Paola Santiago and the Forest of Nightmares

by Tehlor Kay Mejia

  Pao made for the sink, finally crying out against the pain in her hand, and tried to drop the locket in the basin to stop the burning. The fantasma was still struggling to get through the hole he’d made, like a panicked, angry rat in a trap.

  The locket was stuck to her palm, Pao realized with horror. It wouldn’t let go—it just burned hotter until she could smell it singeing her skin. She shook her hand. Nothing. She screamed in frustration, her voice lost in the much louder sounds coming from the fantasma.

  “Fine!” Pao shouted, reaching for the bottle of Florida Water and uncapping it with her teeth.

  She poured the citrusy liquid over her hand, and the hot locket actually sizzled when it made contact. The Florida Water stung viciously, but the locket reacted, its swirling silver color giving way to a bright, brilliant gold.

  Behind her, the fantasma’s thrashing reached a fever pitch. Frantic squeals, almost piglike, escaped his giant maw, and every one of his eyes was wide with pain and terror.

  Pao pressed herself against the sink, praying this wouldn’t be like the time she had tried to stop the chupacabra with Florida Water in the haunted cactus field. Back then, the stuff hadn’t done anything more than make the monster mad. Naomi would never let her live down a second failure.

  But even as Pao had the thought, the locket stopped sizzling. The fantasma’s squeals quieted, giving way to moans of pain. His arm retreated out of the doorway, followed by his head, which lost its crazed eyes until it only had two left, blinking at the ceiling of the house before finally closing.

  The Bad Man Ghost shrunk to the size of a regular human. He could have been sleeping there, half in and half out of the house. Pao leaned over the counter to watch as he took a final breath, then let it out, finally dissolving into the air just like Ondina had done in the end.

  Once he was gone, Pao’s knees finally gave way. She sobbed on the floor until the sunlight changed in the window. Then she got to her feet, the now-gold locket back in her hand, pressing against the burn it had left on her palm.

  Outside, the quiet was almost eerie. There was no sign that, just hours ago, a family had been destroyed here.

  Pao crossed the dirt lot and headed for the vineyard, ready to end this once and for all. Around her, the colors seemed to leach out of the already-barren landscape, the blue sky turning steel gray, the twisted grapevines losing what little brown they held until they looked like stone.

  I’m going to wake up soon, Pao thought. This place was loosening its hold on her at last.

  She broke into a run, needing to do one last thing before the past spit her out like a cherry stone. She didn’t slow down until she reached the well where she had said good-bye to baby Dante and Señora Mata.

  The earth around it was hard and dry, but Pao dug into it with her hands anyway, the locket laying harmlessly beside her, still a vivid gold even as all the surrounding colors faded away.

  Pao dug until at least one of her nails was cracked and her fingertips were red and raw. She looked down at the hole she’d made—small but deep enough for her purposes.

  Picking up the locket, Pao opened it once more to look at the mother and two girls. Hopefully their father would find them now, wherever they were.

  “Descansa en paz,” Pao whispered to them, remembering the phrase from a funeral she’d attended with her mom. She could have sworn the locket heated up a little in response. Not the destructive burning temperature from before, but a warm glow, like it had been sitting in the sun.

  With tears in her eyes—for this family, and for Dante and his parents—Pao dropped the locket into the hole and covered it with the gray earth. As she packed it down and smoothed it over, she waited for the dream to dissolve, eager to wake up in the present.

  Instead, something else happened.

  Like a seed on one of those time-lapse videos, a plant sprouted from the place where Pao had buried the locket. Pao pushed herself backward, half scooting, half crab-walking away as the strange golden seedling began to grow.

  And grow.

  And grow.

  Within seconds, there was a closed flower bud the size of a basketball sitting at Pao’s feet, quivering with life.

  She knew this was a dream, and that the plant—or whatever it was—had grown from a potentially corrupted artifact that had caused the death and destruction of people and families just moments earlier.

  But Pao was a scientist first and foremost, and there was no way she wasn’t going to investigate this phenomenon further.

  The colors around her were still fading, the grape fields now looking more like a black-and-white photo than a living place. She stepped forward, ready to pry open the strange pod to see what was inside, but the moment her fingertip touched it, it bloomed into a giant golden flower.

  And at its center was an object that made Pao catch her breath.

  It was a magnifying glass, and it looked like an antique. The handle was made out of the same gold the locket had been, with identical swirls and embellishments. The lens, surrounded by a gold frame, was thick and sturdy.

  Pao stared at it in wonder, this beautiful tool, unlike anything she’d ever seen.

  The pistil of the flower raised up a little when she hesitated, as if inviting her to pluck the object. The light coming off it was welcoming and warm against the fading dream landscape.

  Pao reached out, wary but entranced, and grabbed the handle, freeing it gently from the flower. When she held it up, it felt perfect in her grip, warm like the locket had been, and buzzing with energy.

  “Gracias,” Pao whispered. The flower folded up again, shrank, and retreated into the ground like it had never existed. The magnifying glass remained in Pao’s hand, but the surprises didn’t end there.

  Just as the grapevines started to dissolve and the sky turned white, the magnifying glass changed shape like Pao had only seen one other thing do in her life.

  As the tool shifted, she pictured herself and Dante in the living room of his apartment, watching with their mouths open as his abuela’s old yellow chancla had changed into a man’s blue corduroy slipper right before their eyes.

  She remembered the first time she’d heard someone say its name with awe, in the camp of Los Niños de la Luz.

  She thought of the moment the house shoe had transformed into a fearsome club just in time to save everyone from the Manos Pachonas, and recalled the wonder she’d felt . . . and the jealousy, too.

  And now the same kind of magic was happening in her own hand. The magnifying glass that had already been a marvel was stretching out like a piece of taffy, getting longer and longer until it was taller than Pao herself, shimmering in the air until it settled into its true form.

  It was a staff. Lightweight and perfectly balanced, a deep-purple color shot through with veins of blue and gold. At the end was a vicious-looking blade no longer than her hand, its surface opalescent like Marisa’s water sword.

  An Arma del Alma of her very own.

  Pao barely had a chance to admire the staff before the landscape dissolved for good. All she could do was cling to it, close her eyes, and let herself be lost.

  Pao awoke on a strange sofa, gasping for breath, her hairline beaded with sweat. Her head swam like it sometimes did when she’d spent days in bed with the flu.

  The first thing she did was yank up the sleeve of her shirt, searching frantically for the infected bite that had landed her in this situation to begin with.

  It was gone. The healing in the pool had been real. So did that mean . . . ?

  Pao patted the couch all around her, and then her clothes, her heart sinking fast until she felt something in the left front pocket of her jeans. She pulled it out to find a magnifying glass. Not the ornate-handled golden thing she had picked from the flower in her dream—this one sleek, silver, and foldable, with a keychain attached so she wouldn’t lose it.

  Her Arma del Alma. Pao sighed in relief. It had been real. It was real. And it was all hers.

  Even thoug
h it was more modern now, the metal’s shine still swirled like something from another world, and when Pao unfolded it and peered through the lens, everything looked like it was lit from within by golden light.

  Pao wanted to examine the object and practice transforming it for hours, but she knew there was no time for that. She needed to find present-day Dante, tell him everything, and show him that, with her staff, she could finally fight by his side instead of waiting for him to come to the rescue.

  He’d be happy for her, wouldn’t he?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Gingerly, Pao got to her feet. The wound on her arm was healed, but she still felt like she’d actually traversed a magic forest and rescued a child from a fantasma. Her head spun, and she closed her eyes a moment before opening them and looking around properly.

  She was in the same living room where she’d seen photos of baby Dante, but there was no comparing this house to how it had looked ten years ago.

  It was no longer the cozy, clean home it had once been. The photos were gone, along with the neat furniture and the baby toys on the floor. In the kitchen, clothes lay in piles, dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, and ants crawled away in a trail to the door. There was no more Florida Water on the windowsill. No more smiling Virgen de Guadalupe.

  Pao’s heart sank as she looked around the unhappy room, cast in bluish light by the harsh fluorescent fixture in the ceiling. She tried to reconcile her pity for the widow with the anger Pao felt at her for leaving Dante alone at three years old.

  There was no sign of anyone here—of Naomi or Dante or the woman who had answered the door. Pao checked the bedroom where she’d found the locket. It was empty, the bed rumpled and unmade, a collection of wine bottles and an ashtray on the night table. Pao left quickly. These things were too personal for a stranger to see.

  She tried the little boy’s room next, but whatever use it was being put to now, it was locked. Pao knocked lightly, and there was no answer.

  The empty house made her anxious. Where was everyone? How long had she been unconscious? She stepped out onto the front porch, distracted momentarily by the multitude of stars so unbelievably visible here. There were whole galaxies out there, Pao thought. An infinite number of possibilities. The thought, as paradoxical as it was, grounded her. It gave her courage.

  The lot around the house looked as it had in her dream—minus the red car and the white fence, which had been replaced by chain link. Pao remembered the way the fantasma had ripped up the long line of pickets in a single motion. . . .

  Dante was nowhere to be seen, but as she stood looking out over the vineyard, she knew where she would find him.

  Pao walked toward the well, catching sight of him halfway there. It was surreal to see him looking like his seventh-grade self again, when the last time she’d seen him . . .

  Suddenly, Pao felt self-conscious, even a little guilty, about everything she’d witnessed. In the moment it had all been so urgent—there’d been no time to stop and think about what was going on. But here and now, she felt like she had read Dante’s diary or something. She knew stuff he had never wanted her to know.

  Would it make things between them better, or worse? she wondered.

  Pao had thought she was approaching quietly, but Dante—who was kneeling on the ground with his back to her—stood up when she reached him. He was still wearing his outfit from before: a soccer jersey and tan pants with white sneakers. His hair was the same, too—shaggy, extending past his collar in the back.

  But something was different about him.

  Pao opened her mouth to say hello, but Dante was quicker.

  “You went back, didn’t you?” He didn’t even turn around to say it.

  Pao deflated a little at the tone in his voice. Apparently her knowing what had happened to his parents was not going to bring them closer.

  “Yeah,” she said, sliding the magnifying glass back into her pocket.

  “So you saw everything.”

  “I don’t know why I did, though,” Pao said earnestly, stepping forward. “I was in this forest, a duendecillo healed my arm, and then . . .” She trailed off, not knowing how to describe the horrors she had witnessed.

  “And then you watched my dad get murdered and did nothing to stop it.”

  Pao stopped in her tracks, leaving a row of grapevines between them.

  “There was nothing I could have done,” she said. “I didn’t even know what was happening until after he . . . Dante, I wasn’t even armed.”

  He couldn’t make this her fault, too, could he? If he really remembered all this, if he knew what she’d seen ten years ago, that meant she hadn’t just been dreaming. She had traveled back in time! She had saved his life!

  “There’s always some excuse, isn’t there?” Dante said. “For the destruction you cause. I don’t MEAN to, I’m never TRYING to hurt anyone, but everyone around you still gets damaged, don’t they, Pao?” His impression of her voice was high and whiny. Cruel. The way the soccer boys talked about the girls they didn’t like while hanging at the pizza place after school.

  Dante had never joined in those conversations before. It had been one of the ways Pao knew she hadn’t fully lost him yet.

  Apparently, he’d been saving all his mockery for her.

  “If it was all real, why didn’t you ever tell me?” she demanded. “You could’ve warned me! I could’ve done things differently!”

  Dante scoffed. “Our roles in all this were decided way before that day, Pao. There was no stopping what happened.” His shoulders tensed visibly, like he was in pain.

  “Then why are you blaming me for—”

  He ignored her, interrupting. “There’s no stopping what happens next, either.”

  Goose bumps erupted along Pao’s arms again. The stars above them seemed to dim a little.

  “What are you talking about?” Pao asked warily, trying to calm down. “You don’t . . . You don’t sound like yourself. Why don’t we just—”

  Dante interrupted her with a barking laugh. “I’m more myself than I’ve been in a long time,” he said. “Ever since that fantasma killed my father and tore apart my family.”

  “It was awful,” Pao said. “I know. I’m so s—”

  “Don’t!” Dante snarled. “Don’t say you’re sorry! You’re not. You’re not capable of it. You know what my biggest mistake has been this whole time, Pao?”

  “What?” she whispered, sensing something awful coming, like smelling a thunderstorm in the air before the first lightning strike.

  “Believing you when you played the hero. Because you’re not a hero.”

  “I never thought I was,” she said in disbelief. She’d known things were bad with Dante, but this? It sounded like some sinister movie character was hiding in the vines beside him, feeding him his lines. This wasn’t her best friend talking.

  Pao pinched herself, afraid she was still dreaming. But it hurt. Just like his words.

  Dante kneeled down again. “My father was killed by a fantasma right in front of me when I was just a kid. My mom ran away, leaving me alone to die.”

  “But you didn’t die,” Pao said, a tiny seed of hope taking root in her chest. She knew this boy, better than she knew herself sometimes. She could bring him back from whatever this was before it was too late. She had saved him before—why couldn’t she do it again? “You didn’t die, because I—”

  “Yeah, I knew you were gonna try to take credit for that,” he said, beginning to dig in the dirt in front of him. “But it wasn’t you who saved me, was it? You were going to leave me alone, right here, just like she did. It was my abuela who saved me. My abuela, a former member of Los Niños de la Luz, who handed down the Arma del Alma to me. That weapon’s the only reason we got out alive last summer, you know that, right?”

  “It’s not the only reason,” Pao said automatically. Hadn’t she been the one who made it through the rift? Fought her way through the ruins outside the glass palace to find him
? Forged a connection with Ondina and used it to defeat one of the most feared fantasmas of all time? Gotten them all home safely?

  “I’m the one with the childhood grudge,” Dante continued, like he hadn’t heard her. “I have the grandma with the mysterious powers and a history with the Niños. I have the club.” He stood up now, reaching into his pocket for the chancla and turning to face her at last. “And yet you’re the hero?” He took a step toward her. “Why?”

  The slipper transformed immediately this time—he must have been practicing. He held the club at his side and looked at Pao, his eyes bloodshot, his mouth curled into a cruel sneer.

  “Why wouldn’t it be me?” he asked, swinging his weapon idly back and forth. “I deserve it more—I fit the part. And you have this bad side, don’t you, Pao? This selfish, destructive bad side that hurts everyone you love.”

  “I don’t,” Pao said, though his words slowed her down. “I don’t hurt them.”

  Suddenly, she was struggling to hold back tears. Sure, what he was saying was awful, but Pao knew who she was. She wasn’t about to let someone change what she believed about herself with a few jealous, ill-placed words.

  The thing bringing her to tears was the fact that it was Dante saying these things. If he really meant them, then it was truly over between them. A lifetime of friendship, gone. And for what?

  “What happened to you?” she asked him, stepping closer, making sure her hand was on the magnifying glass in her pocket. Just in case.

  Dante would never hurt me, she told herself. Even if he’s hurting, he would never hurt me.

  “I learned the truth,” he said, mouth in a grim line now, all humor gone from his expression. “The truth about what happened that day when my father died. The truth about who you are and how little you deserve that hero status you’re always lording over us.”

  “I never lorded—” Pao began, but once again Dante cut her off.

  “I’m the only one who can do this!” Dante said, repeating that cruel impression of her. “I’m the only one who can find Emma, fight the Manos, end La Llorona for good!”