by Anna Meriano
DEDICATION
For my loving, sweet, magical family
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter 1: Secrets in Spanish
Chapter 2: Mi Amiga, Caroline
Chapter 3: Candles, Ribbons, and Bread
Chapter 4: Sugar and Stomping
Chapter 5: The Day of the Dead
Chapter 6: Recipe Books
Chapter 7: Flour Snowflakes
Chapter 8: Bread and Altars
Chapter 9: Naughty Cookies
Chapter 10: Roles De Canela
Chapter 11: Caroline’s Note
Chapter 12: Visits and Schemes
Chapter 13: Gingersnaps
Chapter 14: Love Bite
Chapter 15: Friends and Family
Chapter 16: Patience
Chapter 17: Love Letters
Chapter 18: Romance
Chapter 19: Spiderwebs
Chapter 20: Honey Jar
Chapter 21: Gone!
Chapter 22: Out of the Jar
Chapter 23: Emergency
Chapter 24: Duel
Chapter 25: Séance
Chapter 26: Abuela
Chapter 27: The Plan
Chapter 28: Unraveling
Chapter 29: Bruja
Chapter 30: Bruja Cocinera
Leonora Logroño’s Lucky Recipe Book
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
CHAPTER 1
SECRETS IN SPANISH
Leo sprinted to the hallway bathroom, slammed the door, and locked herself in, just in time. An angry knock followed. “Hey, hurry up in there!”
Leo let out a cackle to match her Halloween witch costume. Marisol, Leo’s sixteen-year-old sister, banged on the door. She could huff all she wanted; Leo had no plans of letting her in. With four older sisters, Leo was used to these morning races, and it was nice to be on the right side of the locked door for once. Mamá always told Daddy that one bathroom for five girls should be considered cruel and unusual punishment. The house was too small, she said, with only one story and more lawn than living space. Daddy would just wrap his arm around Mamá and say, “You’re small too, Elena, but you’re perfect for this family.”
“Is that you, Leo?” Marisol jiggled the doorknob. “What are you doing?”
Leo leaned over the cracked sink, which was always clogged with wads of long dark hair. She dipped a finger in her sour-apple-green face paint, drew along the edge of her forehead, and rubbed down her cheeks.
“Come on, cucaracha,” Marisol yelled. She called Leo “cockroach” whenever she wanted to be nasty without getting in trouble for using bad language.
“I’m putting on my costume,” Leo shouted.
“Aren’t you getting a little too old for costumes?”
“Eleven is not too old.” Besides, with Marisol’s black leather jackets and ripped tights, she dressed like it was Halloween every day.
Leo wiggled her fingers at the door, the way witches cast spells in movies. Snakes in your hair, she thought as loudly as she could, but all she heard was the sound of Marisol sighing against the doorframe. No screams, which meant no snakes, which meant no witch powers. Too bad.
“Marisol,” Mamá’s voice called out, “leave Leo alone. Come use my bathroom if you need to.”
“My eyeliner is in there,” Marisol said, but her footsteps stomped toward Mamá and Daddy’s bedroom at the opposite end of the hall.
Another knock came. Softer. “Leo, please hurry,” Isabel, Leo’s oldest sister, said. “I can help you with your hair if you need me to.” Isabel was the only one in the house with the patience to tame Leo’s mane of dark curls. Leo’s other sisters had inherited shiny smooth hair from Daddy’s family, but Leo’s hair never went down without a fight.
Checking her reflection one last time, Leo smiled. Her perfect witchy costume was all part of her plan for a perfect Halloween. Now she just had to find Mamá and make her argument. Leo pulled hard on the knob to unstick the creaky door from its frame.
“Boo!” she shouted.
“Thanks, little Leo,” Isabel said, not even flinching. “Happy Halloween.” She wore a collared shirt and skirt, with only a pair of tiny pumpkin earrings to celebrate the holiday. She slipped into the bathroom, her grown-up heeled shoes clicking against the tile.
Leo couldn’t understand why Isabel didn’t get more excited. Halloween was one of the best holidays. Not because of the candy or the disguises, even though Leo loved both of those things. No, Halloween was extra special because right after it came Leo’s favorite holiday of all, Día de los Muertos. The thirty-first of October was like Christmas Eve.
For a second, Leo worried that she should have dressed more like Isabel. Would she seem more grown-up without a costume? Then she shook her head, rubbed her green hands together, and set off in search of Mamá.
The hallway filled with morning noises as the Logroño family got ready for the day. Leo shuffled down the hall, her orange-and-black-striped knee socks shush-shushing against the wood floor.
She burst into the kitchen. Sunlight poured through the blinds and onto Mamá’s windowsill garden, where the basil and oregano and cilantro glowed bright. Leo might have a green face, but Mamá had the green thumb.
“Mwhahaha,” Leo screeched at Daddy, who had his back turned as he sprinkled tortilla bits into the eggs scrambling on the stove.
“Buenos días, Leonora.” Daddy smiled at her. “I hope you’re hungry.” Daddy was good at lots of things, like reading bedtime stories and playing guitar, but he knew how to cook only two things: migas, scrambled egg and tortilla topped with a mountain of cheese; and quesadillas, oozing cheese from each slice. Leo sniffed the air and smiled. Cheesy deliciousness was part of every Logroño breakfast.
Alma and Bélen, Leo’s fourteen-year-old twin sisters, rushed into the room with Mamá on their tails. Seeing Alma and Bélen out of bed before 7:30 a.m. was a Halloween miracle, especially since they’d been up late the night before, hogging the bathroom and dying their bangs robin’s-egg blue so they could dress as some anime characters Leo didn’t know about.
“Has anyone seen my list?” Mamá asked, shooing the blue-haired twins aside.
“What list?” Leo glanced around the cluttered table and shelves. Maybe if she found it, Mamá would see how helpful she could be. Then she’d have to agree to Leo’s proposal.
“You mean the list of special—” Belén stopped midsentence when Alma elbowed her.
Leo blinked at her suspicious sisters. “Special what?”
“Oh, nothing.” Mamá ruffled a pile of papers on the counter. Leo craned to see.
“Haven’t seen it,” Daddy answered with his head buried in the frying pan. “Almost time to head out, Leo. Eat up.” He divided the migas onto red-and-blue plates with big white Texas lone stars in the middle.
Leo opened her mouth to tell Mamá her idea. The phone rang.
“Hello, Amor y Azúcar Panadería.” Mamá answered every phone call with the Spanish name of their bakery, Love and Sugar. Daddy always tried to tell her that she needed to keep the home telephone separate from the business, but there was hardly any point. Everyone in Rose Hill, Texas, knew who to call if you wanted to reach the bakery, and half of them probably had the home phone number memorized.
“Here.” Isabel walked into the room, waving a piece of paper.
“Ah, thanks, mija,” Mamá whispered, covering the phone mouthpiece. She looked at the paper, then pulled a mechanical pencil out of the tight bun at the back of her head and scribbled something at the bottom. She frowned. “Sí, ya voy,” she said, and then spoke Spanish too quickly for Leo to guess the me
aning.
Isabel stood close, looking over Mamá’s shoulder and nodding. Isabel spoke Spanish. Marisol too. They had both grown up with their abuela singing songs, telling stories, and babysitting them while Mamá went to work. Abuela had been too old to look after babies by the time Alma and Belén were born, but even they were getting better after a year of Spanish classes in school.
Leo, who was too young to have known Abuela and for Spanish class, couldn’t speak more than a few words here and there.
Mamá hung up the phone. “Otro hechizo,” she said softly. Isabel nodded.
Leo tilted her head and frowned. Mamá only spoke Spanish with customers—or if she didn’t want Leo to understand. But that didn’t matter now. She had an important goal.
The Diá de los Muertos festival wasn’t just the best holiday of the year, or one of Rose Hill’s favorite traditions. It was also Amor y Azúcar’s biggest event. They sold their cookies and cakes and sweet breads as the whole town celebrated the lives of their ancestors. Mamá’s family had hosted the Day of the Dead festival for as long as there had been a Rose Hill, Texas, to celebrate it—or at least that’s what Abuela used to say. And getting ready for the festival required a whole day of preparation.
All week Leo had argued for the right to skip school with her older sisters, to get the bakery ready for the festival, with no luck. That was about to change.
“Mamá, I know why you should let me come to the bakery today.”
“’Jita, we’ve talked about this,” Mamá said, scribbling on her list without looking up. “I don’t want to hear another speech, please.” Leo opened her mouth to argue, but Mamá held up a warning finger. “Enough.”
“No fair.” Leo slammed her fork onto the plate. She felt herself turning whiny, the corners of her mouth drooping.
“Leo, you know it’s not a vacation,” Isabel said. “Mamá just needs a few extra hands. We’re going to be busy all day.” She smiled at Leo.
“Leo could help,” Belén piped up. The twins were always Leo’s best allies. “I mean, just with the normal part—” Alma elbowed her in the side. “Quit it!” Belén snapped.
Marisol tugged Leo’s hair from behind. “Mamá and Tía Paloma hog all the baking, anyway, cucaracha. We only get the boring stuff, like taking orders from customers. Believe me, school will be way more fun.”
“Mamá,” said Leo, turning to her mother, “I love taking orders. I know I can—”
The phone blared again.
“Leo, you will be able to help tomorrow at the festival,” Mamá said as she picked up the call. “Now please go out to the bus stop. Your sisters and I need to leave for the bakery.”
Daddy tried to kiss Leo good-bye, but she dodged him, jumping down from the breakfast bar and dumping her eggs in the trash. Anger replaced hunger and growled in her stomach. She stomped out into the foyer. The family cat, Señor Gato, pawed at the front door.
“Do you get to go to the bakery too?” she asked him.
Señor Gato blinked round yellow eyes at her.
“Boo,” she hissed at him.
He yawned, arched his back, and trotted into the kitchen with the rest of her family. Leo stomped out the front door alone.
CHAPTER 2
MI AMIGA, CAROLINE
The lower-school bus was empty, as usual. Leo and her sisters had always been the first stop on the route and had their pick of seats. Last year, Leo, Alma, and Belén had sat in a new row every day for their first month of school, which was how Leo knew with absolute certainty that the gray vinyl seat three rows from the back of the right side of the bus had the most cushion left in its foam and the fewest spiderweb cracks in its window.
She pulled her feet up on the seat and reminded herself not to lean her forehead against the glass and ruin her face paint. This far back, she was out of sight of the bus driver, Mrs. Lillis. Totally alone. The few bites of breakfast she’d eaten sat like a lump in her stomach.
The sky turned bright blue as the bus made its slow, snaking way through Rose Hill. Leo could close her eyes and still see the colorful siding of each house on the route, the well-loved pickup trucks and rusty cars parked along the street, every overgrown lawn or carefully tended flower bed.
But her mind still buzzed with angry thoughts. Mamá should want lots of hands in the bakery today. The Day of the Dead festival meant the whole town would come to buy sugar skulls and pan de muerto—bread of the dead, or “dead bread,” as Daddy liked to call it. Many people would stop in for bags of bolillo bread or sweet shell-shaped conchas in the weeks following the festival, remembering just how delicious the treats from Amor y Azúcar were.
Mamá always schemed for ways to expand the bakery, make more money, and buy the sprawling two-story house she wanted, right in the center of town. Having a big Day of the Dead festival could help that dream come true. So it made sense that the older girls got out of school to make sure that everything ran smoothly. But Leo was an extra set of hands too.
The bus slowly filled up. Each stop added a couple of elementary school kids or a large group of middle schoolers. But nobody sat down next to Leo. With Alma and Belén in ninth grade this year, she had no built-in seatmates, and she didn’t know how to get new ones. Sisters were so handy for that sort of thing—for sitting next to on the bus, or talking in the courtyard before and after school. Sisters were always hanging around, until suddenly they left you behind.
The bus pulled up to the last stop. Rows filled with kids in masks and sparkling costumes, talking, yelling, teasing, and laughing. Two fifth graders dressed as a lion and a ballerina climbed up the steps and sat in the empty row, right behind Mrs. Lillis’s driver’s seat. Behind them, a tall blond girl shuffled onto the bus in a dark-purple cloak, holding a glitter-filled magic wand in one hand and a brown paper lunch bag in the other.
Caroline!
Leo waved. “You’re back!”
Caroline Campbell slid into the empty spot beside her. Despite the glitter and the rosy cheeks she’d painted on, she looked like a faded ghost wearing a Caroline costume. “I should’ve called you.”
Caroline had been Leo’s best friend in third and fourth grade, up until she moved to Houston to be closer to her mom’s doctors. The Campbells had moved back to town after Mrs. Campbell died at the beginning of the summer, but Caroline hadn’t been in school all year. Leo didn’t blame her. She couldn’t even imagine what she’d do without Mamá.
“You didn’t have to. It’s okay.” Leo scratched at her tights. When her friend had come back into town, Mamá had sent enough food to feed two Logroño-sized families, and Leo had brought handmade cards. But mostly, on Isabel’s advice, she’d given Caroline some space.
“You picked the best day to come back.”
“Brent said I could make an entrance.” Caroline flicked her glittery wand in the air.
Leo craned above the seat. “Where is Brent?” Caroline’s next-door neighbor was usually the last sixth grader to get on the bus. His backpack was always extra heavy from carrying Caroline’s makeup homework to and from school. Leo wouldn’t want to be his seat buddy, but he was all right for a boy.
“He’s sick. Well, his mom thinks he is, anyway. I am a little bit dubious.” Caroline half smiled as she used one of Ms. Wood’s vocabulary words for the week. She was the kind of person who used the weekly words in real life. “We waited for the bus together, but then he threw up all over his costume. Now his mom thinks he has the stomach flu. I told him not to eat a whole pillowcase of candy yesterday.”
Leo laughed. “He didn’t really eat that much candy, did he?”
Now Caroline grinned, and Leo finally recognized her friend. “It was a controlled experiment to find out the maximum amount he could eat before throwing up. So tonight he knows exactly when to stop to have the best Halloween ever.”
Brent Bayman was the type of person who did controlled experiments in real life.
Leo hugged her stomach and grimaced while she laughed. “What a ter
rible idea.”
“I think he was just trying to make me laugh, you know? I was worried about coming back. . . .”
“Yeah . . .” Leo didn’t know what to say, so the silence stretched between them.
“He visited me every day after,” Caroline blurted.
Leo’s cheeks flushed. Maybe she should’ve visited more. But Isabel had said not to. And Isabel was usually right about those kinds of things. “I’m sorry I didn’t come over—”
“I wanted to be alone. Brent just . . . he lives next door. I couldn’t avoid him even when I wanted to.” Caroline laughed this time, and Leo smiled.
“I’m really glad you’re back.”
“Thanks. I think I am too.”
The bus turned onto Main Street, just a few blocks from school. “I’m excited I get to be here for the festival this year,” Caroline said, pointing at the strings of orange marigolds wrapping the streetlights. “In Houston I would dream about your bakery’s cookies. Is everything ready?”
Leo laughed, but it tasted sour. “I guess not. My sisters get to skip school to help Mamá. Everyone’s working today except me.”
“Really?” Caroline asked. “That’s weird.”
“I know!” Leo felt a rush of relief to have someone agree with her. “And they acted super weird about it too—speaking Spanish and pretending like it was going to be boring.”
“Double weird.” Caroline nodded, her face serious. “Um, are you sure that everything’s all right?” She spun her bracelet around her wrist.
Leo’s stomach lurched, and not just because Mrs. Lillis hit the Main Street pothole too fast. Caroline’s parents had whispered and kept secrets before they told her about her mom’s cancer, right before they moved to Houston. Leo’s family couldn’t be keeping a secret like that, could they?
They were almost in front of the bakery now. Leo leaned forward in her seat to catch sight of the bright blue-and-yellow building that was Amor y Azúcar Panadería. She pressed her face against the window, ignoring the green streaks. The bakery’s doors were shut tight, its windows dark.
“Something’s wrong.”
