Cece Rios and the Desert of Souls Page 7

  He slowed a bit. “You okay?” he asked.

  I peeked an eye open. Had he noticed I was scared?

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He leaped more carefully, and ever so quietly, from one roof to another. Now that we weren’t going so fast, I could see the streets below. Police held torches above their heads, scanning each dirt path between houses. They did these kinds of patrols every year during the criatura months, but there were more police around than usual. Probably because of Juana.

  Coyote skated to a nearly soundless stop on the roof of my house. He glanced down at the adobe beneath his feet. “This is your place, right? It smells like you.”

  “Yeah, this is it—wait, what do I smell like?”

  He tilted his head. “Kind of like . . . salt. And water.”

  “I smell like sweat?” I gawked at him. “I’m not even that hot right now.”

  “No—more like ocean spray, or brine, or um . . .” He suddenly looked nervous. “It’s not a bad smell.”

  “Never mind, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” If it wasn’t sweat he was whiffing, why would I smell like water? Unless—it was my water curse. Had it somehow changed my scent? Embarrassing. “Is there any chance you can sneak me in through my window?” I pointed to the right side of the house.

  Coyote walked us over to the edge and looked down. “No problem.”

  He leaped down and crouched in my windowsill. Coyote leaned inside slowly, carefully, to avoid notice. But a light filled the alley behind me. I glanced back. A member of the police, holding his light aloft, was headed past my house.

  I lunged our weight forward, and Coyote and I tumbled onto my bed. He rolled off and hit the floor. I winced.

  Coyote scowled and looked up from the floor. “What in Desert’s voices was that for?”

  “I don’t want the police to see us,” I hissed. “They execute brujas and criaturas, you know.”

  He looked like he was going to snap back, but he paused and looked at the floor. “Are those your parents?”

  “Did they wake up?”

  He pointed to the hatch. “Yes.”

  The hatch started to open. I scrambled forward and threw myself in front of it, to block Coyote from view. He caught on and moved to the other side of the hatch flap, crouching in the darkness.

  “Cece?” Mamá’s sleepy face surfaced. “Why are you making so much noise? You know I have to get up early—”

  “Just a nightmare, Mamá,” I whispered. I made a low sniff for good measure.

  She sighed and peered at me blearily. “Cece, don’t cry.”

  My heart sank a little. I grabbed the hatch and started closing it. “Sí, Mamá. Lo siento. I didn’t mean to wake you up. You can go to sleep.”

  Mamá let me lower the hatch, but stopped it halfway down. “Do you need me to hold you?” she whispered.

  Her voice was tender now. I gripped the hatch’s edge. I’d wanted her to ask that question so many times. But I couldn’t indulge it right now.

  I swallowed and shook my head. “No, Mamá,” I said. “I’ll just go back to sleep.”

  Her dark eyes caught the police’s torchlight from my window. “Cece—I’m sorry about earlier,” she whispered. “You know I just want to protect you, mija.”

  My throat tightened. I nodded. She watched me for a moment longer before descending the ladder into our living space. I eased the hatch lid down and stepped back. Coyote watched me from the darkness.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and turned away from the question in his eyes. I wish he hadn’t heard my conversation with Mamá. He was probably going to think I was weak too, if he didn’t already.

  “It’s freezing in here,” I whispered, like that would distract from what had just happened, and tunneled into my bedcovers. I wrapped them around me as closely as possible, but the desert’s cold felt like it had sunk into my bones. “Good night, Coyote.” I shivered beneath my covers, staring across my bedside cabinet, hoping that I’d feel better in the morning.

  Coyote slowly crossed into view. I stiffened as he stopped in front of my bedside cabinet, eyeing my candle stub.

  “What?” I asked him, careful to keep my voice low.

  He pulled out a match from my matchbox and lit the candle. I furrowed my eyebrows. He shifted awkwardly under my stare. “Are you still cold?”

  “Well—” I looked down at myself wrapped like a brightly striped burrito. “Yeah. But it’ll be fine.”

  The moment I said yeah, Coyote brought both his calloused hands around the flame. I sat up in my blankets. “Hey, careful. You may be a legendary criatura, but you could still burn yourself.”

  His top lip twitched upward, but otherwise he ignored me. He closed his eyes, hummed quietly, and started tapping a small, steady beat on the candle’s wax. Suddenly, the flame crackled and roared with life, now four times its previous size. My mouth dropped open as the heat pulsed out from the wick and rolled over me.

  Coyote pulled back without a single burn and looked at me. “Better?”

  “Yeah. Thank you.” I looked from him to the fire. “But—how did you control it like that?” I asked.

  The most famous legend about Coyote was, of course, his role as the Great Namer. But in his earliest tales, he was called the Bringer of Fire. Legend said that after the Sun god sacrificed himself so humans could be born, Naked Man was happy and well—until the first winter began. Then, we started to die off as the cold reached its peak. Thankfully, Coyote descended from his cerros and gave fire to Naked Man to save them from freezing. It was one of my favorite stories.

  But nowhere did the legends say he could control the fire he brought.

  Coyote sat back in my chair. “I didn’t always know how.” He lifted his thumb and traced down the white side of his hair. “This is where the first fire burned me.”

  “You mean when you gifted it to Naked Man?” I hunched forward, grinning.

  “Gifted it?” He looked at me in surprise. “I didn’t give fire to Naked Man. You all made it.” He looked back to the candle. “It was the first humans who taught me how to avoid its burning and inspire its flame.”

  My eyes widened, and I scooted to the edge of my bed. “What? But the legends I know said you gave us fire.”

  He shook his head, still staring into the candle. “When I came down from the cerros, I brought Naked Man music.” He closed his eyes for a second and hummed. The fire crackled, just a little, on the wick. “They were so cold, huddled up on the ground, freezing away. So I taught them to get up. I taught them to use drums, to sing. I showed them how to dance so they could stay warm.” He opened his eyes, and they lit up as he looked at me. “And when Naked Man danced, they were beautiful. They danced so ferociously, their feet kicked up sparks. And from their twirling, they made the first, magnificent fire.” He’d nearly started grinning but suddenly caught himself and coughed. “Anyway. The flames burned my hair and all the way down my back, to the tip of my tail.” He fingered the white bits of his hair again. “Naked Man rushed to put it out. Before long, they mastered both fire and my music and dance. Soon they were the ones teaching me, so I could make the fire breathe in return.”

  Oh, wow. The true story of fire was even better than the way our legends recorded it.

  Before I could wipe the eager look off my face—I was still such a sucker for Coyote stories—his mouth softened in return. He smiled tentatively, and I grinned back. For a moment, his gaze was less metallic. I was less afraid.

  For a moment, we were equals discussing the most successful trade in history.

  I wiggled excitedly. “That’s so cool! I can’t believe we have fire because you cared enough to come share your music and dance with us. It’s amazing.” Coyote let out a single, awkward chuckle. I settled back in my bed and looked him over. “Can I ask you something?”

  The softness in his mouth disappeared again. “You own my soul now. I suppose you can make me answer if you want.”

  I huffed. �
�No, I mean—if I ask you something, will you answer it? Please?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded.

  “Why did you do it?” I asked. “Why did you help us?”

  His smile dropped slowly. “I . . . don’t really know.”

  The candle’s flame whirled and twirled beside us, steady and strong.

  “Maybe it’s the same reason I’m entering the Bruja Fights,” I said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Please don’t say the power of love. Humans are always going on about that. As if you’ve ever understood what love is.”

  Well, that sounded like a sore spot. “Of course that. But I was thinking of something else.”

  “What?” he asked.

  I smiled at him over my blankets. “Hope.”

  What he’d been hoping for when he revealed his secrets to save a strange people, I didn’t know. I wondered if he ever regretted it now, considering we’d become enemies. And that we used his gift of dance to ward off criaturas every year. But when he’d told the story, Coyote’s eyes had lit up, like the embers of hope were still inside him somewhere.

  Coyote’s silence made me think I was right.

  After a moment, he gestured at my bed. “You should sleep. Those Bruja Fights are soon, right? You’ll want to be well rested.”

  “Oh, and so will you.” I stood, gathered a spare blanket and couple of pillows, and spread them on the floor at the foot of my bed. “I guess you can stay here tonight.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and pointed at the other side of the room. “What about that bed?”

  I looked at Juana’s mattress. I hadn’t changed a thing about it since yesterday. The dent, the trimmed pieces of fabric scattered about it, the quilt laying half on and half off—it was all just as she’d left it.

  “That’s . . . my sister’s,” I whispered.

  Coyote looked from Juana’s bed to the floor. Quietly, he took the crocheted blanket from my hand. “Buenas noches, bruja.”

  He settled down on the floor, wrapping the colorful blanket around himself. I stepped back up onto my bed and stared down at him. For a criatura, he seemed strangely . . . reasonable. I squinted. Unless he was trying to trick me?

  “You’re not going to kill me in my sleep or anything, right?” I whispered.

  “Not if you let me go to bed already.” He yawned. “Now shh.”

  It shouldn’t have, but the comment made me smile. I blew out the large candle flame. The heat remained in the air for a few moments after, and I curled up in my covers.

  The first battle of the Bruja Fights was in two days. I had the bruja look. I had the legendary Coyote by my side. I had Grimmer Mother and Tía Catrina’s guidance. I had everything I needed to do this.

  I’m coming, Juana, I mouthed into the night.

  And like Coyote when he brought music to Naked Man, I clung to the hope that I wasn’t wrong.

  10

  The Moth and the Coyote

  The next night, Envidia was just as unwelcoming as it had been the day before—except for one big difference.

  Everyone stared in awe.

  Their gazes weren’t on me, of course. The huddles of brujas and brujos watched Coyote, who lingered a couple of steps behind me as we moved through the narrow streets.

  I’d spent nearly an hour convincing him to come with me. Grimmer Mother had promised to teach me how to win the Bruja Fights, I told him. I needed to return, and I needed him with me. He’d finally agreed. But the new feeling in my chest, the echo of his soul, hadn’t felt happy about it.

  Grimmer Mother waited for me in front of her house. Smoke trailed out of the door behind her. Her smile sliced upward as I approached.

  I bit my bottom lip when I stopped in front of her. Coyote’s bare feet disturbed the dust behind me. His presence was like wearing a pair of new, stiff gloves, both attached to me and not.

  Grimmer Mother didn’t greet me right away. Her focus was on Coyote. “Great Namer,” she whispered. Then slowly, like she was coming back to life, her grin spread. “You conquered the Great Namer, Cecelia Rios.”

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded awkwardly. “Sure did.”

  I felt Coyote’s eyes bore into my back.

  “He’s younger than I imagined.” She considered the necklace around my throat and beckoned me with her tattooed fingers. Hesitantly, I pulled the stone out of my shirt. Coyote bristled as she leaned in for a closer look at the wide, horizontal scar carved through the back of the stone.

  Her mouth spread wide. “He’s died. You have good timing, Cecelia Rios. He might have been too powerful in his last life, but in his second, you can be his master.”

  “What do you mean?” I whispered.

  “Catrina really should have come back to teach you more about bruja life.” She straightened up, and I tucked the necklace back into my shirt. “There are many secrets to criatura souls. The most important one is knowing how close to the forever-last death a criatura is.”

  My eyebrows pulled together. “Forever-last death? But criaturas are always reborn—”

  She waved her hand and headed up the steps. “Criaturas may be reborn from their soul stone, but with each life they come back weaker. If killed nine times, a soul stone grows so weak that it turns to sand. It is called the forever-last death.” She paused on her steps and turned back to tap my collarbone. “That scratch in the stone is a sign that Coyote has died. It is one scratch, so you know he has died once. You must keep this in mind. A good bruja must not kill her criatura or get it killed too often, or she will lose a valuable tool. Understand, mija?”

  I had to force myself not to look back at Coyote. Nowhere in the legends did it say criaturas could die forever. The fact that they could be reborn and come back for revenge was one of the reasons they were such a torment to Naked Man.

  “So, wait. Have any criaturas really died permanently?” I tried not to look horrified.

  “Oh, yes. Have you heard of the Desert Grizzly Bear?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly.” She returned to her doorway. “Now come, I have much to teach you.” She pulled me inside the house and into a side room I hadn’t noticed before. Coyote trailed us, frowning. “We must work quickly to get you ready for tomorrow’s first round. If you are anything like your tía, you won’t need much time to master your criatura.”

  She moved around the room—a small, simple square with no windows—and headed to the far end, where a great brass cage sat beneath a ratty cloth. She pulled it off but blocked whatever hid inside it from view.

  “Before you can master a criatura, you must see a criatura’s master in action,” she said, and the sound of hinges screeched. “Let me show you how much power the heart of a true bruja can wield over a criatura.”

  Grimmer Mother turned around, and a criatura tumbled out of the brass bars.

  I immediately recoiled. It was La Chupacabra—the legendary dark criatura.

  Like most dark criaturas, there were warning murals of her painted all across the edge of the Ruins. I’d been brought up seeing her balding, scrawny body and large teeth illustrated in books and reading about how she preyed on farmers’ livestock. She’d always looked and sounded monstrous, ravenous—like all dark criaturas.

  Now, curled up on the concrete floor, she was small and vulnerable.

  Her shape was mainly human, but her legs bent backward like a dog’s and her fingers ended in long claws. She shivered against the stone, and when she snapped her head up to look over her shoulder, her eyes were clouded like a mist had settled over the pupils.

  My heart lurched. I coughed and placed a hand to my chest, struggling to breathe. Something hard and gray swelled up in my chest, seeking exit through my throat. Wait—no, that wasn’t me. It was the alien warmth that had started in my chest the moment I placed Coyote’s soul against my skin.

  I glanced up at Coyote. His mismatched eyebrows pulled together, like he might be slightly uncomfortable.

  But his soul felt like it was witherin
g.

  “Meet the goat sucker. My criatura.” Grimmer Mother kicked La Chupacabra forward.

  The dark criatura fell on the ground in front of us, and her few spindly strands of black hair fell over her cloudy eyes. She hissed then, showing rows of sharp, spit-covered teeth.

  “She is young in this lifetime,” Grimmer Mother said. “I owned her in her last one as well, but she died during a training accident. A shame, but she has at least two lives left. I’m glad she’s finally regrown enough to help me train you.” She stopped beside me and slipped off her soul stone necklace. Seven deep gouges interrupted the flat limestone. The sight made me flinch.

  “She looks so skinny,” I said, averting my eyes.

  Grimmer Mother clucked her tongue. “It takes a long time for criaturas to die of starvation, so there’s no point in feeding them more than once every couple weeks.” She snapped her fingers, and La Chupacabra winced. “In a fight, you must be ready to force your criatura to dodge, lunge, or strike at a moment’s notice. Let me show you how to gain control over your criatura.” She finally spared Coyote a glance. Her smile widened. “How you make it beg permission for every breath.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. Coyote’s gaze narrowed, and the gray inside my chest shifted into a darker shade. Grimmer Mother closed her hand back over the criatura’s soul stone.

  La Chupacabra’s eyes went even duller than before. Both her arms launched into the air. They waved back and forth. Then, she crouched, slashing at nothing. A low, whining howl crawled out of her throat—and then she froze mid-step toward us.

  Everything about her movements looked unnatural, more like a puppet’s movements than a living criatura’s. A shiver climbed my spine. Grimmer Mother released the soul stone, and La Chupacabra gasped, finally placing both feet on the ground.

  Grimmer Mother turned to me and tapped my chest, near the leather lines of Coyote’s necklace. “Now you,” she said.