Tiago’s horario settles into a brown a few shades deeper than mine, and Cata’s pales to match her lighter complexion. Then they turn into black bands again, since we’re all in the safety of el Mar Oscuro.
“The horario stays with us forever?” asks Saysa, sounding delighted.
“Unless you’re exiled from the Coven. Doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s always a heavy sentence,” says Zaybet somberly.
“Why?” I ask.
Zaybet and Laura don’t answer immediately, so Enzo steps in. “Once the horario bonds, it can’t live without you,” he says in his hoarse voice. “If removed, your horario dies.”
* * *
It’s not until everyone’s gone to bed that the four of us finally get a chance to talk alone. We meet in Cata and Saysa’s room.
I spent all day shifting back and forth, and then we did drills climbing balconies. Zaybet says that for the demonstration to be impactful, the footage must be both dramatic and cinematic. I’m going to be transforming at a high peak, over a crowd, which means I need to get in shape fast.
Cata and Saysa are sitting up in bed, backs propped on pillows. Cata’s hair is twisted into a messy bun, and she’s wearing reading glasses while perusing a secure Coven text. She takes them off and sets the book atop the pile beside her. “You’re sure the rooms are soundproof?” she asks Tiago, as I collapse from exhaustion at the end of the mattress.
“For the millionth time, yes.”
Saysa is folding a collection of shirts, and I spy the pink Septima ≠ Bruja tee in her stack. When I look at Cata again, she’s staring at me like she’s awaiting confirmation. “I haven’t heard anything,” I say, scanning the rest of the room.
“Will you relax now?” asks Saysa. “Because you’re dangerously close to becoming Pablo.”
“Pablo,” says Tiago with a dreamy sigh. “I miss that paranoid lobizón.”
We’ve only been here a handful of days, and yet Cata and Saysa have already made this space their own. There are candles and coffee mugs on the dresser, books on both nightstands, and notes of lavender-scented products in the air. It never occurred to me to go through the Coven’s supplies in search of comforts like candles or moisturizer or books.
It was the same at El Laberinto. The whole month I lived there, I didn’t unpack my duffel bag.
“Yamila has just one move left,” I say to escape my mind’s introspection. “Exposing me as a hybrid. Which is why I need to come clean to the Coven.”
“No.”
“No way.”
Cata and Tiago’s reactions are instant. I look to Saysa for support, but she’s staring at me just as gravely. “I don’t think we should do anything to threaten the momentum you’re already generating.”
“But Yamila is going to out me anyway—”
“Maybe,” says Cata. “But she’s also desperate to arrest the first hybrid, and if others find out about you, all she’ll ever be is the Cazadora who let you get away. She needs you to stay secret as much as you do.”
“Even if you’re right, the truth will still come out!” I turn away from Cata because she’s missing the point, and I look to Saysa instead. “When it does, what will the Coven do?”
She finishes folding a shirt before saying, “You’re part of the pack. They’ll have your back.”
Was she hesitating? Am I imagining it?
“What if they didn’t have to know?”
I stare hard at Cata. “What are you talking about?”
“If Yamila makes the accusation, you could deny it.”
“She knows who my parents are—”
“Can she produce your mom? Or Fierro? Where’s her evidence?”
“She’s not the only one who knows the truth. There’s Jazmín—”
Cata’s features pull together, like the air has soured. “My mom won’t tell anyone because she can’t risk going down for keeping Fierro’s secret all this time. And our teammates won’t betray you. No one else knows.”
Tiago comes over to the bed and stands behind me, gripping my shoulders. “What happens when the tribunal asks to see Manu’s Huella? One call to La Mancha, and they’ll know her paperwork is forged. The Cazadores will say if she’s lying about her past, she could be lying about her legal status too.”
His point is so obvious that I’m annoyed with Cata for not anticipating it. Only she doesn’t look discouraged. “Olvido.”
I frown. “Forget?”
Saysa stares at Cata in awe, and Tiago doesn’t say anything, so Cata explains. “It’s a forbidden plant that’s among the most dangerous in Lunaris. The leaves can be milked to make a forgetting spell, and anyone who drinks it loses their memories. It’s only administered in extreme circumstances because the effects are irreversible. We can say you were drugged with it, so you don’t remember your past.”
Tiago’s fingers slip off my arms, and he sits beside me. Since we’re still quiet, Cata presses her advantage. “Think about it. The first lobizona appears, with no memory and a forged Huella, and nobody reports having seen her before, not in the Septimus or human worlds. What does that sound like?”
“Like I’ve been held hostage.”
“And like someone is covering their tracks,” she finishes. “We create a bad guy to take all the blame, and you become an innocent victim whose youth was stolen and whose existence was withheld from the authorities.”
“It’s a pretty wild tale,” says Tiago.
“It’s going to have to be if we want to beat the truth,” says Cata, looking to me. “That’s why the Coven’s demonstrations are important. If the public likes you, they’ll want to believe you. Zaybet is right—the court of public opinion is just as important as the legal one.”
It sounds like a huge gamble, but if Cata is reaching this far to avoid telling the truth, then coming clean is not an option.
“What do you think?” I ask Saysa. After all, she was the one who urged me to play in the Septibol match. She supplied Septis to humans. She’s been a revolutionary long before the rest of us signed up. If any of us knows what it is to place cause above caution, it’s Saysa.
“In the words of the wisest witch I know,” she says, taking Cata’s hand, “it’s not just a bad option, it’s your only option.”
And even though I smile along with the others, something about her answer feels like confirmation.
Saysa hesitated.
12
Two days later, my friends and I are boarding La Espiral with Zaybet, Laura, and Enzo.
Cata and Saysa sit back in reclining chairs, but I hang up front by the helm with Tiago, fascinated by the view. As we soar through el Mar Oscuro, I imagine we’re traveling along the bolded black borders that outline countries in maps.
We pass a bouncing pink ball, a shower of spinning starfish, a flock of flapping flower petals, a giant worm eating itself, a school of tiny crescent moons—until blackness bleeds from the atmosphere, and we’re sailing through a blue sea riddled with chunks of ice.
La Espiral surfaces in an inlet that’s nearly frozen over. Whorls of mist curl along the water, and Zaybet’s eyes flare as she ices a solid pathway to the shore. Laura stays with the ship while the rest of us enter the white woods on the horizon. Clearly, el Bosque Blanco gets its name from all the snow blanketing it.
“See you soon,” says Zaybet, and I hug her and the others before we part. Tiago is the only one who stays with me. Since he and I are too recognizable, we’re going to hide in the forest until it’s time.
The others are on their way to el Centro Comercial to make sure everyone else is in place, then our horarios will let us know when to move.
I feel like I did when I jumped into Leather Jacket’s truck. Once more, I’ve hitched a ride without knowing the destination.
“We can turn back.” Tiago’s sapphire eyes are wintry worlds. “Just say the word.”
An icy white powder begins to fall from the sky, catching on his dark hair and lashes. I open my hand to cup
the flakes. “I’ve never seen snow before.”
I don’t know why I say it, since it sounds so stupid in light of where I’m standing. I’d never seen lobizones and brujas and magic before either. So why is the sight of something as normal as snow this moving?
I turn to watch it fall over the inlet. I always expected snow would look like white rain, but that’s not right. The flight pattern is different. Rain is more uniform and falls in one direction, but the snow swirls, like it’s dancing. Even though it’s daytime, it feels like stardust sprinkling over us, and as I breathe in the cool air, my chest fills with excitement, and I spin to look at Tiago—
Something hard and freezing smashes into my face.
I wipe my eyes, and I see Tiago by the tree line, palming a second ball.
“Don’t even—”
He lobs it so suddenly that I dodge at the last instant. When he sees me digging furiously into the ice, Tiago vanishes into the woods.
I pack the ball as tightly as I can make it, a missile strong enough to leave an impact on even his hard head. My hands are numb as I rush into the forest to begin my hunt.
I scan the footprints in the snow, but Tiago anticipated my tactic because he’s left prints going in every direction. He must have doubled back a few times. Remembering what he said to me about being too human, I close my eyes and try tapping into my lobizona senses.
I feel my ears stiffening as I hone in on the whistling of wind, the rustling of feathers, the faint footfalls of a werewolf. I listen to Tiago’s movements until I can pick up his location, then I open my eyes and set off in pursuit.
My scope of vision is wider than usual, and after a moment, I catch Tiago’s tantalizing scent. This time when I run, I’m not moving as a human.
My feet are barely grazing the ground. The woods are a blur as my muscles shift into a new gear, my limbs leaning on instinct. I’m detecting bushes and branches faster than I can even consciously process them. And as I pick up more speed, I realize I’ve lost his scent.
Only I’m not sure how to slow down.
I don’t even know that I can.
What if I run into someone, or I arrive at the plaza, or—
There’s a cracking sound, and I cry out as pain shoots up my arm from knocking my elbow into a tree.
“Manu!”
Tiago’s at my side in a flash to steady me, like he’s been trailing me this whole time. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I grunt, hinging my tender elbow.
“Does it hurt?”
I bend it and wince. “A little.”
“I’m sorry for messing with you, it was stupid—”
Swinging my hidden hand from behind my back, I smash my snowball into his face.
Tiago barks out a laugh, and a flock of birds soars into the air from the surrounding branches. He dries his face on the sleeve of his sweater, but the front of his hair is soaked. He rakes back the wet strands, and his heady musk wraps around me as he reaches out and pulls me closer.
“I really like you, Solazos.”
Warmth spreads through me, and I whisper, “I really like you too.”
“But I really, really like you.”
I frown. “You think you like me more than I like you?”
“No, what I mean is—”
There’s a tightness in my wrist where my horario is, like a friend getting my attention. Since Tiago falls silent, he must feel it too.
It’s time.
An energy like what I felt when Tiago and I outran the lunarcán pumps through my veins. Blue flames spark to life in his eyes, and they glow with the signs of the transformation.
I feel my vision brighten as the shift takes hold.
Pain scorches my insides, my mouth forming a soundless scream as every inch of my body—from my skin to my bones—cracks and curves and grows. My skin tingles as my hair thickens and lengthens, and my ears sharpen and elongate. When it’s over, I gasp to catch my breath.
You still have a choice, Tiago sings into my mind, and I look at the hairy, muscular beast before me as I consider my choices.
I’m about to do the opposite of what I was raised to do—draw attention to myself. Once I claim the label lobizona, I won’t be invisible anymore. I might never be safe again.
But look at what staying safe and invisible did for Gael. It meant giving up Ma and Fierro and the personal peace he needed to build a life. He never recovered. And that’s what it would have been like for me, had I stayed with Perla and Luisita when Saysa gave me the chance. I’d be alive, but not awake.
And I’ve already slept through enough days.
I want to do this.
We follow the scent of fried finger foods, the snow muffling our steps as the trees thin out. El Centro Comercial flickers into view, a seven-story shopping center that towers over an outdoor courtyard marketplace. The plaza is packed with Septimus, but my eyes are immediately drawn to the massive stone sculpture that sits atop the mall.
It’s called Las cuatro brujas, and it’s like a Mount Rushmore of witches. The four faces are carved from brown sandstone, and their eyes are gemstones, every iris a different hue. The Encendedora’s eyes are black opal and ruby. The Invocadora has amethyst and rose quartz. The Jardinera has tigereye and emerald. The Congeladora’s eyes are silver and blue sapphire. Snow blankets their heads, making them look white-haired.
I scour the throng of Septimus crowding the plaza until I spot Cata and Saysa by a busy empanada stand manned by a harried Encendedora who uses one hand to accept semillas and the other to heat empanadas. I keep scanning, and I see Zaybet at a tent advertising skincare tonics.
Ready? asks Tiago.
Almost. I shed my coat and hand it to him.
He chuckles when he takes in my outfit. You look perfect.
I borrowed Saysa’s Septima ≠ Bruja shirt.
Okay, I say, excitement fraying the edges of my fear. Let’s go.
We break into a sprint through the marketplace. No one else is in werewolf form, so Septimus stare as we fly past.
It isn’t long before they begin to point and shout, recognizing us.
We race around the side of the shopping center, to where the maintenance stairs are supposed to be—metal bars bolted along the stone. Tiago boosts me up to give me a quick start. I shuffle my hands and feet the way we practiced at the Coven, climbing as quickly as I can, not daring to look down.
Heart pounding in my head, my foot slips on an icy rung, and I gasp. Easy, says Tiago in my head. Don’t rush.
I pull myself up when I reach the roof, and then I finally look down. I’ve never been this far off the ground.
More and more Septimus look up, and the large waterscreens—pantaguas—that were airing advertisements are now broadcasting live footage of me as a lobizona in my pink shirt that says Septima ≠ Bruja.
I turn around and face the artwork. It’s so large that it’s hard to make sense of from this close. I look up at the brilliant gemstones, until I’m standing between the Invocadora and Jardinera—pink quartz and tigereye—then I raise a clawed hand.
My finger tenses as I press my nail into the rock, and I carve my M onto the monument.
When I’m finished, I look at the screen, and I see not four girls, but five—each of us representing a different power. My presence breaks the paradigm.
Zaybet was right.
The symbolism matters.
“¡Manu la lobizona!”
“¡Manu la lobizona!”
“¡Manu la lobizona!”
The Coveners start the chant, and just as Zaybet instructed, I wait for other Septimus to join in. The call grows louder and louder, and when it hits a crescendo, my eyes begin to glow like suns.
There’s a pull in my bones, and my body is afire as my skeleton shrinks, organs shifting, skin tightening, until I’m human-sized again. Zaybet said this was equally important: Let them see me transform before their eyes, so they’ll know it’s real and not a magic trick.
The whole
crowd seems paralyzed, even the Coveners, as they watch a girl shift for the first time. I scan their faces, and I see lots of kids here with their parents. This is a family outing for most Septimus.
When they start pointing at the sky, I look up and spot the hot-air balloons zooming over. I also notice Cazadores crawling into the crowd. Before they get any closer, I jump off the ledge of the building.
There are screams, but just as planned, seven Invocadoras led by Cata spell the air around me to slow my fall. Tiago doesn’t flinch when I land in his waiting arms. Then we run for our lives.
Zaybet and six other Congeladoras are stationed by the closest pantaguas, and as their eyes begin to ripple like liquid, the air over our heads grows thick with vapor, obscuring us from the view of the cameras—and the descending hot-air balloons.
The tree line is within reach, but Cazadores are going to intersect us. The invisibility potion is in my pocket, only as a final option. Zaybet told me it comes from a plant that’s very hard to find and distill, and takes many moons to brew, so we can’t easily get more.
The ground quakes beneath our feet, and I see Saysa and six Jardineras by the tree line, their eyes aglow. The crowd jostles together, slowing down the Cazadores, and Tiago and I try to keep our balance as we race ahead.
Send Laura our location, I tell my horario as we weave through the woods. I have no idea if it worked until I feel a tightness in my wrist, like my message was received.
Tiago tugs me toward a frozen river. “A shortcut—”
“It might not hold—”
We’ve only taken a few steps when the ice starts to crack, and Tiago and I scramble back to shore. Just then, seven Cazadores spill out from the trees.
Six hulking werewolves and one Jardinera.
“Stand still, or else,” she says, holding a white-bark bow in her hands. Her arrows look like they’re filled with liquid. She’s going to inject us with something.
Tiago takes a step back, pulling me with him, and I hear the creaking of the ice beneath our feet.
“I’m only going to put you to sleep,” says the Jardinera, nocking an arrow and raising the bow to her shoulder. “Or would you rather freeze to death?”
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