Labyrinth Lost (Brooklyn Brujas #1)(18)
The sky starts to brighten. Red stains the fat clouds that hide the sun. I’m running out of time. I feel like my future is slipping from my fingers. I want to do everything I can to hold on. My eyes burn as I read the text once again. I may not want anything to do with being a bruja, but I’ve always been a good student.
The depiction of the Banishing Canto is virtually recoil free. Side effects look like severe drowsiness and temporary paralysis. I’m prepared for the recoil to hurt. A moment of pain is better than a lifetime of being hunted.
Somewhere downstairs, I hear my mother’s footsteps. Every morning at five, she puts on a strong pot of coffee and makes buttered toast.
I leave the Book of Cantos on my bed and start to get ready for today’s festivities. I lock myself in the bathroom. I run the shower as hot as possible. I scrub my skin until it’s red, and I wonder where cantos go. I wonder if there is an endless vortex or a big space dump where this stuff ends up. Every wish, every prayer has to go somewhere, right? I mean, do the gods even listen?
I lose track of how long I’ve been in the shower until Lula bangs on the door.
“Just because it’s your party doesn’t mean you can take your sweet time! I have to do your hair.”
When I don’t answer, all I hear is a grunt and what I presume is a hair flip because she can’t storm out without a good hair flip.
I lather my body in rose oil and stand in front of the mirror to air dry.
“You can do this,” I tell my reflection.
I put on a brave face and go to Lula’s room, where my dress and flowers are laid out.
“Let me work my magic,” Lula says, like we’re regular girls getting ready for a regular birthday party instead of sister brujas ready to wake the dead.
? ? ?
Mama Juanita used to say that when you drop a spoon, get ready for company, probably from a vindictive woman. A fork—a handsome man. A knife—lock the doors and windows. Since I’ve literally wrecked our kitchen twice in a week, I don’t even want to think of what’s in store for me today.
Every single surface is filled with fat, white candles and pulsing flames. Dozens of brujas and brujos fill the house in their Deathday best. Lady’s turquoise head wrap is tall, accented with dozens of tiny crystals. Great-Aunt Esperanza shimmers in the colors of a peacock with a fascinator of the same bird’s feathers. Our distant cousins, the brujas from Lula’s circle, are done up in chiffon skirts and silk blouses covered in glitter. You’d think it was their birthday and not mine. When I think of family, I think of Mom, Lula, and Rose. When my mom thinks of family, she means everyone related to us by a single drop of blood or marriage.
I smooth down my simple, white dress covered in hand-stitched little flowers along the neckline. Traditional. Plain. Functional. It’s going to get stained anyway.
“Rose, get back here!” I hiss.
But she leaves my side and dives straight for the tray of guava and brie empanadas.
Uncle Gladios makes a beeline for me. He holds my face with his grizzly hands. Traces of sweet sugarcane rum and cigar smoke cling to his clothes.
“You are a woman now,” he says. “I knew there had to be great power in you.”
I put on a smile when all I want to do is roll my eyes. It’s always nice when your older male relatives tell you how great it is to be a woman now, like I was an androgynous experiment before. I duck out of his grip before he caves my head in.
The hugging and face pinching goes on for a while. Aunts and uncles and cousins touch my hair and dress and necklace. Suddenly I feel like there are too many people in my house. It’s too loud, too much, too bright.
Old Samuel drags his conga drums across the living room. He wears a white tunic with tiny mirrors sewn across the chest. The mirrors are to ward off bad spirits because they can’t stand to see their own reflections. Lady’s deep voice shouts orders about where the ceremony will take place. Crazy Uncle Julio brought a lonely pink balloon, and it’s already started to sag in the corner.
Lula comes over and holds my hand. She stands straight and defiant as eyes linger on the scars on her cheek. Her hair is braided around her head like a crown, and instead of traditional flowers, she opted for a veiled fascinator covered in gems. She pulls on the veil to make sure it falls over her scars, and for the first time, I see a chink in my sister’s armor.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“Not now.” She holds my hand tighter, and we do a lap around the living room.
Lula elbows me hard and nods at the group of newcomers. She whistles just loud enough for me to hear.
“That’s a drink of water and a half.”
“Gross, we’re probably related,” I remind her.
Rose shakes her head on her way to the punch bowl. “No, we’re not.”
But when Nova turns around, dressed in a blue button-down that frames his broad chest and shoulders, the magic in my belly tugs, and a warm pain passes over me. His earrings wink in the light. I don’t know if I want to keep staring at his smile or find a quiet corner where I can throw up. Who am I kidding? There are no quiet corners in this house. Not tonight. He looks down the hall, where I’m standing, but his gaze goes right past me.
Emma, a cousin thrice removed, stands next to Lula, hooking their arms together. Emma has small teeth and a pointy nose that gives her a look like she’s always smelling something sour. “Oh my Deos, he’s so fine.”