—Spanish term for native healer, or a priestess who uses magic to heal physical and spiritual ailments using ingredients taken from nature. Also, curandero (priest).
dulce de leche—Literally translated to “sweet of milk,” this delicious food is made from heating sweetened milk slowly until it caramelizes. When I came to visit, my abuela would let me eat some right out of the container. Because I’m a good girl.
Envidia—Envy. In Cece’s world, it’s the town where Grimmer Mother and other brujas and brujos live.
Etapalli—Cece’s abuela’s name, pronounced “eh-tah-pah-yee.” The name comes from Nahuatl, but this pronunciation is based on Spanish phonetics.
familia—You might’ve already guessed this one, but it means family in Spanish.
Isla del Antiguo Amanecer—The Island of the Ancient Dawn. In the novel, this is the country Cece lives in.
Juana—Cece’s sister’s name, pronounced “hooah-na.”
limpia—Cleansing (ritual). Curanderas perform limpias on people to cleanse them spiritually or physically and protect them from evil spirits. These ceremonies often incorporate sacred items taken from nature, like basil and eggs. In Cece’s world, the limpia has a similar function, but it focuses on preparation and strength using elements of the world’s four gods instead.
La Lechuza—Screech Owl. In legend, screech owls are often supernatural beings of some sort—like witches who have transformed themselves to wreak havoc, the angered spirits of dead women, or possibly even shape-shifting vampires. In Cece’s world, La Lechuza is a dark criatura.
La Llorona—The Weeping Woman. In legend, she is always depicted wearing white. Her origin story differs depending on the region, but many stories say she’s a ghost who drowned her own children and now haunts waterways, waiting to drown others. My great-abuelo once thought he saw her when he traveled along a river on his burro at night. Fortunately, it was just the white strap of his hat floating in his peripheral vision. That story still makes me chuckle to this day.
La Luz Mala—The Bad Light. This legend originates from Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay. A glowing ball made of gas that lures lost people into the countryside. When a person reaches it, the toxicity of the gas will kill them.
mija—My daughter, my child. A contraction of mi and hija, sometimes spelled m’ija. This term is often used by people who aren’t necessarily the parents of the person they are addressing. It is considered
a sign of affection and denotes closeness. For example, my tías, abuelo, and abuela call me mija when I visit.
Noche de Muerte—Night of Death. In Cece’s world, this is the night when Devil’s Alley opens.
nocheztli—A Nahuatl word meaning the blood of the prickly pear, it is a dye made from the cochineal parasitic insect that lives in cactus nopal. Gross? Maybe. But the color is beautiful.
ocelot—A small wild cat native to the southern United States, Mexico, and Central and South America. Usually nocturnal, this feline has rounded ears and a long body with a tawny-yellow or grayish coat dotted and striped with black.
Perdón, ¿te desperté?—Sorry, did I wake you up?
pollo—Chicken.
señor—Mister or sir.
señora—Mistress or madam, denotes a married woman.
señorita—Miss, denotes an unmarried woman.
sí—Yes.
El Silbón—The Whistler. His story originates from Colombia and Venezuela but has spread across large parts of Mesoamerica. The details change depending on the region, but many stories say he killed his father after his father killed his wife. El Silbón’s abuelo then cursed him to carry his father’s bones in a bag on his back for all eternity as punishment. Some say that hearing his whistle foretells your death.
El Sombrerón—The Man with the Big Hat, also known as the goblin, depending on the region. Likewise, the exact details differ depending on where in Latin America you’re from, but many stories say he lures away young, beautiful women with his guitar’s siren song. He’s also known for being obsessed with braiding hair, even to the point of braiding horses’ tails in the middle of the night.
tía—Aunt.
Tierra del Sol—Land of the Sun.
Tzitzimitl (singular), Tzitzimime (plural)—In Nahuatl, these names are pronounced “tsi-tsi-me-tl” and “tsi-tsi-me-meh,” respectively. The Tzitzimime were, according to Aztec mythology, skeletal female deities who lived among the stars and protected children—unless there was a solar eclipse. The folktale differs slightly from region to region, but some stories say the Tzitzimime warriors would come down from the stars and kill people en masse during a solar eclipse because of their war against the sun. In Cece’s world, Tzitzimitl is the only one of her kind.