A Mixture of Mischief

by Anna Meriano

  “Okay, okay, sorry.” Leo held out the hat, the surprisingly soft material slipping easily from her grasp. “Just . . . leave my toes alone. And tell me what you’re doing here. Please.”

  The creature ruffled its wispy tufts of moss-green hair and scratched behind its cat ears before resettling its hat atop them, eyeing Leo suspiciously. Its eyes were spring green and slit pupiled, and its skin deep green and glossy like magnolia leaves. Like the first creature, it kept darting its eyes to the hat on the floor.

  “Here.” Leo picked up the hat and handed it back to the first creature, deciding from its gray hair and wrinkly skin that it was the older of the two. “Now, will you tell me what you’re doing in my house?”

  “It’s not your house, hat thief,” the older creature said in a gruff voice.

  Leo wondered if she had fallen asleep in the pantry and was now caught in a very confusing bad dream. “You’re the thief here,” she said. “Or are you going to tell me I didn’t catch you with your hand in our cupboard, trying to take our heirlooms?”

  The creature wrung its hands, looking at its younger friend. They made a colorful pair, from the brown and red tips of their hats down to their earth-toned faces and their . . .

  “Hey!” Leo cried. “That’s my shirt!” The younger and smaller creature was wearing the neon-pink tee she had gotten at a gas station outside New Braunfels one summer, after a road-trip nacho spill ruined her normal clothes. She hadn’t seen it in years. She inspected the creature’s bright orange shorts and recognized them as a pair Alma and Belén had blamed each other for losing at camp, belted with a sequined scarf Isabel had gotten for a birthday and never touched.

  “One of them’s mine,” Marisol said. She pointed at the older creature, who was wearing her purple-and-red tie-dyed shirt with plastic beads tied in a fringe on the bottom.

  “You see?” Leo said. “You’re a bunch of clothes thieves, and you’re probably bowl thieves too, so don’t call me a thief just because I grabbed your hat in . . . in self-defense of my toes!”

  “Leo,” JP whispered weakly. “Maybe don’t make the duendes angry?”

  Duendes? Leo eyed the creatures, remembering Mamá’s warnings throughout her childhood about small people living hidden in the house. Leo couldn’t remember what they were supposed to look like, only that she had always been afraid that if she didn’t respect her bedtime or behave herself, the mysterious creatures would steal her toes.

  Her toes! “You are duendes!” she said, curling her toes for safety. “I didn’t know duendes were thieves. What do you need a mixing bowl or a molcajete for, anyway?”

  JP cringed, hiding behind Marisol, who looked like she might want to hide behind him.

  The creatures looked at each other, eyebrows and noses twitching. “We apologize, saltasombras,” the older one said. “To you and your family. You’ve named us correctly as thieves. Please give us a chance to explain.”

  Leo looked at Mamá, who shrugged, and Isabel, who nodded. This was the reason she had set the bait in the first place. They all wanted answers. But could they trust the creatures to tell the truth?

  “You’re the accomplices,” Leo said. “You know I’m a saltasombras because you’re working with my abuelo.”

  The younger creature, whose face was smoother and more round cheeked, shook its head so fast it looked like it was drying off. “Not with,” it squeaked, its big eyes filling with tears. “We don’t work with magic wardens and family thieves! We apologize, but we had no choice. The shadow jumper caught our siblings, just like you caught us.”

  “You mean like a Pokémon,” JP said, then ducked back behind Marisol when the duendes turned his way.

  “But I didn’t . . .” Leo frowned at the trembling point of the creature’s hat. “I’m not catching you. I mean, I caught you stealing, but I’m not going to catch you.”

  “Maybe we should start over,” Daddy suggested. His voice wavered, and he took a deep breath before he continued. “Welcome to our house. I wish we could have met under better circumstances, but we promise we don’t mean you any harm. We just want to know what’s going on.”

  Leo didn’t untuck her toes, but she did extend a hand toward the older creature. She’d never heard of duendes stealing fingers, so it was probably safe. “I’m Leo.”

  The duendes eyed her hand, still looking equal parts scared and suspicious. “You are a saltasombras. Like the family thief.”

  Leo could think of lots of ways that Abuelo Logroño had done her family wrong, but she got the sense that the duendes knew something she didn’t. “I don’t work with him either,” she said. “And I didn’t know he was stealing your family. He’s a bad guy. We’re trying to stop him.”

  The old duende sighed. “This isn’t the first time our family has been caught in the middle of a brujo war,” it said. “We regret the harm we have done to your family, which has always been a friend to ours.” It reached for Leo’s hand, not shaking it, but laying its hand on top of hers before letting go.

  “We have been?” Isabel asked. “Since when?”

  Leo was glad she wasn’t the only one who was totally confused.

  “I’m afraid I’m lost as well,” Mamá said. “Do you know our family?”

  The duende smiled. “Will you sit with us?” it asked. Without waiting for an answer, both duendes stretched out on their stomachs on in the middle of the kitchen floor, propped up on their elbows.

  “Um, I guess so. . . .” Leo copied their position, the cold tile making her shiver. She looked over her shoulder at Mamá and Daddy, who opted to sit cross-legged instead. Marisol and JP stayed standing, as far from the duendes as possible. Isabel hesitated, watching everyone before sliding down into a crouch with her legs tucked under her.

  “Our extended family,” the old duende began once everyone was settled, “has been called by many names. . . .”

  CHAPTER 19

  DUEN DE CASA

  “Our extended family has been called by many names, but you know us as duendes. Etymologically, duen de casa: owner of the house. A good name, from when your human family showed us respect. We have lived alongside humans as long as they have walked these lands. Even we cannot remember a time before our family lived with yours, and our memories stretch much longer.”

  “Um,” Leo interrupted, “are you talking about our family? Or just, like, humans in general?”

  The duende squinted at her. “Your human family built houses on these lands,” he said, “and your human family tore those houses down and built new ones, and your human family fought over which houses belonged to which of them.”

  Leo considered pointing out that none of that answered her question, but instead she decided to keep listening.

  “Our family did not involve ourselves in those fights, out of fear, or perhaps an arrogant belief that they did not concern us. We let your family nearly destroy your family. And once they had control, their brujos turned their attention to us and tried to destroy us as well.”

  “Wait, who is ‘they’?” Leo asked. The word “family” was starting to sound funny from being used too many times, and she was losing the thread of the story. She rubbed her eyes, wishing she could have discovered the duendes a few hours earlier.

  “When humans have power, they tend to see anyone unfamiliar as a threat to that power. Your abuelo is part of a family of brujos who used power to steal, hurt, and exploit. They are enemies of my family and others. We used to be respected owners of every house, and now we are only hidden residents of a few.”

  Leo bit her lip. Abuelo Logroño had made himself out to be a hero, protecting humans from evil creatures. Mamá had warned her it wasn’t true, but she hadn’t thought about how the lie covered up a scarier truth. Abuelo was hurting the magical creatures.

  “But your other family, the line of your mother,” the duende continued, “is part of a family that did not turn its back on us, even after we turned our backs on the human family. That’s why my siblings live h
ere, and my cousins live with your aunt and in your bread house. We protect each other, even if your family forgot.”

  “Until Abuelo Logroño kidnapped your siblings,” Leo said. “And he said that if you didn’t steal from us, he’d hurt them.”

  The duende nodded. “He could not enter the bread house, but its guarding spells were never meant for us.”

  “I’m sorry,” Leo said. “For my abuelo. But don’t worry, we’ll find a way to save your siblings, right?” She turned to Mamá and Daddy, who nodded.

  The duende frowned while the younger one shook its head quickly. “Too risky,” it said. “We want our siblings back safely. We don’t want to fight a magic warden.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Leo said. “We can come up with a plan.”

  “I might have one, actually,” Isabel said, tugging the end of her ponytail thoughtfully. “You won’t have to fight. We would just need you to help set the trap.”

  “Trap?” the duende asked.

  “We’ll discuss the plan,” Mamá said, putting her hand on Isabel’s shoulder as Isabel rose. “If you can convince him to meet with you, then we can handle the rest.”

  “We have to meet with him,” the young duende said. “Tomorrow. To trade one stolen crystal for one stolen sibling. Are you sure you can help?”

  “Don’t worry,” Leo said. “This is kind of what we do.”

  The old duende tilted its head all the way sideways and peered at Leo. “You are a strange member of the human family.”

  Marisol snorted. “Tell me about it.”

  “And you promise none of my family will be hurt?” The duende looked at each human in turn.

  “I promise,” Leo said. “We’ll fix this.”

  From the top of the stove, Señor Gato meowed.

  “I understand your concern, distant cousin,” the old duende said. “But I know you wouldn’t have adopted them if they were not a special human family.”

  Señor Gato only replied with a flick of his tail.

  The family meeting lasted late into the night. After moving everyone back to the kitchen table instead of the floor, Mamá made tea for them all except the duendes, who asked for hot chicken broth instead.

  “Is it always like this at your house?” JP whispered to Leo while Mamá questioned the duendes on the spells Abuelo Logroño had used to capture their siblings.

  Leo thought of the magical emergencies they’d had before. “Sometimes. But definitely more than usual this week. That’s part of the reason I suspected that you were behind it.”

  JP nodded. “Well, I’m glad I’m not. Aunt Elena is scary when she gets down to business. I would hate to be on her bad side.”

  “You were right, you know; I did let Abuelo Logroño get into my head,” she said sheepishly. “And it turns out that all my hunches were completely one hundred percent dead wrong.”

  “Well, your problem was not thinking to check for little cat goblin borrowers who’ve been living in your house since time immemorial.” JP shrugged. “Rookie mistake.”

  Leo laughed.

  “But I’m not the only one you should be telling this to,” JP continued. He reached into the pocket of his plaid pajama pants and held his phone out to her, under the table so Mamá and Daddy wouldn’t see.

  Leo took the phone, stomach flipping over itself. “Thanks.” She tucked the phone into her own pocket and excused herself to go to the bathroom.

  Hi, it’s Leo.

  She texted Caroline first to build up her courage. She wanted to call to hear her friend’s voice, but it was so late it was early, and waking her friend from the middle of sleep didn’t seem like a great way to start an apology.

  I’m sorry I was a jerk yesterday, Leo typed. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. You were right anyway, but even if I was right, I was being the worst. And maybe a little jealous. So I hope we’re still friends. Except I’ll try to be a better one.

  She thought for a moment, then typed some more.

  Oh, also there are duendes living in my house and we’re plotting to defeat my abuelo. I’m not asking for help this time, but thanks for always helping me with plans. Talk to you later, I hope. Good morning.

  She pulled up a new message to Brent next, but guilt made it hard to know where to start. Eventually she found a DragonBlood gif, where the main character knelt in front of the injured queen of dragons. I am not worthy to be called your friend, the caption read. Leo hit send.

  I’m sorry for being mean, she typed. I’ll bake you anything you want after we defeat my grandpa if you forgive me. This is Leo, by the way.

  She felt a twinge of relief as she sent the messages, then hurried back to the kitchen, hoping that the new plot would keep her mind off JP’s phone.

  “The problem is that Álvaro has so many tricks up his sleeve,” Mamá was saying. “With the help of your family”—she nodded at the duendes—“we know what we’re up against, and we will have the element of surprise, but that only buys us one shot. Saving the duende hostages is our first priority, but if we use our surprise attack to release them and help them escape, that leaves us to duel Álvaro head-on, and I’m afraid our magic isn’t up to the task.”

  “I mean, I offered to just whack him with a frying pan,” Marisol muttered. “It feels like you’re not open to my suggestions at all.”

  “What if our first move, before we even release the duendes, was to block his magic?” Isabel asked. “There are wards for that; I saw them in Tía Paloma’s book when we were renewing the physical wards around the house.”

  “Speed is still the issue,” Mamá said. “Anything we could work quickly would be limited to shutting down one of his abilities. We could stop him from turning invisible, but it wouldn’t affect his illusion spells. Or we could cut off his illusions, but he would still be able to harm the hostages with offensive spells. A more complicated ward would require so many steps, I can’t think how we’d be able to surprise him with it.”

  “A recipe?” Isabel asked. “We do lots of complicated spells in recipes, and they act instantaneously.”

  “Yeah, but I somehow doubt this criminal mastermind is going to willingly eat a snack offered by a bruja cocinera,” Marisol pointed out.

  While her sisters bounced ideas like rubber balls across the table, Leo poured tea and broth refills.

  “This is why it makes more sense to study broadly.” Isabel sighed. “There’s so much more magic than just what’s passed down in our recipe book. I mean, even if you worked more on your scrying, Mamá—”

  “My scrying is fine.” Mamá frowned. “It’s not our aptitude.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you should ignore it,” Isabel said. “Don’t you want to learn more? There are so many types of magic, and we barely even touch them.”

  “Where is this coming from?” Mamá asked, her face turning stormy.

  “It’s coming from the fact that we’ve got our backs against the wall right now,” Isabel said. “And if we spent a little more time learning new techniques instead of burying our heads in old traditions, we wouldn’t be!”

  “I think we’re getting a little bit off track here.” Daddy spread his hands and spoke soothingly. “Isabel, I know you’re frustrated about the situation, but that’s no reason to—”

  Mamá cut him off with a hand on his. “Isabel,” she said, “it seems like something is bothering you.”

  “I don’t want to go to school in San Antonio!” Isabel said.

  Mamá and Daddy gaped. The duendes absorbed themselves with straightening the brims of their hats. Marisol dropped her head into her hands. “Now?” she whispered quietly. “We’re doing this now?”

  “I got accepted in New Orleans,” Isabel said, “and I want to go. There are dozens of folks from the Southwest Regional Brujería and Spellcraft Association there, and I could learn so much. There’s even tuition help and class credit for brujería and spellcraft independent study—it’s sort of secret, but I’ve talked to the program head about it.”<
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  From the way the words tumbled out of Isabel’s mouth, Leo could tell her sister had planned this speech down to every last argument. But how could she want to leave Texas for four whole years? Instead of being a few hours away, she would be separated by a whole day of driving. Leo couldn’t believe Isabel had kept this secret from her, and from everyone.

  “Is this the best moment?” Marisol hissed again in the stunned silence. Isabel shrugged, breathing like she had just worked through a midmorning rush.

  So Marisol had known already. Mamá’s mouth was still hanging open and her eyes were wide. She was probably more hurt and surprised than Leo.

  “I just don’t want to be stuck running the bakery forever,” Isabel said. “There’s a lot more to learn outside of Rose Hill.”

  Daddy cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry about this,” he said to the guests at the table. The two duendes, perched atop booster seats made of books and overturned pots, tilted their heads at him and Isabel.

  “No need to apologize,” the older duende said. “We are happy to have the help of a family that values the well-being of each of its members.”

  “Of course we do,” Mamá said, finally finding her voice. “Isabel, of course we’ll support you, whatever you want to do. I’m sorry that I assumed . . . well, let’s talk more after all this.”

  Isabel nodded, and the whole family returned to discussing the best way to attack Abuelo Logroño. But Leo wasn’t ready to move on yet. Isabel didn’t want to run the bakery when she grew up? Her whole life, Leo had imagined a future where she helped Isabel the way Tía Paloma helpd Mamá: working together to keep Amor y Azúcar thriving, cooking up delicious breads and pastries and special magical spells alike.

  But, when Leo thought about it, Isabel had always been more interested in perfecting her spells than her kneading. She liked weaving complex recipes for the special orders the bakery received, but she hated running the cash register, part of the reason Marisol had always done more sales and inventory than magic. Leo imagined Isabel in New Orleans, studying with spell casters and other brujas, learning all types of magic. It was an unfamiliar scene, but it made sense.