I’ve never seen Lula so afraid.
“My Circle blessed this house,” my mom says, wiping her brow with the back of her trembling hand. “It can’t enter here. We can wait it out till sunrise.”
“Alex, use your power,” Lula tells me.
“I don’t know how!” There’s a tight pain in my belly and a greater pain in my chest.
The house rattles as a force slams into the structure. Picture frames and dishes shatter as they fall to the floor.
“Lula!” my mom shouts. “Get the candles and Papa Philomeno’s finger bone. Alex, bring me the sage. Rose—Rose?”
Rose slides down to the ground. She shuts her eyes and throws her glasses across the floor. A bloody tear runs down her cheek. My mom bends down to brush Rose’s matted hair back. Rose’s hands are spread out at her sides. Her eyes widen and dilate, until there is only black. A strangled cry comes from my little sister.
“Alex, the sage!”
I run into the storage closet and grab a sage stick. Then I remember. I rip open the box with my father’s things. I dig through old clothes and papers until I find it. A mace. The handle is made of wood and steel. The spikes are consecrated silver metal.
When I run back to the kitchen, Rose begins to speak.
“Rosie?” I edge closer to her.
Her eyes settle on me. She trembles with the spirit that’s taken over her body. The lights blow out all around us, and my little sister points to me and says in a stranger’s voice, “It’s you. I’ve found you.”
“What does that mean?” Lula asks my mom.
I start to reach for Rose, but the kitchen window shatters as the maloscuro breaks through, the force of it knocking me on my back. Its sinewy body separates the three of us from Rose. The creature turns its head to me. Tar-black skin that looks hard to the touch covers long limbs that end in claws. It slinks forward on all fours, leaving black marks on the tiles. The face is the worst. Even with its wide mouth distorted by curved teeth and a crooked nose that sniffs for my scent, I can still see where it was human once.
When we were children, they would scare us to sleep with stories of the maloscuros under the bed. But we aren’t like normal families. Our monsters are real. Sometimes we are the monsters.
The creature hisses, a long, curling tongue licks the fear in the air. Lula grabs a plantain mallet from the sink and hurls it. The maloscuro growls as the mallet hits it square in the face.
“Stop! You two, get your sister and get out of here,” Mom says, taking the mace from me. She stands in front of us like a human shield. She whistles, long and slowly. The maloscuro twists its long neck toward my mother. Its gleaming, black eyes are rimmed with diseased-yellow rings. With every sharp whistle, the beast follows my mother’s movement toward the back door.
“Mom,” Lula cries. Fat tears run down her face.
At the sound of Lula’s voice, the creature snaps out of the trance. It snarls at Lula, raking long, black claws across her face. We all scream as Lula falls to the ground. She presses her hand to her bloody face and shuts her eyes against the pain. The maloscuro raises its claws for a second strike, and I know I have to do something. My heart feels like it’s in my throat, beating a scream from my mouth. I jump in front my sister, my crazy, rude, wonderful, beautiful sister.
The air in the kitchen thickens like fog. Fear takes ahold of me. I fear this is my fault. I fear this power will only bring terrible things. I fear this is only the beginning.
I take everything I’m afraid of and shove it aside. It’s like my body isn’t even mine, a bright burning light surrounds me, flows through me and hits the maloscuro. I fall on my knees, shaking as I hold the barrier between the creature and us.
The kitchen rumbles with thunder. The charge pulls from my stomach. It both tickles and hurts, an invisible chord that links me to the magic and the maloscuro. I feel its essence and my skin crawls. It’s malign, unwanted, death.
I cry out as my control on the shield weakens. The creature needs only a little bit of weakness to get in. A burning pain slashes across my chest and then instantly goes cold. The maloscuro freezes in place. Its wicked, wide mouth is open, like a bear trap ready to snap around my head. The rotting smell makes me gag.
“You froze it!” my mom marvels.
“I can’t hold it!” Sweat drips down my face. Blood drips from the bleeding cuts on my chest.
“Get back,” my mother says. She raises the mace over her head and screams to the Deos. She swings down hard. The spikes crunch against the maloscuro’s skull. A wet splatter hits my face. She hits it again and again. When she brings down the mace for a final blow, our whole house trembles.
8
Shell of sea and cinder flame,
show us the enemy to blame.
Dirt of earth and wing of skies,
stop his heart and blind his eyes.
—Protection Canto, Book of Cantos
When I wake up, I’m on the living room floor. Rose is laid out beside me, a pillow tucked under her head. Lula’s on the couch next to me.
“You both passed out,” Lula says. Her knees are drawn up to her chest. Her eyes are red and puffy. I don’t think I’ve seen Lula cry this hard since Tristan Hart, the swim team captain, broke up with her last year.
“You’re healed.”
“Ma did it.” Lula covers the side of her face with her hair. “There’s a scar.”
I put my hand on her arm, but she pulls away. I wonder if she blames me.
“Where’s Ma?” I try to sit up, but everything hurts. When I look down, I see my shirt is ripped open. Four red scars mark my chest.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Your cut was deeper than mine. We couldn’t heal it completely. It’ll scar too.”
I don’t care about a scar. I care that my family is alive.
“Lula…” As my eyes adjust, I can see the bruises across her chest, the dark circles around her eyes.
“Don’t. We had to heal you. We’re blood, Alex.” She hesitates but then holds her hand for me to take.
I squeeze her hand. “Thank you.”
“Ma’s Circle is here. They’re cleansing the house and getting rid of—of that thing.”
I stare at the ceiling, settling into the buzz on my skin. There’s a huge spot where the paint is chipping away. Dad used to say he was going to fix it, but then he left, and every day, it gets bigger and bigger.
“I used to think Mama Juanita made them up,” I say. “Just to scare us into eating her tripe soup.”
Lula’s laugh is wet and snotty, but it feels good to hear. “And then she’d promise a unicorn, but I’m still waiting on that one.”
We lie still, listening to the tumble of shells across the kitchen floor. They absorb all the bad energy, and then they’re sent out to sea for cleansing. I think of the maloscuro’s head cracking open, the insides splattering all over the kitchen. I wonder if there are enough shells in the world to cleanse this house.