“Leilani made extra cookie dough and saved it to the freezer. All I had to do was cut slices and speed up the baking process.”
“You can do that?” I asked, catching a soft crumb at the corner of my mouth and urging it back with my pinky. Tanner grinned.
“You’ve been sitting here long enough for the oven to preheat. Maritza advised we let you come down at your own pace.
“She also said if you fell over you’d probably been on your own long enough.”
I crooked a finger and drew Tanner closer. “How long has she been here?”
He brushed a kiss across my temple. “An hour and a half, maybe a little more. Have another cookie and finish your drink.”
I did as he told me to. I was not the expert here and I needed the fluid and the hit of sugar to set me back on track.
The ground inside the stone circle was carpeted by a thick layer of multi-colored particles. I could smell the combined scents even over the melted chocolate coating my tongue. My senses soaked it in and with the help of the lemonade, I was sated.
“Calliope, let’s gather the particles and then I can leave you two to finish your project.”
Maritza bent over the same bag that had held the dress and extracted a fabric pouch similar to the one I had seen at the burial mounds. “Creating them is the easy part. Teaching them to follow your instructions takes practice.” She handed me the drawstring pouch. “If you will hold this open. Once it is full, pull the strings tight and keep the bag nearby for twenty-four hours. The bonding process will speed up if you give it a place on your altar.”
I stood as directed by Maritza and held the opened bag in both hands. Maritza swept the air over the newly-made particles and after a few revolutions, they began to gather in on themselves. She guided them up and in to the waiting receptacle and followed the last of her instruction.
“Thank you,” I said, weighing the bag in my hands. The pieces were not as heavy as I had imagined when I saw them all on the ground.
“In another week or so I should be available to bind you to your grimoire.” She patted the pouch. “These should be ready by then for you to create your first circle.”
With that, Maritza left.
Chapter 7
“Maritza, put that dish down. You’re making me nervous.”
My younger brother, Malvyn, the cultured and confident Enforcer for the Magical Conclave, was reduced to a nervous pup whenever our parents visited from Mexico. The stack of redware bowls responsible for giving him the vapors was produced in a village in Michoacan. Each piece, with its crimped edges, unglazed exterior, and hand-painted motif, had arrived wrapped in newspaper and embroidered squares. Our mother stashed pieces of her beloved redware in her carry-on luggage, bringing one suitcase-full whenever she visited.
“These are the newer bowls,” I reminded Malvyn. “Mama will take her vintage pieces with her to the grave, just like our ancestors.”
“As long as she doesn’t ask me to entomb her under our kitchen, she can be buried with whatever she wants.” Malvyn drew an apron out of a drawer, flicked it open, and tied it around his waist.
“What? You afraid her spirit will haunt you?” I asked.
“No, this house was built on a rock. If Mama wants the tomb treatment, we’re going to have to lift a section of the house and I doubt James will agree to that.”
“She’ll haunt you anyways. You know she’ll never forgive you for changing our last name.” After her death, Margarita Bordador would continue to opine and I would be her conduit.
I finished loading the bowls with condiments. Finely chopped white onions, cilantro, and parsley. Pickled red onion escabeche. Salsa verde and salsa fresca.
Malvyn sniffed. “Felicia said your apprentice is here.”
“Changing the topic, querido?” I asked, tucking the bowls onto a carrying tray.
His head disappeared into one of the side by side refrigerators. “It’s not like you to invite an apprentice to stay with you for the duration.”
“Alabastair’s referrals were stellar,” I said. Peeking over Mal’s shoulder, I pointed to the block of cotija cheese our mother had managed to smuggle past Customs. “Hand me that, will you?”
Unwrapping four layers of plastic wrap and seeing the cheese had started to crumble around the edges, I went for a larger Patamban bowl, this one decorated with facing swans. “His written essays piqued my interest much more than any of the other applicants.” I gave Malvyn my back as I waltzed toward the swinging kitchen doors. Alabastair’s responses had aroused much more than my mind, information my brother did not need to be privy to. “Besides, the Nekrosines are such stuffed shirts about their prized lineage that to have their firstborn son campaign to apprentice with me? How could I resist?”
My brother’s deep laugh sounded from the kitchen as the doors closed behind my back. I placed the loaded tray on the table set for eight, and distributed the little bowls such that everyone could access the condiments without having to overreach.
“Maritza?” I swore Malvyn could send his voice around corners.
“What?” I asked, pressing one door open with my elbow and forearm. My fingertips were coated with salsa.
“When were you planning to change? James should be here for cocktails in fifteen minutes and Leilani has promised us one of her desserts.”
My niece was showing promise. Though my brother and his husband had not fully embraced the idea that their daughter was growing into a young women—what parents ever did?—they had always encouraged her to be open to her magic. Thus far, her skills lay in the kitchen. Abuela Margarita took great pride in reminding anyone in earshot those skills came from her.
Using my position as Leilani’s aunt, I could guide her with a subtler hand. I
