so much of my energy just to push one of them away.

“There has to be another way,” I shout.

The winds get stronger now and carry the whisper of my name with

them. I can’t see her, but I can feel her spirit in the breeze that

wraps around me. She’s been calling me since we got on the river. Aunt

Rosaria. I know it’s her. I can’t tell if she’s haunting me or guiding

me.

I pull on my magic. I reach out to the wind and grab it. The wind

itself latches on to my power. The gust is so strong that our boat is

lifted up into the air and away from the silver hands that grasp for

us. So strong it nearly knocks me overboard, but Nova holds on to me

like an anchor.

“Nova!”

He takes my hand, and I let my power flow, our magics melding

together like metals under fire. Up in the air, we’re safe. I wish I

could look at us from a distance-a flying, golden boat sailing across

the River Luxaria.

“This is amazing!” he shouts over the moaning wind.

I squeeze his hand as we climb higher and higher, and I think

there is nothing as wonderful as feeling like you can fly.

“We’re not slowing down.” Panic takes over my sense of triumph.

“We’re about to pass the shore!”

I let go of Nova’s hand. The wind cuts out around me, and I fight

to rein it back in.

“Just a little longer, Alex,” Nova tells me. “You can land this

thing.”

“It isn’t a plane,” I shout.

“We have to jump,” he says.

I shake my head and cling to the sides of the boat. We spin in a

funnel of air. Doubt clouds my mind. I had it under control, and now

I’ve lost it. The black beach is fast approaching.

“Hold on!” he shouts. For the second time today, we’re falling.

My muscles seize and spasm from the recoil of my magic, so I’m

unable to shout, I can’t!

But when he wraps his arms around me, I realize he isn’t telling

me to hold on to my magic or the ship.

He means, “Hold on to me.”

16

Like a shadow, she crept across the land.

Like a weed, she took hold and grew.

- On the Devourer, from the journal of Rosaria Vargas

The first time I saw my dead aunt Rosaria, she was beautiful.

Brujas don’t lay their dead alone in wooden boxes. We build them

shrines and equip them for what comes next. When I was little, I

thought it was a grand thing. I didn’t realize the bodies were dead. I

didn’t realize we filled their mouths with flowers or put gold coins

on their eyelids so they wouldn’t reach the afterlife empty-handed.

Little eyes don’t see the consequences of adults.

“Why are you here?” I ask her now, here, in this wretched land.

Here in Los Lagos.

Aunt Rosaria is a vision in her white dress. Her lips are red and

plump, as when she was alive and dancing and full of wonder. Her

soft-brown eyes sparkle against the stormy skies of a world I wasn’t

sure I believed in until now.

She shakes her head, a sad smile on her face. She’s talking, but I

can’t hear her. Everything that comes out of her mouth is like radio

static except for one word. “Stubborn.”

I reach for her face, but I touch smoke. Aunt Rosaria dissolves

into the air, and when my eyes can focus, I realize I’m seeing things

that aren’t there. Maybe insanity is part of the recoil.

I sit up and regret it. My body aches in ways I didn’t think were

possible. I feel broken. Three back-to-back days of training broken.

Zero sleep after bloody dreams broken. Stiff neck after riding the

Coney Island Cyclone broken.

I grab a clump of damp sand. Run it through my fingers. Black

grains stick to my skin, and I remember that I hate the beach. No

matter what, even at the end of summer, I find sand everywhere.

But this isn’t a Brooklyn beach. It isn’t summer. And it isn’t

familiar. Our golden vessel is sideways. A battered Nova tries to

right it.

“Help me push this back into the river,” Nova says.

“Why? That guy was a dick.”

“Magical trade is all about the technicalities,” he says, shaking

his head. “I should’ve seen it. He provided crossing, and we got

ourselves across. I don’t want to have to keep watching my back

because we stole mad gold from a duende. Do you?”

I don’t tell Nova he’s right because I’m sure he’s keeping count.

My palms are still missing a layer of skin, but I help Nova right

the boat on the river. It sails cleanly into the layer of mist that’s

settled over the water. At the shore where the sand is darkest, we

watch as hands stretch up in soft waves where surf should be.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“Doesn’t matter. We have to keep going.”

The thing I love about Nova is that he lets things drop. Rishi

would poke and prod until I told her everything that was on my mind.

Rose would stare in silence until I confessed, like the time Lula and

I ate her stash of chocolate. Lula would simply demand I tell her what

was wrong. Nova picks up our backpack and walks ahead of me, holding

on to the mace with a firm hand.

We walk for a long time across the sandy shore, stopping only once

to eat some bread and split an apple. The apple skin gets stuck in my

teeth, and I try to wash it down with water. The heat is sweltering,

and our lips are dry from thirst. I could drink everything in our

backpack, but we still have such a long way to go. We consult the map,

and it shows there’s an opening to the Caves of Night.

A giant bird with a long, wrinkled neck and hooked beak perches on

a nearby boulder. Its dull-brown wings sag. There are naked patches

where the feathers have fallen off. It pecks at the boulder. It looks

so skinny, but right now, our food is precious. I take the piece of

bread in my hand and throw it to the bird.

It never touches the ground. The scavenger swoops in the air and

gobbles the sliver up in a single bite.

“Those things give me the creeps,” Nova says, walking ahead.

“We almost got our hides melted down by a river of souls, and a

hungry bird gives you the creeps?”

“It’s in the eyes,” he says. “Something’s not right about them. I

bet if either of us dropped dead, these birds would be tearing at our

flesh before we got cold.”

“Then we’d better not die.”

He looks back once, only to take the backpack from me. I told him

we could take turns, but he wants to act all chivalrous. I want to

point out that asking for another five hundred for the payment to Oros

wasn’t chivalrous, but I guess it’s fair. We got each other across the

river, and that’s what matters. For all we snap at each other, I can

count on him to not let me die. It’s a symbiotic relationship, like a

shark and a remora fish. Only I’m not sure which one of us is the

shark or the remora just yet.

After we walk for what feels like hours without finding the caves

that are marked on the map, I start to feel less thankful. It’s silly

to think of it as hours when our watches have stopped ticking. But we

do see the sun and crescent moon travel across the sky, starting from

opposite ends. When they reach the highest point of the sky, I decide

it marks noon. I fiddle with my watch and discover something.

“Yes!”

“You see the opening?” Nova turns around expectantly.

I shake my head. “The timer on my watch still works!”

“How does that help us?”

“We can keep track of our movements.” I pick up two round stones

and hold them apart. “Okay, so the moon and sun start on opposite ends

of the horizon, right? Like these two stones. Each time they reach

noon, they get a fraction closer together. I’m setting a timer to see