“Your life would be way more exciting if you spent more time with me,” she says, dodging a stray volleyball.
I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my gym shorts. I look at Rishi again. Her hands are decorated with the burned-amber swirls of henna from her cousin’s wedding this past weekend. She smiles like there’s sunshine inside her and walks like she’s ready to fly. I wish I had a fraction of that. Sometimes when I’m with her long enough, I forget about all the things I can’t tell her—the fear, the cantos, the ghosts. I forget and let myself just be.
The right corner of her lips tugs upward, revealing a tiny dimple. The crystal of her nose ring twinkles with the same brightness in her rich-brown eyes. When she looks at me, I feel like she’s seeing right through me. Like she knows I’m hiding a big part of myself.
“What?” My stomach flutters and I fidget with the hem of my uniform shirt.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
My cheeks burn. There are lots of things I’m not telling lots of people. Rishi. My sisters. My mother. Even myself. Sometimes I’m afraid I’ve put on so many masks that one day I won’t be able to recognize who I am. Still, I smirk to play it off because I can’t think of any other way to be.
“I didn’t finish reading Romeo and Juliet,” I say.
“Alex, you know I’m totally psychic. You won’t be able to hide from me much longer.”
That makes me smile. “Of course you are.”
“Speaking of psychics,” she says, “they’re supposed to have a bunch at the Ghoul Ball next weekend. Do you have a costume yet?”
“Can’t I just go as a really stressed-out high school sophomore?”
“Alex, you are not allowed to bail on me. If you’re not having a birthday party, then we will celebrate early with a thousand strangers.”
“I’ll be there.” Damn, my guilt is at an all-time high today. First my family. Now Rishi. Since I can’t invite her to my house, I lied and told her there’d be no birthday party at all.
“Want to walk around the track?” Rishi starts to stretch. The gym teacher isn’t here yet, as evident by most of my classmates sitting around on their phones and a handful of guys failing to slam-dunk basketballs.
I start to follow Rishi out of the gym when I hear, “Duck, you freak!”
I don’t generally answer to “freak,” but I want to see the source.
When I turn around, Ivan is holding a volleyball over his head. He throws it as hard as he can in our direction. I hold my arms up as a shield, but it wasn’t meant for me. The ball slams into Rishi’s face. Her head snaps back and the force of it knocks her on the floor.
Ivan holds his belly and laughs. Some kids laugh with him. Others are too embarrassed for Rishi to say anything, so they look away.
“Dick!” Rishi shouts at him. A tiny trickle of blood starts to flow from her nose.
“Are you okay?” I ask, even though it’s a stupid thing to ask. Of course she’s not okay. She wipes the blood away with the back of her hand, but it starts to gush down her face. I unzip my hoodie and press the fabric to her nose.
Anger flashes through me. I feel a tick in my neck and an itch in my palms. I turn around to face Ivan. He picks up another ball and gets in my space. I feel his energy, dark and hateful, brush against my own. Then, his eyes flash red for a second. I step back. Something is wrong. The feeling twists in my gut.
“You got a problem?” Ivan asks. “Want to get messed up like your little girlfriend?” He slams the ball into my shoulder.
“Stop,” I shout. My hands are shaking.
“Make me.” He won’t back down.
I take a step toward him, but Rishi stops me.
“Alex,” Rishi says. Angry tears spill from the corners of her eyes. “Help me up.”
She holds out her hand. It’s covered in blood. Ivan moves to grab my wrist, but I push him as hard as I can. I feel my head spin at the sight of Rishi’s blood. I shut my eyes to make the dizziness go away, but I see the warm, red light of my dream again. The rotten stench of dead flesh fills the air. Then, I hear the last words my dad ever spoke to me. “Sh, my darling. Everything will be okay.” He lied. Nothing would ever be okay—not truly.
I close my eyes. Remember to breath. Remember to pull the tide back. Remember to keep it buried. But there’s something else there, struggling to break free again. Just like last time. Dread digs into my chest and won’t let go. I feel a swell in my heart, and when I look down at my hands, they’re covered in blood. The wind is knocked out of my lungs. Something breaks inside of me and I can’t hold on anymore.
My magic slips.
My ears pop and adrenaline rushes through my veins. I wait for something to shatter or move, but instead, Ivan falls on his hands and knees, choking. The head of a black snake slithers from his mouth, flicking a bright-red tongue.
Ivan makes a final, terrible gagging noise, and then the whole snake is out. It slithers across the waxed gym floor between feet that run for the exits. Piercing screams fill the air as Ivan shivers and collapses. The snake grows bigger by the second, like it feeds off the people screaming. When there’s no one left in the gym but the three of us, the snake darts for Rishi.
“No!” I shout.
The snake freezes, turns its head in my direction. That red tongue flicks at me. It nods. It knows me. Then, the snake slithers out the door and into the halls.
“Alex.” Someone calls my name. I turn around but no one is there.
“Who’s there?” I whisper. The temperature in the room drops.
“We need to go!” Rishi holds her bloody hand out for me to take.
But there’s that voice again. I fall backward onto the gym floor. I can hear the rush of waves, the crackle of static. Rishi tries to help me stand. I stare at her fingers. Pink nails. Brown henna. But then she’s gone as Aunt Rosaria appears between us.
“Alex, what’s wrong?” Rishi shouts.
I crawl backward, my insides clenching and twisting painfully. Recoil. My skin burns from the inside like there’s fire in my veins. Aunt Rosaria’s open lips are a black hole, but the sound is lost. She grabs her throat with one hand and points at me with the other, a long, accusatory finger. I hold up my arms to shield myself from her. My magic slips defensively. The blast sets off the sprinkler systems. It shudders the windowpanes. It fills the air with the howling winds of a storm. Magic flares in my veins, and I panic, pulling it back like a lifeline that is slipping from my fingers. Aunt Rosaria starts to fade into the shadows, my name the last word on her cold, dead lips.
5
The Deos created the brujos and brujas.
Bless our kind, vessels of their Eternal Gifts.
—from the journal of Philomeno de las Rosas