A Dash of Trouble

by Anna Meriano

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Brent waved his hands in the air to get Isabel’s attention. “Some reactions are irreversible—everyone knows that. You can’t unburn toast by putting it in the freezer.”

  “Excuse me, little boy, whoever you are.” Marisol leaned forward so that Brent had to stare straight up to meet her eyes. “Are you a bruja? A witch?”

  “No, because—”

  “Are you an expert on magic?”

  “Magic doesn’t—”

  “Then I don’t care how many fourth-grade science textbooks you’ve read. Keep quiet and learn something.”

  “Be nice, Marisol,” Isabel scolded. “Brent, magic operates by rules, just like everything. The rules just happen to be different from the rules of the physical world. Scientists study the physical world, but brujas study the magical world, and after years of spell casting, we’ve managed to figure out what a lot of those rules are. And we know what we’re talking about.”

  Brent shrugged. Marisol poked him with a long red fingernail. “Ow, okay, I’m sorry.”

  “Anyway, Leo, one of the good things about being a beginner is that it’s easy for your more experienced teachers to undo your spells, so you don’t have to worry about creating opposite unraveling spells for every little mistake you make. I’ll show you. Do you have a piece of ribbon? Or a string would work,” Isabel said.

  Leo looked around her room. She probably had something that Isabel could use, somewhere. Maybe left at the bottom of her sock drawer or buried in the wooden chest of dress-up clothes and board games at the foot of her bed.

  “Here.” Marisol held out her hand, which had just been empty. It now contained a piece of silky red ribbon about as long as Brent was tall.

  “Thanks.” Isabel took the ribbon and tied it quickly into a long line of knots, one on top of the other. She handed the knotted ribbon to Leo. “Now tell us what happened, and don’t leave anything out. It’s part of the spell.”

  Leo told them. She did her best to focus and concentrate so that her story became threads of magic twisting into the knotted ribbon.

  “. . . and so I took him home and put him in the dollhouse and fed him a quesadilla, and I need to get him back soon before the police catch us!”

  “And before my mom tears the town down looking for me,” Brent added. Marisol hushed him with a one-fingered tap on his head.

  “Thank you, Leo.” Isabel took the knotted ribbon back and raised her eyebrows. “You have been practicing, haven’t you? I can feel it in your magic. Okay, scoot back, everyone. Give him some room.” Marisol and Leo moved to the very edges of the bed, leaving tiny Brent alone in the empty space of the center. Isabel held out her hand to Marisol, who took it with a slight eye roll. Then Isabel closed her eyes, and the knots in her palm melted away, leaving a straight length of red ribbon.

  “There you go, Leo.” Isabel opened her eyes with a smile. “Now let’s get your friend back to—” She stopped, her mouth hanging open.

  “It didn’t work,” said Brent in his same squeaky voice, in his same shrunken body. “Why didn’t it work?”

  “I . . . um . . .” Isabel fiddled with the ribbon, as if checking to make sure no knots were hiding in it. Leo couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen her older sister look so confused.

  “Did you screw it up?” Marisol asked. “He should at least have turned a weird color or something if you screwed it up. Why didn’t anything happen?”

  “I . . . don’t know,” Isabel admitted.

  Leo had been in near-panic mode for such a long time, she was surprised that she even noticed her pounding heart or churning stomach or tightening throat anymore. But fear was hard to ignore, creeping through her and freezing her organs and brain. What if Brent was right after all? What if some reactions, some spells, couldn’t be unraveled? Leo had been so relieved to turn everything over to Isabel, to let someone else fix things, it never occurred to her it might be unfixable.

  Isabel, Marisol, and Leo stared at each other in hopeless confusion, and might have gone on staring—except that right then the door creaked, and three pairs of eyes peeked around the open crack.

  CHAPTER 25

  SÉANCE

  “Hey, it’s a party,” said Alma.

  “Nobody invited us,” said Belén.

  “Meow,” said Señor Gato, leaping straight back onto the bed and settling into Leo’s lap. He made a point of ignoring Brent and licking his front paws, as if he had never been interested in pouncing on the small human in the first place.

  “Close the door,” Isabel told the twins. “We have a . . . situation.”

  “Hello.” Belén approached the bed and held out one finger for Brent to shake. She turned to Leo. “Were you going to warn us about the danger of those cookies?”

  “It wasn’t the cookies.” Leo dropped her head. “I was going to tell you about those—ask you, actually—but I got distracted. . . .” She leaned down to pull the Ziploc full of gingersnaps out from under her bed. “Are these safe to eat? They didn’t shrink Brent—they just made him love everyone.”

  “Those are the love bites?” Isabel asked. “As long as you set the recipe to work on a specific person, anyone else who eats the results won’t have side effects.” Isabel’s shaky voice grew stronger as she returned to her role as know-it-all. “And personally, I need all the sugar I can get.” She grabbed a cookie from the bag and took a bite, chewing slowly and closing her eyes. “The undoing spell didn’t work,” she explained to Alma and Belén. “I don’t know why. I’m afraid we’re going to have to get Mamá involved, so you two might want to stay away. Keep out of trouble.”

  “That’s all right.” Alma shrugged. “We knew Leo was cooking up a love spell, so we’re already conspirators. Plus we might be able to help.” She and Belén edged their way onto the crowded bed, tucking their legs under them to fit. “Remember, we can go over Mamá’s head.”

  “Do you think you can ask?” Isabel’s voice squeaked and her eyes pleaded. “Is Abuela nearby? I’d like to talk to her.”

  “She’s usually hanging around somewhere,” Belén said. “But I haven’t seen her in the house today.”

  “Can you call her?”

  “We’ll try to get a summoning going. Let’s see, we’ll need a candle—” Marisol held one out, a short white tea light in a tin holder. “And matches?” Instead, Marisol produced the purple lighter. “Thanks. Brent, do you mind moving out of the middle of the circle? That’s sort of where the ghost is supposed to sit.”

  Brent’s wide-eyed confusion matched Leo’s feelings perfectly. He scrambled over the comforter to hide behind Leo, who lifted him into her hand to hide her surprise. She didn’t know Alma and Belén could summon ghosts the way people did in scary movies that Leo wasn’t supposed to watch. Although she liked the idea of getting advice from her abuela, Leo couldn’t help but shiver at the idea of a séance. She looked down at Brent. “Do you want me to put you back in the dollhouse?”

  “There’s . . . there’s no such thing as ghosts . . . ,” Brent said, but he didn’t sound entirely sure of himself.

  While Alma and Belén set the candle in the middle of the bed and whispered to each other, Leo deposited Brent onto the third floor of the dollhouse, half wishing that she could hide with him and half excited to see the twins’ special power up close.

  Alma adjusted the candle the tiniest bit to the right when Leo returned to her spot on the bed. Belén scoffed, moved the candle barely to the left, and lit it. Leo’s lights went out, which by now she expected. Alma and Belén, sitting across from each other at the head and foot of the bed, reached to hold hands over the flame. Their shifting made the small candle wobble, and Leo hoped that she wasn’t about to set her bedroom on fire. Just in case, she planned her route to grab Brent and Señor Gato and get out of the room.

  “Leonora Elena, what are you dreaming? Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  Leo jumped. Sitting—no, actually, standing in the center of the bed,
her body from the waist down disappearing through the mattress, was Abuela. Small and wrinkled and hunched, she wore a purple dress and white sweater with a thin gold-chain necklace, like she was dressed up for church. Her white hair was pulled back in a bun, and she would have looked as sweet as cotton candy if it weren’t for her eyes, which had the force of black holes and were currently turned disapprovingly at Leo.

  “Sorry, Abuela!” Leo squeaked. “Hello. It’s good to see you.” And it was. Leo had been small when Abuela died, but seeing her now felt familiar and happy, not like a scary movie at all. It was like when Leo’s grandma Logroño called to video chat from Florida. Even though they were separated, Leo always felt glad to hear that her grandma loved her, and to get to say that she loved her back. Plus her laugh sounded just like Daddy’s when Leo told jokes.

  Alma and Belén had dropped hands. Belén’s eyes shone white like marbles.

  “Well, you’ve all grown so much.” Abuela’s eyes turned softer as she looked around the circle, and Leo felt herself relax. “I peek in, of course, but you’re always changing so fast. Oh, well, you didn’t call me here to hear about your growth spurts, I guess. What’s going on, hijas?”

  It wasn’t until that last word that Leo recognized the strangest part about talking to her dead abuela in her bedroom. Leo could understand her!

  “Abuela!” Leo said before her sisters could answer Abuela’s question. “You don’t speak English.”

  Abuela gave Leo a stern look. “Leonora Elena, that was rude. I have had time to learn many things since you last saw me.”

  “Sorry.” Leo hung her head.

  “Poor Leo,” Marisol snickered. “She never learned to deal with you, Abuela. Leo, here’s a tip. If she tries to give you a lecture, just cover your ears and stick out your tongue. That always worked for me.”

  Abuela’s laugh was loud, and it moved like an earthquake through her whole body. The sound tickled the back of Leo’s brain like the first notes of a familiar song. “You were a little terror then, and I bet you’re no better now, Marisol, mi sinvergüenza. Don’t listen to her, Leonora.”

  “Abuela!” Alma bounced a little on the bed like she had transformed into the excitable seven-year-old she had been when Abuela was alive. “Don’t you want to see what Leo did?” She pointed straight at the dollhouse.

  Leo cringed.

  Without ever moving through space, Abuela suddenly stood right in front of the dollhouse and peered straight in through the third-floor windows. Leo heard a strangled squeak, and felt sorry for Brent, who just a few minutes ago hadn’t believed in ghosts.

  “And who exactly are you?” Abuela put her hands on her hips. Leo guessed that she was probably giving Brent a very powerful glare.

  “I . . . um . . . um, I’m Brent.”

  “Hmph.” Abuela leaned even closer to the dollhouse. Then she turned and looked straight at Leo. “Well, Leonora, this doesn’t look good at all.”

  CHAPTER 26

  ABUELA

  Leo tried to give her abuela the short version of how Brent had been turned into doll-sized Brent. She wanted to pass quickly over her many mistakes, and she also rushed for the sake of the twins, who were beginning to look noticeably strained from maintaining the séance. Alma’s bouncing had gotten worse, a constant jiggling and fidgeting that made the candle flame wave dangerously, and Belén’s face was shiny with sweat, the skin around her white eyes turned dark like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Leo didn’t know exactly how long they could keep Abuela here and visible, but it seemed to be wearing them out. No wonder they didn’t do this for all the customers at the Día de los Muertos festival—passing voice messages was probably enough work.

  “I thought it would be a pretty simple fix.” Isabel took over the story with just a hint of pout in her voice after Leo recounted her failure, “but the unraveling spell didn’t work at all. And I’m not sure what else to do, since . . . well, Mamá hasn’t exactly taught me individual spell reversal yet.”

  Marisol snorted, and Isabel shot her her meanest look, transforming into a stretched-out version of Abuela.

  “Mamá told you,” Marisol said with a satisfied smile, “that you didn’t need any more encouragement to try complicated spells you weren’t ready for.”

  “Settle, girls,” Abuela chided when Isabel opened her mouth to respond to Marisol. “Leonora, let me ask you something. Do you know why fifteen-year-olds have to be initiated into the family magic before they begin training in spell craft?”

  Leo shrugged and inspected her comforter. “Alma and Belén aren’t fifteen yet.”

  “By a few months, you’re right, but they had your mother’s permission and guidance, and they went through the initiation ceremony, as each girl must do before she can start practicing magic.”

  Leo shrugged again.

  “Many people in this world have magic,” Abuela said. “But they can use it in a hundred different ways. Some people become curanderas, using their magic to heal the sick. Some become alchemists or wizards and pull on the threads of the universe. Some people carry a more subtle magic, and never know what force leads them to dance a beautiful ballet or design dazzling skyscrapers. Your father’s family has its share of latent magic, and he carries plenty of his own, though he doesn’t know anything about it. It likes to hide, your father’s magic.”

  Leo looked at her sisters. Except for Belén, who still stared straight ahead, they all looked surprised too, so it would seem Leo wasn’t the only one who knew nothing about Daddy’s magic.

  “Many people know how to use brujería to connect their magic to the world using candles and herbs and faith and tradition. But what our family did—what your five-times-great-grandmother did—was find a way to understand her own magic, to make it grow, and to share it with her daughters. It made her stronger, and it makes each of you stronger too.”

  “How?” Leo asked. “How did she do that?”

  “She became una bruja cocinera.” Abuela winked at her. “And she used her magic to unite her family.”

  “A kitchen witch,” Isabel whispered.

  “And for generations our family has passed down our witchcraft,” Abuela continued, “each mother initiating her daughters into the family magic at fifteen. Though of course you broke tradition from the beginning, Leonora Elena—a fifth daughter.”

  Leo opened her mouth to ask Abuela more about her birth, and about her birth-order magic, but Abuela shook her head and waggled a finger at Leo’s face.

  “The initiation ceremony is very important for a new bruja. During this ceremony, the initiate’s magic joins with the family magic, the magic of her sisters, her ancestors, and her descendants.” Abuela paused until Leo lifted her guilty eyes out of her lap and met her grandmother’s gaze. “The ceremony allows for other members of the family to combine their magic with the new bruja’s magic, to work joint spells, lend strength, and even undo a spell cast by another family member. Before this joining, the new bruja’s magic is more distinctly her own, and she alone can use or unravel it.”

  “You mean we can’t help her. Leo has to undo the spell herself.” Isabel covered her mouth with her hand.

  Abuela nodded. Leo’s heart pounded. Isabel and Marisol stared. Alma and Belén fidgeted.

  From the dollhouse, a high-pitched groan broke the silence.

  “I’m doomed,” Brent moaned.

  CHAPTER 27

  THE PLAN

  Leo put a hand out to settle Alma, whose fidgeting had turned into an almost-constant shaking. It was easier for Leo to worry about her sister than it was to face the pit of anxiety that had spread in her stomach. She alone . . . Leo working alone had started this whole mess, and now she had to work alone to fix it.

  The worst part was, Leo had wanted this. She’d wanted to be the center of attention, wanted her sisters to stop pushing her aside and talking over her head. She’d wanted to use magic to make herself special and important.

  No wonder all her spells had gone so dramat
ically wrong.

  “Are you all right?” Leo asked Belén, whose skin was clammy when Leo patted her arm. “Should I get you some water?” Belén shook her head but didn’t speak.

  “Girls.” Abuela held out a hand, and Leo hesitated before reaching to take it. The ghost flesh was as solid as it looked, though it felt light and disconnected, as if Leo held a disembodied hand. “I should leave before your sisters drain themselves. But I so enjoy seeing you all. Leonora Elena, if you want my advice, talk to your mother. She can help. And good luck. You can do this. Don’t listen to that old dirty cat.”

  Señor Gato, who had been slinking toward the dollhouse with his rear in the air, turned around and meowed sweetly.

  Abuela kissed each girl on the cheek and patted Alma and Belén on the head. “Que bueno trabajo, hijas. Gracias. God bless!” And she was gone. The candle flame sputtered and died, and Leo blinked in the light of her ceiling lamp.

  “Girls?” Mamá’s voice called from the living room. “Where is everyone? There are still dirty dishes in the sink.”

  Leo froze. In spite of Abuela’s advice, Leo still couldn’t imagine anything worse than the anger and disappointment Mamá would have for Leo if she found out about all of this.

  “You’re not planning to tell her, are you?” Marisol whispered.

  Leo shook her head, her eyes glued to the tea candle that was little more than a puddle in its tin casing by now. Mamá would smell the candle smoke, or the magic, and she would storm in here and figure everything out, and then she would never teach Leo to do magic, and Leo would never work in the bakery. She would have to get a job doing the most boring thing in the world, like taxes, or writing the labels for soup cans.