Cazadora

by Romina Garber

  I try again in the evening.

  And the next day.

  And the next.

  Then on the cusp of the new moon, we set out on La Espiral for my second demonstration.

  14

  For the first time in too long, the nerves in my stomach aren’t from dread but anticipation.

  I’d never considered how it’s possible for El Laberinto’s Septibol team to play against schools in Argentina during the regular season. It’s not like they’re flying back and forth between countries using human airports. Turns out all Septibol matches take place in a manada called La Cancha.

  It’s a magical soft spot that’s riddled with mundos de bolsillo, or pocket worlds. Cata describes them as rooms with multiple doors.

  She said I’ve visited a pocket world before—the grove of purple trees within Flora where the brujas sometimes have classes. When the Septibol team plays other schools, they access a mundo de bolsillo within Flora that connects to a stadium in La Cancha.

  Since there’s no official match scheduled, we’re about to break into El Laberinto’s teaching tree.

  Tiago sent Pablo a coded missive that we hope he’ll be able to decipher. If all goes well, we’ll be reunited with our friends today.

  The prospect is almost too uplifting to contemplate, so I’ve been trying not to think about it for fear of being disappointed. I’ll believe it’s real when I see them.

  I’m anxious about Ma again. We’re midway through the moon cycle, and I haven’t been able to connect with Gael in el Hongo. Yamila hasn’t been on the news either, so I’ve had no sightings of him at all.

  I can’t stand not knowing if he and Ma are safe.

  La Espiral surfaces in a sea that borders autumnal woods, on the outskirts of La Cancha. After dropping us off, Laura submerges her ship back into the water, where she’ll patrol for signs of Cazadores until we signal her with our horarios.

  The parasitic plant blends with my skin now that we’ve left el Mar Oscuro, and I feel its grip tightening. Not in that way where it’s getting my attention, but more like it’s tensing in anticipation of our excursion. Either that, or it’s feeding on me.

  We step into a grove of majestic trunks with gold and brown and red leaves that form a canopy overhead. Yet what’s most striking is the way neighboring trees don’t touch.

  Slivers of sky outline each crown, like blue rivulets, giving the foliage a cracked, stained glass look. “La timidez de la corona,” says Saysa, tipping her head back. “Sometimes trees avoid touching one another. We don’t know why.” Her hand twitches. “We can only guess.”

  I’ve read about crown shyness before, but I’m more interested in how Saysa’s doing. She still hasn’t opened up about what happened with Nacho or that shop bruja in Kukú. I keep thinking of what Zaybet said about Jardineras who go dark, and I know we need to talk to Saysa—except it feels impossible since she’s always surrounded by her admirers.

  I guess I must look the same way to her.

  The trees end in a sports town built around a towering Septibol stadium. La Cancha is literally a stadium: a black-and-white checkered wall encloses the field, with entryways evenly spaced out. There’s a smoky aroma and a slight haze in the air from the fried foods, and as Zaybet leads the way, Tiago and I keep our heads down, as instructed.

  But in the fringe of my vision, I take in all the activity. There are tents up and down the street with bruja-operated food stands that offer everything from frosty drinks to complete meals, bookies taking wagers on upcoming matches, and Septimus hawking merchandise for players and teams. Overhead are pantaguas of every size broadcasting Septibol matches, though a few are still playing footage of me transforming.

  Zaybet stops at an entrance point into the stadium and deposits semillas into a slot in the door. It pops open, and we step onto a crisp grassy field with tiered seating. About a hundred Coveners are already in the stands.

  Off to the side is a group of twenty-eight brujas—seven of each element. They’re all holding hands, their eyes bright with light. They’re opening a doorway into Flora; when their spell ends, the bridge crumbles, and our friends will stay in El Laberinto, and we’ll be back here.

  There are twenty-eight wolves standing astride the brujas to serve as power packs, in case the witches need to channel their energy.

  Tinta y Fideo are already on the field. “Just waiting on your teammates,” says Tinta, the younger, inked brother.

  “They’ll be here,” Tiago assures him.

  The Septimus in the stands hold up mirrors to us. “What will they do with the footage they record?” I ask.

  “If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s there to see it, does it make a sound?”

  “They’ll anonymously release it to the press once you’re back at the Coven,” Fideo translates for his brother.

  “Is that the lobizona?” calls a familiar voice, and before I’ve even seen him, I’m racing toward Pablo.

  A grin overtakes his face, his black eyes inky bright as he opens his arms for me to crash into his chest, and he presses a huge kiss to my cheek. Baby-faced Javier lifts Saysa off her feet, and silver-eyed Nico reels Cata in for a hug.

  Yet nothing compares to Tiago’s reunion with his boys. His embrace with each guy lasts at least twenty seconds, but the real bromance is with Pablo, whom Tiago approaches last.

  “I can’t believe you used my made-up language,” I hear Pablo say to Tiago as they clasp each other in their arms. “You all laughed when I created it, but I told you it would come in handy!”

  I’m weirdly envious. Even weirder, I’m not sure if it’s because of how much Tiago cares for Pablo or how much Pablo prefers Tiago to the rest of us.

  A boulder knocks into me, and Javier spins me around, taking my breath away. “Look at our famous friend,” he says, beaming. “Not so invisible after all.”

  I can’t help grinning back.

  “Los extrañamos,” says Nico as he greets me. We miss you all.

  I didn’t realize how close Diego and Cata are, but they hug almost as long as Tiago and Pablo. “How are you?” Diego asks me after he and I have embraced.

  “Better with you guys here.”

  His periwinkle eyes grow bright. “I think what you’re doing is inspired. Winning over public sentiment is a good strategy.”

  “It was Zaybet’s idea,” I say, introducing her to Diego and the others.

  Gus greets me last. He comes over with his head bowed, somewhat dispirited as he kisses my cheek.

  “Where’s Bibi?” I ask.

  Pablo shakes his head like I should shut up.

  “What happened?” asks Saysa when Gus doesn’t answer and none of the guys say anything.

  “She needs some space,” says Gus. “That’s all.” Behind the bouncy curls, his eyes look rather puffy.

  “Okay,” says Tiago, corralling us together. “We’re doing two teams of four, no magic, just goals. The point is to show Manu can hold her own, so it’s not about the rest of us.”

  “Who are the Septimus in the stands?” asks Pablo, his voice laden with suspicion.

  “Press,” says Tinta, since we can’t exactly discuss the Coven.

  “And who are you?” Pablo demands.

  “Fierro.”

  Before Pablo can argue with Tinta, Fideo blows a whistle, and we all scatter to take position on the field. The brothers stay on the sidelines with Cata, Saysa, and Zaybet. It’s important the cameras only capture the field, without revealing any Coveners’ identities. Enzo is the only one who doesn’t seem to care about being seen. He’s playing on my team.

  Tiago, Gus, Nico, and Diego came dressed in white shirts with black shorts, while Pablo, Javier, Enzo, and I are in all black. We shake hands for a good game, and our team takes possession first.

  Javier passes the ball to Pablo, who gets it to Enzo, the only player wearing pants instead of shorts. He manages to evade Gus and kicks in an attempt to score our first goal—

  But Dieg
o catches it. Cata cheers.

  He kicks the ball to Gus, who outruns Enzo and passes it to Nico. Pablo races to intercept him, but Nico slams the ball in the air to Tiago, who leaps up and brings it down with his chest. Javier veers for him, but Tiago outstrips them all, and now it’s just us.

  My gaze locks on his feet as they weave around the checkered ball, which could rocket at any moment—

  The ball flies like an arrow, straight for the net, and I spring forward and catch it. There’s cheering in the stands and among my teammates, but the save feels a bit anticlimactic. This wasn’t one of Tiago’s better kicks.

  I throw the ball to Javier, who brings it down and barely has a chance to step forward before Tiago sweeps in and steals it. He races for the goal, and now my pulse pounds with excitement, as I try to anticipate which way the trajectory will break—

  The ball flies into my hands, and I barely need to move. Another arrow-like kick. Again, everyone cheers.

  “I need a moment,” I call out to Tinta y Fideo on the sidelines. I don’t raise my voice because I know they can hear me. Tinta’s hands shoot to his hips in annoyance, but Saysa and Cata nod like they’re calling the same foul.

  “Can you come here?” I ask Tiago.

  The wolves on the field will be able to hear me no matter how low I speak, but I at least have a chance to keep those in the stands out of it.

  “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, at my side in an eyeblink.

  “You’re going easy on me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Are too!”

  “You are,” says Pablo from down the field.

  “I’m warming up,” says Tiago with a defensive shrug.

  “Bullshit. Either play, or don’t.”

  The clapping I hear must be Pablo.

  “That wasn’t your approach at tryouts,” Tiago murmurs back.

  I feel my face go slack. When I tried out for the Septibol team, I saved two goals, but I let Tiago score. Only Cata and Saysa know I took a dive, and I doubt they told him. He must have noticed and never mentioned it.

  Since I don’t defend myself, Tiago presses, “You let me win. I don’t see what the difference is now.”

  I’m stunned he doesn’t see the difference, and I hear Saysa shout “Seriously?” from the sidelines. Tinta y Fideo must be relaying our conversation.

  “The difference is I was doing it to preserve your fragile male ego,” I growl, “whereas you’re doing it because you don’t think I can take you!”

  This time, Saysa is the one clapping. Yet I bite my lip as I realize Diego must have heard me. The truth is, he was so gracious about sharing his goalie position that it didn’t feel right to best him at tryouts. It seemed ungrateful.

  To change the subject, I say, “You went easy on me in class when we had to wrestle each other.”

  Tiago frowns, but he can’t deny it’s true. I’ve seen him fight for real since then, and I know he could have taken me in half a breath.

  “Fine,” he says, his brow a straight line. “I’ll go hard.”

  He walks back to his place on the field, and something shifts about the energy of the match. I thought it was about endearing myself to the Septimus, so I didn’t really think of myself as having to prove anything beyond having a good game and showing my passion for the sport. How naïve the me from a few moments ago sounds now.

  Tiago’s team takes possession.

  Gus runs with the ball toward Nico, but Pablo swerves in and steals it. He passes the ball to Enzo, who shoots at the goal. Diego knocks it out with his hands, but he doesn’t catch it. Enzo dives for it on the rebound, and he kicks it over Diego’s head, hitting the net.

  I break into cheers along with the rest of our team. Zaybet screeches from the sidelines.

  The ball spends so much time on the other side of the field that it feels like everyone is making an effort to keep it from Tiago and put off our showdown. But I know from experience that the ball can’t stay away from him for long.

  Javier aims a kick to Pablo, and Nico sweeps in and steals the ball.

  As soon as Tiago’s team has possession, my legs grow jittery, and the game feels like it’s building to a moment. Nico makes a pass to Tiago before Pablo can intercede, and I feel the entire stadium’s focus pressing in on us.

  Without warning, Tiago blasts the ball in the air with such power that its arc is a blur, impossible to make out. I see it spin in and out of view, like there’s signal interference, and it crashes toward the net before I can blink.

  All I have time to glimpse is a shadow, and I spring up to the left corner of the box, fingers outstretched—

  Until I clutch the ball in my hands.

  I hit the ground from the impact, and cheering breaks out in the stands. It takes me a moment to get up, and my gaze goes straight to Tiago.

  He’s grinning from ear to ear, his face wearing that wild look I’m really starting to love. He seems thrilled for the challenge. And without raising his voice, he says, “You’re on, Solazos.”

  After that, the whole match is a showdown for Tiago and me. He sends powerful kicks that start to reach such high speeds that I can hear the ball slicing through the air. But the harder he kicks, the louder the sound, which makes the trajectory easier to track—though it gives me less and less time to make the catch.

  I can tell Tiago’s not holding back. Because I’m not either.

  I don’t miss a single ball.

  We’re locked into our contest with an intensity I’ve never experienced, and something inside me urges perfection, warning me I can’t afford mistakes. Even if Tiago attempts a hundred goals and only makes one, my ninety-nine saves won’t matter. The score would only reflect my loss.

  One.

  Just as Javier’s attempting to steal the ball from Tiago, the ground begins to shake. We stop playing and look at the brujas powering our presence here. Their eyes are flickering. Like there’s a magical malfunction.

  “What’s going on?” Fideo calls out to them, but the brujas don’t answer.

  The lobizones guarding them touch their arms to shake them awake, but they seem to be in a trance. The Coveners in the stands stow their mirrors and get to their feet, just as a familiar bruja storms onto the field in a purple dress that matches her glowing eyes.

  “Did you really think you could magic yourselves into my school without my knowing?” demands Jazmín, angry gusts of air swirling around her. “Get back at once,” she says to my classmates. “Wait in my office.”

  They don’t immediately react, and I know from Pablo’s glower that he’s going to be defiant, so I say, “Go. Please.”

  His gaze lingers on mine, and I can see how much he’d like to defy Jazmín and stay here with us. But it doesn’t work that way. As soon as the brujas cut off their magic, Pablo and the others will be back in El Laberinto.

  “I’m rooting for you kids,” he says with a wink, then he walks off with Gus and Nico. Javier’s boyish face never looked so burdened as he turns away from us, and the same heaviness weighs down Diego’s expression. His light eyes flare bright against his black skin, and though he doesn’t speak, the concern in his gaze feels like a warning.

  Or an omen.

  The temperature in the air seems to drop about ten degrees, and I’m sure Jazmín is not happy to see her students obeying her only at my urging. “I’ve let the Cazadores know what’s going on,” she announces to the field, glaring at the wolves who are still trying to shake the brujas awake.

  Their magic is keeping our essences trapped here. Until they cut off the spell, we can’t leave.

  “They should be tracking you down at La Cancha any moment.” Cold dislike lines Jazmín’s face as she glares at me. It’s hard to stomach that my own aunt could despise me this much.

  Cata and Saysa flank my sides, and the wintry gale in Jazmín’s eyes falters at the sight of her daughter.

  “Drop the force field,” demands Cata.

  “Why?” asks Jazmín. Blood sta
rts to trickle from her nose, and I realize she’s the reason the brujas are in a trance. She’s choking their magic.

  “Because I’ll tell them everything.”

  Jazmín’s expression is pure ice, a mask protecting any evidence of her heart, if she has one. She doesn’t bother wiping away the line of blood trailing down her lips.

  “Enjoy your support, Manu,” she says, her amethyst eyes dimming at last. “It won’t survive the next news cycle.”

  * * *

  “We have to hurry, before the Cazadores arrive,” urges Zaybet.

  The brujas are awake, and our connection to Flora has severed. A door has manifested, an exit back to La Cancha.

  “There’s too many of us,” says Tinta. “We’ll draw them right to Manu.”

  “We should leave in pairs,” says Zaybet. “Enzo and I will go first and scope it out. We’ll let you know if it’s safe with our horarios.”

  They open the door and slip out. A moment later, I feel a squeeze in my wrist. “We’re good.”

  “Cata and I will go next,” says Tiago. Once they’ve gone, I wait until my horario squeezes again. Then I glance back at Tinta y Fideo—and the hundred-ish Coveners behind them—and say, “See you tonight!”

  The others are waiting for us outside the checkered stadium. Clustered in pairs, we cross the street and make for the tree line.

  This manada is mostly lobizones, and it seems rather small. Everyone has their gaze glued to a screen, and I don’t spy any signs of a search mobilizing for us.

  Maybe Jazmín was bluffing. After all, she wouldn’t risk her daughter getting in trouble with the law, would she?

  “Laura’s in place,” says Zaybet.

  “Take a left!”

  Tiago’s command comes right as I spot the Cazadores stepping out from the woods. Jazmín didn’t alert just any law enforcement: Yamila leads the troop, with her brother at her side.

  Nacho looks fully recovered from his encounter with Saysa. As he surveys the crowd, his sister’s same hatred hardens his face. They’re not here for justice. They’re out for revenge.