one.
"Give me a sec'," Maria says and ducks back inside.
She leaves her tartan pajama bottoms on, but adds runners, a plain black T and a long-sleeved grey hoodie with a bulldog crest on the arm. She opens the cigar box where she keeps her jewellery and takes out the earrings. They're silver feathers with fine turquoise inlay that highlights the feather design. What a find they were. Vintage Teme Navajo, signed and everything. Not only are they beautiful, but they seem to weigh no more than a real bird's feather. Sighing, she puts them in her pocket and goes outside.
Luz leads her down to the dry wash where a couple of meth heads were found dead last week. This is forbidden territory. Not just by her parents, but by her older brother Pablo, too.
The chill desert air sends a shiver down Maria's spine. She looks around nervously, starting at every sound. An owl's hoot from the top of a distant saguaro. A packrat scurrying in the dry brush under the mesquite. Luz tramps down the sandy bottom of the wash with the comfortable stride of someone who simply assumes that she has every right to go wherever she wants.
When Maria catches up to her, Luz pulls out a small Player's cigarette tin with a cute sailor painted on it.
"What's that for?" Maria asks.
Luz opens it and points a small flashlight's beam inside. There's a picture in it from the photo booth at the mall, the two of them squished together, laughing.
"We're going to put the earrings in here," Luz says, "and then we're going to hide the tin. Years from now, when we've maybe gone our separate ways and one of us is looking for the other, she can retrieve the tin and it'll bring the other one back to her."
"But how?"
" Brujería ," Luz says like she did before, outside Maria's window.
She lifts the edge of the picture with a fingernail. At the bottom of the tin Maria sees a mix of things she can't identify. Powders and twigs, flower petals and bits of dried leaves.
"What is that stuff?" she asks.
"Pollen and barrio dust," Luz says. "Mixed with marigold petals, cactus thorns and mesquite leaves. Abuela gave me the spell. It only works if we don't tell anybody about it."
At that point Maria still thinks Luz means one of her grandmothers. She stares into the tin. The whole night feels haunted, like it's full of ghosts. Like she's walking on a thin mirror and any false step will make the glass shatter and she'll fall forever into some strange abyss. She shivers again and feels dizzy.
Maria blinks and the moment is gone. The world is as it should be once more, except that they're still in the forbidden dry wash with the dawn pinking the skies on the other side of the Hierro Madera Mountains.
"Are we really working magic?" she asks.
Luz nods. "Give me the earrings."
Maria takes them from her pocket and drops them into the cigarette tin that Luz holds out to her. Luz closes the tin with a snap and puts it in her pocket.
"Now we just have to hide it," she says, "and the spell is done."
"We can't hide it here," Maria says. "Somebody will find it."
"I know. We have to hide it in a place where, even if it's found, no one will dare to take it."
The only place Maria can think of like that is the headquarters of the 66 Bandas—the local gangbangers. But when she mentions it, Luz shakes her head.
"I know a scarier place than that," she says. "The bottle man's yard."
Maria's eyes go wide.
The bottle man is a witch—a bottle witch who keeps his magic in the bottles he hangs in the trees around his home. He lives in a shack made of saguaro ribs and cast off pieces of tin and mismatched sizes of clapboard spray-painted with images of animals and pictographs in bright Oaxacan colours.
"Oh, I don't know," says Maria, a tremor in her voice. "They say he's loco and can make bad magic."
"Which is exactly why no one will ever find it there," says Luz, grabbing Maria by the hand and pulling her along the wash toward their destination.
Twenty minutes later they arrive at the
"Give me a sec'," Maria says and ducks back inside.
She leaves her tartan pajama bottoms on, but adds runners, a plain black T and a long-sleeved grey hoodie with a bulldog crest on the arm. She opens the cigar box where she keeps her jewellery and takes out the earrings. They're silver feathers with fine turquoise inlay that highlights the feather design. What a find they were. Vintage Teme Navajo, signed and everything. Not only are they beautiful, but they seem to weigh no more than a real bird's feather. Sighing, she puts them in her pocket and goes outside.
Luz leads her down to the dry wash where a couple of meth heads were found dead last week. This is forbidden territory. Not just by her parents, but by her older brother Pablo, too.
The chill desert air sends a shiver down Maria's spine. She looks around nervously, starting at every sound. An owl's hoot from the top of a distant saguaro. A packrat scurrying in the dry brush under the mesquite. Luz tramps down the sandy bottom of the wash with the comfortable stride of someone who simply assumes that she has every right to go wherever she wants.
When Maria catches up to her, Luz pulls out a small Player's cigarette tin with a cute sailor painted on it.
"What's that for?" Maria asks.
Luz opens it and points a small flashlight's beam inside. There's a picture in it from the photo booth at the mall, the two of them squished together, laughing.
"We're going to put the earrings in here," Luz says, "and then we're going to hide the tin. Years from now, when we've maybe gone our separate ways and one of us is looking for the other, she can retrieve the tin and it'll bring the other one back to her."
"But how?"
" Brujería ," Luz says like she did before, outside Maria's window.
She lifts the edge of the picture with a fingernail. At the bottom of the tin Maria sees a mix of things she can't identify. Powders and twigs, flower petals and bits of dried leaves.
"What is that stuff?" she asks.
"Pollen and barrio dust," Luz says. "Mixed with marigold petals, cactus thorns and mesquite leaves. Abuela gave me the spell. It only works if we don't tell anybody about it."
At that point Maria still thinks Luz means one of her grandmothers. She stares into the tin. The whole night feels haunted, like it's full of ghosts. Like she's walking on a thin mirror and any false step will make the glass shatter and she'll fall forever into some strange abyss. She shivers again and feels dizzy.
Maria blinks and the moment is gone. The world is as it should be once more, except that they're still in the forbidden dry wash with the dawn pinking the skies on the other side of the Hierro Madera Mountains.
"Are we really working magic?" she asks.
Luz nods. "Give me the earrings."
Maria takes them from her pocket and drops them into the cigarette tin that Luz holds out to her. Luz closes the tin with a snap and puts it in her pocket.
"Now we just have to hide it," she says, "and the spell is done."
"We can't hide it here," Maria says. "Somebody will find it."
"I know. We have to hide it in a place where, even if it's found, no one will dare to take it."
The only place Maria can think of like that is the headquarters of the 66 Bandas—the local gangbangers. But when she mentions it, Luz shakes her head.
"I know a scarier place than that," she says. "The bottle man's yard."
Maria's eyes go wide.
The bottle man is a witch—a bottle witch who keeps his magic in the bottles he hangs in the trees around his home. He lives in a shack made of saguaro ribs and cast off pieces of tin and mismatched sizes of clapboard spray-painted with images of animals and pictographs in bright Oaxacan colours.
"Oh, I don't know," says Maria, a tremor in her voice. "They say he's loco and can make bad magic."
"Which is exactly why no one will ever find it there," says Luz, grabbing Maria by the hand and pulling her along the wash toward their destination.
Twenty minutes later they arrive at the
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