Cazadora Read online

  I don’t spot any more business signs that high up on the trunk, and I wonder if those levels are reserved for residences—

  There’s a tug on my hand, and I look down into an even bluer horizon. Tiago’s eyes narrow a fraction, his lids heavy from lack of sleep, and I nod my understanding. We’re supposed to be looking out, not up.

  He’s been on edge this whole time, probably because of what happened with the border agents.

  Turns out when Tiago told me he’s the only Septimus to have encountered one of the six living demons of Lunaris and survived, he forgot to mention he’s world famous for it. There’s even a nickname for him: el lobo invencible.

  The invincible wolf.

  He was the cause of the commotion at the underground station when we first arrived. As soon as Tiago identified himself with his Huella, the lobizón agent got excited and alerted the others, and soon everyone was calling him by his nickname and congratulating him for taking the Septibol championship.

  No doubt Yamila knows by now that we’re in Argentina, so we’ve been moving from place to place to avoid getting caught. I can’t help thinking of my parents, and the life on the run they never got to have.

  “I staked out the detention center.”

  I press my nail into the palm of my hand at the memory of the Cazadora’s venomous voice.

  “I waited and waited and waited, thinking you would come visit your poor, abandoned—”

  My hand stings as I slice my skin. And as the fire witch’s voice bleeds away, I try to focus on the Septimus around me.

  A lobizón lopes past in an electric-blue suit with platinum epaulets on his broad shoulders, then an Encendedora catches my attention in blood-orange boots that rise to her thighs and match the flames of her eyes. My friends and I are dressed way too casual for this manada.

  We’re wearing blue pants called indigos that are like jeans but more comfortable, and Cata, Saysa, and I paired ours with shirts that match the shades of our eyes. Mine is more of an amber-brown color, since yellow would give me away.

  A wisp of red smoke draws my gaze back to Parrillada Paraíso, and my gut hardens into a wall. I feel Tiago tensing beside me as he senses the shift in my attention.

  But the bruja entering the restaurant has darker skin and hair. She’s not Yamila.

  I blow out my exhale and scan the names of the surrounding businesses. Vestidos de Victoria, El Lobizón Fino, Pociones Para Pequeños, Locura por los Libros … These shops sell everything from clothing to potions to books. When I spot the public restroom signs, my stomach stiffens again.

  BRUJA

  LOBIZÓN

  There’s no accompanying symbols, but there’s no need. The gendered language makes it clear which one is for girls and which one is for boys. There’s no breaking out of the binary, no room for anything in between. Nor does Septimus vocabulary include brujo …

  Or lobizona.

  I flash to the moment before the Septibol championship, when I looked between the two locker rooms, unsure which one was mine. And I remember the way Gael’s coral gaze fell when I chose bruja. He looked as disappointed as I felt.

  I still can’t believe I found my father.

  Even more unbelievable is that he’s also secretly Fierro—the most celebrated Septimus outlaw. It’s hard to process how famous he is when I barely know anything about him.

  Fierro used to stage public demonstrations that defied the system’s rigid, binary nature, until he vanished eighteen years ago. Only my friends and I know the truth: He was about to run away with Ma, until his sister, Jazmín—Cata’s mom and the headmistress of the academy at El Laberinto—learned of his plans and betrayed him.

  She didn’t give up his identity, but she told the Cazadores that Gael had gone rogue and tried to capture Fierro himself. He and Jazmín were sent away to El Laberinto for interfering with the investigation. As punishment, neither of them can return to Kerana until they capture Fierro.

  To keep my parents apart, Jazmín lied to Gael and said the Cazadores knew he’d been meeting with a human. She convinced her brother that Ma would be killed if he ever contacted her again.

  “Shit.”

  The musical lilt of Tiago’s voice shocks me anew after so much silence. Then I register what he said.

  My gaze locks on a gaggle of girls by the neighboring tree-building. They’re huddled together and darting glances at us, like they’re deciding something. Then we hear the whispered nickname.

  El lobo invencible.

  “Let’s try that one,” says Tiago, in a would-be casual voice, guiding me toward the nearest store. But by our next step, the brujas are rushing toward us.

  I blink in confusion as they wave stone-handled mirrors in the air—like the one Zaybet used to capture my likeness for my forged Huella—and Tiago takes my hand as he pulls me into a sprint.

  We’re faster than the brujas, so in an instant, we’ve put a dozen trees between us. But they have magic.

  An ugly gray cloud forms over our heads, like a GPS marker announcing our location. Then bucket-sized drops of rain explode over us.

  They probably expect me to shield us with my own magic, only I’m not a bruja. Tiago and I cut in a new direction, trying to outrun the storm as we round our way back, water bombs exploding all over us—

  We skid to a stop as a girl with glowing pink eyes steps into our path. Cata’s gale blasts the cloud away, taking the rain with it.

  As her magic fades, a more dangerous storm brews in her gaze. Saysa comes up beside her, scowling at her brother as she shoves a large sack of steaming food at him. “What did you do?”

  “No time,” he says, shaking the water from his hair, while I wring out my strands. The four of us hurry back to the arboledo—tree transport—that brought us here before rumors of Tiago’s sighting reach the wrong ears. Hopefully those girls didn’t get the chance to capture any images.

  We run past a bruja at the arboledo’s opening who’s negotiating a fee to escort a large group of lobizones to their destination. Her brown gaze flashes to Saysa, and they trade barely perceptible nods of Jardinera solidarity.

  The earth witch’s eyes cut to mine next, and she blinks, her kinship wavering as she decides if I’m one of them. We’re gone before she makes up her mind.

  Inside the trunk is a cavernous station with living brown walls, where new passages are constantly opening and closing as Septimus arrive and depart, each group led by a bruja with eyes glowing in shades of browns or greens. Saysa’s lime-like orbs flare bright against the living passage, as she communicates with the root system to deposit us in a new manada.

  Only Jardineras can reroute root systems. Invocadoras pilot air balloons. Congeladoras freeze bridges across bodies of water. Encendedoras power engines.

  As soon as an opening appears in the brown wall, we pile into the tunnel, and the passage seals itself behind us as the root twists and turns through the earth. Since each path is unique to the witch who paves it, we can speak freely here.

  “The fuck happened, Tiago?” demands Cata, rounding on him.

  “I was watching for Cazadores, not schoolgirls—”

  “That’s what you get for underestimating us!” snaps Saysa.

  “This is the second time you’ve caused a scene,” says Cata in a warning tone. “You need to be careful, or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or else you can’t stay with us,” finishes his sister.

  My pulse gallops into my throat at the thought of us splitting up.

  “I’m not leaving any of you,” says Tiago with a growl, easing my heart. “We can’t do this alone. You need me.”

  “Not if you’re endangering us,” declares Cata.

  Now that he was spotted, we’ll have to travel far. This is going to be a long walk.

  Unlike the smooth walls of Flora’s tunnels, this arboledo passage is veined with smaller root networks and patched in places with white cottony webbing. The air is dense, and it has a slightly
roasted aroma that makes me think of coffee beans. It reminds me of the way Ma described the scent of Buenos Aires.

  The first thing I did when we crossed the border into Kerana was ask the others how we can access the human part of Argentina from here. But since we’re in the Iguazú Falls, we’d have to swim or sail to the human side, and the barrier is heavily patrolled by Cazadores.

  As Fierro, Gael must have managed to visit Ma often because he was a Cazador himself. I need to reach him so I can know if Ma is safe. Cata said communications to El Laberinto are always monitored, but there must be some other option—

  Tiago’s fingers lock with mine, wrenching me back to the present. When I meet his gaze, he seems more than just worried.

  He’s hurt.

  “Is it always like this for you in Kerana?” I ask, clearing my throat. I’d rather focus on anything but my own thoughts.

  “It’s why I haven’t been back in five years.”

  I try to let that sink in. He’s been away from home all this time, and now he’s returned, because of me. I don’t know what to say to that, so I’m glad when he speaks again.

  “I was thirteen when I survived the demon’s attack, and as soon as we got back from Lunaris, I was being hounded by the press. I couldn’t go anywhere. There were books being written about what happened, and Septimus wanting to study me, and invitations from manadas with offers of leadership positions if I moved—”

  “The politicians were subtle compared to the parents,” says Saysa darkly. “I remember a pair so desperate to breed their daughter with the invincible wolf that they wanted Mami y Papi to agree to an underage marriage—”

  “I applied to the academy in El Laberinto to get away.”

  Tiago’s tone has the weight of finality, and yet I can’t help asking, “What about when you’re in Lunaris?”

  “I’m usually with the team, so Javier and Pablo make sure I’m left alone. Besides, I’m much less interesting there.”

  “But wasn’t it a big deal at El Laberinto when you showed up?” I prod.

  “At first. I guess it’s what drew me to Cata. She knows what it’s like when others want to be your friend for the wrong reasons. But by now, nobody cares.”

  That’s not exactly true, since Tiago is the most popular werewolf at school. I’m sure being a Septibol star doesn’t hurt. Or his movie star looks. Or that sexy ballad of a voice—

  My belly flips as Tiago’s hand tightens around mine. Sometimes I feel like he reads me as intimately as a favorite book.

  “If we could leverage your fame for favors, we’d be staying at the best places,” says Cata wistfully. “If only we knew someone trustworthy enough to keep their mouth shut—”

  “All it’d take is one word—”

  “I know, I know,” she says to him.

  In a pack species, there are no secrets. The warning lingers in my mind, along with Ma’s lifelong survival adages. Just one whisper, and Yamila will find us.

  “We should split up.”

  Saysa’s suggestion kills the conversation. She said the same thing last night, and it murdered the mood then too.

  In the fringe of my gaze, I see Cata bite her lip, and my shoulders tauten in fear that she’s about to agree. It’s hard enough being far from Ma and Gael without knowing what’s going on. I can’t handle being apart from my friends too.

  Yet before anyone speaks again, light floods the horizon.

  And Saysa’s warning shot goes unheeded a second time as we step onto a field of wild grass as golden as the ground of Lunaris.

  3

  I’ve seen this classic Argentine setting in countless images before. “I know this place—La Pampa!”

  “Pampita,” Saysa corrects me as we cut across the empty field.

  “Let’s get a few hours’ rest,” says Cata, “then head out before morning.”

  Tiago and I pivot around, surveying our surroundings. Behind us, the arboledo we arrived through is the only disruption to the flat landscape. The sun is setting in the far distance, its final rays blazing against the silhouettes of squat homes, stables, barns, and pens.

  “We can sleep under the stars,” Tiago murmurs to me, his elbow brushing mine. His stare is steadfast, pinning me in place. We haven’t had any alone time since the sand dwellings of Lunaris, and the thought of being in his arms again makes my other worries flit away.

  “Food.”

  Saysa snatches the bag from Tiago’s hands and drops onto a tuft of grass. She digs into the sack, pulling out a bamboo box and a stack of napkins.

  When she yanks off the lid and we’re blasted with the smoky aroma of four fat lomitos, the rest of us join her on the ground. The growl of Tiago’s stomach is thunderous as we each reach for a steak sandwich—stuffed with lettuce, tomato, onions, fried egg, and chimichurri—and none of us speaks as we savor it. Afterward, one by one we lie back on the grass, bellies fit to burst, as the stars wink into view.

  The air fills with insects’ high-pitched songs, but I don’t see any bugs near us. In the distance, I can just make out the low drone of animal calls. Night is setting in swiftly, and I find myself missing the golden light of the doraditos from El Laberinto.

  “We need a plan,” says Cata.

  “Say, check if you’ve heard back from anyone,” Tiago tells his sister.

  “I already told you Yamila spread rumors I’m her new informant.” Saysa sounds like she’s rolling her eyes. “No one trusts me now.”

  By the way Cata and Tiago look at Saysa sometimes, I know none of us has forgotten what she did to Nacho—Yamila’s brother—in that Lunaris cave. How she pressed her hands to his chest until his face grew shriveled and gray and skeletal—

  “The Coven will find us,” Saysa insists, but the Tinkerbell glow that once underscored her passion has been snuffed out.

  “Not this again,” groans Cata, and before I can ask, she explains, “It’s this mythical resistance manada where nobody judges anybody, and everybody can be themselves, and we all live happily ever after.”

  “Only it’s real,” Saysa cuts in, her voice sharp.

  “If it’s been around forever, then why is there no proof?”

  Before this becomes a fight, I say, “I don’t think Yamila told the other Cazadores about me yet.”

  “Me neither,” says Cata, sounding relieved for the new subject. “I bet she wants to be the one to bring you in.”

  I picture the Cazadora in that cave, cradling her near-dead brother in her arms, and I can still hear her throat-scraping sobs. Even through her devastation, there was a fire in her bloodred eyes that turned her tears to steam.

  That wasn’t anger.

  That was hate.

  “This is why we need a plan.”

  The fact that Cata’s repeating herself, and in a tone more superior than usual, makes me wonder if she already has one.

  “What is it?” asks Tiago, like he hears the same thing.

  “We can’t risk returning to Lunaris next moon. It’s too soon. We need another solution.”

  “Like?” prods Saysa.

  “We’re too powerful to be sedated by Septis, but we can try to score some Anestesia. Septis just dulls a local pain for us,” she goes on for my benefit, “but Anestesia puts us in a kind of magi-medi coma. It’s an injection because it needs to be administered into the blood, and it’s reserved for stuff like medical procedures and subduing prisoners at the full moon. But there’s an underground market—”

  “With what semillas?”

  Saysa’s tone is even, like a heart flatlining. The way it’s been every day since Lunaris. She’s trying so hard to make what happened with Nacho mean nothing that she’s making it mean everything.

  “We can catch transportation fares,” suggests Cata.

  “Transportation is the most underpaid industry because it’s bruja-dominated,” says Saysa dismissively. “We’ll never make enough in time.”

  “Well, I don’t hear you coming up with anything—”


  “None of us has slept well in days, so let’s get some rest.” Tiago’s voice is as gentle as a lullaby. “We’ll take off in the morning, okay?”

  “Again, we’re almost out of semillas,” says Saysa in a deadened monotone. “Where do you expect us to go?”

  “Home.”

  At Tiago’s answer, Saysa sits up so fast, I think she must have seen a Cazador. Only she’s staring at her brother.

  “You want to incriminate our parents?”

  “They’re probably worried,” says Tiago, straightening and wincing at the harshness of her voice. “They would want to help us. And it would be good for us to see them.”

  What he means is, it’d be good for Saysa. He doesn’t say it outright, but he doesn’t have to.

  “Behold el lobo invencible!” she declares dramatically. “At the first sign of trouble, he runs to Mami y Papi!”

  “Cata’s right!” he snarls. “All you do is kill our ideas without contributing any—”

  Cata sits up as soon as she’s invoked. “Yamila is definitely watching your manada, so it’s the last place we’re going near.”

  “Bathroom?” I ask, getting to my feet.

  Cata and Saysa look up at me like they know I’m just trying to put an end to this discussion, but I’m sure they have to go. We haven’t been since Aires.

  The three of us head into a thicket of wild grass for coverage. Cata erects a force field just in case. Then we join Tiago and wash up at a well that’s probably for the animals. As a final step, Saysa boosts our immunity and disinfects us, the way she’s done every night.

  While Cata and Tiago browse the area for mushrooms, Saysa takes my hands, and green vines grow from her wrists and curl up my arms. I blink, and they’re gone. Just like what she did to Perla when we visited her on my birthday. I hope she and Luisita are still taking care of each other.

  My skin stings, which means Saysa zapped plenty of germs. It’s a pretty cool Jardinera perk. If I could do it, I’d probably start skipping showers.