Cece Rios and the Desert of Souls Read online

  I gawked at her. “Now me what?”

  “You won’t be able to make Coyote’s body move the way I just made La Chupacabra move, not right away. That takes practice. But pain is the easiest thing to make a criatura feel,” she said. “Start by making your pain his, and make his body cower with it.”

  I nearly shouted “No!” but wadded it up in my mouth. If I didn’t do it, she’d know I wasn’t really like Tía Catrina at all. Plus, she was trying to help me win the Bruja Fights—is this really what I had to do to succeed?

  My hand wrapped around Coyote’s soul. The stone was so warm, the temperature gentle.

  Grimmer Mother’s eyebrows tugged together when I didn’t say anything. “What is it, mija? Is his soul hard to tame?” She reached for the stone. “Let me—”

  “No!” I lurched back, clasping his stone to my chest. “No, I—uh—I just don’t understand how to press that feeling into him. Do I need to push into the weird warm feeling in my chest?”

  She waved her hands. “No, no, no. That feeling is his emotional feedback. Ignore it. Once you crush his soul and make it submit to your will, you won’t even notice it.”

  Well, that explained how she could puppet La Chupacabra so easily.

  “You press your will into their stone. The criatura’s feelings are just a symptom that will fade.” She looked at Coyote. He scowled.

  But his soul was still so warm. Even in my chest, gray battled with something small and fluttering. It seemed to have a lighter color—something closer to pink, maybe?

  I tucked Coyote’s soul back into my shirt, like that would somehow protect it. “Do I have to try pain? What about something happier? Can I practice with happiness?”

  Coyote’s eyes cut to me, studying my face, as Grimmer Mother scoffed.

  “Estúpida,” she said. “You’ll never need to make your criatura happy. That won’t win you the Fights.” Grimmer Mother stepped toward me. “I see the softness is still sleeping in your heart. You remember what I said about that, don’t you?”

  She backed me up to the nearest wall. I froze against it, hand flat over Coyote’s soul. Coyote studied me over the woman’s shoulder. La Chupacabra crawled quietly toward him and reached out to touch his ankle with her pale, hairless hands. His face stayed stoic, guarded, but gray filled his stone. She tilted her head, like she was worried about him. He gave her a small nod.

  Grimmer Mother noticed the direction of my stare and rounded on them. “How many times have I told you not to distract other criaturas while I’m training?” She grabbed La Chupacabra by the arm and dragged her to the doorway. Coyote flinched as La Chupacabra thrashed. Grimmer Mother nodded to me. “Just a minute, mija. I’ll deal with her, and we’ll get back to your lesson.”

  I gave a weak thumbs-up.

  She slammed the door behind them. I held myself together for all of ten seconds before hyperventilating.

  “I can’t do this,” I blurted. Coyote came up beside me. “Why did I think I could do this? She just made that criatura into an . . . empty doll! I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that.”

  “Well, panicking’s not going to fix anything. If she sees you like this, she’ll definitely know you’re a fake bruja.” Coyote crossed his arms.

  He was right. I should focus—Grimmer Mother would be back any second. I nodded shakily. “Okay,” I said. “But I don’t want to hurt you or turn you into a puppet. Ugh, what am I going to do?” My throat tightened.

  Coyote sighed a little. “Just focus on calming down. I’ll think of something.”

  “This is my sister,” I said. “This is my life. I have to be the one to do something about it.”

  He stared into my face, and after finding something there, unwound his crossed arms. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, we will handle this. Any ideas, bruja?”

  The sound of footsteps grew closer on the other side of the door. I whispered hurriedly, “Maybe we just make it look like I’m hurting you. How are your acting skills?”

  He gave me a mischievous smile just as Grimmer Mother reentered the room. I buttoned my mouth. La Chupacabra was no longer with her.

  Grimmer Mother dusted off her hands. “Where were we?”

  I gave Coyote the briefest glance I could. His head moved a fraction. The tiniest nod. I hoped that meant what I thought it did.

  “Oh that’s right.” Grimmer Mother gestured at me. “Practicing. Go on, bundle your pain tight in your heart and press it into Coyote’s stone.”

  I turned to him, wide-eyed. His soul was warm as my hand embraced it. He gave me another tiny nod. So I screwed up my face, mimicking what I thought pain should look like, and narrowed my eyes on him.

  Coyote cried out and dropped to the ground.

  It was so startling I nearly let go of his stone. But I squeezed it at the last second and watched, face frozen, as he writhed in the dust, crying out occasionally, his face twisted with pain.

  Grimmer Mother smiled. “Muy bien.”

  She watched Coyote scratch through the dust, clearly hungry for the sight of the Great Namer cowering on the ground. Soon, I didn’t have to pretend my scowl. But my gaze rested on Grimmer Mother as I did.

  After a few moments of Coyote’s pretended pain, Grimmer Mother flicked her hand. “You can stop now. You don’t want him too tired to continue.”

  I let go of his soul. Coyote caught sight of the movement just a few seconds late and stopped. He breathed heavily on the ground. I bit my lip at his shaking limbs. He was pretending, right?

  “As I thought. You’re a natural, just like Catrina.” Grimmer Mother didn’t spare Coyote a glance as she nodded at me. “Now, let’s try something a bit more advanced, mija. Let’s try making him stand.” She circled Coyote where he still lay on the ground. He did a good job of looking tired, but his eyes still followed her every move.

  “All right,” I said, loudly, to give Coyote the hint. “So just—make him stand up, right?”

  Coyote held my gaze and lumbered upright. He swayed for a moment there, like his movements weren’t quite his own, but he flashed me a conspiratorial smile.

  I tried not to smile back.

  Grimmer Mother clapped her hands together. “Muy bien! Now, make him crouch.”

  I nodded to him. “Right. Okay, so crouching—”

  His knees bent, and he got into an animalistic squat. The corner of his mouth tweaked, like he was suppressing a smile.

  Grimmer Mother’s grin cut like a razor across her face. “Mija, this is the fastest I’ve ever seen a bruja master her criatura.” She came over and clasped my arm and gave it an almost-too-hard squeeze. I tried to look grateful, but all I wanted to do was pull away.

  “Now.” She let go and headed for the door. “Make sure you keep practicing before the Bruja Fights. At this rate, you’ll have him completely under your control by tomorrow.” She paused in the doorway. “No doubt you will make your tía proud.”

  She disappeared from the room.

  The moment she was out of sight, I rushed to Coyote. “Are you okay?”

  His smiled playfully up at me from his crouch. “Of course.” Coyote tapped his soul as it dangled from my throat. The single scar rotated in and out of view. “Nice acting, bruja.” His gazed flicked up to mine. “I mean—Cece.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back. “You nearly scared me to death with that first one. You shriek like an owl!”

  He snorted. “I bet you’ve never even heard La Lechuza.”

  “I’m guessing you have.” He opened his mouth, and I rushed on, “And no, I don’t want to hear the story right now. We need to leave this crazy woman’s house already.”

  His smile broadened into a grin. I offered my hand, and for the first time, he took it.

  11

  The Bruja Fights

  I stood next to Coyote in the vastness of the desert beyond the Ruins, staring up at the crooked silhouette of the abandoned silver processing plant. It had gone out of business when the silver in the mine had run ou
t, around four years ago. That’s when Papá had gotten his new job in the oil refinery.

  The building perfectly matched the description Grimmer Mother had given me before I left Envidia yesterday. Large, dark, and foreboding. I squeezed Tía Catrina’s journal in my hands, holding it open to the entry about her first night of Bruja Fights. Below the rough sketch of four criaturas fighting in a ring, she’d written a short note to herself: From now on, no one stands in my and my criatura’s way. He is good, and he serves me loyally. Together, we will conquer today.

  It was strange to know I was following in her footsteps so closely. But my path led to Juana, not to whatever power Tía Catrina had wanted so badly.

  Brujas and spectators strode past Coyote and me, either filing into the concrete factory or gathering around a smaller building off to its side. Here, so far from town, the brujas and brujos hadn’t bothered to disguise themselves. Shaved hair, piercings, dark tattoos, and thread-wrapped necklaces with criatura souls were on full display.

  They looked strong, that was for sure. I hunched a little.

  “The small shed’s where we register,” I said breathlessly. “That’s what Grimmer Mother said.”

  “Lead the way.” Coyote scanned the crowd.

  I slouched even more. “You’re bigger, could you go first?”

  Coyote covered his mouth, like he was trying to hide a smile, and started ahead. “You’re a bruja. Try not to phrase it like a question next time.”

  Right, no questions, just be a jerk. Brujas were supposed to treat their criaturas like slaves. I nodded and lowered my head, so I glared upward as we headed near. We stopped at the end of the registration line and waited as someone called the brujas and brujos over one by one.

  “Can you hear what the person checking us all in is asking?” I whispered to Coyote. I didn’t want to be taken off guard.

  “I’m a coyote. I hear more than I should.” He scanned the line. Then, he leaned down slightly to whisper. “It’s just the basics—name, criatura name. They record the participants every year so El Cucuy and his two advisers, together known as the Three Dark Saints, know who’s participating and who they’ll eventually welcome to Devil’s Alley.” I nodded, a little shaky, as we neared the front. He frowned a little. “Try to look like you’re here on purpose.”

  I steeled myself. I’d changed my entire life in just a few days to be here; I was here on purpose.

  The bruja and criatura ahead of us stepped up to speak with a man cloaked in shadows. Sweat suddenly gathered down the line of my spine. They spoke in hushed tones before the girl and her criatura departed.

  Then it was just me and the cloaked man, only a few feet apart. He lounged cross-legged on a tipped-over machine surrounded by large hunks of broken, untreated stone left over from mining. He looked creepily similar to El Sombrerón, with his face completely hidden in the shadows cast by his large black hat. But he was shorter, probably an inch or so shorter than me, with a high-standing collar and cloak that poured down the length of his body. His hands were pale and bony, and he clutched the strap of a bag slung over his shoulder and a small pad of paper in the other hand. White rods peeked out from his bag.

  He waved me forward with two long fingers. I stepped up.

  “Name?” he asked.

  I went to answer him, but then the white sticks in his knapsack came into focus, and I realized they were bones. Ribs, femurs, and forearms all crowned with a broken jaw.

  He tilted his head when I didn’t speak, but no matter which way he moved, his face was as dark as the bottom of a well. “Name?” he asked again.

  I tried to keep my fingers from shaking. A bag of bones? He could only be one criatura—El Silbón, the Father Killer. A dark criatura.

  “C,” I forced out.

  “C? That’s your name?”

  I wasn’t going to tell him my real name. He was the Father Killer! “Yeah, C. You know, C, C from the alphabet.”

  “Oh, Cece. Okay, that’s an actual name. Now, who’s your criatura?”

  Well, so much for that. “Coyote,” I said, with a huff. “Criatura of the Coyote.”

  He straightened up a little, and the bones in his bag clinked. “Coyote? As in, the Great Namer?”

  “Is there another Criatura of the Coyote?” I asked, but for a second, I was actually terrified there was, and I’d gotten the wrong one.

  The dark criatura slouched again. “Well, you definitely have the attitude of a bruja, anyway. But it’ll take more than that to get you into Devil’s Alley.” He tapped the pad of paper against his knee. “Coyote, huh. I haven’t seen him in nearly a thousand years.” He chuckled and tilted his head so he could get a better look at Coyote standing behind me. “I guess it’s your turn to be under a bruja’s thumb. How’s it feel to have finally gotten what’s coming to you, Great Namer?”

  Coyote didn’t respond, his gold eyes flat and unbothered. But a distant twist of gray snaked through my chest. He was obviously uncomfortable. I glared back at El Silbón. What did he mean about Coyote getting what was coming to him?

  “So, can we go?” I asked.

  He sighed. “Humans are so impatient. Fine, fine. You’re registered. Go on inside and wait until I call you up.” He scribbled on the pad of paper. “Today we’re holding four-body elimination rounds. You’ll be in the first one. If you survive that, you’ll automatically be entered in tomorrow’s two one-on-one battles. And if you win those”—he glanced up and down at me like he thought it was doubtful—“you’ll have one semifinal round before the Finals. Got it? Good. Now, get going.”

  I opened my mouth to ask more questions—a four-body elimination round sounded kind of terrifying—but he shooed me away. Reluctantly, I left the line and headed for the factory.

  “What was that about?” I asked Coyote. “El Silbón was kind of mean to you.”

  He looked away. “He’s a dark criatura. Of course he’s mean.”

  I was going to press for more, but just then we entered the building, and the noise of drums, chatter, and excited roars crushed down on us.

  Music thumped and pounded and just generally sounded like a toddler having a tantrum. The brujas and brujos were obvious in the crowd with shaved hair like mine, or dyes meant for blankets and clothes staining the ends of their hair or even their scalps. A surprising number of regular townspeople were also present. I didn’t recognize any of them, but more importantly, I hoped none of them would recognize me. Though it was unlikely they’d report me—they’d be in just as much trouble for being here as I was.

  Coyote nudged me. “Look over there.”

  He gestured across the floor, at three brujas and their criaturas all eyeing each other like meals. One in particular caught my eye, with hair shaved on either side of her head. She stood beside a ferocious-looking young man with sharp green eyes.

  “Those are our three opponents,” Coyote said. “Most of their criaturas aren’t too much to worry about, but we’ll have to watch out for the green-eyed one, Scorpion. He’s known for being bloodthirsty.”

  A knot formed in my throat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Hey, don’t make that face.” Coyote frowned at me. “You look scared.”

  I pulled into myself. “That criatura killed my abuela.”

  Coyote paused. I avoided his eyes and set my jaw. He reached out to me but dropped his hand before he touched my shoulder. “Cece,” he said, leaning down. I stiffened at his closeness, but the noise and chants and smells bled away as he looked at me. “You went into the criatura quarries alone. You fought off Cantil Snake. You saved my life. You even tricked Grimmer Mother.”

  I stared at him. His stone soul grew warm inside my shirt.

  His eyes brightened in the dim lighting. “You can do this and still keep your soft heart.” He squeezed my arm gently. “You can. Okay?”

  I opened my mouth but didn’t know what to say. The way he looked at me—it was like he needed to believe I could do this as much as I did. I loo
ked at him and, despite everything my people were supposed to believe about criaturas, trusted him.

  “Okay,” I whispered and hesitantly gripped the back of Coyote’s shirt. “Can you help me push toward the ring?” If we were the first fighters, I’d rather get into position now.

  Coyote nodded. My heart beat faster and faster as he pushed us through the crowd. Brujas scowled at my hunched pose. They could see it; practically anyone could tell I didn’t belong in a place like this, doing things like this. What would they do with me if they realized I wasn’t cut from the same cruel cloth as them? Being Tía Catrina’s niece wouldn’t save me. Would they feed me to their criaturas? Or worse—turn me over to the criatura authorities like El Cucuy before I had time to save Juana?

  No, I couldn’t think like that. Slowly, I forced my back to straighten. I lifted my chin, even though I was shaking. The fighting ring came into sight. I had never been able to convince my town that I wasn’t their weakest link, but for Juana, I would pretend to be a bruja.

  Like she’d always told me—I had to at least try.

  “Welcome everyone to this year’s Bruja Fights!” El Silbón, cloaked in his long, light-eating jacket, stood at the center of the room. He climbed up a pile of old crates that must’ve once been used to ship silver. At the top, he threw his head back and let out a high-pitched, energetic grito—an undulating howl, signaling the beginning of something great. The spectators cheered. “We’re disgusted and impressed to see how many brujas and brujos have shown up this year. At the end of this tournament, El Cucuy will be pleased to welcome up to five of the fiercest among you into his castle in Devil’s Alley. Who’s ready to join the most powerful regime in all the world?”

  The brujas howled and chanted and hollered their dedication. I pumped my fist awkwardly.

  “So here’s a reminder of the rules for all you fresh, squirming apprentices!” El Silbón shouted. “One, brujas and brujos aren’t allowed inside the chalk circle during the battle. And two, they must make their criaturas fight until their opponents are no longer capable of fighting back. Whoever’s left wins. Got it?”