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.

3

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.

4

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.