I’ve never seen a boy with such bipolar eyes, let alone a
permanent wrinkle between his brows, like he spends more time frowning
than anything else. I ring Lady’s bell a few more times.
“Deathday shopping?” he says, smirking. “You look excited.”
“How’d you know?” I ask, matching his sarcasm.
“Overheard your mom. I’m Nova, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” The pads of my hands itch. It’s like the magic I’ve
tried to push back so long has gotten a little bit of freedom and now
it wants more. It coils inside me at the base of my belly and spreads.
I take a deep, calming breath and push it back. “Shouldn’t you be out
jaywalking?”
He laughs, then leans close to me, so I can see the dip between
his brows is not a frown mark but a thin scar. And it’s not just
there. He’s got three more matching nicks, one on each cheek and the
last on his chin, like the cardinal points of a compass.
“Most girls get pumped for their Deathday.”
“Yeah, you know what a bruja wants.”
“Not really. I just guess until I get it right.” His smile
falters, but not for long. “It’s okay to be scared. You just have to
do your part and welcome your dead. It’s tradition.”
“It’s not fair,” I say. I don’t know why I say it. It just came
out. He’s a stranger. But sometimes it’s easier to confide in
strangers than the people who love us. “It feels like I don’t have a
choice in my life.”
“You could always not do it.”
I can’t really tell if he’s joking, but I can’t deny the little
spark of hope that fills my heart. Every bruja and brujo I know has
had their Deathday.
“How?” I hope I don’t sound too eager.
He shrugs. “I’m sure you’re not the first witch in history to fear
her own strength. Sorry to break it to you, brujita.” Little bruja.
“Didn’t you hear? I’m superspecial. I’m an encantrix.” Why did I
admit to that? A second ago I wanted to deny it.
His eyes brighten with surprise, then appraisal. “Good for you.”
“I’m not sure ‘good’ is what I was going for.”
“Well, you only get one Deathday.”
“Except the actual day we die.”
He chuckles, and it makes his face look softer. “That’s a little
morbid, even for me.”
I rest my hands on the cool glass. He leans closer to me. His eyes
are bluer now. Smoke from the sage bundle burning in the corner
descends around us. “I think it’s sweet that you’re nervous.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. How?”
“Well, I usually charge for my wisdom.” He raps his knuckles on
the countertop.
I doubt he’s the kind of person who would give me a straight
answer. I think he likes to hear himself be charming and clever. Then
again, I don’t really know what kind of person he is at all. But I
can’t exactly ask my mother or sisters or my best friend, so a
stranger is going to have to do.
“Look,” he says, “if there are cantos for raising the dead and
making it rain, then there should be something for stopping your
Deathday. That is what you’re talking about, right? I mean, I wouldn’t
do it because you don’t know what the recoil might be or the effects
it could have. You shouldn’t do it because you don’t seem like you
know the first thing about performing a canto and might set your house
on fire. No offense.”
“How is that not offensive?” I’m filled with the urge to turn him
into a slug. Then I lose my spark when I realize he’s right. I
wouldn’t even know where to begin.
What do I want? To stop my Deathday? That’s only half the problem.
I’d still have this magic inside me. Magic killed my aunt Rosaria and
Mama Juanita. My magic killed Miluna and set my father running. I
could’ve hurt Rishi the other day. It destroys. I wonder…
“I’m saying. Just ’cause you can doesn’t mean that you should.”
“You don’t know my reasons.”
He grins slyly. “I don’t have to. If you want to compare the
monsters in our closets, I’d win by a landslide. Besides, I don’t care
what you do. I just figured I’d give you a little warning.”
“Why?”
His blue-green eyes flick from my lips to my clavicle. “I’m a nice
guy.”
I snicker. “Okay. Where would you start?”
Nova looks over his shoulder where Lady and my mother are
comparing the benefits of different bushels of sage. My sisters are in
a corner giggling probably because this is the longest I’ve
voluntarily talked to a boy my own age.
Nova leans in closer to me. I look at the in-between colors of his
eyes-they’re like the shades of Caribbean seas-and hate that someone
so cocky is so pretty.
“Listen, Ladybird,” he says, “the ceremony happens whether you
want it to or not. But if you reject your blessing, it’ll have an
effect on your power. The whole point is that the ceremony makes your
power stronger but easier to contain.”
“If I wanted a lesson on spells, I’d talk to Lady.”
He makes a face. “Spells are for-”
“Witches, I know the drill.”
Nova laughs and raises his hands. “Fine. Every Book of Cantos has
something to block negative forces. My grandmother uses them on her
bakery, so she doesn’t get bad reviews. You can probably use the same
to block the blessing of your ancestors. But you’d be foolish to try.
You don’t know what could happen.”
“What if-” I bite my tongue. Nervous sweat accumulates between my
shoulder blades. “What if I wanted to get rid of it?”
“I already told you it’s too late to stop the party without
getting your moms pissed.”
“No,” I whisper. “Get rid of the magic.”
“Oh. Damn.” Nova stares at me. I hate that it makes me feel
exposed, judged even. I can practically feel his thoughts racing.
Would he tell Lady? Perhaps I’m not special in feeling this way, like
I’m in a body that doesn’t fit quite right, but saying the words aloud
makes me realize that, maybe, I can change my fate.
Nova raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. A fat vein in his
throat jerks when he tenses. I decide I don’t care what he thinks of
me. He doesn’t exactly look like a saint.
He rings the bell on the counter and says, “Then I don’t think I’m
the person who can help you.”
Finally, Lady makes her way to us with my mom. I get shooed away
from the register.
“What are you planning, Trouble?” Lady asks Nova.
For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to rat me out. Nova winks at
me and that dimple appears, like we weren’t just discussing a bruja’s
greatest family betrayal. I go stand beside my mother. She looks at
Nova, trying to place him. Surely all the brujos and brujas in the
tristate area know each other. She tells me all the time that there
are so few of us left and our connections matter.
“Look at that face,” she whispers to me, like we’re schoolgirls.
“ Ma .”
Nova smiles-no sarcastic laugh, no mocking twitch of the lips.
Just a smile. His dark hair is shaved short, so all you focus on are
his cheekbones and lips and lashes.
I take the list from my mom’s hand. Everything is crossed out
except for one: blood of the guide. I shut my eyes and think of Lula’s
Deathday. We strung white fairy lights in the yard and spent all night
hot-gluing sparkles on her midnight-blue dress. I glued my fingers so
many times that they were raw and bloody. I probably bled as much for
her Deathday as the sacrificial dove. If I think on it, I can see
Lula’s slender hands holding the dove, red dots smattered all over her