The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (86)

“River monster,” it spat. “No one has called my name in a long time.”

“You’re so cute,” she giggled in that way of hers. “Mamá Orquídea said you were three feet long.”

Indignant, the creature wriggled and climbed up on Rhiannon’s shoulder like a questionable Jiminy Cricket.

“My spirit grows smaller and smaller as I am forgotten.”

Marimar brushed her damp hair back and wiped drizzle from her eyes. “Orquídea remembered you. She used to tell us stories about you.”

“My Bastard Daughter of the Waves.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask,” Rey said cautiously. “You’re not secretly our grandfather, are you?”

The river monster snapped at Rey’s hand, snatching a rose petal between sharp teeth and ate it. “No.”

Rey winced, and rubbed at the spot. “It’s been a strange couple of days. I needed to be sure.”

Marimar pinched the bridge of her nose as Rhiannon giggled. “Orquídea’s mother said that you were her only true friend here. There’s a man—a creature—after us. We need to know if Orquídea ever came back to seek your help. We have to stop him before he comes for us again.”

The small crocodile spirit smacked its tongue, like it savored the rose petal. With a shake of its whole body, the river monster perked up and scampered off Rhiannon’s shoulder, growing six inches in height and width.

“That’s better,” it sighed. Glossy yellow eyes took in the young Montoyas, and as if seeing them clearly for the first time, the creature spoke clearly. “After our pact, I never saw Orquídea. I do miss her presence on these shores.”

“You’ve seen everything that passes through these waters for centuries,” Marimar said. “And yet, you answered Orquídea’s plea. We’re here now. Make a bargain with us.”

The river monster chuckled. “You’re as demanding as she was… My power has faded, but perhaps I have something that might help you. One thing that is enchanted with a bargain. It will trap a hundred fish or a single man. Once caught, they can only be freed by myself or by Orquídea, as we are the ones whose vow enchanted it.”

“What is it?” Marimar asked.

The creature reached into its wide mouth and pulled out a shimmering string.

Not string, Marimar thought. A net.

The net her grandmother had used decades ago, when she was no bigger than Rhiannon.

“Take this.” The river monster crawled back on all fours, elongating to look more like a crocodile than a beast of legend; as if the more magic it expelled, it became something else.

Marimar took up the net, still perfectly intact. Her vow shimmered gold in the thread, for what was stronger than words?

“Thank you,” Marimar said.

“We don’t know your name?” Rhiannon said.

“No one asks. Sometimes I forget it.” It coughed, like it hurt to speak. “My name is Quilca.”

“I’ll tell Orquídea you said hi, Quilca,” Rhiannon assured him. “That you helped us.”

Quilca waded into the river, then stopped. “I am not the only one who remembers Orquídea, you know. Sometimes I hear her name, like a scream.”

Rey straightened. So had he, the day Tatinelly’s illness took hold. It had happened so fast he hadn’t processed it. “From where?”

“Up in the cerro Santa Ana. Once a month, when the full moon is out, I can hear it.”

Then, Quilca the river monster was gone.





30

THE SPECTACULAR SPECTACULAR FIRE




The day the Londo?o Spectacular Spectacular returned to Guayaquil was the day Orquídea’s life would never be the same. But she had already prepared for that. This time, the tents were bigger, the acts more astonishing. Bolívar’s fascination with spectacle and glamour made it an immersive experience for all who entered. Agustina spun the threads of fortunes at her table. Children cracked baby teeth on bright red candied apples. On stage, women walked across tightropes with wings growing out of their shoulders, angels all of them. Orquídea performed in her dress that bloomed like a living flower, and then again as a mermaid swimming across a sea. Dancers and jugglers and sword swallowers. Wolf girls and seal boys and beasts. Finally, Lázaro, the Living Star. At the heart of it all the ringmaster, the visionary, Bolívar Londo?o III.

Orquídea had prepared for that day for so long, that when it finally arrived, she couldn’t stop trembling. She needed to compose herself or the plan wouldn’t work. She took everything into account. Bolívar’s activities, the time at which he bathed after the show, then left to play cards. He’d come back one more time to kiss Pedrito in his sleep. Her bag was packed and stowed under the bed. She’d take Pedrito to the storage tent where Lázaro waited. She’d free him, take her sliver of power, and then she’d be free.

She’d prepared for nearly everything, even made the rounds around the circus, saying goodbye without really saying the words. But on the way back to her tent, Orquídea was approached by someone she never thought she’d see again. Her mother.

There had been a moment when she was singing that she thought she’d imagined Isabela Buenasuerte in the audience. Her heartrate had spiked, agonizing over what her mother would think. What she’d say. But Orquídea ran away two years ago. She was a married woman. A mother in her own right. She’d seen more of the world than her mother, who had never even left the province she’d been born in. By the end of her song, Orquídea convinced herself that she was wrong. The faces in the audience blurred together after a while.