Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2)(15)

I take a deep breath. I stare at the nurse’s scar. It’s on the same side as mine.

When his eyes settle on my scar, I feel a flash of anger. I don’t want him to look at me. I need him to get out of my way. I need to get to Maks. Everyone here wants me to rest. Be calm. Be glad I’m alive. So I’ll do just that.

“Just one more lap,” I say and smile. “Please.”

His features soften, and when he stands back up, a lock of his hair falls over his eye. He smirks, like an animated prince, and blows it away.

“All right. But if I check on you and you aren’t there—”

“We’ll make sure she gets rest,” Alex promises. She glances at Rose. “Scout’s honor.”

Rose gives Alex a glare that could burn her alive.

He nods and then goes back to his clipboard. His shiny, black shoes echo as he walks back down the hall. But when he turns a corner, the coast is clear.

“Let’s go,” I say.

And without hesitating, Alex pushes my chair toward Maks’s room. The sound of wheels spinning on the tiled floor fills my ears. My heart squeezes like someone’s got their hand in my chest and is trying to crush it because all I can think is, What if I’m too late?

“Coast is clear.” Rose opens the door to his room, and we go in.

Maks is alone in the dark. I turn on the light on the bedside table, casting an amber glow on the sterile white walls. There are tubes in his throat, tabs and wires trailing from his temples, wrists, and heart. His face is stitched up across his forehead and his cheek, which is red and swollen. The hospital gown makes his skin appear even more gray, except where purple bruises the size of fists cover his arms. Despite all of that, his hair is parted neatly to the side, and I know Mrs. Horbachevsky must’ve only just left because he smells like fresh soap and her rosary is resting on the table beside him.

“Lula?” Alex gently taps my shoulder, a reminder that we have to get moving.

First, we hang lady’s necklace over the door. The mirrors are bathed in sacred waters and blessed with her magic. That way, during the canto, any spirit, alive or dead, human or immortal, will walk right past. We’re invisible and in plain sight. I’d smile at how clever I feel, but I can’t. Not until Maks can breathe on his own.

Next, I hold his still-warm hand as my sisters pull the bed toward the center of the room.

Rose sets up a circle of squat, silver candles and Alex readies the Book of Cantos at the foot of the bed.

I undo the back of his hospital gown and move it down just enough to expose his chest. My breath catches at the sight of scars, red like a nest of snakes settled on his chest. I hold my hand over his heart. I release a pulse of magic. His heartbeat reacts to it, like he recognizes me. I don’t care what anyone says. He’s still in there.

“Ready?” I ask my sisters.

“Almost,” Rose says, lighting the candles with a metal lighter.

Her hand shakes, and she makes a gasping noise, like she’s choking. The lighter falls to the floor and its clatter reverberates in the eerie stillness.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay now. I felt someone cross over,” Rose says, clutching her chest. Her eyes are glossy and she fumbles to finish lighting the candles. “It’s not usually this strong. I think—I think she’s here.”

Alex parts the blinds with her index finger. She motions for me to look. I drag my legs to the window, and every step feels like I’m walking on broken glass.

A shadow inches its way down the hall. It never touches the floor, the black cloak rippling on air. I recognize the white hand gripping the onyx spear. She clicks it on the ground, leaving sparks in her wake.

Lady de la Muerte is here to collect.

“We have to hurry.”

Finally, Rose finishes lighting the candles and a bundle of sage. She stands at the foot of Maks’s bed and Alex stations herself to the left. I use the metal railing on the side of his bed to balance myself. I press my hand on my stomach where my scar burns like a warning.

“I’m going to save you,” I whisper.

Alex draws her dagger from her waistband and hands it to me. It’s small, with a handle made of moonstone, and has a small leather sheath.

“Do it,” I say and take the dagger from her.

Alex holds her hands out, the air around us shifting instantly.

She conjures a wind stream that flows from her body, through Rose, and into me. There isn’t any power attached to it, and at first, it’s like playing with a strong breeze. It’s to get the flow of energy correct, cycling through the three of us, and then into Maks.

I extend my arm over Maks’s torso. I drag the blade from my palm, up my forearm, and stop at the inside of my elbow. My blood falls in a red river, running across the muscles of his chest like water around mountains.

The gash doesn’t hurt right away, but everything else does. My bones, my muscles, my heart. I take a deep breath to steady myself because my vision spins.

“Alex,” I say, to remind her that she can’t change her mind now.

She claps her hands together, pulling on her power, on the essence of the flames, on the smoke wafting from the sage. The blood magic pulses harder, in a way other cantos can’t. Blood magic is the strongest of any kind. We sacrifice it because all gods ask for it. Blood is life. Blood is everything.