Bruja Born (Brooklyn Brujas #2)(47)

“Not interested,” she says, placing the stone back on the table. Her black eyes gleam and a tiny smile plays at her lips.

Alex sits back so quickly her chair scraps the floor. “Why?”

“Alex,” I say, a warning in my voice.

“I’m doing the favor of hearing you out. But you should’ve told my grandson to come himself.” She picks up her coffee—black as her eyes—and drinks deep.

“This has—” I try to say, try to be the voice of reason. This has nothing to do with Nova. That’s what I want to say, but the words won’t come out.

Angela drapes an arm over the back of her chair, the queen of sugar and venom. Her lip curls, and I realize my mistake too late.

“So you two thought you’d just show up here and ask for my help?” she asks. Black and bitter. “You think you know all about my family, don’t you? Do you know where I come from? We were run out of our island because of who we were, and when we came here with nothing but the clothes on our backs and fists full of seeds tucked into my pockets, we made a home out of nothing. You do not know my family, Alejandra Mortiz. So do not come into my shop with that scowl on your face like you know me. I don’t care if you’re the only encantrix in your generation. You’ll always be the reason my grandson gave up his only chance to have long life.”

Alex is at a loss for words. For once.

Angela stands and I know any chance of understanding Maks’s condition and freeing La Muerte is slipping.

“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching for the sleeve of her dress. “We didn’t mean—”

She narrows her eyes. “And you. Don’t get me started on you.”

I recoil slightly. “What about me?”

She holds her hands inches from my face and I fight the urge to jump back. People say that Angela Santiago dabs her potions on her fingertips. That if she touches you, your skin will grow sores or burn off or decay. They say she killed each and every one of her husbands, some slowly, some quick. They say her elixirs keep her from dying. So here she stands, with black eyes that could cut right through me, with poisoned hands, with a lineage so cursed no one dares to speak ill of them. And yet, her voice softens when she talks to me. “You are the reason the Veil of the worlds is broken.”

“I’ve done a terrible thing,” I tell her, and my tongue is loose and my mind fuzzy. I drop the coffee cup, the warm liquid sloshing over my hands. “I brought Maks back from the dead and now people are dead and I want him to be alive but he came back wrong. Lady de La Muerte is trapped between realms and she says I’m the one who has to free her but she’s wrong because I’m not strong enough. I’m not even strong enough to help myself and I don’t know what to do.”

I slap my hands over my mouth to stop the rush of emotions that beg to form into words.

“Lula?” Alex slams her first on the table and turns to Angela, who is watching with fascination. “What did you do? You said—”

“I said I didn’t poison you,” Angela says. “I never give my help unless I know everything my querent knows. It’ll pass in a moment. Now, where does my grandson fit in all this? Did he send you?”

I tell her about Nova and his friend showing up. My breath is hard and labored because I want to fight whatever this truth potion is. I look at Alex and I know she’s going to be upset that I kept this from her. But Angela leans toward me, her eyes trained on me, her hand extended like she’s got an invisible reel on my voice and is tugging until she has what she’s looking for.

“I saw his name,” I say, my words a rush of wind. “Nova—his name appeared on La Muerte’s arm. It was just one word. Noveno. I didn’t know—”

Angela’s eyes are glassy and hard, her mouth a snarl when she says, “You didn’t want to know.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Alex says.

My lips are numb. Perhaps the side effect of the drink. I look down at the spilled coffee and shake my head. There is so much wrong that I don’t know what I could possibly do to make it right, even if Angela decides to help us.

“Nova has been on La Muerte’s sights since he was born,” Angela says, more calmly than I expected. “I’ve tried so hard to help that boy. I hoped—”

It’s like she catches herself because she snaps her gaze up and lets her words fade.

Perhaps I look pathetic. Perhaps the scars on my face and the hollowness under my eyes tells her to have pity. Perhaps she’s afraid of the rift I’ve caused in the balance because she sighs and says, “I will tell you what you want to know.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I can’t help but cry.

“But I don’t want a silly rock from a banished land. I want you to make me a promise.”

“What kind of promise?” Alex asks sharply.

Angela slides her eyes toward Alex, actively ignoring my sister’s tone when she returns to look at me. “I want you to promise you’ll keep Nova safe.”

“You kicked him out,” Alex says in a tone that would get her a smack from Ma. “How is that keeping him safe?”

I pinch her and she jumps, making sparks sputter over her head.

“Every family heals in their own time. You should know, what with your father’s return and all. But Nova’s my flesh and blood. I can’t lose him and I can’t help him. Promise you will do everything in your power to protect him.”