The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (40)

Then, Tatinelly felt a kick, a sharp pain. The sensation gathered at her belly button, where a quarter-sized flower bud had sprouted. She looked into Orquídea’s eyes, sparkling and black and wet, and didn’t have enough words for what her grandmother had just given her. A gift for her daughter. Something extraordinary.

“Do you have a name yet?”

“I do. It’s—”

“Don’t tell me! I want to be surprised, too.”



* * *



As Rhiannon Rose Sullivan Montoya came into this world, twenty-eight days early, and was placed in her arms, Tatinelly was sure of two things.

The first was that her daughter was special. All kids are special to their parents, she supposed. Tatinelly hadn’t been special. She’d been ordinary like her mom and dad. But not Rhiannon. The quarter-sized bud that had sprung from Tatinelly’s belly button now blossomed at the center of Rhiannon’s forehead. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. A tiny, fairy creature that she’d made. The women around them cooed and awed at her. She had the doe brown skin of her mother, and a full head of light brown hair.

Mike didn’t want to hold her, worried that something had gone wrong, that there was a cursed mark on his daughter. But Tatinelly knew that he would come around.

The second thing she realized was that somewhere in the house, there was a fire.

Marimar and Rey ran into the room to warn them, but the flames had raced up the stairs and now blocked their way out. Rey went to the window, but it was too dangerous to jump. Marimar threw herself on the ground, yanking at the carpet under their feet. She was knocking, keeping her head to the floorboards.

“What do we do?” Reina asked.

Tatinelly smoothed Rhiannon’s sticky hair. A smile tugged at her lips. She shouldn’t have felt that calm, but that’s how she was, the eye of a hurricane.

“Got it!” Marimar shouted as she pressed down and a latch opened on the floorboards. The way was dark, with old stairs leading down into who knew where.

“Mom said this is how she used to sneak out,” Marimar said, and waited for the others to file in. “Tati, you first.”

“I will slow everyone down,” she said. She handed Rhiannon over to her cousin. Marimar was terrified, but she gave her a reassuring nod and went.

“Go!” Tía Silvia shouted. Her hands were still covered in blood, so bright it looked like she was wearing gloves.

They went, one by one. Tatinelly wasn’t sure where she found her strength, but she got downstairs. Mike held her hand. He was terrified into silence, shaking, craning his neck to see the end of the passageway. Rhiannon didn’t cry out despite the roar of the flames or the scared hiccups Penny was letting out. The stairs were dark, illuminated by glowing dragonflies and lightning bugs. They zoomed back and forth, and Tatinelly knew that they were here to make sure Rhiannon was safe.

When they got to the bottom, they realized they were in the walk-in pantry, empty for the first time since the house came to be. The fire hadn’t reached the kitchen, and they hurried out through the yard and back around.

In the distance, Enrique was running away from the house, trudging uphill just as an ambulance and the sheriff’s Lincoln were speeding downhill. The volunteer fire department was two towns over and on their way, but they all knew it was too late. The stench of rot and decay around the house was replaced with smoke. Tatinelly stood downwind of it, covered in jackets and sweaters and anything her family could take off. If she closed her eyes she could imagine sitting around a fireplace, with the kind of family that was bonded by blood and roots and magic.



* * *



After hours of being unable to stop the flames, they simply watched it burn. Bathed in morning light, the house was nothing but a pile of ash and debris around a great tree with branches that reached for the heavens, surrounded by thousands of incandescent creatures.

Marimar was barefoot again and she still couldn’t tear herself away from the front of the house. It was the spark of Rey’s lighter that brought her back to the present.

Sheriff Palladino stepped out of his car and took in the scene. He had aged well, Marimar thought. The paramedics were on Tatinelly at once, taking her blood pressure and giving her and Rhiannon oxygen.

Marimar and Rey stayed close.

Sheriff Palladino approached the three of them. His bright blue eyes went from Rhiannon’s forehead, to Rey’s hand where a red, red rose had sprouted between his thumb and index finger. Marimar, too, had a green bud at her clavicle. Marimar didn’t have time to wonder why her flower hadn’t bloomed like the baby’s and Rey’s. She watched Sheriff Palladino stare at the flowers, but he was used to Orquídea’s inexplicable life in Four Rivers and he did not ask questions they couldn’t answer.

They gave statements, and he took off his hat at the news that Orquídea had perished in the fire. He looked at the tall tree that had appeared straight through the center of the house. Its species, a ceiba common in the Amazon rainforest, did not belong in the hills of Four Rivers. But just like the house that had appeared one day from thin air, he could not refute its existence.

As they readied to load Tatinelly in the ambulance, she looked at her cousins. “What are you going to do?”

Marimar surveyed the damage. She ran her fingers through her hair. A hummingbird appeared, and flew close to her throat, then disappeared into the night.