Something about her words felt wrong—like putting pressure on a deep bruise.
She dipped the needle into the vial, then started on the dot in the center of the circle. “To an outsider, Quivira looks like nothing more than unkempt fields, but really it’s a utopia, totally cut off from the world. Katia placed a protection spell over Quivira to keep it that way. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a cult,” Rhys said.
“The land itself is sacred,” my mother said defensively. “Descendants of the families who came to Quivira with Katia remain to this day. The Mendozas, the Grimsbys, the Hanrattys . . . even Coronado’s children stayed behind. Generation after generation . . . waiting . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“What are they waiting for?” I asked, taken aback by her strange tone.
A bird soared above our skylight, sending a shadow across her face. “Crow,” she whispered as she dug the bone needle into my flesh. “And so it shall be . . .”
I clutched the grass with my fingers. “Mom.” I winced, blood trickling down my chest, seeping into my camisole.
Her eyes went wide and dark, like the Atlantic after a storm. “The day has come. Can you feel it? Can you feel her presence?”
“What are you talking about? You’re hurting me.” I held her wrist.
She blinked a few times and then gasped. “I’m so sorry.” As she pulled out the needle, she accidentally stabbed her thumb. Pressing her hand against my wound, she tried to slow the bleeding.
“Is something wrong?” Rhys leapt to his feet, eyes still trained on the wall in front of him.
“Everything’s fine,” I assured him as Mom scrambled for the first-aid kit.
“I don’t know what came over me,” she whispered as she bandaged the wound.
I felt uneasy as I put my blouse back on. She’d never been that careless with the needle before. The bird passing overhead had definitely spooked her. In alchemy, the crow had many meanings—including being the harbinger of death. I wanted to ask her about it, but not in front of Rhys—he’d had enough for one day.
“You can look now,” I announced as I stepped off the grass onto the terra-cotta floor.
Rhys searched my face for signs of trouble. He seemed satisfied until he caught sight of a piece of bloody gauze resting on the grass. His face turned an unnatural shade of gray. “We’re going to be late,” he said as he headed for the stairs.
I started to follow, but my mother pulled me in for an unexpected hug. “Everything you’ll ever need is inside you.”
“Ouch,” I whispered in her ear.
“Oh, oh!” She laughed as she pulled away, taking the pressure off my chest. “I love you both very much.”
“We know.” I smiled and squeezed her hand before I went downstairs.
Rhys was holding the elevator, straightening his tie in the mirror.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped in next to him. “You’re the only person I know who actually likes his school uniform,” I said in an attempt to lighten the mood.
He brushed his dark blond bangs from his forehead. “Yeah, Ash, we know, you’re so cool.”
As the elevator door closed, I caught a glimpse of the chandelier. I could almost feel the rope scraping against my ankles—feel the slit in the palm of my hand, dripping blood.
What if the dead girl was me?
3
AND SO IT SHALL BE
IN THE SUBWAY, I swiped my MetroCard and went through the turnstile, while my brother swiped his card over and over again to no avail. People piled up behind him, grumbling and sighing.
“I told you we should’ve taken a cab,” Rhys said.
I reached over and swiped his card for him. As we made our way to the platform, I peered down the track to check on the train. I felt something graze the back of my neck. I whipped around, looking for the creeper who’d touched me, but there was no one there, just the nameless, faceless throng of commuters.
I slipped my hair out of its messy bun, letting it fall over my shoulders and back. “Did Mom seem weird to you?”
Rhys shook his head and laughed. “I don’t even know how to answer that.”
I scanned the crowd. “Weirder than usual.”
“Other than the fact she believes she’s part of an invisible cult where our five-hundred-year-old ancestor is performing corn rituals and Coronado from my eighth-grade history class is terrorizing the world in an attempt to keep his immortality . . . not really.”
I pulled my brother down the platform to get away from a drunk guy who reeked of urine and was belting out “The Star-Spangled Banner.” “He’s not terrorizing the world, just our family.”
“Wait.” Rhys drew away from me. “You’re not starting to believe all that? It’s bad enough you still let her stick you with needles. It’s sick.”