Wayward Witch, page 1
Also by Zoraida Córdova
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Bruja Born
Wayward Witch
The Vicious Deep Trilogy
The Vicious Deep
The Savage Blue
The Vast and Brutal Sea
The Hollow Crown Duology
Incendiary
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2020 by Zoraida Córdova
Cover and internal design © 2020 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Nicole Hower/Sourcebooks
Map illustration by Cat Scully
Cover images © SpringNymph/Getty Images; kotoffei/Getty Images; MarinaVorontsova/Getty Images
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
www.sourcebooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Córdova, Zoraida, author.
Title: Wayward witch / Zoraida Córdova.
Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks Fire, [2020] | Series:
Brooklyn Brujas ; 3 | Audience: Ages 14-18. | Audience: Grades 10-12. |
Identifiers: LCCN 2019059979 | (hardcover) | (trade paperback)
Subjects: CYAC: Magic--Fiction. | Witches--Fiction. |
Supernatural--Fiction. | Families--Fiction. | Hispanic
Americans--Fiction. | Bisexuality--Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.C8153573 Wc 2020 | DDC [Fic]--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019059979
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Map
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part II
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part III
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part IV
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part V
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
For immigrants.
We get the job done!
Part I
The Deathday
1
Claribelle was lost in the forest.
She stepped between two ceiba trees
under the light of the full moon.
A door opened and she walked through it.
—Claribelle and the Kingdom of Adas: Tales Tall and True, Gloriana Palacios
I’m supposed to be the good one. The bruja who studies dusty tomes and respects her magical lineage. The sister who doesn’t trap her family in another dimension or raise an army of heart-chomping zombies. The daughter who doesn’t talk back, flosses twice a day, cleans her altar without being told to, takes out the trash, and recites rezos to the gods before going to bed at midnight. If I were the good one, I wouldn’t be hiding today of all days.
It is, after all, my Deathday and my birthday combined, and like the average fifteen-year-old bruja, I’m spending the party in a hallway pantry, sitting on a crate of Goya beans, with my dress pockets full of chocolate candy bars. A low-hanging light bulb casts a white glow over the open storybook on my lap.
“Have you seen Rose?” My mother asks someone from the other side of the door.
I don’t know who she’s talking to, but they make a noncommittal sound. Ma shouts my name, and I freeze mid-page-turn. After the ceremony, I said I’d go change into party clothes and be right back, and I had every intention of doing so. Mostly. But I started imagining all those people—friends, family, and strangers—wanting to talk to me. To look at me. To wonder why, after fifteen years of being an ordinary bruja I am suddenly so interesting. That’s the word people keep using, at least. Since I don’t have an answer, I decided to put myself in time-out.
When my mom gives up and the hammering tap of heels dissolves into echoes, I breathe a little easier. I flip to my bookmark and sigh. I’ll read one more chapter and then go. I know. I know I can’t stay in here forever.
If you ask me, and no one ever does, it’s too soon to celebrate my freakish new abilities. I mean, one minute, I was a seer, speaking to ghosts and the world beyond the Veil of the living. Now I’m something completely different that no one in my family, our network of brujas, or supernatural allies have ever heard of. There isn’t even a name for it since I’ve forbidden everyone from calling me a “magical hacker.” It’s a miracle our lives haven’t been threatened for a whole six months, so I haven’t had to put my power to the test. Honestly, I’m not so sure my family even wants me to try.
Lula told me to enjoy the moments we get to be normal and danger free, but there’s no “normal” when you’re a bruja. Unlike the rest of the Mortiz family, I can’t pretend like the last year and half hasn’t been filled with monsters and blood and guts and secret societies and more resurrections than I am personally comfortable with. We’ve just accepted Dad’s magical memory loss from the years he was gone. Alex is all One with the Force after she accidentally banished us to Los Lagos. Lula unleashed dead hordes across the city, but no worries, she’s back to her old self again. Ma finally has her family whole and together.
I’m the only one who seems to notice that there is something wrong around here, but every time I work up the nerve to speak, I convince myself that it’s all in my head. Things are peaceful. Things are fine.
Aren’t they?
Sandals slap against the tiled hallway floor. I recognize the cadence of her walk instantly. I hold in a sneeze brought on by pantry dust as my eldest sister starts yelling for me.
“Rose Elizabeta Mortiz, get your bedazzled butt out here and dance!” Lula manages to walk right past my hiding spot.
I sneeze, and a handful of pink and white petals fall between the pages of my book. The flowers in my ceremonial crown are already wilting. So much for fresh carnations. I’ve tried to undo the braid Lula and Alex artfully twisted around my head with gold twine, but they used so much hairspray and so many bobby pins that I only managed to yank a few strands out by the root. I blow on the petals. They scatter on the blush-pink tulle skirt of my dress, stuffed around my feet.
The door opens, letting in the bright kitchen light and the rhythmic tap of drums from the living room.
Lula purses her lips. There’s a flash of relief in her gray eyes before she shouts, “Found her!”
Alex pokes her head around Lula’s body. Her brown hair is in a braided ballerina bun, decorated with a glittering crescent moon. “I told you she wouldn’t have been in the garage. That’s where all the old folks are playing cards.”
“I have to say, I’m disappointed in your hide-and-seek skills.” I turn the page of my book and clear my throat, hoping they’ll take the hint and go away. “Good thing neither of you are going into search and rescue for a living.”
“Um, rude,” Lula says, dusting her bare shoulder, but the pantry dust only mixes with her body glitter. When she leans into the light, the four claw marks that scar my sister’s face are iridescent as pearl. Over the summer, she started accentuating them with colorful eye shadow because she says people stare anyway, so she might as well get creative. “There are too many rooms in this house. I keep confusing the guest bathroom for the guest closet, which is not a fun surprise when there are a hundred people in the house and no one locks the door.”
“And yet”—I slam my book shut—“you managed to find me in the only place I’ve been able to find some peace and quiet since the ceremony finished.”
My sisters ignore me and shove their way in, party dresses and all. I groan in protest when one of them steps on my foot and another one jams an elbow in my ribs as they squeeze on either side of me and close the door.
“Come on, Rosie!” Lula says. “You’re missing out. Tía Panchita says she’s dancing with a ghost but really she’s had six cups of Tío Julio’s coquito.”
If I were still connected to the Veil I could debunk her theory. Instead, I ask, “Are you sure you haven’t had six cups of Tío Julio’s coquito? Or is a certain thirsty hunter here?”
She elbows me, and in an attempt to move away, I slam into Alex, who bumps into the supplies stacked on the shelves that surround us. The jars wobble precariously, and a dozen of them tip forward. I shield my face from the impact, but Alex thrusts her hands up, conjuring a gust of wind. The chilly air funnels around us, and the force of her magic sets every jar of spices and bird bones back into place. When our arms brush against each other, I jump at the electric charge of her lingering power.
Alex dusts her palms, and even in the dim light, her smug grin is unmistakable. It’s a welcome change to the days when she rejected anything that had to do with being a bruja. But now she’s just showing off.
“Okay,” Alex says, “Why are you reading a book you’ve already read a thousand times instead of enjoying your Deathday after-party?”
As if on cue, a chorus of laughter filters from the living room, followed by the scaling notes of a saxophone. I don’t know why my parents insisted on hiring a real live salsa band to perform when the only salsa I like is the chunky and spicy kind I can scoop up with tortilla chips.
“Excuse you,” I say, frowning, “but if I remember correctly you didn’t even want to have a Deathday, and we all know how that turned out.”
“Rosie…” Alex says, the smugness completely gone. “You know I’m sorry.”
Lula’s brows shoot up, her gray eyes darting between Alex and me.
Frustration knots in my throat. I know Alex regrets what she did. Despite being the only encantrix in her generation, she is still a cautionary tale brujas tell their children at night. How was she supposed to know her canto would backfire? How could she have known that her family was so intrinsically tied to her magic that removing it would have been like trying to carve out an organ with a butter knife? When Alex tried to cast her powers away, she changed everything. Sometimes I want to blame her. If not for Alex, Lula would have never tried to resurrect the dead. We wouldn’t have had to fight for our lives and watch our home burn down and had to move to Nowhere, Queens. I would still be a seer. Then again, if not for Alex, we wouldn’t have Nova in our lives or Dad back.
In my heart, I know that if we were the kind of family that verbalized our feelings, things might be different. But we bottle our fears and sadness and sometimes even our joy. I know I’m no different.
“I get it, you’re sorry. Look,” I say. I wish I was better at trying to untangle my emotions because I don’t want to hurt my sister, either. “All I’m asking for is an hour by myself. Conjuring dozens of ancestral spirits doesn’t exactly make me want to get on the dance floor and mambo.”
“What about perreo?” Lula muses, followed by Alex flicking the bare skin of Lula’s arm.
“I’d rather not see a bunch of old brujas dirty dancing,” Alex mutters. She nudges my shoulder playfully like we’re in on this together. “I could tell you stories about Agosto that aren’t in this book.”
“In the living room,” Lula offers brightly.
And Alex adds, “While we eat cake.”
“I don’t want your stories of Los Lagos,” I say, perhaps a little more roughly than I meant to. I will always be a teeny tiny bit jealous that Alex got to meet Agosto the Faun King in real life. Then I remember that while she was running around Los Lagos, I was inside a ball of energy waiting to get served up for dinner to an old hag. I tell myself that Alex came through. She saved us. We saved her too. “It’s just—I want my own, that’s all.”
Lula wraps her arm around my shoulder. She isn’t using her healing magic on me—not exactly. She has a different kind of power that usually calms me just by being near. The times I was holed up in bed because the spirits whispering in my ear were too loud, Lula was at my side, singing and brushing my hair to distract me. On the day I found out I had to switch schools because we moved here, she bought me a tray of cupcakes and didn’t even have one for herself. I can think of a thousand more ways Lula is my rock. But I don’t want that today.
“Rosie, come on,” she says. “I know being the center of attention isn’t the most fun—”
Alex scrunches up her face and holds out her hand like she’s ready to catch the lie in Lula’s words. “But you love being the center of attention so…”
“This is true,” Lula admits, tapping a red nail against her chin. “We’re still talking about a once-in-a-lifetime rite of passage. Like sinmago parties. You had fun at Claudia Toloza’s quinceañera.”
“And you danced all night at Rishi’s sweet sixteen,” Alex chimes.
I grumble. “That’s different.”
“If I could do my Deathday over—” Alex starts to say, and that’s when everything I feel tips over.
“First of all, I don’t need your philosophizing on the mistakes you made and what you’d do over again,” I tell her. “I’m not you.”
Lula and Alex stare at each other and share a look only older sisters can, like I’m acting petulant and unreasonable. But they don’t see things the way I do. The frustration of it all makes me want to scratch at the itch beneath my skin, the one that started ever since my new magic appeared, but when I did that last night, I just clawed my arms raw.
“Rose—” Lula starts.
“No, I need you guys to listen to me. Please,” I beg.
My sisters nod and remain quiet for a whole minute. Call the Guinness Book of World Records.
I take a breath and say, “Ever since I was little, all I wanted was to be like you guys. I never noticed that we weren’t like other families because you never made me feel strange. We are who we are. But lately, it’s like you’re all trying to make us something we’re not.”
“What do you mean?” Alex asks, her voice deep with worry.
“I mean me. You don’t know what it’s like to be me right now. You don’t see what I see.”
They’re quiet again. They scratch their scalps and shift in their glittering party dresses and sigh like they’re trying to understand but there is something missing.
Lula brushes my stray baby hairs. “We can do more research into your power, Rosie. I can ask the Alliance to try new sources—”
I let go of a long grunt. “No. I mean, it’s weird having this new magic and I’d like to find out more about it, but it’s not just that.”
“Then what?” Alex asks, her brown eyes cast in long shadows from above. “Talk to us.”
How am I supposed to know what to say? I know the ingredients that will conjure luck and I can brew a potion to talk to the dead, but no one ever taught me how to speak a truth that is uncomfortable.
I take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain what I’m feeling. My sisters are pretending everything is square, just like our parents. It’s like we got to the end of the storybook and everyone has their happily-ever-afters. Our dad is back after having vanished without a trace for over seven years. Alex claimed her magic. Lula put the dead back to rest.
But am I the only one who notices the way Dad stares into space like he’s forgotten where he is? I’ve woken in the middle of the night to Lula screaming her dead ex-boyfriend’s name. Alex wanders around the house at three in the morning, checking all the locks, making sure our warding wreaths and salt bricks are in place like she’s waiting for something to attack. Then there’s Nova, our adopted brother, and the magic that marks him and is literally burning through him, using him up like a candlewick. I think of Ma’s tense, rigid body, like she’s holding her breath because she’s afraid this happiness won’t last. We are all incomplete and not talking about it. I don’t know how to make them see that the Mortiz family hasn’t reached the end of their story yet.
