I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew I didn’t like it. So I pulled away and ran.
The crowd had finished tying Tzitzimitl to the criminal’s post in the center of the town square, her wrist bones bound in a knotted wad of rope. Papá was speaking to the head of police, who was still in his pajamas. I ran up behind Papá and snatched Tzitzimitl’s soul stone and a knife from his back pocket. Fortunately, he didn’t notice.
I raced toward Tzitzimitl. Her chin lifted at my approach.
“Cece!” Mamá roared. “Cece, you stay away from that criatura!”
I skidded to a stop and cut her free.
Tzitzimitl stood on her muscular brown legs. The townspeople rounded on us.
“She let it free!” someone hollered.
Everyone surged forward. I offered her the soul stone. Where it rested in my palm, there was a tingly, warm sensation, the way I always felt when I looked up at the stars at night. Tzitzimitl took it from me in a clatter of stone and bone, already moving toward the outskirts of town.
But as she did, she looked at me.
“I am the Protector of Progeny, the Criatura of Stars and Devouring,” she said, her voice booming over the noise of the mob. It was so powerful, the townspeople fell silent, and they halted suddenly a couple of feet behind me. “I was named to see into the souls of children. And this day, I tell you, Cece Rios, that you have been blessed with a soul like water. None shall have power to burn you or make you ash.”
And then she fled.
Crisp, cool air settled on me after her words. My heart swelled. Then, as if breaking out of a trance, the crowd rushed past me after Tzitzimitl’s rapid escape. Angry yells replaced the cool, peaceful feeling in the air. Someone’s hand grabbed my face and shoved me into the ground.
In the dirt, I prayed to the Sun god that Tzitzimitl would not be taken. I prayed that Papá would not be angry. I prayed the townspeople would understand what I’d done.
The head of police marched over to Mamá, and the two screamed at each other. “I refuse to have another traitor like your sister in this town!” he spat. “You Rios women all end up the same. Go bury your daughter as a sacrifice to the Desert—”
Mamá straightened up furiously. “She will not be a bruja!”
“You heard the criatura’s curse! It is only a matter of time until your daughter’s weak heart betrays us.”
“She will not!” she said. “I will save my hija from this curse, or Ocean take me.”
The head of police went silent, stunned. No one in Tierra del Sol liked to speak of the Ocean goddess, with one exception—life-or-death oaths. In the face of that vow, the head of police had no choice but to believe Mamá and let me stay in town.
But no one would ever forgive me for the day I revealed myself to be the town’s weakest link—the day I had mercy on our ancient enemy.
2
Noche de Muerte
My sister and I ran toward the fiesta, our dresses trailing us like nervous flames.
“Juana, wait for me!” I called, panting. She had lifted her skirts so only the back swept the flat dirt road between our town’s adobe houses. “I still have to paint your threat marks! You can’t dance without them!”
Juana skated to a stop. “Just hand me the nocheztli, I’ll do it.”
I clutched the paint jar and slowed. “Mamá said she wanted me to practice painting you. I’m not going to mess it up, okay? Just trust me.”
Juana rolled her eyes and sighed. Ever since she’d turned fifteen and had finally become a woman, she’d been doing that a lot. I bit my lip to stop from saying anything. Tonight, her dream of being selected for the yearly Amenazante dance was finally coming true. She would be on full display as she defended our town from the dangers that would soon awaken in the desert. And I didn’t want to ruin her night with—well, with me being me.
Juana saw my face and stalked over. “Fine, fine. I just wish you would worry more about yourself.” She sighed as I dipped my fingers in the paint. “You didn’t even put fire opal in your hair to protect yourself, you were so busy with my skirts. Everyone’s going to think you’re a fool for being so unprepared.” Her mouth slanted sideways.
I flinched but tried to cover it up with a shrug. After all, the town already thought I was a fool.
I lifted my fingers to Juana’s face. I was nearly as tall as she was already, even though I was almost three years younger. Her eyes grew harder, sharper, as I framed them in the red blood of the prickly pear—nocheztli, the dancer’s war paint.
“Done?” she huffed.
I stepped back and smiled. Juana’s black hair crowned her head in a voluptuous bun, ringed with beads of bright fire opal, and a silk red rose I’d made perched on its top left. It matched the full skirt that swayed like flames around Juana’s ankles.
With nocheztli’s red streaks finally cutting across her face and bare shoulders, she was living fire. She needed to be for the dance she was about to do—the Amenazante dance, where the fiercest women in our town gathered to frighten away the criaturas that would soon plague the desert.
I squeezed the paint jar in my hands. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and patted the top of my loose hair. “You did a pretty good job helping me out this year. But try to pay attention to yourself too, okay? In a couple years, you’ll be a woman, and if you impress the dancing committee enough, you could be invited to do the Amenazante dance too. Everyone would have to respect you then.”
I hunched over and avoided her gaze.
