Cece Rios and the Desert of Souls Page 2

  I hunched over and avoided her gaze. I was only twelve (going on thirteen!), but Juana kept bringing up my fifteenth birthday like it was tomorrow.

  She tugged me back into a run. “Now come on, or we’ll be late!”

  We flew through the streets of town, Juana dragging me closer to the sound of voices. Merchants flooded past us, headed northward. Some rode burros, and a couple of rich ones even sped off in motorcars, but all of them were in a hurry.

  Tonight was Noche de Muerte, after all. The night the secret door to Devil’s Alley—the criaturas’ world—opened into ours.

  And its criaturas swarmed out.

  Only a few people outside of Tierra del Sol did business with us, since we were so isolated from big cities, but the few who did would disappear during the criatura months. This was not their birthplace, after all. They had no desire to defend it.

  A few women in brightly colored dresses joined us on the road as we came closer and closer to the western edge of the town proper—the place where the desert and the Ruins met our months of preparation.

  My heart pounded faster as we merged with the crowd, and the outskirts of Tierra del Sol came into view. The sun had set. Night blackened the Ruins and desert beyond. Normally, people wouldn’t come this close to the desert. But on Noche de Muerte, it seemed an appropriate place to face our ancient enemies.

  The line dividing us from the dangerous landscape beyond was clearly marked. A Sun Priestess, Dominga del Sol, stood tying the red rope in place. Knotted clumps of basil bobbed along its length, nodding like living things.

  Noche de Muerte was finally here.

  “Juana! Cece!”

  We turned as Mamá and Papá separated from the masses. Mamá grinned at us. Papá didn’t.

  “Juana, you look like you’re made of fire!” Mamá enveloped her in her large brown arms. Juana laughed and looked to Papá. After a stony moment, he nodded. Juana beamed.

  “We did a good job, huh? And look! Cece did my hem so well.” Juana twirled, showcasing our hard work. My chest swelled as the multitiered, wide, crimson skirt moved with her. She’d cut out the patterns and shown me how to stitch the fabric together, just as Mamá had first taught her. I’d spent months on the hem so it would look just right.

  Papá reached over and planted a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Juana is beautiful.”

  I stared up at his rough, oil-streaked face and tried to figure out if that was supposed to be a compliment.

  “You did very well on Juana’s dress, mija.” Mamá came over and pulled my long hair into her hands. “But you didn’t finish getting ready! Where is your fire opal?”

  At the question, a few people in the crowd turned to look at me. A couple clucked their tongues disapprovingly. A few scoffed. Mamá glared at them, and they turned away. Papá rubbed his forehead like he was tired.

  I smiled sheepishly. “You know fire opal doesn’t work on me, Mamá.”

  For most people, fire opal was the best defense against criaturas. Legends said fire opal drew on the inner fire humans inherited from the Sun god—so while it wasn’t lethal to criaturas who touched it, it could seriously burn them if the person’s inner fire was strong enough.

  But since that night when I was seven, it had stopped working for me altogether. The stone didn’t even glow at my touch like it did for most people.

  Mamá knit her brow. “But mija, you must at least give the appearance to criaturas—and the townspeople—that your inner fire is something to contend with. Or else they will only see you as weak.”

  At times like this, I wondered if they’d ever forget—or forgive—what I’d done.

  “Amenazante dancers!” The mayor’s voice carried over our heads. We all turned to look where he stood, by the red cord. “The criaturas approach. Come show our enemies what they have to fear.”

  Chills ran over my body. Past the mayor, past the red cord, waiting in the darkness of the ruins, I spotted something. A flicker of red. Eyes catching the light of our torches. I let out a small gasp.

  Fearlessly, Juana turned away from us and joined the other dancers at the front. They lined up against the rope that barred us from the coming dangers. Mamá took a deep breath as Juana, with the others, ducked under it.

  “She will burn bright like the Sun,” Mamá whispered.

  Drums filled the air. Something began to approach the dancers from the depths of the Ruins, and eyes opened in the darkness—yellow ones, purple ones, black ones, blue ones. And they were moving closer. I gripped Mamá’s hand and tried to calm my racing heart.

  The dancers weren’t afraid. Even as the darkness-cloaked criaturas moved toward them, they took their first rigid, military steps. And as I expected, my big sister was the most ferocious one at the fiesta.

  “Go my opal, heart, and hands,

  filled with the fire of my land.

  I’ll burn bright as child of Sol,

  cower now, fiends from below!”

  The dancers’ chanted warnings stalled the approach of the glittering, animal gazes. With every turn and flourish of Juana’s wide skirt in the torchlight, she appeared to catch fire. I clasped my hands together at the sidelines, in awe of her strength.

  “Child of Desert, corre, corre!

  Flee or you’ll be dead this day.

  Fuego souls will make you fall,

  avenge our own, and burn you all.”

  The dancers pressed the war declarations deep into the darkness. The criaturas began to slip backward. Juana bared her teeth at the nearest one, where its clawed fingers were just visible in the light of the fire. It scuttled backward, swallowed by nighttime.

  Suddenly, the dancers fell still. The oldest one stepped forward, face as dark as the desert beyond. “We will have no mercy if you provoke us, our ancient enemies!”

  In unison, they let out a sharp cry. The last of the shadowy enemies scrambled away.

  In the following silence, the townspeople held their breath. Hope filled the crowd—hope that the criaturas would stay afraid of us, and that for the next three months, they would not come near our homes. I stared into the darkness and listened for the sound of frightened criaturas running away. For some reason, it made me sad.

  Once all signs of the criaturas had vanished, the dancers turned back to face us. Juana’s chest lifted and fell like a warrior who’d won her first battle, and she looked at us with a confident grin.

  The townspeople clapped. The cheers were so loud, they echoed through the street.

  “Thank you, dancers. You may return to your familias.” The mayor, standing at the center of the throng, waved his hands. “Everyone, follow the roped-off road back to the town square. And remember to stay close to your familias and away from the Ruins!”

  Juana immediately spun toward where Mamá, Papá, and I were waiting. She dove into Mamá’s arms first.

  “Oh mija, you were wonderful!” Mamá squeezed her.

  Papá’s dark mustache twitched upward. “You made our familia proud, mija.”

  Papá stroked her head, his face softer than usual. It nearly made me smile. But then he looked down at me, and his warm expression vanished. “Remember this, Cece. This is what you must do—aspire to be like your sister.”

  The words stung me, like the strike of a scorpion. Right. I bowed my head and wished the desert would swallow me up.

  Juana pulled hard out of Mamá’s arms and wrapped me in a hug. “That’s right, Cece. You’ll be just as bright as me one day!”

  The words didn’t bring any comfort. But I was grateful to hide my flushed, embarrassed face in her shoulder for a few moments.

  Mamá patted Juana’s back and offered her a small, fried tortilla dipped in cinnamon sugar—a buñuelo. My mouth watered just looking at it. “Here, the first of the batch for my firstborn. Go dance for fun now. Your Papá and I will handle the buñuelo stall.”

  Juana gasped excitedly and took it, still holding me in one arm. “Gracias, Mamá! Cece will stay with me, so you two don
’t have to worry.” She rocked me back and forth in both arms again. My anxiety loosened its grip, and I giggled. “We’ll come by for more buñuelos later.”

  Noche de Muerte wasn’t exactly a celebratory festival, but there were a few game booths and plenty of sweets. The smell of cinnamon and fried tortillas already seeped through the crowd. Mmm, buñuelos were my favorite treat, and Mamá always made them with the best ratio of cinnamon to sugar.

  Mamá and Papá disappeared among the partygoers. Juana finally let me go. She stared after them, and for just a moment, her mouth tightened and her gaze grew dark.

  “Juana?” I asked quietly.

  “Just wait, Cece. They’ll be proud of you too. When you perform the Amenazante dance, they’ll see your soul has as bright a fire as anyone’s.”

  My insides fell quiet. For a second, I tried to hold on to her hope. Maybe she was right. But more likely, she wasn’t.

  She looked at me. “Don’t you think?”

  “Well . . . I can’t imagine the dancing committee ever picking me,” I said. They chose Amenazante dancers for the thing that Juana had always carried inside her, like weapons in her eyes. They chose them for their fierceness. For the fear they could inspire in the criaturas.

  Juana frowned at first, but then lit up with a sparkling smile. “We’ll just have to show them that you’re the best choice! Here, Cece, we’ll practice now. Stand like this.” She posed with the first move of the Amenazante dance—one foot forward, one firm and bent close—and lifted her skirt so I could see her feet.

  I looked around nervously. There were still a few people nearby chatting with familia or friends. “You mean here? In front of everyone?”

  “Sí! Come on, don’t think about them. Just put your feet like this and crouch.”

  Easy for her to say. When people watched her, it was in admiration. But going unnoticed was better for someone like me. The best I could hope for was being a shadow cast from the light of other people’s fires.

  “Can’t we just go have fun?” I rubbed my arm. “Think of the churros and buñuelos and tres leches—”

  She waved Mamá’s buñuelo in front of my nose. “You can eat this after you practice dancing with me. Okay?” She grabbed my arm with her free hand and tugged me into place beside her. A few people glanced our way. I swallowed hard but mimicked her step, if only so this could be over faster. “Great! Now, just scowl. Come on, you’ve got to look the part.”

  I tried to frown like she said. She rolled her eyes. “You look scared, not scary.” She pursed her lips. “Never mind, we’ll work on that later. Next you’ll do this—”

  She pinched her skirt hem with her free hand and pulled it high in the air until it became a wide red flag. A couple of people passed us, their eyes drinking in Juana’s grace. I tried out the same stance. The people’s expressions turned from awe to scorn instantly, and they shook their heads dismissively as they left us behind.

  Heat spread up my chest and neck.

  “And then you turn in a circle.” She turned her feet in a complicated three-step pattern and stopped to face me. She grinned. “Now you!”

  “I don’t even want to do the dance, Juana.” I squeezed out.

  She frowned harder than the dance required. “Come on, you can do this.”

  She didn’t get it. The townspeople didn’t want me to be a part of their dance. I could accept that. Why couldn’t she? I hunched over and looked around, hoping for an escape. Juana waved the buñuelo in my face until I looked at her again.

  “Cece!” The warmth in her face gave way to agitation. “At this rate, you’re never going to learn the dance, and then how will you get picked?”

  My shoulders slumped. “I’m—I’m not—”

  “What? You’re not what?” She leaned in, jaw set.

  The embarrassed heat in my neck flushed upward into something pricklier, something hurt. “I’m not going to get picked, Juana!” I snatched the buñuelo out of her hand and shoved it in my pocket.

  “Holy sunset!” She threw her hands up. “You’re not even trying! I know everyone’s mean to you, but they won’t be if you just—just—”

  “Just stop being me?” I spat. Juana dropped her arms to her sides. “You always act like you can make me into someone else, but being my big sister doesn’t mean you can change reality!” A hiccup jogged my chest. “You don’t understand. So just leave me alone.”

  I turned and stomped off in the opposite direction, heading for the area with the least number of people—the edge of the Ruins, where the red cord bobbed. A couple of footsteps followed me.

  “Moon above, Cece, I’m trying to help!” Juana called. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I paused about five feet from the rope. The area was completely empty of townspeople now; there was just me and Juana and our argument. The answer to her question should have been obvious. Ever since the night I released Tzitzimitl back into the desert, my familia had become obsessed with the Amenazante dance. Because especially on this night, they wanted to believe I had somehow gotten better. That the fire in my soul was stronger than the water Tzitzimitl had cursed me with.

  What would they say if I told them I wasn’t sure it was a curse at all?

  I moved forward again, toward the red rope, where I knew she wouldn’t follow. I needed a break from her, just for a bit. Then maybe I wouldn’t cry, and Juana wouldn’t get twice as angry at me for exposing the water in my soul.

  I hadn’t gone five steps before Juana shouted after me again.

  “Don’t even pretend you’re brave enough to go into the Ruins!” she called. “We both know you’re not strong enough to fight off a criatura.”

  I hadn’t been planning to go past the red rope. That would be dumb. I turned back to look at her and glared at her high-and-mighty lifted chin and flared nostrils.

  But now being dumb felt worth it.

  I grabbed the red cord. She put her hands on her hips. I jumped over it.

  “Cecelia, get back here!”

  I sprinted into the dark landscape of the Ruins.

  3

  El Sombrerón

  Since I was seven, I’d never ventured this far from the safety of the town proper. I liked to, you know, be alive. But anger gave me temporary armor as I ventured between the abandoned, crumbling adobe buildings of the Ruins, sinking deeper and deeper into the desert’s darkness.

  It took about ten minutes before the anger gave way, and I started to realize what I’d just done—and that I was now in the outskirts. By myself. Possibly surrounded by criaturas hiding in the darkness.

  I stopped, frozen between two abandoned adobe houses that were once homes. A chill crept up my back. I really was an idiota.

  I took several deep breaths to calm down and glanced back the way I’d come. The lights were distant but visible. I started to shiver. Okay, time to go back before—

  Something creaked nearby.

  I turned, shoulders stiff, to look behind me. The front entrance of the nearest adobe house was quiet and dark but for two glowing, golden eyes trained on me.

  Holy sunset! I held my breath. A criatura had found me already.

  The creature slunk forward into the almost-light. Its back was hunched over, calico fur standing on end. It was a coyote. I relaxed my shoulders and let out a sigh. Thank goodness. I’d thought it was a criatura for sure.

  The animal’s growl pierced the air, its top lip pulled back in a snarl.

  Oh wait. A coyote was still pretty bad.

  It cocked its head, golden stare tracing over me. It had eyes as hard as metal. I swallowed. Its fur was mottled, its white-tipped tail low to the ground. And despite the fur, I spotted the sharp outline of its ribs.

  It was starving.

  “Hey, you’re hungry, huh?” I whispered.

  It snarled, but slowly the growl softened until it was almost a purr. I slipped my hand inside my pocket, where I’d stored Juana’s buñuelo.

  “This is probably what you’re sme
lling,” I whispered and threw the morsel to it. The coyote’s intelligent gaze didn’t leave mine. I felt goose bumps erupt all over my back. I’d never seen a wild animal with eyes so focused and—warm.

  “I was planning on eating it”—I pointed to the buñuelo between us—“but I think you need it more.”

  It eyed me for a second longer. Slowly, it ducked its head to chow down.

  I let out a nervous sigh. “Yeah, good boy. You eat up—I’m going back before any actual criaturas find me.”

  It cocked its head at me, chomping through the fried dough. I waved goodbye to the animal and headed back toward the town’s lights.

  “Cece!” Juana’s voice floated through the darkness. “Cece!”

  She’d followed me? I started running, looking around, trying to spot her. Half of me was relieved that she’d come. If anyone could protect me out here and get us back safely, it was my big sister. But the other half of me knotted up with dread. What if she wasn’t—

  A scream tore through the air.

  I kicked into a sprint. “Juana?” I cried.

  “Stay away from me!” she shouted.

  I skidded through the dusty landscape, tore around corner after corner of abandoned buildings and scrub. Stark panic flooded my veins the faster I ran. I followed her voice until I skated into an intersection framed with decrepit storefronts, my chest heaving.

  “Stay back!” Juana cried again. Her voice shivered at the end but her upright stance was bold. She stood with her back to me, facing a monster alone.

  The criatura was a shadow, nearly eight and a half feet tall, standing just a few steps from her. He lifted a hand, made of crisp nighttime, and traced the brim of his wide black hat, a gleaming white smile carving out from the darkness beneath.

  “You are most beautiful, Juana Rios,” he said. My knees locked as his voice poured across the street, as sweet as honey and as sharp as cactus needles. “Brujas speak of your obsidian hair with words that shame the sun.”

  My heart stopped. I knew this criatura. The black hat, the praise, the way he blended into the shadows—Mamá had warned us about him especially.