Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2)(33)

I want to speak, but a memory of Mrs. Horbachevsky crying for her son strangles me.

“Your parents are out of town and you’re staying with us for a bit. You hit your head in the accident, so you’re having trouble remembering. There’s pizza in the fridge, if you’re hungry,” Alex says quickly. “Rosie, bring some up?”

“Thanks,” Maks says. He picks up a geode from my nightstand and turns it in his hands.

Despite the worry that mars Alex’s forehead, there’s a flutter of hope in my chest because when he smiles and speaks and laughs, it feels just like it used to, before everything happened.

He asks about the game. He asks where our parents are. And I lie. I lie so well that I bet I can convince myself that the game really happened. That Maks saved two dozen goals and the Thorne Hill Knights were the first undefeated soccer champions we’ve had in years. That the accident wasn’t that bad, and everyone lived, and we were safe.

Alex sits on the floor, flipping through a comic book, hiding the Book of Cantos behind her. She hasn’t stopped frowning, but when she met Maks, she was frowning, so this is just her natural state as far as he’s concerned.

When Rose returns with half a pie, Maks puts away three slices. I forget what it’s like to have an appetite. I nibble on a piece of crust, and in the end, Maks eats the slice I can’t.

He’s in the middle of telling a joke, something about the offside rule, when he doubles over on his knees.

“Alex,” I shout. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Only if he tries to hurt one of you first,” she says coolly, holding her hands up at the ready.

But Maks isn’t attacking anyone. He’s on his knees, a terrible whimper racking his body as he violently throws up.

“This can’t be good,” Alex says.

“Shut up and help me!”

Rose finds a towel and wipes at the corners of his mouth; worry cracks her usually calm demeanor when he looks up with bloodshot eyes.

“What’s wrong with me?” Maks asks, eyes clearing up again. He shivers, fat beads of sweat running down his forehead. I grab the calming draught and bring the mug to his lips. He sniffs at the empty space between us and growls deep in his throat. He wrenches his face to the side.

Alex grabs hold of Maks while I try again, holding the calming potion up to his lips, but he shakes his head and turns away.

“It will help you sleep,” I coax.

He’s short of breath and breaks away from my sister. “Lula, something’s wrong with me.”

“I know,” I whisper, pressing my hand to his forehead. He wraps his arms around me, tea sloshing over the brim of the cup. I bite down the pain that shoots across my stomach. “I’ll help you. I promise.”

He leans into the cup, and I tilt it up until it’s drained. The effect is instant. He sways into me, but Alex and Rose grab him by his arms and move him onto the bed. He mutters nonsensically and reaches for me, holding on to the tips of my fingers until he falls asleep.

“What the hell was that?” Alex hisses.

“I don’t know,” I say through gritted teeth. My racing heart won’t let me think clearly. I grab a clean cloth and dab it across his sweaty skin. His stitches are already falling out. The scars that poke from his collar are almost completely healed.

“Lula, what’s wrong?” Rose asks, eyes wide as a doe.

There’s a sharp tug at my chest and my stomach, and a hot, wet warmth. I press my hand to my side and it comes away bloody.

“Alex,” I cry.

“What?” she snaps. She’s shaking baby powder on the pool of vomit to make it easier to clean up.

“Alex, look.” Rose nudges her shoulder.

She finally looks up. A startled gasp parts her lips as she blasts her magic to catch me before I realize I’m falling.

? ? ?

Even as I come to, I recognize the scent of mom’s cooking, along with something extra—rose sage for anxiety and peaceful dreams. But I don’t remember having any dreams. There was only an endless dark, as if I were dead.

Sunlight breaks through the corners of the closed curtains where they don’t quite rest against the wall. Maks is asleep. The incense smoke covers the smell of puke, and a brown stain marks the carpet. Alex sits on the floor reading a leather-bound book.

“Hey,” I say, testing my voice. When I swallow, my throat feels raw.

Alex stands at once and comes to my side. She picks up a glass of cloudy water with white chunks in it. “Drink this.”

“What is it?” I ask, groggy. My body feels like I’ve run a marathon but without the runner’s high. I pull myself up against the headboard and grimace at the coppery morning breath on my tongue.

“Coconut water,” she says irritably. “Electrolytes and potassium.”

“Mad brujeria,” I say, trying to joke as I drink.

Alex doesn’t laugh but sits at the edge of my bed. “He woke once. I made more of the draught. He’s in and out of awareness. We need to do something.”

“Did you tell Ma?”

She shakes her head. “I said you weren’t feeling well and that I’d heal you, which I did. Mom and Dad are getting ready to go to Montauk after dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” I say. Then I realize, her hair is pulled back and wet. She’s wearing gym clothes. “Wait, I’ve been asleep for a day?”