The Witch Narratives: Reincarnation (15 page)

The movement of a black foot.

The red eyes glowing.

An arm reaching out to her.

She took a step back.

She turned.

The claws of a panther pawed at her back.

She fled with the cat’s roar in her ears.

She almost rolled down the stairs in her haste to get away.

There were no footsteps following. Only the voice.

I can give you all that your heart desires
.

“Mustn’t listen.”

Beauty
.

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!”

Power
.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

That’s the ticket. Now you’re talking
.

14

S
alia lifted her head to the black night, watching the sky with anxious eyes. She no longer had to stay at the reservation when Mother and Grandma went away. At the age of sixteen, she was old enough to stay alone. At first, it was nice having the house all to herself, but as the week wore on she grew lonely and missed her family. Tonight, they would return as promised.

One day, I shall be the one to light up the sky, far away from here—forever.

Ah, here come their witch lights.
She smiled at the bright lights in the distance, two balls of fire spinning in the air, approaching the house at breakneck speed like shooting stars. She cuffed her hands to her ears because the sound following the fire balls was like a tornado.

The balls of light grew bigger, lighting the ground with sparks. They suddenly stopped and hung there, suspended in mid-air above her, then dropped from the sky, bouncing once.

Then twice.

Mother’s fireball exploded, her fiery body tapping across the grass like a tango dancer with flaming head and arched back. She kicked up a burning leg.

Grandma’s fireball twirled in the sky, stretching into a burning outline, holding out her fiery arms. She shot flames from her fingers, making fireworks. She was a powerful witch but a show off.

Mother’s flames burned out, her dance collapsing to a swirling pile of cinders shaped like a woman. She melted to rustling ashes, forming a clay-like woman. She walked, faceless, then turned to flesh, her skin no longer a patch of runny clay, but dry, cracked earth. Her eyelashes were scorched. The tips of her hair were lit like the ends of cigarettes. She became Mother, dressed in the latest flapper fashion with her head thrown back, a long cigarette holder dangling from her mouth. Her long, sleek body was smoking, her dress sassy red.

Grandma always gave the finale. Her flames spun in the air like a ballerina. She kept spinning, her burning body cooling to ashes. Slowly, her ashes formed into an American Indian woman, first her hair, then her face,
followed by her body, black braids swinging at her waist. She appeared more like Salia’s sister than grandma, not their features as such, but their age. Both looked like teenagers but inside, Grandma was 115 years old. She discovered the fountain of youth in that rare shape-shifting stone, a piedra imán, which made her immortal, so long as she remained the rock’s protector.

It never failed that a few sparks set the grass or other foliage aflame. Salia ran around the yard, smacking the fires with a blanket, sweaty and hot when done. “How was Albuquerque, Mother?” she asked in a breathless voice. She had never been outside of Madrid before. Maybe next time they would take her with them, which Mother had the power to do, regardless of the curse.

“Albuquerque is growing. There are 15,462 souls there now.”

“What a big place,” she said in a dreamy voice. “I would love to live in such a big city.”

“Your mother and I went to the Grand Opera House on the corner of Railroad Avenue and 3rd street which seats a thousand. We saw a Gilbert and Sullivan musical. The acting was not what we hoped for, but the singing was fine,” Grandma said, running her hand through Salia’s hair and patting her head.

“Good. Tell my daughter what she has missed. Fuel her imagination for what she can never have.”

Salia clapped her hands, her enthusiasm undiminished by Mother’s cruelty. “Oh, you saw a play?”

“A musical is more than a play, Child,” Grandma said.

“Oh, I would love to be an opera singer.”

“And would you pretend to be able to sing?” Grandma said, her eyes twinkling.

“A world traveler, perhaps, to all the great opera houses?” Mother said, snorting.

“I would pretend to be a normal girl.”

“You are too stupid to be normal. You are much too tall and yet, I swear you have grown taller while we were gone. Your added height will only add to your clumsiness. You are like a newborn colt, all criss-crossed legs. Another inch and I’ll have to look up to you,” she said, pushing her head down until Salia whimpered.

“I brought you a present,” Grandma said.

She blinked at the flyer for the Gilbert and Sullivan musical, seeing her own name printed on the page, alongside the actors. It was Grandma’s magic causing her name to appear on the paper.
Salia Esperanza,
it read,
appearing in a supporting role.
“You have it wrong, Grandma. I would play the lead role and play it very well, indeed. At the end of the musical I would glow on the stage before the lights and curtsy to all my admirers,” she said, making a clumsy curtsy.

Mother scoffed, hiding something behind her back.

Shaking with fright, Salia rolled the flyer into her skirt pocket. “I have cleaned the house, just like you asked. See. I broke my fingernails. I worked so very hard while you were gone.”

Mother brought her arm around from behind her back, and Salia flung her arms out, protecting her face. “Happy birthday, my Darling. Here.”

She heard a meow and raised her head. Mother held a fluffy, yellow and orange kitten with yellowish eyes. “Well, here. Take it, and shut your mouth. You act as if you have never seen a cat before.”

She took the kitten, which snuggled against her, and followed them into the house.

“The kitten is but six weeks old. Protect it to make sure it remains without blemish, until it is grown. See that it does not fight with other cats or dogs and that it does not scratch itself. The cat must remain pure and unmarked. When the time comes for it to mate, you must make sure it remains untouched and chaste. The cat must remain virgin.”

“I will keep my kitten from Gato and Macho,” she promised, wrapping the kitten around her shoulders.

At the mention of their names, two eyeless cats sprang on the rug and licked their paws. What allowed the cats to move about the house, as if they had eyes, were their whiskers, used to gauge if they were able to fit through an opening. Mother and Grandma could see in the dark because they dug out their eyes with a spoon, replacing them with the eyes of their cats.

Salia picked up two bowls from the hearth. She carefully carried the bowls, containing Grandma’s chocolate brown eyes, over to her. Grandma winked at her with orange cat eyes and green swirls in her eye sockets.

The other bowl contained Mother’s hazel eyes, glaring at her maliciously.

She handed the bowl to Mother, and a chill crept up her spine when she stared back at her with Macho’s yellowish cat eyes shining like glass. Whereas Grandma’s eyes had the lazy look of a winking cat, Mother’s eyes had the look of a pouncing cat.

Mother spooned Macho’s eyes out of her sockets and looked at Salia from her empty sockets. Well, she didn’t exactly look, but cocked her head in her direction, hissing.

“I’m sorry,” she said for no reason.

She snarled.

Salia stepped backward, breathing anxiously. She preferred Mother’s eyes in a bowl.

Perhaps, when her cat grew and she could borrow its eyes, she would be able to accompany them on their nightly journeys around Madrid. She was not by nature nosy, but yearned for adventure, and surely they had adventures, besides snooping on people. The witches were the reason the curtains of Madrid homes were closed as soon as it grew dark. The villagers never allowed moonlight to creep into their homes. If the witches peeped into their homes, they might discover some weakness because at night, behind closed doors, people let down their guard.

Macho jumped on Mother’s lap, lifting his head so she could push his eyes back in. She kissed the cat, whispering to him in Spanish. Macho purred, rubbing his face against her cheek.

Salia hugged her kitten protectively when Macho put up its fur, hissing. “Don’t worry,” she whispered to the kitten. “None shall ever harm you. Macho hates me, too.”

Mother laughed, licking her lips. “My Macho would love to eat your kitten. Wouldn’t that be a feast for sore eyes?”

Salia hugged her kitten tighter.

Mother sighed, rubbing her eyes. “It gets harder every time. My eyes are drying with age. We must mix up an ointment,” she said to Grandma, who grunted, throwing both cats outside.

Salia knelt on the floor, turning the kitten on its back. She lifted its hind legs and peered into the unknown. “Is it a boy or a girl kitty?”

“What does it matter?”

“I must know, so I can give it a proper name.”

“It is female, since you are too weak to handle a male cat.”

The kitten bounced, lapping up milk on a plate.

“I shall name my kitty, Lovey. Thank you, Mother, for the birthday gift.”

In answer, she kicked the plate of milk. Salia jerked back her hand, the toe of her boot barely missing her fingers. The china somersaulted across the room, crashing against the wall and splattering milk. “Feed that thing outside from now on, and clean up this room. You know I hate a dirty house, you filthy thing. When you are done, come into the work room for your lesson.”

“But you just got home,” she said, shaking inside.

Mother marched out of the kitchen, her red flapper dress swirling around her calves.

Salia picked up the pieces of broken plate, moving her kitten out of the way so it would not eat any glass. She took a rag and fell on her hands and knees, cleaning spots of milk dripping onto the brick floor. She wiped the wall, scrubbing vigorously. Mother was obsessive when it came to a clean house. Her temper, always simmering just below the surface of her thin skin, could be set off by the tiniest speck of dust in the house. Mother had even slapped Grandma once after she cooked their dinner, because she left a spot on the white kitchen cabinets. She never once thanked Grandma for slaving away in the kitchen cooking breakfast, lunch and supper.

“Hurry, Child, your mother does not like to be kept waiting,” Grandma said.

Patience was another virtue Mother was lacking, yet she took her time cleaning up.

“Your hand is trembling, Child. Remember, just let go and trust the spell.”

“Don’t you want to know how Jefe is? He brought Two-Face to visit me while you were gone,” she said, referring to her niece.

She looked down at her with veiled eyes. “Did my son ask for me?”

“No. He didn’t.”

“He knows he is dead to me. I have no son. There is only you and your mother.”

“Salia,” she yelled from the back room.

She walked into the work room and Mother slapped her. “You are late for your lesson. Do you realize how lucky you are to be taught by two sisters of the Black Rose? I started late in life. It was not until I married and was
converted at the reservation, whereas you…you have been given everything. You will be a great bruja, Salia, even if I have to beat you.”

She held her hand to her cheek, her eyes stinging from holding back her tears. She never let Mother see her cry. That would be a weakness.

Mother stood with her arms crossed. “Now, do as I instructed you. This time, see if you can get it right, Girl.”

Salia closed her eyes and chanted.

The spell started to work, and her body lifted up in the air.

The work room was three stories tall. The floor was getting further away. She could no longer control her body. She flopped about like a rag doll, waving her arms and legs like a bird suspended in the air, unable to fly.

She panicked, throwing out bits of the formula, and mispronouncing something important because she crashed into the ceiling. “Saint Jude!” As soon as the words left her mouth, she fell to the floor, landing on top of Mother who, in turn, fell to her knees.

Mother jabbed her ribs with her elbow. “Clumsy, stupid girl! Who taught you that name, Saint Jude?” she screeched, slapping her with the back of her hand and cutting Salia’s lip with her black ring.

“No one. I don’t know why I said what I did. I don’t know where I have heard those words.”

She kicked her and pulled her hair. “Liar. I only take you as a student because you are an Esperanza. Yet, I swear sometimes my blood does not flow in your veins. You persist in this stupidity, this veiling of not remembering anything.”

She held her ribs with one hand and hid her face with the other.
The reason you teach only me is because you are too jealous of your power to pass your secrets to anyone but your own daughter. Pass your secrets to Two-Face. She is eager to learn. I only wish to be left in peace.