“Like the ones in the River Luxaria in Los Lagos?” Alex asks.
“Those are spirits that refused to move on,” Rose says, taking off her glasses to rub her eyes. “I can’t always hear the spirits in other realms, unless they’re looking for me. Being a seer means being a beacon for the undead. My soul glows. If they can see it, they come for me—usually to ask for help I can’t give them.”
“That’s what’s making your head hurt now?”
Rose gnaws on the inside of her cheek and nods. “There’s a rift in the balance. I should’ve felt it sooner, but it’s hard to separate that with all the magic we’ve called on this week.”
“I’m so sorry, Rosie,” I say.
“No, Alex was right. I wanted to help you. I’m responsible for Maks’s condition too. Something happened during our canto. You said you were going to get me because I can feel his spirit, determine if he’s really human.”
“And?”
The three of us stand at arm’s length. If we reached for each other, we could make a perfect triangle.
Rose licks her lips and glances at her feet before saying, “Maks’s soul is detached. It’s like it’s stuck, halfway in and out. I don’t know what he is, but he isn’t completely there. I thought he might’ve been to another realm like Dad. But Dad’s soul is fine, except a faint red glow, like something inside of him has changed. That’s not the biggest problem though.”
I take a step closer to my baby sister. I remember holding her as a baby—her fat cheeks always bright red, her tiny hands so cold, it scared my mother.
“I’ve been feeling this way since we got home. But Maks only got here today. Maks’s spirit isn’t the only one that’s detached.” She takes my hand and the chill of it makes my body shiver. “Yours is too.”
13
Bathe in the sun.
Sleep with the moon.
Our souls are as one,
our ending too soon.
—Witchsong #7, Book of Cantos
“My soul is detached?” I ask my sister. My hand goes to my chest as if I can feel the part of me that’s untethered. But all I find is my racing heart beneath my skin. “Are you sure?”
Rose never fidgets. But now, she bites her thumbnail down to a stump and can’t seem to stay in one place.
“It was faint before, but now that Maks is here it seems to be getting worse. When I look at people,” she says, “I can see the outline of the soul. When everything is right, it’s only the faintest glow. For example, Alex’s is in place. I see the usual white light but—”
Alex snaps her attention to Rose. “What do you mean but?”
“But there are black and red outlines too. That’s your soul being touched by your time in Los Lagos because time works different. And then, because of the curse you cast.”
Alex looks down at her hands. A black, eight-pointed star is marked at the center of her palms. Thin lines spread from it like a burst of lightning, the mark she retained from welding such power, for banishing her magic.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Alex asks.
“You see this all the time?” I ask Rose, and all I want to do is hug her. “How can you stand it?”
Rose lifts her shoulder and tries to brush it off. Turns her face toward where the candles on my altar are nearly extinguished. “No one ever asks. Besides, it doesn’t happen all the time. It’s mostly when I have my lessons with Valeria.”
We watch my altar silently, shadows dancing against the wall. One candle has burned all the way down to the metal strip and goes out, a long smoke line shooting upward.
“I’m sorry,” Alex tells Rose.
“Don’t be. I don’t like to talk about it,” she says, leveling her brown eyes back on us. “When it does happen, I can usually ignore it. After having this power for so long, I just do what I can until my Deathday helps me balance it. It’s like always being surrounded by noise—eventually it fades into the background. But now I can’t ignore it because whatever we did has affected you and Maks.”
“We have to fix him,” I say, and part of me wonders why it’s so much harder to ask for help from the people who love us. “Ma has enough on her hands with trying to be the midwife and healer to every magical being in the tristate area. The High Circle would probably put a stake through my heart without asking questions. Dad doesn’t even remember the last seven years. It has to remain with us.”
I place my hands on my sister’s shoulders. The next candle blows out.
“I’ll get you fresh candles,” Rose says.
“I’ll get the books.”
“I’ll make the potion.”
I walk up to my altar and blow out the last flame.
• • •
I get to work in the infirmary. I have to wade through everything I’m feeling and come out standing still.
My fingers tremble as I comb through our supplies and collect the jars of ingredients. My legs ache for a rest. I catch my reflection in a mirror, wishing I could see what Rose sees. Without her, how would I ever know my soul was detached? I press my finger over my heart, where I first felt the thread that led me to Maks. Was that a symptom? When I heal others, I always ask: When did the pain start? Does it hurt when I press right here? What hurts the most?
If I were to do that to myself now, I would answer, “It started with the maloscuros. It hurts when I come in contact with anything—when I sit, when I stand, when I blink, when I breathe. One pain always tries to overpower the others, so I don’t know what hurts the most.”
If I right my spirit, if I free Lady de la Muerte, if I help Maks will all of this stop hurting?
“Lula?” Mom’s voice makes me jump. I drop the jar of lavender I was holding.
“Sorry—I’m trying to make a calming draught.”
“I’ll get it,” she says, soothing. She must be trying to give me space because she doesn’t even ask me where I went. “Sit.”
At the word sit, my body groans. If I were made of metal, I’d be the creakiest robot ever, all rusted joints and pieces in need of repair.
“Why didn’t you ask me to make you one before?”
Because it’s not for me, I think. My heart races as she moves around the room. I’ve never lied to my mother like this. Not ever.
She gets a broom and dustpan from the corner and sweeps up the mess into the trash. The lavender heads are too mingled in with the glass to salvage. She goes to one of the wooden drawers, pulls out a new bundle. The scent reminds me of nights when I was little. A few weeks after Dad disappeared, she started making us all lavender and honey tea. Then we’d climb into her bed and sleep huddled together, a gathering of sorrow.
“I want to try and do things myself.”
She nods slowly but finishes the potion for me anyway. Her brown fingers move swiftly, and she barely looks at the jars that she pulls from the crowded shelves. She knows herbs by scent, not sight. She knows bones by their touch and weight. She’s the best healer and bruja I’ve ever known, and I’m certain if I tell her what I’ve done, it would crush her.
“I know things are hard right now,” she tells me. She grinds the mixture a little longer than I would have before putting it in the tea bag. “But the best thing to help you feel like yourself is getting back into a routine.”
A heavy thump resounds somewhere in the house. Ma doesn’t seem to notice, but I fear Maks might be waking up.
“I can’t even think about a routine right now,” I say, and that’s the most honest thing I’ve said all day.
She lets the tea steep before handing it to me. Her palms are still warm when she cups my face.
“Why don’t you help your father and me with this delivery tomorrow?” she asks. Another thumping sound, like a mallet hitting wood, makes both of us turn toward the door. “What are your sisters doing?”
“Delivery?�
�� I ask, trying to keep her attention on me.
“Remember? We’re going to Montauk this weekend. I’ve delivered human children and mermaid children, but this will be my first half-human half-mermaid. Though I suppose mermaids are already half-human…”
“Ma, I can’t.”
“I don’t want to pressure you.” She throws her hands up in the air. She pulls out a heavy leather bag from the closet. “I didn’t want to leave you so soon, but I know you girls can take care of each other.”
She’s right about that at least.
“But it might be good for you.” She grabs thin glass vials of blue cohosh, milk thistle, gnarly roots with tiny, green sprouts, powders of all different colors, candles, and shells. She fits everything in her travel bag.
There’s a loud creaking sound, and this time, I know it comes from my bedroom. My mouth is dry with lies, but this is the closest truth I can manage: “I’m not ready.”
“You’ll never be ready if you don’t try.” She places her hand on her hip. Her head is cocked to the side. It makes me think of the homeless man in the subway, his head turning sideways and crunching.
I pull back when she tries to caress my arm.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I need more time.”
I can see the struggle in her eyes. “Okay, baby. I’ll save you a plate for dinner.”
Then I leave her and hope that Maks is all right as I rush to my room.
• • •
Alex and Rose have already made themselves comfortable. They brought up a plate of sandwiches, and Alex thumbs through the Book of Cantos as Rose lights enough candles to illuminate the whole room. A bundle of dried roses and desert sage emits a thin line of smoke.
Alex looks up and shuts the book. “What did Mom say?”
“She wants me to go to the home birth with her tomorrow,” I tell them. “You guys could’ve been quieter. I could hear you from the infirmary.”
Alex and Rose trade glances.
“We’ve been reading and your undead boyfriend has been sound asleep,” Alex says indignantly. “A sentence I never thought I’d ever utter.”
“Then what was the thumping sound I heard?”
“Maybe Dad’s fixing the hole in the wall.” Rose gives me a side glance.
I ignore her and go to the window. I pull back the curtain. None of the usual front-stoop hangouts. Just shadows and empty streets.
“What is it?” Alex asks.
“Nothing. Just shadows playing tricks on me.” I shut the curtains and turn back around. “Did you find anything in the books?”
“There are more claims of seeing La Mama’s face in a random brujo’s pancake than about Lady de la Muerte.”
“There’s just one rezo.” Alex drums her fingers on a page in a thick hardcover of Tales of the Deos.
“Read it,” I urge her.
She clears he throat. “‘The Deos too learned their limits. El Fuego extinguished into ash. La Ola crumbled into salt. El Terroz clove the earth in pieces. El Viento fell and kept on falling. But from their limits, Lady de la Muerte was born.’”
“That’s it? So the limits of the gods?” I say, frustrated. Rose presses her finger to her lips, but I’m not done. How can we have so many books and end up with nothing? “That’s a freaking bedtime story!”
“Lula,” Ma shouts from down the hall. “You okay?”
“Fine!” the three of us say at the same time.
“Lula.” This time it’s Maks. He sits straight up. I say his name to get his eyes to focus on me. But when he does, his irises are pale, ice blue, and bloodshot red. Something’s changed, and he inhales deeply. His movements are predatory as he catches the whiff of the sage smoke.
No, not the smoke. His head snaps toward my sister.
He lunges at Rose.
14
In 1965, a man in Caracas, Venezuela, lost his wife the same day they were married. The man, son of a brujo but with no powers of his own, used every measure he could to bring her back to life. But the person who awoke was not his beloved.
—El Libro Maldecido/The Accursed Book, Fausto Toledo
Alex blasts a force field that crackles with lightning when Maks slams into it. He tumbles back and hits his head against the window sill. We rush to Rose’s side.
“I’m okay,” Rose assures Alex, who brushes Rose’s hair back over her face. “He didn’t touch me.”
I walk around the bed to where Maks is slumped on the floor, attempting and failing to get up. I’m afraid to touch him, but when he looks at me, his eyes are back to normal. He presses his wrist to his temple and groans.
“Oh God,” he says, his voice is scratchy and deep. “What happened?”
“Are you okay?” I help him back up to my bed. Even through his T-shirt, he’s cold.
“Did I fall off the bed?” He starts to stand, then notices Alex and Rose. Rose watches him carefully while Alex balls her fists as if trying to reel her magic back. He lifts a hand and waves at them. “Whoa, hey, guys.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Alex asks him, stepping forward. Her arms still tremble from the blast of magic, but she stuffs them in her pockets to make it stop.
“It’s all pretty blurry,” he says, a smile quirking at his mouth. He scratches the back of his head and rubs my arm absentmindedly. “I was having some weird-ass dreams. I think it was that tea you gave me. Why are you guys looking at me like that? Did I do something stupid?”
I hold my hand up to stop Alex’s next statement.
“Something like that,” she says, and narrows her eyes at me. “Think hard, Maks. What about before the tea?”
“Last thing I remember?” His eyes slide out of focus, pupils opening and closing like the aperture of a camera. He stares at a blank spot on my wall so long that I reach out and place my hand on his knee and squeeze gently. He clears his throat and stares at me, like he’s trying to remember my face. It was the same look he gave me in the car that morning on the way to the game. Then, his features soften and he smiles at me. “I don’t know. It’s like flashes. Lula said we were in an accident. Was it after the game? Is everyone okay?”
Rose scoffs and throws up her hands, as if to say, Are you kidding?
“Yes, it happened on the way home from the game. How do you feel?” I ask, avoiding his other question.
“Like death.” He leans back on the pillows. “What time is it?”
“Ten at night.” My heart is beating wildly as I stand between Maks and my sisters.
“Damn. Did my mom call?” he asks. “She hates when I don’t show up for dinner.”
I want to speak, but a memory of Mrs. Horbachevsky crying for her son strangles me.
“Your parents are out of town and you’re staying with us for a bit. You hit your head in the accident, so you’re having trouble remembering. There’s pizza in the fridge, if you’re hungry,” Alex says quickly. “Rosie, bring some up?”
“Thanks,” Maks says. He picks up a geode from my nightstand and turns it in his hands.
Despite the worry that mars Alex’s forehead, there’s a flutter of hope in my chest because when he smiles and speaks and laughs, it feels just like it used to, before everything happened.
He asks about the game. He asks where our parents are. And I lie. I lie so well that I bet I can convince myself that the game really happened. That Maks saved two dozen goals and the Thorne Hill Knights were the first undefeated soccer champions we’ve had in years. That the accident wasn’t that bad, and everyone lived, and we were safe.
Alex sits on the floor, flipping through a comic book, hiding the Book of Cantos behind her. She hasn’t stopped frowning, but when she met Maks, she was frowning, so this is just her natural state as far as he’s concerned.
When Rose returns with half a pie, Maks puts away three slices. I forget what it
’s like to have an appetite. I nibble on a piece of crust, and in the end, Maks eats the slice I can’t.
He’s in the middle of telling a joke, something about the offside rule, when he doubles over on his knees.
“Alex,” I shout. “Don’t hurt him.”
“Only if he tries to hurt one of you first,” she says coolly, holding her hands up at the ready.
But Maks isn’t attacking anyone. He’s on his knees, a terrible whimper racking his body as he violently throws up.
“This can’t be good,” Alex says.
“Shut up and help me!”
Rose finds a towel and wipes at the corners of his mouth; worry cracks her usually calm demeanor when he looks up with bloodshot eyes.
“What’s wrong with me?” Maks asks, eyes clearing up again. He shivers, fat beads of sweat running down his forehead. I grab the calming draught and bring the mug to his lips. He sniffs at the empty space between us and growls deep in his throat. He wrenches his face to the side.
Alex grabs hold of Maks while I try again, holding the calming potion up to his lips, but he shakes his head and turns away.
“It will help you sleep,” I coax.
He’s short of breath and breaks away from my sister. “Lula, something’s wrong with me.”
“I know,” I whisper, pressing my hand to his forehead. He wraps his arms around me, tea sloshing over the brim of the cup. I bite down the pain that shoots across my stomach. “I’ll help you. I promise.”
He leans into the cup, and I tilt it up until it’s drained. The effect is instant. He sways into me, but Alex and Rose grab him by his arms and move him onto the bed. He mutters nonsensically and reaches for me, holding on to the tips of my fingers until he falls asleep.
“What the hell was that?” Alex hisses.
“I don’t know,” I say through gritted teeth. My racing heart won’t let me think clearly. I grab a clean cloth and dab it across his sweaty skin. His stitches are already falling out. The scars that poke from his collar are almost completely healed.
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