Labyrinth Lost (2 page)

Lula's phone chimes three times. Maks must be outside.

“Trust me on this,” Lula says. “And hurry up and get dressed. Maks is here.”

I start to head back up the stairs when I hear Lula shout, “Rose! That's an offering!”

Rose is licking the excess ambrosia from the whisk, a guilty smile spreading to her round cheeks. “What? The ambrosia's a metaphor for our divine offering. It's not like the Deos are going to eat
all
of it.”

Lula looks up at the ceiling and asks, “What did I do in my last life to deserve you two?”

“You were a pirate queen who stole a treasure from Cortés and then ended up deserting your crew to man-hungry sharks,” Rose tells her. “We're your punishment for every lifetime to come.”

Lula rolls her eyes. “Seems excessive.”

I leave them and run upstairs to get dressed.

I can't believe I let Lula talk me into doing another canto. I still haven't learned how to say no to her. I'd like to meet someone who can. I know if I'm not careful, I'm going to get caught. The cantos she picks are harmless really, unless you account for attracting ants because of the ambrosia. Maybe I can stay late after school and come home after sunset. She'll be mad, but she's always mad at me for something.

I get a tight feeling in my chest and brace myself against the wall. Something feels different today. Even Rose felt it.

I can hear Lula shout and Maks press down on his horn. A cold breeze blows through the window and knocks a photo off my altar. It's a picture of Aunt Rosaria. In it, Aunt Ro is alive and smiling. Her dress is as blue as the summer sky and in her arms is a crying baby. It was a few days after I was born, and my parents chose her as the godmother for my Birth Rites. It's how I want to think of her. Not dead. Not rotting. I put the picture back in place beside my turquoise prex—a bruja's rosary—and a candle that's been burned to a tiny stub and not replaced for months.

Something inside of me aches. “I miss you. Mom's getting crazier every day without you.”

I put on jeans and a plain gray T-shirt and fasten my watch. I gather my hair in a long ponytail. I stare at myself in the mirror. Sometimes I'm afraid I'm going to wake up and my magic is going to show. It shows on Lula. It makes her radiant, breathtaking. She walks with her head tilted to the sky, and a knowing smirk on her face because she can feel heads turning.

I'm not jealous or anything. Lula's the beauty in the family, and I'm okay with that. Rose is the special one, and I'm okay with that too. I'm not sure what I am yet, but I'm certain I wasn't born to be a bruja.

I grab my backpack and double-check that everything I need is in there. Another breeze knocks Aunt Ro's photo from my altar again, kicking up the dust. I'll have to clean it when I get home. Rose's altar has a picture of our father and a statue of La Estrella, Lady of Hope and All the World's Brightness. Lula's altar is the only clean part of her bedroom. It's a shrine to La Ola, Lady of the Seas and Changing Tides. Lula's got a prex made of every kind of stone, and she has all kinds of feathers and candles for all the moon cycles. She mostly chants her rezos for good grades and for Maks to stop a lot of goals.

I don't ask for anything. Not anymore.

I place a candle on top of Aunt Ro's photo, so it can't be blown off again. Then I go to shut the window but find it isn't open.

A third breeze.

I feel something inside of me stir, and I have to hold my breath to reel it back in. It's my guilt. The thing I've kept hidden from my family—the thing that makes me a liar every single day. I know the reason Lula's canto to bring forth my powers didn't work. Lula thinks my powers are sleeping.

She's wrong.

I can feel the secrets pushing against my veins, and in turn, I push right back—hiding them deep inside, where I hope one day even I won't be able to find them.

Hear me, La Mama, ruler of the sun,

levanta a la bruja, her power undone.

—Waking Canto, Book of Cantos

“You okay?” Lula turns in the passenger seat of Maks's car.

I nod. If I tell Lula that a photo of our dead aunt jumped off my altar by an invisible force, she'd just make us go investigate, light some sage, and then we'd really be late for school. Priorities. Plus, we'd have to come up with some elaborate lie for Maks. Or maybe not.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Maks turns to Lula. “I like your new sweater.”

I hit my head against the window in the backseat. Lula takes in his compliment with kissy noises, then holds his free hand as he pulls out of the driveway. We wave good-bye to Rose as she boards her bus to school.

Maks is okay. Though, he is superclueless. He's been dating my sister for a year, and when he drops her off at her Circle meetings, he just thinks she's doing yoga. If he had any sense, he'd
feel
how amazing my sister is, that he's not worthy of her.

Lula fawns over him—his dark hair, his new shirt, the irreverent shape of his earlobes. My own sister! I miss the days when we were kids, before magic became our sole focus, before my dad vanished and took away my mother's happiness, before Lula discovered she liked kissing beautiful boys because she was beautiful too.

“Someone has a b-day coming up,” Maks says. His bright-blue eyes find mine in the rearview mirror.

“They do say the whole word now,” I say. His smile is contagious. “You're not texting.”

He laughs, making a sharp turn at the light. Who gave this boy his license?

“Alex!” Lula snaps.

Lula thinks I'm too cold. I like to think I'm the right amount of cold. That way, no one can hurt me. If Lula were more like me, she wouldn't have such a large collection of heartbreaks.

I just have the two.

Then Maks slams on the brakes. Tires screech and Lula screams. My head slams into the back of the driver's seat. Pain flares down my neck. Car horns blare and people shout. There's the smack of hands on the bright red of Maks's car and pain pulsing through my skull.

I hear my name called from a distance. A woman's voice I haven't heard in a long, long time.

“Alex, look at me,” Lula says, louder than the voice in my head.

My head feels heavy when I lean back. I squint against the pain behind my eyes. Maks is already out the door. Cool fall air carries impossible smells: deep-red blood and the smoke of just-blown-out candles from my nightmare.

At the crosswalk, Maks shoves someone. The guy we almost hit is hidden under a blue hoodie. He points a finger in Maks's face. Maks puffs up his chest, but the guy in the hoodie is bigger, more muscular, and doesn't look like someone easily intimidated.

Lula climbs into the backseat and holds up my chin.

“Focus on me,” she says, snapping her finger in front of my face.

I blink a few times, then settle my eyes on her gray ones. “My neck hurts.”

In seconds, she goes from my unruly sister to the healer she was born to be. Mom says Lula's power comes from the goodness of wanting to do good. Lula presses a hand on my neck. Her warmth spreads through me like sunshine. I see her and me—the thing that links us together—beyond this world and into the next.

And then my vision is clear and she says, “Better?”

Better than ever. I feel like I've been hit with adrenaline. Until I see Lula's face. “Oh, Lula…”

A bruise blooms on her smooth forehead. She presses her hand on it. “Recoil. You know that. It's fine.”

“It's
not
fine.” I hate the recoil, the unyielding give-and-take of the universe. My sister can heal, but it comes at a price. Mom tells her to save it. Nicks and scratches heal easy enough. But Lula doesn't listen.

“Let me worry about me.”

“But look at you!” I try to take her face in my hands, but she pulls away from me. The green spot on her forehead is darkening.

“This is what we do, Ale.”
Ah-ley
. My family nickname. “I know sometimes it's scary. But we can't just turn our backs on who we are.”

I scoff. “Right, and end up like Aunt Ro and Mama Juanita and Dad. Our lives are cursed. Magic is the problem.”

Lula looks down at her lap. “Don't say things like that.”

“Who else is going to say it?”

If I were braver, I would tell Lula the truth. Maybe they aren't cursed, but I am. I'm the reason our lives changed—the reason Dad left us. Instead, I look out the window, where Maks and the blue-hooded boy are still fighting. Lula hops back to the front seat and presses down on the horn.

“Maks!” she shouts. “Come on. Alex is fine. We're late.”

Maks slams his door shut. His face is red from screaming. The impatient traffic jam starts to drive around us.

The guy we almost hit gives us the middle finger, then keeps crossing the street as the pedestrian light turns white. I watch him as he walks. He rubs the long string of blue beads around his neck, an odd length for a rosary. Then I lose him in a crowd of pedestrians.

Maks takes Lula's face in his hands. “Baby, you're hurt. I'm so sorry.”

He kisses her forehead, and I count the seconds before he lets go. One…six…ten…

I tap the back of his seat. “You guys know I'm still back here, right?”

He turns to me and winks. “Want one too?”

“I'll pass. Can you park without killing us?”

Lula's back to sister-mode. Her resting witch face silences me.

Maks smirks, but the humor is gone. “Buckle up.”

And I do something I haven't done in years. I whisper a little prayer.

The encantrix walks alone,

her power too great.

Her madness, even greater.

—The Creation of Witches, Antonietta Mortiz de la Paz

At the steps of Thorne Hill High, Lula pulls me into a hug.

“I'm
fine
,” I groan.

“Wait for me after school. We have to—”

“Sunset,” I say quickly. I wish she wouldn't talk about bruja things in public. “I know. I got it.”

She kisses my cheek, and I grumble because her lip gloss is so sticky it only comes off with soap. I leave her and Maks to loiter with the soccer team and race up the steps. The school's tall gothic spires cast pointed shadows across the hordes of students hanging out front. I check my watch. I have two and a half minutes to make it to the girls' locker room and then first period gym. At my locker, I quickly change into my uniform. I throw on my hoodie because it's cold.

A sharp pain pulls from my belly button so hard I drop onto one knee.

“Are you okay?” a girl asks.

“Cramps,” I lie, trying to breathe through the pain. I feel a shortness of breath as my heart races.
Get a grip, Alex.

The girl raises her eyebrows, like she's positive I should be studied by NASA, and walks away.

Today is not off to a good start. I shut my locker harder than I intended. Static pricks my fingertips like needles and leaves burn marks on the metal door. The slam echoes through the changing room, turning heads in my direction. I bend my head down and concentrate on tying my shoelaces. Girls around me snicker on their way out. Their whispers echo against the metal doors and sharp acoustics of the locker room.

“That girl is so creepy. Her whole family is so weird.”

“My mom says
her
mom smells like garlic. She's like a voodoo priestess or something.”

“Did you know her slutty sister is dating the goalie?”

I let go of a shaky breath. A new pain pulls at my chest. I'm used to people thinking I'm weird. Despite my best efforts at not being seen, something always calls attention. When I was a kid, my mom used to put good luck charms in my backpack without telling me, so they'd fall out at school and scare the other kids. No one likes a real rabbit's paw strung with smelly incense pouches and seashells that jingle with every step. Even now, I keep to myself, except when I'm busy making lab-partner situations awkward. I don't care when people say things about me. I've learned to take it. But I really hate it when they say things about my family. I ball my hands into fists and pull back the anger itching at my fingertips.

I exit the locker room and search the stairwell for the single familiar face that cheers me up.

“
Today
, loser,” a boy says behind me. Then, when I don't speed up to his liking, he huffs and puffs and shoves me aside. He beats me to the next landing—Ivan Stoliyov, suspended for punching people and throwing a desk chair at Principal Quinn's head. He reminds me of a blond troll. I'm mentally putting him in check with a witty remark that'll never actually leave my lips when I, very gracefully, trip up the steps.

“You are
extra
coordinated today,” Rishi says.

From down here, all I can see are her purple boots, two inches of lime-green socks, and the start of a galaxy printed on metallic leggings. On top of that, she wears her standard-issue red Thorne Hill gym shorts and the black-and-red gym shirt. Somehow, she manages to make it look beautiful. Rishi Persaud usually stands at five foot four, but her chunky boots give her an extra five inches to put us at eye level.

“I like your outfit,” I say. I want to say something more. Something that conveys how relieved I am to see her face or that I missed her over the weekend or that I might be falling apart at the seams because I can't handle family and school and my nightmares.

Instead, all I do is dust off my jeans and bask in her calming presence. Rishi has that effect on me. She's so wonderfully bright, like when you stare at the sun and when you look away you have that spot in your line of vision. That's how Rishi makes me feel. She's about the only person in school who isn't weirded out by me, and I don't want to do anything to mess it up.

“I felt extra spacey this morning,” she says, and points at her leggings. Planets and supernovas stretch around her thighs and calves.

“Funny.”

“You're a mess.” She bends down. Her multicolored bracelets jingle as she ties the laces to my sneaker.

“I can do that myself, thanks.”

“Clearly not today.” She stands back up. “What would you do without me?”

I smirk. Shake my head. She hooks her arm with mine and pulls me along, exiting the stairwell.

We walk into the gym where kids run around playing basketball and girls who don't want to sweat sit up high on the bleachers.

“Want to come out today? There's a show in Williamsburg. It's kind of a scene, but I think we'll survive.”

I want to say yes. I want to be the girl who goes to concerts and hangs out after school and everyone laughs at her jokes because she's effortlessly funny and look at her hair it's so shiny… I want to be that girl.

Instead, I'm the girl with a jar of sugar and an impending magic spell waiting for her at sunset.

“I can't. I have boring family stuff.”

Rishi makes a face. In the two years we've been friends, I've never let her into my house. She's picked me up, but the farthest she's ever got is the front porch. It's not like there's a sign that says, “Welcome to Bruja Land! Don't. Touch. Anything.” It's that I'd be too embarrassed.

“Your life would be way more exciting if you spent more time with me,” she says, dodging a stray volleyball.

I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my gym shorts. I look at Rishi again. Her hands are decorated with the burned-amber swirls of henna from her cousin's wedding this past weekend. She smiles like there's sunshine inside her and walks like she's ready to fly. I wish I had a fraction of that. Sometimes when I'm with her long enough, I forget about all the things I can't tell her—the fear, the cantos, the ghosts. I forget and let myself just be.

The right corner of her lips tugs upward, revealing a tiny dimple. The crystal of her nose ring twinkles with the same brightness in her rich-brown eyes. When she looks at me, I feel like she's seeing right through me. Like she knows I'm hiding a big part of myself.

“What?” My stomach flutters and I fidget with the hem of my uniform shirt.

“There's something you're not telling me.”

My cheeks burn. There are lots of things I'm not telling lots of people. Rishi. My sisters. My mother. Even myself. Sometimes I'm afraid I've put on so many masks that one day I won't be able to recognize who I am. Still, I smirk to play it off because I can't think of any other way to be.

“I didn't finish reading
Romeo and Juliet
,” I say.

“Alex, you know I'm totally psychic. You won't be able to hide from me much longer.”

That makes me smile. “Of course you are.”

“Speaking of psychics,” she says, “they're supposed to have a bunch at the Ghoul Ball next weekend. Do you have a costume yet?”

“Can't I just go as a really stressed-out high school sophomore?”

“Alex, you are not allowed to bail on me. If you're not having a birthday party, then we will celebrate early with a thousand strangers.”

“I'll be there.” Damn, my guilt is at an all-time high today. First my family. Now Rishi. Since I can't invite her to my house, I lied and told her there'd be no birthday party at all.

“Want to walk around the track?” Rishi starts to stretch. The gym teacher isn't here yet, as evident by most of my classmates sitting around on their phones and a handful of guys failing to slam-dunk basketballs.

I start to follow Rishi out of the gym when I hear, “Duck, you freak!”

I don't generally answer to “freak,” but I want to see the source.

When I turn around, Ivan is holding a volleyball over his head. He throws it as hard as he can in our direction. I hold my arms up as a shield, but it wasn't meant for me. The ball slams into Rishi's face. Her head snaps back and the force of it knocks her on the floor.

Ivan holds his belly and laughs. Some kids laugh with him. Others are too embarrassed for Rishi to say anything, so they look away.

“Dick!” Rishi shouts at him. A tiny trickle of blood starts to flow from her nose.

“Are you okay?” I ask, even though it's a stupid thing to ask. Of course she's not okay. She wipes the blood away with the back of her hand, but it starts to gush down her face. I unzip my hoodie and press the fabric to her nose.

Anger flashes through me. I feel a tick in my neck and an itch in my palms. I turn around to face Ivan. He picks up another ball and gets in my space. I feel his energy, dark and hateful, brush against my own. Then, his eyes flash red for a second. I step back. Something is wrong. The feeling twists in my gut.

“You got a problem?” Ivan asks. “Want to get messed up like your little girlfriend?” He slams the ball into my shoulder.

“
Stop
,” I shout. My hands are shaking.

“Make me.” He won't back down.

I take a step toward him, but Rishi stops me.

“Alex,” Rishi says. Angry tears spill from the corners of her eyes. “Help me up.”

She holds out her hand. It's covered in blood. Ivan moves to grab my wrist, but I push him as hard as I can. I feel my head spin at the sight of Rishi's blood. I shut my eyes to make the dizziness go away, but I see the warm, red light of my dream again. The rotten stench of dead flesh fills the air. Then, I hear the last words my dad ever spoke to me. “
Sh, my darling. Everything will be okay.
” He lied. Nothing would ever be okay—not truly.

I close my eyes.
Remember to breath. Remember to pull the tide back. Remember to keep it buried.
But there's something else there, struggling to break free again. Just like last time. Dread digs into my chest and won't let go. I feel a swell in my heart, and when I look down at my hands, they're covered in blood. The wind is knocked out of my lungs. Something breaks inside of me and I can't hold on anymore.

My magic slips.

My ears pop and adrenaline rushes through my veins. I wait for something to shatter or move, but instead, Ivan falls on his hands and knees, choking. The head of a black snake slithers from his mouth, flicking a bright-red tongue.

Ivan makes a final, terrible gagging noise, and then the whole snake is out. It slithers across the waxed gym floor between feet that run for the exits. Piercing screams fill the air as Ivan shivers and collapses. The snake grows bigger by the second, like it feeds off the people screaming. When there's no one left in the gym but the three of us, the snake darts for Rishi.

“No!” I shout.

The snake freezes, turns its head in my direction. That red tongue flicks at me. It nods. It
knows
me. Then, the snake slithers out the door and into the halls.

“Alex.” Someone calls my name. I turn around but no one is there.

“Who's there?” I whisper. The temperature in the room drops.

“We need to go!” Rishi holds her bloody hand out for me to take.

But there's that voice again. I fall backward onto the gym floor. I can hear the rush of waves, the crackle of static. Rishi tries to help me stand. I stare at her fingers. Pink nails. Brown henna. But then she's gone as Aunt Rosaria appears between us.

“Alex, what's wrong?” Rishi shouts.

I crawl backward, my insides clenching and twisting painfully.
Recoil
. My skin burns from the inside like there's fire in my veins. Aunt Rosaria's open lips are a black hole, but the sound is lost. She grabs her throat with one hand and points at me with the other, a long, accusatory finger. I hold up my arms to shield myself from her. My magic slips defensively. The blast sets off the sprinkler systems. It shudders the windowpanes. It fills the air with the howling winds of a storm. Magic flares in my veins, and I panic, pulling it back like a lifeline that is slipping from my fingers. Aunt Rosaria starts to fade into the shadows, my name the last word on her cold, dead lips.