Cazadora Read online

“I’m worried about my mom,” I admit when she drops my hands.

  “Gael will protect her.” Saysa’s tone is still lifeless, like she’s not the least concerned.

  “But what if Yamila got to her first?”

  “Manu, he’s Fierro. The most famous Septimus in history. He’s outsmarted the Cazadores his whole life. She’ll be fine.”

  I can’t tell how much of her answer is fueled by her faith in Fierro and how much is her inability to give a fuck. “What’s up with you?” I ask. “Why won’t you talk about what you did to Nacho?”

  Her eyebrows shoot up like the question is a surprise, and her green gaze goes blank. “I’m fine.”

  I’m not sure she’s met my eyes since Lunaris. “Saysa, you’re my best friend,” I say softly, squeezing her arm. “Nothing could change that. We’re beyond judgments.”

  She blinks, and I think she seems more exhausted than anything else. “I’m fine,” she insists.

  “Found some llao llao mushrooms,” says Cata, and I drop the subject now that she and Tiago are back. “We can check messages in el Hongo when we wake up.”

  “Your immunity boost cured my headache,” says Tiago to his sister in awe.

  Saysa’s expression loses its sharp edges, like she’s flattered by the compliment.

  “Your healing abilities are definitely beyond ordinary,” affirms Cata. Only unlike Tiago, she sounds like she’s leveling a criticism.

  “I don’t know if I should thank you or apologize,” Saysa says to her.

  “You should be at a top healer institute, like Los Andes. Not wasting your time at El Laberinto.”

  “You’re my girlfriend, Cata. Not my mom.”

  Tiago’s fingers close around mine, and we’re off. We take long strides, making sure to put enough space between us and Cata and Saysa, so they don’t have to worry about us eavesdropping. Not that there’s anything to hear; all they’ve done is argue our whole time in Kerana.

  Tiago spins me around to face him. There’s nothing but open space for miles as his arms wrap around my waist, and for a moment, I let myself bask in the inconceivable idea that he chose to run away with me.

  Same as Ma would have done with Gael.

  “There are so many stars out,” I say, too nervous to meet Tiago’s simmering gaze. In the absence of doraditos, the night sky is strewn with silver lights, and I trace dozens of new constellations.

  He leans in closer, and I inhale his musk of cedarwood and thyme, spiced with that something wild and tantalizing and headrush-y. “Stars, hide your fires,” he murmurs into my neck, “let not light see my black and deep desires.”

  Just when I thought he couldn’t get more magical, the beautiful boy quotes Shakespeare to me.

  “Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck,” I respond in kind.

  Tiago stares at me in surprise. “Shakespeare fan?”

  “The biggest,” I say, remembering days on El Retiro’s rooftop when I had all the time in the world to read poetry.

  “Is that a challenge?” His soft voice is as dangerous as the devilish look in his eyes.

  I frown and survey the field around us.

  “Where?”

  Tiago’s face splits into his heartbreaking grin, and I feel a pang in my chest, like I do when I’m close to finishing a favorite book—elated to experience something so exquisite, but devastated that there will never be more than these few moments between us.

  As romantic as his sacrifice is, Tiago is bound to realize he’s given up too much.

  We exist in different realities.

  “What if we just stay here, Solazos?” he breathes, brushing a hand up my back and sliding it into my hair. His scent is as intoxicating as the petals of a blancanieves.

  “Get jobs as farmhands?” I ask as he kisses my jawline.

  “Uh-huh,” he hums, his musical mouth by my ear. “And whisper Shakespeare as we fall asleep beneath the stars.”

  * * *

  “¿De qué manada sos?”

  The lobizón’s black eyes drill into mine, mining me for secrets.

  I wish I had an answer, but all my anxious brain seems able to produce are English subtitles. What pack are you from?

  I chance a look at Tiago, but his sapphire gaze only makes my thoughts less coherent.

  “You do realize you sound just like a Cazador,” says Saysa between small sips of hot mate.

  Pablo’s face snaps to hers. Even though he’s snarling, he looks less like a werewolf than an angry goth kid.

  “La Mancha,” I blurt, at last remembering the manada’s name from the backstory Cata crafted for me last night.

  The information has the quieting effect she anticipated. Apparently, it’s one of the more problematic packs in Kerana, rife with corruption, so they’ll assume my reluctance has to do with shame.

  I pluck a medialuna from the basket of facturas and place it on my plate, just to do something.

  “Glad that’s settled,” says Nico, who seems as relieved as me that this interrogation is over. I’m still not used to the way his silver irises blend with his pupils, giving him a celestial aura.

  “Doesn’t matter,” booms Javier, his boulder-like body at odds with his baby face. “You’re a Laberinto bruja now!” He cuffs my shoulder, and I feel more like a lopsided scale.

  Even Diego flicks me a quick smile between the pages of his book.

  Then at last Pablo speaks: “Manuela de La Mancha.”

  He sounds like he’s testing the name, seeing if it fits. The words sound beyond foreign to me—the title is more befitting an old-timey socialite or the star of a telenovela.

  “If you’re going to be friends with us,” he goes on, “there’s something you should know.”

  His inky gaze is bright, like he’s about to transform. I stare apprehensively at his dark brown arms, with their matching leather cuffs, expecting to see fur-like body hair sprouting and lethal claws curving from his fingers—

  He leans forward, and in a blink, my medialuna is gone.

  “We don’t respect boundaries,” he says, swallowing the flaky pastry.

  My laugh gets caught in my throat.

  A shadow falls across the golden morning.

  My friends and El Laberinto disappear, and I’m surrounded by rocky walls, enclosed in dimness. Claustrophobia smothers my skin like a shroud, but the fear doesn’t set in until I recognize the place.

  One of the most lethal locations in Lunaris.

  The stone mountain.

  I take my first step across the feathery ground, and I search for my wolf-shadow along the wall. But I’m alone.

  A small hand squeezes mine, and I look down into Ma’s brown eyes. Panic tastes like blood in my mouth, but the adrenaline focuses me. I bring a finger to my lips so Ma knows not to make a sound—

  Screeching stabs the air.

  A dozen bird-monsters shriek, forming a V-shape as they prepare to dive. “Run!” I shout, but I’m too late.

  They’re too fast.

  MA—!

  * * *

  My eyes fly open, and I gasp for air. There’s a whooshing of wings in my ears as I scan the shadowy space for a sign of metal talons or ivory beaks, my skin slick with sweat.

  But I’m in Pampita, lying on the golden grass next to Tiago. And the morning is already yellowing.

  “If they catch you, forget me. Rewrite your story.”

  Ma’s last instructions resound in my head, the nightmare making her feel more present. Her words drop like ice cubes down my throat, freezing my veins.

  Is that what I did?

  Did I forget her?

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

  It’s Yamila who answers my question. Her voice is a weapon that’s been unsheathed, only this time, I don’t defend myself.

  I neglected Ma.

  I let her rot in a detention center while I made friends.

  “Do you know they barely feed her?”
<
br />   Yamila’s question stabs me like a blade.

  “Do you know the way the men look at her?”

  Even if the Cazadora only said these things to wound me, it doesn’t change the facts. She saw Ma. She knows where she is.

  What if Gael didn’t make it to the detention center in time? What if the reason Yamila isn’t chasing me is she’s too busy torturing Ma?

  I choke back a sob.

  Mami.

  For seventeen years, she protected me, and now I proved I wasn’t worth the sacrifice. Shame sears my mind as I recognize this pack isn’t where I belong.

  I should be—

  Footsteps race closer, and I tense up, wiping the tears off my face.

  Cata’s face pops into view, her golden-brown hair frizzy and covered in leaves and twigs. “News!”

  Tiago sits upright beside me, and then the four of us are combing our fingers through our hair while we wait for a broadcast to begin on an enormous watery screen that was definitely not here last night. Or if it was, I didn’t notice. It looks like a shimmering billboard with the word: ¡NOTICIAS!

  We hang back from the crowd, but an elderly couple breaks away to approach us with mate. Every morning, it’s been the same in every manada: Mate gets offered, no questions asked. It unites all Septimus, young and old, rich and poor, bruja and lobizón. Mate keeps the magic going past the full moon.

  The most commonly traded semillas are the seeds for growing the yerba that gets packed into the gourd for this drink. Without it, wolves couldn’t transform at will and brujas would be at the mercy of their magic.

  “Están mugrientos,” says the elderly bruja, keeping her distance from us. You’re filthy. She sends the calabaza gourd sailing to Cata on a gust of wind, and her husband approaches to pour hot water.

  “¿De dónde vienen?” he asks, sniffing at us. Where are you coming from?

  “Una fiesta en Tigre y creo que tomamos demasiado,” says Saysa, faking a giggling sound that she would never make. “Ya nos vamos.” A party in Tigre, and I think we drank too much. We’re on our way out.

  The lobizón nods and frowns, like a disappointed grandfather. When it’s my turn to drink, his wife squints her lavender eyes at me, like she can’t place my element. I drain the mate, and none of us speaks until they’ve moved on.

  “What if we call Pablo and ask what’s happened?” asks Tiago in a low whisper.

  “How can we call him?” I ask, shocked no one’s brought up this option before.

  “We use a public caracola.”

  “Cara-what?”

  “They’re conch shells from the seas of Lunaris,” says Cata in a hurried whisper. “Each one is unique, and their energies are networked. Only we’re not allowed to have one at school, so all calls get screened through my mom’s office. They’d trace our location instantly.”

  I thought El Laberinto was technologically primitive because it’s swallowed by a swamp, and I just assumed they used magic instead. But now that I think of it—

  “So you all don’t have technology? Like, if you want to look something up, you can’t jump on the internet?”

  “We have Flora,” says Cata, like that settles the issue. “And can we wait to talk about this in a more private—”

  “Remember how I told you information travels through the air in Lunaris?” Saysa doesn’t bother keeping her voice down, so it’s a good thing we’re not near the crowd.

  “You said that’s how I knew terms like the Citadel and the Sombras in my dreams.”

  “It works that way in Kerana too. Technically, the knowledge is traveling in spores.”

  “Spores?”

  “What did you think el Hongo was?” asks Saysa with an eyeroll.

  “It’s a fungal network that connects us to Lunaris,” says Cata, “to communicate plants’ needs and imprint our universal knowledge.”

  “Yeah, why didn’t I think of that?” I ask, rolling my eyes back at Saysa.

  “Flora is part of the network, and that’s how her library works,” Cata goes on in a hurried whisper. “All manadas are linked to it. That’s why the mushrooms are everywhere—they’re our connectors. It’s how we access the data. Just think of our World Wide Web as more literal than the one you’re used to.”

  But a different phrase comes to mind: Wood Wide Web. I read about it in the glossy books about trees that I used to love leafing through at the Miami library. Fungi form underground networks through mycelia—thin threads that link the roots of neighboring plants to trade updates. That’s how they find out what nutrients are needed. It’s also how they gang up to poison an unwanted new plant.

  An image flickers onto the watery screen.

  Then it crossfades into the face I’ve been dreading to see.

  Yamila’s eyes look even more bloodred than they did a few days ago. Or maybe I misremembered them.

  She’s in a skintight black number with knee-high boots, auburn hair pulled back in a braid, and scarlet scarf spun around her neck. She would fit in on the stylish streets of Belgrano.

  Wherever she is, it looks important because the Septimus symbol is carved into the stone wall behind her, and there are a couple of rows of Cazadores in the background, as if to give the impression that she speaks for the full organization.

  “Septimus, I come to you with breaking news of historic proportions,” she says in Spanish, her breathy voice adding to the gravity of her declaration.

  “Today, we unmask Fierro.”

  The world tilts upward, and if not for Tiago reaching out to steady me, I would crumple.

  “Tenemos un testigo,” she goes on. We have a witness.

  My chest is too tight to breathe. Jazmín must have betrayed us. I shouldn’t have left Gael behind, but I needed him to protect Ma—

  Ma.

  Without him, she’s defenseless.

  “We’ll be at La Rosada in two hours to hear from her.”

  Their witness is a her. Yamila steps back, and the camera lingers, like the broadcaster is expecting someone more senior to step forward. When no one does, I feel a loosening in my chest.

  This can’t be real. If Yamila really knows Fierro’s identity, why not reveal it now? I take deep breaths like Perla taught me. Gael is in Miami with Ma. Saysa’s right: He took on the entire system as Fierro, so of course he can handle one fiery Cazadora.

  I blow out a long exhale, expelling my worries and fears—but when I inhale, I choke on the oxygen.

  Embedded among the Cazadores is a pair of coral-colored eyes beneath a head of golden-brown hair, the same shade as his sister’s and niece’s.

  Gael is in Kerana.

  4

  One look at my friends’ faces tells me they saw him too.

  Chatter breaks out in the throng, and I’m too numb to feel Tiago’s touch as he guides me away. When we’re adrift in a sea of golden grass, Cata opens her mouth to speak, and I say, “I’m going.”

  “Stop. And. Think.” Her voice is cold, like she’s carved from the same ice as her mother. “If they really have a witness, why are they telling us before they’ve interrogated her? Why tease the investigation? And why is Yamila making this announcement instead of someone more senior?”

  “Did you miss the part where Gael is here?”

  “Yes, and we have no idea why—”

  “I don’t give a fuck why, Catalina!” Spittle flies out of my mouth, and for a beat, I feel insane even to myself. So in a lower voice, at a slower speed, I say, “If he’s here, that means my mom is alone, and I need to find her.”

  “Manu, I’m sure he left her in a safe place—”

  “Well, as long as you’re sure!” I snap at Saysa.

  “If I were Yamila,” says Cata, her jaw clenched, “and I had your mom in custody, I’d play that card instead of trying something this desperate. It’s obvious she wants to bait you because she’s come up empty, and the Cazadores are letting her take the fall if this plan fails—”

  “Or she knows the truth about Gael
, and she wants to make sure I see what’s coming before it happens! She could be giving me a chance to trade myself in for him—”

  “Okay, Pablo,” says Cata, I guess implying I sound like a conspiracy theorist. “No offense, but Fierro’s a slightly bigger prize than you.”

  “He’s also my father and your uncle. Don’t you care about him at all?”

  She winces like I’ve hurt her, and she doesn’t snipe back. We haven’t had a chance to discuss our newfound familyhood, but I wonder if learning that Gael is Fierro has affected her feelings for him.

  “This is a trap,” Tiago says to me, only his tone lacks Cata’s judgment.

  “I still have to go. I need to know my mom is safe.”

  “You’re not going to like this, but I have to say it.” Tiago swallows, and I hear the dryness of his throat. “If Gael is in custody, there’s nothing we can do to save him.”

  I feel the sheen of sweat moistening my forehead, but I try to keep Tiago’s words at a distance. “I still have to go.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  I was expecting this, and I stare at the golden grass, unable to meet his gaze when I say, “I know you want to help, but you’ll draw too much attention.”

  It takes him a moment to react, like the rejection was unexpected. “Manu, there’s no way I’m letting you go alone—”

  My neck snaps up. “Letting me?”

  “Letting her?” echoes Saysa.

  “You know what I mean!” Tiago shakes his head like he’s flustered. “La Rosada is the capital of Kerana. It’s where the tribunal meets and one of the most dangerous places for you!”

  “This is about my parents,” I say, my voice trembling on the word. “I know you mean well, but you’ll get recognized—”

  “No, he won’t.”

  We both look to Saysa as a familiar fervor illuminates her features. “None of us will, because we’ll be faceless.”

  “Fierro masks,” says Tiago before I can ask.

  “Fierro’s followers used to show up at his demonstrations wearing these white featureless masks, all claiming to be him,” Saysa explains. “The tribunal outlawed the plant used for the masks, but since it’s an ingredient in some potions, it’s still around, just hard to come by. I think I know where we can find it, but it’s a seedy spot.”