“What are you doing here, Nova?”
He looks to the side, like he’s being watched. “There is nothing I can do to make you forgive me. But this is a start.”
He turns and runs down the front steps and back onto the street, leaving his footprints on the snow. I run after him, but he’s quick and vanishes around the corner.
“Wait!”
I realize there’s more than one set of prints in the snow.
There’s Nova’s and mine—and a third.
I whip around. Inhale so much cold air I think my insides are frozen. On the porch is a face I thought I’d never see again. It’s like looking through a foggy window.
From the house, my mom yells, “Shut that door! You’re letting out the heat!”
But I can’t move. Every part of my body is locked. I think my heart has stopped beating.
“Alex, what—?”
Lula and Rose run out to see what’s happened, but they scream too. Lula rubs her eyes as they adjust to the dim porch light, and she clamps her mouth shut in disbelief.
He looks older, that’s for sure. There’s recognition in his eyes but also confusion. It’s like he’s trying so hard to remember our faces, like he’s one of the lost souls in Campo de Almas.
I say the word carefully, like it’s made of glass. “Dad?”
Author’s Note
Alex’s story has been in my heart and mind for a long time. Labyrinth Lost has taken different shapes and titles, and undergone many revisions, but the one thing that hasn’t changed is the idea of family as identity. Alex struggles with who she is, who she should be, and who she wants to be. I think that everyone, no matter where they come from, can relate to that. In order for me to create this matriarchy of brujas, I took inspiration from some Latin American religions and cultures.
BRUJAS
Bruja is the Spanish word for “witch.” In my Ecuadorian family, we call each other brujas as a joke. When you wake up with your hair messy, your aunt will say, “Oh, mira esa bruja!” The word itself has both negative and empowering connotations. In Latin American countries, like Ecuador, the neighborhood “bruja” might be someone to be feared. One of my most vivid memories is watching a neighborhood bruja rub an egg over a baby’s body to determine whether or not he had the Evil Eye. Since all of these countries have a large Catholic population, it’s easy to place a bruja, or witch, in a negative light. In the last couple of years in the U.S., I’ve seen Latin women all over the Internet take back the word “bruja” with pride, from the Latina skate crew in the Bronx (The Brujas) to the contemporary young women who practice nondenominational brujeria.
Brujeria is a faith for many, but it is not the faith in my book. In Labyrinth Lost, I chose to call Alex and her family “brujas” and “brujos” because their origins do not come from Europe or Salem. Alex’s ancestors come from Ecuador, Spain, Africa, Mexico, and the Caribbean. Her magic is like Latin America—a combination of the old world and new.
DEATHDAY
The Deathday is a magical coming-of-age of my own creation. Like a bat mitzvah or a sweet sixteen, but for brujas and brujos. It is a time when a family gets together and wakes the dead spirits of their ancestors. The ancestors then give their blessing to the bruja/o. With the blessing, the magic can grow and reach its full potential. Without the blessing, well, bad things can happen. Like many traditions, they grow and become modernized. In Alex’s time, Brooklyn circa now, Deathdays are lined up with birthdays for extra festivities. Even though the Deathday ceremony was created for the world of Labyrinth Lost, aspects of it are inspired by the Day of the Dead and Santeria.
El Día de los Muertos, or the Day of the Dead, is a Mexican holiday that celebrates and honors deceased family members through food and festivities. Altars are filled with photographs, flowers, food, and candles. The celebrations are then taken to the cemeteries, where people play games, sing, and even leave shots of mezcal for the adult spirits. The unity of death and family is what drew me to it and one of the things I wanted to include in Alex’s life. One of the best books I’ve read on the subject was The Skeleton at the Feast: The Day of the Dead in Mexico by Elizabeth Carmichael.
Santeria is an Afro-Caribbean religion that syncretizes Yoruba beliefs and aspects of Catholicism. It developed when slaves from Western Africa were taken to Cuba and other Caribbean Islands against their will. Slaves were forced to convert but held on to their religion in secret, and used Catholic saints as parallels to their orishas. Those who don’t understand it often see Santeria as a secretive and underground religion. Like some Santeros, the brujas of Labyrinth Lost use animal sacrifice and possession, and connect directly to their gods. The Santeria orishas, however, are not gods but parts of the Supreme God. For further information, a popular starting point is Santeria: The Religion: Faith, Rites, Magic by Migene González-Wippler.
DEATH MASK
The matriarch of the family paints a death mask on the bruja receiving her Deathday. The Deathday ceremony was originated by Mexican brujas in Labyrinth Lost. The death mask is white clay that covers the face. Then a black paint or charcoal powder is used for the eyes, nose, and lips. Thousands of years ago, Alta Brujas realized that the dead weren’t appearing at the Deathday ceremonies. They decided they needed to dress up like the dead to make them feel at home. Death became an intricate part of day to day bruja ceremonies and festivities.
The death mask itself is, of course, influenced by the sugar skulls of the Day of the Dead. In real life, sugar skulls are used to represent the dead and decorate the wonderful feasts of Día de los Muertos. They’re colorful and smiling and are sometimes meant as social commentary. In the early 1900s, an artist named José Guadalupe Posada created the Catrinas. They were skeletons dressed in upper-class Spanish clothes and meant as satire of the Mexican Indians, who were trying to copy the European aristocracy.
THE DEOS