Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2)(40)

Nova sighs deeply and whispers, “Thank you.”

My parents rush to get things in order before they leave. Dad embraces Nova like a son and I try not to let it bother me. Why is it so easy for Nova to hug my father, but I can’t? I push the thought away for now. I have to go check in on Maks, and in this flurry of activity, I can make my exit. Rose gets clean clothes and towels for Nova. Alex heads to her room to call Rishi, but before she does, she gives me a stern look as if to say, This isn’t over.

I know it isn’t. It’s just beginning.

“Good night,” I say, my body ready to crash.

But I hear my father tell Nova, “I’ll bring up some ice for that bruise.”

My blood runs cold and I remember the black box. The thing inside it. Dad’s heading to the stairs but I shout, “I got it!”

Pain swims across my eyes as I sprint downstairs and wrench open the freezer door. I grab the black box and a couple of ice packs. Cold air blows against my face as I slam the door shut.

“What’s gotten into you?” Ma asks, stepping into the foyer with Dad trailing behind her.

“Just trying to be helpful.” And every. Single. Step. Hurts.

My mom studies my face. Can she see my lie? If she does, she doesn’t say anything. She holds me for a long time, and I kiss her cheek, wishing I could tell her everything.

“I love you,” I say, and she says, “I love you more.”

Dad kisses my forehead, and they hurry out the door. I lock the door behind them, and when I make it back upstairs, winded and clutching the cramp in my side, Nova opens the door to the infirmary.

“Make yourself at home,” I mutter.

He’s shirtless, so I can see the full extent of the bruise that covers his right shoulder, like El Papa gripped him and left his mark before letting him go. Nova quirks his eyebrow at me and holds his hand out for the ice packs.

“Thanks,” he says, then eyes the thing in my hands. “What’s in the box?”

I limp five paces away from him and to my bedroom. “Ice cream.”

I shut the door and lock it. I rest my head against it and breathe long and deep. My body longs to fall into my bed, but my mind is still processing today’s events. The stranger sneaking around the house, the attack, the black box. I hold it against my belly, the cold delicious against my burning skin.

When I open my eyes, Maks is standing in the center of my room, candlelight bouncing along his features. I swat my hand against the wall to hit the light switch, but he rushes me, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. He rests his hands on either side of me. Blue eyes bright as headlights, he leans in, gently digging his nose into my neck, my hair. Fear and want twist in my belly.

“Baby,” he whispers. He pulls back to look at me, lost, confused, and strange. Then he presses his hand on the center of my chest and says, “I’m so hungry.”





17


Her eyes were clear as milk and stitched with blood.

He wanted to save her but she wanted him gone.

—El Libro Maldecido/The Accursed Book, Fausto Toledo




My boyfriend is eating a human heart.

His hands hold it like a ripe mango, juice dripping down his chin, his wrists. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth with every swallow. His fingers press so hard against the organ I fear it’s going to pop.

It’s a heart, I think to myself. It can’t pop.

I sit with my back against the door. The house is as still as it’ll ever be, but everything feels loud—the creak of old floorboards, the whistles of snoring down the hall, the static buzz of a lightbulb left on, the rusty twinge of a door left ajar, the pop of the candles on my altar.

The loudest sound of all is the slick, wet sound of Maks devouring. He seems both thrilled and terrified. Every few seconds he stops and looks at me. His eyes wide and begging for answers I don’t have, his chest heaving as if I should stop him, save him from this.

When Maks is finished, he sits and looks at his red hands. There is nothing like staring at your open palms, blood filling the creases like rivers across a barren land. He rubs his thumb across his fingers, like a reminder that, yes, those are his hands.

“Maks?”

I think about what my dad and Nova said. The note in the box. Abomination. Casimuerto. I don’t like the way those words sound on my tongue.

I pull at my magic. It’s a weak pulse, weaker than it has ever been. I let it flood through him and I search for the one thing to reassure me that he’s still Maks—his heartbeat.

I can hear it, feel it, beating to the same rhythm as mine.

“Lula,” he says, his features contorting into confusion. “What’s wrong with me?”

I sit on my knees and brush his hair back. I pull him close to my chest. How can I tell him everything and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone?

“There was an accident.”

“I can’t remember anything.” He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly, and deep down I recognize the desperation that he clings to because I’ve felt that too.

I shut my eyes, hot tears rolling down my face. “I know. We’ll fix that.”

He touches the bloody mess around his mouth. He frowns at the sight. I grab a candle from my altar and take his hand.

“Come,” I say.