I get to work in the infirmary. I have to wade through everything I’m feeling and come out standing still.
My fingers tremble as I comb through our supplies and collect the jars of ingredients. My legs ache for a rest. I catch my reflection in a mirror, wishing I could see what Rose sees. Without her, how would I ever know my soul was detached? I press my finger over my heart, where I first felt the thread that led me to Maks. Was that a symptom? When I heal others, I always ask: When did the pain start? Does it hurt when I press right here? What hurts the most?
If I were to do that to myself now, I would answer, “It started with the maloscuros. It hurts when I come in contact with anything—when I sit, when I stand, when I blink, when I breathe. One pain always tries to overpower the others, so I don’t know what hurts the most.”
If I right my spirit, if I free Lady de la Muerte, if I help Maks will all of this stop hurting?
“Lula?” Mom’s voice makes me jump. I drop the jar of lavender I was holding.
“Sorry—I’m trying to make a calming draught.”
“I’ll get it,” she says, soothing. She must be trying to give me space because she doesn’t even ask me where I went. “Sit.”
At the word sit, my body groans. If I were made of metal, I’d be the creakiest robot ever, all rusted joints and pieces in need of repair.
“Why didn’t you ask me to make you one before?”
Because it’s not for me, I think. My heart races as she moves around the room. I’ve never lied to my mother like this. Not ever.
She gets a broom and dustpan from the corner and sweeps up the mess into the trash. The lavender heads are too mingled in with the glass to salvage. She goes to one of the wooden drawers, pulls out a new bundle. The scent reminds me of nights when I was little. A few weeks after Dad disappeared, she started making us all lavender and honey tea. Then we’d climb into her bed and sleep huddled together, a gathering of sorrow.
“I want to try and do things myself.”
She nods slowly but finishes the potion for me anyway. Her brown fingers move swiftly, and she barely looks at the jars that she pulls from the crowded shelves. She knows herbs by scent, not sight. She knows bones by their touch and weight. She’s the best healer and bruja I’ve ever known, and I’m certain if I tell her what I’ve done, it would crush her.
“I know things are hard right now,” she tells me. She grinds the mixture a little longer than I would have before putting it in the tea bag. “But the best thing to help you feel like yourself is getting back into a routine.”
A heavy thump resounds somewhere in the house. Ma doesn’t seem to notice, but I fear Maks might be waking up.
“I can’t even think about a routine right now,” I say, and that’s the most honest thing I’ve said all day.
She lets the tea steep before handing it to me. Her palms are still warm when she cups my face.
“Why don’t you help your father and me with this delivery tomorrow?” she asks. Another thumping sound, like a mallet hitting wood, makes both of us turn toward the door. “What are your sisters doing?”
“Delivery?” I ask, trying to keep her attention on me.
“Remember? We’re going to Montauk this weekend. I’ve delivered human children and mermaid children, but this will be my first half-human half-mermaid. Though I suppose mermaids are already half-human…”
“Ma, I can’t.”
“I don’t want to pressure you.” She throws her hands up in the air. She pulls out a heavy leather bag from the closet. “I didn’t want to leave you so soon, but I know you girls can take care of each other.”
She’s right about that at least.
“But it might be good for you.” She grabs thin glass vials of blue cohosh, milk thistle, gnarly roots with tiny, green sprouts, powders of all different colors, candles, and shells. She fits everything in her travel bag.
There’s a loud creaking sound, and this time, I know it comes from my bedroom. My mouth is dry with lies, but this is the closest truth I can manage: “I’m not ready.”
“You’ll never be ready if you don’t try.” She places her hand on her hip. Her head is cocked to the side. It makes me think of the homeless man in the subway, his head turning sideways and crunching.
I pull back when she tries to caress my arm.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I need more time.”
I can see the struggle in her eyes. “Okay, baby. I’ll save you a plate for dinner.”
Then I leave her and hope that Maks is all right as I rush to my room.
? ? ?
Alex and Rose have already made themselves comfortable. They brought up a plate of sandwiches, and Alex thumbs through the Book of Cantos as Rose lights enough candles to illuminate the whole room. A bundle of dried roses and desert sage emits a thin line of smoke.
Alex looks up and shuts the book. “What did Mom say?”
“She wants me to go to the home birth with her tomorrow,” I tell them. “You guys could’ve been quieter. I could hear you from the infirmary.”
Alex and Rose trade glances.
“We’ve been reading and your undead boyfriend has been sound asleep,” Alex says indignantly. “A sentence I never thought I’d ever utter.”
“Then what was the thumping sound I heard?”
“Maybe Dad’s fixing the hole in the wall.” Rose gives me a side glance.
I ignore her and go to the window. I pull back the curtain. None of the usual front-stoop hangouts. Just shadows and empty streets.
“What is it?” Alex asks.
“Nothing. Just shadows playing tricks on me.” I shut the curtains and turn back around. “Did you find anything in the books?”
“There are more claims of seeing La Mama’s face in a random brujo’s pancake than about Lady de la Muerte.”
“There’s just one rezo.” Alex drums her fingers on a page in a thick hardcover of Tales of the Deos.
“Read it,” I urge her.
She clears he throat. “‘The Deos too learned their limits. El Fuego extinguished into ash. La Ola crumbled into salt. El Terroz clove the earth in pieces. El Viento fell and kept on falling. But from their limits, Lady de la Muerte was born.’”
“That’s it? So the limits of the gods?” I say, frustrated. Rose presses her finger to her lips, but I’m not done. How can we have so many books and end up with nothing? “That’s a freaking bedtime story!”
“Lula,” Ma shouts from down the hall. “You okay?”
“Fine!” the three of us say at the same time.
“Lula.” This time it’s Maks. He sits straight up. I say his name to get his eyes to focus on me. But when he does, his irises are pale, ice blue, and bloodshot red. Something’s changed, and he inhales deeply. His movements are predatory as he catches the whiff of the sage smoke.
No, not the smoke. His head snaps toward my sister.
He lunges at Rose.
14
In 1965, a man in Caracas, Venezuela, lost his wife the same day they were married. The man, son of a brujo but with no powers of his own, used every measure he could to bring her back to life. But the person who awoke was not his beloved.
—El Libro Maldecido/The Accursed Book, Fausto Toledo
Alex blasts a force field that crackles with lightning when Maks slams into it. He tumbles back and hits his head against the window sill. We rush to Rose’s side.
“I’m okay,” Rose assures Alex, who brushes Rose’s hair back over her face. “He didn’t touch me.”
I walk around the bed to where Maks is slumped on the floor, attempting and failing to get up. I’m afraid to touch him, but when he looks at me, his eyes are back to normal. He presses his wrist to his temple and groans.
“Oh God,” he says, his voice is scratchy and deep. “What happened?”
“Are you okay?” I help him back up to my bed. Even through his T-shirt, he’s cold.
“Did I fall off the bed?” He starts to stand, then notices Alex and Rose. Rose watches him carefully while Alex balls her fists as if trying to reel her magic back. He lifts a hand and waves at them. “Whoa, hey, guys.”