Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2)(42)

Nova’s quiet for a while. The sounds of the dark return, louder than before. Something pinches at my side, like nails grabbing hold of my skin and twisting hard. But I’ve gotten better at hiding my pain, so I stand and wait for Nova’s word.

“I don’t know much, but I can contact people who might. After that, I’m out. I don’t want to be involved with you guys any more than I already am.”

A wave of relief crashes over me.

Nova doesn’t return my smile and turns his back on me, heading down the hall to use the bathroom. In the dark, he says, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

One thought echoes through my head as I return to Maks: I hope I do too.





18


Take from my blood.

Take from my soul.

Take all of me

even if I am no more.

—Salvation Canto, Book of Cantos




I wake to a scream.

I sit up straight, disoriented and drowsy. My eyes are so tired they feel swollen and refuse to open.

“Lula, what’s wrong?” Maks’s voice, far away even though his hands are on my shoulders.

Then I realize I’m the one screaming.

I’m the one trying to break out of his arms, kicking and flailing because the pain that sears my skin is so strong I just want to crawl out of it.

“Lula?” This time it’s Alex. She bangs on the door; then there’s the thick blast of magic shaking the room until she’s in.

“What should I do?” Maks asks. His voice is nervous, and I can sense—no. I can feel his frantic energy like it is part of me. “Help her!”

I turn on my side and bite the pillow to drown my scream. The pain bursts out of my abdomen, skin burning to the touch, swollen and wet with sweat and blood.

More footsteps and voices fill the room. There’s not enough air for all of us and I choke. Everyone is talking at the same time, my sisters and Maks and Nova. Their voices like knives at my eardrums.

“What’s wrong with her?” Nova.

“I don’t know! She just started screaming.” Maks.

“When will Ma be back?” Rose.

“I don’t know.” Alex. “Get me two crystals and the sleeping draught.”

“No.” Me. “No sleep.”

“What’s she saying?” Maks.

“Shut up and let her work.” Nova.

Footsteps. Stomping. Shouting. Screaming. Fists. Fighting. Crashing.

“Both of you.” Alex. “This isn’t helping.”

“Here.” Rose. “Ale, I can’t sense her.”

“Don’t talk like that. I need your help.” Alex. “Not you, Nova. My sister.”

Alex calls on her magic. Cold stone on my skin. Shut eyes. Darkness. Sleep.

“Lula. Lula, open your eyes!”

? ? ?

I do as Alex says, but when I open my eyes, I’m not in my room. I’m not anywhere I can recognize.

I’m haloed by a tumultuous black sky pinpricked by lightning. The ground is fluid, black water beneath my bare feet.

“Hello?”

Lady de La Muerte appears in front of me in a whirlwind of smoke and shadow.

“I see you’re out doing my bidding.” La Muerte speaks in that cold way of hers. She tilts her head to the side to examine me. Her skin is the gray of death. The air around us is enshrouded in a bone-chilling cold. I touch the tips of my ears and they’re hard as ice. But the pain in my side is fading.

“Am I dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“You broke the balance. You created abominations. You trapped me between realms. Now you must free me.”

“I’m not a goddess. I don’t know how to start. I don’t know where to start.”

“Find my spear. Kill the casimuertos.”

“There has to be another way. A way to heal Maks and free you. What about the other Deos? Where are they?”

“The Deos are where they have always been.” Lady de la Muerte walks around me like a feline considering its prey. Her black dress hangs off her slender body. She walks right up to me and presses her finger on my chest, her black crystal nail digging into my skin. “We require as much as you ask for.”

“The Deos ask too much, then,” I say. “I can’t be the one to free you.”

“Why is it that humans like to say that the Deos ask too much when it is you who want the world to change at your whims and desires? We gave you the world. Find a way to live in it.”

She floats around me. Her arms are bare, like before, but the markings on her skin are fading, every name diluting like a drop of ink in water.

“What’s happening to you?” I ask.

She runs her long, thin fingers along her arm. “These are the names that should be claimed. But can’t be. Instead, they float adrift on my skin. Every day the balance remains broken, more souls will be trapped in the in-between.”

I get close enough to see the faded names. We stand on the water, the coldness seeping through my socks and freezing my feet.

“Are they all casimuertos?” I ask.

La Muerte looks up at me. Her black eyes hold entire galaxies if you look long enough.

“No. But lost souls share the same kind of darkness.” Her movements are twitchy, and for a moment, she shudders. “Do you know what a world without death is?”