When I open my eyes, Maks is standing in the center of my room, candlelight bouncing along his features. I swat my hand against the wall to hit the light switch, but he rushes me, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. He rests his hands on either side of me. Blue eyes bright as headlights, he leans in, gently digging his nose into my neck, my hair. Fear and want twist in my belly.
“Baby,” he whispers. He pulls back to look at me, lost, confused, and strange. Then he presses his hand on the center of my chest and says, “I’m so hungry.”
17
Her eyes were clear as milk and stitched with blood.
He wanted to save her but she wanted him gone.
—El Libro Maldecido/The Accursed Book, Fausto Toledo
My boyfriend is eating a human heart.
His hands hold it like a ripe mango, juice dripping down his chin, his wrists. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth with every swallow. His fingers press so hard against the organ I fear it’s going to pop.
It’s a heart, I think to myself. It can’t pop.
I sit with my back against the door. The house is as still as it’ll ever be, but everything feels loud—the creak of old floorboards, the whistles of snoring down the hall, the static buzz of a lightbulb left on, the rusty twinge of a door left ajar, the pop of the candles on my altar.
The loudest sound of all is the slick, wet sound of Maks devouring. He seems both thrilled and terrified. Every few seconds he stops and looks at me. His eyes wide and begging for answers I don’t have, his chest heaving as if I should stop him, save him from this.
When Maks is finished, he sits and looks at his red hands. There is nothing like staring at your open palms, blood filling the creases like rivers across a barren land. He rubs his thumb across his fingers, like a reminder that, yes, those are his hands.
“Maks?”
I think about what my dad and Nova said. The note in the box. Abomination. Casimuerto. I don’t like the way those words sound on my tongue.
I pull at my magic. It’s a weak pulse, weaker than it has ever been. I let it flood through him and I search for the one thing to reassure me that he’s still Maks—his heartbeat.
I can hear it, feel it, beating to the same rhythm as mine.
“Lula,” he says, his features contorting into confusion. “What’s wrong with me?”
I sit on my knees and brush his hair back. I pull him close to my chest. How can I tell him everything and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone?
“There was an accident.”
“I can’t remember anything.” He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly, and deep down I recognize the desperation that he clings to because I’ve felt that too.
I shut my eyes, hot tears rolling down my face. “I know. We’ll fix that.”
He touches the bloody mess around his mouth. He frowns at the sight. I grab a candle from my altar and take his hand.
“Come,” I say.
It’s well past midnight but I don’t want to wake anyone up. I also can’t leave him anywhere by himself. Not after his violent outbursts, not after he lunged for Rose. I take him into the bathroom, leave on the vanity lights because the ceiling ones bother his eyes. I let the water fill the tub with suds.
“Everything aches.” He takes his shirt off and groans with the stretch of his muscles. He strips down his pants and steps into the hot water, his legs parting the suds as he lowers himself.
I grab a face towel from a shelf and kneel at his side. He rests his head back on the tiles, so still I press my finger to his shoulder to bring his attention back to me.
“Sorry, I was trying to sort out my memory,” he says. “I’ve never felt this way before. It’s strange, like I’m far away from myself. I can see these are my hands, but they don’t feel like my hands. I can feel my heart but—” He turns to me.
“I know. I don’t feel like myself either,” I admit. I dip the towel in the soapy water and clean the blood off his face. He shuts his eyes and leans in.
“This feels familiar though,” he says, smiling like his old self. “I could get used to you taking care of me.”
I try to smile, but I can’t. He said that before, like a record that’s scratched. What have I turned him into?
He pushes the bubbles in the bath around and frowns when he finds the scars on his torso. “Why did this happen to us?”
Why does anything happen? I think.
Because cars collided and people died. Because no matter how hard we pray or how much we believe, the gods abandon us to ourselves, to the whims of others. Because it was meant to be but we weren’t. Because life is a series of inexplicable accidents and we don’t get to choose the good or the bad. Because I made a choice.
I wring the towel over the tub. The water turns pink. The blood on his face is all gone. His bone structure sharper.
“It just did,” I say.
When I look into his eyes, they’re the same blue I fell in love with. Eating the heart seems to have helped him recover the pink in his cheeks and the warmth of his skin, but for how long? Now all I need is a lifetime supply of human hearts until I can figure out how to fix all of this.
He holds his breath and sinks below the water. He stays down there for a few seconds and then comes back up, sucking in a mouthful of air.
“How do you feel?” I brush the wet hair out of his eyes, revealing the long scar across his forehead.
“Stronger than before.” He takes my hand, the washcloth falling into the tub, and presses it over his heart. “I don’t remember getting this scar. But I remember you, reaching out to me. Like you were the only thing I could hold on to. I know that doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
For whatever comes next. “For never introducing you to my dad. And for being different the past few months.”
“We can get through anything, Lula.” His finger traces the length of my jaw, bringing me toward him by my chin.
He kisses me swiftly, and for the briefest moment, it feels like it was before. Before. Before. I’ve wanted to go backward for so long that I don’t know what it’s like to move forward.
When I pull away, my body shivers from the coldness of his touch and the metallic taste of his lips.
• • •
I give him clothes to change into after he towels off. He runs his hand through his black hair. His cheeks are red from the hot water, and his face is riddled with pearly scars.
I shut the lights off behind us and walk down the hall, back to my room. Maks goes in first, but before I can follow, I hear a footstep warp the floorboards behind me.
I snap around and see Nova standing in the hall, the door to the infirmary open behind him. I assure Maks I’ll be right in and turn to Nova.
He runs his hands against the shaved sides of his head, swearing under his breath.
“I should’ve known,” he says, a scoff trailing bitterly. “All the questions you were asking. The reason why you were so cagey now. Are you going to tell me what was really in the box, Lula?”
Oddly enough, having Nova talk to me like this feels like I’ve relieved a great pressure from my chest.
“I think you know,” I tell him. “I wanted to contact you. I figured if anyone could give me an answer to what’s happening, it might be you. But Alex—”
“Alex didn’t want to see me.” He rests his hands on his waist and walks closer, the muscles of his chest rippling and tense. “How did this happen?”
“Nova, please. There’s so much to explain. I know I have no right to ask you this, but I need your help.”
“No.” He crosses his arms over this chest and shrugs. “I can’t get involved.”
I place my hand on his arm, so warm compared to Maks. To me, even. “I can’t go to my parents or the High Circle. Th
e Alliance would lock me up. The hunters would have my head. Alex and Rose know, but this is beyond us.”
In the dim light, I can see him shaking his head, and a soft, frustrated sound escapes from the back of his throat.
“I figured if anyone knew what I was going through, it would be you,” I whisper.
“Was he the one who attacked us?” Nova asks.
“No, I swear! He’s been here for the past two nights.”
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?”
“Safe.”
“Stagnant.”
I shut my eyes, my lashes, coated in frost, rest on the tops of my cheeks. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Stupid, wretched witch. I have told you. Find my spear. Kill the casimuertos. The longer they live, the others will—”
“Others?”
When Lady de la Muerte smiles, it is like looking into your greatest fear and losing to it. She knows it; she feeds on it. “You tethered more than Maksim Horbachevsky. What do you think happened to the other bodies?”
“I didn’t—” A knot forms in my throat, blocking anything I could say. I’ve felt them. The never-ending pain, the silver threads. It wasn’t just Maks. I knew but I didn’t want to know.
“Selfish, stupid, reckless human. Get out of my sight.”
I swallow the bile on my tongue. “I don’t know how I got here.”
“Here? The outside of the world. Cold and brittle. There is no life or death here. It is one of the many in-betweens of the universe. Get to work, Lula Mortiz. Destroy the heart and make the sacrifice. Or the unbalance will remain, and the world you love will fall to the chaos you have unleashed.”
I feel myself sinking into the blackness at my feet. She leans into my face, and I can smell the rotting earth on her breath, winter on her skin.
“I don’t have the power to fix this,” I shout.
La Muerte places a hand on my chest and pushes the air out of my lungs. “Then find it.”
19
Her pain is exquisite.
Her love is sublime.
La Tortura consumes.
La Tortura divides.
—Rezo for La Tortura, Child of El Corazón and Lady of Love Unrequited
“She’s awake,” someone says.
My hearing is interrupted by a hard ringing sound.
“Thank God,” Maks says. He’s sitting on my bed, holding my hand.
When I sit up, the pain I felt before is gone. “What happened?”
Then I see the bruise on his cheek.
I look up at Maks, who has a bruise on the opposite cheek.
“Alex is getting supplies,” Nova says roughly.
“Supplies for what?” I pull my hand from Maks’s. I pull the covers off and notice Rose sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands resting on either knee.
“No talking yet,” she says. “I need to get her out of my head.”
“Her who?” I ask.
“Lady de la Muerte.”
“What happened?”
Nova holds the sides of the chair. “Your sister has the Gift of the Veil.”
“I know that,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Then you know she can see between worlds. The Realm of the Dead specifically. Now that you’ve essentially torn up the balance of life and death, it’s easier for the other side to try to inhabit your sister.”
“No one is inhabiting me,” Rose growls.
“Like possession?” Maks asks. “Is that what was happening to you, Rosie?”
I turn sharply to Nova. “Stop.”
“You need to tell him. Like ASAP because if not, the shock on his sinmago ass could mess things up more.”
“What did you call me?” Maks shouts.
“Wait,” I say, standing up. For the first time, I notice the handful of crystals stacked on my nightstand, all cracked in half and completely black. It took four of them to heal me? “What does Rose getting possessed have to do with anything? Why can’t my all-powerful encantrix sister heal me?”
“What’s an encantrix?” Maks asks, frustrated. “What is going on?”
“It has to do with what you’ve done, Lula.” Nova stands, pushing himself up in a flash. “I swear. You Mortiz girls will burn this world to the ground if you’re left unchecked.”
Bruja Born Page 13
