Bruja Born Page 12

  Rose brings the mop and bucket from the kitchen and I go and close the door. Two sets of footprints trail blood from outside.

  “I’ll clean out here,” I tell her.

  I limp around the side of the house to grab the hose and spray the cement where the blood leads directly into our house. I can’t get enough slack on the hose to go down the block. I curse at the heavens. I can only pray for rain.

  My street is too quiet for this time of night, but I’m grateful I don’t have to explain the bloody sidewalk to my neighbors.

  I wrap the hose around my shoulder and close the fence behind me. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel safe in my own house. I was born here, literally in the living room. When my mom went into labor three weeks early, I sped into this world screaming and eager. Alex took forty-eight hours. Rose was right on time.

  After everything I’ve done, a dark thought tugs at me. I wonder if I’ll die here too.

  Up on the second floor, the light in my room is still off, which is a small relief. I can see shadows moving in the infirmary window. There’s a scream, like the call of a banshee trailing in the wind.

  “I should help,” I say out loud. “Even if I’m not ready, I should help.”

  Then, I jump as a shadow moves at the side of the house. And I realize, it’s not a shadow. It’s a man dressed from head to toe in black.

  “Who the hell are you?” I shout.

  He starts to run. It’s so dark I can’t see his face. The light at the porch isn’t turning on, so I fumble with the hose, point it in his direction, and spray.

  I hear him grunt, the blast hitting his side. He’s fast and, in two swift movements, jumps over the side of the porch and into the neighbor’s yard.

  “Stop!” I shout. I start to run, but a pain shreds my sides. I take a knee and wait for it to subside. “Alex!”

  She comes running out. “What’s wrong?”

  “There was someone watching through the window.”

  She comes over and pulls my shirt up. The look on her face tells me something is wrong.

  “Forget that,” she says. “I have to heal you again.”

  I start to shake my head, but the pain is too much, and so I sling my arm around her shoulder. Step by step, we get back inside and sit in the living room.

  “Did you see the patient?” I ask her, eyes darting up the steps after our mystery callers.

  “Ma said to wait until she needs me. Rose is up there now. Whatever it is, it sounds like it’s really bad.”

  I laugh, a bitter, manic thing.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks, setting me on the couch.

  “Remember when all you wanted was to be a normal girl, and I’d get mad at you?”

  “I was an idiot.” She smirks, making her face brighten with mischief.

  “You were smart.”

  “Don’t tell me you want to trade in your powers. Because I’ve been down that road and it doesn’t work.”

  We’re quiet, the scurry of footsteps on the ceiling and the cry of the injured man is our soundtrack for the evening.

  “Everything will be fine,” she says. Her ponytail swishes from side to side when she moves. She lifts up my shirt and examines the area. I see her make a face, then try to cover it up.

  “What?” But I feel the itch and burn of part of the scar opening up again.

  “I healed this last night. It isn’t taking. I’ll do it again.” She walks into the foyer and makes a right toward the supply closet.

  “Ma needs you,” I say.

  She shouts back, “She has Rose and Dad.”

  “Alex.”

  “Just lean back.” She holds a six-inch quartz crystal with raw edges. She places the cold stone on my warm skin.

  Her conjuring magic thickens the air with a velvet mist, cycling around her hands, and I sigh with relief as the pain lightens. Her dark brown eyes focus on the aura around me. As hard as she tries to hide it, I see the worry coiled in her stare, and I fear things might be worse than she’s letting on.

  When my sister’s magic touches me, a tender warmth spreads from the bruised area on my side. My muscles relax, and if I didn’t have so much to do, I’d fall asleep right here and now, even though I slept through most of the day.

  “There,” Alex says. The crystal is pitch black, a sign that the malady is gone. She holds it up for me to see. Crystals can usually be cleansed, but when they’re used to suck sickness out of the body, they turn black like this and there’s no going back. We usually bury them or throw them out to sea. “Want to keep it in a jar and name it?”

  “Thanks,” I say, standing. I wiggle my toes and find I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to feel no pain. “But no.”

  “Do you hear that?” Alex asks. She sets the crystal on the table and looks up at the ceiling.

  “The screaming stopped.”

  As if reading each other’s thoughts, we head upstairs. We stand outside the infirmary door. Mom’s and Dad’s voices are quick and worried. There’s another voice, familiar and strange all at once. I can’t place it, but then I see Alex’s face darken with anger. The lightbulb in the hallway makes a sound like ice breaking through glass, and then we’re cloaked in more darkness, and I wonder, why are we always trailed by shadows?

  Alex yanks open the door and I follow her in.

  Everyone turns to look at us. Mom, Dad, Rose, and—

  “Alex,” he says. His brilliant green-blue eyes search her face. He’s been crying. His light brown skin is speckled with blood.

  “Nova,” Alex says sharply. “It’s been a while.”

  16

  Why am I torn in two?

  My head on earth,

  my heart with you.

  —Song of El Corazón, Breaker of Hearts and Lord of All the World’s Conflict, Book of Deos

  “What are you doing here?” Alex asks Nova.

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” he says, shame thick in his voice.

  Nova Santiago is a complicated guy. I want to hate him. He was the one who set Alex in motion to Los Lagos. He betrayed her. He almost poisoned Rishi. He was a pawn of the Devourer, the demon witch of Los Lagos. But he also feared for his life. He wanted to live. Now, more than ever, I think I can understand his desperation.

  Plus, Rose was right. He brought back our father. He didn’t say how he found him, but he doesn’t exactly seem like the conversational type. Nova always knows more than he lets on. Maybe the tattoos on his chest and the black magic burns on his fingertips scare people away before he can get close. I wonder if he prefers it that way.

  Rose sits on the empty table beside the bloody guy Nova brought in.

  Nova clears his throat. He scratches the back of his buzz-cut head and can’t seem to figure out where to place his hands, so he balls them into fists on his lap. He looks at my parents apologetically. Ma is cleaning her hands on a towel. My dad leans against a wall patiently.

  “I was at Prospect Park with my friend Silvino,” Nova says. “Vino’s like us. Nothing special, but he can conjure shields. Comes in handy when we squat in the park.”

  “What were you doing?” Alex asks sharply.

  “Summoning the god-dammed apocalypse,” Nova says, rolling his eyes at my sister.

  Rose covers her mouth, too late to hold back a loud barking laugh.

  Nova shakes his head and stares at the shelf of jars, like he’s making it a point to avoid Alex’s eyes. “It’s nice out, so we were just chilling, eating dinner. Out of nowhere this guy attacks us. Got the drop on Vino.”

  “Did you see the attacker’s face?” Mom asks, folding another wet cloth and placing it over Vino’s forehead.

  “Too dark.” Nova meets Alex’s eyes. It lasts for about three seconds before he picks someone else to look at. Me. “There was something wrong with him
. He couldn’t speak, like he was chewing on his own tongue. When I blasted him with light, I could see his neck was covered in open wounds. First I thought vamp, but the way it moved… It’s like he was a—” Nova hesitates. He looks around the room at my family and then at Vino.

  Vino’s head inches back and forth and he mutters slightly. Bandages cover the wound my parents healed, but his skin is covered in sweat.

  “A what?” Dad asks. His voice is even, encouraging, the way he would talk to us when we were little.

  “A zombie,” Nova says, then laughs. “It’s ridiculous, I know.”

  Mom and Dad look at each other. I wonder if they can hear the thundering of my heart.

  “Raising the dead is nearly impossible,” Ma says, stroking her chin. “It violates one of the fundamental laws of magic and life. Besides, the only vudú priestess strong enough to raise the dead is retired in the DR.”

  “Maybe it isn’t magical,” Rose suggests. “It could be a virus.”

  We all turn to Vino, turning fitfully in his sleep—just like Maks has been.

  Ma shakes her head and holds out a hand to banish the thought. “His blood was clean when we healed him.”

  “Raising the dead is rare, but it’s been done,” Dad says, tracing his short beard methodically. “It never ends well.”

  “But it has happened,” I say. Their eyes turn to me. “Where?”

  “I heard stories as a child.” Ma scoffs and places her hand on her hip. “But we all did. It’s the only way they got us to behave.”

  Nova shrugs, dispelling the talk of zombies with a wave of his hand. “He could’ve been cracked out. He didn’t try to go for Vino’s brain. That’s the weird part.”

  “Oh, that’s the weird part in all of this?” Alex asks.

  Nova smirks in Alex’s direction but still won’t look at her. “Just when I was starting to miss your smartass mouth. No. He went for Vino’s chest. Couldn’t even use his powers to shield himself. After I scared it away, we tried to run, but Vino was bleeding too much. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You did the right thing,” my mom says. “Maybe this is the person the police are after.”

  “The police?” Nova asks quietly.

  “Someone is ripping hearts out of people,” Rose says.

  Then I realize my fears about Maks were all wrong. And before I can think better of it, I shout, “Oh, thank gods.”

  “Thank gods?” Mom asks me, a hand on her hip. “Lula, this young man almost died.”

  “I just meant—” I start, looking to Alex, who shakes her head. “Thank the Deos it isn’t zombies.”

  “Perhaps not zombies,” Dad says, his gray eyes focusing on me, “but it does sound like casimuertos.”

  “Casi-what?” I try to repeat the word. Cah-see-mu-erh-toes.

  “What’s that?” Rose asks.

  Dad strokes the tip of his short beard. His stormy-gray eyes are tiny as he squints, searching for a memory that might not be there.

  “I used to know this story by heart,” Dad says, a self-deprecating chuckle on his lips. “It’s the punishment of the Deos when a bruja violates the laws of life. The corpse kills and consumes its prey, trying to return to life, but it can’t.”

  I stop listening to him. My heart is a bass drum in my ears. This is Lady de la Muerte’s punishment.

  “Lula, are you okay?” I hear my dad’s voice, drifting softly in the distance.

  The killer can’t be Maks. But he had the wallet of one of the victims. Maks couldn’t have attacked Vino because he was here with me. Maks is not a casimuerto because he’s not a corpse; he’s a person. I feel his heartbeat. But there’s also the heart in the box. And that note… Destroy the abomination.

  Dad’s hand presses down on my shoulder. A gentle squeeze that brings me back here, in the infirmary, Nova and my family looking at me.

  “Sorry. Headache.”

  “Are the casimuertos like the maloscuros that attacked us?” Rose asks. “We thought they were stories too.”

  “No, not exactly,” Dad says. “The reasons they were created was similar.”

  “Any violation of the gods results in punishment,” Ma says. “Maloscuros were once brujos and brujas who were turned into demons that hunt for power. But casimuertos. Casimuertos can be anyone. My dad once told me a story of a woman who tried to raise an army of them to destroy the villagers who stole her farm.”

  “Seems reasonable,” Rose says dryly.

  “My grandmother told me the same story,” Nova says, a sad smile tugging at his full mouth. “In her version, it was her cheating husband, not villagers. And they all died in the end.”

  “Charming,” Alex says.

  “The thing that attacked Vino can’t be a casimuerto,” Nova says, leveling his bluish eyes to mine. “Because the bruja wielding the magic would have to be dead or so weak they’d be dying. That kind of power—the power to reanimate the dead—it burns through the body and soul like that.” He snaps his fingers to demonstrate his point.

  “Come. Enough ghost stories,” Ma says, throwing the dirty towels in the lidded bin. “Vino’s stable but he needs rest. Alex, change the bandages in the morning. We’ll report the attack to the High Circle on our drive to Montauk.”

  “Perhaps we should stay,” Dad says, and I do my best to remain calm when his stare finds mine. “I don’t like the idea of you all staying alone.”

  Part of me wants them to say. I want my parents to fix my mistakes and make it all better. But I’ll be eighteen in weeks, and I have to start taking care of myself.

  “We’ll be fine,” I say. “We won’t leave the house. You guys go.”

  “I’ll hold down the fort,” Rose promises.

  Alex rubs her lips together nervously but nods. Ma picks up the leather pack she stuffed full of supplies and lifts it over her shoulder.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” Nova says. He rubs the blood splatter on his cheek. “If Vino wakes up before that, call me.”

  “Where are you going?” Dad asks.

  Nova looks at his sneakers. “I left my stuff in the park.”

  Dad shakes his head and waves his hands like a crossing guard. “No, you’re not going anywhere. Not when there’s a killer out there, magical or not.”

  “I can’t,” Nova says. His eyes land on Alex, and then he backs away from the door.

  “There’s a bed right here,” Dad tells him, and it’s the most animated he’s been in a while. “You found me, son. You brought me back. It’s not safe tonight. You’re staying here.”

  Rose looks from the injured boy to the empty bed and makes a face. “You want him to sleep next to an almost-dead guy?”

  “Rose!” Mom hisses. Then she turns to Nova, all the patience in the world. “Nova. When you said you left your things in the park, what did you mean?”

  Nova clenches his jaw but answers. “Nothing, Ms. Carmen. I really gotta go.”

  Nova starts to push past us, but Alex raises her hand and shuts the door with a blast of her power. Nova is about to hit it with his fist, but then looks down at Vino sleeping and changes his mind.

  He turns to Alex and holds up an accusatory finger at her nose. “I hate when you do that.”

  Alex grins but doesn’t let up. “Please, just answer my mom.”

  Nova grunts and holds his hands like he’s about to choke the air. “My sleeping bag. My backpack with my food. Is that what you want to hear? All my damn stuff.” Then he looks at my mom. “I’m sorry for raising my voice in your home, Ms. Carmen.”

  Ma takes three steps toward Nova and something tugs in my chest because I can feel his sadness coming off him in waves. She places her hand on his cheek. He won’t look at her. He keeps his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, like it costs him everything not to cry in front of us. “Stay here tonight, Nova. It’s late. P
lease.”

  Nova sighs deeply and whispers, “Thank you.”

  My parents rush to get things in order before they leave. Dad embraces Nova like a son and I try not to let it bother me. Why is it so easy for Nova to hug my father, but I can’t? I push the thought away for now. I have to go check in on Maks, and in this flurry of activity, I can make my exit. Rose gets clean clothes and towels for Nova. Alex heads to her room to call Rishi, but before she does, she gives me a stern look as if to say, This isn’t over.

  I know it isn’t. It’s just beginning.

  “Good night,” I say, my body ready to crash.

  But I hear my father tell Nova, “I’ll bring up some ice for that bruise.”

  My blood runs cold and I remember the black box. The thing inside it. Dad’s heading to the stairs but I shout, “I got it!”

  Pain swims across my eyes as I sprint downstairs and wrench open the freezer door. I grab the black box and a couple of ice packs. Cold air blows against my face as I slam the door shut.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Ma asks, stepping into the foyer with Dad trailing behind her.

  “Just trying to be helpful.” And every. Single. Step. Hurts.

  My mom studies my face. Can she see my lie? If she does, she doesn’t say anything. She holds me for a long time, and I kiss her cheek, wishing I could tell her everything.

  “I love you,” I say, and she says, “I love you more.”

  Dad kisses my forehead, and they hurry out the door. I lock the door behind them, and when I make it back upstairs, winded and clutching the cramp in my side, Nova opens the door to the infirmary.

  “Make yourself at home,” I mutter.

  He’s shirtless, so I can see the full extent of the bruise that covers his right shoulder, like El Papa gripped him and left his mark before letting him go. Nova quirks his eyebrow at me and holds his hand out for the ice packs.

  “Thanks,” he says, then eyes the thing in my hands. “What’s in the box?”

  I limp five paces away from him and to my bedroom. “Ice cream.”

  I shut the door and lock it. I rest my head against it and breathe long and deep. My body longs to fall into my bed, but my mind is still processing today’s events. The stranger sneaking around the house, the attack, the black box. I hold it against my belly, the cold delicious against my burning skin.