“Lula, what’s wrong?” Rose asks, eyes wide as a doe.
There’s a sharp tug at my chest and my stomach, and a hot, wet warmth. I press my hand to my side and it comes away bloody.
“Alex,” I cry.
“What?” she snaps. She’s shaking baby powder on the pool of vomit to make it easier to clean up.
“Alex, look.” Rose nudges her shoulder.
She finally looks up. A startled gasp parts her lips as she blasts her magic to catch me before I realize I’m falling.
• • •
Even as I come to, I recognize the scent of mom’s cooking, along with something extra—rose sage for anxiety and peaceful dreams. But I don’t remember having any dreams. There was only an endless dark, as if I were dead.
Sunlight breaks through the corners of the closed curtains where they don’t quite rest against the wall. Maks is asleep. The incense smoke covers the smell of puke, and a brown stain marks the carpet. Alex sits on the floor reading a leather-bound book.
“Hey,” I say, testing my voice. When I swallow, my throat feels raw.
Alex stands at once and comes to my side. She picks up a glass of cloudy water with white chunks in it. “Drink this.”
“What is it?” I ask, groggy. My body feels like I’ve run a marathon but without the runner’s high. I pull myself up against the headboard and grimace at the coppery morning breath on my tongue.
“Coconut water,” she says irritably. “Electrolytes and potassium.”
“Mad brujeria,” I say, trying to joke as I drink.
Alex doesn’t laugh but sits at the edge of my bed. “He woke once. I made more of the draught. He’s in and out of awareness. We need to do something.”
“Did you tell Ma?”
She shakes her head. “I said you weren’t feeling well and that I’d heal you, which I did. Mom and Dad are getting ready to go to Montauk after dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say. Then I realize, her hair is pulled back and wet. She’s wearing gym clothes. “Wait, I’ve been asleep for a day?”
“Fifteen hours, actually,” she says resolutely. “Lula, you have to eat something. You’re weak and you aren’t healing right. Rose and I spent all morning trying to figure out what could be happening to you and Maks, but there’s nothing—not in the books at least. Please, just let us take care of you.”
I don’t want to argue. I take the towel and clothes she picked out for me. I shower and wash the dried blood off my skin. In the rising steam, I trace the circular, snakelike scar on my abdomen and the long scar that trails from my wrist to my inner elbow. The ones on my face are minuscule compared to these.
I rinse the suds from my hair and skin as my thoughts race. Maks could’ve hurt Rose. If Alex hadn’t been there—but she was. When Maks wakes up, who will he be? Lady de la Muerte’s voice clings to the shadows of my thoughts. You have betrayed the balance of the worlds. Maks and I are connected to her in ways I can’t understand yet. I don’t think I’m strong enough to help us all.
I turn off the water and get dressed as quickly as my stiff muscles will allow.
Alex locks the door to my room, and, leaving Maks as comfortable as we can, we head downstairs. The smell of roasted pork and fried yucca does a better job of waking me up than the shower. I haven’t been hungry in days, but suddenly, my belly rumbles.
Rose stands in front of the television in the living room with her finger pressed to her mouth and her eyes set in deep worry.
“What is it?” Alex asks, trotting down the steps two at a time.
“I was flipping through all the news for something weird, and I didn’t have to wait long.” She takes the remote and raises the volume. “Remember those bodies they found? They revealed their names and cause of death.”
An anxious knot starts to twist in my gut. The reporter in the studio stares at the camera with red-rimmed eyes. “—we’re following the story closely. Something like this has never happened in this city, not in broad daylight, and not that I’ve ever seen.”
Her coanchor takes over. No makeup in the world can fix the sickly green pallor of his skin or the terror in his wide, brown eyes.
“You’re right, Gaby. This case has the NYPD out in full force. Commissioner Brentwood is holding a press conference tonight. He wants to assure the city that those responsible for this heinous crime will be found and held accountable.”
“Do the police have anyone in custody?” a third reporter on the split screen asks.
“Not at this time,” Adam answers.
“Any news from the crime scene, Adam?” Gaby asks.
“There is unconfirmed speculation of cult activity,” Adam says.
Adam looks over his shoulder and wipes his brow with a folded handkerchief. It’s nearly five o’clock, but the summer sun is lazy to set, and the bright-yellow glow lights up his face. “All is quiet from the NYPD at the moment. They have yet to release a statement but a source from the medical examiner has confirmed cause of death. The two young men have been identified as Robbie Duran and Gregory Amadeu. Both bodies, which were found at different locations, had their hearts ripped out of their chests. According to the chief medical examiner, their…their hearts have not been recovered.
“The NYPD has issued this hotline for anyone to report tips or anything suspicious. Mayor Bloomberg has issued a curfew in the neighborhood of Coney Island tonight. Back to the studio.”
“They said earlier one of the boys, Robbie, went to your school,” Rose says. “I don’t know the other.”
“Oh no,” I say, because I’ve seen that name before. My heart is in my throat as I go to the table in the foyer, where I left my keys the day I brought Maks home. I open the drawer and fish between unopened bills and envelopes until I find the wallet.
Alex and Rose gather around me. I can’t bring myself to open it, so Alex takes it. Her eyes scan the name on the identification behind the thin plastic cover.
“Read it,” I say.
Alex breathes quickly, shuts it. “Robbie Duran.”
“Oh gods.” I cup my hand over my mouth. I shut my eyes and think back to the ride on the subway. The thread that led me to Maks. His lips stained cherry red from the ice pop in his hand.
Maks.
“We don’t know Maks did this,” Rose says, more like she’s trying to convince herself than us. “Maybe he found the body and took what he could. Maybe—”
“There’s nothing we can do right now,” Alex says, and I’m surprised at how calm she can be at a time like this. “But our books have turned up nothing on Maks’s condition or anything new on Lady de la Muerte’s staff. We need to speak to someone who can help us figure this out. What about Mayi and the girls?”
“So you can fight the whole time?”
Alex rolls her eyes. “I’ll behave for this.”
“Not to be a snob,” Rose says, “but if our books turned up empty, there’s no way they can help. It’d be like me asking you two to help with my calculus homework.”
Alex holds up a finger to Rose’s face and says, “Rude.”
“Maybe Rose is right,” I say. Then I remember a name scrolling on Lady de la Muerte’s forearm the day of the accident. I meant to tell Alex before, but now it’s been so long and I don’t know how she’ll react. I’m unable to look at her face. “There’s another option. Someone who knows about blood magic.”
“No,” she says, as if I’ve invited Death herself into the house.
“His family knows the darker side of magic better than we do,” I remind her. “He knows brujos who deal in the afterlife. Angela the Great is his grandmother. She’s written the deadliest poisons and—”
“I know very well the kinds of poisons Angela has written,” Alex says. “But I’m not asking Nova for help. He’s the one who helped put you in Los Lagos, or have you forgotten?”<
br />
“I will never forget Los Lagos.” I want to strangle her for being so stubborn. “He gave up his power to save us.”
Alex holds up a finger to her chest and stabs at her solar plexus. “My power. That was never his. He stole it from me.”
“He brought Dad home,” Rose whispers.
“I’m not sure if we can trust him either,” I say. “But I’m saying that he knows things that might help. Maks is up there in my room, and right now it’s possible he’s responsible for two awful murders. We need some sort of help, and it can’t come from Mom and Dad.”
“Girls?” Dad says, walking toward the foyer where we’ve been lingering. “Dinner’s ready.”
The ceiling creaks. We all look up as though expecting a phantom to materialize or the rusty chandelier to rattle. My whole mouth is dry and my heart beats a guilty rhythm against my chest.
But all my father says is, “I keep forgetting to fix that ceiling.”
• • •
Ever since Nova brought my father back, we’ve made it a point to have dinners at the kitchen table. Ma thinks it’ll restore a sense of normalcy, and the three of us don’t have the heart to remind her that we’ve never been normal.
Normal families don’t spend time in other realms. If Alex won’t let me ask Nova for help, then I can make Dad try harder to remember. Maybe he can give me a clue as to how to free Lady de la Muerte and help Maks. I know when I dream, I remember Los Lagos, and perhaps that’s the key to where he’s been.
“Dad,” I start, pushing rice around. I’m too nervous to be subtle. “What do you dream about when you sleep?”
He looks up, surprised by my question. For a moment, I can see the man he used to be, holding a sizzling pot full of meat and potatoes, dancing around the kitchen to a song that was all saxophones and congas. Now, his gray eyes appear haunted and lost.
“Shadows mostly. Why?”
“I wonder if maybe the answer to getting your memories back is in your dreams. At this point, everyone in the family has been to another realm. But we can remember. I just don’t know why you can’t.”
Alex gives me a what the hell are you doing? look, and Rose picks the red peppers out of her yellow rice.
Ma takes a drink of her seltzer water and sighs. “When things calm down, we’ll try again. At least we’re together now, thank La Mama.”
“Why? The Deos weren’t the ones who brought him back,” I say, then cover my mouth immediately.
“Yesterday you said you weren’t ready to cast magic. What’s changed?” Mom asks, her eyebrow quirked high. She has the kind of knowing stare that can draw out the lies from even the best liars.
“It’s not magic,” I say, picking up my fork and keeping my gaze down. “It’s the realms part. I think that might be the answer to all of this.”
“Lula, if something’s wrong, please talk to me.”
For a moment, I want to confess everything to my mother and let her make everything better the way she always has. But she has already suffered so much, and I can’t add to her worry.
“I’m fine, Ma,” I say, and smile through the pain in my abdomen. “Alex and Rose are taking care of me.”
She’s about to say something, but a soft knock on the back door makes her jump. Dad gets up to get it. But when he opens the door, there’s no one there, just the scent of nearby cookouts. He stares out into the backyard for a long time.
“Patricio.” Ma calls out his name like a lifeline.
He shuts the door and takes his seat. Clears his throat. “My dreams are fractures, like my memory is a glass wall and it’s been punched right at the center. But what happened to me can wait. First, I want you to concentrate on healing.”
I wonder, is that what Maks is feeling now that his memory is gone?
“We’ll get through this. The whole world always feels turned upside down,” Ma says, a sad smile as she looks around the table. “We’re brujas. We’ve been through worse.”
And I don’t have the heart to tell her that, perhaps, she’s wrong.
• • •
Alex, Rose, and I clean up after dinner while Mom and Dad get ready to go out to Montauk for the home birth.
“Easy on the plate,” Alex says, taking the wet dish out of my hands to dry it.
“It’s not exactly porcelain,” I say.
“Who’s going to buy new ones to replace the ones you break?” she sasses me.
“Sorry, Mom. I have a few things to worry about, like Maks possibly murdering strangers and ripping out their hearts.”
“Did you fix Maks a plate?” Alex asks somberly. “Maybe he’ll keep something down this time.”
“Dad didn’t eat, so I’m going to try to give Maks those leftovers.” I don’t voice my fears out loud. I don’t think this is what Maks wants to eat.
“Are you worried about Dad?” Alex whispers. “He’s getting thinner and thinner. Pernil and yucca used to be his favorite.”
I shake my head and grab the soapy plate like a steering wheel. I watch the water run down, transfixed by the way it washes away the suds. “I can’t. This is all too much. Why can’t the Deos cut us some slack?”
Then, the plate snaps cleanly in half.
Alex takes each half of the plate from my hands and throws them in the garbage.
“Is there a saying about what message the Deos are trying to send when your dishes break?” Alex asks. “You need to ease up on cursing the gods. Especially when I’m standing right next to you.”
I know she’s trying to lighten the mood and make me smile, but the muscles of my face feel stiff.
Rose walks in from the backyard shivering and holding something in her hands. “Why is it so cold all of a sudden? It’s June.”
“You’re always cold,” Alex tells her.
“Exactly.” She shrugs. “If I’m complaining, then maybe we should worry.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
Rose sets the thick, black box on the table. It’s the size of a shoe box but taller. A black satin ribbon is tied in a bow at the top.
“I don’t know,” Rose says. “It was just at the door. I noticed it when I was walking back in.”
“Maybe it’s a gift from a patient?” Alex asks, though she doesn’t sound convinced.
Sometimes, the people we help in our clinic leave presents behind because we don’t charge money to use our power. They send small tithes, like a bag of rice or baskets of fruit or things for the house like potted mint and flowers. Flowers. I think of the deep purple flowers that I found on the porch yesterday.
I press my hand on top of the box to send a pulse of magic to sense for organic matter, but either I’m too weak or there’s something blocking it.
“Open it,” Alex says. She raises her hands and the tips of her fingers crackle with energy.
“What if it’s one of those horrible clowns or, oh, the plague?” Rose asks. “I don’t think you can contain plague with electric shocks, Alex.”
With that seed of doubt, we just stare at it. I pick it up and shake it, and it makes a clinking rattle. It isn’t exactly heavy, but there’s a heft to it.
I pull the satin, black ribbon. The bow comes undone and I lift the lid.
“That’s weird,” Rose says.
There’s a thick, white note card. Quick, black letters scrawled across it, as if whoever was writing was furious while doing so.
“You have twenty-four hours to destroy the abomination. In the meantime…”
“In the meantime what?” Alex asks.
I pick up the box. “It’s still heavy.”
Alex leans over my shoulder. “It’s a false bottom.”
I feel against the surface and find there’s a tab that folds up. The false bottom gives way to a metal lining full of ice.
We suck in sharp breaths all
at once and scatter back.
“Is that real?” I ask, my knees shaking with the need to give beneath me.
“What is it?” Rose grimaces. “That can’t be—”
Alex’s body is tense, as if she’s trying to stop her instinct to run as she says, “It’s a human heart.”
15
It is by the blood spilled by this alliance, and all who witness, that any who harms humankind shall meet the penalty of death.
—The Thorne Hill Alliance, The Treaty of New York, Section 1
I shut the box in my hands and hold it close to my chest.
“It hasn’t been twenty-four hours,” Rose says, panicked. “Has it?”
“Who sent this?” Alex picks up the card and flips it over.
“How am I supposed to know?” I say, voice climbing octaves. “Lady de la Muerte?”
But she’s trapped between realms. It can’t be her, which means someone else knows about Maks.
“Whoever knocked on the door during dinner,” Alex says, pacing again. “Dammit.”
“I knew I heard a weird noise yesterday,” I say. “What if they’ve been watching the house this whole time?”
“Hunt—” Alex is about to say but there’s a thundering bang on the front door.
“Girls?” Dad calls out from the living room. Whoever is on the other side alternates between jamming the bell and punching. “Stay in the kitchen!”
My mom races downstairs and meets my dad at the front door, the pounding doesn’t cease, this time accompanied by someone screaming bloody murder.
“What are they doing?” I shout.
“You heard what Dad said.” Alex grabs my arm and keeps me back.
“Get him upstairs!” Dad shouts. “First door on the right.”
“Hide that,” Alex warns me.
I panic and put the box in the freezer. We run to the living room, where our parents are helping two bloodied guys climb up our steps.
“Clean this up,” Mom orders, looking back at us. She has her game face on. When people come through that door asking for help, she doesn’t cringe or hesitate. She looks at the injury and gets to work.
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