it wants more. It coils inside me at the base of my belly and spreads.

I take a deep, calming breath and push it back. “Shouldn’t you be out

jaywalking?”

He laughs, then leans close to me, so I can see the dip between

his brows is not a frown mark but a thin scar. And it’s not just

there. He’s got three more matching nicks, one on each cheek and the

last on his chin, like the cardinal points of a compass.

“Most girls get pumped for their Deathday.”

“Yeah, you know what a bruja wants.”

“Not really. I just guess until I get it right.” His smile

falters, but not for long. “It’s okay to be scared. You just have to

do your part and welcome your dead. It’s tradition.”

“It’s not fair,” I say. I don’t know why I say it. It just came

out. He’s a stranger. But sometimes it’s easier to confide in

strangers than the people who love us. “It feels like I don’t have a

choice in my life.”

“You could always not do it.”

I can’t really tell if he’s joking, but I can’t deny the little

spark of hope that fills my heart. Every bruja and brujo I know has

had their Deathday.

“How?” I hope I don’t sound too eager.

He shrugs. “I’m sure you’re not the first witch in history to fear

her own strength. Sorry to break it to you, brujita.” Little bruja.

“Didn’t you hear? I’m superspecial. I’m an encantrix.” Why did I

admit to that? A second ago I wanted to deny it.

His eyes brighten with surprise, then appraisal. “Good for you.”

“I’m not sure ‘good’ is what I was going for.”

“Well, you only get one Deathday.”

“Except the actual day we die.”

He chuckles, and it makes his face look softer. “That’s a little

morbid, even for me.”

I rest my hands on the cool glass. He leans closer to me. His eyes

are bluer now. Smoke from the sage bundle burning in the corner

descends around us. “I think it’s sweet that you’re nervous.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. How?”

“Well, I usually charge for my wisdom.” He raps his knuckles on

the countertop.

I doubt he’s the kind of person who would give me a straight

answer. I think he likes to hear himself be charming and clever. Then

again, I don’t really know what kind of person he is at all. But I

can’t exactly ask my mother or sisters or my best friend, so a

stranger is going to have to do.

“Look,” he says, “if there are cantos for raising the dead and

making it rain, then there should be something for stopping your

Deathday. That is what you’re talking about, right? I mean, I wouldn’t

do it because you don’t know what the recoil might be or the effects

it could have. You shouldn’t do it because you don’t seem like you

know the first thing about performing a canto and might set your house

on fire. No offense.”

“How is that not offensive?” I’m filled with the urge to turn him

into a slug. Then I lose my spark when I realize he’s right. I

wouldn’t even know where to begin.

What do I want? To stop my Deathday? That’s only half the problem.

I’d still have this magic inside me. Magic killed my aunt Rosaria and

Mama Juanita. My magic killed Miluna and set my father running. I

could’ve hurt Rishi the other day. It destroys. I wonder…

“I’m saying. Just ’cause you can doesn’t mean that you should.”

“You don’t know my reasons.”

He grins slyly. “I don’t have to. If you want to compare the

monsters in our closets, I’d win by a landslide. Besides, I don’t care

what you do. I just figured I’d give you a little warning.”

“Why?”

His blue-green eyes flick from my lips to my clavicle. “I’m a nice

guy.”

I snicker. “Okay. Where would you start?”

Nova looks over his shoulder where Lady and my mother are

comparing the benefits of different bushels of sage. My sisters are in

a corner giggling probably because this is the longest I’ve

voluntarily talked to a boy my own age.

Nova leans in closer to me. I look at the in-between colors of his

eyes-they’re like the shades of Caribbean seas-and hate that someone

so cocky is so pretty.

“Listen, Ladybird,” he says, “the ceremony happens whether you

want it to or not. But if you reject your blessing, it’ll have an

effect on your power. The whole point is that the ceremony makes your

power stronger but easier to contain.”

“If I wanted a lesson on spells, I’d talk to Lady.”

He makes a face. “Spells are for-”

“Witches, I know the drill.”

Nova laughs and raises his hands. “Fine. Every Book of Cantos has

something to block negative forces. My grandmother uses them on her

bakery, so she doesn’t get bad reviews. You can probably use the same

to block the blessing of your ancestors. But you’d be foolish to try.

You don’t know what could happen.”

“What if-” I bite my tongue. Nervous sweat accumulates between my

shoulder blades. “What if I wanted to get rid of it?”

“I already told you it’s too late to stop the party without

getting your moms pissed.”

“No,” I whisper. “Get rid of the magic.”

“Oh. Damn.” Nova stares at me. I hate that it makes me feel

exposed, judged even. I can practically feel his thoughts racing.

Would he tell Lady? Perhaps I’m not special in feeling this way, like

I’m in a body that doesn’t fit quite right, but saying the words aloud

makes me realize that, maybe, I can change my fate.

Nova raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. A fat vein in his

throat jerks when he tenses. I decide I don’t care what he thinks of

me. He doesn’t exactly look like a saint.

He rings the bell on the counter and says, “Then I don’t think I’m

the person who can help you.”

Finally, Lady makes her way to us with my mom. I get shooed away

from the register.

“What are you planning, Trouble?” Lady asks Nova.

For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to rat me out. Nova winks at

me and that dimple appears, like we weren’t just discussing a bruja’s

greatest family betrayal. I go stand beside my mother. She looks at

Nova, trying to place him. Surely all the brujos and brujas in the

tristate area know each other. She tells me all the time that there

are so few of us left and our connections matter.

“Look at that face,” she whispers to me, like we’re schoolgirls.

“ Ma .”

Nova smiles-no sarcastic laugh, no mocking twitch of the lips.

Just a smile. His dark hair is shaved short, so all you focus on are

his cheekbones and lips and lashes.

I take the list from my mom’s hand. Everything is crossed out

except for one: blood of the guide. I shut my eyes and think of Lula’s

Deathday. We strung white fairy lights in the yard and spent all night

hot-gluing sparkles on her midnight-blue dress. I glued my fingers so

many times that they were raw and bloody. I probably bled as much for

her Deathday as the sacrificial dove. If I think on it, I can see

Lula’s slender hands holding the dove, red dots smattered all over her

perfectly calm face.

Lady punches numbers into the register. “Love canto? Finally met

one you couldn’t charm with your pretty green eyes.”

In this light, they’re more blue than green. But I don’t tell her

that.

“Nah, Lady,” he says. “Ain’t never had no trouble with love.”

“That’s a double negative,” I say.

Lady’s grave laugh fills the store. Then she says, “Twenty-five

dollars.”

“You raised the price on liar tongues? What the hell, Lady?”

He takes out crumpled-up bills from his pocket and smooths them

out like each dead president just insulted his mother.

Lady shrugs. “You think rent here’s getting any cheaper? You want