Labyrinth Lost (Brooklyn Brujas #1)(12)

I’ve never seen a boy with such bipolar eyes, let alone a permanent wrinkle between his brows, like he spends more time frowning than anything else. I ring Lady’s bell a few more times.

“Deathday shopping?” he says, smirking. “You look excited.”

“How’d you know?” I ask, matching his sarcasm.

“Overheard your mom. I’m Nova, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” The pads of my hands itch. It’s like the magic I’ve tried to push back so long has gotten a little bit of freedom and now it wants more. It coils inside me at the base of my belly and spreads. I take a deep, calming breath and push it back. “Shouldn’t you be out jaywalking?”

He laughs, then leans close to me, so I can see the dip between his brows is not a frown mark but a thin scar. And it’s not just there. He’s got three more matching nicks, one on each cheek and the last on his chin, like the cardinal points of a compass.

“Most girls get pumped for their Deathday.”

“Yeah, you know what a bruja wants.”

“Not really. I just guess until I get it right.” His smile falters, but not for long. “It’s okay to be scared. You just have to do your part and welcome your dead. It’s tradition.”

“It’s not fair,” I say. I don’t know why I say it. It just came out. He’s a stranger. But sometimes it’s easier to confide in strangers than the people who love us. “It feels like I don’t have a choice in my life.”

“You could always not do it.”

I can’t really tell if he’s joking, but I can’t deny the little spark of hope that fills my heart. Every bruja and brujo I know has had their Deathday.

“How?” I hope I don’t sound too eager.

He shrugs. “I’m sure you’re not the first witch in history to fear her own strength. Sorry to break it to you, brujita.” Little bruja.

“Didn’t you hear? I’m superspecial. I’m an encantrix.” Why did I admit to that? A second ago I wanted to deny it.

His eyes brighten with surprise, then appraisal. “Good for you.”

“I’m not sure ‘good’ is what I was going for.”

“Well, you only get one Deathday.”

“Except the actual day we die.”

He chuckles, and it makes his face look softer. “That’s a little morbid, even for me.”

I rest my hands on the cool glass. He leans closer to me. His eyes are bluer now. Smoke from the sage bundle burning in the corner descends around us. “I think it’s sweet that you’re nervous.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. How?”

“Well, I usually charge for my wisdom.” He raps his knuckles on the countertop.

I doubt he’s the kind of person who would give me a straight answer. I think he likes to hear himself be charming and clever. Then again, I don’t really know what kind of person he is at all. But I can’t exactly ask my mother or sisters or my best friend, so a stranger is going to have to do.

“Look,” he says, “if there are cantos for raising the dead and making it rain, then there should be something for stopping your Deathday. That is what you’re talking about, right? I mean, I wouldn’t do it because you don’t know what the recoil might be or the effects it could have. You shouldn’t do it because you don’t seem like you know the first thing about performing a canto and might set your house on fire. No offense.”

“How is that not offensive?” I’m filled with the urge to turn him into a slug. Then I lose my spark when I realize he’s right. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

What do I want? To stop my Deathday? That’s only half the problem. I’d still have this magic inside me. Magic killed my aunt Rosaria and Mama Juanita. My magic killed Miluna and set my father running. I could’ve hurt Rishi the other day. It destroys. I wonder…

“I’m saying. Just ’cause you can doesn’t mean that you should.”

“You don’t know my reasons.”

He grins slyly. “I don’t have to. If you want to compare the monsters in our closets, I’d win by a landslide. Besides, I don’t care what you do. I just figured I’d give you a little warning.”

“Why?”

His blue-green eyes flick from my lips to my clavicle. “I’m a nice guy.”

I snicker. “Okay. Where would you start?”

Nova looks over his shoulder where Lady and my mother are comparing the benefits of different bushels of sage. My sisters are in a corner giggling probably because this is the longest I’ve voluntarily talked to a boy my own age.

Nova leans in closer to me. I look at the in-between colors of his eyes—they’re like the shades of Caribbean seas—and hate that someone so cocky is so pretty.

“Listen, Ladybird,” he says, “the ceremony happens whether you want it to or not. But if you reject your blessing, it’ll have an effect on your power. The whole point is that the ceremony makes your power stronger but easier to contain.”

“If I wanted a lesson on spells, I’d talk to Lady.”

He makes a face. “Spells are for—”

“Witches, I know the drill.”