The First Circle

by Paul Perea

  “Of course dear, anything you like,” Grace answered, thinking it might be better for everyone if Gabriella was in Mirabella’s care, just in case those spirits came looking for her again.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Be quiet. You’ll wake up my gramma,” Gabriella whispered to the air. She had heard the sound. She had felt his arrival. Gabriella looked over at Mirabella, who was fast asleep, and carefully lifted the blanket and wiggled her legs out until she was standing next to the bed. She closed her eyes and sensed him in the living room, alone, sitting in her grandmother’s large comfy chair. He was waiting for her.

  She tiptoed out of the bedroom, walked down the hall, and peaked around the corner into the living room to make sure the monsters weren’t there. She sighed in relief and padded softly into the room.

  “Come here, mija,” Salazar said, patting his lap. “Don’t be afraid. I chased the monsters away. They won’t bother you anymore.”

  Gabriella walked over, crawled onto his lap, and fell into the routine—resting her head against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her in firm protection. The feeling was comforting, but unlike when others held her. She could not hear a heartbeat. He was not warm. But these things no longer bothered her as they did when first he had appeared to her.

  “Will you take care of me?” Gabriella whispered. “Will you protect me from the monsters?”

  “Umm, hmm.”

  His deep rumble of agreement reverberated in his body and through hers. She liked that. The vibration.

  “I’m too tired for stories tonight,” Gabriella whispered. “Besides, my auntie told my gramma about you and my gramma said you’re not a good person. She will be very angry if she finds you here, so we better be quiet.”

  “Ah, we can’t have that, can we?” Salazar said as he rocked her softly in his arms. “Shall I go away and never return?”

  “No, I would hate that. Don’t leave me,” Gabriella pleaded quietly.

  “Would you like to come and live with me?” Salazar asked.

  “Where?” Gabriella asked.

  “In a magical place filled with faeries and everything good.”

  “My mama would be sad if I left,” Gabriella said sleepily. Her lids were heavy and his steady rocking was soothing her to sleep.

  “What about your papa?” Salazar asked.

  “He doesn’t like us anymore,” Gabriella yawned.

  “Oh?”

  “I hear them fighting. They think I don’t know why. Daddy’s trying to fix things because my mama heard him on the phone with another lady. Don’t tell anyone, but I used my magic and heard her, too. That lady wants my daddy to leave us.”

  “Maybe I should take you and your mama away from all of that,” Salazar whispered. “Perhaps I should change my plan. Keep you with me until you are old enough to—”

  His words were interrupted by a presence. Salazar looked up to see Salome standing in the hallway, her face contorted in surprise and horror.

  “Another time,” he whispered to Gabriella as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. Then he looked directly at Salome, shook his finger at her and vanished to the sound of Salome’s screams.

  Salome stood paralyzed, the moment an eternity until Mirabella had her hands on her shoulders.

  “What’s wrong? I heard you scream,” Mirabella asked.

  “IT WAS HIM! The man from my dream! The man that attacked you! Salazar was here in this very room! Gabriella, what were you doing with him?”

  Gabriella started to shake and cry, unable to answer.

  “Tell us,” Salome shouted, and took Gabriella by her slender shoulders. “Why would you be sitting there with him? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you understand?”

  “Stop it, Salome!” Mirabella ordered as she pushed Salome aside and scooped Gabriella into her arms and carried her into the kitchen. “Don’t cry, mija. Don’t cry. Shhh.”

  Mirabella glanced around the kitchen and it responded to her silent command. The ice box opened and jug of milk floated to the counter where a ceramic mug waited.

  “How long has this spirit been visiting you?” Mirabella asked. She stared at the cup of milk until bubbles and steam erupted. Taking a jar of spice from the rack, she flavored the milk with nutmeg.

  “I don’t know—a long time I guess,” Gabriella answered, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and took a sip of the milk.

  Mirabella pushed the hair back from Gabriella’s face and soothed her. “Tell me, darling. When this man comes to visit, what does he talk to you about?”

  Gabriella shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. We talk about a lot of things.”

  “Like what?” Mirabella asked.

  “He tells me stories about the Spanish Conkees . . .” She couldn’t pronounce the word.

  “Conquistadores?” Mirabella offered.

  “Yeah, that. He tells me stories about angels, and fairy tales about water spirits in the river. He told me that when I’m old enough, I can come and live with him and the faeries.”

  Mirabella glanced a warning toward Salome to stay silent.

  Why would he be telling these tales to Gabriella? Mirabella wondered and remembered that when she was a girl, she too had been enthralled by these kinds of stories. Then she remembered something else. Not only had she loved the old folk tales and myths, she also had loved the storytellers. Salazar was hoping Gabriella would grow to love him, to trust him.

  Gabriella finished her milk and yawned. “Gramma, I’m sorry. I won’t talk to him anymore if I’m not supposed to. Can I go back to bed now?”

  “Wait a minute, Gabriella. Has he ever asked you to do anything with your magic?” Salome asked, becoming restless and impatient with the conversation.

  Mirabella shot Salome a disapproving look and went back to smoothing Gabriella’s hair. “What Auntie Salome means, does he ever ask you to show him what you’re learning from us? Does he ask you to practice any magic for him?”

  “No. He already knows that I’m going to grow up to be a strong witch. He said that when I’m old enough he’s going to teach me some things no one knows.”

  “Come on, sleepy head,” Mirabella said and smiled, and carried Gabriella to her bedroom. “Go back to sleep and we’ll talk more about this later.”

  When Mirabella returned to the kitchen, she found Salome in a fit.

  “Mom, why didn’t you warn her to stay away from him? She shouldn’t be talking to that—that monster! She’s old enough to understand! My God, Grace told us that he visited her last night and now here he is again! What does he want with her?”

  “Keep your voice down!” Mirabella demanded. “Look, one thing is for sure, he’s showing off. The fact that he lingered long enough for you to see him was clearly his intent. He meant to scare you and he wanted to let us know that we haven’t defeated him. As for what he wants with Gabriella, well, I’m afraid he may be planning to use her to break free of the void.”

  “So, how do we stop him? Between the two of us, we should be able to get rid of him once and for all!” Salome stammered, her fear had turned into fight.

  “We can’t get rid of him. We can’t—” Mirabella hesitated, “we can’t kill him. The curse that binds him is strong, but even so, he is becoming stronger. Salome, I think we’ve been going about this all wrong.

  “Perhaps we can’t kill him, but we can strengthen his prison. I have an idea.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Ruth watched helplessly as David’s eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. His anger grew as Gabriella innocently recounted her brush with monsters, and how her ghostly grandfather saved her. Ruth did her best to interrupt, to lighten the tale, to discount, but David was furious.

  “Go to your room and open your presents, mija,” Ruth said to Gabriella as David stood against the kitchen counter, red-faced and trying to restrai
n himself.

  Once Gabriella was out of the room, he exploded. “For God’s sake, Ruth! Your mother and sisters have really done it this time! You know, I look the other way when they tell her cute little stories about talking animals. I don’t say anything when they show her how to concoct silly ointments and teas! But I’ll be damned if they start scaring the wits out of her with ghost stories and all their other crazy nonsense.

  “Our daughter thinks that a ghost is visiting her . . . that he’s her friend . . . her grandpa, for God’s sake! It’s one thing to pretend, but Gabriella actually believes it! She believes everything your mother tells her, and now she’s going to have more nightmares!”

  Ruth tried to interject, but he waved her to be silent.

  “You know, everyone in Arroyo talks about your mother . . . about Salome. They call them witches. They say Grace is crazy. . . insane . . . talking to animals and carrying on like an idiot about her abandoned rooster. They even say that Gabe made a pact with the Devil. And they’re right about Gabe—there’s something about him that gives me the heebie-jeebies. It’s like, I don’t know—it’s like he’s not human.

  “I’ve done my best to put up with the idle talk. Hell, I’ve even defended them, even after I’ve seen them do things that normal people don’t.”

  “Normal people?” Ruth repeated. “Who the hell do you think you are to be talking about my family this way? If you want to compare families, let’s do it! Why don’t we talk about your drunk of a father and your snooty mother? Someone needs to remove the bug that crawled up that woman’s ass! And as for your brother—you know people say that he’s not even your father’s child! They are all horrible people, and you have the nerve to—”

  “Well, say what you will about mine,” David interrupted as he poured himself a shot of whisky, “but at least they’re normal. As for yours, well, they’re all a bunch of loonies.”

  “And what about me? You left me out. You’re making it damned clear what you think. Now that you’ve insulted my family, why don’t you tell me what you think of me?” Ruth stammered. “And why the hell are you drinking so much?”

  “Goddamn it, Ruth,” David said, threw back the whiskey, and turned to lean against the counter. This isn’t about you . . . and I’m a grown man. I can drink if I damn well want to. As for Gabriella and your family—”

  “What do you mean?” Ruth asked as she circled around him and studied his profile.

  David turned his head slightly and looked at Ruth with absolute authority. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. Gabriella isn’t going to have any more sleepovers with any of them. If I had it my way, they wouldn’t even be allowed to see her unless they came to our home. In fact, you know what? That’s exactly what we’re going to do. No visits unless supervised at our home!”

  Ruth could feel the heat of anger rise in her chest. Her hands shook and her voice matched their tremble. “Okay, if you want to be a big man, then that’s how it will be. But I’m not telling them. You will. And you can explain all this to Gabriella, as well. I’ll warn you right now, cutting Gabriella off from her aunts, and especially her grandmother, will hurt her!”

  Gabriella stood in the hallway listening to her parents argue. Her heart sank at the thought of never being allowed to stay with her grandmother. She peered around the corner and spied on them, watching her father’s face contort with rage.

  “Goddammit! I don’t want Gabriella turning out like them!”

  “Oh really? If you felt this way about my family, then why the hell did you marry me?” Ruth argued.

  David poured another shot. “Had I known then what I know now—,” he paused and swallowed the drink. “Ah hell, never mind.”

  “Oh really? Why don’t you leave then? Go be with that whore you’ve been seeing and then both of you can go to hell!” Ruth cried, the words choking through her tears.

  David’s hand shot up, slapping her hard and sending her to the floor. It wasn’t the first time he had struck her, but the action surprised him. He stood for a moment unsure of whether to apologize or turn his back on her. Instead, he stood silent and watched as Ruth scrambled to her feet and ran from the room.

  Gabriella shrank against the wall as her mother ran past her and slammed the door to her bedroom. She peered into the kitchen and watched her father pour another shot of whiskey. As he put the glass to his lips, Gabriella concentrated, controlling his grip, tightening it, and causing the glass to shatter.

  “Dammit!” David cursed as blood pooled on the surface of his skin and ran down the palm of his hand, staining the cuff of his shirt.

  Gabriella walked down the hall and pressed her ear to the door, listening to her mother as she sobbed. She was about to knock when her father walked up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

  “Your mommy and daddy just had a fight. Leave her alone. Everything will be alright,” he said and winced, gripping the towel-wrapped hand.

  “You hit her again. I saw you. You made mama cry,” Gabriella said, looking up at her father with anger in her eyes.

  David ignored her and rapped the door with his knuckles. “Ruth, come out. You’re upsetting our daughter.”

  “No she’s not. You are! I hate you!” Gabriella shouted defiantly.

  David grabbed Gabriella, spun her around and kicked her. “Don’t be smart with me! Go to your room and stay there! I’ve had it with both of you!”

  Gabriella fell, rolled onto her back and scrambled away, never taking her eyes off of him. She focused, sending a tremor through the air between them. It rattled the pictures on the wall and pushed at David, who lost balance and fell against the bedroom door. Gabriella stood up and lowered her head, focusing, imagining her father’s head between her hands, crushing inward. David fell to his knees as the door flew open.

  “Stop it!” Ruth shouted, ending Gabriella’s assault.

  “My grandpa told me that if you’re ever mean to us, he will deal with you,” Gabriella warned.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” David swore as he tried to stand. The pain in his head and the liquor running through his veins dulled his attempt.

  “If you hurt mama . . . if you ever touch me again . . . grandpa will kill you,” Gabriella said calmly. “He will make you pay for what you’ve done to us. And if he doesn’t, I will.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The brown box was showing its age. The corners were separating and the edges of the top were curling and splitting, damage from being removed and replaced so many times through the years. A thin layer of dust dressed the top, along with some remnants of cobwebs and brittle desiccated spiders still clinging on like mummified sentinels. In the box was a large book, a book that once belonged to Mirabella’s mother, Levinia.

  Mirabella lifted the top carefully to expose a faded purple silk wrapping. Pulling back the folds of the cloth, she revealed the contents. The book was exquisite—the leather binding imprinted with a detailed design of thorny rose vines dyed in colors of green, brown, yellow and red. Rose buds, roses in full bloom and blossoms in decay decorated the front, back and spine of the book. The cycle of life illustrated by a simple representation—the birth, life and eventual death of a rose, as is true for all things.

  Mirabella thought of her mother. Memories of another life, another world, always sprang forth when Mirabella consulted the book, and on this day, she remembered how the book came to be in her possession.

  Her younger sisters had become deathly ill. The first had been Soledad, who became sick from a mysterious ailment and died at the tender age of thirteen. Not long after, her sister Estrella perished as well, and the doctors could not determine the cause. Her sister’s deaths were more than her mother could bear, and before long, Levinia herself was weak with illness.

  Levinia took to her bedroom and became more and more despondent, taking little nourishment and accepting no visitors. Docto
rs were not allowed. She blamed herself for her daughter’s deaths, and her sorrow was too much to bear. Not even care for her sons, her husband, Amadeo, or her remaining daughter could sway her. Levinia did not try to get better. She had given up.

  Mirabella caressed the book’s cover and thought of that awful day when, on her mother’s deathbed, her mother had instructed the servant to deliver the book to her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered carrying the heavy book to her bedroom, where she sat and leafed through its pages until she was called back to the room to say her goodbyes. Levinia died that day.

  The book contained all her mother knew of the craft. Along with spells, potions and remedies, there was a journal, recipes and illustrations. Levinia had been a gifted artist and diarist. This book went far beyond what she had come to know as a “Book of Shadows”—this book was her mother’s life.

  At Levinia’s funeral, her father gave her another of her mother’s possessions: a set of rosary beads. The rosary was made of silver and onyx, and like the cover of the book, had been designed by Levinia. Mirabella brought both with her when she and her brother had emigrated from Spain. The Treaty of Paris had ended the Spanish-American War, and she was ready to explore America.

  Her father was outraged when she announced that she would leave Spain for America. He argued against it even as she reminded him of family ties in New Spain, of ancestors who had originally emigrated in order to establish vineyards that would serve the Spanish missions. Even after wine production was halted by order of King Philip II, their relatives remained and found other ventures that kept them employed and wealthy.

  Ancestral land still existed in what had become the New Mexico territory and local farmers leased that land from the family. The mission grape was once again in production; chili and other crops were sown; livestock flourished on ranches. Mirabella used this information to make her case. She was determined, and chose her words carefully in order to convince her father to let her leave. Her love for Sevilla had died along with her mother and sisters. She would not remain—she could not remain.