“You can walk to school if you hate him so much.” Lula sucks her teeth and purses her lips. Maks, Lula’s boyfriend, drives us to school every day. He wears too much cologne, and I’m pretty sure his rock-solid hair is a soccer violation, but as long as he keeps saving goals, no one seems to mind.
Lula slams the Book on kitchen table and flips through the pages. I wonder what it’s like in other households during breakfast. Do their condiment shelves share space with jars of consecrated cemetery dirt and blue chicken feet? Do their mothers pray to ancient gods before they leave for work every morning? Do they keep the index finger bones of their ancestors in red velvet pouches to ward off thieves?
I already know the answer is no. This is my world. Sometimes I wish it weren’t.
Lula rinses the metal bowl I used to make the pancake batter and sets it beside the Book.
“Can I help?” Rose asks.
“It’s okay, Rosie,” Lula says. “We got this.”
Rose nods once but stays put to watch.
“Alex,” Lula says, “boil pink rose petals in water, and I’ll get started on the base.”
I do as I’m told even though I know my sister’s efforts are wasted. But that’s a secret I’m keeping to myself for now.
Lula empties a container of agave syrup into the bowl followed by raspberry jam and half a can of sweetened milk. When she’s done whipping it into fluffy peaks, she moves onto the next item of the canto. She takes a white taper candle and a peacock feather. With the hard tip of the feather, she carves our intention into the wax. “Wake Alejandra Mortiz’s power.”
This is Lula’s fourth attempt to “wake” my power. Ambrosia is the food of the Deos, and Lula seems to think it’ll be a nice incentive to get them to give us answers. I doubt the gods are interested in bribes made of sugar, but she’ll try anything. Lula believes in ways that I don’t.
“There,” Lula says. “Now when we get home from school, we have to light the candle at sunset and do the chanting half of the canto.”
“I’m not sure about this, Lula,” I say. “Maybe we should save the spells for a day I’m not so busy.”
Lula reaches over and slaps the back of my head. “Spells are for witches. Brujas do cantos.”
“Semantics,” I say. “All brujas are witches but not all witches are brujas.”
“You’re impossible,” Lula mutters, returning the Book to the family altar.
The kitchen fills with the sweet, rose-scented smoke. I turn off the burner and drain the rosewater into a mason jar. While Lula isn’t looking, Rose sticks her finger in the ambrosia. I bite my lips to keep from laughing.
“You always claim to be so busy,” Lula says, tracing her shimmering nail across the page. “It’s just school, Alex. This is your life.”
“You’re starting to sound too much like Mom.”
“And you don’t sound like her at all.”
“You never want to listen to me. I have a really long day. First period gym, then student council, then class, then the paper. I have to use my lunch period to finish the reading on Romeo and Juliet. I have indoor track practice and lab and—”
“Oh my goddess, please stop. No wonder your magic is blocked. You’ve got a broomstick up your butt.”
“My magic isn’t blocked.” I bite my tongue.
Lula shrugs and taps the metal whisk against the bowl to get rid of the excess ambrosia. Then she separates it into two clean mason jars. “I don’t know why you’re more worried about school than your powers. You’re going to overthink yourself to death.”
You don’t understand, I want to say but don’t. Lula isn’t the one who got left back a year because she was too afraid to leave her room and missed too much school. Lula isn’t the one who’s seen or done the things I have.
“I know it seems scary,” Lula says, reaching over and tucking my hair behind my ear. “But this is important. Waking your magic could really bring us together. We all know that ever since what happened to Dad, Ma hasn’t been the same. All we need is a little push and you’ll see. You can’t have your Deathday until your powers show. You’re going to be sixteen in less than two weeks. It’s the perfect time. I know the other cantos didn’t work, but that’s why we’re going to try again.”
Deathday: a bruja’s coming-of-age ceremony. While some girls are having their bat mitzvahs, sweet sixteens, or quincea?eras, brujas get their Deathday. There’s no cut-off age, but puberty is when our magic develops. Sometimes, like with Rose, when you’re born with powers, the family chooses to wait a little while for them to mature. Over the years, modern brujas like to have Deathdays line up with birthdays to have even bigger celebrations. Nothing says “happy birthday” like summoning the spirits of your dead relatives.
Lula ignores my worry and keeps trying to convince me she’s right. “Remember my Deathday? Papa Philomeno himself appeared. And he’s been dead for like a hundred years. I went from healing paper cuts to mending your ankle that time you fell from the tree. Magic is in our blood. We come from a long line of powerful brujas.”
“A long line of dead brujas, you mean,” I say. Why do I bother? Lula doesn’t want to hear the bad parts. She just wants to concentrate on the power instead of the consequences.
“You say that now. Magic transforms you. You’ll see.”
I breathe deep, like there isn’t enough air in the whole world. I brush my messy hair out of my face. It’s easy for Lula to talk about power. She sees magic as something to be revered. All I can think of is the blood and rot and smoke and whispers of my dreams. All I can think about is the terrible thing I did. The secrets I keep from my family every day.
Lula’s phone chimes three times. Maks must be outside.
“Trust me on this,” Lula says. “And hurry up and get dressed. Maks is here.”
I start to head back up the stairs when I hear Lula shout, “Rose! That’s an offering!”
Rose is licking the excess ambrosia from the whisk, a guilty smile spreading to her round cheeks. “What? The ambrosia’s a metaphor for our divine offering. It’s not like the Deos are going to eat all of it.”
Lula looks up at the ceiling and asks, “What did I do in my last life to deserve you two?”
“You were a pirate queen who stole a treasure from Cortés and then ended up deserting your crew to man-hungry sharks,” Rose tells her. “We’re your punishment for every lifetime to come.”
Lula rolls her eyes. “Seems excessive.”
I leave them and run upstairs to get dressed.
I can’t believe I let Lula talk me into doing another canto. I still haven’t learned how to say no to her. I’d like to meet someone who can. I know if I’m not careful, I’m going to get caught. The cantos she picks are harmless really, unless you account for attracting ants because of the ambrosia. Maybe I can stay late after school and come home after sunset. She’ll be mad, but she’s always mad at me for something.