“What happened back there?” I ask as Tiago and I join Cata and Saysa on the floor.
“When a bruja dies, she unleashes elemental magic,” says Cata. “It’s our inheritance, I guess. We can only perform one spell, and a lot of times it addresses the need of the manada—like setting off a tormenta that enchants the land and helps grow better ingredients for potions.”
Saysa is still crying, and Tiago takes her hand. I don’t need them to explain that Zaybet used her last spell to send us to safety. She sent the wave that washed the four of us out to sea.
There’s a cracking noise at the back of my throat, and Tiago pulls me into his chest as the sobs crash over me. After what feels like a long time but might only be minutes, I hear Saysa whisper, “I-I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“She was the most natural leader I’ve ever known.”
I’m not the only one looking at Tiago when he says that. There’s something so vulnerable about his velvet voice, and tears begin to roll down his cheeks.
Enzo darts over, faster than a heartbeat, and hooks his fingers around the neckline of Tiago’s shirt. His green eyes are bugging out of his face, like he’s just shattered his shock.
“Where is she?” he roars in demand.
Tiago doesn’t resist, but his lack of reaction says enough. Enzo backs away, like he’s changed his mind and doesn’t want to know.
Laura narrows her gaze at us in suspicion. The news hasn’t registered for her either. They’re in denial.
“After you left, Yamila found us.” Cata strokes Saysa’s hair while she recounts how the Cazadora struck at Saysa with her magic, right as Cata’s force field formed, and the blast of energy activated the volcano. “Zaybet saved us from the lava, but that volcano was too much for one Congeladora. Once the ground opened beneath her—she was gone.”
Laura buries her face in her hands. Enzo cradles her when the weeping starts, and his own tears drip onto her curls. At last they believe us, probably because it sounds like something Zaybet would do.
She was a hero in life, so why not in death?
“I should’ve been there,” Laura whispers to Enzo, clinging to him. “This is my fault.”
“We both left,” he murmurs into her hair.
“You came to protect me. But I didn’t protect her. She needed her Encendedora.” Laura chokes on her cries, and Enzo starts stroking her back and coaxing her to breathe.
It feels so invasive to sit here, listening to them grieve, when Zaybet died for us. If she hadn’t frozen that red tidal wave, I would be mourning Tiago, Saysa, and Cata’s deaths.
We didn’t stand a chance at saving her. It was like stepping on a mushroom—she was there one moment and gone the next. The volcano consumed her.
There’s no body to bury. No proof of her passing. Who will tell her family? And Tinta? I think of their cinematic parting kiss, and this whole thing feels unreal again. It’s like a story that stepped away from its outline. This can’t possibly be the final draft.
“You need to leave.”
Laura stands over us. She and Enzo have stopped crying, and now they’re holding hands, staring down at the four of us.
“I won’t turn you in because her death would be in vain,” she says, her chin trembling, “but you can’t stay on this ship. So tell me where to drop you.”
Saysa looks to her brother.
“Home.”
* * *
Laura doesn’t see us out. She only hugs Saysa and Cata. I trail behind the others as Enzo leads us down the tongue-like passage, and I feel a poke of heat in the middle of my spine.
When I turn, Laura is holding something in her open hand.
I’m at her side so fast, she blinks.
“Zaybet was making this for you. It’s not finished. She gave it to me to burn some effects into the gold, but I didn’t get to.”
I take the round locket she hands me, its thin chain hanging off my fingers. The center of the gold case is riddled with tiny openings that form a star-like pattern, and there’s a fine outline of a sun’s corona around the star, which looks like a sketch for some effect that never got done. It kind of looks like my eye.
There’s a glimmering through the tiny holes that makes them twinkle like real stars, and I pop open the lid.
Instead of a picture, inside is a ball of ice. As I’m watching, it evaporates into a pair of misty sevens that come together to form my M symbol. Then it hardens back into ice.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice shaky.
Laura nods and turns away from me, like my presence is triggering. So I clasp the locket around my neck and slip it under my cloak as I hurry down the passage. By the time I make it to the door, the others have disembarked, and it’s just Enzo waiting for me.
Enzo, whose parents see him as broken and who’s lived so long at the Coven that it’s like he was born there. Now he’s homeless and best friend–less because of me.
“I’m sorry,” I start to say, but he just shakes his head like he can’t hear it and pulls me into a hug.
“You have to hate me,” I whisper as we separate. “I cost you Zaybet and the Coven and your horario—”
“That’s not what happened,” he says in his raspy voice, his green gaze steadfast on mine. “We risked our lives because your life matters. That’s how a pack species should treat everyone. It’s what my parents should have done for me.”
He reminds me of when ICE separated the mom from her baby at Doña Rosa, and I became enraged that man-made borders matter more than people. “I wish everyone thought like you,” I say.
“I was just a shadow when Zaybet joined the Coven,” he confides, his voice rough. “She taught me to like myself. And I’ve never known her to believe in anyone the way she believed in you. So promise me something.”
I nod because the tears make it impossible to speak.
“When you can’t fight for yourself anymore … fight for her.”
* * *
It’s the dead of night when we stand on the banks of an island, carrying no bags and veiled in our wintry cloaks from Marina. We’re in the shadow of a harbor where dozens of ships are docked. I sneak a glance behind us as we make for the trees, but La Espiral is already gone.
The woods must be shallow because there’s light flickering ahead. On the other side of the trees is a moat surrounding an opalescent construction ten times larger than the Colosseum.
Rívoli is a manada built into the sky.
The city is enclosed in glowing white stone that makes me think of the opal doorknob of the Citadel. It refracts the light into bands of icy blue, creating a prism effect that looks otherworldly. I stare up at an ascending series of tiered gardens—seven stories in all—each balcony bursting with foliage and waterfalls.
Perla once showed me a postcard of a painting she loves. An artist’s rendering of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. It’s the only one of the ancient Seven Wonders that doesn’t have an exact location because no one can confirm it existed. There’s no archeological evidence.
Maybe this is it.
“Piedra de la luna,” says Saysa as I ogle the view. “Moonstone. It’s the scarcest stone in Lunaris and believed to hold special protective properties, also making it the most valuable.”
“Your manada—it’s—”
“Loaded,” supplies Cata, whose eyes are as wide as mine. “It’s one of the top two wealthiest places in Kerana.”
There are a handful of crystal bridges frozen along the water’s surface, but presumably in a place this fancy they’ll be checking Huellas. “How do we get in?”
“Follow me.”
Saysa steps back into the woods’ embrace, and the rest of us follow. “First thing a Jardinera does when she comes into her powers is plant a secret door in her room.”
She wends through the trunks like she’s searching for one in particular, and I’m reminded of the morning she led me through the Everglades to visit Perla.
“We live in el Barrio Norte, whic
h is on the highest level—”
Saysa face-plants to the ground.
Her fall is so sudden that neither Tiago nor I catch her. The upraised root she tripped on wasn’t there a moment ago.
“Missed you too, Catatree,” says Saysa, sitting up and brushing dirt off her indigos.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t catch that last word right.
“Catatree?” echoes Tiago as he pulls Saysa to her feet.
She grows very interested in a speck of nonexistent dust on her sleeve as she answers. “I, um, started working more on my English after meeting Cata in Lunaris. I used to sit under Catatree, and she’d shift her limbs to shade me from the sun and toss me a surprise fruit whenever I hadn’t eaten in a while. I wanted to name her, and I don’t know why that stuck.”
Cata kisses Saysa’s cheek. “Sounds like you two have some talking to do.”
Saysa faces her tree-friend. “Look, I already explained when I left that I would be in school for a few years, so I don’t know why you’re—”
The root that tripped her begins to bury itself into the soil, like a giant worm burrowing.
“Wait, I’m sorry!” says Saysa. “You’re right. I should have visited more.”
The root stays still for so long that it starts to feel impossible it ever moved. Then I leap back as it shoots into the air, forming an archway. We follow Saysa through, and then we’re inside a brown passage.
“Thanks,” says Saysa, laying both palms flat against Catatree. Her eyes light up with magic, and the three of us wait for them to finish communing. “We’ll only be another minute,” says Saysa, turning to us with her eyes alight. “Cata, she wants to meet you.”
“Oh,” says Cata, sounding pleased. She presses her hands to the wall, and her pink eyes flash on.
Tiago and I look at each other.
It feels like the first time our eyes have met since La Boca. If he was afraid for me then, it’s nothing to the way he watches me now. Like I’m already lost to him.
“Let’s go,” says Saysa, and we walk down the dim passage until light spills out, and we step inside a bedroom. Behind us, the wall has already hardened into solid bark.
The space we’re in is large but crowded with plants of every size and variety. A thatchwork curtain covers one wall, like the ones Saysa and Cata made in La Boca. The ground is uneven, the ceiling arched and odd-shaped, and small sprigs of green break through the crevices.
Saysa slides open the curtains, revealing a floor-to-ceiling view of the stars and ocean. The sky looks less black now, like day is breaking through. She caresses her plants on the way out the door, and we pad down a hallway into a spectacular home.
The tree house isn’t exactly split-level; it’s more meandering-level, and it seems to branch off into various alcoves and arteries. When we reach a wide space with wooden tables and comfortable-looking couches and chairs, we find Tiago and Saysa’s parents on an olive couch by a floor-to-ceiling window, watching a large pantaguas.
My gaze locks on the image onscreen.
Zaybet.
“¡Los chicos!” says Miguel, and Penelope springs up and cries out in relief. Their parents clutch Tiago and Saysa to their chests, and I’m stunned when they hug me too.
“They said on the news you were with this poor Congeladora who died,” says Penelope, panning her gaze across us. “How did you get away?”
“Zaybet used her magia muerta to get us to safety.”
A somber silence follows Saysa’s words, then Miguel says, “You must be starving.”
I don’t know if they’re speaking English for my sake, or if it’s their custom, but they sound fluent. They must have spent time at a manada abroad.
They usher us to the long table, and as soon as we sit, they ply us with sandwiches de miga, reheated empanadas, and what looks like vanilla yogurt with slices of fruit. We pick at the food, but none of us seems able to stomach much.
“What was the plan at La Boca?” asks Penelope. I feel both parents’ eyes on me as I sift through the yogurt for a sliver of strawberry.
“We had enough Septimus to open a portal to Lunaris,” says Tiago.
“What about long-term?” asks Miguel.
“Obviously we didn’t get that far.”
“How are you, Manu?” asks Penelope, and at last I meet her sapphire stare, so like her son’s.
“I’m okay.” I look from her to Miguel. “Look, I know I’m a fugitive, and you’re worried for your kids. If you don’t want me in your house, I’ll—”
Tiago’s hand shoots out for mine so fast that everyone notices.
“You’re welcome here,” says his mom, her eyes lingering on our locked fingers.
“The mother of our species—Kerana—was human,” says Miguel, flashing the dimples Saysa inherited. “So we’re all half human as far as I’m concerned.”
Penelope doesn’t agree or disagree. When she looks at me, I don’t see Jazmín’s disdain or Yamila’s judgment. In fact, it’s not me she’s interested in at all.
“What about the full moon?” asks Tiago. “It’s in two nights.”
“We’ll figure it out, hijo.”
Penelope holds her hand out, and he laces his fingers with hers. She looks at him with sadness in her gaze. It’s the same emotion I couldn’t identify in Diego and Zaybet’s eyes.
Penelope wanted an easier life for her son. She wished for him to be happy.
“Zaybet’s duelo starts in a few hours,” says Miguel. “We haven’t had someone this young die in a long time, and to honor her, all manadas are officially in mourning. Your mother and I will feel things out and see what we can come up with. Until we get back, stay here and do not be seen.”
“I recommend sleep,” says Penelope. Saysa was quick to stifle a yawn, but her mom was quicker in noticing. “It’s almost morning.”
Miguel hugs his kids again, while Penelope escorts Cata and me down a passage that leads to another wing of the house.
“Pick whichever room you’d like. There’s a library at the end of the hall, and you already saw where the kitchen is when you get hungry.”
“Thanks,” I say, and she kisses our cheeks before parting. When we’re alone, Cata and I explore the rest of the area, scoping out every guest room. There’s five in all. Cata picks the largest one, and I opt for the room with the skylight.
“How long before they’re sneaking in?” she asks me with a grin. But I spy the ends of her smile falling as she turns away, and I think I know why.
“They accepted me,” I say softly, as she’s slipping into her room.
“It’s different,” she says. “You can give them grandchildren.”
And as her door shuts, I consider her words.
Can I?
As far as I know, two werewolves have never reproduced. What if it’s not possible?
The thought of not being able to bear children is a jolt to my whole system. I don’t think I knew how certain I was about wanting kids until this moment. What if I’d never realized I was a lobizona, and I married a human? Would we have been able to reproduce?
I’ve been in bed staring at the stars and considering my fertility for almost an hour when I hear him.
“What are you doing here?” asks Tiago.
“The better question is,” says Miguel, “what are you doing?”
Tiago pauses, then—“Getting a book.”
“At this hour?”
“I can’t sleep?” It sounds like a question.
“How about I read to you? Worked wonders when you were little.”
“Forget it, Dad.”
“No, it’ll be fun! We still have your baby books…”
I chuckle into my sheets as their low arguing fades away, and I desperately hope they can’t hear me.
As I relax into the mattress, I feel a kind of relief I haven’t felt in too long. It takes me a while to identify why—but once I do, sleep settles over me at last.
Tonight is my first time in a Septimus home.
>
* * *
A few hours later, my friends and I meet in the kitchen within a few minutes of each other—donning bedclothes and bed hair—thanks to the clanging of bells. They mark the start of Zaybet’s duelo.
Penelope and Miguel have already left, but we perk up at the sight of the plump arrollado de dulce de leche next to the calabaza gourd. The roll cake is dusted with powdered sugar, and there’s a message written in the snow: STAY HOME.
After we’ve devoured every last crumb, Saysa says, “I don’t want to miss Zaybet’s duelo.”
“You can’t go,” says Cata. “This is your home manada. You’ll be recognized. Tiago, tell her.”
“Cata’s right,” he says. “Except that we’re masters of disguise.”
“Yes!”
Tiago smirks as Saysa leaps to her feet and sprints away, while Cata and I exchange confused looks. She comes back dragging a suitcase. When she pops the lid, a variety of flashy colors spill out. I spot wigs, hats, gloves, cloaks, dresses, heels, and more.
“What is all this?” asks Cata, pulling out a crystal tiara.
“When we were kids, Tiago and I used to put on shows for our parents. We roped in our friends and our productions got big enough that we started accumulating costumes and set pieces—here,” she says, handing me a wig of long blond hair.
I arch my brow. “No.”
“She’s already the tallest bruja around, and now you want to give her blond hair?” Cata wrenches the wig from Saysa. “Why not just draw an arrow?”
“Don’t help me,” I beg Cata.
“Try this one,” says Tiago, holding out a wig of short black hair. His fingers make my scalp tingle as they corral my strands and squeeze them under a cap. Then he spins me around to slide the wig on, his face inches from mine as he inspects my hairline and adjusts the bangs across my forehead.
His lips are so tempting, I start to lean forward.
“There.”
He stands back, admiring his work, and Saysa and Cata look up from the suitcase.
“Perfect.”
“Passable.”
I look in the mirror. The black bob accentuates the sharpness of my features, and the color contrast only makes the yellow of my eyes stand out more.
Cazadora Page 24