Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2)(32)

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Alex and Rose have already made themselves comfortable. They brought up a plate of sandwiches, and Alex thumbs through the Book of Cantos as Rose lights enough candles to illuminate the whole room. A bundle of dried roses and desert sage emits a thin line of smoke.

Alex looks up and shuts the book. “What did Mom say?”

“She wants me to go to the home birth with her tomorrow,” I tell them. “You guys could’ve been quieter. I could hear you from the infirmary.”

Alex and Rose trade glances.

“We’ve been reading and your undead boyfriend has been sound asleep,” Alex says indignantly. “A sentence I never thought I’d ever utter.”

“Then what was the thumping sound I heard?”

“Maybe Dad’s fixing the hole in the wall.” Rose gives me a side glance.

I ignore her and go to the window. I pull back the curtain. None of the usual front-stoop hangouts. Just shadows and empty streets.

“What is it?” Alex asks.

“Nothing. Just shadows playing tricks on me.” I shut the curtains and turn back around. “Did you find anything in the books?”

“There are more claims of seeing La Mama’s face in a random brujo’s pancake than about Lady de la Muerte.”

“There’s just one rezo.” Alex drums her fingers on a page in a thick hardcover of Tales of the Deos.

“Read it,” I urge her.

She clears he throat. “‘The Deos too learned their limits. El Fuego extinguished into ash. La Ola crumbled into salt. El Terroz clove the earth in pieces. El Viento fell and kept on falling. But from their limits, Lady de la Muerte was born.’”

“That’s it? So the limits of the gods?” I say, frustrated. Rose presses her finger to her lips, but I’m not done. How can we have so many books and end up with nothing? “That’s a freaking bedtime story!”

“Lula,” Ma shouts from down the hall. “You okay?”

“Fine!” the three of us say at the same time.

“Lula.” This time it’s Maks. He sits straight up. I say his name to get his eyes to focus on me. But when he does, his irises are pale, ice blue, and bloodshot red. Something’s changed, and he inhales deeply. His movements are predatory as he catches the whiff of the sage smoke.

No, not the smoke. His head snaps toward my sister.

He lunges at Rose.





14


In 1965, a man in Caracas, Venezuela, lost his wife the same day they were married. The man, son of a brujo but with no powers of his own, used every measure he could to bring her back to life. But the person who awoke was not his beloved.

—El Libro Maldecido/The Accursed Book, Fausto Toledo




Alex blasts a force field that crackles with lightning when Maks slams into it. He tumbles back and hits his head against the window sill. We rush to Rose’s side.

“I’m okay,” Rose assures Alex, who brushes Rose’s hair back over her face. “He didn’t touch me.”

I walk around the bed to where Maks is slumped on the floor, attempting and failing to get up. I’m afraid to touch him, but when he looks at me, his eyes are back to normal. He presses his wrist to his temple and groans.

“Oh God,” he says, his voice is scratchy and deep. “What happened?”

“Are you okay?” I help him back up to my bed. Even through his T-shirt, he’s cold.

“Did I fall off the bed?” He starts to stand, then notices Alex and Rose. Rose watches him carefully while Alex balls her fists as if trying to reel her magic back. He lifts a hand and waves at them. “Whoa, hey, guys.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Alex asks him, stepping forward. Her arms still tremble from the blast of magic, but she stuffs them in her pockets to make it stop.

“It’s all pretty blurry,” he says, a smile quirking at his mouth. He scratches the back of his head and rubs my arm absentmindedly. “I was having some weird-ass dreams. I think it was that tea you gave me. Why are you guys looking at me like that? Did I do something stupid?”

I hold my hand up to stop Alex’s next statement.

“Something like that,” she says, and narrows her eyes at me. “Think hard, Maks. What about before the tea?”

“Last thing I remember?” His eyes slide out of focus, pupils opening and closing like the aperture of a camera. He stares at a blank spot on my wall so long that I reach out and place my hand on his knee and squeeze gently. He clears his throat and stares at me, like he’s trying to remember my face. It was the same look he gave me in the car that morning on the way to the game. Then, his features soften and he smiles at me. “I don’t know. It’s like flashes. Lula said we were in an accident. Was it after the game? Is everyone okay?”

Rose scoffs and throws up her hands, as if to say, Are you kidding?

“Yes, it happened on the way home from the game. How do you feel?” I ask, avoiding his other question.

“Like death.” He leans back on the pillows. “What time is it?”

“Ten at night.” My heart is beating wildly as I stand between Maks and my sisters.

“Damn. Did my mom call?” he asks. “She hates when I don’t show up for dinner.”