wishing, I wish my dad had never left. I wish no one would hurt my
family ever again. I wish I were the kind of girl they all think I
should be.
They’ve decided that tomorrow will be my Deathday. My ancestors
will rise, and I will make my sacrifice. But I’ve decided something
too. The Deos gave me this power. And I’m going to give it back.
9
The Book of Cantos is all a bruja needs.
Well, the book, and her wit.
- Jacinta Ferrera Mortiz
Aunt Rosaria liked to say, “Tell me your troubles. If there’s a
cure, it’ll be in the Book.”
The Book is our family Book of Cantos. My ancestor Jacinta Ferrera
Mortiz was the first of my father’s family to come to America. Her
parents died on the ship to Ellis Island from Puerto Rico by way of
Ecuador. She was five years old, and she didn’t speak a word of
English. They put her in an orphanage. All she had was a small
briefcase full of home-sewn dresses that couldn’t stand against the
New York December winds, a doll, and our Book of Cantos.
I flip through the pages of spells, curses, the names of the Deos,
the history of our magic, my family tree. It’s all in here. Even
depictions of cantos gone wrong. Many brujas and brujos find their
deaths by trying to overstep the limits of their magic. If I’m
supposed to be this all-powerful bruja, then I should be able to
handle it. Mom says that you have to believe in that which you ask of
the gods, and I believe in mine.
When I find the canto I’m looking for, my magic rattles inside me
like a beast in a cage. I tiptoe through to our other supply closet,
full of votive candles and shells and everything a bruja needs. I grab
a single black feather from a female raven-the messenger of the Lady
de la Muerte. She’s a hooded woman with a cane, and the worst omen you
get during a card reading.
The sky starts to brighten. Red stains the fat clouds that hide
the sun. I’m running out of time. I feel like my future is slipping
from my fingers. I want to do everything I can to hold on. My eyes
burn as I read the text once again. I may not want anything to do with
being a bruja, but I’ve always been a good student.
The depiction of the Banishing Canto is virtually recoil free.
Side effects look like severe drowsiness and temporary paralysis. I’m
prepared for the recoil to hurt. A moment of pain is better than a
lifetime of being hunted.
Somewhere downstairs, I hear my mother’s footsteps. Every morning
at five, she puts on a strong pot of coffee and makes buttered toast.
I leave the Book of Cantos on my bed and start to get ready for
today’s festivities. I lock myself in the bathroom. I run the shower
as hot as possible. I scrub my skin until it’s red, and I wonder where
cantos go. I wonder if there is an endless vortex or a big space dump
where this stuff ends up. Every wish, every prayer has to go
somewhere, right? I mean, do the gods even listen?
I lose track of how long I’ve been in the shower until Lula bangs
on the door.
“Just because it’s your party doesn’t mean you can take your sweet
time! I have to do your hair.”
When I don’t answer, all I hear is a grunt and what I presume is a
hair flip because she can’t storm out without a good hair flip.
I lather my body in rose oil and stand in front of the mirror to
air dry.
“You can do this,” I tell my reflection.
I put on a brave face and go to Lula’s room, where my dress and
flowers are laid out.
“Let me work my magic,” Lula says, like we’re regular girls
getting ready for a regular birthday party instead of sister brujas
ready to wake the dead.
• • •
Mama Juanita used to say that when you drop a spoon, get ready for
company, probably from a vindictive woman. A fork-a handsome man. A
knife-lock the doors and windows. Since I’ve literally wrecked our
kitchen twice in a week, I don’t even want to think of what’s in store
for me today.
Every single surface is filled with fat, white candles and pulsing
flames. Dozens of brujas and brujos fill the house in their Deathday
best. Lady’s turquoise head wrap is tall, accented with dozens of tiny
crystals. Great-Aunt Esperanza shimmers in the colors of a peacock
with a fascinator of the same bird’s feathers. Our distant cousins,
the brujas from Lula’s circle, are done up in chiffon skirts and silk
blouses covered in glitter. You’d think it was their birthday and not
mine. When I think of family, I think of Mom, Lula, and Rose. When my
mom thinks of family, she means everyone related to us by a single
drop of blood or marriage.
I smooth down my simple, white dress covered in hand-stitched
little flowers along the neckline. Traditional. Plain. Functional.
It’s going to get stained anyway.
“Rose, get back here!” I hiss.
But she leaves my side and dives straight for the tray of guava
and brie empanadas.
Uncle Gladios makes a beeline for me. He holds my face with his
grizzly hands. Traces of sweet sugarcane rum and cigar smoke cling to
his clothes.
“You are a woman now,” he says. “I knew there had to be great
power in you.”
I put on a smile when all I want to do is roll my eyes. It’s
always nice when your older male relatives tell you how great it is to
be a woman now , like I was an androgynous experiment before. I duck
out of his grip before he caves my head in.
The hugging and face pinching goes on for a while. Aunts and
uncles and cousins touch my hair and dress and necklace. Suddenly I
feel like there are too many people in my house. It’s too loud, too
much, too bright.
Old Samuel drags his conga drums across the living room. He wears
a white tunic with tiny mirrors sewn across the chest. The mirrors are
to ward off bad spirits because they can’t stand to see their own
reflections. Lady’s deep voice shouts orders about where the ceremony
will take place. Crazy Uncle Julio brought a lonely pink balloon, and
it’s already started to sag in the corner.
Lula comes over and holds my hand. She stands straight and defiant
as eyes linger on the scars on her cheek. Her hair is braided around
her head like a crown, and instead of traditional flowers, she opted
for a veiled fascinator covered in gems. She pulls on the veil to make
sure it falls over her scars, and for the first time, I see a chink in
my sister’s armor.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“Not now.” She holds my hand tighter, and we do a lap around the
living room.
Lula elbows me hard and nods at the group of newcomers. She
whistles just loud enough for me to hear.
“That’s a drink of water and a half.”
“Gross, we’re probably related,” I remind her.
Rose shakes her head on her way to the punch bowl. “No, we’re
not.”
But when Nova turns around, dressed in a blue button-down that
frames his broad chest and shoulders, the magic in my belly tugs, and
a warm pain passes over me. His earrings wink in the light. I don’t
know if I want to keep staring at his smile or find a quiet corner
where I can throw up. Who am I kidding? There are no quiet corners in
this house. Not tonight. He looks down the hall, where I’m standing,
but his gaze goes right past me.
Emma, a cousin thrice removed, stands next to Lula, hooking their
arms together. Emma has small teeth and a pointy nose that gives her a
look like she’s always smelling something sour. “Oh my Deos, he’s so
fine.”
“Totally fly,” Mayi joins in, pursing her lips like she’s getting