A Universe of Wishes

by A Universe of Wishes (epub)

  When he walked into his house, he stopped to think. He had a crush on an older woman. Technically, technically, she was, like, eighty-two. But she still looked sixteen. One year younger than he was. She’d been frozen in time for so long. What must it be like for her to age mentally but not physically? Weird.

  Then he stopped for an entirely different reason.

  His mom was standing in the hallway. The dark skin under her eyes was pinched. Her rollers were tied in that silk net she always put on before bed. The long bata she wore to sleep wasn’t even wrinkled, like she’d been awake sitting up. And then there was the rolled-up newspaper in her hand.

  When she was angry, she only spoke in Spanish. But this was next level. It was on some Satanic ish level, like when the Irish kids in the apartment down the hall tried to play their granddad’s records backward. He thought it sounded like “Where have you been?” Or maybe “I’m going to kill you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I went to Central Park and there were these fairies. You know how time stalls when they’re around. I’m sorry!”

  One thing he’d learned from fairies was how to lie without lying. He had been in Central Park. There were fairies in Central Park. Time did act weird at their magical raves and gambling dens. His mom did know all that.

  She touched her forehead. Her heart. Her throat. It was like a prayer, but for brujas asking or thanking the Deos for a miracle. Why did she always worry? He was fine.

  “If you’re not home tonight by dinner, I’m going to invent a canto that will ground you for the rest of my life. Go put on the coffee.”

  He did as he was told, scooping the grounds of Bustelo into the coffee filter and hitting the on button. The whole time he thought about Danaë. Her face. Her hair. He’d never seen so much hair in his life. The way she sat there in the pale blue dress that brought out the freckles on her arms. The way she spoke about her old life. The things she remembered, at least. The songs she liked. He was already making a playlist on his phone for her. He didn’t understand why she’d been put in that tower, but he was going to find a way to break her out.

  * * *

  It took him three days to come back. In that time, Danaë tidied up her belongings. She scrubbed her skin. She changed her dress. She gathered the tiny, fragrant flowers growing in from her window vine and rubbed the sticky floral scent on her wrists and throat.

  Her mother had once told her about boys. They’d been on the ship, and several young men had called her attention with sharp whistles and sultry glares. Her virtue had been the most important thing about her, it seemed, until the day her magic surfaced.

  “Danaë!” he shouted. “It’s me.”

  When he made it back up, she dug her fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp. “Did you double in weight while you were gone?”

  “I came prepared.” He only laughed. He shook off a backpack from his shoulders and a satchel from across his chest and got to work. A black cylinder. Bags of what looked like food. Candles. Jars of powders and sticks of palo santo. Clear boxes filled with more food. Coca-Cola in tin cans instead of glass bottles. Her longing for the world outside grew.

  She picked one up and held it in her fingers. “Can I?”

  “It’s for you,” he said. Then, as she popped the top, he added, “It’s all for you.”

  For a long time they feasted. She cried when she crunched on the salty platano chips. She wept harder when the black cylinder, which he called a portable speaker, plugged into the smallest telephone she’d ever seen and played the songs of her childhood. They spent the day following the sun as it filtered into her small room. They reclined on cushions, and then as the sun began to sink and they’d nearly finished eating everything, they lay side by side with their shoulders touching.

  Touch was something so strange to her, after decades of being alone. She reached out for his hand and he didn’t move. His skin was warm in hers. It sent a spark across her chest, filled her with a heat that felt like it could burn her up if she let it. A simple touch could do that?

  “How does it work?” he asked, tracing his thumb across her knuckles. “The magic of the tower? Every spell can be broken.”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “The hunter—the sorcerer—he didn’t give you any hints? Usually bad guys like to give out their plans in long monologues at the end of the movie. Gods, I want to take you to a movie. Special effects have come a long way since, well, your time.”

  She wanted to tell him not to give her hope. “No charms or incantations. No blood sacrifice. No true love’s kiss.” Then she pictured the sorcerer standing in the hall of her studio apartment. Her mother’s flowers were taking over the windowsills, growing wild out of their ceramic pots. He wore all black and a long coat with a metal pin over the breast. A knight riding a horse with an eight-pointed star over his head. He’d said he was from the Order of the Knights of Lavant. He said he would help them. That there was a place Danaë would be safe. No charms or incantations. No blood sacrifice. No true love’s kiss. Nothing could set her free except a willing exchange.

  “No true love’s kiss?” Fabían said. His fingers were completely entwined in hers now. “Damn. There goes my shot.”

  “We can try,” she said. Good girls weren’t this eager to kiss a boy. But she had stopped being a good girl long ago. What did that even mean, anyway? She’d been alone for so many years, she’d forgotten what shame felt like. After all this time, Danaë did not want to be good or bad. She wanted to simply be.

  “Really?”

  “Kiss me.” Then she added softly, “Please.”

  They leaned in, and when his lips brushed hers, Danaë felt time itself slow down. She stopped breathing, and her heart felt like it was growing. She thought of berries ripening on the vine. The sun coming out from behind clouds after a long, terrible winter. His lashes fluttered against her skin. His hand wrapped around her hip and pulled her closer. She’d never kissed anyone. Not in her sixteen human years and not in the petrified decades that followed. She felt the tip of his tongue and she gasped.

  “Was that okay?” he asked quickly.

  She answered by scooting on top of him so her torso was at an angle across his chest. She kissed him, and this time she was in control of it. When their lips touched again, she could taste the sugar of the dozen lollipops they’d consumed. She tasted her own tears because she was overjoyed. There was the rush of the oceans in her ears, and she remembered standing at the edge of the shores back home watching the crystal waters of the Caribbean.

  “You’re crying,” he said. “I’m sorry. It didn’t work.”

  She sat up and wiped her cheeks. Here he was trying to fit an entire lifetime into a few days. It was so much. So much.

  “I told you not even true love’s kiss could free me,” she said, and held him closer. “I wouldn’t even know what true love felt like, but we might be on the right track.”

  He grinned that soft, adorable grin of his, and her insides felt like they were being hollowed out to make room for more butterflies.

  “Cool, cool, cool.”

  “What else did you bring?” She picked up a bottle of shimmering red dust.

  “This? Well, you said you missed magic.”

  Magic was the reason they had left the Dominican Republic. Chased out of their little town outside La Romana. Her family had moved there to work in the sugar factories. Even now, sugar was the closest thing she’d get to home.

  “Show me,” she said, eager to hear more about Fabían’s magic.

  He unstoppered the bottle and bright sparks flew.

  * * *

  It was a cheap trick. There were some herbs. Ground jasper. The crushed bones of fire salamanders native to regions in Mexico. The botanica shop had everything he could ever want. Lady Lunes, the owner, had given him the eye when h
e’d purchased it all, but he’d said he was having a little birthday party. Brujas were gossips. There was no question about it. Besides, these items were trinkets. It’s not like he’d bought anything dangerous.

  “I might not be able to summon the dead like some brujas, but my uncle taught me how to make fireworks of the magic variety.”

  He tested it by making the shape of a bat. He held the powder in his hand and envisioned the winged creature, felt this cord in his gut that pulled real tight. It was the same feeling as when he and Danaë had kissed. He wanted nothing more than to do it again, but he didn’t want to push her. He could stay with her all night.

  He should be getting home, but he kept lighting up the room with animals made of sparks and smoke. Each time, she clapped and squealed like he was the world’s most brilliant brujo.

  “What about you?” he asked when the bottle was empty and the moon was out. He brushed a stray curl from her face and leaned back on his hands. “What kind of magic do you miss?”

  “I used to be able to conjure light,” she said.

  “Cool,” he breathed out.

  “This place won’t let me.”

  He took her hand in his. “I’ll find a way to get you out of here. There are brujas who know things. My moms is afraid. But she’s afraid of everything. There’s this family in Sunset Park—three sisters—they’re always getting into some sort of mess. I could ask them. Or, if they can’t help, there’s the Alta Bruja, Lady Lunes. And if it’s bad, real bad, we can go to Angela Santiago.”

  He watched her face go still. He’d seen that happen to his mother when his uncle had been attacked by a stray vampire and left for dead. He’d seen fear in people’s faces his whole life, not just magical people, but the creatures trying to survive.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What did I say?”

  “It’s nothing,” she assured him. A deep frown darkened her features. “I just haven’t heard my last name in a long time.”

  “Danaë Santiago.”

  She blinked quickly, like there was something in her eye. Her gaze fell to his, and she smiled. “There are many Santiagos in this city, I’m sure. Do you know this woman?”

  Fabían scratched the side of his head and went through the bags of empty chips until he found a single bag of Takis with a few bites left. He sucked the powder off his thumb and fingers. “I’m not allowed to go there, but you hear stories. She has this greenhouse full of poisons, and the funny thing is, she grows everything inside her bakery. Has a special room. My cousin’s friend’s girlfriend goes to her when she wants a curse. The kind that takes generations to cure. I told JP he needs to stop hanging out with those girls, but no one listens to me.”

  She stood up and walked to the south-facing window. She touched the empty space there, sticking her hand out as far as it would go before a rippling force pushed her back. Reminded her that she was trapped inside.

  “I promise, Dani. I will find a way to get you out of here.”

  “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

  He stood up and went to her. He was a head taller, and one day he’d fill out his taut muscles. He’d be strong and powerful. “I would learn how to wield the power of the moon for you. I would do anything, Dani. I would trade places if I could. I—”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. Held his hands tight in hers. She tipped her head back, and when she blinked this time, tears ran down her cheeks. “Don’t say that.”

  “Too late. I already did.” He brushed her wet cheek with his thumb.

  Danaë leaned in, meeting him halfway for another kiss. This time, the fire built up inside his chest and spread through his lungs. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his back. They kissed each other until their mouths were swollen and the orange haze of sunrise began to break. He didn’t remember falling asleep. But he remembered waking up alone.

  He sat up in her bed. His shirt was on the floor and a cluster of vine flowers were on her pillow.

  “Danaë?” he called out to someone who was not there.

  * * *

  The Knight of Lavant stood over Danaë’s figure curled up in the bed. Her hands were clutched against her chest. Even after the accident, after she set the other apartments on fire, her light was still glowing.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Santiago,” he said. “We have a way to fix these kinds of things.”

  “How long will she be in there?” Angela Santiago asked.

  “A few years. Our organization is here for the sole purpose of protecting the human population.”

  “And you’re sure she can’t get out?”

  “No charms or incantations. No blood sacrifice. No true love’s kiss. Nothing could set her free except a willing exchange, and I doubt anyone would ever risk such a thing. Moving on, we’ve taken care of the survivors and we’ll find a place for you.”

  “Where?” she asked sharply.

  “Bay Ridge.”

  When she peered up, her mother held a bit of foxglove in her fingertips. Danaë felt the effects of her mother’s medicines, the ones that kept Danaë’s powers at bay. The last time she had stopped taking them, she’d burned their neighbor’s house down and they’d had to flee.

  “Please don’t,” Danaë cried. “Mamá!”

  “You’re doing the right thing,” the Knight said. “We’ll come get you when we find a cure.”

  “There is no cure,” she heard her mother say. But the next thing she knew, she was awake in a gray stone room, petrified in time.

  * * *

  Danaë climbed down the tower using her own rope of hair. She trembled the whole way down, shrouded in Fabían’s jacket. The strain on her temples was enough that she wanted to pass out, but she focused on the climb down, moving one hand and then the other. When her feet touched the ground, she was amazed at the feel of the grass tickling her ankles. The cold air against her legs and face. A creature hissed at her from the pond, but then sank beneath its murky surface.

  She searched his pockets and found a knife. With shaky fingers she cut and cut and kept on cutting until her hair was free and around her shoulders. She yanked on the other end and the rope pooled at her feet. She wrapped it around her torso. She’d have to hide it…or burn it. But she couldn’t leave it behind. A bruja never gave away parts of herself, lest they be used to bewitch her. Her mother had taught her that once.

  Danaë thought of Fabían.

  He’d be waking soon, and she didn’t want—couldn’t hear him cry for her. She knew the ache of that first loneliness. The jolt of realization that there was no way out.

  She tried to run, but her muscles were out of practice, and before she could get far enough, she heard his voice.

  “Dani! Danaë!”

  Nothing could set her free except a willing exchange.

  “I’ll come back for you.” She spoke the promise into the air.

  If the noise had been terrible up above, it was worse as she took the labyrinthine roads out of Central Park and found a subway. Everything was different. She was different. Changed from the inside. Would her mother recognize her?

  She boarded the train to Bay Ridge, muttering her own charm. The tips of her fingers lit up as she said, “I’ll come back for you.”

  But first, she was overdue for a family reunion.

  Dear Omar—

  Solitary kills niggas, but it ain’t gon kill me. That’s facts.

  After everything I been through so far, I know it ain’t for me. They got me in here, but can’t no kinda block hold me. I’m too big for that shit. Like, you know how shit just sometimes leaves you alone? Or, like, passes you by? I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like bad shit just be missing me, bro. I’m not about to snitch or nothin, but one time the homie Victor and I—Victor’s half-and-half, like half-black, half-Mexican but he ain’t been jumped into no cholo gan
gs—we was headin back from school early on some bullshit. And I remember what day it was too, because Miss Frazey, who was always on our ass about something or something else, she took me to the side and she was like “you’re gonna have to make a choice between your future and your friends” and you know how much it can mess you up to hear that when you’re twelve? On the set. All I know is this gang-banging, you feel me? But Victor and I are leaving school and we on our way to the Lakewood Mall when I see some Pirus literally headin right toward us. Now, they used to go to the other school around the way, and we used to play football against them until their set started showing up to the games carrying hammers and the schools were like “we ain’t tryna see no dead kids on this football field,” but these Pirus are headin straight for us. Like, we’re about to get caught slippin, and it’s just me and Victor and these four brolic-ass Bloods headin our way. So I figure, they bout to get the drop on us. And, like, if you’re gonna get stomped out, you can’t just go down like no bitch becuz people talk and it’s gonna get around and maybe it’s gonna turn into a thing where they give you the whoop-dee-whoop and now you gotta kill one of them and then they gotta kill one of you and it’s just a lotta cryin mamas and a lotta wakes and, on the dead homie, I’m tired of that shit, you feel me? Like, this gang-banging shit ages you, bro. Anyway, they’re bout to get the drop on us, and, you gotta understand, I got the rag out, yo. I’m Cripped up, all Crenshaw everything. I can’t tuck nothin. And I left my hammer at Mac’s place becuz we sometimes hang there after school and chill in his studio while a bunch of them make music and all that. But, get this, just when I think I’m bout to get the whoop-dee-whoop, they walk right past us. I’m talkin, right past us, bro. They don’t even see us. Like we ain’t even there. Victor notices it too, and at first we were like okay what if they’re just waitin till we alone, you know? But, nah, we catch up to the homies at the Mall and it’s on and crackin again. And at first, I ain’t know what happen and I ain’t even tell the other homies, but now I know what that was. I’m special. I’m Protected, yo. Like, I been shot at but never shot, you feel me? 16 years here and damn near everything’s tried to kill me. but I ain’t die yet. It’s weird to say at 16, but sometimes it feel like forever yo.